Aberrant: Wild Card - [HW #4] Gotham Knights

[z-Matt McShae]

Something was wrong. Father had been gone all night. Matt was only a little worried; his father’s work sometimes took him away for hours. Being gone all night wasn’t that odd, so Matt wasn’t really concerned at breakfast. He wiled away his morning hours with the strenuous workout his father had set up for him, honing his body into physical perfection. After a light lunch, he began to really worry. Alfred, the butler, was no help either, and all Matt could do was watch the news and worry. Finally, to take his mind off things, Matt went to see a friend.

He left the Wayne Manor, still a little worried. Driving his ‘Wednesday’ car, the green Ferrari, with reckless abandon, he headed into Gotham. Along the way, he passed no less than three patrol cars, all of whom looked away as the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne roared past them. They knew the Wayne cars, and none of them wanted to explain to Commissioner Gordon why they’d given a ticket to any member of the fabulously wealthy Wayne Family. The rich were left alone so they’d keep contributing to the police fund. The Gotham PD couldn’t know that Bruce would never cease his support and Matt enjoyed letting them have the illusion.

He bypassed the finer neighborhoods, pulling into a middle class subdivision. As he killed the engine on the Ferrari, he considered his odd relationship with the guy who lived in this house. Malcolm was a nerd who got to roll with certain less desirable elements of society. Matt wasn’t sure why the gang members tolerated him, but Malcolm was good for information, and gullible enough to be easily pumped for information.

His friend greeted him at the door, and showed Matt inside. Entering, Matt took in the dark Spanish décor with neon accents, amused at Malcolm’s mother’s eclectic tastes. In the kitchen, he and Malcolm lounged for a while, talking about nothing. Deftly, Matt steered the conversation toward news from the street; if someone had ‘bagged the Bat’ Malcolm would have heard about it.

None of Malcolm’s news revealed anything about the Batman. Oddly, it was the TV playing in the living room that gave him the clue. A news blurb interrupted the soap playing; the slick-haired man speaking opened with, “A Gotham-Twelve News alert. Batman has been hospitalized at Mercy General. At this time, there is no word of his condition.”

“Holy shit!” Malcolm said. “This is huge! My homies are going to wig out over this!”

Homies? Only poseurs say that. “Holy shit indeed,” Matt said, worry clenching his gut. Casually, he said, “You going out to see your buddies?”

“Nah, they’ll be running hardcore tonight – Gotham is going to explode!”

Yeah, Matt thought. And no one will be out there to stop them.

[z-Matt McShae]

After leaving Malcolm’s, Matt went right home. Again, he drove like a crazy man, confident in both his car and his abilities. Worry propelled him to push the edge of both as he sought his house. There was only one person who he could talk to: Alfred.

“Master Matthew,” Alfred said as he pulled into the garage. “You have not been answering your phone.”

Matt dug it out of his pocket and frowned. Twelve missed calls and four messages, all from Alfred. “Yeah, I had the ringer off,” he moaned, feeling guilty even though he couldn’t have known. “What are we going to do?”

Alfred stood straight and stiff. “I have it on good authority that the police and doctors are refusing to allow Batman’s mask to be removed, so Master Bruce’s identity is safe. However, the news has spread, and things are going to become quite unpleasant.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” Matt said, swallowing. “I… I’m gonna go out. As Batman.”

Alfred inhaled sharply. For him, that was like a screamed curse. “Is that wise?”

“Oh, no, it’s not, but Gotham is hosed if I don’t,” he said. “If Batman is seen, then maybe that will curtail some of the violence. Everyone’s going to assume it’s not him, until he shows them it’s him. Father’s been training me for something like this.”

“I believe he intended to go with you,” Alfred pointed out.

“I’m sure he did,” Matt said, squaring his shoulders. His mind was made up, and he headed toward the tunnel to the Batcave. Alfred didn’t try to stop him; instead, the butler helped him suit up. When he was done, Matt caught sight of himself in the polished reflection. It wasn’t him anymore. Instead, a dark foreboding figure stood in a dark suit stood before him. For a moment, he felt disconnected from himself. Then he forced back the feelings and turned to Alfred. “What’s available?”

“The Batcycle, Master Matthew,” Alfred replied. Matt nodded and went to start the patrol of Gotham.

[z-Matt McShae]

Matt had been trained to drive all vehicles. It was part of the training provided by his father. But the BatCycle still took a lot of getting used to; the power alone was unbelievable. The engine roared between his legs like a living beast, a growling metal savage. Controlling it was like trying to drive a hurricane with handlebars. Matt spent most of the drive into Gotham working out the handling on the beast.

He found the city already in an uproar. Many honest citizens were not on the streets; most stores were closed, though it was only 8:00 p.m. But the streets were far from empty; looting had started and there were fires. Emergency sirens screamed in the night, their noise belying the amount of good they could accomplish. Matt felt his spirit quell for a moment – if all the authorities couldn’t do anything, what could he hope to accomplish?

He immediately purged those thoughts. He would do something because he had to, because someone had to defend Gotham. He’d do what he could.

Matt decided that the best way to approach this was to approach the commissioner. Thanks to the bug that his father had installed on Gordon’s car, Matt found him easily enough. He eased through the darkness and stood up behind Gordon, amazed that no one saw him. Is it like this for dad? Matt drew a deep breath and said, “Commissioner.”

Gordon nearly jumped out of his shoes, spinning to see Batman towering over him. “Batman?! But you’re…” Gordon took another look and comprehension dawned. “Well, we can certainly use your help.”

“Understood,” he said. First things first – he needed to disperse this mob. He pulled out his grappling hook and aimed up, pointing it at a strong looking point on the building, just as he’d been taught.

“And Batman,” Gordon said, putting out a hand to forestall him, “don’t get yourself hospitalized again. Gotham will not survive if you fall twice tonight.”

Matt swallowed, hearing the unspoken message. “Just hang on, Commissioner,” he said briskly. “I’ll have this riot settled soon.” He triggered the release and the hook bore him away into the night.

[z-Matt McShae]

The grapple pulled him up sharply, but Matt was used to that. He’d done this hundreds of times before. He released the trigger before he came to the end of his line. His legs came up to catch himself against the wall. Twisting, the ‘Batman’ turned to look at the riot below him. The key to shutting these things down was to cut out its center. Like all masses of life, this swirling vortex had a heart, a soul, a brain. It would be a handful of people; those who were egging it on. Taking them out would slow and eventually kill the beast.

Matt quickly spotted the group; they were not in the center, but just behind the leading wave. Grinning grimly, Matt released his line and kicked off the wall, dropping outward. He extended another grapple, catching it on the building on the other side of the street. He played out and tightened his lines until he was just over the ten or so people that were the heart of the monster. Then Matt dropped.

To those watching, he came out of nowhere, falling from the sky as if he’d flown there. He landed on two of them, using them to cushion his fall. Another two he caught by the collars and used his momentum to take them down. Then he launched himself at two more, tripping one and toppling the other over with a strike to the back of the head. Half of them were down before they’d really registered he was there.

Matt didn’t stop. His punch to one man’s face broke his glasses and his nose; the guy went down, blind and screaming. He kicked a woman in the knee, buckling it to the side; from the way she grabbed it, he’d wrenched it, at least. The last two had a chance to react. One darted forward with a baseball bat, bringing it over head in a wild overhand swing. Matt caught it on his upraised arm, his armor turning most of the blow aside as the angle of his arm kept the bat moving downward and away from him. His right hand came up and delivered a stunning blow to the man’s chin, actually lifting him off his feet before knocking him onto his ass.

The other member of the heart of the riot was stumbling away from him and Matt let him go. The crowd around him was backing away, each one of them privately convinced that Batman was coming for them next. He didn’t have to say anything as they melted away into the night.

He turned and looked at the barricade the police had set up. “Need some medics down here,” he called, then started for the BatCycle. At the last second, he remembered: Never let them see you being normal. It was one of Father’s favorite sayings. They want to believe in your mythos. Make it easy for them to do so, and they’ll never doubt your power. He used another grappling hook, making sure that no one saw him collect the other two he’d used. To the observers, he disappeared into the night, as silent as the bat.