Code Purple #3: Impromptu Zoom Meeting

Gotham Cemetery, Two Hours Until Christmas

 

Bridget Pike stood over a gravestone, holding a wreath decorated with beautiful red and yellow flowers. She knelt beside the marble slab, and ran her hand across the engraving:

 

CARMEN PIKE

 

BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

 

GONE TOO SOON

 

Bridget shot a cursory, almost fearful, glance at the second grave stone, and sighed, a stream of warm air escaping her lips.

 

A man's voice broke the silence. "You want to visit him, don't you?" they asked.

 

Bridget didn't turn around, but she recognised the speaker: Philip Reardon. She paused before answering, her hand never leaving her mother's gravestone. "He's been back before, you know. After the car crash, the wedding, the bug demon. I kept track of all of them. But he never came back for me, did he? While he was chasing Walker, he let me and my mom grieve. Tore us apart waiting for him to return... By the time he did, mom was dead."

 

"Do you think I should see him?" she asked, turning to face him.

 

Ten contemplated her question, running his prosthetic hand through his greying hair. He was wearing a thick scarf, and was holding an umbrella in his other prosthesis to keep the snow at bay. "I don't know," he said at last, an answer that was perhaps unsatisfying. "My dad... My dad was so angry when I told him I'd enlisted. He fought in Vietnam, you see. Lost a leg in a snare trap... But I was young. I thought I knew differently. Knew better. And when I left to 'fight for my country,' my head full of patriotic notions and falsehoods, I had no idea how much harder I should've fought for my family instead... I got on a plane and we never spoke again. Not when I was injured, nor when I was imprisoned either. He died while I was in Blackgate, lung complications. Another 'gift' from the jungles. He's buried nearby, Frank Reardon," he added, making a sweeping gesture across the graveyard.

 

"Mom died when I was in Blackgate too..." Bridget said softly.

 

"She wanted to be buried beside him. It was in her will, the one thing she wanted most. But, his body kept moving, resurrecting... disappearing. Best they could do was put her headstone beside his. We had it erected a few months after the car accident, mom and me... But, he's back. He's been caught. And with more people dying every day, there's talk of taking his down. But I... I don't know if the dad I lost was the one that came back. I don't -"

 

As Ten held the umbrella over her head, the floodgates opened; Bridget crumpled at the gesture, and buried her face in his chest. Ten was surprised at first, but put a fatherly arm around her. "It's going to be alright," he promised her, although again, he spoke with uncertainty. And as he repeated himself, it was as though he was reassuring himself as well.

 

~-~

 

The Batwing tore through the air; bursts of purple flames blasted from its’ rear engines, propelling it through the night sky. Batman sat in the cockpit, his hands grasping the control yokes tightly. The flight path was set: In four minutes time, he’d be back in Gotham. He pressed a flashing green button on the dashboard and spoke into the receiver on its’ left.

 

“Oracle, I have the location for the Cloudburst. It’s in Walker’s Cave, I’m headed there now,” he spoke calmly.

 

“You got a location? How did you- Never mind. Batman, listen, I need to patch you through. You were radio-silent for a while there; we’ve run into a few problems.”

 

“Bats, your Renaissance guy has gone AWOL,” Eric Needham’s voice called out. “He’s trying to cut my damn head off!”

 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, taking note of Needham’s panting. “Spider? Report.”

 

“Your man, Azrael. Must’ve got whammied by the Pirate or something, started taking shots at me, bemoaning my ‘zeolotry.’ I’ve managed to shake him for now, but-“

 

“You’ve got a call from Nightwing on line 2.” Oracle interjected.

 

“For now, stay out of sight. Backup’s inbound, Spider,” Bruce assured the man, before turning his attention back to Barbara. “Put him through. Nightwing, Hayden’s at Arkham, Azrael’s compromised. I need you and Red Hood to-“

 

“No go, Batman, Jason’s down. I’m sorry… Hayden got to us too, dredged up old wounds,” Dick sighed regretfully.

 

Bruce nodded. “Understood, hold on, Dick, I’ll send someone over.”

 

“Batman, call from GCPD.” Barbara chimed in again.

 

“Jim? What’s wrong?”

 

“He’s here, Batman.”

 

“What? Who?” Bruce asked, dreading Gordon's answer.

 

“God help me, Batman. The Joker’s at the station.”

 

“I’ll be there ASAP. Don’t do anything," Bruce swore.

 

“No. If you have a location for this Cloudburst, find it. Gotham’s the priority.” Jim urged him.

 

“Understood, Jim. Stand by, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

 

==GCPD==

 

Two joybuzzers. One for each hand.

 

Four knives. One in each sock, each with collapsible blades. Two tucked inside his jacket, one with a rubber blade, the other without.

 

A Cabbage Patch Doll that vomits when you squeeze its' stomach.

 

Two packs of 50 razor-edged playing cards, hidden up his sleeves.

 

An acid-spewing lapel flower.

 

Two pairs of rubber hands. One splayed, one pair of fists.

 

A packet of 'Itching Powder.' Filled with fire ants.

 

Two badges: One plastic sheriff badge, one "Mayor of Motham" pin, each with poisoned tips.

 

A halibut. Dyed green and white. Lips contorted into a smile. Deceased. For quite a while, judging by the smell.

 

One revolver with one 'Bang' flag and five bullets.

 

A silk magician's handkerchief with a hidden garrote wire running through it.

 

A set of purple car keys.

 

Numerous sets of wind-up false teeth. Metal jaws.

 

A stick of gum, believed to be a sort of plastic explosive. Strawberry scented.

 

A firecracker. Stuffed in the waistband of his underpants.

 

Three colouring pencils. Recently sharpened.

 

Two tickets to Cabaret. Expired.

 

A Bob the Builder colouring book.

 

A Whoopie Cushion.

 

Gordon took a step back to take in the full picture: A tabletop overflowing with tools of death. The CSIs were in the midst of bagging and tagging the lot of it. It’d take them hours that they didn’t have.

 

Joker sat opposite them in the holding cell, dressing in nothing but a vest, long striped socks and a pair of white underpants dotted with red hearts. Gordon shot a disgusted look at him, and murmured to Montoya:

 

"Tell him he can put his clothes back on."

 

===ISA Headquarters===

 

The Misfits were gathered in the kitchen; Joey, dressed in a crimson Christmas jumper, was fiddling with Ito’s ancient television, a screwdriver in one hand, an HMDI cable in the other, chuckling delightedly once the device hummed into life. The Shadow Man Chuck had encountered weeks prior, was sat at the table, stirring his cup of tea with a plate of warm, buttered scones by his side. Between sips and bites, he was reading a copy of The Strand magazine from 1893, paying particular interest to the Holmes story within, titled "The Final Problem." Sharpe was under the tree, shaking his presents one by one and speculating to Blake what might be inside them. Mayo was simmering a pot of cranberry sauce over the stove, finishing the last of his preparations for tomorrow's Christmas Dinner. Chuck, who was stroking a plant by the sink rather absent-mindedly, broke out of his trance-like state suddenly, as a door upstairs swung open, and a pair of footsteps thundered their way down the stone steps.

 

"Garfield, it is impolite to enter without knocking," Ito’s cool voice was saying, as it called after the intruder.

 

"Get the hell out of my way-" Gar's own voice replied gruffly, as a faint shuffling was heard.

 

"That is-"

 

"I'll fill your fucking jar, just you wait-" Gar yelled back irritably, finally arriving at the kitchen.

 

"Gar? Thought you were with the family tonight-" Joey's brow furrowed, emerging from behind a nest of wires.

 

"You see it? You fucking see it?" Gar asked, his head bobbing back and forth. He was wearing his Firefly suit; that boded poorly.

 

"I don't know what you mean-" Joey stammered.

 

"Gar, what is it?" Chuck stepped forward slowly.

 

"The TV, have you seen it?" Gar's head swung back, looking at each of the Misfits faces and finding nothing but confusion in their expressions.

 

"No, I- I just got Netflix set up, we were about to-" Joey started.

 

"Change it over! Now!" Gar demanded.

 

Joey looked up for Chuck's approval, who nodded slowly, and with a shaking hand, switched the TV back to its' default setting, and when he did, he was met with the Joker's pale white face and grinning mouth. Mayo's hand shoogled the pot slightly, the voice taking him by surprise: "And if you want to stop it, Batsy, 'cause I know you're watching, you little TV addict, then you'd better grab your Batreindeers and Batsled and get your Bat-Ass moving! Heh.

 

After all, I'm a Ryde or Dye kinda clown, so you can be absolutely sure I'm not bluffing. Of course, I also have a reputation as a general mirthster and prankmaster extraordinaire, so perhaps I am! What do you have to lose? Oh, right, the city. Heh. Toodles!"

 

"That message was broadcast twenty minutes ago. So far, The GCPD and City Hall have refused to comment on this shocking threat. We'll bring you more news on this story as we-"

 

Sharpe's jaw dropped. "Hole. Lee. Shit."

 

The Shadow Man, kept reading.

 

"You got your gear?" Gar turned to Joey.

 

Face white, Joey scratched the base of his head. "It's downstairs, I didn't think we-"

 

"Grab it. You and Blake, with me. We can grab Otis and Needham on the way, they probably already know. Let's fucking go."

 

"Go-? Go where? We don't even know where Joker is!" Chuck countered.

 

"Then we go to the Cop House. We get Drury and we take him somewhere they can't get him!"

 

"And do what, exactly? Roast chestnuts? You're not thinking straight!"

 

Just then, something caught Gar's eye; The candles on the table were extinguished by a gust of wind. But there were no windows down here. No ventilation. The entire labyrinth had been designed to suit the Dragon King's cold blooded veins, so where did the cold air come from? Gar backed towards the entrance and found his past blocked. As soon as they saw it, the Misfits jumped back: It was a man, features blurred, followed by crackling lightning, dressed in yellow.

 

"Leaaaaaaaaaaave?" the figure cocked its head to one side. "Youregoing to leeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaave?"

 

"But weeeeeeeeeee haven'teveeeeeeeen beenproperly introduced."

 

Sharpe, dropped his present, and fled down the hall. A crease on Zoom's blurred features could almost be mistaken for a smile.

 

"Hhhhhn. Calendaaaaaaaar Maaaaaaan saidhewould run."

 

The first to make a move, Blake dived forwards, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter, making two jabs at Zoom in quick succession. But not quick enough. On his third swipe, Zoom caught the knife and plunged it into his thigh, slashing downwards. His leg cut open, Blake fell forwards. A punch to the skull kept him down. Mayo tried next, bless him: reaching for the pot of cranberry sauce, he sloshed the hot mixture in Zoom's direction; another misfire; Zoom slapped the base of the pot, splattering Mayo's face with scalding cranberries. As he yelped out in pain, Zoom caught the pot, and cracked it across his head.

 

Gar reached for his flamethrower, but Chuck clutched his arm. 'Don't.' The last thing they needed was him to miss and hit a flammable elixir or twelve.

 

And therein lay the problem; any manoeuvre, any tactic, any offensive attack or last-ditch defence they could think of, Zoom was watching play out in slow motion, and already concocting a cruel counter. He could anticipate anything they threw at him, but the Misfits had never faced anything like him. Gar and Joey had worked with Thawne in the Society, sure; Chuck had even shared an awkward plane ride with him, but they'd never had to fight a speedster themselves. And while no one could ever say Gotham had made them soft, it had left them unprepared for the kinds of metas and monsters that lurked outside its' borders. And in recent weeks, they'd been so caught up with the 'native' threats and their old scores, that they'd underestimated the real power behind The Outcasts.

 

===Downtown Gotham===

 

"Conflicting reports after this chilling message was broadcast-"

 

Roman Sionis was watching Joker's broadcast in his office, a half empty glass of scotch beside him, his hand shaking slightly as the clown's maniacal laughter filled the penthouse. He was dressed in a maroon smoking jacket, a phone pressed against his deformed, blackened ear. Beside him, sat a collection of three newly acquired masks; a copper wolf-like faceplate, a charred, ivory skull, and a cloth mask decorated with a red "webbing" pattern. He muted the TV momentarily, as the dial tone was replaced by a low grumble on the other end.

 

"What time is it?" the voice snarled.

 

"Back of ten, I think. You watching this?" Sionis asked, his own eyes locked with the clown's green glare on the screen.

 

"Yeah," Gaige's voice growled. "Are you using a burner?"

 

Sionis rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

 

Halfway across the city, Gaige strolled out to the balcony, taking a deep breath of the salty sea air. "We have people handling this?" he frowned.

 

"Our guys on the take say the cops have him. Just sauntered right in." Sionis answered.

 

Gaige's knuckles whitened, as he gripped the balcony's railing. "Thought the Bat had people posted outside?"

 

Sionis scoffed. "Guess they got distracted. Oh, Penguin called. The Old Bird wants this dealt with. Quietly, of course."

 

Gaige chuckled at the notion. "I thought the clown's good for business? Gets people panic buying. Guns, ammo, toilet roll... his bread and butter."

 

"That's not the issue. It's the legit biz. Our esteemed mayor doesn't want a crisis in his first month in office."

 

"Then, tell him to get over it. Grange had Blackgate. Walker had the Society. It's a rite of passage."

 

"Hm," Sionis murmured with indifference, amused by the implied challenge to Penguin's authority.

 

Gaige swallowed. "We have a list of demands, yet?"

 

"Just one," Sionis smirked, leaning back in his chair, picking a piece of dried blood off of the scalp of the cracked, white mask.

 

"And?" Gaige asked impatiently.

 

Sionis was quiet, savouring the moment. "He wants Walker."

 

"What?" Gaige snapped.

 

Sionis rolled the scotch around in his glass, repeating himself with an even wider grin. "He wants Drury Walker."

 

Gaige's knuckles turned whiter still.

 

~-~

 

Sharpe turned a corner and burst through the door of Noah Kuttler’s temporary laboratory (located within the ISA's archives), holding the left side of his chest in pain. He grabbed an unguarded glass of scotch and, before Kuttler could intervene, gulped it down. Already in poor spirits, Kuttler lowered his purple spectacles and exhaled through his nose. “Chancer, you’re perspiring all over my workbench.”

 

“Fuck… you… too,” Sharpe panted, looking for something else to drink and settling on a beaker filled with clear liquid.

 

“That’s lighter fluid.”

 

Sharpe set it back down, battling his dehydration to clue Kuttler in: “Zoom… Zoom’s here… dickhead.”

 

Kuttler shot up from his seat, and without a spoken word, grabbed a grey remote from his desk, and pressed a red button. The door behind Sharpe slammed shut, then a second set of metal blast doors closed behind them, then a thin blue forcefield activated, completing the lockdown.

 

“What are you-?”

 

“That’s a meta-dampening shield, adapted from Dominator technology. He can’t get through here.”

 

“I’m a meta! What’s gonna happen to me?!” Sharpe panicked.

 

“Nothing,” Kuttler said coolly. “Unless you try to headbutt it. Now open that cupboard, hand me the tray marked “Clariss.”

 

Sharpe rummaged through the drawers, sifting through a coterie of names; King, Bowin, Savage, Degaton, before finally finding the one Kuttler requested. “This is the best you’ve got? There’s a dustbin lid in here!” he exclaimed with crushing disappointment.

 

“That’s a helmet,” Kuttler sighed, snatching the tray from Sharpe’s hand.

 

~-~

 

'No weapons. Fine then.' Gar charged at Zoom. Recklessly. Big mistake; Zoom caught his fist, and using his momentum, threw him against the kitchen table. Shade, continued to sip his tea, even as Gar, several saucers and half a table cloth careered off the edge of the table. Chuck tried to sneak up on Zoom while he was examining his handiwork with Lynns; but Zoom was onto him, turning his arm like a windmill, a gust of wind sent Chuck flying against the wall.

 

"Look atthe Rooooooyaaaaal," Zoom hissed. "Lookatwhat you wereableto dooooo. Nobodies. Misfits. You couldbeso stroooooooong. But nooooooow youwillonlybe lessons. A cautionary taaaaaale.”

 

~-~

 

"Stay here," Kuttler warned Sharpe, attaching a white harness to his own chest. "Don't touch anything."

 

~-~

 

Joey, grabbed the base of the TV and with great exertion, hurled it at Zoom; by the time it'd left his hands, Zoom was already on the other side of the room. "Youuuuuuuuu know traaaaaaaaageeeeeeedy, don't you, Firebuuuuuuug?" he taunted him. "I wooooooooonder how much mooooooooooore youcantake."

 

"Leave him alone!"

 

With a gesture that could be mistaken for amusement, Zoom turned towards his opponent. "Aaaaand whatofyou, Kite-Maaaaaaaan?"

 

Wounded, but not finished, Chuck had picked himself up, and was raising his fists out in front of him. Admirable, but futile.

 

In an instant, Zoom was behind him; seconds later and Chuck was against a wall again, feeling the cartilage in his nose break. Zoom let him drop, and Chuck gurgled blood on the floor. "Why... Why are you doing this?"

 

Zoom knelt beside him and, with a voice like a whistling kettle, whispered in his ear. "Ihavea message fromthe Jooooooooooker. Anda lesson from meeeeeee."

 

Just as he was just about to impart his knowledge, a silver dart struck Zoom's throat. His beady red eyes looked up; Noah Kuttler, in his white and violet livery, was holding a small dartgun, the sights trained on him. Zoom ran his hand along his throat and removed the tiny dart from his neck.

 

"A speeeeeed dampener," he realised. "Designedto seveeeer myconnectionto The Speeeeeeedforce."

 

"Butiam not poweeeeeered by The Speeeeeeedforce, Mr Kuttleeeeeer."

 

Kuttler's pupils dilated. "What? No, my files-"

 

Zoom rose to his feet, his body crackling with red lightning. "Youmadea mistaaaaaaaaake."

 

And in a second, his hand was around Kuttler’s throat. "Imadea mistake once too."

 

"Todaaaaaaaaaaay's lesson?"

 

"Cheateeeeersssssss never prosssssspeeeeeeeeer."

 

"Oh, for Heaven's Sake," the Shadow Man tutted, lifting his black cane with the flick of his wrist; His eyes blackened, the air around him turned into a black mist, Zoom dropped Kuttler in shock and then-

 

Darkness. Pitch black. Impenetrable.

 

Or so it had seemed.

 

Though Chuck's head was spinning, he could hear something reaching out from the shadows. A voice, lurking in the fog.

 

-your fault, you and your damn profiling!

 

- My father's dead, Hunter, he's dead, because of a call you made!

 

- You said... You said he wouldn't have a gun!

 

And then another voice, this time the Shadow Man's, but deeper; raw power dripped off of each word as he issued his warning.

 

"You and your masters are not welcome here, speedster. You would do well to remember that."

 

The shadows lifted, and Zoom was gone. Whatever nightmare he saw in that abyss was enough to frighten him off.

For good? Unlikely. Chuck knew that they'd see him again, just as he knew they couldn't count on any more last minute saves to bail them out.

 

The Shade, collapsed into his chintz armchair. "Oh, bother. Now I'll need to find a new, weekly haunt for tea and scones," the man muttered to himself. "Do give Shiro my regards," the man disappeared behind a cloud of black smoke.

 

===The Mothcave===

 

Batman's eyes glowed white. He came to a stop at one of the trophy cases and frowned. The scanners were picking up a piece of paper stuffed underneath. An envelope. A clue, perhaps? Worth a look, surely. He pushed the case aside and unstuck the letter from the wall. His eyes widened. A date was written on the front. And it was addressed to Drury Walker. He tucked it inside the belt and returned to the matter at hand, his heads-up display signalling high levels of energy coming from a battered purple and orange car.

 

He stepped forward and removed the hood of the Mothmobile; The engine had been torn out, and in its' place sat the familiar metallic drum. The Cloudburst. One hour and thirty minutes left on the timer. Set to go off at Midnight. Purple wires ran down the side of the device, and it was firmly rooted in the car. Any attempt to remove it would surely result in its’ immediate detonation. So, he turned to the interface and sighed. It needed a password. He put his hand to the comms link in his ear and a sigh of resignation escaped his lips. “Jim… There’s been a complication.”

 

~-~

 

Gordon entered the interrogation room, his head heavy. "We found the Cloudburst," he announced to the jackal on the other side of the table.

 

"'We' meaning Batsy, I assume? So he found Cobby Wobby, after all... Heh. Sly as a Flying Fox, that one!" Joker leaned forwards, his grin widening.

 

Gordon removed his glasses, wiping the lenses with a white cloth. "However..." he spoke slowly. "The mechanism requires a code."

 

Joker put on a mocking show of askance surprise. "Oh! Oh dear. I'm afraid I'm awfully scatter-brained these days... The consequences of regular head trauma!” he clicked his tongue for effect. "Now, Jim, Jimbo, James, you know my respect for you is undying, unlike Captain Essen's. Heh. But you know my price! I have something you want; you have something I want!"

 

~-~

 

"We can't just hand him over," Bruce was saying over the comms device he'd left the Commissioner.

 

“What choice do we have?” Gordon asked regrettably, lingering outside the cell block, squishing a loose piece of gum in his pocket.

 

Batman didn’t reply. His silence, damning.

 

Drury, looked up through the bars. "Why? What's happening?"

 

Gordon swallowed. "Mr Walker... Drury. There's an ongoing situation-"

 

He never heard him finish. Two words overtook Drury's thoughts, flooding out everything else; Gordon's words of reassurance, his proposed strategy, all drowned out by two single words. "It's Joker."

 

"Listen. I don't envy you. Yes, if there's a chance he'll talk, it's in our best interests to cooperate... but if you're not comfortable, we don't have to go through with this. We can put you in another room, we bargain with something else. We'll find another way."

 

"No."

 

Gordon looked up, a quizzical expression on his face.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

~-~

 

Gordon sighed, his regret immediate. "Five minutes with Walker. Cameras on. Full restraints. Armed guards stationed outside."

 

If his hands weren't bolted together, Joker would have showered Gordon with a condescending round of applause. "Now, we're talking!"

 

"Give him a pen," Gordon nodded to the nearest officer. The guard uncuffed one of the clown's hands (keeping the other restrained) and placed down a notepad and a piece of paper.

 

"Write it down."

 

Joker's eyes crinkled. "I'm left-handed."

 

~-~

 

With an exasperated sigh, Bruce inputted the password into the console, grimacing. "SMELL U L8R."

 

Then, something peculiar occurred; The device kicked into life, beeping loudly. He'd booby trapped it! The minutes quickly turned into seconds. No time to halt it. Not now. Batman shielded his face with his cape, then boom! The gas filled the room, and it smelt ghastly. Like rotten eggs and spoilt milk, its putrid scent was perhaps the worst thing Bruce had inhaled. But it wasn't lethal. It never had been.

 

A tray opened between the console, and within it was a small box. Bruce pulled the lid back and frowned. Gingerbread Men. But not just any cut-cookie confectionery, these had been decorated to resemble himself, the Joker and one Killer Moth. A greasy note attached to them, written in frankly beautiful calligraphy, read “Sharing the Knight together xoxo.”

Done