Post by Timothy on Sept 25, 2005 10:55:25 GMT -5
This is a fan sequel/ prequel that I developed for the Dark Knight Returns, taking place a few days/ about a week after the events of DKR...I will probably create two more parts later on if there are a sufficient number of people who want me to write another set of stories...Enjoy...
Midnight; the cave, or what’s left of it. Reminds me of when life was simpler, when all you had to worry about was what angle a bullet would emerge from, or what type of anti-toxin to use when countering the effects of a deadly poison. Strategy and tactical planning fills the void that was once occupied by grand escapes and deductive investigations; what’s the use in determining who the culprit is these days when the answer stares you directly into the face whenever you view your television? I savor my new full-time position and wonder why I ever attempted to
I guess experience and hind-sight come with age…
Forget about the past, forget about the “bat-cave”; there is no “bat-cave.” No more trophies, no more mementos; the slate has been wiped completely clean. I approve of the ruins that were once my home; that was then, and this is now. Life goes on, and so do I.
It’s a night like this that I miss Alfred.
Shoulder aches, but it’ll heal. Crack my knuckles to ease the pain; wrap my hands over and over with more bandages. Arm’s wrapped with bandages, but it’ll heal; it’s not damaged enough for a cast, and for that I’m thankful. Jacket’s a bit musty, but down here, no one’s going to notice or even care…
We’ll set up camp here for right now; mobility is our ally. We must press on with the larger agenda…Somebody breaks out our food supply; an army can’t march on an empty stomach. First time in about a day that we’ve had some semblance of rest and a meal not consisting of just trail rations…I sit on the rocky ground with the others, but I don’t get too comfortable; we’re not here for sight-seeing… Tonight’s meal is canned beans and salted pork, the best that money can buy (for what it’s worth)…My body’s tired, but my mind’s still active, another thing to be grateful for; in my line of work, you’re liable to end up dead if it was the other way around. Oliver finds me in the crowd, not that it’s that difficult when you look like I do. He sits down carefully on a boulder not even half-the size that he is; with only one arm hanging by the side of your person, you have to be careful and avoid unnecessary risks. Best to avoid any unpleasant situations and awkward silence, not that there isn’t too much of that already; these punks will follow me, but they’re still afraid. Good, I like it that way; followers are only as strong as their leader. Oliver motions to the food with his utensil and a movement of his head; I respond with a glance at my own container, half-interested in his attempt at conversation. We don’t discuss much of anything anymore; he has Marxist leanings and I’m a capitalist…Both of us go back to finishing our meal; like I said, awkward silence. Even though there are more than two hundred of us camped here at the moment, there’s still next to no noise; it’s better that way. We don’t want some individuals upstairs to remember that we’re still alive or even catch any of our plans before we want them to. Looks like he’s relatively bold tonight; he chews at his beans, glances about the cavernous surroundings, surveying the assembly of soldiers waiting to be trained personally by myself. He says that by looking at all the men who are quietly trying to get either sustenance or a brief rest from seemingly-endless movement (not that they’d ever complain about it, especially to my face), it reminded him of something along the lines of a memory about going camping in the wilderness with his father when he was younger. I tell him that I have no memories of ever going camping as a child, but I do remember my father; an uncomfortable pause ensues. We continue moving. Oliver doesn’t even make an attempt at conversation with me again afterwards. He’s learned one of my most important lessons quickly; if you don’t have a question or something of use to say, keep your mouth shut. Realizing what he’d said only after he’d said it, Oliver makes a noise in his throat that could only be characterized as the sound of a man who had just stated something inept and would rather forget about it than remember anything that had to do with it. I don’t hold it against him like I would for most people; his honesty, rationale, loyalty, and past records have convinced me that he is a worthy ally to have when the chips were down, so-to-speak. Queen’s no weakling; that would be a disgrace to his name and go against every reason why I asked him to join me in my new crusade. My reflections on Oliver are interrupted by a commotion originating from not even twenty feet away: a pointless fight breaking out between the former street-punks? Not on my watch…Before I can do some serious damage to whoever’s causing the disturbance, someone who witnessed the event runs up to me…He says that one of my younger, less-experienced recruits decided to leave his garbage behind; one of my older, veteran commanders chews him out for it. Can’t understand most of what he’s saying (kids these days), but I catch bits and pieces of it (and I’m sure that the new fish is catching all of it, as he should), which isn’t too hard in a place where a pin drop can sound like a grenade. No traces, we must leave no traces behind; Even though he’s nowhere in sight, my mouth forms the faintest hint of a smile; amusing, yes, but forgettable.
We keep moving through the caverns. I use any and all of my anger and aggression; I don’t fight it…I let it flow throughout my body, just like the old days…Chest throbs like a jackhammer on steroids. I keep moving. Over there…Yes, you…Shine a light down there; I want to see if there’s any running water emanating from that tunnel. No, don’t point it that way, point it this way…Hand over the light…Kids today…Yes, Bruce, you’ve really put the fear of God into them; and to think, they used to be just low-life street punks, the kind that I wouldn’t waste a second punch on when my mission started, all members of a dead-end gang. I motion for one of the kids to bring me a rope so that I can climb down first into the murky depths of the cave. Some of the bolder ones voice their opinions about sending someone like me down into there, especially what could happen if I get hurt or was killed in some way, shape, or form. I don’t even speak to him, just glare; he gets the idea in just a fraction less than a heartbeat…After repositioning my backpack, I finish securing my rope around my waist and side, angle my flash light in my hand, and start my journey into this unknown region of the cave.
…I remember when this used to be so easy…The rope’s still holding around my waist; my gloves are on before I even see or remember putting them on. You’ve still got it, Bruce, still got it…After kidding myself about my skills, I grab a hold of the rope and hold on tight; one hand holding a length of rope by the groin, the other by my waist…Kick…Debris scurries to my left and right, and the echoes reverberate off the walls; many of the rocks hit. I keep descending. I hear the rocks hit the ground before I even fully register them disappearing. Terrific, it’s a short distance; I can make that. That’s it, Bruce, that’s it, I keep telling myself over and over before my feet miss their intended mark on the jagged rock edge; skimmed against the wall when I did and hit my bad arm, as luck would have it. Reminding myself that luck is only for the foolish, I grind my teeth to ease the pain and keep myself from screaming; never show potential weakness in front of your subordinates. Speaking of which, where are the others? ; I’m not panicking, just pondering. They’ll find me, at any rate, or they’ll fail in showing me why I picked them; failure is not an option. I finally notice a miniaturized river flowing by my boot; water must’ve come from the water source that I’m looking for. It accumulates in minute puddles here-and-there on this uneven landscape. With my light, I probe the reflective surface of this living mirror; when I look, I stare into the face of an old man with white hair, wrinkles that should have been laugh-lines, but, also the same clear sky-blue eyes that first discovered the upper section of these caves almost fifty years ago. The puddle rippling with the addition of new water, it only showcases my face and the dim backdrop of my flashlight; the rest of the world is gone, swallowed by the empty onyx that fills these tunnels, as if it had never existed. My surroundings swallow my identity up whole and mask my true intentions like…The mask of Zorro…Oh, God, not now, don’t start now; my chest starts aching, and my right shoulder’s twitching in a violent spasm. We were walking, oh, so many years ago from that theater; I danced in the moonlight, mother and father weren’t far behind. Night consumed the landscape not even a block away until…the lone street lamp; and only a few minutes later, appears the man with the voice of crushed glass. His face is concealed with a low-slung hat, but I’ll never forget that voice, NEVER…Is it getting harder to breathe now? Can’t tell right away; my head’s spinning…He says he wants mom’s pearls, but, father will never allow that… Father’s hand is by my chest attempting to comfort me before…BAM…His hand clenches my shirt as he slumps away along with the spent shell casing…I feel sick…A shriek like I’ve never heard before comes from mom’s direction… I don’t want to, but I dart my eyes over to where she was standing only moments ago under the protection of my father…The thug pulls the trigger; BAM, a shell sounding like the end of the world creates a resounding clink of brass on pavement…This will not be the death of me…This monster grabs at mom’s pearls, breaks them, and lets them go. The pearls shatter when they reach the pavement like a nuclear bomb… No, not one nuclear bomb; more like hundreds of carpet bombs…Dropping here and there, dropping everywhere that they shouldn’t have been…Pulse is reverberating like a madman; don’t die on me Bruce…With hollow eyes, I look directly into the barrel of the gun that had just pointed at father and mother and taken away everything that I had to hold dear to me … He wavers; apparently he didn’t expect a kid to just stand there staring…Backing slowly away but still keeping the gun square at my head, he breaks and flees back into the abyss that spawned him, leaving me here, alone…I’m not alone though; I’m surrounded by pearls, two bodies, a river of blood, and the light emanating from the lone lamp post …
I cover my hands over my face, though, it’s not likely that anyone can see me; I still cover it anyway. Shame and tears roll down my face, dripping from what you might call my craggy, rough-hewn features, creating riverbeds as they went, finally mixing with the ink-black sea below. Rubbing my eyes with my hands to dry the tears and shake myself back to reality, after wiping my face with my arm, I emerge slowly from the ground. The anger and other powerful emotions of my parents flow through my veins, bringing blood and energy to my aging muscles. My body shakes slightly, but there’s no use in complaining; I’ve already reached the ground level, or what appears to be a ground level. The soft tap-tap-tap noise of dripping water from a distant stalactite can be heard in the expanse of these caves. Looks like my hunch was correct; still got it… It’s dark down here, immeasurably dark; I doubt that any of the creatures here have ever even seen light before…I’m probably wrong, but, I’m not too far off; I enjoy the light the same way that Bruce used to revel at a party. My light is the only thing that accompanies my person, save for the rope around my waist and the pack on my back. It’s cooler down here, not that I’m surprised, this being so far underground; my mission is to find the water supply, not distract myself. Noises, I look up; the pale elliptical silhouette of my flashlight is dim in this area, but I still have to shield my eyes from the glare of the light hitting faceted rock surfaces. Don’t see any of my soldiers around here; did they attempt to find me and go down the wrong pathway? Do they think that I’m dead? That’s defeatist talk, Bruce; you’re better than that. No time to even think about that; forgot about the real residents here…They swarm around me, with brown and black bodies moving to-and-fro in the dim-light of their now intruded dwelling. I’m not eight years old anymore; I’m not afraid when they shriek. I smile; they don’t fight me, they don’t bite me…I’m one of them. Breathing deeply, the pain that I had in my chest eases slightly.
I’m home.
Midnight; the cave, or what’s left of it. Reminds me of when life was simpler, when all you had to worry about was what angle a bullet would emerge from, or what type of anti-toxin to use when countering the effects of a deadly poison. Strategy and tactical planning fills the void that was once occupied by grand escapes and deductive investigations; what’s the use in determining who the culprit is these days when the answer stares you directly into the face whenever you view your television? I savor my new full-time position and wonder why I ever attempted to
I guess experience and hind-sight come with age…
Forget about the past, forget about the “bat-cave”; there is no “bat-cave.” No more trophies, no more mementos; the slate has been wiped completely clean. I approve of the ruins that were once my home; that was then, and this is now. Life goes on, and so do I.
It’s a night like this that I miss Alfred.
Shoulder aches, but it’ll heal. Crack my knuckles to ease the pain; wrap my hands over and over with more bandages. Arm’s wrapped with bandages, but it’ll heal; it’s not damaged enough for a cast, and for that I’m thankful. Jacket’s a bit musty, but down here, no one’s going to notice or even care…
We’ll set up camp here for right now; mobility is our ally. We must press on with the larger agenda…Somebody breaks out our food supply; an army can’t march on an empty stomach. First time in about a day that we’ve had some semblance of rest and a meal not consisting of just trail rations…I sit on the rocky ground with the others, but I don’t get too comfortable; we’re not here for sight-seeing… Tonight’s meal is canned beans and salted pork, the best that money can buy (for what it’s worth)…My body’s tired, but my mind’s still active, another thing to be grateful for; in my line of work, you’re liable to end up dead if it was the other way around. Oliver finds me in the crowd, not that it’s that difficult when you look like I do. He sits down carefully on a boulder not even half-the size that he is; with only one arm hanging by the side of your person, you have to be careful and avoid unnecessary risks. Best to avoid any unpleasant situations and awkward silence, not that there isn’t too much of that already; these punks will follow me, but they’re still afraid. Good, I like it that way; followers are only as strong as their leader. Oliver motions to the food with his utensil and a movement of his head; I respond with a glance at my own container, half-interested in his attempt at conversation. We don’t discuss much of anything anymore; he has Marxist leanings and I’m a capitalist…Both of us go back to finishing our meal; like I said, awkward silence. Even though there are more than two hundred of us camped here at the moment, there’s still next to no noise; it’s better that way. We don’t want some individuals upstairs to remember that we’re still alive or even catch any of our plans before we want them to. Looks like he’s relatively bold tonight; he chews at his beans, glances about the cavernous surroundings, surveying the assembly of soldiers waiting to be trained personally by myself. He says that by looking at all the men who are quietly trying to get either sustenance or a brief rest from seemingly-endless movement (not that they’d ever complain about it, especially to my face), it reminded him of something along the lines of a memory about going camping in the wilderness with his father when he was younger. I tell him that I have no memories of ever going camping as a child, but I do remember my father; an uncomfortable pause ensues. We continue moving. Oliver doesn’t even make an attempt at conversation with me again afterwards. He’s learned one of my most important lessons quickly; if you don’t have a question or something of use to say, keep your mouth shut. Realizing what he’d said only after he’d said it, Oliver makes a noise in his throat that could only be characterized as the sound of a man who had just stated something inept and would rather forget about it than remember anything that had to do with it. I don’t hold it against him like I would for most people; his honesty, rationale, loyalty, and past records have convinced me that he is a worthy ally to have when the chips were down, so-to-speak. Queen’s no weakling; that would be a disgrace to his name and go against every reason why I asked him to join me in my new crusade. My reflections on Oliver are interrupted by a commotion originating from not even twenty feet away: a pointless fight breaking out between the former street-punks? Not on my watch…Before I can do some serious damage to whoever’s causing the disturbance, someone who witnessed the event runs up to me…He says that one of my younger, less-experienced recruits decided to leave his garbage behind; one of my older, veteran commanders chews him out for it. Can’t understand most of what he’s saying (kids these days), but I catch bits and pieces of it (and I’m sure that the new fish is catching all of it, as he should), which isn’t too hard in a place where a pin drop can sound like a grenade. No traces, we must leave no traces behind; Even though he’s nowhere in sight, my mouth forms the faintest hint of a smile; amusing, yes, but forgettable.
We keep moving through the caverns. I use any and all of my anger and aggression; I don’t fight it…I let it flow throughout my body, just like the old days…Chest throbs like a jackhammer on steroids. I keep moving. Over there…Yes, you…Shine a light down there; I want to see if there’s any running water emanating from that tunnel. No, don’t point it that way, point it this way…Hand over the light…Kids today…Yes, Bruce, you’ve really put the fear of God into them; and to think, they used to be just low-life street punks, the kind that I wouldn’t waste a second punch on when my mission started, all members of a dead-end gang. I motion for one of the kids to bring me a rope so that I can climb down first into the murky depths of the cave. Some of the bolder ones voice their opinions about sending someone like me down into there, especially what could happen if I get hurt or was killed in some way, shape, or form. I don’t even speak to him, just glare; he gets the idea in just a fraction less than a heartbeat…After repositioning my backpack, I finish securing my rope around my waist and side, angle my flash light in my hand, and start my journey into this unknown region of the cave.
…I remember when this used to be so easy…The rope’s still holding around my waist; my gloves are on before I even see or remember putting them on. You’ve still got it, Bruce, still got it…After kidding myself about my skills, I grab a hold of the rope and hold on tight; one hand holding a length of rope by the groin, the other by my waist…Kick…Debris scurries to my left and right, and the echoes reverberate off the walls; many of the rocks hit. I keep descending. I hear the rocks hit the ground before I even fully register them disappearing. Terrific, it’s a short distance; I can make that. That’s it, Bruce, that’s it, I keep telling myself over and over before my feet miss their intended mark on the jagged rock edge; skimmed against the wall when I did and hit my bad arm, as luck would have it. Reminding myself that luck is only for the foolish, I grind my teeth to ease the pain and keep myself from screaming; never show potential weakness in front of your subordinates. Speaking of which, where are the others? ; I’m not panicking, just pondering. They’ll find me, at any rate, or they’ll fail in showing me why I picked them; failure is not an option. I finally notice a miniaturized river flowing by my boot; water must’ve come from the water source that I’m looking for. It accumulates in minute puddles here-and-there on this uneven landscape. With my light, I probe the reflective surface of this living mirror; when I look, I stare into the face of an old man with white hair, wrinkles that should have been laugh-lines, but, also the same clear sky-blue eyes that first discovered the upper section of these caves almost fifty years ago. The puddle rippling with the addition of new water, it only showcases my face and the dim backdrop of my flashlight; the rest of the world is gone, swallowed by the empty onyx that fills these tunnels, as if it had never existed. My surroundings swallow my identity up whole and mask my true intentions like…The mask of Zorro…Oh, God, not now, don’t start now; my chest starts aching, and my right shoulder’s twitching in a violent spasm. We were walking, oh, so many years ago from that theater; I danced in the moonlight, mother and father weren’t far behind. Night consumed the landscape not even a block away until…the lone street lamp; and only a few minutes later, appears the man with the voice of crushed glass. His face is concealed with a low-slung hat, but I’ll never forget that voice, NEVER…Is it getting harder to breathe now? Can’t tell right away; my head’s spinning…He says he wants mom’s pearls, but, father will never allow that… Father’s hand is by my chest attempting to comfort me before…BAM…His hand clenches my shirt as he slumps away along with the spent shell casing…I feel sick…A shriek like I’ve never heard before comes from mom’s direction… I don’t want to, but I dart my eyes over to where she was standing only moments ago under the protection of my father…The thug pulls the trigger; BAM, a shell sounding like the end of the world creates a resounding clink of brass on pavement…This will not be the death of me…This monster grabs at mom’s pearls, breaks them, and lets them go. The pearls shatter when they reach the pavement like a nuclear bomb… No, not one nuclear bomb; more like hundreds of carpet bombs…Dropping here and there, dropping everywhere that they shouldn’t have been…Pulse is reverberating like a madman; don’t die on me Bruce…With hollow eyes, I look directly into the barrel of the gun that had just pointed at father and mother and taken away everything that I had to hold dear to me … He wavers; apparently he didn’t expect a kid to just stand there staring…Backing slowly away but still keeping the gun square at my head, he breaks and flees back into the abyss that spawned him, leaving me here, alone…I’m not alone though; I’m surrounded by pearls, two bodies, a river of blood, and the light emanating from the lone lamp post …
I cover my hands over my face, though, it’s not likely that anyone can see me; I still cover it anyway. Shame and tears roll down my face, dripping from what you might call my craggy, rough-hewn features, creating riverbeds as they went, finally mixing with the ink-black sea below. Rubbing my eyes with my hands to dry the tears and shake myself back to reality, after wiping my face with my arm, I emerge slowly from the ground. The anger and other powerful emotions of my parents flow through my veins, bringing blood and energy to my aging muscles. My body shakes slightly, but there’s no use in complaining; I’ve already reached the ground level, or what appears to be a ground level. The soft tap-tap-tap noise of dripping water from a distant stalactite can be heard in the expanse of these caves. Looks like my hunch was correct; still got it… It’s dark down here, immeasurably dark; I doubt that any of the creatures here have ever even seen light before…I’m probably wrong, but, I’m not too far off; I enjoy the light the same way that Bruce used to revel at a party. My light is the only thing that accompanies my person, save for the rope around my waist and the pack on my back. It’s cooler down here, not that I’m surprised, this being so far underground; my mission is to find the water supply, not distract myself. Noises, I look up; the pale elliptical silhouette of my flashlight is dim in this area, but I still have to shield my eyes from the glare of the light hitting faceted rock surfaces. Don’t see any of my soldiers around here; did they attempt to find me and go down the wrong pathway? Do they think that I’m dead? That’s defeatist talk, Bruce; you’re better than that. No time to even think about that; forgot about the real residents here…They swarm around me, with brown and black bodies moving to-and-fro in the dim-light of their now intruded dwelling. I’m not eight years old anymore; I’m not afraid when they shriek. I smile; they don’t fight me, they don’t bite me…I’m one of them. Breathing deeply, the pain that I had in my chest eases slightly.
I’m home.
