[Ranma][FanFic] The Dark Knight: Chapter Six
TJ Lim
(Gee, I hope I haven't forgotten how to format my text so it arrives running
left to right screen rather left to infinity. ^_^;)
yours sincerely,
Fiona Lim
------
The Dark Knight
By Fiona Lim
Chapter Six: point of no return
The sound of a door opening echoed through the empty warehouse floor of
the headquarters, resounding into the shadows past the single clear
circle of light at its centre. Bloodstains, bleached to faded shadows
beneath the glaring bulb, were scattered across the white concrete. A
low moan pierced the air as eyes - their pupils dilated to pin pricks -
stared upward in glazed horror at its surroundings. Horald glanced down
at the body and kicked a trembling hand, watching dispassionately as it
shuddered and ceased to stir. The second-in-command of Gotham City's
singularly powerful drug-distributor, Lord - or Boss as he was known by
his men - glanced up and waited patiently for Lord to make his slow,
waddling way, across the wide expanse of the vastly unlit warehouse floor
before he spoke.
"What'cha want us to do wit' 'im, Boss?"
"Kill him." Lord said as he shaded his eyes and glanced upward at
the bulb that dangled by a thin chain from the ceiling, "Get something a
little less bright for the room would you, Horald?" he commented, "Honey
thinks we need a little 'classy'ing up."
He rubbed his large palms together as he smiled slightly, "We get
this big load down the river and we're in the big leagues with the drug
cartels." He added, almost absently as he glanced down at the flashy
golden watch that bit into his skin and left a green tinge around its
edges.
"Wha' 'bout 'is gang o' pet-hacks?"
"Send several of the boys down to handle them. If they're too loyal
to leave Gotham City, kill them." Lord shrugged, "You know the way it
goes, Horald."
"Aye Boss." Horald sighed as he scratched the dark hair that fell
down to his shoulders in a minor imitation of greasy string, "What'ya -
"Munchkin? Can we go to the movies yet?" Honey whimpered as she
strolled into the room to lean against Lord's arm, "You said we could go
tonight." Two vibrant green eyes stared unblinkingly at the cluster of
men.
It was something that Horald had pondered over many times. The fact
that his men (or more precisely, Lord's men) regardless of their
backgrounds (of which only such nicknames as 'blackguard', 'pink-tom' and
'blood-drip-and-rip' gave hints to) immediately seemed to transform into
panting, adolescent males in their tongue-tied inability to do much but
stammer or fall into polite silence when Honey appeared. This was one
such situation. Before his eyes, the group of men, who had aided in
Tarou Hack's 'scolding', ceased their impatient rustling and pacing to
stand in silence with several nervous coughs. Perhaps it was hormonal.
Or something akin to the heavy perfume Honey seemed addicted to
spraying. Horald had often noted that one could often smell her long
before actually seeing her.
"We can go now, Honey." Lord said with a placating pat on the slender
hand gripping his arm, "Handle it Horald."
"Aye Boss."
Horald gestured to the men as he drew his gun, "Take 'im down to the
'arbour. Th' coppers don't say much 'bout bodies down there. Too much
paperwork." He laughed and was joined by his men.
They were good men. Hard workers, and dedicated to getting their job
done right. Horald had worked for some bosses in his time. Course the
problem with that sort of employment was that everybody was always
cutting the chain of command to move up. And he'd moved on after one cut
had come too close to the family jewels. He'd figured work up through
some small timer till he became his own boss and got a little security.
He'd expected to find another jumped up local drug grower hoping to make
the big time in Gotham City. But Lord had surprised many of the
underground community. He'd fixed Gotham into a crossroads for shipments
running from the Pacific through the Midwest up to the Atlantic. And
now, Lord was headed for the big time. *If he can just control that
Honey - though can't blame him 'bout her. When she walks, it's like
seein' two cats strugglin' to get ou' of a sack!*
"You got the hack?" Horald asked.
Jimmy, one of the newer members - hired just the other day after the MCPD
had busted the local drug providers - nodded as he hefted the legs,
"Ready when you are, 'orald."
"Lets go then. Nights a'wastin' as me dear ol' da said." Horald
nodded as he wondered why he'd mentioned his Da - whom he had never known
and probably never knew about him.
*Come to think 'bout it - why do I soun' like I come from Yorkshire when
I've never set foot in England?*
It was a question that had plagued Horald for several months.
"Oh, and Horald?"
"Yes Boss?"
"Make sure there are no witnesses. I don't want that incident in New
York happening here."
But one which didn't figure overmuch in Horald's mind.
"Yes Boss. Ah - Boss?"
Lord paused impatiently as he patted Honey's arm, "What Horald?"
"You want I send the usual guys do bodyguard detail?"
Honey pouted, "You said we could have quality time, Munchkin."
"It's too dangerous, Honey." Lord said softly as he looked up, "The
usual Horald."
"Yeah Boss."
[cue opening credits]
[Skyehawke Archives]
do with me
in the darkness of the night
what you dare not think
beneath the pale light of day.
do with me
beneath the new moon
while i scream
and scream
stop and say
like a child with a finger in the cookie jar
and a ball in the exhaust pipe
"i'm sorry"
[in conjunction with Fantaghiro Visions]
so sorry
forgive me
let me live.
let me die.
[proudly presents]
let me be reborn
in the darkness of the night
let me scream into the night
and blood run through my taloned fingers.
while the cats scream defiance
i run and live and fight and dance
in the pale light of the new moon sky.
[The Dark Knight]
Chapter Six: the point of no return
By Fiona Lim
Fanta...@gurlmail.com
Xian Pu stretched luxuriously as she flexed one hand gently. The
screech of metal against concrete, a sound reminiscent to nails on
chalkboard, sent a neighbourhood dog barking and several irate neighbours
expressed their discontent verbally. On the flat roof of a terraced
apartment building, the Catwoman smiled, a flash of white against endless
darkness. *Ah, melodrama. What a beautiful thing it is.* with another
stretch, Lon Xian Pu, internationally acclaimed interior decorator (with
French accents to define her as beyond the norm) - also known as the
Catwoman, scourge of the tabloids for her total anonymity and lack of
photos - lightly crouched on the low balustrade of brick that lined the
roof top and stared down into her domain.
Gotham City trudged in the light of day, sluggishly vomiting people
and traffic through its dark streets and between its Gothic-styled
buildings. Beneath the shade of darkness however, the city hit
overdrive, the blood - its livelihood; the prostitutes, drug dealers,
night birds, petty and not so petty criminals - ran fast and furious
through the streets. . . In more than one way.
Gotham was a city of the night. There was something about it that
tugged at the soul and mind turning it towards thoughts never appearing
within the consciousness in the daylight. There was something about
Gotham that made it different from Metropolis or Seattle. *Although,
people tend to think about the weather a lot in Seattle. Or romance for
some reason. . . That isn't so different from sex and lust.* the
Catwoman shrugged the thought away as she surveyed the streets. They
wound throughout the city - the veins that pulsed towards the heart - the
industrial district. Brightly dotted with lights and filled with endless
trains of multi-coloured glows as the socialites partied through the
night, and the darker areas of burned out lamp-posts where the endless
sound of gunfire was reminiscent of some strange rap-beat periodically
wailing the tune of police and ambulance sirens. And somewhere down
there, she knew, were the men whom she wanted to hurt.
Almost unthinkingly, the Catwoman lifted one hand upward to stare at
the glinting metal claws that tipped each digit. One part of her - the
part that stood back and laughed at her own melodrama - wondered idly if
stainless steel had ever been used as she was using them. But that part
receded after several seconds, its laughter too much filled with joy at
the night wind and the surge of adrenaline that roared through her as she
waited, perched on the edge of normality.
Tonight - tonight was not for the normal. It was not for the petty
disinterested politics of the avant gardé or the fly-by-night world of
trivial pursuits and flirtations. Tonight was for something far below
the surface. Tonight was for the observer who stood watching while the
shells of society dug their way through the facade of civilisation and
found nothing but a mirror half a millimetre beneath the beautiful,
plastic surface.
Tonight was for the Catwoman.
The dog ceased its barking abruptly and the Catwoman smiled as she
pulled the whip from where it hung - a bulky shape against the sleek
leather that fitted her like a second skin - and unrolled it slowly, her
movements filled with a surety that had been missing for far too long.
Far below, in the alleyways, the cats yowled in unison as a black form,
barely discernible from the night around it, hurtled across the air.
Wayne Manor
"I -this is so - Master Ran -" Kasumi stared down at the piece of paper
in her hand, before looking up into her young employer's blue eyes, "Have
I been -?"
"No - not at all, Kasumi." Bruce broke in as he flashed a smile and
coughed slightly, finding that telling a lie - even if it wasn't much of
one - beneath Kasumi's innocently unassuming brown gaze slightly harder
than he had thought, "It's a promotion - really! We need somebody to take
care of the town house since I'll be using it more often - for parties
and stuff y'know?" He swallowed and his speech slowed slightly, "I heard
that you have a younger sister - Akane Tendo?"
"Yes -
"Well, this will be a great opportunity for both of you! You'll be
able to get out of that district you live in at the moment since as
housekeeper you have the servant quarters to yourself - your sister will
be staying with you - I mean, if you want to." Bruce swallowed and
laughed a trifle self-consciously, "What I'm trying to say, Kasumi, is
that you've been so great that I want to promote you. And Akane is
welcome to stay in the house as well - if she wants to."
"Oh." Kasumi stared down at the piece of paper in her hand, one
finger gently tracing the address and numbers that had been printed down
the smooth surface, "Thank you Master Ran." She said finally as she
nodded and turned to walk out of the room.
Ranma watched her leave, a slender figure that seemed almost to drift
rather than walk. *Funny to think that her sister is that boyish
acrobat.*
He shook his head mentally as he closed the study door quietly and pulled
the bow-tie loose, *Wonder how long it will take Miss Akane to come
storming up here and asking for her reward. Or to yell at me. If a
mallet had been in her hand that night at the circus she would probably
have thrown it at me - or worse. At least she was glaring hard enough
He ran a hand through his hair as he sat down in the leather chair behind
the large desk and stared out of the window, *Well, that's Kasumi dealt
with.*
The young cook had been a strange presence in the large mansion - not
that he was totally used to living there in the first place, but her
addition had been a trifle. . . *Hot meals and that strange presence
of her's. Not to mention that she doesn't get ruffled - not for
blood-soaked bandages, late night noises and the 'Master' of the house
arriving back with reports about jumping terrorists in the Big Tent. .
. And she can be behind me without my knowledge. I can't HEAR her
arriving.*
*Nobody but Master Happosai has been able to do that before. Not even
Sensei Yokku - and he taught me the so-called lost Art of the Silent
Hare!*
*Still, she's gone now.*
For some reason however, despite the lift of worry her presence had
caused in his mind every-time he had needed to enter the Cave or do
something related with 'Batman' (as the tabloids had coined his separate
persona), he felt sorry that Kasumi Tendo would be leaving the Manor.
*Things seem light and fluffy when she's around. Like one of those
all-American fifties shows Alfred showed me when I first came. 'My three
Sons' and 'Leave it to Beaver'. Nonsense and American propaganda - not
to mention stereotypical idiocy.* The truth however, despite his scorn
sitcoms, existed, was that there was a place of the inane and
unbelievable in life. And without it, the world seemed a much darker
place.
Outside a single flake of snow fell against the window, tracing a wet
trail before landing on the sparsely coated ground.
Ranma watched the Bentley as it drove past the gates and down the
winding road towards the city and noted that it was almost Christmas.
*Would the world be so bad if it really was like the Brady Bunch?* he
wondered wistfully, *No problem that needs longer than twenty-five
minutes to solve, loving siblings, sanity and a family. . .*
He turned away from the window and flipped open one of the several files
Lucius had hand delivered for perusal several days ago, *Not so bad at
all.*
Deep inside, the part of him that was - different - snorted in cynical
humour. *People want to believe that a world where bad things don't
happen to good people exists. They can't face the real world, and they
don't want to live in a place that's painful. So they wrap themselves in
their own make-believe worlds - where everything is all right. . . And
stagnating in stability and sameness. People strive, and hurt and
scream. And while the killing, and the pain, and the destruction
continues - day after day after day - they destroy themselves and each
other in passion or hatred and anger. It's the same thing after all.
And it all ends up the same way. Because at the end of the day, after
they've hurt themselves till they bleed inside and outside, they stand
up, and continue building and making and moving onwards.*
Bruce shook his head in irritation as he sat down at the mahogany
table his father had worked at so many years ago - almost his entire life
ago - and pushed the strange thoughts away.
*
A can skittered against the wire fence that supported a towering pile of
grey cardboard boxes abandoned at one end of the alley. The fog slowly
rolled in, damply trailing around feet and ankles as the foghorn of some
ship lowed mournfully into the night.
"So how da we do it?"
Horald stared at the speaker and through the fog of thought in his mind,
found a name to match the face that looked out from beneath a black,
woollen beanie and a thick south-side accent.
"Shoot 'im or drop 'im in the 'arbour?" Joe suggested shortly, his
low voice a dull bass beat.
Jimmy swallowed, looking as young as his age must be - *Greenie boy.
Lucky if he don' throw up 'fore the night is through.* Horald thought in
disgust as a slightly green cast appeared over the boy's pale face.
"I say we drop him in the harbour. Save the bullets. Save the money,
yes?" Koskiv said hesitantly, his thin face screwed up in a worried
frown.
They all turned to stare at Horald, expecting his answer. And he let
them wait as he stared down at the unconscious body. His eyes tracked
the blood stained silk shirt and the pants that had once been a tanned
brown. They traced over the long, slender fingers that hung limply on
the ground, mingling with the leftover beer - or worse - that covered the
concrete beneath their feet.
"Shoot 'im, then drop 'im into th' river." Horald said finally, "T'
make sure."
A cat yowled in the night, and the Catwoman frowned as she landed
lightly on the fire escape; the sound was muffled by the low roar of
traffic and the hum of the generators on the city's fleet of fishing,
trading and transport ships.
"Only one person shoot him we save bullets, yes?" one of the men
asked, his words a thick, guttural European accent that echoed in the
alleyway.
*Eavesdropping is not when you have to step back not to be deafened.*
Catwoman thought as she hooked the whip back in its place and watched the
five men curiously. She could almost make out what they were staring
down at.
The youngest - a boy whose hat allowed a brief lock of startling red hair
- turned slightly away to throw up noisily on a pile of newspapers, and
she saw the body that lay limply on the ground.
*Murder.*
Anger rose and fell aside to be replaced by coldness that numbed her
emotions. *These are the men.* with a smile she lifted herself lightly
onto the edge of the fire escape, and balancing briefly on the narrow
rail, dropped smoothly to the ground, the modified bonbori already drawn
from its sheath.
But tonight there would be no proud fight between warriors. Nor a
cowardly battle between prey and hunter. The men took one look at her,
clad in the black leather with glittering claws grasping a dully-glowing
weapon and they ran. The Catwoman yowled her disappointment as she drew
the whip and swung in pursuit.
Behind them, the body groaned and one of the fingers trembled as the
hand shivered beneath the slowly falling snowflakes.
*
Tarou Hack had been in worse situations before. But for his life -
literally - not one crossed his mind as he realised two important facts.
The first and most pressing was that bowel movements and an innate
biological fact were indicating his need to find a toilet. The second -
which, while less 'current' (so to speak) probably would be *as*
important after the first point was assuaged - was the fact that he was
not going to die.
*Cold.*
*Snow. * With realisation came feeling. *Pain. . . Pain. Lots of
pain!* he groaned as he rolled over.
*I'm definitely alive.*
*Do I WANT to be alive?*
And memory returned, like rats shame-facedly returning to a Titanic that
had never sunk - figurative tail between its metaphorical legs.
*Damn.*
Moaning slightly, he opened his eyes and levered himself off the
alley floor. *Lord knows what he was getting into when he tried to
strong arm me into giving our services for free.* he winced away from
the last things he could remember, though from the way his body was
bleeding, he would probably be 'remembering' for a long time. *Thank god
Hack forced his breathing to deepen from pant speed, *How long have I
been lying there? Non-existent gods. Can't even remember when they
dumped me there. Hope they did it because they thought I was as good as
dead.*
*Broken - several ribs, a couple of fingers. I think my ankle's
sprained. Probably got a black eye - or two. Feels like my back's been
cut to shreds - or something bloody close. Left hand's either dislocated
or broken and my right arm doesn't feel good - though that might just be
a bruise or eight.* he leaned against the wall and gasped for breath,
*Definitely several broken ribs -* he touched his jaw gingerly and
grimaced as he swallowed blood, *Loose teeth - just have to talk less for
a while. No burns, nothing major broken. I can still move -* he gasped
move. Who cares - I'm alive. Surprised they didn't shoot me to be
sure. But then with the way his finances are going, maybe Lord's cutting
back on wasteful usage of bullets. Maybe they thought the cold would do
me in.* he shivered slightly as the wind picked up.
*Next on the agenda - find out where I am. Get back to
headquarters. Warn the rest - Lord isn't stupid. He puts me out, he'll
have to either strong arm the rest to join or do what he wants, or kill
them all. Damned if I don't stop him.* Wincing with every step, Hack
began his journey - one step at a time.
**
Wayne Manor
"You sure you will be all right, Sir?" Alfred asked anxiously as he
wrapped a scarf around his neck and placed the old fashion bowler hat on
his head.
"I *am* old enough to be left home alone, Alfred." Ranma said dryly,
"Anyway, it's the holiday season - you should be with your niece. At
least for a while."
"It *would* be nice to see Barbra again." Alfred mused, "But still -"
"Go Alfred." Ranma said, opening one of the wooden double doors that
acted as the main entrance to the mansion, "I'll be all right. It's not
as if I'll burn the house down while you're gone."
"I left a list of take out restaurants that will deliver through the
season, and all you need to do is take out the containers from the
freezer and defrost it in the microwave if you want to eat something more
nutritious -" Alfred paused and frowned, "You DO know how to use the
microwave don't you, Master Ran?"
"It can't be THAT hard." Ranma shrugged easily.
"That Uncle of yours has a lot to answer for." Alfred muttered, "Just
remember - press 'power' before doing anything else. I left the phone
number of Barbra's apartment if you need me."
"Just go - Barbra will be expecting you. And I *won't* till after at
*least* Boxing Day." Ranma said with a grin.
"Merry Christmas, Alfred."
"Merry Christmas, Master Ran." Alfred said, tucking the scarf more
firmly under his chin and hurrying towards the black car that stood,
waiting in the outer courtyard.
*Well here I am. Home alone.* he thought as he closed the doors.
The slam seemed to echo throughout the entire house, its reverberations
emphasising the fact that Wayne Manor was now as uninhabited as a
mausoleum without Kasumi or Alfred. It made Ranma feel empty.
*Kasumi. I wonder how she is in Gotham. She should be all right at
least. Alfred said that he made it clear she could have her sister
living with her since I don't use the town house.* He closed his eyes
and allowed visions of Christmas trees and carols to float in the
darkness.
*I wonder whether Alfred gave her enough for her Christmas bonus?*
*
*Oh god.*
Hack had never believed in deities, a moral remnant developed from
overcoming the youthful growth spurts of life on the streets and
'finding' religion from watching the amount of male prostitutes who
served clientele that had 'interesting' tastes when it came to role
playing. But at that moment in time, he wished he could believe, because
then he could hope - another word he rarely used - that some higher
justice would be meted out to Lord's men for what they had done.
*Damn it. They were good people.*
The blood stains covered the floor that he could see, which was pretty
much *everything* considering his vantage point.
*If Adams hadn't put the escape route up here. . .* Hack swore
inwardly as he closed his eyes briefly. *I was lucky - wish they had
been too.* His gaze fell to where several bodies were dangling - their
legs and arms entangled among the rungs - from the floor-to-roof ladder
that would have led them to freedom - *They should still be alive damn
it!*
*My fault - knew I should have gotten an elevator or something else
instead of that ladder. But I never thought -* he closed his eyes
briefly.
He had spent his entire life surviving on the edges of society,
fitting into a entrepreneurial niche that 'normal' people would never use
and - if they were lucky - would never know existed. He didn't need
hysterics now. He didn't need screams or tears.
A sense of numbness - of separateness - flooded through him as he turned
from the bloody image he would forever remember. In the distance, the
wail of police sirens filled the night, reaching an auditory apex as they
neared the district - headed no doubt to this warehouse by some anonymous
call. Lord's warning to all others who dared try and practise fair
business with him.
*You'll get your revenge. I promise you. I don't care how. Or how
much. Whichever way it is, Lord and his men won't work in Gotham City
equipment and weapons were gone - whether they were destroyed or not, the
police would confiscate everything, even THEY could not be that inept.
Hack closed his eyes, struggling to think against the mounting pressure
of pain and weariness. An image floated to the surface, and he accepted
it.
The snow fell slowly on the glass panes of the warehouse, slowly
covering the bloody outline of a handprint.
***
"Who is he?" a voice that briefly touched on the baritone ranges.
"According to what I discovered, nobody, Master Ran." An older voice,
there was weariness in it.
*Where am I?* he struggled to fully enter the realms of consciousness,
reflexes stilling his body as he relaxed against the bed he was lying on
and awaited remembrance.
"*Nobody*?" a pause, a brief, almost cynical laugh, "According to who
this time, Alfred?"
"According to the FBI, CIA and the GIA."
*Fools they be to believe what the Global Investigation Authority would
tell the truth to amateurs.*
"And?"
"According to what I can gather, he is Tarou Hack or Hack Tarou, the
computer is uncertain regarding his residential information though the
AEB has quite an impressive list of his qualifications in the field of
computer technology."
"AEB?"
"American Educational Board."
"Interesting. Anything else?"
"He runs a pseudo-legitimate business providing information on
anything and anyone his clients want."
*Basic information. He must have gotten it from the homepage - got to
remember to take it down. Damn.*
"Pseudo-legitimate?"
"The majority of his clients are - well, common vocabulary describes
them as the underworld drug lords and bosses, sir."
"Interesting. Why is he here?"
"I'm afraid my skills at that computer downstairs is not -
The voices faded, and he with them, back towards the darkness. With a
mental frown, he fought its subconscious tendrils to sleep and relax.
Day.
Sunlight streamed through large windows, patterning the quilt he lay
beneath in stripes and golden leaves.
*No wait, that's the actual print.* he frowned at it for several
seconds, pondering the few beds he might be in that would have such a
ridiculous pattern on the bedspread. *Or bedsheets at all.*
Confused dreams and tendrils of images floated through his mind.
With the same alertness that had kept him alive throughout his life, Hack
woke fully, and then wished that he hadn't as his entire body winced in
agony. A wave of blackness rolled over him before he fought it back.
*- got to find Wayne -*
*Damn it - where the hell am I?* his memories swirled before him,
refusing to tell him what had happened before the everlasting present.
"I wouldn't suggest moving." The voice was British - with a capital
'B'.
Slowly he opened an eye, blinking in the brilliance of light, "Turn down
the sun."
"Unfortunately, that is not within my power sir."
The other eye opened and Hack stared at the old man standing before him,
"Who are you? Better yet where am I?" under the covers, he tensed,
ignoring the twinges of agony as he readied for movement.
"Alfred Pennyworth, and you are currently in Wayne Mansion." The man
said with a slight inclination of his head before he lifted the gun he
was carrying - with a quiet air of experience if Hack read it properly.
"I am afraid that you have us at a disadvantage, sir. If you would
be so kind as to introduce yourself." The gun glinted with an air of
latent destructive forces, "Now please - sir."
"Really, Alfred. Surely there ain't a need for all that?" a second
voice - younger, Hack realized - that drawled with a studied lazy
elegance he had observed many times in the young rich socialites.
Hack shifted his attention to the young man who leaned against the
doorframe, amusement exuding from every inch of his languidly positioned
form. *His acting is good. If I didn't know he was the Batman, I'd
believe he was a useless rich boy.*
"I've been searching for you Wayne." He paused, "Or should I call
you Batman instead?"
"Bruce would do, old man," Wayne said, arching an eyebrow, "I have
absolutely no idea who that -" a gentle frown, "Batman? - is. But if I
am he, than surely you must be the other mystery floating around Gotham
lately? Catwoman I believe they call her." he walked forward, "Bruce
Wayne - and you are?"
"Quit the crap Wayne." Hack snarled as he straightened painfully,
ignoring the jerk of pain running through his torso, "I have something
you want - if you can meet my price."
"I'm afraid I don't do drugs -
"No. You just want to destroy the line running through Gotham." Hack
said, "I know who you are Wayne. Know you, know your outfit - I even
think I've figured out your agenda. My name is Hack - Tarou Hack. The
best information distributor in the business. And I know how to bring
down the drug line - and Lord."
There was a moment of silence as Wayne stared at him silently, blue eyes
unreadable.
"What is your price?" the words had lost their drawl, "Money?
Connections? The control of the drug line instead?" the easy smile had
dropped from his lips, "No sale."
Hack shook his head as he smiled bitterly, "I want revenge."
"And in return?"
"I help you make sure the drug lines goes straight down - money,
transport, facilities. Everything."
Wayne nodded sharply, as if he had decided upon something, "I'll think
about it."
*Got you.* Hack thought smugly as he shifted tentatively, testing which
part of his body hurt the most, *Think about it my foot. As if you have
a choice bat-boy. I KNOW you - I know your identity. The power of a
name is the greatest power of all.*
He watched in silence as Alfred and Wayne walked out of the room,
knowing the decision had already been made.
And knowing that they knew he knew.
*
"Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?" Alfred asked quietly as he
laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.
"He knows my identity, Alfred. We follow his whims till we find out
what his true motives - if at all - are."
"And then?"
For the first time, Ranma seemed unsure, "I don't know, Alfred. . . I
can't kill. And isn't this what I'm doing all of it for? Destroying the
drugs." He stared down at the white carpet, "That's why Batman exists.
To destroy that. But I can't kill - him - to protect the secret. . .
Murder - death - isn't part of the reason. I won't let it be. . . Not
-" he slashed a hand through the air viciously, "It doesn't work that
way."
"Do you think that will be what it comes down to Master Ran?"
Ranma shook his head, glancing down at the distorted reflections on the
tip of his black shoes, "I cannot kill."
Alfred watched the young man walked away, and wondered the meaning
behind the painful words. *What sort of world did he exist in before he
came back to Gotham City? What sort of world do we live in that he is
forced to create a separate identity to exist?*
Not for the first time, he cursed Genma Saotome.
*His effect on poor Nadoka Saotome goes without saying.* Alfred
shuddered inwardly, remembering the reports which lay on his desk about
the poor woman's current living accommodations.
*Japan is a bad place to be married to an abusive male. Especially
when he has the right to confine her in an asylum.* There were several
contingencies of lawyers already handling the paperwork to remove Nadoka
from the hell-hole Genma Saotome had imprisoned her within and bring her
home to her adopted son, *And let's hope that Master Ran never discovers
precisely what has occurred, or he might just recinde his vow not to
kill.*
Alfred shuddered and returned his gaze to the door, *And now this.
How unsure and unstable the future seems at the moment.*
The wooden door swung open without a sound - a fact of pride for his
basic household skills.
"Yo - Alfred?"
Alfred stared at the man standing before him, "Yes, Master Hack?" He
replied politely.
"Any idea where the bathroom is?"
"I'm sure you will find the one attached to your suite satisfactory,
Master Hack." Alfred replied, hiding his grin, "Behind the brown
door."
"Call me Hack - got standards y'know. Haven't worked all my life to
be called 'Master' by anybody." Hack called, his voice warbling between
the strange accent that lifted every vowel in a lilt and the garbled
coarseness of lower Gotham.
"As you will -" a pause, "Master Hack."
*But chaos has a certain fascination, unlike stability. And it is
certainly far preferable to stagnancy.*
---
"The Dark Knight" copyright Fiona Lim and any other names she may use
"Batman" and associated ideas from affiliated "Batman" products
(including television shows, cartoons, movies, comic books and
novelisation) belong to Kane, DC Comics, Marvel Comics and assorted
companies.
"Ranma ˝" and associated ideas regarding "Ranma ˝' products (including
manga reproductions, English translations and subtitles and comic books)
belong to Rumiko Takahashi and assorted companies.
Author claims all characterisation, plot and storylines other than as
mentioned above. Also, the author formally acknowledges that this work
would have been impossible without the help of Oni no Akuma. (The Author
would formally acknowledge that this work would not only be unreadable
but also indecipherable to everybody without the help of Oni no Akuma,
but that would be making a statement she has no proof for any more).
Fiona Lim, September 1999