Dead Man Walker #1: Beautiful Morning

==Arkham North: Grounds==

 

Arkham Island; A sprawling, weather-weathered rock situated off the coast of the mainland, connected by a single rusting suspension bridge. Built atop its’ infertile ground are foreboding, gothic buildings designed to treat and soothe Gotham’s lost souls; No more. Its’ legacy tarnished by blood and insanity, once again controlled by former patients and lunatics, Arkham Asylum serves a new purpose now: To hurt. To harm. Not to cure madness, but to create it. Cultivate it. Nurture it.

 

Ironically, it was Amadeus’ great-nephew, Jeremiah, who was the first patient under the new mandate. Next, it was the pencil; sly, crafty Leonard Fiasco, who infiltrated the island with the express intent to snuff out its occupants. It didn’t work.

 

Now, they had Drury Walker under lock and key. Poor Drury, the Anti-Batman, Gotham’s one-time mayor, back in the Asylum, trapped behind stone walls and metal bars, trading one prison for another.

 

A gloved fist, clad in purple, tightened, and the wrought iron gates gave way for the rescue party. A light fog shielded their approach from the many eyes of their opponents as The Weather Wizard waved a slender gold wand above his head. High above them, a yellow kite soared, its green-clad wearer monitoring the grounds below. From above, nothing looked out of place. But then, of course, Chuck realised, that nothing would, so long as Billings was maintaining the illusion.

 

Trying to make small talk, Paul Booker leaned over to the golden man on his right, Lord Manga, whose loyal lackey, L-Ron, was carefully dragging a cart laden with cardboard boxes and plastic tupperware behind them. “So, uh, you know this Dewey guy or what?” Booker inquired.

 

“Can it,” Mick Rory warned, his white outfit illuminated by the lit match held in his ungloved hand.

 

“Just making conversation! Jeez! What’s in there anyway?” Booker asked, finally addressing the large cart Manga’s assistant was trundling along. “Ammo?”

 

“Hah!” Manga replied jovially. “Something far more valuable!” he chuckled coyly, tapping the side of his non-existent nose.

 

A punch to the arm prevented Booker from making another comment. “I mean it, you’ll give away our position,” Rory scowled. “We’re exposed as is. Who’s to say Kite-Man didn’t cut a deal with the clown to deliver us to him on a silver platter?”

 

The group was silent for a moment, contemplating Rory’s words as doubt began to spread through their otherwise vacant minds.

 

“You trust Gar, don’t you? Firefly?” Norbert inquired, his opal wings fluttering as he lowered himself onto the cold ground beside them.

 

“Yeah,” Rory replied gruffly, the flame casting a skull-like shadow on his face.

 

”He trusts Kite-Man,” Norbert continued. “And there is nothing Garfield Lynns nor myself wouldn’t do to keep Drury safe.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Norbert moved onwards with the rest of the group, leaving Rory alone with his flames.

 

“S’what worries me,” he remarked, softly and solemnly.

 

===The Caverns Below===

 

Following the island’s hostile takeover, many of the tunnels and entrances below were blocked off or locked down by Arkham’s new occupants. However, there remained a select few passages, unknown even to the Joker, that were easily accessible so long as you had the right network. In Otis Flannegan’s case, that network consisted of hundreds of flea-ridden rats, who guided him and his charges through the shallow waters and abandoned caverns beneath the island’s surface. As they waded through the sewers, Basil Karlo left behind a thin trail of brown sediment, floating on the water’s surface. The parallels to his son’s demise, the outcome of his last futile rescue attempt, did not go unnoticed by him or The Ratcatcher.

 

Distracted, Eric Needham’s face twitched beneath his mask, as a smell distinct from the stench of raw sewage wafted up his nostrils. “What’s that stink?” he grimaced, wrapping his hand across his nose. Bridget sniffed then recoiled, also picking up the foul stench.

 

“Not me,” Flannegan responded sharply.

 

“Nor I,” Karlo declared, as the quartet approached a large gate blocking their path. Without another word, Karlo’s form shifted as he slid through the grate, reconfiguring on the other side. He pulled the lever and the iron bars retreated into the walls. As a slight beam of moonlight bore down on them, Needham lowered his goggles, looking above them.

 

“This part of Arkham collapsed during the quake. They built the new facility on top, never bothered to shift the debris. Or the bodies. If I can find something to latch my webs onto, I reckon I can climb up to the surface,” Needham hypothesised. As he replaced his web cartridges with a stronger material, Karlo interrupted him with a morose observation.

 

“Spider… I believe I’ve found the source of your odor.”

 

“Christ,” Flannegan grimaced, swinging his lantern forward to get a clearer look.

 

Bodies. Guards were lined up along the walls: they had been dead for at least a month, going off the degree of decay, but their expressions remained intact; faces frozen in eternal terror; they were chained up to wooden spikes, dried, brownish blood dripping from the nails driven through their wrists to keep them bound.

 

“God, it’s like they’ve been crucified,” Bridget gasped.

 

“Not crucified,” Needham corrected her, his voice full of disgust. “Crucifixion specifically requires the victim to be nailed onto a cross. Like this, they’re more like-”

 

“Scarecrows,” Bridget realised. Her body stiffened, but her eyes never left the guards’.

 

“We should keep moving,” Needham spoke, after a moments’ silence spent mourning victims none of them had known. Bridget nodded, then took Flannegan’s place at the front of the group, now motivated by the frozen, fear-stricken faces of deceased fathers and mothers, their lives lost to The Scarecrow.

 

==Arkham West. The Beach==

 

Barely visible against the night sky, a lone submarine broke through the icy perimeter of the island. A mechanical hissing accompanied the opening of the top hatch as a group of three exited. Within the metal bowels of the craft, Gaige lowered a yellow diver’s helmet over his red bandana and turned to the remaining occupants. “Navigation is on autopilot; if we’re not back in an hour, you flick that switch and it’ll take you back to the penthouse. Don’t try looking for us, don’t try and do anything stupid. There’s honour in retreating. There’s jackshit in getting yourselves killed. Got that?”

 

“Just get our dad back,” Simon nodded, fully understanding the risks his granddad was undertaking.

 

“And if you can’t-“

 

“Axel!” Kitten squealed.

 

“- if you can’t, kill the bastards. Kill them all, yeah?” Axel implored him.

 

“Gaige,” Gar stuck his head down the open hatch, an impatience to his tone.

 

“Just sit still,” Gaige demanded, as he attached a barbed hook to his harpoon. Emerging from the submarine, he found Ten, Gar and Joey already waiting for him on the shore. Joey ignited his firesword to light their path and they continued onwards, wet sand sticking to their heels as they walked across the beach. Joey carved through the wall with his blade, then he and Gar pushed the carving aside, unveiling a small service corridor, the floor rattling as the men took turns stepping through.

 

After five minutes spent walking in silence, Ten raised a splayed hand, his jaw clenching. “I have heat signs.”

 

==Arkham East: Botanical Gardens==

 

The Botanical Gardens had been erected by Amadeus long ago in memory of his wife Constance and daughter Harriet, the final victims of Mad Dog Hawkins, one of Arkham’s own patients. But like the rest of his island, it had fallen into disrepair and ruin; glass shards and shriveled up plants now lined the cobblestone path. It was here, Needham had theorised, that the King of Cats had made his home, surrounded by the jungles ruled by his namesake. It was here, Blake vowed, that the King’s reign would end, once and for all.

 

Gripping the end of his sheathed katana, Blake’s ears twitched, his nose wrinkled, as every smell, every noise, became a clue to the King’s location. It was, admittedly, a task made slightly more challenging due to the loud hissing of Sharpe’s vape pen and the sickly-sweet smell of its strawberry-scented vapors. Through dried vines and past dead flowers, the trio of Misfits descended further into the glasshouse until they at last arrived at the aviary; a sprawling arena of bottomless chasms and high ceilings.

 

“Shush. Listen,” Drake commanded his comrades.

 

After a minute’s silence, Blake raised his head. “I can’t hear anything,” he conceded, his hand on his sword.

 

Drake twirled the end of his mustache thoughtfully. “Precisely. If this is an aviary, where are all the birds?”

 

“Guess they flew the coop,” Sharpe smirked, lowering his vape pen, if only for a moment.

 

Drake tutted, casting his eyes back at his younger associate in silent contempt. “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he murmured. He lifted his sole from the ground, revealing a clump of bones and feathers beneath his boot.

 

Blake knelt beside the bones, still drenched in fresh slobber, and was overtaken by a horrific realisation. “HE CAN SMELL US!” he exclaimed suddenly, ripping the vape pen from Sharpe’s hand and tossing it into the treetops.

 

It never hit the ground. A black silhouette slinked out from behind the tree trunk, and inhaled a puff of strawberry vapors. “I thought I detected the sweet scent of strawberry,” the King giggled. “I believe this is yours.”

 

“You can keep it,” Sharpe decided resolutely.

 

==Metropolis: The Bowman Estate==

 

Although merely a front intended to disguise the Signalman's resurrection, Louis Bowman’s Metropolis mansion had been fully furnished with carefully selected furniture to maintain the illusion of a lived-in domicile. This naturally applied to the master bedroom also, as a large ornate mirror stood proud and tall amongst other impersonal, personal effects. There was a sudden crackle of energy, then a group of six emerged through the reflective surface.

 

“Now, ahm going back ta reinforce tha Rogues at Arkham, but I’ll be back ta pick yous up later. Ah trust yous can make your way ta the basement from here, aye?” McCulloch asked, running a hand through his orange hair.

 

“Quite. That will be all, Mr McCulloch,” Nygma smiled, with an underlying condescension.

 

“Ya sure? Cause ah could give ya a swift kick up tha backside if ya like, ya emerald git,” McCulloch offered.

 

“That’s fine, Evan. Thanks,” Jenna stepped in between the two of them.

 

“Aye, alright hen,” McCulloch sniffled. There was a second crackle as he retreated into the mirror, leaving the rest of the group to their own devices.

 

As they walked down the halls of the mansion, Jenna reached into the pouch of her dungarees and retrieved her phone, entering a number. “We’re in. You?”

 

"Arrived five minutes ago,” Gar’s voice replied. “Ten thinks he’s got something. If it’s not him, it’ll be someone who knows where he is.”

 

“It could also be Zoom,” Jenna reminded him.

 

“Could be,” Gar conceded. “Worse ways to die, least it’d be quick.”

 

He was joking, of course, but there was a note of acceptance in his tone Jenna didn’t like. She inhaled, then put the phone to her lips. “You just come back, ok? I-“

 

Static. The phone had cut out in the time spent contemplating her next words. As she attempted to dial again, Kuttler stopped her.

 

“Save your breath. There’s an energy field blocking our comms, he won’t hear you,” he spoke clinically. “I suggest that, when this is over, you tell him in person.”

 

Nygma’s ears pricked up slightly. “Curious,” he murmured, gripping his cane with renewed resolve.

 

“How do you know what I was about to say?” Jenna interrogated Kuttler, pushing out her chest defensively.

 

Kuttler smiled softly. “Red cheeks? Shortness of breath? I can tell,” he admitted; he was speaking from experience, judging by the slight lilt in his tone.

 

“Are you OK? Was it something you ate?” Mayo asked Jenna, his face lined with concern, misinterpreting her ‘symptoms.’ Behind him, Tockman tutted, longing for Big Sir’s company for the first time in his life.

 

~-~

 

It was now or never. With everyone in position, Chuck repositioned himself, giving himself a clear line of sight on his target. “I’m going in,” he spoke into his comms unit; pulling a chord on his harness, his kite lowered him onto the roof of the intensive treatment building then retreated back inside his backpack. The logo on his chest lit up like a torch, guiding him to the roof access door. But before he could open it, a familiar yellow blur knocked him back.

 

“Didyou reeeeeeeeeally think youcouldbreach our perimeter so eaaaaaaaasily? Did you reeeeeeally think we wouldn’t knoooooooow? Ordidyou just not caaaaaaaaare?” Zoom’s voice crackled, carried by the wind.

 

Chuck wiped the blood off his chin, as he picked himself back up. He looked across the rooftop, scanning for his opponent; nothing. Like he was never there. But he was there. Chuck knew he was. He was just too-

 

Fast.

 

The second punch knocked Chuck off the roof. In free-fall, he tried to unfurl his harness. He had to unfurl his harness; he was too far away from the rest of the group, too far away from the water. But his hands were frigid from the snow, his head was dizzy from the punch. If he could just reach the strap, if he could just-

 

‘Hell yeah.’

 

Twenty feet above the ground, the harness finally opened; just enough time to save his life, not enough to do it gracefully. Chuck rolled along the ground, his face scraping against the frozen surface; something broke along the way, it might have been his arm, but at least he was alive. At least he was-

 

No.

 

Zoom had beaten him to the bottom, of course he had. He cocked his head to one side, examining a fresh set of students, ready to be taught his lessons. His features may have been distorted, but Chuck knew he was smiling. “Do you consider yourself a herooooooo Kite-Maaaaaaaan?” he slurred. “Youhavebrought meeeeen and womeeeeeeen intothis waaaaaaar. Your waaaaar. Todie. Great heroooooooes arebornfrom traaaaaaaaagedy. Letmeshow you hoooooow.”

 

===Van Cleer Manor===

 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

 

Drury slammed the top of the alarm clock, silencing it, then rose out of bed with an eagerness reminiscent of a child on Christmas Morning. “Good morning, Tiger Lily,” he beamed, kissing the tangled mess of blonde hair on the pillow beside him.

 

“Whattimeisit,” the hair mound replied drowsily.

 

Even hairier than the mound, a golden bundle of fur knocked down the bedroom door and set about licking the pair into submission.

 

“I’m up, I’m up!” Miranda protested, rolling away from the labrador’s tongue in a display of futile resistance.

 

“Hey, Merry, Merry,” Drury chuckled, pulling the tail-wagging misfit off of his wife. “Go wake Cruella.”

 

“Cruella is quite alright, you insecure twat,” Gaige announced his presence with his signature poise. “Paper,” he grumbled, dropping a copy of the Gotham Gazette into Drury’s lap.

 

“Ta,” Drury winked, reading the headline aloud. “‘Mayor Walker announces free school lunches in New Healthy Eating initiative.’ Hey, I already knew that. I was there. I did that. Aw, they used the Cake Day picture?” he frowned at the picture of him, his mouth covered in white frosting. “That is aggressively counterproductive and extremely provocative. Let me guess, Ryder wrote this?” he asked despondently, confirming his question with a glance at the byline. “What a creep.”

 

 

~-~

 

Drury finished tightening his tie and hung his mayoral lanyard around his neck, all the while singing along to the radio. “It’s a beautiful morning, uhuh, I think I’ll go outside for a while and just smile doodoodoodoo.” He poured himself another cup of coffee, added four sugars and slurped loudly. ‘Healthy eating indeed… Ah well, do as I say, not as I do.’ He filed away the last of his papers into his briefcase, kissed Kitten’s cheek, Cammy’s forehead and the wall Axel was leaning against mere seconds ago, then wiped the toast crumbs from his face.

 

“Drury,” Miranda called after him suddenly. “You forgot your cufflinks.”

 

“Do I have to?” Drury asked back playfully, like a reluctant child.

 

“Yes,” she tutted, playing the part of exasperated schoolteacher, but with an element of playfulness to her tone. “You do," she warned, presenting him with a neat black box. Inside were his favourite pair of sterling silver cufflinks, insect shaped, like butterflies or something similar. Drury had never quite figured out what they were supposed to be. It didn’t matter. Miranda had got them for him as a Christmas present years ago, and that was enough.

 

“Here,” she clutched his sleeve and began popping the metal studs in. As she did, Drury’s gaze followed hers. Smitten, now and always.

 

===City Hall===

 

Drury practically danced up the stone steps as he approached his bodyguard waiting for him at the entrance. Already, Garth was beaming back at him.

 

“Jimmy G, gimme five!” Drury greeted him with a raised palm.

 

“Morning, sir,” his bodyguard replied, accepting his high five with unprofessional enthusiasm as they made their way upstairs.

 

“What’s first on the itinerary?” Drury inquired.

 

“Mrs Grange wanted to talk to you about the gala. I’ve told her you can swing by quickly, but-"

 

“Not for too long, right?” Drury chuckled.

 

“Right,” Garth confirmed, wiping away their smiles as they entered the assistant mayor’s office.

 

“Give it to me, Marion, what are we looking at here?” Drury asked, sitting opposite her.

 

Grange massaged her temples, her face lined with stress wrinkles. “The Gala is scheduled for 1pm sharp Saturday. Mortimer Drake has already spent half the treasury on parade floats. You will be there, I take it?”

 

“Saturday… Saturday… Not a lot rhymes with Saturday…” Drury swiveled his chair back and forth. “I thought Sally would've talked to you. My youngest’s got an end of term play I can’t miss that afternoon. Really can’t miss. My wife’s sharpening her sword!”

 

Drury paused. Miranda didn’t have a sword. Why would he say- As his mind began to wander, a voice whispered into his ear. A gentle, melodious whisper that washed away all his doubt and confusion. “Don’t worry, why would you worry? Isn’t this what you wanted? What you always wanted? It is, isn’t it? Drury Walker. Mayor Drury Walker. So, why don’t you smile? Smile for me, Drury.”

 

“Mr Mayor, are you alright?” Grange asked, leaning forward in an attempt to discern his faraway gaze.

 

“Huh?” Drury’s frown vanished instantly, replaced with his usual boyish smile. “Yeah, sorry. It was nothing. Just a joke.”

 

~-~

 

That night was the darkest it had been in a while, with just a single star in the sky like a spotlight shining above them. A blue and silver lead was wrapped around Drury’s wrist as his golden labrador plodded happily beside him. Then, out of nowhere, her ears drooped, her tail retreated between her legs and she let out a low, fearful whine.

 

“What is it, girl, eh? What do you see?” Drury asked, stroking the top of her head. It was of little comfort to Merry. Her tail raised and she started barking. Loud, aggressive barks into the alleyway in front of them.

 

“It’s just people, Merry. You like people. It’s OK, it’s OK, darling,” Drury sighed, as he attempted to reassure her. He tugged on the lead, just slightly, then fed her a bone-shaped biscuit. Still suspicious, Merry plodded onwards, her black nose still twitching.

 

An orange silhouette returned to the shadows

 

~-~

 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Leonard Fiasco raised his broom like a lance as man and dog entered My Alibi. “I’m not having that health hazard in my bar!” he demanded, clicking his fingers aggressively.

 

“It’s OK, Drury’s been vetted,” Gar smirked from his barstool, running a comb through his thick black perm.

 

“You know I mean the flea-flicker, Lynns. It licks its’ own arsehole!” Len countered.

 

“So does Blake and you let him stay. Hello, girl,” Gar smiled, offering his hand to the dog’s anteater tongue.

 

“Blake pays,” Fiasco muttered, begrudgingly pouring Drury’s usual.

 

“Thanks, Len.” Drury looked down into his beer and saw a face looking back at him that he didn’t recognise; hollowed cheeks, a scraggy beard, a swollen eye and bruised skin from a beating he couldn’t remember. It was him and yet it wasn’t. More than just beaten, the reflection was… empty. He gripped his pint glass and sighed, involuntary tears distorting the image as they trickled into the liquid.

 

“Hey,” Gar nudged his hand. “You alright, Dru?”

 

“Me? Yeah,” Drury smiled, that melodious voice echoing in his head. “Well, Merry’s a little unsettled… She’s started barking at thin air again. Bet the Bat-Hound doesn’t do that.”

 

Gar frowned. “Bat Hound…?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Drury nodded, taking another sip. “Batman’s dog.”

 

Gar and Len shared an uncomfortable look. “It’s your turn,” Fiasco murmured.

 

Gar exhaled, looking into the bottom of his glass. “Drury… We’ve been over this. There’s no such thing as a ‘Bat-Man.’”

 

Done