The DCFutures Fan Fiction Group recognizes that Batman, Clark Kent, and all related characters are the property of DC Comics. These stories are written for no profit, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DCU. The stories and concepts presented herein, however, are property of the author. So there. Nyah Nyah! **** BATMAN: DCF #38 **** By Erik Burnham (darvey@rocketmail.com) **** BATMAN created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger Donut created by Jason Tippitt **** "Scar Tissue" (A Story that happens after the events featured in Infinity Inc. DCF #2!) **** There is magic yet left in this world, preserved not by the mages of old but by the technocrats, the scientists. Some who still flirt with the old ways refuse to believe this exchange ever took place, running around with their heads in conjured holes, trying to remain in the past. Some embrace this new status quo, and do their best to combine what was old with what is new. [Blatant plug -- kinda like Blue Devil: DCF!] Some forego the old, becoming magicians of the new order. Donut was one such magician. "Remember," he whispered into an ever-present microphone. "You did not get this from me." One quick tap of a key in front of him sent precious information on its way, speeding through checkpoints and bluffs along a high-speed internet connection, masking and re-masking what was sent and where it was sent from, not to mention who it was being sent to. "Thanks a million. I owe you." "You owe me? Then don't call again." "You don't enjoy showing your rebellious side?" "I don't enjoy jeopardizing my employment." Another nearby switch was flipped, and the conversation was over. Donut wasn't proud of what he'd done -- he had promised Helena he wouldn't do any more freelancing -- but the Vigilante was resourceful. No matter how well Donut thought he was hidden, the Vigilante could find him when he needed to. Who was the real magician here? **** "Was that Mr. Drake?" someone whispered. Mr. Drake, absentee ruler, skipping through the upper floors of his corporate headquarters like a schoolboy on the last day of school, grin firmly placed, warmth to damn the winter outside. He rarely came to the office anymore. It wasn't like the old days, when his father still raced around the building like a man possessed. Which, some guessed, he was. No one can be so successful without a slight touch of insanity. But the fact remains; Tim used to be a fixture, now he was a scarcity. A will o' the wisp, floating through to his office, sitting in his chair, and signing into his workstation... ...Yes, there were a few stares. Moreso when the whistling began. It was high pitched and decidedly off-key; for all his abilities, whistling in some way that didn't resemble the proverbial fingernails-on-the-chalkboard continued to elude Tim. But no one stopped him. He stopped himself. Abruptly. His eyes squinted in a futile effort to change what was in plain sight before him on his computer monitor, to focus it, make it right. Tim blinked. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head. Nothing was different. It was still the same. **** Ennis heard the heavy footsteps long before they thundered into his office. Slowly, Hobbs looked up into the quivering, tight- lipped face of Tim Drake, drained white with, Ennis could only assume, pure rage. "I would like for you to explain this," Tim said in an even, mechanical voice as he dropped a piece of paper onto Ennis' desk. A status report. Play it cool. "Something wrong, Tim?" Ennis asked, bringing his reading glasses to his face and scanning the page, even though he knew exactly what brought this little scene about. "We sold TempleCo?" Ennis nodded. "TempleCo is the first company my father ever bought -- lifeless, Ennis. It was a dead entity and he revived it, made it flourish..." "The first use of Richie Drake's Midas Touch, I know. I was there. Tim, this is a business, and you put me in charge of it. TempleCo is starting to slide..." "It's slid before!" "It's starting to slide, and the projections don't look like it'll pull through on this one." "You can't do that!" Tim yelled. "That is MY call to make! Get it back!" "We can't do th--" "GET IT BACK!" Ennis Hobbs stood for the first time and looked at the heir to his best friend's empire -- but apparently not his common sense. All those smarts wasted... "This is business. We do not run it strictly with sentimentality or we wind up on the street. We sold it at a profit, the company is sitting pretty, all is well... and you aren't in a position to know all the particulars, Tim, because you're never available. You're off globetrotting, having a good time, doing whatever it is you do! You left this to me, remember? My capable hands?" Ennis moved from behind his desk now, to face Tim. "And now you complain? YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, BOY, NO RIGHT! If your father, were here..." "If my father were here he'd toss your ass on the street, you near-sighted ni--" CRACK! Ennis Hobbs punched Tim Drake square in the jaw, knocking him down. Straightening his jacket and exhaling the rest of the anger that had built within him, Ennis added, "I thank the good Lord Richie didn't live to see his boy become as small-minded and arrogant as this. Good day to you, sir." And Ennis walked out. Quiet and regal, with the lightning racing through the air as his escort. Tim could taste the blood from his split lip, but it was the force of the words that did all the damage. ...What's going on with me? **** Paul Chandler sat in his apartment and stared at the ceiling. He'd been reinstated to the GCPD during the blues strike, his record cleared, but... it was uncomfortable at the HQ. Not that he had any intention of leaving again, not after getting back that which he so desired... but there was so much death there. There was the death that sent him to Kingston, the murder of his replacement and then Commissioner Grayson... all involving the Joker Killer in some way. Then there was the death involving his replacement's replacement -- by Jon's assessment one of the best the Force had ever seen -- her husband was slaughtered because she cared. Kylie Roarke was on indefinite leave now, yet another thing that forced the Police Board to allow him back as a detective in good standing. Yes sir, a lot of death hanging in the air at the Gotham City Police Department. Several people still blamed Paul for it; kinda like a domino effect, it all started with him losing it. How did he lose it? He didn't even remember. He knew what he was doing, but didn't know why or how... it was like he was in the passenger's seat for a moment there. Hmm. The Joker Killer -- Wight -- was later identified as having esper abilities. That was probably what it was all along. Had to be. Perfect explanation... ...Except Paul didn't really believe it. What if he lost control again, only this time... hurt someone who counted? Boy, that ceiling was seductive. **** Gotham City. It was the Bat's town, and everyone knew it. The big question: who was the Bat? Was he a noble vigilante? Was he the neurotic hero the press conveyed? Was he a madman without the slightest bit of conscience? The Vigilante would find out. He'd collected plenty of data on the Batman in his previous endeavor, and could use that now, hopefully. This Patriot mob didn't seem as though they were going to be pulling him off case... they wanted blood. But the Batman that had most recently appeared in the news (along with this 'Bat Posse' of his... Vigilante couldn't help but chuckle at the reaction of the others to such a silly name) did not seem to possess the "grim and unstoppable" nature that the Patriots -- even the former hostages at Mercy Haven -- described him as having. Conflicting information from all sides means only one thing: a direct confrontation. It would make for the best conclusion. Now how to contact the man in the mask? **** Dear Barnabas Well, things have grown into the realm of the dismal as of late; Master Clark is out of the house a great deal of the time, having his new duties to see to. Master Tim is unfortunately lapsing into another of his 'moods.' It seems he's had a bit of a tiff at the offices with an old, dear friend. He said something regrettable, the kind of thing that you just don't get the opportunity to apologize for in this day and age. This leaves me without as many avenues for immediate personal conversation as I have become accustomed to. So, I concede my defeat and turn to you, my pen pal, who thankfully is more loyal to the spirit of friendship than others I could mention at this point. I truly understand why your address reads 'mansbestfriend', my friend. I expect John has been up to his usual antics with a stunning regularity? Of course he has. In any case, Barnabas ***BEEP*** Alfred, puzzled at the Bat-Computer's alert, quickly signed and sent his email, mentally bidding the urgent file to open. It was a news report, accompanied by a picture of... Good Lord. **** Tim Drake sat at the bar in his den and stared at a glass of whiskey in front of him. He'd poured it more than an hour ago. He didn't really feel like drinking, but it carried with it the right atmosphere for the mood he was in. Why had he lashed out at Ennis? Ennis was the next best thing to his dad. Did he resent that? No, he couldn't... Ennis was practically family. Tim had said what he'd said to hurt the man, and he had done it on purpose. There was no real way around that; all he was looking to do was cause pain... and he'd succeeded. Ennis walked out of Drake Industries two days ago and hadn't been heard from since. If he'd decided to go job hunting, he'd be snatched up quick -- he was a master of his craft. "Master Tim?" Alfred tried. "Not now, Alfred." "Urgency beckons, sir. Have you taken a look out the window?" "Alfred," Tim growled, grabbing the glass of whiskey and hurling it at the sound of the robot's voice, "I said NOT NOW!" And, as he turned, Tim was able to see out the window, towards the city. "My God," Tim breathed. "It's the batsignal." **** Jon Isaacs looked out his window and saw the batsignal blazing a trail through the night sky. It was a sight to see, that's for sure. It also gave him an idea. "Send a couple of blues on out to the Drake house," Jon said, tapping a button on his desk. "Just see where he is. I wanna have a talk with 'im." "Do you want us to bring him in, sir?" "If you can find him, yeah. Do that." **** Tim Drake disengaged his personal airfoils and alighted at the source of the batsignal, atop an apartment building in midtown... a nice, large apartment building. Cautious, he looked around... but Tim couldn't see anything or anyone he recognized. Criminy, that light was bright... "It's about time." A voice in the darkness. The plot thickens. "And you would be?" Tim asked, bending his knees and placing the weight on his toes, preparing to pounce, if necessary. "I'm a vigilante, much the same as yourself." The voice was near the light. Its owner was dressed neck to toe in black, with a solid red mask. Where have I seen that look before? Tim had to wonder. "Why the signal?" Tim tried. "It was an ends to a means. You're under arrest." Tim laughed. "Citizen's arrest. For the severe beating of a Patriot cell. I have been contracted to make this arrest, and it is in full accordance with the laws of Gotham City, NorAm, and the United Nations." "You have got to be kidding me; I've never taken on Patriot in my life! Not that I wouldn't, mind you. But I haven't. You're on some wacky stuff, red." "You've been informed, Batman. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you." Who does this guy think he is? Tim wondered. I'm Batman! THE Batman! I went toe-to-toe with some of the best! "Bring it on, red. Your funeral." **** Donna Olsen rang the buzzer in the lobby of Northingham Towers. A tired voice replied through the speaker, eschewing the telelink. "Hello?" Ennis Hobbs' voice echoed through the speaker. "It's Donna." "I'll buzz you in." Donna rode the elevator up several flights, wondering what she would say, wondering why she was trying to say anything... Tim was hurt. The expression on his face, after he realized what he'd said... he looked as if he'd just watched someone die... Ennis had the same expression when she saw him, after the rage left him. Donna was a natural fence mender, and she couldn't bear to see either of these men in that kind of pain. She loved Tim... at least she thought so. Ennis had too good a heart to be left in such a state. The elevator arrived on the fifteenth floor. Quietly, Donna paced down the hall to Ennis apartment. "NAME," The ADM asked as soon as she was within range of its electronic eye. "Uh, Donna Olsen." "ACCESSING... NAME FOUND. WELCOME, MS. OLSEN." The ADM allowed the door to open and Donna stepped inside. It was a modest home for a man of such power and position. But it was well decorated, with a multitude of subtle colors that made you feel comfortable at once. "H'lo, Donna," Ennis called from another room. Donna walked in the direction of his voice, and nearly gasped when she saw him. Ennis was sitting barefoot on the floor, staring at a small photograph. A real photograph, not a holo. And he'd been crying as well. He rose to greet her, dropping the photo on the chair he'd been sitting in front of. "Ennis, what was that?" Donna asked. "An old man's past," he replied. "I'm assuming Tim sent you?" **** Y'know what boredom is? This. This is terrible! I haven't had any fun in eons. I come here I go home I come back and its all blasé. I don't like blasé. Blasé never went with my drapes. So what do I do to correct this? Pull a U-turn on the road of life. Head back to that last really nifty metaphorical tourist trap, get another bumper sticker. Meet the people, kiss some babies, shake some hands. Something like that. Whoop, whoop, whoop. **** Tim leapt at the man in the red mask. The Vigilante dodged and put a fist in Tim's kidney. Ow. Land, roll, crouch, stand. "I had hoped this wouldn't come to a fight, Batman." "You're trying to arrest me for something I didn't do and on top of it expect cooperation?" Tim snorted and, behind cover of his cape, reached for a batarang. "Fat chance!" Tim hurled the 'rang straight at the red of the man's mask. He caught it. "Batman, you don't understand. I don't want to make this any more difficult than this has to be. I'm not a sadist." The Vigilante tossed the 'rang aside. "Sez you," Tim muttered, charging forward. **** "I'm not going to quit, Donna." Ennis smiled, staring into his coffee. "Tim can relax. His profits are safe. He's nothing to worry about. I owe his father at least that much. Probably more." "I didn't come to see if you were quitting. I mean, that was one of the reasons, but..." Donna reached out and covered Ennis' hand with her own. "I wanted to make sure you were okay." Ennis rolled his hand, gently squeezing Donna's. He looked at her, his face showing age in a way that she'd never noticed before. "You know," Ennis said, "you remind me of someone." Talk about a change in topic. "Who?" Ennis didn't answer right away. He stood up and walked slowly into the other room. When he returned, he had the photograph with him. Gently, Ennis laid it on the table in front of Donna. It was a young black man -- a youthful Ennis -- kissing a small baby. "Donna, I'd like for you to meet my daughter, Noelle." **** Tim hit the red-masked man square in the jaw. Red punched him square in the gut. His fibro-armor absorbed most of the blow, but he still got a little dizzy; the edge of his vision momentarily blurred. Two things were immediately apparent: One, this man had superhuman strength. Two, his suit wouldn't be able to protect him from those blows much longer. So, we cheat. A trigger on Tim's gauntlet unsheathed the grappling claws on his hands. Down and dirty, Tim raked his opponent's face and followed through with a spinning kick. Tim's leg was caught before it reached its target. "That was a new one," the Vigilante mused. "Never saw you use those before, in all my studying." He twisted the leg he held, sending the Batman spinning into the gravel on the roof. Only the fibro-armor had prevented flesh and bone from being shredded. "But you can't win. No matter how good you really are, no matter how good you think you are, you're still just a man." "A Batman." Tim growled, disengaging his cape and rolling away, tossing it at the Vigilante. Seconds later, a powerful electric charge ran through the cape... its airfoils overloaded on purpose. Hopefully this would take some of the fight outta red. "A Batman," the Vigilante acknowledged; pulling the cape off his head and tossing it away, apparently unfazed by the shock. "But I'm beyond even that." Tim suddenly felt he was in a lot of trouble. When the Vigilante unsheathed a weapon that Tim didn't recognize, he knew he was right. Time to run. A quick slip over the edge of the rooftop -- while dodging red's gun, which he was explaining away as a 'mostly harmless stasis ray' -- and Tim was gone. His claws, still extended, dug easily into the side of the building. He was in a hallway in seconds and heading for the stairs, punching the "return" command into the Batmobile's remote control as he went. **** "I'm sorry, officer... Master Tim is currently unavailable." Alfred's robotic form grinned at the officer that stood before him. "Should you choose to tell me the nature of your business, I would be more than happy to relay it to him as soon as we speak again." "No, no, that's okay." "Very good, sir." Alfred said, taking note of a beep from the living room. "I shall, however, tell him you dropped by, Officer... Petty. Have a pleasant evening!" Alfred closed the door on Officer Petty, who returned to his squad car and partner with little more than a shrug. Back in the house, Alfred went to the source of the beep; it was the electronic mailbox. A telegram, from Rio de Janeiro... for Master Tim. "Open mail," Alfred said out of habit. The note was in Italian. "Oh my," Alfred breathed, walking out of the room. "Save mail!" he said as an afterthought. There was much to be done. **** Tim raced down the hall, pain fueling each step. His leg wasn't in such a good way -- likewise his ribs. He didn't think the bones were broken (would he even be mobile if that was the case?), but he knew they weren't in tip-top condition. He knew he wasn't being silent, but dammit -- he needed to get out of Dodge. Regroup. Rethink. Something. A creak behind Tim made the paranoid hackles on the back of Tim's neck stand up. Twirling around, a batarang at the ready, Tim was face-to-face with... ...A small child. Some young Latino kid with wide eyes and a pair of obvious hand-me-down pajamas that didn't really fit. Hourman was plastered all over them. The boy was also clutching a small, black bag tightly. Oh boy, Tim thought as he raced forward to the stairwell door. Immediately, Tim was met with one of the Vigilante's stasis blasts. It missed his head by an inch, maybe two. That man was good. Tim slammed the door shut and wedged a batarang in the lock. For good measure, he put a small welding charge on the door's crack, which fused the door to the wall. Oh thank you, Alfred, for packing a little of everything. Tim turned to return to the window, but the child was still there, holding out his little black bag. Tim was going to just brush by the boy, but something about the bag caught his eye. A little dash of red. ...It was... it was his symbol. The little boy was holding it out to him now, offering it. Forgetting the danger he was in, Tim kneeled next to the boy and accepted the small black toy for closer inspection. It was a doll. A simple, homemade doll... of him. Of Batman. Smiling, Tim handed the doll back to the boy, who hugged it to himself, his eyes never leaving Tim's face. "What's your name?" Tim asked, in the quiet tone he remembered his father using on him when he was younger. The little boy didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached out and gave Tim a gentle hug. It was enough to drive a man to tears... and would have, too, if Tim hadn't heard the banging of the Vigilante trying to get through that very solid and very shut door. "You'd better get home to your family, little man. You shouldn't be wandering around alone like this." The little boy nodded and clutched his doll even tighter, backing away. He was heading to a slightly open door, looking back every few steps to make sure Tim was still there. Apartment B99. I'll have to remember-- BOOM! The Vigilante had finally gotten through that door, punching it so hard that literal shrapnel was flying though the air. Without thinking, Tim leapt from the sound, covering the small boy that -- in his fascination -- hadn't made it that far away. Pieces of metal tore through the weakened fibro-armor, piercing Tim's skin. His sides, his back... but the child was safe. The child was safe and now running home, safely reaching his door and the parent Tim could see stirring behind it. The noise probably woke 'em. Didn't matter. All Tim knew right now was pain. This was worse, even, than the time he'd met his maker, yuk yuk. The Vigilante padded towards him and picked him up. Tim tried to put of a fight. He fell unconscious instead, assisted by Vig's stasis ray. **** "I met Noelle's mother thirty-some years ago, not too long after I'd first come to Gotham. She was pretty and sweet, and I loved her. At least, I realize that now... but, no, we didn't get married." Ennis sighed. "I didn't really want to be married then. Noelle was born about two years to the day after we met. She was so beautiful..." Ennis paused. "Didn't last long. God didn't make anything so beautiful, after all, just to leave it in this world." Sitting down, Ennis stared again into his coffee. "She died of SIDS. Her mother left me not long after. So what did I do? Threw myself into the work. Moved up the corporate ladder. Got to be good friends with the boss. The rest, as they say..." Ennis sighed again. "I imagined my Noelle growing up, though, when I was lonely. I imagined what her first words would be when I broke my back for the company. I saw her trot off to school when I sat through meetings. She lived in my heart... even came to visit when I had the attack. And you..." Ennis said, "You remind me of her, of how she would be." He was looking at Donna again. "That argument I had with Tim, a child who I did watch grow up with my own eyes, a man I cared about almost as much as I cared about my little Noelle... it hurt me. A lot. It hurt even more when I lashed out, Donna, and hit a man that could almost be my son, if the world were different." The words stopped. Ennis was crying again. Donna was witnessing a strong man in the midst of a breakdown. She hugged him and told him it was going to be okay. **** Blinking back to consciousness, Tim felt cold metal against his cheek. His cheek? He was fully conscious now, and the lingering scent of the smelling salts was only now obvious. The cowl was still on, his identity was still safe, but the lower part of his mask... "Your mask was blocking the scent," someone said. Tim turned. Red. The Vigilante, leaning against the Batmobile right next to Tim. "What...?" Tim asked. "I make the decisions in my line of work, Batman. It's the only way I can live with myself. If you were what I was led to believe -- a soulless monster -- you would have let that boy take a wounding, made an escape. You didn't. That was admirable, Batman." "This doesn't make sense," Tim groaned, pain still shooting through his back. "Why did you... why did you knock me out?" "Trust me. You wouldn't have wanted me to remove that shrapnel while you were awake." He chuckled. "I saw your car out here and figured this was as good a place as any to wake you. You'll need medical attention. See to it." And then, he started to walk away. "Wait," Tim called out, standing. "Do we still have a problem?" "Contract terminated," the Vigilante said, without even turning around. **** Tim Drake hobbled upstairs from the Batcave. "Alfred, you wouldn't believe my day..." "Have you checked your mail, sir?" Alfred asked, once again in his omnipresent Manor body. "A rather... interesting telegram came for you today. And two members of the Gotham Police Department were by, looking for you, but..." "Who was the mail from?" Tim asked, even as he called it up on the screen before him manually. "IO ricevuto parola di tuo padre' morte. Sono arrivo..." Tim read the text aloud. "Pietro Crocetti. Oh no." "Oh no, sir? You're not of a mood to see him, then?" "Alfred, do you have any idea how much hell Grandpa got me in the LAST time he visited?" "Could it possibly be as much as you generally get in on your own, sir?" "Shut up, Alfred. And get me some medical supplies..." **** THE END **** NEXT ISSUE: Surprise! **** GOING BATTY **** Hi there. Wow, we're almost to forty issues. Egad. Keep those letters rolling in, huh? (; By the way, next issue is #39. Mystery guest star. Divide by three. As to the telegram at the end of this ish, I realize it may not be in perfect Italian, but that's a language I (obviously) don't speak... that's where the online translators come in. On to the letters... From: "Sandy Black" To: darvey@rocketmail.com Subject: Batman DCF latest issues Date: Mon, 23 Aug 1999 19:50:36 GMT I loved your conclusion to Timequake, although wasn't Mercury supposed to be involved somehow? The Suicide Squad/Batman Xover mentioned something along those lines. Great feeling with Bruce sneaking that picture out of Clark's apartment for a friend lost in time. #37 was great too. I loved Alfred calling him "Clark Lane" and that line about Clark never having heard anyone tell a Lane that you've "gotta have opinions." :) And yes, I think we can say that he's got leadership qualities. Just explain one thing. If Tim wants a group composed of heroes for Infinity, Inc. that people can look up to, WHY ISN'T HE INCLUDING CLARK!?! Oh, one other objection: Waaaah!! WHY is Dick Grayson Justice?! Sorry, Erik, this makes noooo sense. The guy was never obsessed; if anything, he was one of the most level-headed heroes in the DCU. What could possibly set him off? No, wait, I've got it. The Justice-Grayson was really a clone, right? And the guy with the Bruce Wayne mask was the real Dick Grayson. Whew. I feel much better now. Keep up the great work, Erik. :) Creole ****Well, thanky for the letter. First, I'm glad you liked TimeQuake... and the Mercury reference wasn't so much that he was involved as Tim's memory of Wally being faster permeated to his past self. Yeah, that's it. Clark is busy, not up to full snuff, and really not in the public eye, those are some reasons he's not in IInc at present. Maybe in the future... And, finally, coming to Mr. Grayson and his Justice identity... (I stole this from Busiek) "Wait And See." Heh.**** From: CatyStorm@aol.com Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 18:42:08 EDT Subject: Re: Bats #37 To: darvey@rocketmail.com Bravo! A nice ish over all. Poor Clark! Alfred seems to have put him in a decidedly interesting situation. I can't wait to see how this "Security" thing turns out. Tim, on a superhero team? Oh, boy. And Jon Issacs. All in all, this is shaping the way future events turn out. My one complaint: Clark Lane? Uh-uh. Nope. Just doesn't "work". ~Catalina Storm ****As it was an impetus to the jokes I used, I think Clark Lane worked just fine! But that's not to say it's permanent. Clark will be appearing in one one-shot very soon under this name, detailing his only mission at Bienos. I hope this issue that you've just read worked better for ya..." And that's it... 'til next time! -Erik VISIT GOTHAM: http://members.tripod.com/dcfbatman BATMAN DCF MAILING LIST: http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/batmandcf VISIT THE DCF DISCUSSION BOARD: http://disc.server.com/discussion.cgi?id=6074