Code Purple #2: Little Boy Blues

===Metropolis===

 

A sleek black jet soared above the majestic skyline of Art Deco skyscrapers, giant globes and L-Shaped laboratories, all lit up by the street lamps below. Its target, sat on the outskirts of the city, a sprawling estate along the shore once owned by the Luthors, now home to the elusive Louis Bowman.

 

The bottom of the plane opened, and a black figure glided down onto the roof of the manor house. Removing a lock pick from their yellow utility belt, they prised open the skylight, and dropped down into a long hallway. Taking a small flashlight out of another pouch on their belt, the figure shone it down the hall.

 

"Oracle, I'm in."

 

"Bruce, I'm getting a lot of interference, I don't know how much help I can be-" Barbara's voice crackled, before fading altogether.

 

"Oracle? Oracle?" Bruce asked anxiously at first, then calming down as realisation set in. "Hnh. Of course."

 

For someone who supposedly never left their home, the building was in an odd state of disrepair. Bruce entered the library and spied a single book jutting out from the bookcase; "The Birmingham and Gloucester Railway," a book by P J Long and W V Awdry. He pulled the book out of the shelf, triggering a mechanism; the case slid away into the sides of the wall, revealing a narrow shaft (Bruce didn't fail to recognise the irony). He glided down to the bottom and arrived at a metallic bunker, decorated in yellow and black warning stripes. The air was colder down here. To his right, a large Lexcorp sign had been defaced with green and purple graffiti to read "Ex-Corpse" instead. On the farthest wall, hung a series of large screens, nestled in-between a cluster of foreboding generators.

 

Bruce's lenses shone a pale blue as he examined the walls. "Lead lined," he noted.

 

"Of course. Can't have the neighbors snooping around, can we?" a booming voice reverberated.

 

"No, I suppose not," Bruce conceded. "Mr Bowman?"

 

A dark figure in the corner of the room shifted slightly. "In the flesh, so to speak. And what might I do for you, Batman?" they inquired with a sort of false sophistication and an even falser obliviousness.

 

"I saw your watermark on Joker's broadcast," Bruce explained. "You should be more selective about who you share your technology with."

 

Bowman chuckled. "The Joker is a fervent lawbreaker, surely I can't be held accountable for whatever technology may or may not have fallen into his hands..."

 

"Perhaps, but that's not everything. Before STAR Labs took it into custody, I had a look at the Cloudburst device Day attempted to detonate, the same one Joker's threatening Gotham with now. It was almost identical to the device the Society used. But that didn't make sense. Billings is a barely functioning alcoholic. Crane knows the science but is paralysed from the waist down. Zolomon has no background in engineering. Krill could build it, maybe. If he had the attention span. No, someone else gave Joker those schematics, and had his people build it to their specifications."

 

"Must have been one of those... 'Society' malcontents, obviously," Bowman countered. "I understand those are a dime a dozen."

 

"That was my theory, yes. Then, after the Royal, Gordon tried booking in Day's accomplices. But there was nothing on record. It was as though their files had been erased from the criminal database. There are very few people capable of doing that without detection. Even fewer that would willingly partner with Day. Let alone Joker."

 

"Hmm. It's an interesting theory, I admit," Bowman said dismissively. "I have a better one: Incompetence. Plain, simple negligence. Let's not beat around the bush, The GCPD is as careless as it is corrupt."

 

"The GCPD, yes. But not Jim Gordon. So, again, I took a step back. I realised that to power an illusion so vast it could cover an entire island, Billings would require a vast amount of energy, disconnected from the grid, of course."

 

"Well, naturally."

 

"But the only man capable of producing that amount of energy... was murdered by the League of Assassins."

 

Bowman was silent for a moment. "You really are quite good, Batman."

 

His voice had changed, he now spoke with a familiar air of mistaken superiority and simmering rage.

 

Bruce shook his head. "Lou Bowman," he muttered under his breath.

 

"You understood it, yes?" 'Bowman' pried.

 

"Of course. It's a play on the Blue Bowman. The alias you adopted between stints as The Signalman."

 

"I'm touched you remember." The man revealed himself from behind a large server unit, dressed in a red outfit with a yellow mask, boots and a cape adorned with green symbols.

 

"Why ally yourself with Joker, Cobb? Why target Walker? What's your angle?"

 

"Hmm, the man who defied me twice and left me for dead? I wonder," Cobb shrugged with malicious indifference.

 

"But why? You could have moved on, started fresh. No one would have ever known you'd survived."

 

"Moved on?" Cobb repeated, almost longingly. "If only I could..."

 

"You can. You still have a lot to answer for. Blackgate. The Society. Havenrock.

But you were a victim of Ra's, like everyone else. It's not too late. Just tell me where Joker's hidden his bomb. There's no telling what he's filled it with, and if I can't stop it in time, thousands could die. Millions, maybe."

 

"A million souls burned when my missiles kissed Havenrock," Cobb said quietly; his eyes closed, his head bowed. "What's a million more?"

 

Bruce's body tensed up; his face contorted with revulsion. "You can't possibly be this heartless," he spat, a newfound disdain for Cobb blazing within him.

 

"And why the hell not?" Cobb countered. "Why shouldn't I be? Why should I care for Gotham, for its peoples, or for you? Heartless, am I? Perhaps. But how can I be anything more when Ra's Al Ghul blew mine out and scattered what remained across the desolate boroughs you forsook?!"

 

Batman paused. There was an inhuman crackle to Cobb's words that had gone unnoticed until his tormented tirade. Like static.

 

He swallowed, the rage subsiding. "I want to see Cobb. The real Cobb."

 

"So be it," Cobb begrudgingly obliged, and he took a step back, his image flickering, his physical form in fact nothing more than a hologram. The monitors, kicked into life, as his visage appeared on the flat screens instead. But instead of the bright reds and yellows of the Signalman, Cobb's digital form was gaunt, pale. Blue veins had risen to the surface of his bluish skin, electrical cables had been inserted below his stomach and his eyes were an inhuman, glowing white.

 

"Well, there you have it, Batman," Cobb teased, his voice crackling as he spoke. "The power behind Oz. The man behind the curtain. 'Man.' Peh. I'm as much a man as the fucking Mario Brothers are. 'Welcome to the digital age!'" he declared bitterly.

 

"Dear God..." Bruce gasped, at a loss for words.

 

"Oh, praying doesn't help, believe me. You know, when the League of Assassins found me, I was dying of cancer. When they used me as a battery... When they drained me and buried me, I thought I was dead."

 

Just then, Cobb made a sound rather like white noise: A derisive chuckle.

 

"If only I was that lucky. I became a cancer. A digital virus lurking within the city's infrastructure. Growing. Multiplying. Festering.

 

I sought familiar surroundings, so I made my home within Arkham. That's where the clown found me. He set me up here, in Metropolis. But you see, I can travel anywhere I want."

 

"Cobb-" Bruce pleaded.

 

"Oh, no. Phillip Cobb died in Arkham. I am what's left. A fragmented, splintered ghost of Christmas Past."

 

"Cobb, please. What happened at Arkham wasn't your fault, you can still walk away from this."

 

'Walk.' It was the wrong word and both of them knew it.

 

"You're right," Cobb decided after a moment's contemplation. "Well, you're half right. Arkham City wasn't my fault. It was yours."

 

Pictures appeared on the screens beside Cobb's own. Hundreds of faces. Bruce recognised some of them, but not all of them. He hated himself for that. But still, there was one image that pained him above all the others: A blonde woman in a tiger print leotard.

 

"She tried," Cobb noted. "To save me. To save Gotham. Failed, of course. Ah, but what can you expect when you send a woman to do a Batman's job?"

 

Bruce bowed his head. "I... I can't save everyone."

 

Cobb clicked his virtual tongue. "You can't save anyone.

 

You didn't save Havenrock from my missiles. You didn't save Gotham from The Society's Cloudburst. You didn't save me from The League of Assassins. Or The League of Assassins from Bane's slaughter. A "Silent Guardian," A "Watchful Protector." You can't even protect your own home."

 

Bruce looked at one of the portraits he'd missed, and grimaced. The bandaged face of Tommy Elliot was staring back at him. He glared back at Cobb with renewed fire. He knew. And if he knew, then Joker-

 

"No, he doesn't know," Cobb assured him. "I don't think he cares. Nor do I, particularly. You're just another rich man with trauma, trying desperately to secure your legacy. But you're lagging; chasing ghosts and vapour trails and footprints in the snow. You catch the bad guys, yes. You dole out 'justice,' with your fists and a grimace. But what about the bodies left in their wake? Your wake? At least, those fortunate enough to have bodies left to bury."

 

"I am sorry, Cobb. I should have saved them. I... I should have saved you."

 

"Yes," Cobb lamented. "You should have. But let us not dwell on what wasn't and what could have been. Let's not dwell on this any longer," he declared as his image vanished off the screen.

 

Caught off-guard, a sudden blast of blue energy threw Bruce across the room, sending him crashing against the south wall.

 

"W-what?" he grunted, picking himself up off the floor, scanning the room for his attacker.

 

A silver robot stepped forward. It was skeletal, with a glowing blue rock placed in the centre of its ribcage instead of its usual green power source.

 

"Metallo?" Bruce's eyes locked with the android's sapphire eyeballs.

 

The jaws of the robot moved up and down, but it spoke with Cobb's voice. "Still me, I'm afraid. When Luthor cleared house, he left this prototype behind. I decided to give it a whirl."

 

==Arkham Asylum==

 

"Haven't heard anything from Hood or Nightwing," Needham brooded. "You?"

 

Azrael shook his head. "No."

 

Needham sighed. He hated this. The silence. The uncertainty. He knew they should've stormed Arkham weeks ago. And now, Joker was making fools of all of them. As he watched the Asylum from his perch, he wondered if the clown was inside. Laughing.

 

Azrael placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I would not worry, Spider. Nightwing and the Red Hood are formidable combatants. Batman chose his allies well. If there is trouble, I am certain they will come out of it triumphant."

 

Behind them came the sudden sound of metal hitting concrete. They shared a look. 'Trouble.' Azrael was the first to rise, his sword igniting with yellowish flames.

 

"Who goes there?" he demanded, storming off into the unknown.

 

While Needham remained vigilant over his post, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He thought he could hear a quiet, melodious voice; a whisper in the wind; although he couldn't quite discern what it was saying:

 

"-He has lost his way. Look at those who serve him now. Murderers. Degenerates. Heathens."

 

"-It should have been you. It was you. And it can be again. Only you can combat the evils of this insidious cesspool-"

 

Yet, when Azrael returned unharmed, Needham thought nothing of it. False alarm, probably.

 

That was until he drew his flaming sword against Needham's neck.

 

What happened next was a flurry of quick movements, between two men at the top of their game: Needham flipped backwards, and catapulted himself into the air; mounting the top of the flag pole. Azrael slashed the metal pole, sending him plummeting off the edge; Needham used his webs to catch himself; swinging through the arch and dismounting on the other edge of the bridge. "You gonna tell me what this is about?" he called out from the other side.

 

"Heretic. Filth. Murderous slime. A true Batman would not have welcomed scum like you into his Cave. And I shall not stand for it."

 

~-~

 

There was something distinctly macabre about the robot's appearance; metallic bones, an inhuman glow, and a tattered yellow cape that hung from its' shoulders, all that had remained of the "real" Phillip Cobb.

 

The robot shot a second burst of energy from its chest, but Bruce was ready this time; dodging out of the way, the only damage was a slightly singed cape. In response, he hurled twin batarangs at the wires running down the robot's neck, but it swatted them away. A third blast knocked Bruce down. He staggered to his feet, and hid behind a nearby server unit, wagering that Cobb wouldn't risk damaging his own tech.

 

"You can't hide, Bat. This is my network. I see everything. I control everything."

 

A loose wire suddenly burst into life, shocking Bruce's arm.

 

"You see?" Cobb asked condescendingly.

 

"Yeah, I see," Bruce grimaced. 'No good cowering, then. Time to go on the offensive.' He vaulted over the top of the server and chucked a glue grenade at the robot's legs, seizing up its' motors.

 

"Damn you," Cobb cried, unable to move. "You'll fry for that!"

 

"You can try. But I doubt Joker would be pleased."

 

"I'm sure he'd manage. Oh, there'd be a period of mourning, of course. However, there's a sort of... 'humorous banality' to it, isn't there? 'Here lies Batman; He died as he lived; alone in a cave.'"

 

A fourth blast. Off-target. The glue was doing its job, keeping Cobb rooted to the floor.

 

Batman launched an explosive batarang into the air, spinning past the robot's head, then circling back and lodging itself in the chunk of blue kryptonite powering the machine.

 

BOOM.

 

The resultant explosion fractured the blue rock and took off the robot's jaw. It spoke with slurred speech, as the light faded from its' skeletal eye sockets. "This isn't overrrrrrrrrr."

 

"Still with us?" Bruce turned his attention back to the monitor set-up: Cobb's cadaverous profile was back on the silver screens.

 

"You unthinking brute. That was a four-billion-dollar android," Cobb snarled.

 

"And now it's scrap. If I were you, I'd ask for a refund."

 

"Oh, a funny man now? But I'm far from finished," Cobb warned. The florescent lights above them flickered as his anger intensified.

 

...

 

"Aren't you?" Batman asked, undeterred by the light show. "You might be able to travel through the internet, resurface on the other side of the planet, but this server is your central hub. Your brain, or what left of it." With that, he reached into his belt and removed a pair of metal pliers. Then, he removed a metal safety hatch from one of the nearby server units and unearthed a nest of wires from within.

 

"What are you doing?" Cobb asked, his voice wavering slightly.

 

"What do you think? I'm cutting the cancer out at its' source," Batman answered plainly.

 

A thin smile appeared on Cobb's 'face.' "You can't intimidate me, Batman. I know your code. You can't kill me."

 

Batman's hands gripped the pliers. "Phillip Cobb died in Arkham City. You're just software."

 

"You're bluffing," Cobb dismissed him, but there was an unease behind his assertion.

 

"The Cloudburst, Cobb. You have one last chance," Batman threatened him, he'd brought the pliers against one of the wires now and was applying pressure.

 

"Wait!"

 

Batman's hand slackened.

 

"The Cave. He's placed The Cloudburst in Walker's Cave."

Done