Fan Fiction ❯ The Game We Play ❯ The Media is the Message ( Chapter 28 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Dark Jester 
Bruce comes home to terrible news...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.03.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 228 | Status: Completed
Bruce comes home to terrible news...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.03.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 228 | Status: Completed
Chapter 28 - The Media is the Message
The large grandfather clock in the foyer of Wayne Manor approached noon, the pendulum swinging lazily in the quiet of the mansion. The hand slid completely under the twelve.
Bong!
A car pulled up outside.
Bong!
The silence errupted into the chattering of dozens of reporters who'd been gathered outside, their voices muffled by the door and thick windows.
Bong!
The car doors opened then slammed shut, barely audible over the increasing din of human voices.
Bong!
Bong!
Bong!
A key was hastily jammed into the door.
Bong!
The door opened. The noise spilled into the quiet house, disrupting the previously peaceful interior. Flashbulbs lit up the foyer.
Bong!
"No comment!" Bruce yelled at the reporters as he pulled a shellshocked looking Alfred inside.
Bong!
Bruce slammed the door, dulling the noise of the throng. He leaned against it, shaking his head.
Bong!
Bong!
Bong!
"I do apologize," Alfred mumbled as soon as they were safely inside. "I hadn't imagined there would be so many."
An uneasy silence fell after he spoke, allowing him to feel the weight of the past few days more clearly. Things had been hard on all of them, but he could only hope for it to be better from now on.
"I've prepared a light lunch."
"Not hungry." Bruce grunted, and immediately headed for the cave.
"Bruce," Alfred pleaded. "Please..." His face was worn with concern, his step light as he lunged forward.
"Can't talk. Dying." Bruce shot back, not bothering to turn around.
Alfred wiped at his left eye, and followed after the younger man. "Bruce, stop. Please talk to me. I'm so very concerned." He reached out, but paused.
"I don't want to talk. I want to work." Bruce responded coldly. "If you wanted to talk, you should have done it before you had me drugged and stuffed in Arkham."
"Technically, Sir... It was Leslie that drugged you." Alfred's voice raised slightly, as though he were offended. "Master Richard proposed the idea to us. I only ever considered it for your... health."
"That's right. Pass the buck, Alfred." Bruce responded in a voice the could wither steel. "The problem is that none of you considered that I might actually know what I was doing."
"Know what you were doing? Bruce!" Alfred hurried up to gain his pace, intending to cut him off before he reached the next room. "How could you have known what you were doing?! You spent days down there with that lunatic... who could've murdered you in your sleep! Did you stop to consider my safety? Did you? He's killed too many to count, Bruce. He was only going to betray you in the end, as well. That man is a manipulative monster."
"So am I!" Bruce shot back angrily, glaring at his butler. "He DIDN'T kill me in my sleep, DID he?! I've taken physical risks before, Alfred! They just haven't personally offended you in the past! He was HARMLESS, and now he's back in there, and. . ."
And pretty soon it wouldn't matter, because he'd be dead.
"He can't die." He insisted, curling his hands into fists as he lowered his voice. "That's not how I win the game."
"There's nothing you can do to stop what's been set in motion," Alfred responded softly. "He will die, Bruce. You need to get on with your life. Perhaps a vacation..."
"I DON'T NEED A VACATION!" Bruce bellowed, his face going red and a vein standing out on his forehead. "Damn it, Alfred! You don't understand! You've NEVER understood! All that insufferable NAGGING! Damn it! Don't you know when to QUIT?!"
"No, sir, but apparently, neither do you!" Alfred stood his ground, not backing away from the man he'd raised. "It is you that cannot understand the situation. You are too far removed from reality, and everything you once held high. There will BE no Joker by morning, Bruce!"
Bruce was violently silent for a long while, his shoulders heaving with inner rage. Betrayal flashed in his eyes, as well as a sense of hopelessness. The only person who 'got it', who really understood, was rotting away in a cell, and he was arguing with a supercillious stubborn old man that wouldn't understand what drove him, drove Batman, if it were spelled out for him phonetically. Alfred seemed to see him as a perpetual child who needed to be told when to go to bed. He didn't need him. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to snatch someone from the jaws of death, to fight fate, to break the rules and win, to show himself that it could be done, that he wasn't a slave to destiny. He couldn't explain that though. He shouldn't need to explain it. In fact, he couldn't explain it, because he'd just be told that he was trying to do the impossible.
He'd like to be told something he didn't know.
"You're wrong." He said finally. "This conversation is over."
And he descended into the Batcave.
"You'll see how wrong I am later this evening... with the news." Alfred stared after Bruce, his voice only loud enough to be heard down the Batcave stairs. "There is a reason Master Richard is not present this morning." He turned around, and started off toward the kitchen.
Batman ignored him. There was work to be done. He began going back over the results of failed previous experiments, trying to find something, anything, that would solve this mystery.
*****
Bruce worked non-stop to try to cure the Joker's sickness for over six hours. At 6:19, a window on the Batcomputer's giant screen began flashing. The newswire search engine had gotten a hit on one of Gotham's most notorious offenders.
He growled. He didn't have time for this. Then again, it might give his brain a break from the current problem.
He hit a key on the keyboard, and the digitally recorded news broadcast began playing.
"This is Summer Gleason reporting outside GCPD headquarters with breaking news. Commissioner Gordon has just finished making a statement detailing plans to transfer Arkham Asylum's most feared inmate, the Joker, to New York, where he is to be put to death by lethal injection. These events were apparently set in motion after a conditional plea-bargain concerning thirteen murders the Joker committed in the state of New York, overturned after his most recent escape from Arkham, which resulted in the kidnapping of Gotham's most prominent citizen, Bruce Wayne. In an interesting co-incidence, Mr. Wayne was just released from Arkham himself, after being treated for psychological damage due to his ordeal. As has been previously reported, the location where the Joker was holding Mr. Wayne is still a mystery, and no demands for ransom appear to have been made.
"Because this plea is now overturned, the death-penalty for the crimes has now been re-instated. The Joker, whose real identity is still unknown, is scheduled to be executed by the state of New York at eleven AM tomorrow morning. . ."
The piece went on for another minute, detailing the Joker's recent mischief, as well as showing archive footage of the New York crimes -- a killing spree at an airport, during which the Joker was assisted by henchman dressed as moose. Bruce, however, just kept watching that opening bit over and over again, forcing himself to believe that it was real.
Still somewhat in denial, he switched over to a live television feed, and started flipping channels. Every report was the same.
Someone had used the fact that he was locked away to push this through. But who? Who would have the motive, and the ability, to do something like this?
He wasn't sure, but he had a short list of suspects.
A few short moments later, the Batmobile roared out of the cave.
*
The large grandfather clock in the foyer of Wayne Manor approached noon, the pendulum swinging lazily in the quiet of the mansion. The hand slid completely under the twelve.
Bong!
A car pulled up outside.
Bong!
The silence errupted into the chattering of dozens of reporters who'd been gathered outside, their voices muffled by the door and thick windows.
Bong!
The car doors opened then slammed shut, barely audible over the increasing din of human voices.
Bong!
Bong!
Bong!
A key was hastily jammed into the door.
Bong!
The door opened. The noise spilled into the quiet house, disrupting the previously peaceful interior. Flashbulbs lit up the foyer.
Bong!
"No comment!" Bruce yelled at the reporters as he pulled a shellshocked looking Alfred inside.
Bong!
Bruce slammed the door, dulling the noise of the throng. He leaned against it, shaking his head.
Bong!
Bong!
Bong!
"I do apologize," Alfred mumbled as soon as they were safely inside. "I hadn't imagined there would be so many."
An uneasy silence fell after he spoke, allowing him to feel the weight of the past few days more clearly. Things had been hard on all of them, but he could only hope for it to be better from now on.
"I've prepared a light lunch."
"Not hungry." Bruce grunted, and immediately headed for the cave.
"Bruce," Alfred pleaded. "Please..." His face was worn with concern, his step light as he lunged forward.
"Can't talk. Dying." Bruce shot back, not bothering to turn around.
Alfred wiped at his left eye, and followed after the younger man. "Bruce, stop. Please talk to me. I'm so very concerned." He reached out, but paused.
"I don't want to talk. I want to work." Bruce responded coldly. "If you wanted to talk, you should have done it before you had me drugged and stuffed in Arkham."
"Technically, Sir... It was Leslie that drugged you." Alfred's voice raised slightly, as though he were offended. "Master Richard proposed the idea to us. I only ever considered it for your... health."
"That's right. Pass the buck, Alfred." Bruce responded in a voice the could wither steel. "The problem is that none of you considered that I might actually know what I was doing."
"Know what you were doing? Bruce!" Alfred hurried up to gain his pace, intending to cut him off before he reached the next room. "How could you have known what you were doing?! You spent days down there with that lunatic... who could've murdered you in your sleep! Did you stop to consider my safety? Did you? He's killed too many to count, Bruce. He was only going to betray you in the end, as well. That man is a manipulative monster."
"So am I!" Bruce shot back angrily, glaring at his butler. "He DIDN'T kill me in my sleep, DID he?! I've taken physical risks before, Alfred! They just haven't personally offended you in the past! He was HARMLESS, and now he's back in there, and. . ."
And pretty soon it wouldn't matter, because he'd be dead.
"He can't die." He insisted, curling his hands into fists as he lowered his voice. "That's not how I win the game."
"There's nothing you can do to stop what's been set in motion," Alfred responded softly. "He will die, Bruce. You need to get on with your life. Perhaps a vacation..."
"I DON'T NEED A VACATION!" Bruce bellowed, his face going red and a vein standing out on his forehead. "Damn it, Alfred! You don't understand! You've NEVER understood! All that insufferable NAGGING! Damn it! Don't you know when to QUIT?!"
"No, sir, but apparently, neither do you!" Alfred stood his ground, not backing away from the man he'd raised. "It is you that cannot understand the situation. You are too far removed from reality, and everything you once held high. There will BE no Joker by morning, Bruce!"
Bruce was violently silent for a long while, his shoulders heaving with inner rage. Betrayal flashed in his eyes, as well as a sense of hopelessness. The only person who 'got it', who really understood, was rotting away in a cell, and he was arguing with a supercillious stubborn old man that wouldn't understand what drove him, drove Batman, if it were spelled out for him phonetically. Alfred seemed to see him as a perpetual child who needed to be told when to go to bed. He didn't need him. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to snatch someone from the jaws of death, to fight fate, to break the rules and win, to show himself that it could be done, that he wasn't a slave to destiny. He couldn't explain that though. He shouldn't need to explain it. In fact, he couldn't explain it, because he'd just be told that he was trying to do the impossible.
He'd like to be told something he didn't know.
"You're wrong." He said finally. "This conversation is over."
And he descended into the Batcave.
"You'll see how wrong I am later this evening... with the news." Alfred stared after Bruce, his voice only loud enough to be heard down the Batcave stairs. "There is a reason Master Richard is not present this morning." He turned around, and started off toward the kitchen.
Batman ignored him. There was work to be done. He began going back over the results of failed previous experiments, trying to find something, anything, that would solve this mystery.
*****
Bruce worked non-stop to try to cure the Joker's sickness for over six hours. At 6:19, a window on the Batcomputer's giant screen began flashing. The newswire search engine had gotten a hit on one of Gotham's most notorious offenders.
He growled. He didn't have time for this. Then again, it might give his brain a break from the current problem.
He hit a key on the keyboard, and the digitally recorded news broadcast began playing.
"This is Summer Gleason reporting outside GCPD headquarters with breaking news. Commissioner Gordon has just finished making a statement detailing plans to transfer Arkham Asylum's most feared inmate, the Joker, to New York, where he is to be put to death by lethal injection. These events were apparently set in motion after a conditional plea-bargain concerning thirteen murders the Joker committed in the state of New York, overturned after his most recent escape from Arkham, which resulted in the kidnapping of Gotham's most prominent citizen, Bruce Wayne. In an interesting co-incidence, Mr. Wayne was just released from Arkham himself, after being treated for psychological damage due to his ordeal. As has been previously reported, the location where the Joker was holding Mr. Wayne is still a mystery, and no demands for ransom appear to have been made.
"Because this plea is now overturned, the death-penalty for the crimes has now been re-instated. The Joker, whose real identity is still unknown, is scheduled to be executed by the state of New York at eleven AM tomorrow morning. . ."
The piece went on for another minute, detailing the Joker's recent mischief, as well as showing archive footage of the New York crimes -- a killing spree at an airport, during which the Joker was assisted by henchman dressed as moose. Bruce, however, just kept watching that opening bit over and over again, forcing himself to believe that it was real.
Still somewhat in denial, he switched over to a live television feed, and started flipping channels. Every report was the same.
Someone had used the fact that he was locked away to push this through. But who? Who would have the motive, and the ability, to do something like this?
He wasn't sure, but he had a short list of suspects.
A few short moments later, the Batmobile roared out of the cave.
*