Batman Arkham Knight Read online

  Now only one remained.

  The soldier was tall—he had almost two inches on Batman. He looked strong and moved efficiently. This one was a professional. Batman lunged for him but the man sidestepped and grabbed Batman by the wrist. Batman tried to pull loose but he held on. Then, with his free hand, he grabbed Batman by the neck and pushed him into the side of a building.

  “Gonna choke the air right outta you, Bat. You’re gonna die in a whole lot of pain.”

  Batman felt himself gasping for a breath that wasn’t coming. If he hesitated this soldier was more than capable of killing him. Batman rammed his knee into the man’s solar plexus. The soldier grunted but continued to squeeze his throat. Batman kneed him again, then forced his legs up until they were around the man’s head. He pushed back, forcing the soldier to release his grip.

  As the merc did so, Batman pulled his legs back and twisted, sending the soldier crashing into the wall against which he had pinned Batman. Regaining his footing, he clasped his hands together and rammed them into the soldier’s gut.

  His opponent collapsed.

  Batman stared at the six soldiers, all downed and defeated, and allowed himself a momentary smile. He then activated his gauntlet comm and opened a channel to Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox. What he needed next would require more than surveillance.

  “I’ve been monitoring the GPS all morning,” Fox said. “I gather you’re involved in some manner of fracas. As always.”

  “You might say that, Lucius,” he replied as he moved back toward his vehicle. “A half-dozen armed mercs, probably working with Scarecrow.”

  “Probably?”

  “It’s difficult to interrogate a suspect when he’s unconscious. Besides, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  “Right. The tanks.” Instantly Fox was all business. “As I say, I’ve been monitoring your GPS, and the police radio, as well. It’s the next best thing to participating in a ride-along.”

  “Only a whole lot safer,” Batman said. “Can you get someone to round up the soldiers? Check with Barbara. Her contacts may include babysitters.”

  “I’m assuming you mean the kind that plays with automatic weapons, not chew toys.”

  “You assume correctly. Have them store Scarecrow’s boys in one of our holding facilities. And if they’re up to it, perhaps they can ask a few questions. Maybe learn where Scarecrow has set up his base of operations.”

  “That can be arranged,” Fox confirmed. “Which holding facility? Old Gotham City MTA, Panessa Studios, or Crime Alley Storage?”

  “Let’s go with the old MTA building. It’s bigger. They can be locked up separately, in different rooms. Makes for better interrogation.” He paused, then added, “As always, no excessive violence. Crane leaves behind bodies. We don’t.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Later then. And thanks, Lucius.”

  Batman climbed into the Batmobile and checked his radar. He saw two flashing red dots indicating locations only a couple of blocks away, as Barbara had warned him. He tapped his gauntlet and reconnected with her.

  “The old soldiers’ home has gotten more crowded,” he said. “Anything new on your side?”

  “You might say that,” Barbara replied, and she laughed. “In the darkness that is forever Gotham City, I’m about to give you one splendid moment of light. The lead tank is an unmanned drone. The second tank has a pilot. It’s still a block away but it’s moving in.”

  “I can bring out the big boys then.”

  “Only for the lead.”

  He tapped the Batmobile’s touch screen and switched out the non-lethal array, replacing them with his heat-seekers. No life on board meant he could go full throttle. He paused for another second, checked the radar for the lead tank’s heat signature to be certain it was unmanned.

  Can’t be too careful, he mused. In and out as fast as possible.

  In order to focus his attention on the manned tank—the more difficult challenge at hand—he needed to quickly get rid of the drone. Trying to keep opponents alive was always harder than simply serving them their just deserts. But Batman had been born in a crucible of killing. Murder was not something he would ever pay forward.

  He rounded the corner, gunning his car to alert the drone’s sensors to his approach. In case anything went wrong, he wanted the tank to fire in his direction, not into Chinatown’s center. Sure enough, its turret swiveled into position, and Batman released his first missile.

  Three seconds later, the drone exploded.

  Immediately, the second tank rumbled toward him. He scrolled through his touch screen and bypassed all lethal weapons. He found twin M87 conversions which were designed to shred armor. It was accurate for nearly 1.5 kilo-meters, and if he took care in aiming it, he could blow out the tank’s treads without severely damaging its turret. The driver would be shaken, perhaps even wounded, but he’d also be alive. And any disorientation would be to Batman’s benefit.

  He gunned the Batmobile and shot past the tank, circling around behind, forcing it to readjust. As he circled, however, the tank fired, aiming ahead of him. Batman slammed on the brakes and spun the car away.

  The missile missed by inches.

  He pushed the car into reverse, backing away from the tank while continuing to face it. The tank accelerated and followed. Just as he’d hoped.

  A block behind him was a wall, coming up fast. Batman hit the brakes and stopped dead in his tracks before slamming into it. If he wanted to accurately calculate his attack angles, he needed to be motionless. Any movement could affect his weapon’s trajectory. With a life at stake, he had to be careful.

  That made him a very tempting target.

  The tank closed in, its turret swiveling into position, the 75mm gun lining up to point directly at Batman. If the driver fired first, the Batmobile would be little more than twisted, melted steel.

  Batman waited.

  One more second.

  He locked the trajectory and fired two missiles. The first hit the tank’s front drive sprockets, and the second shattered its treads. The impact almost sent the tank hurtling to land upside down, but it righted itself, shuddered, and stopped. It wasn’t going to move again soon. So Batman fired a third missile and that took out the tank’s 75mm guns. By the time he was done, this beast that could have demolished a good portion of the city was little more than an oversized doorstop.

  “Batman, I was able to clone his command codes.” Barbara’s voice came over his gauntlet comm. “Unlocking the hatch now. The driver must be pretty badly shaken. Be nice to him.”

  “No problem,” he answered. “You know what a people person I am.”

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone says about you.”

  He sprinted to the tank and found, as Barbara had said, that the hatch was open. The driver was inside, trapped in a twisted tangle of damaged electronics. Batman’s aim had been off by less than a degree, but the driver would still be able to walk, eventually, and most likely with a limp.

  “Focus through the pain,” he said. “It’s for your own good.”

  The driver nodded vigorously. “My leg… I… I think it’s dead. I think they’re going to have to amputate or something.” He looked up, his eyes wide. “You gotta help me. Please help me.”

  “Your leg doesn’t have to be amputated,” Batman said. “At least not if we can get you to a hospital—sooner, rather than later. Preferably one out of the city. When Scarecrow’s deadline runs out in six hours, the last place you’ll want to be is in Gotham City.”

  That’s it… give him some incentive. He watched the man try to fight through his agony, but he was failing. Another moment or two and he’d admit to starting World War Two if it meant stopping the pain.

  “Now, I can say goodbye and leave you here,” Batman continued, “but I doubt you’ll be able to worm your way free—and even if you do, with your leg the way it is, I don’t think you’ll make it off this street in time. But if you give me one piece of information, I
can arrange to have you transported out of here by helicopter before Scarecrow’s fear gas is released.

  “Talk to me or you’re on your own.”

  “Whatever you want,” the man said, paling as shock set in. “I’ll tell you anything. Just help me.”

  “Good. Tell me where Scarecrow is hiding, and you’ll make it out of this with all your original parts—banged up, but intact.”

  * * *

  Batman climbed back into the Batmobile and opened his comm channel to Barbara.

  “Scarecrow’s got a penthouse on the other side of Chinatown,” he said. “It’s at 357 Lee Street. Can you pull up its schematics?”

  “Silly question. Already done. Uploading now.”

  6

  Scarecrow chose his home well—a modern five-story high rise with an open-air rooftop Chinese garden. Armed mercenaries continuously circled the building, positioned to make certain any approach would be protected by at least two of them at any given time. Oracle uploaded her sensor readouts to Batman’s gauntlet comm, revealing additional heat signatures on all three stairwells leading to the penthouse floor. Two mercs manned the elevators while two others perched on the roof. Scarecrow didn’t want any surprise company.

  His bad luck.

  From a rooftop two blocks away, Batman tracked the mercs circling the perimeter, marking the time it took for them to cross the ground level before the next set of soldiers appeared. The timing was impressively precise—there was only a nine-second gap between the moment when the first set of soldiers turned a corner and the next set appeared.

  Nine seconds.

  The timing sucked, but it would have to be enough.

  He silently moved into position across the street. One set of mercs disappeared, and another took their place. This time it only took seven seconds. Timing was getting worse.

  He waited and saw the next set of soldiers amiably chatting to each other as they walked, moving slightly slower, increasing the gap to ten seconds. Batman smiled—he’d wait for them to come around again, and when they rotated back, he would make his move.

  Two groups of mercs passed in front of him. He silently began his countdown.

  The next duo that appeared around the corner would be in front of the chatty guards—that would buy him valuable seconds. He sprang out of hiding and soared across the street.

  Nine… eight…

  He unfolded two Batarangs stored in his belt pouch and carefully aimed them.

  Seven… Kick… left jab… the mercs went down.

  Six…

  He had five seconds to hide them before the next set of soldiers rounded the corner. Large concrete plant stands circled the skyscraper. Most would have thought them to be a decoration, but they were, in fact, utilitarian. They were spaced close enough together to prevent cars or trucks from smashing their way into the building, assuming any of Scarecrow’s rivals had the nerve to even think about starting a war with him.

  He dragged the two unconscious mercs beyond the stands, out of sight of the next set.

  Three… two… and one.

  The guards appeared as if on cue. Batman hunkered behind one of the stands and waited for the three sets of soldiers to complete their rounds. When the final duo turned the corner, he stepped into the open, fired a grapple to the rooftop, and was snapped upward a full second before the next set of mercs appeared.

  He reached the roof and fired yet another line, this time snagging the legs of the two mercs stationed there. Before they could register surprise, he pulled the line and knocked them off their feet. They tried to stand up and fight, but he was on them. A moment later and both were blissfully unconscious. Moving to the door that led into the building, he quickly disabled the lock.

  Batman tapped his gauntlet comm and Oracle appeared.

  “I’m in. But I don’t have much time,” he said. “I need the lay of the land.”

  “Not a problem,” she replied. “I tapped into the building’s digital phone system and am using it like a series of microphones. Oh, and I located Scarecrow. He’s definitely in the penthouse. You can’t miss that voice. I’ll patch you in.”

  There was no reply. Batman was already on the move. He started down the stairs as he listened to Scarecrow, somewhere in the penthouse below him.

  “Listen to me carefully then answer my questions. Failure to do so will only end with your loved ones screaming as they painfully, agonizingly, die. Do you understand me? Speak to me. Do you?”

  “Batman,” Barbara Gordon’s voice interrupted, coming through the inside of his cowl now, “who the hell is he talking to?”

  “I’ll worry about that later. I’ve got company just ahead.”

  He reached the penthouse landing, and his heat scanners revealed a half-dozen armed mercs making their way up the stairs from the floor below. Someone must have found the goons he’d taken down outside. Fortunately, the stairwell was narrow. It would be difficult for the men to open fire without getting in one another’s way. Difficult, but not impossible, and Batman never relied on luck.

  They were on the floor below him and once they reached the landing they would see him. At best he had a three-second advantage, and he had to make the most of it. He counted down again and jumped even as the first of the armed soldiers appeared. His weight and momentum forced the lead merc to fall back into the others, tumbling them like bowling pins, knocking the wind out of them. His advantage, but it would be fleeting.

  Instantly, they were scrambling to their feet.

  He wasn’t dealing with amateurs.

  “Why are you, in all of Gotham City, immune to my fear toxins?” Scarecrow’s voice continued to drone inside of his cowl, still complaining to his unknown companion. “What is your secret? Tell me now.”

  Batman drove his fist into the closest merc’s face, shattering his nose. The man yelped with pain as his blood splattered in all directions, looking far worse than the damage actually caused. Perfect. His first strike was designed to elicit a moment of terror that would give the others pause, if only for a moment. And with the numbers against him, he needed every advantage he could take.

  “Do you want me to dissect you? Do you want me to make your death, and the deaths of your loved ones, painful? You know you can relieve them of their agony. Tell me how you resist my power. Tell me now!”

  Who the hell is he talking to? Batman grabbed the stairwell handrail and used it for leverage. He spun and smashed his foot into another merc. The man fell back, tumbling down the stairs, crashing into the landing below.

  He didn’t get up.

  Through his comm Batman heard another voice. A woman’s, and instantly he knew.

  “My plants are eternal, Scarecrow. Nature has been with us from the very beginning, and will outlast us all. There is no poison made by man that she cannot resist, and then provide to me, her very own beloved daughter.”

  Poison Ivy. Scarecrow was trying to intimidate Poison Ivy.

  Fat chance.

  As Pamela Isley, she was one of the world’s foremost environmental terrorists, targeting anyone who caused eco-damage to the planet. It was never certain if Ivy was insane, though, or operating on a different level than everyone else. But Scarecrow didn’t have a chance in hell of scaring someone who believed herself to be the living incarnation of Mother Nature.

  Batman drove his elbow into the gut of another merc, but the man refused to fall. As Batman grabbed the merc’s arm and prepared to elbow him again, two more thugs ran up the stairs toward them, pistols in hand. They opened fire, not caring if they killed their own man as long as they offed the Batman, as well.

  He reacted instinctively, twisting the merc aside to narrowly avoid the bullets and tossed him back, away from harm. Then, in a single, fluid move, Batman somersaulted down the stairwell, slamming into them both.

  The fight is taking too long, he realized. Every delay meant more of Scarecrow’s men would join in.

  “Unless you tell me what I want, I will see your forest burn
ed to the ground. Your plants will cry out in agony. I will make certain you watch all of them die. Or tell me what I want to know and I will make their deaths swift and painless.”

  “Then there’s nothing left to talk about,” Ivy replied, and her voice rose. “You have declared war on planet Earth. May she have pity on whatever has replaced your soul.”

  Batman slammed past the final merc and pushed open the door to the penthouse floor. There was another soldier inside. The guard stared, realizing that somehow Batman had made it past the others. Then he opened fire.

  Batman dove to the floor and spun, his legs slammed into the man, toppling him. He dropped his gun as he fell, then scrambled to retrieve it, but Batman was already there. He kicked the gun aside, then turned to the merc, now both weaponless and powerless. The thug held up his hands to surrender.

  “First smart thing you’ve done today,” Batman said as he drove a fist into the man’s face. The merc crumbled unconscious to the floor. “Unfortunately for you, you still have a lot to answer for.”

  There was only one apartment on the penthouse floor. Batman sprayed the lock with explosive gel, then detonated it, causing it to erupt with a muffled impact.

  “Oracle, I’m inside,” he said. “What are you seeing?”

  “Picking up two heat signatures… no. Make that one. The second one has left the apartment.”

  “He didn’t come this way. There must be a back door.”

  “There is. It’s a hidden stairwell. According to the building’s blueprints it connects to a panic room behind the bedroom.”

  “Panic room? Okay, this may add another wrinkle. Can you find out if the apartment belongs to Scarecrow, or someone else. If it’s Crane, there’s no telling how many hidden traps he’s built in.”

  “Checking now, but it could take a few minutes to hack into the city housing plans. By the way, according to the news, my father and his men rounded up Victor Zsasz and Hugo Strange. They were attempting to blow up Gotham Central Station. They failed.”

  “Good for your dad. We need every victory we can get. And speaking of your father…”