Batman Arkham Knight (7 page)

“My children!” she shrieked. “You killed my children!”

“No,” he said, and the word was like a slap. “You did, by pitting them against me.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the elevator, then slapped handcuffs around her wrists. “You’re coming with me.”

She smiled and gave him a fake pout.

“You only had to ask.”

* * *

Scarecrow wasn’t happy.

As the prominent psychologist Dr. Jonathan Crane, his job had been to help people rid themselves of their deepest fears. He reasoned that fear kept people from becoming their best, and by minimizing those dark terrors, an individual could achieve peace.

Crane spent years researching fears—why people had them, how they manifested and grew stronger, and finally, when he learned everything he believed he needed to, he began to experiment on how to eliminate them.

Over time he came to believe that to fight fear one needed to create and instill a substitute fear. Firemen fought fires by building a firewall to prevent the bigger blaze from moving forward. Doctors fought many diseases by injecting their patients with small doses in order to build the antibodies necessary to resist the main infection. He believed if one substituted a lesser, more governable fear, it could replace the overpowering dreads that paralyzed his patients.

And it worked.

He replaced nyctophobia—the fear of the night and darkness, a phobia that crippled so many of his patients every day when the sun went down—with hydrophobophobia, the very rational fear of contracting rabies. He replaced arachnophobia, the fear of spiders, with syphilophobia, the avoidable fear of contracting syphilis.

There were thousands of such fears that could be substituted with thousands of others far easier to treat, and less likely to arise for a person living a reasonably normal life. One could, he realized, avoid almost all situations that generated taurophobia, the fear of bulls, much easier than selenophobia, the fear of the moon.

But with each success, Crane began to relish the godlike ability to enter a patient’s mind and to take it over, rebuilding their response mechanisms from the ground up, changing the very way they reacted to the world around them. He enjoyed watching his patients respond to a new series of phobias, and he began to believe that people
deserved
the fears they sought to eliminate. If they were good people, after all, there’d be no reason to fear anything.

Only those with something to hide should ever be afraid.

Send the fear out there
, he thought.
Infect the masses. See what happens to them.
Those who were good would resist his infection. Those who deserved punishment would become victims of their own darkness. What he was doing was right and just.

And well deserved.

Nearly everyone succumbed to the basest fears, which meant he was achieving what providence had meant for him. He was culling the weak. Within a generation only the strong, the pure, his believers, would live.

And that, he decided, was good.

But there were those who disagreed with his mandate and fought him. Most of them he dealt with easily, but not Batman. The Dark Knight always managed to resist.

Scarecrow was on the offensive now. He was going to cleanse Gotham City, and to do that he needed to see his greatest enemy die.

“Batman must be mine,” he ordered the criminals. “Defeat him and bring him to me. My champion will be rewarded.”

Now he needed to recapture Poison Ivy. She possessed the antidote that rendered his toxin ineffective. He would not allow her to synthesize it—and let the weak resist his warriors. “As for the woman, bring her to me alive, and you will be wealthy beyond your greatest dreams.”

Batman and Ivy had made it to West Broadway when one of Scarecrow’s tanks appeared behind a row of parked cars. With a squeal of metal on metal it reared up, crushing the vehicles beneath its massive treads.

Ivy tried to pull back, away from Batman, as the tank smashed car after car into twisted steel, but he firmly held onto her.

“Did you come here to rescue me or get me killed?”

“Neither,” Batman said as another tank rolled into sight. More appeared from other directions, six in all. All of their escape routes were blocked. Then he heard the whoosh of helicopter blades, and saw a police copter hovering above them—he recognized it as a WayneTech-467, designed by Lucius Fox for reconnaissance, not combat.

There were no weapons on board.

* * *

Lt. Adrienne Broome, with seven years on the G.C.P.D., was the chopper pilot. She’d flown in the last Middle East war, then retired from the military when the troops were brought home. But Adrienne lived for the adrenaline and after floundering a few years with jobs that didn’t come close to being fulfilling, she applied to the Gotham City Police Air Division and was quickly accepted.

The job required constant concentration, and where most found it daunting, she thrived in it.

Below, she saw Batman, headed for the Batmobile, which was parked about a block away. He was pulling a redheaded woman dressed in a tight uniform of some sort. It might have been a trick of the light, but her skin appeared to be… green. The tanks following them were moving closer. Maintaining her calm, she reached for the comm.

“Lt. Adrienne Broome,” she said. “Commissioner, I’ve got six heavily armored tanks on the ground in Chinatown. They’re targeting the Bat and a woman I don’t recognize.”

Gordon responded, and it sounded as if he wasn’t fully comprehending what she was saying.

“Did you say tanks?”

“Yeah. Batman and the woman are surrounded. They need backup, with offensive weapons. Armor-piercing weapons. Please advise.”

* * *

“Sir.”
Alfred Pennyworth’s voice suddenly came in over Batman’s comm.
“I thought you should know I’m detecting no heat signatures. I believe those tanks are unmanned, and being controlled remotely.”

Batman let himself smile. “Then I’m clear to engage?”

“Indeed you are, sir.”

Batman tapped his glove’s control panel, then turned to Ivy.

“Hold on tight, and do what I do.”

* * *

Broome waited for Gordon to answer, but the comm remained silent. After a long pause, she hit the button again. Its light blinked green—she was still connected to G.C.P.D. HQ.

“Sir, I asked for advice. What do I do, sir?”

After what seemed to be forever but was probably only a few seconds, Gordon responded, his voice soft and his words slow and measured.

“We have to help him. We can’t let him die.”

“Umm, things seem to have changed, sir. I’m not sure he needs help.”

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

She stared at the Batmobile, moving toward the tanks even as its parts seemed to shift and change.

“It’s his car, sir. It doesn’t seem to have a driver inside, but it’s heading toward him, and, sir, it’s, ummm, transforming.”

“Transforming? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it, sir, but it looks as if it’s becoming a tank. And I think the Batman is controlling it.” She watched in silence as the vehicle’s fenders tucked in under it. Metal sheathing unfolded and slipped over its chassis, covering it, as steel plates lowered to protect its tires.

Damn, we sure could have used that in the war
.

While she watched, Batman positioned himself in front of the woman, shielding her as he did something to his gauntlet—it had to be a digital control of some sort. The car responded instantly, spinning in place until it faced the closest tank even as its wheels pulled out and revolved.

Sixty-millimeter kinetic-energy penetrator cannons rose from behind the front cabin. To its rear an armor-piercing incendiary Vulcan gun unfolded. Surface-to-air anti-tank missiles were primed to fire a barrage that could simultaneously target and take down up to six hostiles at once. Finally, riot supressor guns flipped into position, ready to fire non-lethal slam rounds at any human attacker.

The Batmobile was now in battle mode and ready to take on all attackers.

* * *

Twin missiles exploded from the Vulcan guns and slammed into the militia tank. Batman pushed Ivy to the ground and shielded her with his body. Seconds later the tank exploded and shrapnel flew in all directions. His uniform kept them from being burned as heated scraps pelted down on them.

Keying further instructions into his gauntlet, he spun the Batmobile again and aimed its next two missiles at another tank. As this second tank exploded, he pulled her to him.

“This would be a good time to leave,” he said.

She smiled seductively and lifted her hands, which were still handcuffed together.

“The master of understatement, as ever,” she said, laughing. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

They ducked into an alleyway and Batman stopped. He checked his gauntlet display again.

“There are four more tanks to deal with, and it appears I’ve only got one more set of missiles. We’re going to have to do this fast.”

He fired his final missiles, and the third tank answered with a loud, explosive roar. His fingers quickly danced across the touchpad and the Batmobile spun again, but this time it lurched ahead, speeding around the exploded debris and pulled to a rolling stop in front of them.

“Ivy, now! Inside.”

The hatch slid open. Batman lifted Ivy and placed her inside. Her seat belt automatically buckled her in, restraining her. For good measure he removed the cuff from his hand and attached it to a steel bar in the car’s inner compartment. Ivy wasn’t going anywhere. She leaned back and with her free hand slid her finger along the Batmobile’s padded walls.

“Wonderful toy you’ve got here,” she said. “What will it turn into next?”

Batman positioned himself behind the wheel, gunned the engine, and the car shot forward, zigzagging to avoid the missiles that arced toward them. Even though she was strapped in, Ivy gripped the seat in front of her for added protection. She squeezed shut her eyes as the Batmobile careened around a corner. Once she felt the car slow down she reluctantly opened them again.

“Who taught you how to drive?”

“Did I forget to tell you to hold on tight?” Batman said. He spun around the next corner and hit the gas, increasing speed, then making another sharp right, and then another, coming in behind Scarecrow’s final three tanks. “This is going to get loud,” he said.

She stuck her index fingers into her ears and leaned back, closing her eyes yet again. The handcuffs forced her to lean to the left at an awkward angle.

“Do your worst.”

* * *

The Batmobile stored nearly nine hundred rounds of promethium-coated bullets which, aimed properly, could do significant damage—even against a tank. And all he needed was to slow these juggernauts down long enough for an escape. Anything more would be gravy.

As the tanks began rotating their turrets the 180 degrees they needed to face him, he targeted their optic sensors, external mantlets, and periscopes, then set his guns for automatic fire. The Batmobile’s absorption baffles prevented Batman and Ivy from being permanently deafened by the roar. Within seconds the tanks were effectively blind.

He slammed his foot on the gas and shot forward. His gauntlet comm vibrated and a moment later the police commissioner’s face appeared on its holo screen.

“I don’t know what you did to shake the hornet’s nest, Batman,”
Gordon said,
“but we need more of it. We’ve spotted a transport deploying more tanks around Panessa Studios.”

Panessa Studios?
Batman thought with a frown.
Coincidence, or does Scarecrow know?
But he just nodded to Gordon. “Not to worry. I’ll deal with them, Jim.”

Gordon responded with an exasperated smile
. “It’s been non-stop all day, and I keep thinking everything’s getting worse instead of better. It’s hard to keep going. How do you do it?”

“By keeping my eyes on the goal,” Batman replied. “We want Gotham City safe from fear, and if Scarecrow is anything, it’s fear. We have to take him down. Everything else is extraneous.”

Gordon nodded.
“You know, I never questioned going on the offensive against the Joker. I mean, he was insane, deadly and, God, every bad thing I can put on the list, and then probably more. But even if his tactics were unpredictable, they were still the strategies of a human being. I can’t even begin to understand what Scarecrow is about.”

“Scarecrow is human, too, Jim. And we’ll stop him the same way we stopped the Joker.”

“I know he’s human. But his weapons aren’t bullets and subterfuge—they’re chemical and toxic. Shields can stop bullets. A well-laid-out plan can skirt almost any deception, but how do you stop airborne poisons? It scares the piss out of me.”

“I may have the solution here with me,” Batman said, turning briefly to Poison Ivy. She was humming that same song again. “And I’m bringing her to you now.”

* * *

Gotham City lockup was filled beyond capacity. Gordon was used to that. Whenever the police force showed any sign of weakness or discord, the city’s worst tended to make an appearance. They may have been cowards, but a lot of them were smart enough to smell opportunity.

Batman held onto Ivy’s handcuffed wrist and pulled her inside a large room filled with cops and the few civilian personnel who had decided to stay in the city to help. Working as hard as any of the police, these people were why he continued his mission to save the city. They were Gotham City’s hope and future.

Gordon was on the phone, screaming at whoever was on the other end.

“Civil unrest? No kidding! Look, there’s a war on the streets, and we don’t have the manpower or the equipment to stop everyone everywhere,” He paused for a moment to listen. “Vale, you’re a damned good reporter, and I know you’ve got a job to do but so do I. Still, if you want a quote, fine, here’s one. ‘Against overwhelming odds, the Gotham City Police are doing the best goddam job we can. If people want to help, they should get the hell out of the city before the bad guys close it down, and they’re trapped here.’ That good enough for you?