Faith in Gotham, part thirteen.
(Parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve.
Part the thirteenth, which is very talky, fairly wangsty, and contains material that may prove injurious to public morals, as well as yet more evidence that I'll go to any lengths for a cheap and tasteless joke.
Faith was shifting in her seat.
"Are you okay?"
"I got shot in the butt, remember?"
"It barely creased you."
"It still stings like a motherfudger. And damn, this suit is tight."
"Do you mean tight as in good, or as in constrictive?"
"Kind of both. It's not doing my rack any favours."
"Sorry. We modified it out of one of my old suits. Alfred was guessing at your, uh, size, and there was only so far we could adjust it without giving up on body armour entirely."
"And you didn't even give me a cape." Faith hitched up her mask to scratch the bridge of her nose, then winced. "These ears look really dorky, and I don't even have a crazy bat-looking cape to back them up."
"The ears serve as antennae. The cape is awkward unless you've trained with it."
"Still feels like I'm playing dress-up."
He had to smile at that. "I find it helps to adopt a persona."
"A persona?"
"The Batman is a creature of primal fury," he said. "When I put on the mask, I channel all my anger into the persona."
She sniggered. "I've never been good at the whole healthy outlet thing. Mostly it just feels like I'm trying to be something I'm not."
Bruce mentally compared this comment to what she had said about trust a few days earlier, but chose not to comment.
***
And it was an hour later. Various and sundry gentlemen of the type whose overly-muscular bodies are adorned with single-colour tattoos of intriguing symbiology were acquainting themselves with the floor. The Batman was examining a rather nasty -- but, he determined, not life-threatening -- set of gashes that one of their opponents had gained in the course of an overzealous attempt to introduce a firearm to their brief altercation. Faith, resting one boot on a prone pugilist, was going through the contents of a crate that her footstool had been foolish enough to throw at her head.
It appeared to contain a selection of DVDs geared towards the discerning bachelor market.
"What's this? I Cream on Jeannie, Hung Wankenstein, Dirty Larry 2: The Head Pool, Bareback Mountain, Asswolf -- please tell me that's not what I think it is -- Happy Lays, Logjammin' -- ooh, all points lost for non-referential title -- The Twilight Bone, Sperminator 4, The A Cup Team -- dude, she looks about twelve. I'm really glad I broke your face."
The battered thug could only groan.
"The freaky schoolgirl thing aside, is this stuff actually illegal?"
Batman's voice was a low growl. "It's hijacked."
"So we're heroically protecting the profit margins of a bunch of pornographers."
"We're working our way up the chain." He reached down, grabbed one stunned thug by the back of his jacket. "This one will wake up soon."
"He doesn't look the talkative type." Faith was suddenly worried -- what might her "heroic" partner be about to do?
"He'll talk to me."
"You're gonna put the fear of God into him, huh?"
"God's not scary enough. Pop the trunk."
***
"So, where are we taking him?"
"Somewhere he'll be afraid to stay."
"... Okay, dude, I didn't mention this earlier, but we're not dealing with bad guys any more. Could you quit with the Bat-voice? It sounds like you're about to flip out and kill somebody."
He cleared his throat. "That's the point. The Batman is..."
"Third person."
"What?"
"You're talking about yourself in the third person. It makes you sound like a pretentious douche."
"As opposed to when I'm squiring you to hospital fundraisers, when I sound like a vapid douche."
"Touche."
Bruce turned into a side street. "The point, as I said, is that Batman is meant to come across as a manifestation of rage, barely held in check. If I sound sane and reasonable, people will be a lot less scared of me."
"You enjoy scaring people?" Faith sounded troubled.
"No. It's just something I need to do."
"I used to like it when people were afraid of me. I mean, I'm not exactly scary to look at, but there's a moment -- when I pull a knife, or when they feel how hard I can hit, or when they finally realise they're going to lose -- when you can feel the fear. And it feels awesome. It's kind of like, uh..." She trailed off.
"That's not why I do this."
"Yeah, but is it why you do it this way? Look, I'm not gonna tell you how to do your job. You gotta make your own screw-ups. Just... try to make sure you're not scaring people just because you can."
The Batmobile came to a halt. Faith peered out the passenger window at a large warehouse, another empty derelict in a sea of victims of Gotham's never-quite-ended recession.
"I guess in Gotham, no one can hear you scream."
"Just stay in the shadows. Don't let him get a clear look at you. Let his imagination run wild."
"Okay. So who am I supposed to be, anyway?"
Bruce paused. "Batwoman?"
"I don't know. In this outfit -- weird mask, no cape -- I don't feel very..."
"Batlike?"
"Womanly."
"The suit has an inhuman element to it."
"The suit has a dorky element to it."
"Make sure you say that in front of him." The gravel had re-entered Bruce's voice. "It's sure to help." The Batman popped the trunk.
***
Elton Carter didn't consider himself a bad man. He knew that his job was technically illegal, but it wasn't like it was actually hurting anybody. Which didn't mean he wouldn't hurt you, if you got in his face or got in his way, but that was just standing up for himself, like a man should.
Tonight had started out well. They'd been moving a truckload of DVDs they'd hijacked last week for his boss -- who he was fairly certain was a bad man, and was sure as hell a scary man -- and he'd already been thinking about how he'd spend his share of the cut. Next thing he knew the Batman had hit them.
That wasn't fair. Batman was supposed to go after mobsters like Maroni and freaks like the Joker, not ordinary guys trying to make a buck or two. The other thing that wasn't fair? Batman wasn't alone. He didn't get a good look at whoever it was hit him, but from the way his jaw hurt it had been a big guy.
When he woke up, it was pitch dark. He was tied to a seriously uncomfortable chair and he couldn't see a thing. And there was someone breathing nearby.
"Who's there?" He asked.
A shadow moved, black against the blackness. He sensed as much as saw the creature that was looming over him.
"Hello, Elton," a voice growled, hoarse with anger.
The fear began.
***
Faith had left early. She was sitting on the hood of the Batmobile when he emerged, her cowl off, a scowl on her face.
"Tell me you don't get off on that."
"The Batman..."
"Fuck it, don't give me that shit. And take your mask off. I thought you were a good guy. I thought you were all about doing the right thing for people. I mean, yeah, you killed a couple of bad guys, but you'd been pushed right to the fucking edge, and I figured you were doing it for the right reasons. You really are that smug dumbass, aren't you? Only it's not enough for you to be richer than everyone, you've got to have this big secret that lets you fuck people over and leave them pissing themselves with fear, just so you know you're better."
"I --"
"Take that goddamn mask off."
Bruce paused, then reached up and unfastened his cowl. He glanced around briefly, but the area was deserted and he was safe in the shadows.
He pulled away the mask. "I didn't kill them."
"Who?"
"Those people. Detective Wurtz, Salvatore Maroni, his driver Michael Vitali -- I didn't kill them."
"Then who..."
"I can't tell you that. I can tell you why I let them call me a murderer, though."
"Why?"
"Because the Batman is an idiot playboy in a dorky outfit, and people were beginning to figure that out. Because fear isn't an indulgence, it's a weapon. I have to keep people afraid, I have to keep them convinced that the Batman is an insane monster who will kill them if he gets them angry enough. And because I failed."
He paused, then pulled the mask back into place. "I thought I could be a symbol, to inspire the good people to help themselves. I was wrong. Now all I can do is give the bad people something to fear."
Part the thirteenth, which is very talky, fairly wangsty, and contains material that may prove injurious to public morals, as well as yet more evidence that I'll go to any lengths for a cheap and tasteless joke.
Faith was shifting in her seat.
"Are you okay?"
"I got shot in the butt, remember?"
"It barely creased you."
"It still stings like a motherfudger. And damn, this suit is tight."
"Do you mean tight as in good, or as in constrictive?"
"Kind of both. It's not doing my rack any favours."
"Sorry. We modified it out of one of my old suits. Alfred was guessing at your, uh, size, and there was only so far we could adjust it without giving up on body armour entirely."
"And you didn't even give me a cape." Faith hitched up her mask to scratch the bridge of her nose, then winced. "These ears look really dorky, and I don't even have a crazy bat-looking cape to back them up."
"The ears serve as antennae. The cape is awkward unless you've trained with it."
"Still feels like I'm playing dress-up."
He had to smile at that. "I find it helps to adopt a persona."
"A persona?"
"The Batman is a creature of primal fury," he said. "When I put on the mask, I channel all my anger into the persona."
She sniggered. "I've never been good at the whole healthy outlet thing. Mostly it just feels like I'm trying to be something I'm not."
Bruce mentally compared this comment to what she had said about trust a few days earlier, but chose not to comment.
***
And it was an hour later. Various and sundry gentlemen of the type whose overly-muscular bodies are adorned with single-colour tattoos of intriguing symbiology were acquainting themselves with the floor. The Batman was examining a rather nasty -- but, he determined, not life-threatening -- set of gashes that one of their opponents had gained in the course of an overzealous attempt to introduce a firearm to their brief altercation. Faith, resting one boot on a prone pugilist, was going through the contents of a crate that her footstool had been foolish enough to throw at her head.
It appeared to contain a selection of DVDs geared towards the discerning bachelor market.
"What's this? I Cream on Jeannie, Hung Wankenstein, Dirty Larry 2: The Head Pool, Bareback Mountain, Asswolf -- please tell me that's not what I think it is -- Happy Lays, Logjammin' -- ooh, all points lost for non-referential title -- The Twilight Bone, Sperminator 4, The A Cup Team -- dude, she looks about twelve. I'm really glad I broke your face."
The battered thug could only groan.
"The freaky schoolgirl thing aside, is this stuff actually illegal?"
Batman's voice was a low growl. "It's hijacked."
"So we're heroically protecting the profit margins of a bunch of pornographers."
"We're working our way up the chain." He reached down, grabbed one stunned thug by the back of his jacket. "This one will wake up soon."
"He doesn't look the talkative type." Faith was suddenly worried -- what might her "heroic" partner be about to do?
"He'll talk to me."
"You're gonna put the fear of God into him, huh?"
"God's not scary enough. Pop the trunk."
***
"So, where are we taking him?"
"Somewhere he'll be afraid to stay."
"... Okay, dude, I didn't mention this earlier, but we're not dealing with bad guys any more. Could you quit with the Bat-voice? It sounds like you're about to flip out and kill somebody."
He cleared his throat. "That's the point. The Batman is..."
"Third person."
"What?"
"You're talking about yourself in the third person. It makes you sound like a pretentious douche."
"As opposed to when I'm squiring you to hospital fundraisers, when I sound like a vapid douche."
"Touche."
Bruce turned into a side street. "The point, as I said, is that Batman is meant to come across as a manifestation of rage, barely held in check. If I sound sane and reasonable, people will be a lot less scared of me."
"You enjoy scaring people?" Faith sounded troubled.
"No. It's just something I need to do."
"I used to like it when people were afraid of me. I mean, I'm not exactly scary to look at, but there's a moment -- when I pull a knife, or when they feel how hard I can hit, or when they finally realise they're going to lose -- when you can feel the fear. And it feels awesome. It's kind of like, uh..." She trailed off.
"That's not why I do this."
"Yeah, but is it why you do it this way? Look, I'm not gonna tell you how to do your job. You gotta make your own screw-ups. Just... try to make sure you're not scaring people just because you can."
The Batmobile came to a halt. Faith peered out the passenger window at a large warehouse, another empty derelict in a sea of victims of Gotham's never-quite-ended recession.
"I guess in Gotham, no one can hear you scream."
"Just stay in the shadows. Don't let him get a clear look at you. Let his imagination run wild."
"Okay. So who am I supposed to be, anyway?"
Bruce paused. "Batwoman?"
"I don't know. In this outfit -- weird mask, no cape -- I don't feel very..."
"Batlike?"
"Womanly."
"The suit has an inhuman element to it."
"The suit has a dorky element to it."
"Make sure you say that in front of him." The gravel had re-entered Bruce's voice. "It's sure to help." The Batman popped the trunk.
***
Elton Carter didn't consider himself a bad man. He knew that his job was technically illegal, but it wasn't like it was actually hurting anybody. Which didn't mean he wouldn't hurt you, if you got in his face or got in his way, but that was just standing up for himself, like a man should.
Tonight had started out well. They'd been moving a truckload of DVDs they'd hijacked last week for his boss -- who he was fairly certain was a bad man, and was sure as hell a scary man -- and he'd already been thinking about how he'd spend his share of the cut. Next thing he knew the Batman had hit them.
That wasn't fair. Batman was supposed to go after mobsters like Maroni and freaks like the Joker, not ordinary guys trying to make a buck or two. The other thing that wasn't fair? Batman wasn't alone. He didn't get a good look at whoever it was hit him, but from the way his jaw hurt it had been a big guy.
When he woke up, it was pitch dark. He was tied to a seriously uncomfortable chair and he couldn't see a thing. And there was someone breathing nearby.
"Who's there?" He asked.
A shadow moved, black against the blackness. He sensed as much as saw the creature that was looming over him.
"Hello, Elton," a voice growled, hoarse with anger.
The fear began.
***
Faith had left early. She was sitting on the hood of the Batmobile when he emerged, her cowl off, a scowl on her face.
"Tell me you don't get off on that."
"The Batman..."
"Fuck it, don't give me that shit. And take your mask off. I thought you were a good guy. I thought you were all about doing the right thing for people. I mean, yeah, you killed a couple of bad guys, but you'd been pushed right to the fucking edge, and I figured you were doing it for the right reasons. You really are that smug dumbass, aren't you? Only it's not enough for you to be richer than everyone, you've got to have this big secret that lets you fuck people over and leave them pissing themselves with fear, just so you know you're better."
"I --"
"Take that goddamn mask off."
Bruce paused, then reached up and unfastened his cowl. He glanced around briefly, but the area was deserted and he was safe in the shadows.
He pulled away the mask. "I didn't kill them."
"Who?"
"Those people. Detective Wurtz, Salvatore Maroni, his driver Michael Vitali -- I didn't kill them."
"Then who..."
"I can't tell you that. I can tell you why I let them call me a murderer, though."
"Why?"
"Because the Batman is an idiot playboy in a dorky outfit, and people were beginning to figure that out. Because fear isn't an indulgence, it's a weapon. I have to keep people afraid, I have to keep them convinced that the Batman is an insane monster who will kill them if he gets them angry enough. And because I failed."
He paused, then pulled the mask back into place. "I thought I could be a symbol, to inspire the good people to help themselves. I was wrong. Now all I can do is give the bad people something to fear."