Story [Batman] Gotham City Chronicles - URGENT MESSAGE INSIDE

Catwoman!! *squees*


Great job! Nailed them perfectly!

 

That was great!

 

Another excellent read.

 

Pretty convincing Catwoman. Good stuff, as always.

 

"Put. The necklace. Back."

Giggety, my favorite part of this whole FanFic.

Entertaining as always.

-B-

 

Loving it!! I love that you decided to add Harley Quinn, she's always a kick. And I love the interaction between Batman and Catwoman in the last post! Hottt...Anyway, more soon?

Mel_Fel13

 

Really sorry for my sudden absence everyone, I should have everything back on track soon so I can bring you guys another post. Thanks for the great comments, once again!

 

Part 9

The next morning began just as usual as any other for Bruce Wayne. Alfred greeted him by throwing open the curtains and he shielded his eyes from the blinding sunlight that poured into the room, like an unwelcome visitor who wouldn't leave. And he drank a couple glasses of water, brushed his teeth, took a shower, got dressed, and went down for breakfast. Just like any other morning.

Bruce entered the capacious dining area in the manor and found a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon waiting for him on the table with a glass of milk. And, of course, the day's paper next to the place mat, turned to a page with a headline that read "NOTHING TAKEN IN APPARENT JEWELRY STORE 'ROBBERY'".

"Thought you might know a thing or two about that," Alfred said, taking dishes from the washer and placing them in their respective spots in the kitchen cabinets.

Bruce ate a spoonful of eggs and took a bite of bacon as he read the story. "No mention of her in here," he said, swallowing his food and taking a drink of milk. "She knows how to cover her tracks."

The doorbell rang, and both men looked at each other.

"Expecting someone?" Alfred asked as he walked towards the den. Bruce shook his head and continued eating, grabbing the kitchen's countertop television remote and turning it on. Perfect. The Price is Right.

Alfred walked back into the kitchen a moment later. "You have a visitor, Master Wayne," he said. "Miss Kyle here to see you."

"Selina?" Bruce asked surprisingly, getting up from the table.

"Quite right."

Bruce messed with his hair for a bit as he walked towards the front door of the mansion. He wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion, but considering Selina's surprise visit, he doubted she expected anything more. He opened the door and walked out to greet her.

"Hi, Bruce," Selina said somberly as he kissed her on the cheek.

"What is it?" Bruce asked. "What's wrong?"

"Bruce..." she hesitated, looking down and pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm leaving. Here. For a while."

Bruce feigned surprise, though this wasn't an entirely unexpected revelation. He knew her situation, even though she didn't know he did. "What? Leaving for where? Why?"

"I have a friend in Ontario. I'm going to be living with her for a while. Things here, they're just... it's complicated, you know?"

"Why now? What's going on, Selina?"

"Bruce, I owe people money, and I can't deal with it right now. I have to leave Gotham for a while, until things blow over."

"Who? Let me help you, Selina, I can talk to people."

"No," Selina stopped him. "This is my problem." She kissed him for a moment, and for some reason, Bruce felt that he wasn't the only one faking emotions here. "This isn't goodbye," she said. "I'll see you again. Soon, hopefully."

And she walked away, down the drive to her car. Bruce watched as she got in and drove away down the road, until her car rounded the corner and she was out of sight. "Yeah," he said. "Soon."

He walked back into the manor and closed the door behind him, walking back into the dining room.

"Everything alright, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

"Not sure." He sat down and continued eating his breakfast. "Selina's leaving Gotham for a while."

"Oh?"

Bruce nodded. "But I don't think Catwoman is anywhere near done with this place." He looked at the television as Alfred poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Nine fifty," he said.

"And the actual retail price is... nine hundred and fifty dollars!"

Bruce grinned, and took a drink.

 

Criminally short, but very sweet. You still have Bruce and Alfred locked up and I liked the Price is Right cameo.

 

I like the price is right nod there, very cool.

You're characterization of Bruce, the Joker, and Alfred is great, spot on! A bit of Lucius would be cool too.

Can I go on the pm list?

Cheers_Cazza

 

Nicely done! And the Price is Right was a great short cameo. Played in very well!

 

Thanks again, everyone!

---

[b]Part 10[/b]

Sherman Wiley had been a bartender in this joint for seventeen years. He'd cleaned glasses, poured beer, made friends, made enemies, and covered for the mob on numerous occasions. In exchange for allowing them to use his place as a front, he was given a very large amount of money that made life for him and his family good. There was almost no interruptions. Carmine Falcone was a man of his word, and for that, he'd earned Sherman's trust.

It was now half past two in the afternoon. Business was slow this time of the day, as usual, and Sherman was taking a towel to the inside of a glass while he watched the TV situated beneath the ceiling in the corner. The door to the bar opened, and Sherman put the glass back in its place amongst the others.

"Got a package here for ya, Sherman." It was the mailman, and Sherman threw the towel on the bar. Of course, this was not a package that needed signing. The mail had already run today, it usually did in the late morning. This wasn't a letter from a relative. It was much more lucrative than that. Plus, Sherman doubted that a metal briefcase would fit inside a mailbox.

"Thank you, Carl," Sherman said, nodding his head as Carl set the briefcase on the bar. "This for him?"

"Yep."

Sherman picked up the briefcase without thinking of looking inside it, gave his farewell to Carl, and headed to the back of the bar.

In the mob business, you learn not to ask questions. At least, that's how things had transpired for Sherman. Certain things happened during the five years that Falcone had been operating out of his place that he didn't understand, or wasn't allowed to given the nature of the circumstances. But nothing had occurred that would cause him to worry. His checks kept coming in, there were no noticeable dents in the business, and the cops never came snooping around and asking questions, waving their flashy badges around like they were some kind of gift to mankind and that they were doing everyone a favor. And this was another one of those frequent occurrences, where Sherman didn't need to inquire about what was going on, and in this case, what he was holding in his hand. As far as he was concerned, taking a rather heavy briefcase to Falcone was just a part of his job. It kept food on the table for his family, kept his wife in her BMW and his daughter in Princeton. And if all he had to do for those things, those beautiful things, was carry a few briefcases, then so be it. He had no problems with that.

He arrived at the door to one of the back rooms of the joint, and as usual, there was someone sitting in a wooden chair, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper. Upon seeing Sherman and the briefcase, the grizzled man set the paper down on the floor next to his feet and stood up, pulling some sort of scanning device out of the interior of his jacket and holding it in front of the large metal box. No sound emitted from it, which was a good sign as far as Sherman could tell.

The grizzled man pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and held it to his ear. "Yeah, got Sherman out here with a briefcase. Yeah, Wiley. What the f-... you what? God dammit, Lars, what the hell-... Jesus." He sighed, and held the phone up to Sherman. "Say something, will ya?"

"What do you want me to say?" Sherman wanted to know.

The man put the phone back to his own ear. "There, you satisfied? Are you frikkin' serious right now? Of course I scanned the briefcase, what do you think I am, a frikkin' moron? My God. [i]Thank[/i] you." The man hung up the phone and looked at Sherman. "You're good, he's waiting for you." He then put the cigarette back in his mouth and sat back down with a sigh, not bothering to pick up the paper next to his feet.

Sherman opened the door and found himself in a room with a pool table and a couple Coke machines, just as he always did when he went to see Falcone. To the left of this room was another door with another security man, this one reading a Playboy magazine. He jerked his thumb toward the door he was

 

Way to keep me interested. I wonder who Kyle is. Beautiful writing.

 

Intriguing! I was almost completely convinced that the briefcase was a bomb, a taste for the theatrical?

Cheers_Cazza

 

Very nicely done. I couldn't stop reading.

 

Oh, that's good. I think it's safe to assume that, for the moment, Ms. Kyle's debt is erased.

...but where's the fun in that?

 

Oh, Ms. Kyle. Damn, Reynar, you tricked me.

 

Part 11

The creaking sounds emitting from the rusty wheels of the gurney echoed throughout the darkened hallway as two security officers and two doctors traversed the asylum toward the Joker's cell. It was to be the same routine that all four of them had gotten used to in the time that the Joker had spent there, up to his usual yet thus far relatively harmless antics. But no one could ever truly adapt to the sight of the chalk white skin, the sloppy red, severely scarred lips, or the haunting black eyes that could pierce even the strongest of souls with a single, captivating glance.

The four men continued to travel down the short but seemingly incessant hallway, not casting even a stray glance toward the cells to their left so as to not antagonize the loose cannons that resided in them. They didn't even notice the inmate in Cell 3 was no longer there.

They arrived at the transparent barricade that separated the hallway from the Joker's room, which was a barren wasteland. As usual, he lay atop his cot, though this time he was on his stomach rather than his back, face down in the mattress. One of the security guards wondered to himself if the clown could even breathe in a position like that. They walked to the end of the cell and took a left down the narrow space between the wall of the cell and the far wall of the hallway. There was a door there with four locks, all of which the security guard unlocked in a few seconds.

"We're coming in," he growled, opening the door slowly and noticing the Joker hadn't bothered to move a single inch, not even to get a breath of fresh air. "Don't try anything funny, or I will blow your frikkin' brains out, do you hear me?"

"Um, sir," one of the doctors began. "We try not to speak to the residents in a demeaning manner such as that."

"Pfuh." The guard scoffed. "Psychopath deserves much worse."

"That isn't for you to decide." The doctor pushed his way past the guard and into the room, tranquilizer grasped tightly in his slightly trembling hand. The others followed with the squeaky gurney. "Okay, Mister Joker, it's time for your visit with the doctor."

The Joker's body lay inert on the bed, still not moving at all.

"He ain't moved since I seen him," the other guard explained. "Maybe we got lucky and he suffocated himself."

"Mister Joker?" The doctor inched closer. Still no response. He carefully moved his hand closer to the body, ever so slowly, wondering if this was just another one of the Joker's pranks. He grasped the Joker's shoulder, sweating bullets now, holding his breath without realizing it. "M-Mister Joker?" He slowly turned the body over, and as soon as he did, stumbled backwards and fell to the ground on his hands and knees, vomiting.

"Jesus Christ!" The first security guard quickly pulled out his radio, averting his gaze from the horrific sight on the cot. "Mayday, mayday, this is Grant, the Joker has escaped, repeat, the Joker has escaped! No telling how long it's been, we've got a dead body here and we need assistance now, over." He wiped sweat from his brow, shaking. "Holy hell."

++++

The starry skies of Gotham glimmered brightly above, barely visible through the flickering lamps of the all but deserted street. Three people were standing on the sidewalk, looking at the abandoned amusement park on the other side.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," one of the men said. He was short with a slightly hunched back, and wore a fedora over his grey hair. "Been trying to get this place off my hands for years."

"It sure is beautiful!" the other man said, his voice high pitched. He too wore a fedora that covered most of his face with a dark purple suit, and he had his arm wrapped around the third spectator, a woman that stood to about his shoulders. "What do you think, Harl?"

"It's you, puddin'!" She too had an eerily childish tone about her, but it worried the old man little. He was just glad to be selling this place.

"So you'll be buying it, then?" he asked.

There was a small moment of silence. "How about we sha

 

God, I love the Joker. Your description of him in the very beginning of the update was golden.

 

Nicely done!!

 

I can only picture Ledger's Joker in this story. All other versions are a bit too tame to do what you've got him doing!

 

Thanks!

---

[b]Part 12[/b]

Jim Gordon sat in the chair behind the solitary desk of his office, rubbing the tired eyes closed behind his glasses. His hair was disheveled, and his face was peppered with gray stubble. Smoke rose from the coffee mug that sat next to a picture of his wife and daughter on his desk. His daughter, Barbara, was fourteen now. She was growing up faster than Gordon wanted. Made him want to stop time. Teddy bears were being replaced by makeup kits. Farm animal wallpaper making way for posters of which ever teen heartthrobs were relevant at the time. He didn't like it. He wanted to be able to tuck her in again, to sing a lullaby while he watched her drift to sleep in her kitten pajamas, covered by her Barbie blanket. Things were changing. For the better or worse, time would tell. But for now, he had a bigger problem on his hands.

He heard a tap at the window. Lifting himself from the chair, Gordon approached the back of the room and opened it. He then walked to the front of the room and flicked the lightswitch downward, leaving the small lamp on his desk the only source of illumination. He didn't hear him come in.

"Long night," Batman said. Gordon knew it was a statement, not a question. "Any leads?"

"None," Gordon responded with a sigh, setting himself back in the chair. Batman was now hidden in the shadows in the back corner of the room. "Not so much as a green hair."

"He'll turn up. He always does."

"I know. I'm just worried in what fashion he decides to do it."

"Have you made it public?"

Gordon scoffed. "We can't, not yet. We've got our hands full enough as it is. I've got damn near every unit available scouring the city."

"If you find him-"

"I know. But what can we do? We can't sit back while a psychotic terrorist is on the loose. But yet if we find him-"

"It's all according to his plan."

"Bastard. I knew they should have sent him to the supermax instead of the asylum. There's no curing what he is."

There was no answer.

"What about you?" Gordon asked, taking a sip of coffee. "You must have some idea where he is."

"His mind can't be penetrated. If you think you know where he is, you're playing into his hand."

Gordon sighed. "We can't let this go on. We can't stand by idly while this maniac plans to... whatever it is he plans to do. We have to find some way. How did you get him the first time?"

"He let me."

"Let you?"

"For sport. He wanted to be captured."

"Well I can't imagine we'll be so lucky this time." Gordon sighed and took another sip.

"Something's bothering you," Batman observed.

Gordon chuckled somberly. "Of course there is."

"It's not him."

There was a pause. "No. No, it isn't. It's Barbara."

"Your daughter."

Gordon nodded. "She's growing up. Teenager. Time keeps slipping through my hands like water." There was silence. He could hear footsteps approaching his office door from outside the room. A few seconds later, the door opened and a slender Hispanic woman wearing a badge that said "Montoya" poked her head in. She was obviously confused about the darkness of the room, but she didn't bring it up.

"Commissioner?"

"Yes?" he answered. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid nothing, sir. All units have reported in, and there's no sign of the Joker anywhere."

Gordon sighed, and rubbed his forehead, feeling the wrinkles sway back and forth beneath his fingertips. "Alright, thank you."

Montoya nodded and shut the door.

"So what do we do now?" Gordon asked, desperate, as if in a last attempt to get answers he knew wouldn't come.

"Expect the unexpected."

 

Batman's responses were really good, but I found it hard to imagine him having a conversation this long. I liked your use of quotes from the movie in there. And, I like where you are taking the story.

 

I just spent the last half hour reading this whole post from beginning to end. I couldn't stop.
You have such an attention to detail that it's scary.

First off, I like your Joker. I see it as a mix of Ledger's demeanor but with Hamil's voice. He hasn't gone up to that line beyond insanity...yet.

Your Bruce/Batman is amazing. As is Alfred, who I can't even hear anyone but Michael Caine saying your lines.

The intro to Catwoman/Serena and Harley is good. You've created your own mythology outside of the movie and the comics too.

If there is a PM list, I would like to request to be on it.

As far as further posts to wait for, I'll let Ledger's Joker express my sediments:

...And. Here. We. Go!