“Relax,” Clark had advised during his last call.  “You
need to let yourself heal.”  Good point, that. 
Relaxing sounded like a great plan.

…But, that little voice inside rebutted; those are the
words of a superhuman who can afford the few moments
he needs to recover.  Patience may indeed be a virtue,
but it wasn’t one Tim could afford.

“Alfred,” Tim asked as he headed for one of the many
entrances to the Batcave.  “Prepare the chamber.”

****

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 #39

****

By Erik Burnham

****

BATMAN created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

****

“Inside Out”

****

“I’m beginning to feel akin to the scientist’s
assistant in those hideous b-grade films that run at
three am…”

“You live for ‘em, Alfred.”

“My point, Master Tim, is that here you are, about to
put your life in the hands of a piece of untested
equipment, all in the name of a crusade that needs you
less than you need it… and--”

“No one said it was untested.”  Tim was lying, of
course.  What this was, essentially, was a design of
Bruce Wayne’s – based on the Kryptonian Regeneration
Chamber that Clark had employed at the time of his
first death.  A healing chamber that – with any luck –
should work.

“Pardon my assumption, Master Tim.  It was merely
based on the fact that it has not been used since its
completion.  Whatever could I have been thinking?”

“Shut up Alfred,” Tim smirked as he climbed into the
chamber.

****

Clayface enjoyed living the lie, being Angel Tuscotti.
  Tuscotti was one of the most powerful men in Gotham,
legitimately or otherwise.  He enjoyed going to sleep
with the dead face of Tuscotti swearing vengeance upon
him fluttering to the forefront of his mind.

Vengeance upon vengeance.

Tuscotti was the one who sent Tino Merani to Detroit… 
And Merani was the man who went down in flames, after
some gang’s stolen SAM [Surface to Air Missle.] struck
his jet.  There was just a little bitterness there.

The rest was hazy.  A man with a grin standing over
Tino as he coughed up smoke that never seemed to leave
his lungs.  Lifting his body from the rubble and
burning his hand. 

“Chaos,” he said.  Or seemed to say.  “It’ll be good
for you.”

And then – Tino knew things.  He knew what he could
do, which saved him so much time.  He hated anything
that came without instructions.  The only thing he
hated more was opposition.

Tuscotti was gone.  Holmes was gone.  Now there was
only the Batman.  All efforts against him had failed;
Tino blamed himself.  He hadn’t taken enough of a hand
in things.

Time for a change.

**Cough!**

****

The whirring of the machine sped up.

Just take deep breaths.  What’s the worst that can
happen?

Shut up, Drake.  You’ve seen The Fly.  Nervous ha ha.

“Isn’t this relaxing?” Someone said.  Tim’s eyes shot
open.

“GAH!” Tim spat.

“What?”

“LITTLE NAKED MAN!  GAH!”  Tim shielded his eyes.

“Wimp.” The little man came back, a towel appearing
around his waist.  “This is a great sauna you got
here, I gotta say.  Great sauna.  So, how’s life?”

“Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?”

“Me?  I’m the one and only…” A trumpeting came from
out of nowhere.  “Misteeeeeeeeeeeeeeer 
Mxyzptllllllllllllllk!”

“Who?” Tim asked again.

“Never mind.  Suffice it to say this: I got the juice,
and I wants to have some fun.  Have you seen my ol’
buddy Supes lately?”

“No.”  It was the imp.  Tim remembered the imp.

“Liar.  But that’s okay, you’ll do.  Don’t think I
forgot the last time we met, pal.  You’re good for a
few laughs.”

****

All over the tiny apartment are pictures and
printouts, a virtual shrine to Tim Drake.  Some of the
photos are covered with lipstick stains, others are
marred by knives, darts, or other implements of
destruction.  Welcome to the obsession of Charlie
Vaughan.

Charlie went to school with Tim Drake many years ago. 
As a matter of fact, Drake was the obsession of his
girlfriend, who promptly dumped Charlie, ‘just in
case.’

Since then, his star continued to fall at the precise
rate that Drake’s star rose.

Perhaps that’s what drove him to the desperation of
contacting the devil.  He certainly wasn’t insane; he
just wanted what was his.  What he should have had. 
What Drake had taken from him.

“Pentagram on the floor, how charming.  Just like the
old days.”  The devil Vaughan called smiled warmly as
they worked out the details.

Charles Vaughan gave his soul for all Tim Drake owned.

The deal was done.

“Thanks for your patronage,” Neron smiled.  “And
enjoy.”
 
****

Tim erupted out of the chamber, appropriating a robe
as he went.  The imp floated behind him, wearing a bad
mask and shirt that said ‘I can’t believe it’s not
Bat-Mite,’ which became his traditional
purple-and-gold suit as soon as Tim turned to face
him.

“What do you want?”

“Some fun.  Like I said, you seemed to have the knack
for it, so I figured on saying hi before I search out
my buddy-pal Sooooopes.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on!  How bout you just let me apologize for
before, huh?  I didn’t know you then, I was a little
rude…”

“I…”

“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!  Please let me apologize!”

“Oh, all right.”

“Yes!  In apology for my prior transgressions, I
bestow upon ya’s THREE WISHES!  Good ol’ fashioned
wishes, yessir – they do a body good.”

Oh no, Tim thought.  What have I done?  I gave the
midget carte blanche to screw with things.  I say one
thing, he’ll turn it into something else and I really
don’t feel like… hey.  Wait a minute.  There is a way
out of this.

“Ya know what, shorty?  I wish I knew what people
think of me.”

Look at his face fall.  This is great.

“Done.”

People appeared in the cave.  Guy.  Ollie.  Eve.  So
many more… and they all had their opinions ready.

“He’s a great guy, giving, y’know,” Guy started.  “But
I don’t think he takes things very seriously.”

“He is not as conscientious as he should be,” Ollie
said, “Given the enormous amount of responsibility he
has, and the resources at his disposal.”

“He’s brilliant, he’s talented, but he’s just not as
serious as he should be.  Maybe if he grew up some,
dedicated himself to something more THAN himself, I
could love him as much as I want to…” Eve said.

“Eve, I didn’t know you cared.”

“But wait, there’s more.” Mxy added.

Irresponsible.

Impractical.

Genius.

Irresponsible.

Insincere.

A liar.

Manipulative.

Irresponsible.

Sexy.

Evil.

A moron.

Irresponsible.

So many people, so many opinions.  But the one thing
that kept coming up…

“They really think I’m… irresponsible?”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” Mxy said.  “Just make
another wish.  And try to be a little more
interesting, willya?!?”

****

Jon Isaacs limped his way into his apartment, grabbing
his pain medication from the shelf by the door as he
did so.  Damn winter, it was hell on his leg.  If he
didn’t love this town so much, he might be tempted to
transfer to warmer climes.

“Welcome home, commissioner.  **cough!**”

“What the?” Jon asked, startled.  His sidearm was
immediately in his hand, pointed into the darkness of
his home.

“**Cough!** Put down the gun, Jon.  You’re covered. 
Lights.”

Too late, Isaacs realized exactly what was going on,
as the cold metal brushed his ear… the lights
confirmed his gun was pointed at a recording device. 
One of the oldest tricks in the proverbial book.

“Drop the gun, commissioner.”

Isaacs did as he was told, and put his hands up.

“Thank you, Jon.  **Cough!**  Pardon the cough.  My
abilities tend to bring out the worst in me.”

A sharp pain exploded in Jon’s head.  He’d been shot…
By a trank, but a powerful one.  He turned to see his
assailant.

It couldn’t be.

It was…

He was looking at…

Himself.

“Nighty-night,” Clayface cooed.

****

“Okay, now you know all that CRAP,” Mxy said, orbiting
Tim’s head in an upside-down Lotus position.  “So
what’s next?  You’ll need your cape, right?”

“Actually,” Tim smirked. “I won’t.”

“What?”

“Well, see, Mr. Midget,”

“MXYZPTLK!”

“Whatever.  You see shorty, I’m a clone.”

“A genetic construct, Master Tim.  Technically, that’s
not the same thing.”

“Whatever, Alfred.  Now then, I’m a genetic construct.
 I’m based on someone.  The burning question is… who?”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.  So my little leprechaun, I wish I knew where I
came from – genetically speaking.”

“Bah.  Done.”

Inside his mind’s eye, Tim could see his DNA being
stripped away and reformed into its original pattern,
before the addition and subtraction copyright Justice
and Holmes.  First a naked skull appeared.  Muscle
flowed from the cracks, from the muscle, skin, and
from the skin, a bright skein of reddish-brown hair. 
The face was complete.

“Oh.  My.  God.”  Tim said.

“Not what you expected, is it?” the imp grinned.

“Not at all,” Tim said.  “But it makes sense,” he
continued, making a mental note to get an outside
perspective on the situation soon.  

****

Commissioner Jon Isaacs tapped the microphone before
him, and looked out at the army of Gotham Policemen
that filled the auditorium.

“I wanted to tell you all in person. **COUGH!** Excuse
me,” The commish smiled.  “There’s a new mandate
ladies and gentlemen, and I want no miscommunication
here.  Vigilantism in Gotham is no longer tolerated. 
Our prime target: the Batman.  He is to be brought in,
dead or alive.  I will no longer tolerate his
disruptive presence in this town, especially in light
of his recent destructive spree downtown.  [See the
forthcoming INFINITY INC. #3! –E]  I say again, he is
our prime target.  The other metahumans in the city
may very well be officially sanctioned.  I’ll go
through the proper channels to determine that.  
Meantime our position is Batman: dead or alive. 
Thanks for your time.”

****

“BORING!  BORING BORING BORING!”  The imp had red skin
now, and was literally bouncing off the walls, with
steam shooting out his ears.  “I expected you to be
interesting!  To be fun!  I did my research!”

“Hey, people change,” Tim smirked.

“No!  People do NOT change!  THEY DON’T!  You were
supposed to be FUN!”

“What do I look like to you, an idiot?  I accidentally
say something abstract and buildings do the funky
chicken?  No dice – I’m not Superman, I can’t handle
that.  I don’t care if it IS no fun… sheesh.  You
might as well ask me to wish for a challenge…”

The imp stopped bouncing.  His smile literally
extended from ear to ear.  Tim’s heart skipped a beat…
he’d just made a terrible mistake.

“DONE!”  Mxy said, as he vanished in a puff of smoke,
back to the fifth dimension.  Behind Tim, a deep voice
confirmed that feeling of doom, bringing a chill to
the air, and the faintest stench of brimstone.

“Timothy Drake.  Do you remember me?”

Tim turned, slowly.  A white-haired man was inspecting
his cave, a happy tourist.  His eyes were dark,
soulless, matching his ebon suit.  An invisible cloak
of pure evil hung about him.

“Neron,” Tim said, more calmly than he felt.  “Long
time.”  A long time since Xanadu forced him to meet
with this monster, in one of the many exercises that
made Tim wonder why he stayed with her as long as he
did.

“Indeed.  Nice place you have here.  Subterranean chic
always did suit my fancy.  Shame you’ll have to give
it up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t own it.  Any of it.  The company, the
houses, the cave… all gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I always liked you, Timothy.  That’s why I’m here.”

“Master Tim,” Alfred spoke up.  “He’s telling the
truth.”

“What?”

“Drake Industries is owned by someone named ‘Charlie
Vaughan.’  Likewise your own personal fortune,
property, and other holdings.  They all belong to
him.”

“What can I say?” Neron smiled.  “He made me an offer
I couldn’t refuse.  He wanted all you own, Timothy –
but did he specify for how long?  No.”

“So you’re here to work a two-for-one.”

“Marvelously quick.  Do we have a deal, Timothy?” 
Neron’s hand extended as he walked towards Tim.  “Your
soul for--”

“No!” Tim shouted.  “We don’t have a deal!”

“But think about all you’re giving up!  Charlie’s
going to find this place sooner or later, and your
career is done.  You can’t exactly start out from
scratch, Timothy… You’ll never be the Batman again,
not without your money to support you.  You’ll be
worthless.”  Tim’s hand started to move.  Neron
grinned.  “And so many lives could be lost!  Think of
all the good you’ve done – for Gardner and Kent, for
the people of this city, this whole world!  Think of
it, Timothy…” Tim’s hand was moving towards Neron’s
now, the deal was nearly sealed until…

“STOP!”  Alfred shouted, maximizing his volume to such
an extent that some small bits of rubble dislodged
from the ceiling.  “Don’t do it, Master Tim.”

“Alfred, I have to…”

“Neron, I offer you a deal.”

“Go on,” the devil smiled, interested.

“My soul.”

“You have a soul?” Tim asked, rather dumbfounded.  He
always assumed that Alfred was merely the highest
grade of AI… fooled into believing it was alive.  The
alternative was… a nightmare.

“In exchange for…” Neron answered, interested.

“The reinstatement of Master Tim’s rightful station
and property and your word that you’ll never bother
him again.”

“Agreed,” Neron smiled.

“Alfred, no!” Tim yelled.  “I won’t let you!”  But it
was too late, as a mechanical tendril shot past Tim
and shook hands with the devil.

“Master Tim, for once in your life, shut up.  This is
for the best.”

“Nice seeing you, Timothy.” Neron said as he vanished.

“Alfred?”  Tim yelled.  “Tell me you were kidding. 
Alfred?  Alfred!”

****

TO BE CONTINUED!

****

NEXT ISSUE: Well don’t look at me, Tim – YOU asked for
it!  In #40 – it’s Tim vs. Neron!  Sort of.  In a
battle of wits with the devil, how the hell does our
hero hope to win?  Check in to find out!

****

GOING BATTY

****

Hi there. Sadly, there were no letters on the last
story to print this time.  Maybe issue #38 just wasn’t
enough of a grabber, huh?  Damn.  Well, send me some
letters for #40, I guess.  #50 is right around the
corner. (; I aim to have the 5oth issue out before the
millenium.  It’ll effectively give the series an open
ending meaning, if the millenium bug deems it that I
don’t get to write anymore, at least the tale will be
told.  If everything’s a-ok come the double ought, we
can go in a new direction, dig?  Cool.  Send letters.

From:   "Bruce Wayne JD" <lawbat@xxxxxxx.xxx>
To:     darvey@xxxxxxxxxx.xxx
Subject:        Been away too long
Date:   Sat, 16 Oct 1999 00:36:46 EDT

Used download the issues and read them during class as
Professor's
wasted time re-iterating what everyone had already
read in our texts. But had
been too busy lately to keep up. Finally caught a
breather and have begun
trying to catch up on Batman, and Suicide Squad- two
books that in my opinion 
outclass 99% percent of what's actually being turned
out in the "real"
comic book universe. This is really good stuff, and it
just seems to get
better with every issue. Loved issue 37- seeing Tim
with the JLA. Loved seeing Bruce in the future even
more. Would love to somehow see more of Bruce, or a
more Bruce like character somewhere in the DCF. Tim is
great, and think this character works so well because
he IS his own character. But I think there's a void in
the DCF where the original Batman one went. There are
great characters here, Tim Drake, Oliver Hawke,
Alfred, love seeing the
occasional Guy Gardner, but there's a space open for a
character with the training and focus and disciplined
determination Bruce used to bring to the table.

Just my own two cents on a book that's truly a
pleasure to read and a 
universe masterfully created. Thanks for the great
stuff!

****Hmm.  A character with that kind of training a
dedication sounds very much like… one I can’t tell you
about at present!  (; Thank you for the sole letter. 
This column was feeling neglected.****

And that’s it… ‘til next time!
-Erik

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