Staring into the Abyss [Batman]

[grimknight]

((OOC: Time reference – this thread takes place just after the Riddler plot in China taking place in The World section, after the Poison Ivy plot set up during Valentine’s Day taking place in Gotham, and just before the Scarebeast plot in Arkham taking place in Arkham Asylum, and the Scarecrow/Joker/Rachel plot in the alleyway taking place in Gotham South.))


Even though the Bat had been out of Gotham for a mere few days (four days, to be exact) his city didn’t fail his expectations of going to Hell in the least. The nightmare that was the arrival of the FBI didn’t seem to be getting better; now the Gotham Rogues were starting to weasel out of the woodworks anyway, desperate to get back to their crime sprees. Scarecrow was popping up on his radar, Joker sightings were starting to occur, Killer Croc had been caught lurking about, Riddler’s rampaging, rumors of Deadshot’s return, Catwoman, Harley Quinn, Two-Face… The list seemed endless – but not as endless as the amount of research and detective work Batman resided himself to. He took the time to download all digital files from the FBI; information easily provided to him from the specially engineered bug he and Catwoman had placed in the Feds’ headquarters.

At least Dick had done a beyond decent job acting as “Bruce Wayne” in his absence; though he failed when it came to keeping an eye on Jason Todd. Well, actually Bruce failed this task of playing guardian to Jason as well – Jason was still missing. The amount of guilt Bruce felt was unbearable, he was without his adopted ward and without his partner in crime, Robin. Another search call was sent out from the super computer Bruce sat before, glowing with busy brightness, as an attempt to make contact with the missing boy. He had this search call on constant run and the dark circles beneath his steel-blue intense gaze were unmistakable. Bruce remained in the bat-cave for a few days, searching for Jason, researching the villainous activities within his city, and monitoring any and all information the FBI had collected and was continuing to collect. Alfred was his only contact with actual humanity – bringing Bruce food, urging him to rest in a proper bed, and keeping him updated on the simpler news of galas, balls, and function events all pertaining to the lifestyle of someone rich and famous.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred gently spoke, carefully trying to wake the ever watchful Gotham Guardian up from his uncomfortable sleep upon the massive super computer’s desk console.

Bruce stirred and then quickly adjusted, jerking awake, looking like he had been hit by a mac truck. He sported a scruffy five o’clock shadow, dark circled and vein-filled eyes, and an unhealthily pale and clammy pallor – to Alfred, the butler could see his Master held the look of a man running himself ragged due to his torturous dark obsessions. To Bruce, the vigilante could see the look of a man who worked ever diligently to ensure untainted justice would be delivered.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you should check out this FBI digital surveillance tape I just finished formatting…”

No teasing quip from his faithful butler? In fact, the elderly Englishman’s tone seemed rather pressing and troubled. A spike of dubious wonder now flooded through Bruce.

He took the disc Alfred held and placed it into the computer’s drive.

“Any word from Jason?” Bruce inquired; it had become an automatic question he now asked Alfred with each time they met.

“Unfortunately not yet, sir.”

Bruce’s expression was unreadable in its dark nature, another twist of guilt knifed through him as he now watched the contents of the tape on the computer screen before him. There he saw an attractive, red headed, young woman who began to speak rather boldly about her purpose for making such a broadcast. She called herself Poison Ivy and from the look of the tape she was capable of near metahuman abilities by appearing to have some form of control over a horrifically genetically modified man-eating (or man-sucking-and-dissolving, more like) massive plant.

Then there was the threat of a biological plant-based disease, a plague, engineered and launched by her hand. She apparently had the cure and only she alone… This plague was now running rampant within Gotham and given the display he was “treated” to over her little broadcast; he seriously doubted she was bluffing. Once the broadcast had ended, he set it to repeat and play over and over; now shifting gears to handle the most current horror to come to Gotham. He downloaded every file and bit of information the Feds had on this Poison Ivy character and began to devise a plan on how to stop her.

The search for Jason Todd wouldn’t be forgotten, but right now, stopping Poison Ivy, aka, Dr. Pamela Isley took precedence. Another rogue to join the rest that dwelled within Gotham… And with the Bat’s ever calculating and constantly analyzing mind, it would be soon before learning all the FBI had to learn on the deranged woman. It would be even sooner that he planned to meet with Poison Ivy, face-to-face – when it came to delivering justice, he didn’t go easy on criminals, male or female; the Bat was an equal opportunist.


((OOC: This thread isn't currently open, but this setting may change - I will notify when it opens up for others to join.))

[grimknight]

Another night spent in the Batcave, Bruce’s true home away from home. Since his return from China the Dark Knight immersed himself in his detective work as a vigilante, pouring himself over the slew of information he managed to procure unethically and immorally. He had managed to hack into the FBI data basis, the GCPD data basis, had tracking devices and planted bugs on numerous people (some citizens, some politicians, some law enforcement, etc.), and had even succeeded hacking into some of the government’s military data bases… He had more information on more people, places, and things than seemed humanly possible. It wasn’t just the extreme amount of information that he collected; it was the extreme amount of meticulous detail laden within his constantly gathered information. The super computer glowed ominously before a haggard looking Bruce; the giant mechanical device gleaming with several massive screens streaming images of case files, mug shots, places of location, the news, and much more. Though the 33 year old’s finely tuned and exceedingly physically fit toned form looked tired and sluggish due to going without sleep for a total of 49 hours and counting, his icy steel-blue eyes still carried their razor sharp intensity.

Bruce was a man obsessed, engrossed in trying to solve all of Gotham’s current horrors of crime, diligently intent on bringing true justice to a city wrought with the disease of corruption, despair, and darkness. Atlas had nothing on Bruce Wayne – not only did the Gotham Guardian carry the weight of the world on his shoulders; he also carried the guilt of the world right alongside it. So deep was the need, the drive, the endless desire to make a difference in the filth of a decrepit city he called home by pursuing those with ill intent. If anything? Bruce wanted to make sure that the tragedy which had struck him that fateful night so many years ago – that night where an 8 year old boy came face-to-face with the truest nature of hell by being exposed to the monsters and demons that lurk within men’s souls, watching as some callous and desperate coward of a man gunned down his parents in cold blood – THAT night, would never ever happen again to any child. Not in his city.

But there had been mistakes and accidents, tragedies the Bat had tried and tried again to prevent and yet failed in doing so. It was a war he was fighting, one he never asked to be a part of, yet it had found him never-the-less. In a war there were casualties, in a war things were never pretty, never truly black or white… In a war he could only hope that the losses he had endured over the years since taking on the self-appointed vigilante and becoming an incorruptible symbol would be worth the victory in the end. All the fighting, the horror, the madness, the grief would be worth it in the end if he won this war.

“Right. If a pathetic loser like you ends up winning a war like this. From where I sit? Hell’s more likely to freeze over.”

Bruce jerked up in his seat before the silently glowing immense computer. Now he was quite alert, body now rigid and tense – had he really just heard that? Alfred wasn’t in the cave, neither was Dick, Jason, or Barbara… It was just Bruce and Bruce alone, sitting in deep thought before the super computer, watching it go through endless reels of information silently. The only sound in the Batcave he could account for beyond the whirring hum of the electricity he had pumped into the area was the soft screeching sounds the bats above would make from time to time, and the running flow of the fresh water stream in cave’s lower depths. Then again Bruce knew that voice all too well… He recognized the dark, graveled, feral tone it carried in the most menacing way.

‘You’re losing it, Bruce! Get yourself together and concentrate on the work at hand.’ He silently thought now rubbing at his temples. Bruce went back to sifting through the case files before him when…

“Of course you’re losing it! You always were weak, Bruce. I’m living proof of that fact.” That eerily familiar dark voice growled in retaliation to Bruce’s thoughts.

Bruce suddenly spun about in his computer chair and glared at the vault behind him where he kept a vast array of various versions and backups of the bat-suit.

“You?” Bruce asked allowed, stunned but somehow strangely accepting of the weird situation now occurring.

“Of course ME! It’s always been ME, Bruce!” The voice roared, seeming to come straight from the bat-suit, the voice of course belonging to none other than Batman.

“But you’re ME. …And I’m talking to myself. Maybe it’s finally happened – I’ve officially cracked.” Bruce murmured out, watching the bat-suit wide eyed.

“That’s right Bruce. Little Brucie. Make an excuse to justify your flaws so you can still manage to live the stinking pathetic lie that is your life. Convince yourself you’re having a psychotic break down and just give up. I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce arched a brow at the harsh statement coming from Batman. “I don’t give up.” Bruce stated coldly.

“Don’t you? After all, here we are, face-to-face and you still can’t accept that fact.”

“Fine, I’ll play it your way – what do you want?”

The Batman let out a low, dark malicious snarl of a chuckle then easily replied, “What do I want? It’s simple Bruce. I want to be freed, completely. I want to be let out without your ridiculous rules of self-gratification and self-moralization to box me in and stunt my potential. I want to do what you’re too weak and pitiful to do… I want to clean up the filthy scum in this city – one bullet at a time. I want to kill.”