Issue# 1, Jan. Yr. 2

"Legacies"
By Rory O'Sullivan

---

Terry McGinnis shook himself awake as the final buzzer sang its siren song. His classmates immediately shuffled off toward the school's exits, as Terry lifted himself against his computer console, and slowly began to follow.
"Hey, where're you going?"
Terry rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glanced around, catching the gaze of his girlfriend Dana. "Uh... home?"
"Yeah, right." Dana slipped an arm around him to guide him out. "You're going out to Wayne Manor, aren't you?"
"I have to, Dana. I have a job, y'know?"
"Right. Bringing home the bacon." She sighed. "Real macho. Forgive me if I'm not impressed."
"What's the problem, anyway?" Terry paused before his locker, disentangled himself from her grip, and began transferring his text disks into his knapsack. "I'd support you if you had a job."
"Wayne works you too hard, Terry!" She exclaimed. "You're constantly falling asleep! Honestly, what does he make you do besides count his money?"
Terry smiled half-heartedly. "He's a nice guy. Besides, the pay's good."
Dana shrugged, for what seemed like the thousandth time, and walked away. "Remember we're catching the matinee tomorrow night. Try to stay awake for it, huh?"
Terry turned in the opposite direction, and shook his head to clear it. It had been a long day. It would be an even longer night.

---

Barbara Gordon settled into her plush chair, and surveyed her City Hall office. It had been an equally long day for her, and it was now late enough that less effort was required in staying at the office than in going home.
How had her father done this, day in and day out? She had a new appreciation for the post of police commissioner, and the hassles that came with it. Bureaucracy was the same in any century.
Her gaze fell to the pile of diskettes awaiting attention, stacked next to her computer console. She plucked the first one up, and slipped it into the correct port. It was a Concerned Citizen's Report that had been kicked up the ladder for her to look over. Someone had sighted the Batman skulking around Fifth Avenue. And Sixth. And Seventh.
The Batman. Now there was another hassle her father had dealt with. But this new Batman was... different. Almost... lighter, from what she'd heard. And he had more of a penchant for mistakes. She wondered if she'd ever overcome her initial disapproval of vigilante justice, which looked likely considering that the mounds of 'paperwork' were growing daily. She wondered if this Batman and the police could ever develop the same sort of covenant that her father had struggled with all those years ago. She wondered if she would ever reach the point, as her father had, when she could put blind faith in the Dark Knight, and let him do what he did best. The latter she doubted.
Yet, in a way, she already was supporting Batman, by allowing him to continue his crusade. All it would take on her part would be a quick order and a mobilized SWAT team. For Barbara Gordon was one of a privileged few who was aware that the first Batman had been Bruce Wayne, millionaire playboy in the good old days, now a disenchanted old man in seclusion. Obviously there was some sort of connection between this new Batman and Wayne. But Barbara had long ago been sworn to secrecy, and she took such vows as matters of honor. In fact, at one time, when she'd been young and headstrong and a touch more nimble, Barbara herself had bounded across Gotham City rooftops, wearing a stylized bat across her chest. There were some good memories from those few years. Hair-raising ones as well, but mostly good. Of course, it had all come crashing down after what had happened to Dick Grayson...
A sudden, hideous cackle shattered her reverie, coming from the hallway just outside her office. Before she could react, the intercom system clicked on, and her clerk's harried, mildly nasal voice filled the room. "Commissioner, ma'am, we've got a situation out here!"
"What's going on, Jenkins?" Barbara was on her feet now, and moving for the door.
"Some sort of... attack! Lock your door, Commissioner, lock it---!"
There was a sickening 'thump,' and the intercom went silent.
Gunfire could be heard raging just outside, drawing closer. Barbara fumbled through her desk drawer, searching for her service hand-laser. Where had she put it? Damn! Where?
The door to her office crashed inward, and she was greeted with an awesome sense of déjà vu as her eyes focused on the figures framed in the doorway.
The Jokerz stormed the room. It was like a nightmare for the commissioner. In fact, she'd had nightmares like this, a fleet of pasty-faced, purple-suited, murderous clowns, so much like the demented killer of long ago that she'd clashed with so many times. But this time, she was older and frailer, and Batman or Nightwing weren't about to swing down to her rescue.
Of course, the Jokerz weren't quite as diabolical as their long-gone mentor. They were a ragtag motorcycle gang of very little import in the city, inspired by the Clown Prince of Crime himself, but with no real connection.
Right now, she realized as the leader waved a handgun at her, they were just as lethal.

---

Night was just starting to fall about Wayne Manor, and Terry McGinnis shook himself awake once more. He ambled away from his cot, across the great cavern that was the Batcave, to Bruce Wayne, who sat at the BatComputer as he had, near as Terry could figure, for the last four or five hours.
Bruce heard the teen coming, and twisted to face him. "Ready?"
"Always." Terry disappeared behind a dark curtain off to the side. "What's on the agenda for tonight?" He called.
"Standard," Bruce returned. "Start downtown, and work your way north for a few blocks. Then swing around and cover the docks."
"Right." Striding out from behind the dark curtain, Terry glanced down at himself. He was garbed from the neck down in a sleek black costume, dotted with hidden circuitry, emblazoned with the blood-red form of a bat. Satisfied, he slid into the last part of his ensemble, the almost demonic-looking cowl. "Pretty basic patrol. It's gonna take a while, though."
"Is that a problem?"
Terry--- Batman--- shrugged. "Not really. I s'pose I'll just sleep through History in the morning." He tugged on his gloves, more like gauntlets. "Just... Dana's been bugging me about, y'know, maybe sleeping once in a while. And we have a date tomorrow so---"
"You can sleep here after school." Bruce turned back to his console, darkly intoning, "History's important."
Batman nodded, and extended his arms. Instantly, crimson blades sprouted from them, forming a glider across his back. "I'll open up the radio link once I reach the city."
"I'll be here," Bruce confirmed.
Without further ado, Batman sprang into the air, and the jets fixed to the soles of his feet ignited. He rocketed down a runway that had long been unused, until now, and through a small shaft into the night sky.
The view from up here was incredible, and he gained altitude rapidly. In truth, his mind was still reeling from all that had happened in the last few months. How he'd been on a downward, self-destructing spiral, first because of the separation of his parents, then the brutal murder of his father. How he'd vented that anger by fighting--- actually fighting--- a motorcycle gang, the Jokerz or something. How he'd been in over his head, and ended up on the receiving end of the Jokerz wrath. How an enigmatic Bruce Wayne had come to his aid, only to disappear once more into the shadows. How Terry had been consumed with an illogical investigation of his mysterious savior, one that had culminated in his stumbling into the Batcave. Then, life had picked up. After a few tense moments, he'd convinced the old man that he was a worthy successor, and taken to the streets with a goal, a damned good one, and the mantle of a legend across his back. There was joy in Terry McGinnis's life once more, for he was a hero, and
there were few better feelings in this world.
Gotham City was beneath him now, and he activated his cowl radio as he surveyed it's, well, gothic skyline.
"Mister Wayne, you there?"
"I'm here, Terry," the gravelly voice coursed through his ears, a lifeline in the darkness.
It took only a thought for Terry to start his cowl's circuitry moving, starting up his vid-link. Now his eyes were Bruce's, for what he saw would be relayed into a BatComputer monitor. "Nothing out of the ordinary yet, hmm?"
"No," Bruce responded. "I'll check in with the scanner. Hang tight."
"Right." Batman dropped a few meters of altitude, and soared down the canyon between massive skyscrapers. He sighed. He loved Gotham as most Gothamites did, but while other cities of the future had managed to become Utopian in design, this one remained dark and foreboding.
"Terry." Bruce's voice had turned even more no-nonsense than usual, meaning something was up.
"Go ahead."
"There's a situation at City Hall. Get there now."
Even as Bruce finished speaking, a cacophony of sirens reached Batman's ears. Beneath him, squad cars raced along the streets from a half dozen different directions. This looked important. "On my way."

---

"What do you want?" Like any self-respecting person, when thrown into a crisis, Barbara Gordon's mind could only manage to come up with clichés.
"Original line, Commish!" exclaimed the lead Joker, and, she noted, the one who looked the most like her old enemy, out of the seven that now occupied her office. "Why don't we show you what we want?" He motioned to a bulky, frowning clown standing by the wall, obviously hired muscle. The thug drew a canister of spray paint, and quickly splashed it across the wall with little to no finesse, scrawling the words JOKERZ and RULE.
"That's what it's all about, baby!" The leader was on her desk now, waving his handgun about, wrapped in some sort of mania. "Respect! Importance! The Jokerz are gonna be big names!" He settled down for an instant. "Your boys in blue outside are gonna talk up to us, and deal with us like betters, or we're gonna pop their fearless boss!" He waggled the gun in her face again. "So sit tight, doll, and don't do nothing stupid!"
"Cecil," one of the female punks called of her leader, "there's movement---"
"When we're on a mission," he hissed darkly, "you call me Jester." He threw a glance Barbara's way, to determine if she'd overheard their lapse in professionalism. "What is it?"
"There's movement outside. I think it's GCPD."
"Your boys have come home, Commissioner!" Jester darted to the door. "Let's have a party." In one smooth movement, he threw the door open, and fired a half-dozen rapid bursts into the hall, scattering the surprised SWAT team that had been poised there. Even as they regained their senses, the clown slammed the door shut, and had his compatriots secure it.
"Well," he smiled, "That was... easy." He turned toward Barbara. "Now they know we're serious," he crowed, then chuckled at his own pun. "Let the fun begin!"

---

"How do you want me to play this?"
Batman had touched down across the street, on the roof of the derelict old Gotham City Police Headquarters. He'd switched off his night vision, since the searchlights and sirens about City Hall created an atmosphere of almost daylight.
Bruce Wayne's voice, still tense, reverberated around Batman's ears. He could imagine the old man at his console, sitting bolt upright, drinking in every detail. "City Hall's been evacuated, but there may still be hostages. Tread lightly."
"Right. I'll confer with the police about---"
"No!" The urgency of the reply startled Batman.
"What?"
"The police are no longer... hospitable. Besides, the Batman doesn't play by their rules."
"They're professionals! They'll know---"
"They're too professional. You can't serve justice when you're enshrouded in red tape."
"Fine. Look, we'll have the philosophical discussion when I get home. Right now, people need me."
Far away, in the dank recesses of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne smiled. "You learn fast, Terry. Good luck."
Batman catapulted into the air. There was no sense trying to sneak in unannounced, he reasoned. The police had things locked down. He landed on the front steps of City Hall, and charged toward the main entrance, even as a few overanxious constables took potshots at him from behind the police barricade. Someone lifted a bullhorn somewhere, and called, "Batman! Get out of there! You're not authorized---" The voice trailed off as Batman disappeared into the building.
"Update," Bruce offered, since things had quieted down. "Police have begun to negotiate via tele-link. There is one confirmed hostage. Commissioner Gordon. And," he added dryly, "Batman is on the scene."
"Good to know." The lobby was deserted. Batman switched back over to night vision, since the police had killed the generator beforehand, as part of their standard hostage situation tactics. "Call up City Hall blueprints. Where's the commissioner's office?"
There was a moment of pause, a moment Batman took to slowly advance through the lobby, carefully eyeing any possible hiding place. Then, "The office is on the second floor, in the west corner."
"Okay." Sure enough, as Batman rounded a corner, a flight of stairs greeted him. He started up. "Any word on perpetrators?"
"Yes. The Jokerz."
Batman froze, and shuddered. Still, he thought, as he glanced down over his costume, his odds of winning this time were a mite better.
The second floor was equally quiet, and equally dark. Eerie, really. He started down the main corridor, and----
---found himself face to face with a gun.
Batman's reflexes took over, and he seized the hand the gun belonged to, flipping a man out of the doorway he'd been hiding in. Only then did he realize his mistake, for the man was garbed in a GCPD SWAT uniform. "Uh oh."
Out of the other doorways that littered the corridor came the rest of the SWAT team, firing as they went, panicked about a threat from the rear that they hadn't expected.
Delicately, Batman sprang over the hail of energy beams, ricocheting from wall to wall. Thanks to his suit's enhancing abilities, and his own rigorous training, he managed to dodge all but one beam, which grazed his leg. But the suit was fairly well armored also, and so the beam deflected after leaving only the beginning of a bruise from it's impact.
Finally, the police realized that this 'new threat' wasn't fighting back, and the gunfire died down. Batman landed, gently, and walked toward them, hands in the air. "Batman," he said, as he reached the Element Leader. "I'm here to help."
The Leader seemed torn for a moment, then nodded. "We need all we can get. Walk with me."
The SWAT team allowed their commander and the vigilante to stride past. They conversed as they went.
"At least seven, maybe eight, perps inside," the cop offered. "And Ms. Gordon. They're not afraid to shoot, either. I don't think SWAT'll be much good."
Batman nodded his agreement. "But don't put too much faith in negotiation, either. These people are psychos." He smiled beneath his cowl. "That's why I'm here." Suddenly, he stopped short. For he'd caught sight of Jenkins, lying dead beside his desk.
The SWAT commander shrugged sadly. "Poor guy. Couldn't get to his piece fast enough. They plugged 'im. Took one to the chest."
Batman's eyes hardened. Another vicious reminder that this wasn't all a game.
The cop seemed to notice the suddenly darkened spirit of the hero beside him. "Uh... sorry you had to see that. So, any ideas on how we do this?"
Batman faced him once more. "Yeah, one."
Then he disappeared.

---

Jester lazed on Barbara Gordon's couch, one leg propped over the arm, the phone cradled against his shoulder. "---yes, that's what I said. A hovercopter. No, not one of those police buckets. Something nice. Luxurious. And, uh, fill it with money. Good. You have half an hour." He slammed down the phone. "I like these old things," he muttered. "The new vid tech, you have to clean yourself up just for a phone call." He poked at his chalk-white skin. "'Course, I always look good. Isn't that right, people?"
The resounding "yes" only heightened Barbara's dislike of her captor.
There came a knock on the door.
Time seemed to freeze in the room, as the various Jokerz eyed each other. Finally, Jester took the initiative of responding. "What?"
"Thought you guys'd like a pizza! Compliments of the GCPD!"
Jester looked around. "What d'you think?"
"It's gotta be a trick, Boss."
"I dunno. I'm hungry."
"Yeah, me too."
"Me three," concluded Jester. "Then it's settled." Slowly, letting his gun hand lead, he opened the door.
There was nothing there.
He opened the door further, stepped into the hall. Nothing at all was present. The only sound was the echo of his footsteps. "Hey!" he barked, "Where's my pizza?"
Sighing, he re-entered the office. "Nada."
"What?"
"Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Persona non grata."
"Damn."
"Maybe you should eat each other?" Came a helpful suggestion from thin air.
"Who said that?" Jester and his gang brought their guns to bear in unison, eyes sweeping the room for the strange voice with no source.
"I did." In the center of the room, a human form shimmered, and then seemed to solidify. The Batman stood there, hands on his hips. "They're doing wonders with personal camouflaging technology these days, wouldn't you say?"
Surprisingly, Barbara noted, the first of the Jokerz to regain his or her senses was the big brute who'd defiled her office wall. He sprang at Batman, fists thrust outward as if he were trying to take flight.
Batman stepped into a roundhouse kick, pivoting just so to deliver it solidly to the thug's ribs. As the man doubled over, Batman stabbed two fingers into his shoulder, and let an electrical shock course into his assailant's body. He was satisfied only momentarily, however, for an energy beam tore past his ear. He whirled, and bounded across to the lithe-looking female clown whom he'd noticed guarding the door as he'd sneaked in around Jester.
Speaking of Jester, he thought, but was already focused on dispatching his new opponent.
He should have followed his instinct. Jester slipped over to Barbara Gordon, shoved her to her feet, and coiled an arm around her neck, his other holding his gun out before them. Then he dragged her into the hallway. The SWAT team was waiting, and he waved the gun menacingly. "Move it, pigs, or it's 'Say G'night to Auntie Barbara!'"
Barbara tried to mutter something apathetic, but he stifled it with his free hand. Hesitantly, the SWAT team parted, allowing the clown passage. Immediately, he took to the stairs, and dragged his captive along. There was fire in his eyes, she saw. His reign of terror would not be crushed so easily.

---

It came down to two thugs, both armed with primitive but always lethal switchblades. They circled Batman slowly, hyenas in more ways than one, waiting for an opening.
Batman flexed his gloves, and batarangs sprang into his hands. He wielded them as knives, and braced for the fight to come.
The two clowns had learned from the mistakes of their comrades, and charged him in unison. Batman brought the batarangs up to block, and sparks flew as all four blades connected. They were close enough now that he could bring his agility into play once more, and bound between them, as he went discharging the batarangs in favor of an overhead lighting panel. His neuro-enhanced strength made the light panel child's play, and he tore it loose, dropping into a roll, and coming up brandishing his new 'shield.'
"Mister Wayne, you there?" he whispered, as the two thugs began to circle once more.
"Yes, Terry."
"Any suggestions?"
The boy had to learn. "What do you think?"
"Well... I could use the cloaking device again and---"
"Think, Terrence. That puts an awful lot of strain on the suit's power supply."
"Right." The thugs were on each side of him now, and closing.
Bruce sighed, the air seeming to expel into Batman's ears. "Okay. Use their strength against them."
The first clown charged. Batman ducked, weaved, and seized the man by the belt, re-directing the clown's momentum to send him crashing into his fellow wacko. They both dropped like ten-pins, and made no move to rise.
"Not bad."
"Thanks." Batman glanced about. "Damn. They took Gordon."
"Well don't just stand around!" Bruce smiled once more. He noticed he'd been doing that a lot more since he'd been introduced to his young apprentice. "You're Batman!"
Batman sprinted for all he was worth, wheeling into the hall, bounding past the SWAT team, and up the stairs. The staircase was lined with uniformed policemen who had been brought in, all the way up to the highest floor. Batman reached the top stairwell and emerged onto the windswept rooftop. A GCPD negotiator was poised three or four meters away from the roof's lip, where Jester stood paused, Gordon firmly held before him. A hovercopter was hovering nearby, and Jester motioned to it with emphasis.
Batman raised his fingertips, and the microwave sound magnifiers they bore, to catch the last half of the maniacal clown's sentence. "--- and it's gonna be now, pig, or she gets a flyin' lesson!"
Batman smirked beneath his cowl as he picked up speed. This particular villain, unlike his usual muscle-bound street junkies, had a sense of humor. Humor, even corny and twisted as his was, was a rare commodity in Gotham.
Jester turned at the sound of Batman's approach, and fired a half-hearted burst that the Dark Knight easily dodged. "Damn you!" the clown barked. He shifted his feet to better brace himself for the kick of the weapon, and suddenly found one foot in mid air.
Barbara noticed Jester's slip, and, seeing an opportunity, threw her weight against him. What she hadn't counted on was that the death grip about her arm wouldn't loosen, and they both plunged into the concrete chasm, toward the swirling red-and-blue lights below.
Batman wasted no time in somersaulting over the edge, and streamlining into a dive. Hurtling through Gotham had suddenly become less majestic, given the extra ingredients of stress and pressure. He loosed his grappling hook, and let it rocket ahead to ensnare Jester's foot. Then he kicked his boot-jets into action, slowing their perilous descent. But the jets were configured for the suit's weight, though with a margin of error that could support another person, so the third weight kept them plummeting.
Jester looked up, eyes wide with fear, and realized Batman's problem. Without second thought, he released Barbara Gordon.
Instantly, Batman and his adversary stopped dead, hanging there in mid air. The commissioner continued to drop, gathering speed. Oh, how she longed for the day when she'd be in such a situation, and Bruce's cape would flash by, and a strong arm would ensnare her and guide her to the nearest ledge. But those days were over, and she had to face up to the reality of the situation---
There was a black flash in her periphery, and then Batman was there, supporting her, slowing, and then coasting back up toward the roof of City Hall. Her glare drove hard into his cowl, but, try as she might, she couldn't see the ear-to-ear smile beneath it.
So she turned her glare outward instead, and sighted Jester, dangling from a hastily opened tenth-story window.

---

There were few wonders left in the world, Batman discovered, that surpassed the sight of a sunrise over a city skyline. He drank it in, exuberant and mellow all at once. It was a perfect end to a perfect night.
Barbara Gordon appeared behind him on the roof of City Hall, and took in the scene as well.
"I was just thinking," he offered, "that I should get up early more often. This is incredible. In fact, I don't know why I bother even thinking about sleep." He smirked. "Too much to do."
She waited a few moments, deliberating her words, and then said simply, "Thank you."
Batman turned, and mock-saluted. "Any time, ma'am."
She didn't smile. He noticed.
"You don't like me."
"No," she answered slowly. "No, I don't. And I won't condone your methods either." She turned back to the sunset. "I don't want costumed wackos in my city. I don't like vigilante justice. I don't want anything to do with you. But," she sighed, and offered her hand, "we both have our legacies to live up to."
She turned on her heel, and let Batman disappear into the remains of the night.

END