"And although authorities were unavailible for comment, several anonymous sources have exclusively confirmed to Gotham Tonight that the involvement of the vigilante Batman was solitary in the attack on the grounds, citing the infamous masked outlaw as 'ravaged' and 'dangerous' in his approach on the Asylum's security staff. While Arkham's new warden, Dr. Johnathan Crane, has been adamant that the incident has no bearing on the safety of his staff or the patients being treated on the grounds, acting commissioner of police Sarah Essen-Gordon is expected to release a full statement to the press tommorow morning, regarding the department's lack of progress in the arrest of The Batman following a series of gangland murders tied to the active case brought against..."
It's been all over the news since dawn.
Local stations, international affiliates, even the online publications have been trafficking by the thousands ever since the initial reports of it broke through Lois Lane's column at The Planet. And while there are many that have been circulating coverage of the related attacks, such as Superman's onslaught on Pokolistan or Diana's breach on the Pentagon, I can't help but notice as most of the public talkbacks turn the focus back to what happened at Arkham. Some would say it's because the public knows the least about Batman, about what his true affilitations are or what he's out to accomplish in all of the crimes that I've been falsely accused of committing in the past, but I have another theory. They're simply trying to reaffirm something that they always suspected would happen. From the moment I stepped out onto Gotham's streets and made a prescence known, they've been calling me variations of the same word. 'Insane', 'Demented', 'Dangerous', 'Malignant'...
Crazy. A timebomb waiting to explode, I believe is what Knox once called me at the Gazette. It's all come as a result of the public perception of what it is I really am in a city that's produced a staggering amount of killers, psychotics, and criminals. Normally I'd have been able to brace myself for the aftermath of something like this, but in the turmoil of all that's happened in the past few hours, I've come to realize what my real reaction was from the beginning. This isn't like those other times, where I could have relived the facts and used them to tell myself that it wasn't my fault. This is something that could have never happened without my existence.
And that, above all else, is what scares me the most. Dr. Destiny may have been controlling my mind, but only to exploit capabilities that were already there. The woman needed my expertise and my prowess as a combatant in order to get her deranged message across. I trained to be the best that I could be, but always with the narrow objective of taking on Gotham's worst. Now I can't help but imagine if Destiny, or perhaps someone with abilities like hers, were to take hold of me again. And I wonder to myself, quietly surveying the video footage of the aftermath as the cleanup at Arkham begins. Did I succeed at being the best, only to take it too far?
"That will be enough of that,"
Midway through stitching up a gash in my arm, Alfred retrieves the remote and shuts off the television so that he can continue in peace. To say the air in the room isn't a little awkward would be lying. He's been mostly quiet ever since I returned from Metropolis, but I could tell that he's been following the news like anyone else. And like them, he isn't sure of what to think. If I thought I could explain it to him without sounding like I really have lost it, I might have tried.
"Now then, let's get that one sterilized. Before you acquire yet another of your trophy infections."
As he begins to wrap it in a cloth dressing, I simply stare across the room, looking out the window at the skyline of Gotham while day begins to break. From here, you can still see the news helicopters hovering over the Island, trying to catch a glimpse of any damage I might have done to Arkham itself. In his own way, Alfred tries to get me to focus on something else.
"You're going to ask me what happened, aren't you?"
He avoids the question. For the sake of prosperity, I try to dress the situation in a more believeable set of circumstances.
"I was put under the affects of ...something, some new narcotic on the streets. It was strong enough to made me hallucinate things about Arkham that weren't true."
I can tell some of his doubts are allieviated, even though the worry doesn't leave his face.
"I see. Well if that's the case, perhaps we should think up a proper alibi for Dr. Lucius Fox, so that he can do the bloodwork to determine whether it poses any threat your system."
Weakly managing to get up from my seat in order to avoid the suggestion, I take a walk over to the balcony and stare out, lighting up a cigarette in the process. After everything I've seen and experienced tonight, I can't help but feel like I need something to stimulate me. Even for a moment.
"Sir, I wish you wouldn't. At least, not without any opened windows in the..."
I give him a look. He sighs to himself, gathering up the spare bandages and the first aid.
"Alright, but only this once. After that, we're going to work on quitting those. Lord knows that your physical health doesn't suffer enough as it is."
Breathing in the nicotine, I lean against the window with my arm as the news copter leaves, passing us as it goes by.
"We'll see."
"In any event, you have a stockholder's meeting to attend this morning. And before you even ask, I cannot cancel the appointment. Waynetech's board of directors are already calling you nonstop, and I imagine it is to discuss your position in the company itself. Bruce Wayne has yet to take an active prescence in their plans for the next year's joint ventures."
Great. Just what I need after a night like this. Sitting in a board room and pretending to be interested in the monthly quota. Even though I give him a grunt, as I go to put out the cigarette, I nevertheless nod as he hands me the meeting's documents.
"And if I may make a suggestion. Perhaps this is the perfect opprotunity to tackle this latest misfortune head on. As I seem to recall, Waynetech has donated to Arkham Asylum in the past. Perhaps a more sizeable amount, this time?"
Even though it doesn't quite help with my concerns, he does raise an interesting point. I may not be able to repair much of the damage as Batman, beyond my contributions in last night's apprehension of Destiny, but asserting the situation as Bruce Wayne does give me certain opprotunities for retribution. Even if they're of the financial variety.
"I'll keep it under advisement. Anything else?"
He pauses, midway through scrolling the daily planner.
"Oh. Yes, actually. I had intended to update you on Miss Kyle."
Selina?
Dammit, I forgot all about that. Now it's all coming back to me, she was still in the hospital whenever I was overtaken by Destiny's influence. Our siege on Richard Dragon's hideout in Chinatown, the beating that she sustained. Everything that happened. I can only hope that she's still alright.
"You went to see her? When?"
"I offered to drive her home, right after she was discharged. Despite the physical trauma, she actually seemed to be in rare spirits. Apart from complaining about the bill, which I promptly offered to pay. I assumed that you wouldn't have minded."
"Of course... but,"
Alfred can practically read it on my face. He knows what I was about to say.
"Yes, there was a bit of talk about her recent... discoveries. But to be honest, sir, I wasn't quite comfortable discussing it without your presence. You'll have to eventually speak to her for yourself."
I'm not sure which I'd rather try first. That, or the meeting. Obviously, this changes everything between us, particularly if she happened to hear the promise that I may have overzealously given her while she was sedated. I'm not out to encourage her to continue being Catwoman, especially if everything goes as wrong as it did before. But with her newfound knowledge of my identity, I'm not even sure if I have that choice. I may have to follow through.
Even if part of me wishes I had just let Superman choke me to death.
"I'll do what I can. Maybe you should invite her to the penthouse tonight, if I'm not too..."
Suddenly, my phone goes off. Specifically, the application relay that I designed through Oracle to give the program access to my personal text alerts. Both of us look down as I pull the phone out of my back pocket and read over the information that it gives me, detailing the recent event logs of the past few hours. Normally I'd be inclined to ignore it or save it for later...
Except that not all of the event logs are mine.
"Have you used Oracle? At any point earlier tonight?"
"I haven't had the chance. As I told you, I was out all evening."
Scrolling through the text, I uplink directly into Oracle's main database and begin shifting through the information that the log directed me to. Everything that I've used it for in the last few hours, including the commands made while under the influence of Destiny, has been detailed to their absolute function. Searching through it further, backlogging through the defunct encryptions, I stumble upon an entry made at the point that threw me off...
And am considerably surprised at what I find waiting for me.
What the hell?!
