Batman and Spider-Man: Year One

Chapter 7

The force that would haunt Gotham for the rest of her days did not begin with an explosion or a gunshot. It began with a single radio announcement.

“Ladies and gentleman of Gotham City,” said a voice. A very happy sounding voice. A voice so happy sounding that you could almost see the big red grin behind it. “We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to make an important announcement. At exactly midnight, Henry Claridge will be killed. You heard that right folks, Henry Claridge will be killed at midnight. I’m sure none of you have even heard about Mr. Claridge here but I can assure you, he will die tonight. So please say your goodbyes, confess any feelings you may have been keeping inside because in exactly twelve hours, our good man is going to die.” The voice burst into a fit of maniacal laughter. “And you can trust the word of good old Joker because let me tell you…”

The voice paused. “I’m never wrong,” the Joker said without any mirth.

After the announcement there was static. Only static. No commercials, nothing. GCPD officials would storm the offices of Gotham Station to see that everyone there was dead. Their corpses littering the hallways and the staircases, most of them piled up at the entrance as if trying to escape the very air they breathed. Their faces told a different story. Their mouths twisted into a smile, an eerie large smile that contradicted the frozen look of fear that could be seen in their glassy eyes.

They had all died laughing.

…

That afternoon, GCPD officers were seen in the halls of Henry Claridge’s mansion. According to Claridge nobody had entered or exited the mansion except some of the workers. Despite his protests, Claridge was forced to stay inside his house.

“It’s outrageous I tell you,” Claridge said, his sofa all but squeaking underneath his bulky frame. “You fools really believe the words of that madman?”

“He murdered countless innocent people, Mr. Claridge,” Commissioner Gordon said, trying his best not to let his irritation show. He hated rich folks. They never listened to instructions even with their lives on the line. “This is for your own safety.”

“Bah,” Claridge scoffed. “I’ll be safer outside than with a bunch of uniformed idiots who can’t even do their jobs. A prisoner in my own home? Unbelievable.”

Gordon sighed, scratching his hair. He didn’t get paid enough for this.

If you were standing outside Mr. Claridge’s mansion you’d notice a black Lamborghini, a Lamborghini many people associated with Bruce Wayne. Bruce would occasionally keep watch, peering through the windshield and making subtle rounds around Claridge’s manor.

“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne but we can’t let you through,” said the cops stationed at the gate.

“How about some champagne?” Bruce asked. “I have some in the trunk. Surely you’ll change your minds after a good drink?”

“What seems to be the problem here?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“Wayne here says he has a business meeting with Claridge,” said the cop at the gate.

Commissioner Gordon sighed. the gate creaked open. He took out a cigarette.

“You smoke, Mr. Wayne?” Gordon asked, offering him one.

Wayne shook his head. “Please Commissioner, if you’d let me in. I have a business meeting and…”

Gordon shook his head. “Sorry Mr. Wayne. Mr. Claridge is in police lockdown. Some Joker guy made a claim to his life. Haven’t you heard the news?”

Wayne laughed. “The news bores me. But if you insist…”

Gordon sighed. Rich people, all the same. Even after being kidnapped by a homicidal maniac, Bruce Wayne still looked for ways to earn money. But there was something about the way Bruce was acting, something that didn’t sit quite right with Gordon. One of them being his eyes. They were darting around, focused. Not once did Mr. Wayne make eye contact with Gordon. His eyes were trained on the guards, their stations, the mansion like a soldier scouting out possible routes. Not once did he look at Gordon and not once did, he make eye contact. Not once was his focus trained on him.

There was something about Mr. Wayne. Something that set him apart from the rest of Gotham’s rich and famous. From the way he was built, to the way he acted. Bruce Wayne was somebody with a lot of hidden secrets.

Secrets that Gordon couldn’t care less about.

The Commissioner took a puff of his cigarette as the evening cast an orange glow on his face and the clock struck 6.

…

It was quite at McDonalds that afternoon. Everybody was looking at the TV or hunched over their radios with grim expressions on their face. Some of the regulars were missing, probably because they had lost loved ones at the radio station. Today Chad wasn’t here. He had a girlfriend who worked at the station.

Peter decided today was the day. His suit was in his bag and he had his web slingers on, hidden by the yellow sleeves of his work-suit. Today was the day that Peter would deal with the Penguin. After alerting the guards to the weapon location, his next target would be the Joker. Peter swore to himself that he would be brought to justice especially after the hundreds of people he had killed.

“Peter Parker is that you?” a familiar voice asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Barbara Gordon was in front of him, a wide grin on her face.

Oh no, Peter thought. Why did she have to see him here? At McDonalds at all places? Wearing a hat with a big yellow M in the middle. And why the hell did she have to come now, especially when…

Peter heard the familiar hiss of Skinner’s truck.

“W-what are you doing here?” Peter asked.

“Dad’s working late and mom’s too lazy to cook so we decided we’d order something,” Barbara said. “But really, Peter? Is that the way you greet one of your friends? Especially after we haven’t talked in such a long time?”

“I’m kind of busy right now,” Peter said. “Can we talk later?”

The truck halted at the drive-in. Skinner’s head poked out of the window of his car.

“That’s bull,” Barbara said. She grabbed his arm and dragged him to one of the empty seats. “C’mon Pete, let’s catchup.”

Peter sighed and sat across Barbara; his eyes focused not on the pretty girl in sitting across him but on Skinner.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to?”

Peter nodded as Skinner peered at the menu, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Peter,” Barbara said, snapping her fingers in front of him but Peter was still had his attention turned to the window.

“Peter,” Barbara said, a little louder this time causing Peter’s attention to her.

“Y-yeah,” Peter stammered. “What’s up?”

There was still time before Skinner got his order but not enough time for Peter to get there and launch a spider-tracker.

“I was asking what made you work here.”

“Oh, money,” Peter said with a light laugh, his attention still diverted. “You know, I gotta pay bills and stuff. Specially after my Uncle died.”

Barbara grabbed Peter’s hands which caused Peter to finally pay attention to her. “Remember, Peter. If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

Peter’s face was as red as the raspberry milkshakes they served here. Barbara stifled the urge to let out a laugh. Peter was so adorable. While Peter was fumbling, looking for words to say Barbara cast a quick glance outside the window to see what Peter was so occupied with and…

Oh, Barbara thought. Skinner really was an idiot.

“T-thanks,” Peter stammered, swinging his hand to the side as if he was touching a hot potato. “Look Barbara, it was a really nice talk but I have work to do and…”

Barbara shook her head. “No, no I get you. No worries.”

“You want to meet up…” Peter mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“You want to meet up for dinner this weekend?” Peter asked, his voice a little high pitched. “Or lunch. Whatever floats your boat.”

Barbara had the most gorgeous smile on her face. “I’d love to.”

Peter perked up, trying his best to stifle the huge smile he could feel creeping up his mouth. He had a job to do, after all. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Skinner’s truck started up. Peter ran to the smoothie machine, pushing aside the guy standing in front of it. All the while Barbara stared at him from the corner of her eye, smiling. Peter filled up one of the cartons, apologising to the guy before running to the glass doors.

“Parker,” shouted a deep loud voice that Peter did not want to hear. His monster of a manager was standing behind him. Large, barrel chested and hairy, Mr. Farook was not somebody Peter wanted to piss off even with his spider power.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m headed out,” Peter said. Skinner’s truck was having trouble starting up. Peter could hear the engine coughing and spluttering and hear Skinner mumble curses under his breath.

“I’m headed out.”

“With a slushie?” Mr. Farook asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“With a slushie.”

The engine started revving, Peter resisted the urge to burst out of the door and ignore Mr. Farook.

“What did I say about the slushie machine?” Mr. Farook asked, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know, what did you say?” Peter said, realising that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut.

Mr. Farook’s eyes looked like they could raze mountains. “I told you and many other customers that it wasn’t working and once you switch it on…”

The machine exploded in a multicoloured rain of milk and artificial flavours covering the customers and Mr. Farook in a rainbow coloured paint of raspberry, cream soda and blueberry flavoured slushies.

Peter used this as an opportunity to sneak past Mr. Farook just as Skinner’s truck started up.

Peter sprinted towards the truck, his enhanced muscles closing the distance in less than a second. Before the truck could enter the lane, Peter was slamming his hand against the side.

“Hey,” Peter shouted. “You forgot something.”

Skinner poked his head out of the window. “Jesus kid, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Peter shrugged, walking toward Skinner. “Sorry sir, it’s just that you forgot your slushie.” Peter waved the plastic cup in front of Skinner.

“I don’t need a slushie kid,” Skinner said. “Already got myself a chocolate milkshake.”

Peter saw a milkshake holster tucked comfortably in a cup holster.

“Look kid if you’re just going to…”

Skinner had no time to finish his sentence as Peter tossed the slushie straight into his face. While Skinner cursed Peter crouched down, launching a tracker underneath the truck before popping back up in front of Skinner.

“I’m sorry sir,” Peter said, apologising profusely. “Butterfingers.”

“What the fuck, kid?” Skinner said, wiping his hands against his seat.

Just then, Peter heard Mr. Farook screaming after him, marching toward Peter in a rainbow coloured fury.

“I demand you clean me up kid,” Skinner growled. “That was some fucking service you pulled there.”

Mr. Farook marched towards him, his chest puffed out, his eyes blazing.

“Do it now kid, I have places to be.”

“I’ll ask the manager,” Peter said.

“Well go and ahead and ask him then.”

“He’s right here,” Peter said.

Mr. Farook reached to grab Peter’s shoulder. Peter ducked and Mr. Farook was standing face to face with Skinner.

“Fantastic,” Skinner said. “I demand to be cleaned up.”

“Wait let me deal…”

Skinner shook his head. “Hell no. That stupid kid told me to talk to the manager and I’m standing face to face with him.”

Skinner and Mr. Farook got into an argument. Peter walked away from them and checked the tracking app. Sure enough there was a red dot signalling Skinner’s location. Peter, satisfied, headed to the drive in and made an order.

“That was some stunt you pulled Parker,” Chloe, the girl at the till said. “And damn, you can run.”

Peter chuckled. “It’s nothing.”

“What will you be having?” Chloe asked.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Peter said. “And a… Big Mac. For a special someone.”

Chloe typed out Peter’s order as Peter pulled out his wallet. Chloe shook her head.

“It’s on the house,” she said. “Someone who has the balls to pull off a stunt like that deserves it.”

Peter grinned. “Thanks.”

“You know you’re going to get a whipping from the boss-man tomorrow, right?”

But Chloe seemed far away and so did Skinner’s and Mr. Farook’s arguing. Instead Peter’s eyes were trained on Barbara Gordon who had just left McDonalds carrying a plastic bag. Barbara waved at Peter and Peter waved back, grinning. Peter felt indestructible. He had just asked a girl out and she said yes. Nothing else mattered in the world, not the Batman, not the Penguin, not even the Joker.

…

At 10 P.M the Batmobile pulled up at Claridge’s manor.

Batman and Robin appeared, being welcomed by Gordon.

“Guns down boys,” Gordon said. “They’re here to help.”

Hesitantly, the rest of Gordon’s team put down their weapons.

“Robin,” Batman said. “Check the camera footage and cross reference it with the database I gave you with Claridge’s workers.”

“Ok boss,” Robin said, grinning at one of the officers who trained his gun on Robin as he went inside the manor.

“Gordon, I need a briefing,” Batman said.

“Claridge’s been on lockdown the moment the clown made his announcement,” Gordon said. “All his workers were sent out and I personally greeted anyone who decided to pay Claridge a visit.”

“What about finger prints?” Batman asked. “Did you cross-reference them with the database I sent you?”

“The boys scoured the entire mansion, checking each and everything,” Gordon said. “We checked and double checked the fingerprints and they all matched.”

Batman nodded. He entered the mansion, all of the officers stationed inside glaring at him, others looking at him in awe.

“We have no idea what we’re dealing with,” Gordon said. “Bastard killed an entire radio station just to make an announcement.”

Batman nodded, pulling out a scanner from his belt and scanning the door for fingerprints. “I agree. This Joker character is a wild card.”

The scanner beeped green. “And I don’t like wild cards.”

Meanwhile Robin was whistling as he made his way to the camera room which unfortunately was blocked by Officer Montoya who had her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face.

Robin tried his most charming smile. “Hey Ms. Montoya…”

“No entry,” Montoya said. “Especially not to vigilantes like you.”

Ms. Montoya hated the Batman and the GCPD’s reliance on them. That naturally meant she hated Robin.

“Pretty please,” Robin said. “I’ll even beg. Just please let me in. The big guy will get angry if I don’t man the cameras.”

“So let him,” Montoya said. “I can’t have vigilantes like you slowing down our investigation.”

“Don’t make me use force,” Robin said.

Montoya scoffed and got up in a fighting stance. “Please, I’ve been training to be a cop for four years. What training do you have?”

Within seconds Montoya was on the ground, Robin was twirling the key to the camera room in his hand and whistling. “Your fighting’s really predictable Ms. Montoya. Still needs some work.”

As Robin cross referenced Claridge’s workers with the one’s on the database, Batman was being tailed by the man himself who followed behind him like a puppy.

“This is blasphemous,” Claridge said. “Blasphemous I tell you! Mr. Wayne is not allowed to come inside but this freak is.”

“This freak is here to help with the investigation,” Gordon said, sighing. He couldn’t wait to get home, to kiss his wife and hug his daughter. Dealing with this man for more than twelve hours was starting to wear him out. He regretted not taking his aspirin with him.

Claridge laughed. “Has the GCPD become so incompetent that they rely on a vigilante of all things. Back in my day…”

Gordon groaned. He wished he had Batman’s tolerance, ignoring Claridge as he scanned around the manor. He was getting too old for this.

The time was 11:30 and they were back in the living room.

“First the cops and now some madman in a bat costume,” Claridge said. “Dad would have a field day with this.”

Claridge laughed.

It was 11:35, Gordon paced around the manor. There was an air of unease amongst the cops. Nervous mumbling spread like a wildfire.

“If I knew I would be here for this long I would have called my ex-wife,” Claridge said. “She always was an easy woman. I bet she would have come running with her legs spread if it meant getting my money.”

Claridge laughed.

It was 11:40. One of the cops went up to Batman and started making jokes about him. Batman snarled and the guy shut up.

“Money, money, money,” Claridge said. “It’s what they all want. I bet that Joker guy wouldn’t have threatened to kill me if I payed him a million dollars. It’s too late now.”

Claridge laughed.

It was 11:45 when Batman got a radio call from Robin.

“Yes, Robin,” Batman said.

“You might want to see this Bruce.”

The screen on his gauntlet lit up. On it, Bruce saw a video of a doctor kneeled over by Claridge, injecting something. The footage was timed 8 A.M, two hours before the Joker’s radio announcement. There was nothing unusual about the footage. Claridge had a long history with diabetes so it would make sense for him to have medical assistance.

What didn’t make sense was the grin that he flashed at the camera.

The world around him slowed. Batman tackled Claridge to the ground. Guns were suddenly trained on him.

It was 11:55 and the Batman was surrounded by a ring of guns.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Claridge said. “Get this freak of me.”

“Exactly, Batman,” Gordon said. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Claridge was poisoned by the Joker this morning,” Batman said. “If we don’t get it out of him, he may die.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Robin rushed to the scene.

“Robin, show them the footage.”

The officers gathered around Robin as the clock struck 11:58.

“So, you’re telling me the GCPD can’t control this freak,” Claridge said. “This idiot dressed in a bat costume.”

Claridge laughed.

“A fucking bat costume.”

Claridge laughed and laughed. He laughed till he started to wheeze.

The cops turned to Claridge. Batman got on top of him as Claridge started to laugh so much he started to choke. His face started twisting, started contorting into a giant grin.

“Call the paramedics,” Gordon shouted. “Get someone over here to help.”

Batman and Robin tried resuscitating Claridge. Batman pressing his palms to Claridge’s fat mound of a stomach and Robin holding him still as he rolled on the floor laughing. He laughed and laugh. Laughing so much, blood started running from his mouth.

“We got Ramirez,” Gordon said. “Will Claridge be okay?”

Batman shook his head. Henry Claridge’s body was still, his body pale and a huge unnatural grin spread across his face.

It was 12:00 A.M and Henry Claridge was dead.

…

Peter hoped that the two pillows he put underneath his blankets would be enough to fool Aunt May. Just to be careful, Peter locked his room door.

The tracker Peter put underneath Skinner’s truck was working. The red dot on the app showed that Skinner was turning into the warehouse district of Gotham, close by to where Peter caught the bastard who killed Ben. Peter put on his hoodie. Just in case the rest of Penguin’s thugs were around and alerted the Penguin, he figured it’d be best not to change into his Spider-Man outfit now. He stuffed his outfit in his bag right next to his binoculars and the burgers he ordered from McDonalds which were stuffed away in a plastic bag. Peter figured he needed a snack for the road.

Peter opened the window and started swinging, his spider sense buzzing slightly. Peter figured it was just because he was nervous but if he had listened to it, he’d have noticed Barbara Gordon following him around on a bike.

His first stop was Chad’s house. Chad had always loved Big Mac’s. Out of all the foods he proposed was a part of some elaborate government conspiracy, the Big Mac was the only exclusion. Peter figured he needed it. Especially after the incident at the radio station. Peter saw Chad through the passageway, sitting on his couch, a vacant expression on his face. Peter tapped his window and left the burger there with a note.

Chad’s attention was focused on the wall. The emptiness gnawing at his stomach. She’d always come home at this time, smiling at him, listening to his dumb conspiracies and stories from work. She’d make them some stew and they’d sit watching some dumb soap opera on Netflix. Chad just couldn’t believe she was gone. Just like that. He stared at the door hoping she’d come there and smile and tell him it was alright and that it was all fake news like everything was. But she didn’t come, she never came and Chad was left sitting on the couch, alone and empty.

That’s when he heard someone tapping at his window. Chad didn’t know what made him move from his couch, he figured sitting and staring at the wall wouldn’t get him anywhere. He was dumbfounded when he saw a McDonalds paper bag and a note on the side.

I know what it’s like to lose someone. Stay strong, you’ll be alright soon.

Your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

Chad didn’t know why but tears started streaming down his face. The message hit him in the gut. Spider-Man was right, he did lose someone. Sarah was gone and was never coming back but that didn’t mean he should spend the rest of his life staring at walls. Sarah would want him to live on. So, he took the burger, put it in the microwave and switched it on. Sarah always loved big macs.

…

At 6 P.M, Peter made it to the warehouse. Just in time to see Skinner’s truck turn into one of the warehouses. Peter crawled up the warehouse opposite, being careful not to be seen. Peter figured he had enough time so he pulled out the cheeseburger and started to eat it.

Halfway through his cheeseburger there was a new development. A man wearing a green coat and pilot mask appeared with a diamond shaped metallic object strapped to his back that looked like a weapon. From what Peter could see through his binoculars the man was here to make a deal and stay anonymous judging by the mask which covered his entire face. Peter decided to change into his costume now. If he could bag the Penguin and one of his clients, that would mean that hopefully more people would respect him.

Peter started getting into his costume, putting the burger back in its carboard box.

“I’ll finish you later,” he said.

Peter checked his web-shooters and cursed. They were almost out of juice and like an idiot, Peter forgot to bring spares. He hoped that he wouldn’t be needing it. The Penguin was talking to the man in the pilot mask. They were still standing outside the warehouse, the Penguin rubbing his hands like a fly.

Before Peter put on his mask he checked again with the binoculars. Penguin and the man with the pilot mask had disappeared.

Peter’s spider sense started buzzing wildly, he felt the wind dancing behind his back.

Peter heard a screech of metal. He put down his mask as a large shadow was cast on him. Looking upwards he saw a man with metal wings, the sharp edges of the wings glinting in the sunlight almost giving the man an angel-like glow. The man descended downwards to face Spider-Man, the flaps of his wings causing the wind to dance around him.

“Guess I won’t be finishing my burger then,” Spider-Man said.

The Vulture dived at Peter and the battle begun.

To be continued…