Batman Beyond #12

[markymark261]

Previously In Batman Beyond
Dick Grayson had returned to Gotham as Nightwing after a run-in with Lazarus chemicals in his hometown of Bludhaven.
The former Batgirl, now Police Commissioner, Barbara Gordon, made it known that she was anything but comfortable with Grayson’s newer, more brutal methods, however.
But, most disturbingly, the, until now, unseen enemy both Bruce and Dick have feared has made his first move.
It appears The Demon has returned…

Batman Beyond
Issue #12: “The Demon’s Bane, Part Two”
Written by Cam Crowder
Cover by Andy Gray
Edited by Mark Bowers

Wayne Manor

Two weeks had come and gone since Terry had returned to Gotham with Bruce in tow. Bruce was now in a stable condition, thanks to the care of Jenna Kyle, whom Dick had called in as soon as he’d received word from Terry.

“Anything new?” Dick asked, entering Bruce’s bedroom.

Jenna pulled the stethoscope from her ears and laid it across the back of her neck. “His vitals are fine, but he still hasn’t regained consciousness. But, as long as we keep doing what we’re doing, he should wake up soon.”

At least, she thought he’d wake up soon. The truth was, she had no way of giving a definitive time of when Bruce might regain consciousness. It could still be another month, for all she knew. Still, things were looking fine for now.

“Can you be more specific?” Terry said, stepping into the room. He carried a small drinking glass about half full with an almost-clear liquid. “Maybe give us an estimate on when he’ll wake up?”

“She’s doing the best she can, kid,” Dick said protectively. “He’ll wake up when he wakes up. Until then we….” He trailed off, finally taking notice of the drink in Terry’s hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, pulling the drink away before Terry could react.


“What? It’s just a little wine,” Terry said nonchalantly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “What’s the big deal?”

Oh no, Jenna thought. He shouldn’t have said that. Seeing her father’s reaction, she knew exactly what was in the glass.

“A little wine, my ass!” Dick said, sniffing the fumes from the glass. “This is a very strong Chardonnay, dated sometime in the early nineteen-hundreds!”

“So? It’s still just wine. Not like I was getting drunk off my ass or anything. I just like the flavor.”

“Kid, you don’t get it. You’re fifteen and you’ve got no damn business drinking,” Dick said, setting the glass on the nightstand next to Bruce’s bed. “But that’s not my biggest problem here. There’s only one bottle of Chardonnay in this house, and you had no right to get into it.”

“Again, it’s just wine! There’s plenty more left.”

“You’re missing the point!” Dick said gruffly. “That bottle belonged to a very dear friend of ours. Bruce has a tradition every year where he takes a sip—one single sip—in memory, then closes it back up for another year.”

It’s time I stopped this, Jenna thought. “Dad,” she said, stepping up and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. He didn’t know.” She watched his expression soften and turned to Terry. “That bottle belonged to Alfred, the man who raised Bruce. Even raised my dad here for several years. That bottle was one he hung onto for years, never opening it. Whenever someone asked him why, he said he was saving it for a special occasion.”

“Then, the night he died,” Dick broke in, “he called all of his closest friends together. Bruce, me, Barbara, Tim, and several others, including Jenna. He broke it open and shared it with us. Said he wanted the taste of good wine on his lips when he left, and he wanted to share that with us.”

Jenna still remembered that night. It was the last time the entire family, such as it was, had been together. After that, it had been business as usual with Bruce continuing his war alone. That was also the last time she’d seen her father drink Chardonnay. After that night, he just couldn’t seem to find a taste for it anymore.

“My God,” Terry said. “I’m sorry. I … didn’t know.”

Dick sighed. “And there’s no way you would have known. It’s not something Bruce would’ve brought up. Still, no going through the wine cellars. You’re too young anyway.”

The phone in Dick’s pocket beeped in a rhythmic pattern. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “Dammit,” he cursed.

“What?” Terry said, pushing away from the wall, standing flat on his feet. “Trouble.”

“You can say that again. Something’s going on at City Hall. Bruce set it up so that, when an alarm was sounded there, it would let him know. I’ve got all of those codes programmed into my phone so I can get them when I’m not in the cave.”

“I’m on it,” Terry said, already out the door.

“I’ll monitor you from the cave,” Dick called, racing after him. “As soon as I get details on what we’re dealing with, I’ll let you know.”

She watched them leave with a smile on her face. Despite the fact that something was clearly wrong at City Hall, it was nice to see her father active again. For a long time she thought he might become like Bruce, cold and alone, pushing away everyone who cared for him until he was completely alone.

She returned her attention to her patient, and continued her examination, starting with checking his heart.

The Batcave

After scanning all of the police and news frequencies, Dick had discovered that things at City Hall had boiled into a hostage situation. He told Terry immediately, warning him to be extremely cautious. The hostages were priority number one; their safety came before anything else.

Gotcha. I’ll be there in less than a minute.

“Good, keep in touch. You aren’t familiar with hostage situations, so I may need to walk you through it.”

Got it.

Dick watched the live coverage of the event from the computer. The G.C.P.D. was already on the scene and they were doing their best to keep the news crew as far back as possible, but the view was still good. He could see Barbara trying to negotiate over a loudspeaker, which apparently wasn’t working.

A minute passed, which meant Terry was there. Good, he’d been smart enough to enter discreetly.

“What’s it look like, kid?” he asked, opening the comm.

No answer.

“Terry, you there?”

Still silent.

Something wasn’t right. Something was jamming the frequency, and very few things could jam one of Bruce’s frequencies.

Dammit, I should’ve known! Dick thought, rushing across the room and snatching his suit from the case. Surprise attacks always were his specialty. Hope the kid doesn’t rush in without thinking … Dammit, I’d better get there quick!

City Hall

Everything’s quiet on this floor, Terry thought, scanning the top floor, stealth-mode still active.

It still bothered him that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Dick at all. But, for now, he shoved his worries to the back of his mind; the hostages were more important, just like Dick had said. He had to find them quickly before whatever group this was decided to make an example of one of them.

He activated the new sonar feature built into his cowl, giving him a rough layout of all the floors.

Glad Dick thought of this upgrade. Makes things a lot easier. I don’t have to walk in blind.

It looked like everyone was being held on the eighth floor, and there were two small groups guarding the stairs on the seventh and ninth floors. The elevators had already been deactivated, which meant Terry would need to use the ventilation to his advantage.

There’s a vent on the eleventh floor that will let me out in the room next to the one the hostages are being held in. Looks like that’s my best bet.

He headed toward the stairs.

Two Blocks Away

Stepping off the sky-cycle, Nightwing made his way toward City Hall from the rooftops. He didn’t want to risk flying; better to avoid being seen even by the police and news crews. No way of knowing if the terrorists inside were near a TV themselves. The key to this would be the element of surprise … assuming he and the kid weren’t already expected.

In no time at all, he was on the rooftop, entering the building through the same ventilation shaft Terry had no doubt used to get in.

Once inside, he activated the sonar in his cowl to get a layout of the building.

Okay, looks like we’ve got thugs on the seventh, eighth and ninth floors. Looks like Terry’s working his way through the shaft leading to the room nest to the hostages. Bad move. I’ll need to move quick to take out the guys on the other two floors. I really don’t want to have to worry about that chance of the main group calling in backup.

He made for the stairs, activating the stealth function as he got there.

He’d have to depend on Terry to handle himself and keep the hostages safe. He ran several scenarios to completion in his head, trying to figure out what Terry might do, but in all honesty, the kid was too unpredictable, and right now, that’s what worried him the most.

Wayne Manor

Jenna dabbed a warm sponge across Bruce’s forehead. Giving sponge-baths was never pleasant, but she’d learned to deal with it over the years.

I’m glad Dad’s back, she thought with a grin as she continued to work. He seems so much more alive now. I haven’t seen that twinkle in his eyes in years.

It was a comfort to be near her father again after so long. For years their only contact had been around holidays, when he and her mother would stop by long enough to have dinner and share a few laughs. Jenna had no other family that she was aware of, so those were moments she always cherished.

“And to think, the only reason my parents ever met was because of you, you old fart,” she said aloud at Bruce. Another smile followed.

She dropped the sponge in the water bowl and set it on the medical tray she kept nearby. Another listen at his heart told her he was still stable. He had a strong heart for a man his age. But then, why should she be surprised by that? This was Bruce after all.

Bruce had always treated her well enough the few times they’d met during her childhood. And, for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she had always held a deep admiration toward him. But, if what her father had told her about him was any indication, there was a reason for that respect.

The first time I met him, I was terrified. I was shaking so much, Dad almost called an ambulance. Then Bruce bent down, picked me up, and carried me to his chair in the den and set me down. He placed a hand over mine and told me not to worry. At that instant, I stopped shaking. I saw in his eyes what kind of man he was, and it brought me comfort.

She heard a low squeak coming from the stairs outside. That couldn’t be right; her dad had already told her he was going after the kid, which meant she and Bruce were alone. It hadn’t been nearly long enough since he’d left for him to be back already.

She dashed across the room, and stood on the other side of the open door. A few moments later, four men dressed from head to toe in black entered the room, swords strapped to their backs.

Are those … ninjas?

They walked over to Bruce’s bed and threw back the sheets. At that point her protective nature got the better of her.

“Don’t you touch him!” she spat, stepping out from behind the door. She pulled a small knife from the front pocket of her jeans. Being a single woman, she always carried it with her for protection.

One of them nodded at her and the others began closing in. They didn’t draw their swords. Clearly, they didn’t identify her as a threat; she intended to show them how wrong they were.

As the first one reached her, he threw a punch at her head. She held up her arm in a block, the blade of the knife pointing out. A muffled cry escaped his mouth and she knocked him to the ground with a firm kick to the gut before he could react.

The others were still in shock. They froze, only for an instant, but that was all she needed. She sprang in the air and landed a spinning heel-kick to the head of one of them. He lurched to the right and knocked his head against the door, taking a chunk of it with him.

She landed on her feet and felt the other one grab her from behind, trying to choke her out. She remembered the knife in her hand, and brought it back behind her, as hard as she could, between his legs.

“RRAAAAAHHHHH!” he screamed, releasing her and collapsing onto the floor. The knife was still embedded, leaving her unarmed against the last man.

“Hmph,” he grunted, drawing the katana from his back.

She stood in a defensive stance, waiting for him to make the first move.

City Hall

Alright, Terry thought, dropping to the floor from the ventilation shaft, the hostages are one room over. Better play this carefully.

He reached to his belt, activating stealth-mode. He eased open the door and peeked his head out; no one waiting in the halls.

They’re all in the room together.

He activated the sonar in his cowl once again, giving him a view inside the room. The hostages were lined up against the walls, and all but one of the thugs were grouped fairly close together, which meant he could take them all down relatively fast. The other one would be easy to deal with.

He kicked in the door, immediately hurling a batarang at the man across the room from him. It only managed to nick him in the shoulder.

Dammit! Terry thought. My aim was off!

It was too late now. He rushed to the right, crashing into the larger group, taking down each of them before they could fire off a shot. That still left one more.

Terry spun around. The man had a pistol pointed directly at him. He dove to the left just as it fired and pinned the gunman’s arm to the wall with a batarang. Then, rushing over, he knocked him unconscious with a right hook.

“There,” he said. “That takes care of that.”

Just then, Nightwing rushed into the room, surprising him.

“What are you doing here?” Terry said.

“I realized something was off, and I…” He cut off as he saw one of the hostages collapse to the floor, blood pooling underneath him from a bullet wound in his chest. Without hesitation, Nightwing patched into the police frequency. “Hostility at City Hall neutralized. We’ve got a man down, in need of immediate medical transportation!”

****

Nightwing rushed over to the man’s side, flipping him over on his back. It was Sam Young, Gotham District Attorney and husband of Barbara Gordon. “No,” he whispered. He examined the wound carefully; the shot had clearly hit an artery.

“I repeat, we need medical attention now! The District Attorney is down!” he said.

He reached for one of the small, blue compartments on his forearm and pulled out the bio-foam. But, before he could apply it to the wound, Sam’s eyes glazed over; he was dead.

One of the few good men left in Gotham was gone, and he and Terry were the ones to blame.

****

Sam, Barbara thought, darting up the stair, sometimes three or four steps at a time. Dear God, please be alright, Sam.

Dick’s voice still rang in her ears. The District Attorney is down.

A part of her was furious at him for interfering, but right now her worry was overtaking everything else.

Before she had time to finish thinking, she was in the doorway of the conference room. Sam lay on the floor in a pool of blood, Nightwing kneeling over him with his head hung.

“Sam!” she screamed, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging his body to her.

How could this have happened? She was the Commissioner; it was her job to keep people safe. But she couldn’t even manage to save the person she cared for the most.

She was vaguely aware of Sam’s blood seeping through her clothes, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

She tried to scream, but the sobs choked them back. The word she could manage was “no,” over and over again.

She looked up as Nightwing was leaving the room, his head still bowed.

You bastard! she thought. This is all your fault!

The Batcave

Dick stepped off of the sky-cycle just as Terry finished parking the batmobile in its designated spot.

“Dammit, kid!” he cursed. “What the hell were you thinking back there?!”

“I just thought that--”

“I know! You already told me. You thought you could take him out with the first shot. Thinking doesn’t cut it, Terry! When there are lives on the line you have to know, not think.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about the hostages behind me when I dodged the shot.”

The kid was clearly beating himself up over it. Dick could see that in his eyes. But that wasn’t good enough.

“Well, because of your careless mistake, a man is dead! And not just any man, one of the few good men left in this damn city who actually cared about justice.” He pulled back his mask. “Now, I’m going to go check on Bruce. But don’t think this conversation is even close to finished.”

Terry continued to stare at the floor as Dick walked away.

Damn kid. He’s got someone killed, Dick thought. Or, at least I think he did. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve sent him in there alone in the first place. The kid still hasn’t been properly trained, and I let him take point in a hostage situation.

He felt a little guilty for taking out his frustration on Terry. In all honesty, he felt he was as much to blame as anyone else. He needed to apologize. It wasn’t fair to kick the kid while he was down.

As he reached the top of the stairs, something on the floor caught his eye. A chunk of the door lay in the middle of the walkway. Something wasn’t right.

“Jen!” he yelled, rushing to the doorway.

The bed was empty, and Jenna was next to the bed on the floor. He blinked and he was on the floor, holding her in his arms.

“Jen, it’s Dad,” he said, tapping her on the cheek. “Wake up sweetheart. Come on.” Her face bore a cut across her right cheek.

Upon further examination, he noticed cuts both small and large all over her body and her clothing was torn.

He heard Terry bolt into the room. “Dick, what’s—Oh my God! What happened? Where’s Bruce?!”

“Don’t know,” Dick said, snapping to his senses. “Prep the med-table in the cave, I’m bringing Jen down.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Barely. I won’t know how critical it is until I get her to the table. Now move!”

Terry was out of the door in a flash. Dick carefully picked up Jenna and followed.

Alright, you’ve gone too far this time, he thought. If my little girl dies because of you, you’ll be sorry you ever stepped back out of that damn pit.

To Be Continued…




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