Issue# 7, Jul Yr. 2

Questions (part 2 of 2)
"Man of the People"

By Rory O'Sullivan

---

Yes, he was a hero.
The Riddler stood there, basking in the adoration of his assembled peers, and felt a rush of pride in himself. Suddenly, sharply, however, it was infected with guilt.
They worshipped him, because he was a symbol. Of decency, of bravery, of other such concepts that were, he supposed, at least halfway important to him.
What had he done to earn this job? He'd deceived them. He'd used his uncle's ties to crime to set himself up as a hero, by vanquishing a few submissive thugs, by firebombing a store and blaming it on some terrorist. Was it right to continue the deception, simply for the achievement of personal glory?
He looked out over the gleaming faces, and decided it was. It had to be. How could he live without such fame, now that he'd tasted it?
There was an unmerciful crack, and all eyes turned toward the window as it literally tore free of its moldings and disappeared, pane and all. In its place stood the Batman, spoiling for a fight. "Riddler," the vigilante growled, as everyone in the room backed away. "Nice try, pulling a fast one on Gotham. But you failed miserably."
The Riddler's eyes widened. He'd been found out. A mental image hit him, that of all his hopes and dreams spiraling into a toilet. "No!" he screamed, and rapidly drew his question-mark javelin.
The electric tension in his cry spurred the crowd to action. As one they charged the interloper, some brandishing chairs. Careful not to hurt anyone, Batman waded into their midst, doing his best to fight them off gently. "Uh, boss?" he muttered into his cowl radio, "you getting this?"
"Get out of there, Terry," came Bruce's response. "Mob mentality is not something you want to deal with."
"Well sure, but... well it's gonna be kinda hard..." The weight of their numbers was dragging him down and he felt suddenly claustrophobic. He felt his back connect with the floor, even as one teeming mass of humanity fell upon him, and he took the only option open to him. He ignited his costume's defenses.
A bolt of electricity coursed through the crowd, and instantly they cringed. They withdrew as one, unsettled, and regrouping. Batman took the opportunity to mount the 'stage,' and confront his prey. "Riddler! You've misled these people! It's time to go!"
"No!" With a flick of his wrist, the Riddler sent his javelin spinning forward. It caught Batman squarely in the shoulder, neatly piercing his armor before it tumbled away. Terry cursed, fumbling as he lost his footing and found himself once more on his back.
Riddler soared over him, and took to the window. He needed time to think, time to strategize. He plunged into the air.
Batman struggled to rise, fired his boot-jets for a brief moment, and followed suit.

---

Riddler's mind raced as he practically galloped across the roof of his crumbling old brownstone and down onto the fire escape, not a jet-tube like the uptown buildings but an actual old-style ladder. He took it three rungs at a time, dropping neatly to the pavement. A glance upward affirmed his suspicion that Batman was indeed giving chase, and he cursed. Just what he needed, a meddling vigilante so caught up in his abstract concepts like justice and honor that he couldn't see the greater good.
The people in there deserved--- no, needed--- his help, and he'd be damned if he was going to let some two-bit hood in a bat costume walk all over him.
He plunged into evening traffic, dodging and weaving around and under the hovercars. Finally, a transport passed near enough that he could lash out, and coil one hand about the rear bumper. He lurched awkwardly into the air, reeling himself in as he sped down the street.
Batman had little trouble pacing the transport, though at this speed, a fair clip, the street lights and headlights of passing cars meshed to create a sort of panorama straight out of a bad sci-fi movie. Riddler, clinging to the rear of the transport, took swing after swing at the vigilante, who let himself hover in and out of the truck's wake.
One of the interesting things about hover-transportation was that it added a whole new dimension to driving, the vertical. At present, the transport rested about two feet off the ground, and it was into this space that Batman dove, praying silently that the driver didn't cut the engine anytime soon. Engaging his suit's augmented strength, he carefully, gently, eased the entire vehicle upward, until they were soaring across the darkening sky. He'd scare the Riddler off.
Riddler was suddenly behind him, dangling perilously from the underside of the car. He slammed a foot into the Dark Knight's back, and Batman cringed. For one horrible instant, the transport listed, tilted back toward earth. Batman cursed, and regained control, swiveling to keep the Riddler in his periphery.
The transport's driver, however, panicked as he was by the situation unraveling, took a glance at the roofs of the buildings far below, and became suddenly claustrophobic. He wasn't about to let his truck become his deathtrap. He'd take his chances outside.
The man plunged suddenly from the transport's control cab, straight downward, calmly enough that under other circumstances the maneuver might've seemed heroic.
"Terry!" came Bruce's voice, vibrating the sides of his cowl ever so slightly, "Civilian!"
Batman swung his head downward, and noticed the driver picking up momentum. "Oh---" Training, coupled with instinct, took over, and he let the hover-transport go, rocketing after the man.
The Riddler watched the hero drop away, and felt the change in pace as the hover transport slowly, almost serenely, came to a dead stop, and began its downward slide. He let out a long sight. The harbor was below them now, and it looked awfully tranquil. Perhaps he wasn't meant for this world, after all. At least he'd go out as a hero, maybe even a martyr of sorts. There were worse fates.

---

The lenses shielding the Dark Knight's eyes were beginning to crack under the pressure of his downward power-glide, and the light flowing into them skewed into a kaleidoscope of color. He did his best to stay focused, every muscle in his body tense and aching. The driver was still a few dozen meters ahead of him, and still further ahead lay the deadly looking skyline.
Finally, through excruciating pain, Batman managed to close a hand over the driver's ankle. However, try as he might, he couldn't quite bring them to a halt. His boot-jets flickered in and out with the strain, but their speed at this point was too great. The ground would be coming up fast.
As they catapulted down the side of one of the taller buildings, narrowly missing a pedestrian skyway, Batman crawled along the driver so that he was leading. The jets still cut in and out intermittently, but he did his best to flatten their angle of approach. Finally, contact was inevitable. He went down first, doing his best to let the suit take the brunt of the fall, and absorb the impact for the driver.
A handful of nearby hovercars were buffeted by the impact, to the point where they keeled over into street vendors. There was general anarchy as Batman slowly righted himself. His suit was in pieces about him, though luckily enough his cowl was intact. Any area of skin that was showing was bruised, and bruised badly.
On the other hand, he was better off than his mid-air companion, who trembled in unconscious stupor at the vigilante's feet. Batman had time to quickly check the man's vitals, which could have been better but would suffice. Then he stumbled up the bank of their impact crater and into the street.
A low whistle reached his ears, like an incoming bomb, and he glanced up. The transport shot by overhead, the Riddler still dangling from it, skipping across the skyline.
Batman leapt upward, and the jets kicked for an instant, before dropping him roughly to the pavement. He struggled for a long moment, and finally collapsed, watching sadly as the transport banked hard off a building before plopping definitively into the harbor.
The Dark Knight let out a long, disgusted breath. A less than satisfactory ending, and one that would surely warrant a lecture from Bruce. But an ending was an ending, and he was glad this particular adventure was over.
END