Flash Photography #1: The Children of the Batman

==Arkham Island==

 

Eric Needham staggered through the Arkham Forest, leaving dribbles of fresh blood in his wake. Finding a fleeting moment of peace, he rested against an old tree and placed a shaking hand on the side of his hips; Azrael's claw-like gauntlet had torn through him, and the gash it had left was now dripping blood onto the leaf litter below, advertising his movements to his opponent. He needed to change strategies, a fist fight wouldn't cut it. 'Stick to the canopies, keep him at a distance,' he resolved. But this was the middle of Outcast territory and he was out here all alone with no back-up. 'Restrain him, then move on out.' The last thing he wanted was to run into The Pirate himself, or worse, the Speedster.

 

Weighing his options, Needham climbed the nearest tree, and perched atop a branch near the top. Minutes past, and as he sat planning his next move, something caught his eye; he hadn't noticed them at first, but he could now make out a set of deep claw marks leading up the tree bark. Not like Azrael's gauntlet; these were an animal's judging by the space between each claw. Like a dog's, or a-

 

Oh no.

 

Or a cat's.

 

Needham turned around; sat on a nearby branch, was a man clad in black, his emerald eyes glinting in the moonlight, his slit-like pupils contracting. A mouse's tail hung from the man's drooling mouth, still wriggling. A sickening crunch of jaws breaking through bone accompanied the rodent's death squeal; its' tail hung limp, then was sucked behind the man's slobber-stained lips.

 

Needham looked at the man, then at the ground below; Azrael was closing in on him now, as though his glowing sword was guiding him through the woods, towards the 'sinner.' Desperate, Needham gave The King a non-verbal plea. 'We don't have to fight, just pretend you can't see me.'

 

But the King could see him. And with Azrael growing closer still, his night-time patrol had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. He raised his clawed hands, and with a swift stroke, slashed apart the branch Needham was sat on; deciding he wasn't going down alone, Needham grabbed the King's tail on the way down, dragging him with him.

 

The branch hit the ground first. Then Needham. The King landed on all fours; typical; then scampered off, disappearing into the thickets and shrubs of Arkham East. Needham gathered his scattered thoughts, then looked up, his worst fears realised: Azrael was dragging his sword along the frozen ground; orange sparks fizzled and lit up the darkened clearing.

 

Needham rubbed the dirt and drool off his person, and staggered to his feet, fists raised. "Fine. Was never a good Christian anyway," he growled, firing a web bomb at Azrael; pinning him to a nearby tree. But Azrael was relentless, with his free hand, he gripped the handle of his sword; webbing that would normally bind multiple men, came away like silly string with a single sword stroke. Needham checked his belt; he was running low on webbing. Shit.

 

Azrael lunged forwards and getting a lucky shot, scratched Needham's shoulder; the mystical blade shone brighter than before; the single cut incapacitating Needham as images of Linda, Mikey, Ferris filled his head, drawing on his guilt and pain.

 

'That was it.'

 

Before Azrael could perform a killing strike, Needham webbed his sword, using all his strength to wrench it from the man's hands; the blade landed in his hands, and as Azrael ran forward, Needham drew the sword upwards, cutting through Azrael's chainmail.

 

Bright, cleansing light burst from the shallow gash on Azrael’s chest and he fell forwards, the Pirate's influence subsiding at last.

 

Exhausted, Needham stumbled back. "Hhn. I'll be Damned."

 

==Gotham Shipping Yards==

 

On the other side of the city, a hooded figure in a purple costume sat atop a large shipping container, her legs dangling off the side; Stephanie Brown was holding a cracked pair of "Clue" goggles in her hands, something that should have been in the Hall of Justice, alongside all the other Supervillain tech recovered from Nanda Parbat. 'So what was it doing all the way out here?' She removed a card from within the broken spectacles and plugged it into her own mask.

 

Tim's head peered down from the container above hers, his face lined with worry.

 

"Your dad?" he asked, recognising the damaged goggles.

 

Steph nodded uneasily. "Yours?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

 

A bloodied boomerang dropped to the floor, rattling off the corrugated metal surface. "Yeah," he sighed, jumping down to join her. As they together in silent contemplation, a high pitched melodious voice called out to them from below, its' owner's red and black cape blowing in the winter wind:

 

"Robbie and Spoiler sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a golden carriage," the Psycho Pirate sang, clapping his hands along to the beat. Tim extended his bo-staff, as both him and Steph leapt into action, landing on the ground beside Hayden. "You had a baby didn't you, Spoiler?" Hayden pointed with a frail finger. "And you gave it away. Oh, well. That's probably the best thing for it. Imagine Granddad Cluemaster taking your child for ice cream. I bet he never took you for ice cream."

 

"Steph, I've got ear plugs," Tim reached into his belt. "Steph?"

 

"His father did," Hayden tittered. "His father cared sooooooo much. Didn't want him playing dress up. Didn't want him getting hurt. But he didn't factor in a boomerang to the jugular, did he, little Robin?

 

"That's why you resent him," he addressed Spoiler. "That's why you hate him. That's why you want to stomp his face into the ground."

 

"Steph..." Tim grit his teeth, watching as Spoiler's body stiffened, as her fists clenched and she began walking slowly towards him.

 

"Steph, Steph, wait wait wait wait wait!" Tim pleaded, his bo-staff at the ready, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.

 

Beneath his golden mask, the Pirate grinned, and then he was gone, carried off by a cloud of yellow lightning.

 

Tim covered his face, awaiting the onslaught, then... Steph slapped him. Not hard, not maliciously, just a painless tap on the shoulder.

 

He looked up, a confused expression on his face. "You- You're not trying to kill me?"

 

She slapped him again, a little harder.

 

"Course not, I love you, you dummy," she smiled, removing the card from her mask and placing it in Tim's palm. "Guess Dad was good for something after all."

 

Tim examined it, a geeky smile taking hold. "A neural blocker, nice! But, then, why the act-?"

 

"Had to play along," Steph explained. "Zoom would've stepped in if I didn't."

 

==Gotham Waterworks. Outside==

 

Cassandra Cain was perched on a cliff overlooking the ISA Headquarters, snow sliding down her black cowl, her eyes narrowing. Damian had been gone for a couple of minutes now, and she could a faint voice carried by the wind:

 

"Raised by assassins. Trained to kill. It's the same story, isn't it? Your story. So why does she get preferential treatment?

 

You know why.

 

Because he can look her in the eyes and not be reminded of his failures."

 

That voice... Melodious. Childish. Sadistic. It was Hayden's and from the sounds of things, he already had Damian. Cassandra kept her guard up, but outwardly, acted as though she suspected nothing was wrong. Until he drew his sword:

 

"I am the blood son! By all rights, I am his heir! And I shall not be usurped!" he spat, launching himself high above her head.

 

A single nerve strike took him out.

 

From a rocky alcove around the corner, The Pirate's pale eyes watched, a slight twinge of dissatisfaction coming over him. But it was nothing compared to the disappointment that took hold of him once Zoom ran in front of him, cutting 'playtime' short.

 

"We're leeeeeeaaaaaaaving," Zoom hissed, his suit stained with a mix of blood and cranberry sauce.

 

"That's not fair!" Hayden crossed his arms petulantly. "You got to play with the Misfits!"

 

"Thisisnot up for debaaaaaaaaate, Mr Haaaaaaayden," Zoom warned, and taking hold of his arm, they vanished into the night.

 

===GCPD. Outside===

 

Nightwing and Red Hood's fight had dragged onto the streets below; Dick bounced off the alley walls, using his acrobatics to get the edge on his younger brother; Jason favoured brute strength, having almost exhausted all his ammunition; he hurled a grenade at Dick while he was swinging from a ladder on the fire escape, knocking him down. Dick threw his baton; it ricocheted off the nearby garage door, hurtling towards Jason; he caught it, but didn't account for the charge; Dick pressed a button on his gloves, and a blast of electricity blinded Jason. Jason discarded his red helmet, and while distracted, Dick tackled him. Jason, elbowed him in the face, then grabbed a mix of snow and gravel from the pavement and tossed it in Dick's eyes. Disorientated, Dick flinched, giving Jason the opportunity to trap him in a headlock.

 

Before he could choke him out, a long black car pulled up to the alleyway. Jason's eyes narrowed as the car door opened and an impeccably dressed man exited, holding a two-barrelled shotgun, and firmly closing the door shut behind him.

 

"That is quite enough, Master Todd," the man warned.

 

Jason's featured softened. "You won't shoot me, Alfred," he scoffed.

 

"Of course not. You're as much my sons as Master Bruce's. Fortunately, I won't have to."

 

Beneath him, Dick headbutted Jason; stunned, he toppled backwards; Alfred dropped his shotgun, and tossed Dick a sedative from his medical bag, and Dick anaesthetised him. Jason growled an apology as he regained his senses and slumped over unconscious in Dick's arms.

 

"Sorry, bud," Dick apologised, before turning back to Alfred. "What now?"

 

"You can start by helping me escort Master Jason into the backseat. Then we are getting you patched up, Master Dick."

 

"Alright," he laughed in response.

 

Behind them, a large shockwave emanated from within the Police Department; the windows blew out, and glass shot outwards onto the street; Dick shielded Alfred with his body as shards of glass littered the pavement.

 

"Bruce was inside-!" Alfred gasped, rising to his feet.

 

"I can't raise him on comms," Dick frowned, his own worry subsiding once he caught Alfred's expression. "We'll find him, Alfred. What do you need me to do?"

 

Alfred ran his hand through his thinning hair, as the SAS agent in him took over. "I have an EMT uniform in the trunk, quickly now,"

 

==Sionis Penthouse. Downtown==

 

"-explosion from inside the GCPD. Three prisoners are unaccounted for, including Drury Walker. Commissioner Gordon has been rushed to Gotham General and a spokesperson has said that he is now stabilised. Reports say both The Batman and The Joker were inside the precinct when it-"

 

"Sir, we found it," Li chapped politely at the door.

 

Sionis muted the TV. "Good. Send 'em in."

 

The Sea Fox entered the room, dripping seawater onto the varnished floor. Two of his henchmen trailed behind him, carrying a large fish net.

 

"Well, you get points for presentation," Sionis murmured, sticking his hands into the net, and retrieving the sea-battered mask of Harlan Combs. Combs' head, fell out the bottom, and rolled across the ground.

 

Sionis' beady red eyes tracked the head as it rolled underneath his dresser. "Li?" he sighed.

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"Get the cleaners in here."

 

==ISA Headquarters==

 

Chuck awoke to Flannegan prodding his arm with the base of his staff. He was lying on a bed, in some kind of hospital wing. As he looked around the room, he realised that 'laboratory' might have been more accurate; noting all kinds of jars, vials and half dissected animals.

 

"What happened?" he asked at last,

 

"Long or short answer?" Flannegan grunted.

 

"Short, please," Chuck sighed, clutching his thumping head.

 

"You got your asses kicked."

 

Chuck rolled his eyes, resting his head against the plump pillow, undoubtedly filled with Thanagarian feathers.

 

Flannegan inhaled a puff from his cigarette, then stamped it out on Chuck's bedsheet. "Fortunately, the Lizard of Waverly Place patched you up. Mind, you do look a little greener 'round the gills... Did ya have gills before?"

 

"What?" Panicked, Chuck shot upright and ran his hand along his mercifully smooth neck.

 

"Joking! Those two-" he nodded to Ten and Bridget, watching from the side with relieved faces, "-had just come back from whatever bible studies class they were at. They're the ones that called me. Luckily, I was already in the area."

 

"You mean you were in the sewers," Chuck realised, taking a gulp from the glass of water beside him.

 

"I do."

 

"God, it's all such a blur..." Chuck explained, resting his forehead in his hand. "We were in the kitchen, Gar came in trying to rouse us all, then Zoom, and- Drury! Joker was on the TV, he was-"

 

Flannegan placed his hand on Chuck's shoulder with surprising tenderness, and right then Chuck knew. He didn't even have to say the words: "I'm sorry, Brown."

 

===<???>===

 

The hallway was enveloped in scarlet light, as a round portal tore through the stale air. A single figure, dressed in a red cape, black tuxedo and a large square helmet stepped through. He ran his hands along the wallpaper and picked off a thin layer of dust; his excited breaths echoing behind his camera-like mask as he took in the surroundings. The house had been abandoned for months now, but most of its' furnishings remained. And the pictures. Oh, so many pictures.

 

As he walked, the lens opened and closed, the action accompanied by a loud "shutter" noise. He propped the nearest door open, the floor below him creaking as he entered the pink-coloured bedroom. He cast his eyes over to the bed, almost entirely covered by stuffed animals of every genus. His gloved hand wandered over one such bear, his mask making that same loud "clicking" noise. Then, something else caught his eye; a selections of photos on the corkboard on the farthest wall, their edges brushed with glitter. Oh, he did so like photos.

 

The next room, could only be the bedroom of a teenaged boy; untidy, its floor littered with old comic books and gag jokes. The man frowned as he peeled a plastic mound of fake dung from the base of his shoe. Continuing on, he shifted the pillow to one side, discovering a single photo below; a picture of a blond boy and a dark-haired girl; the boy he knew, of course, but it was the girl he was drawn to. It was her. The thespian's little scene partner. Beneath his mask, he smiled, as he tucked the photo inside his breast pocket and continued into the next rooms; a large bedroom with an empty aquarium, a pre-schooler's bedroom, complete with a purple and orange racing car bed, a fifth bedroom with a small workbench and scraps of purple and yellow fabric.

 

This pattern continued as he went from room to room, his helm clicking as he collected a portfolio of photos. He next entered the guest bedroom; a cream coloured room marked with grey scorch marks, with a collection of DVDs stacked beside the television, cult classics mostly. Out of curiosity, he picked one of the cases up, his stance stiffening as he recognised the film: Dread Castle. An anger taking hold of him, he tossed the plastic case to the ground; the silver disk slid out, then he shattered it with the base of his foot.

 

As his mission drew to a close, he at last found the master bedroom: He took a whiff of old perfume from a half empty bottle on the dresser, he rubbed the yellow strands of a blonde wig peaking out the top drawer. A single moth fluttered out of the large, wooden wardrobe on his right. Then, he crouched under the bed, clutching the hem of his cape as though he were curtseying, and unearthed a battered, dusty shoe box from below. Bingo.

 

He did so like photos.

Done