“You found Joker?” Clark asked warily, in response to the odd tone in Bruce’s voice.
“Well…what’s left of him,” came the response. “Jason destroyed my cam, and we’ll need evidence, even before we bring the Gotham PD down here.”
Clark grimaced. “Be right there.” Then, to Lois, “It’s probably for the best if you stay here,” he said gently. “Please. You don’t need to see…whatever it is Bruce has found. I know we’ve both seen dead bodies before but…I can’t guarantee that this won’t be…disturbing.”
“Okay.”
That one simple word shocked Clark more than anything else that had happened so far.
“Really?” he gaped, blinking.
“Really. You’re probably right. Jason is a bit…very…insane,” Lois said. She made a shooing motion at him. “Now go, before he decides to come back.”
Clark nodded once in acknowledgement and picked his way across the room. He was still fighting off the remnants of the Kryptonite sickness, even though the rock was safely tucked away where it couldn’t harm him. But the lack of sunlight meant he couldn’t heal himself, leaving the effects of the poisoning to linger on. His head throbbed with a headache and the burn marks on his skin screamed in agony. He wished his speed was back – he wanted to have the evidence he was moving toward to be on tape so he could get Lois out of Arkham Asylum and back to the safety of Wayne Manor, if not Metropolis. Or, well, relative safety he supposed. After all, Lois was still mad at him.
It took him longer than he would have liked, but he was soon standing next to Bruce. A feeling of nausea washed over him. This time, it wasn’t from the Kryptonite exposure. Instead, he was looking at a room full of grotesque body parts – all of them perfectly preserved in containers filled with formaldehyde and sitting neatly on shelves as though on exhibit. Clark made ready to go to each shelf so that the body cam got a clear image of each labeled jar.
“Hey…Oracle?” he called over the earpiece, before he began.
“Here, CK.”
“Fair warning. This room…it’s pretty morbid in here. You don’t have to look at the images, if you don’t want to,” Clark cautioned.
“Thanks. I’ll be okay though. I think.” Jimmy was trying to sound brave, but Clark noted the hint of uncertainty in his friend’s voice.
“Oracle?” Bruce asked idly, as he examined a jar with a pair of plump eyeballs, complete with the optic nerves still attached.
“He sees and knows all, apparently,” Clark replied casually, trying to distract himself from the sordid collection of body parts spread out before him. “So…what do you think?”
“I think Oracle is a stretch,” Bruce quipped.
“Hey!” Jimmy protested.
“I meant about these jars,” Clark clarified, looking at a jar with a crooked nose inside.
“I think they’re trophies,” Bruce replied immediately.
“I think so too,” Clark agreed. “Look here. The label says ‘Bane’s Tongue.’ You think he got a little mouthy against the new boss?”
“Could be,” Bruce shrugged, peering at what appeared to be a thumb floating in another jar. “It would make sense though. Conquer someone and keep a reminder around to never cross him again.”
“And you used to work with this guy?” Clark teased, as he held up a jar with a pair of ears in it.
“Clearly, I have questionable tastes in sidekicks,” Bruce shot back.
“No kidding,” Lois said over her own earpiece.
Clark finished his methodical taping of the small vessels and the minor trophies. Then he turned and faced the glass case in the center of the room. It looked like a glass coffin, or maybe an oversized fish tank. A single naked lightbulb was above the center of the tank, illuminating it like a demented shrine. And inside…
Clark shuddered.
The perfectly preserved corpse of Joker lay within. His hands were folded over his chest in his repose, looking for all the world like any other body in a casket would look like during a wake. But there were things that set him apart from a normal dead body. He still wore his infamous purple suit. Traces of the nightmarish clown makeup he’d always worn was still on his face, making Clark wonder if it hadn’t been a layer of paint, rather than just an application of makeup. In his hands, instead of the usual rosary beads or flower that most corpses were posed with, Joker’s prized gun was held tightly.
“I didn’t think he could look any creepier than he did when he was alive,” Clark commented softly. “This is worse. Far worse.”
“I agree,” Bruce said as he studied the body. “I hate to say it though,” he continued, “but seeing the proof that he’s dead…it’s a relief.”
“He’s terrorized Gotham for a long time,” Clark solemnly agreed. “Oracle? You have what we need?”
“More than enough,” Jimmy answered.
“Do come back now,” Alfred all but pleaded. “Before I need to send Master Jimmy out to collect you when you get caught again.”
“Will do, Alfred, just as soon as Jason is in the police’s hands,” Clark replied for them both.
“Thank you, sir,” was Alfred’s relieved response.
“Hey, boys, I hate to agree with Alfred, but let’s shake a leg,” Lois called over the earpieces. “This place is giving me the creeps.”
“What, the fearless Lois Lane is put off by an abandoned building?” Bruce teased dryly.
“I’m put off by two idiot superheroes almost getting themselves killed in an abandoned building,” Lois retorted bitingly.
“Boy, is she mad at you,” Bruce said, turning to Clark with a smirk.
Clark sighed. “Do you blame her?”
“Not in the least.”
“Ladies, please,” Lois said, clucking her tongue. “Stop chattering away and get out there. I hear someone coming.”
“Okay, Lois, we’ll be right there,” Clark said, focusing on what was to come.
He gave the Joker one last look. It was odd, to see the maniac clown so eerily still and quiet. For many long years, Clark had helped Bruce to fight against Joker and his minions. They’d worked tirelessly to try and bring the man to justice, but they had always seemed to be one step behind Joker. Clark sighed softly. He wasn’t upset at all to know that the Clown Prince was dead, but even he had to admit that Joker had been a worthy opponent.
Clark squared his shoulders and put his back to the glass coffin. Then, without waiting for Bruce, he strode across the room, heading for the door. And, more importantly, to Lois.
“You know, guys,” Jimmy said, his voice light, as if trying to break some of the tension in that gloomy, dank, rotting room. “Lois is in there saving your butts. I think she deserves a superhero name too.”
“Nice butt-kissing, Oracle,” Lois said, her voice half teasing, “but I’m not setting you up on a date with my sister.”
“A guy can dream, can’t he?” Jimmy pouted. Then, brighter, “So, how about it? Batgirl? Supergirl? Nightwing Junior? She-wing? Nightingale?”
“We should change yours from Oracle to Dogmeat,” Lois grumbled.
“More like Spitfire,” Clark quipped.
“I like it,” Bruce replied.
“Is this really what you should be focusing on?” Lois demanded. “That big goon is coming down the hall.”
“Bane,” Bruce spat.
That sobered Clark fully. He broke into a run, wishing his speed had returned. But, of course, in that room of eternal night, he couldn’t recharge his abilities. And it made him profoundly sad, to know that, for some of the patients who’d once lived in the old asylum, this dark and cheerless sub-basement had been the very last thing they’d ever seen.
“Lois, take cover,” he commanded as he ran. “I’m coming.”
In less than half a minute, he was at Lois’ side, where she was crouched behind a ransacked and rusted cabinet. He put his finger to his lips, indicating that she should remain quiet. She shook her head defiantly.
“Please,” he whispered. “I can’t risk you getting hurt.”
“Says the man who was brought to his knees by a piece of jewelry,” she said snippily.
“Oh children, I’m home!” Jason yelled out in a sing-song voice. Then, as he noticed the broken shackles and his missing hostages, his song became a primal growl of rage. “Where did you go?” he asked, twisting this way and that, searching. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know you’re here somewhere!” Once again, his voice had returned to a mocking, almost singing voice, like a demonic child calling an end to a game of hide and seek.
“I’m right here, Jason,” Bruce said, stepping out from the shadows of the doorway, where they’d found Joker’s preserved corpse. “You want me? Come and get me.”
“Ah, but where’s your little boyfriend, Superman?” Jason wondered.
Ignoring the barb, Clark stepped forward. “You’re outnumbered, Jason,” he warned. “Come quietly. It’ll go much easier on you.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Jason asked with a deranged grin. “But, how, I wonder? How did the two of you get free? Who helped you? They must still be here. Come on out, whoever you are! There’s no escape and I’ll find you anyway.”
“No one helped us,” Clark lied, resisting the urge to check on Lois. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, hoping the movement would keep Jason’s attention away from the rest of the room. “You just underestimated the two of us.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t believe you, SuperLiar! Bane!” he snapped, his voice biting as a whip. “Search the room!”
The monstrous behemoth grunted and nodded once.
“You don’t have to follow his orders,” Clark called out to Bane. “He cut out your tongue, didn’t he?” he pried. “Why would you follow someone who’s taken a piece of you away?”
“Taken and stored in a jar as a grim trophy,” Bruce added. “Placed on a shelf as a reminder of what he stole from you.”
Bane roared wordlessly. Clark couldn’t quite tell, but he thought he saw a look of uncertainty cross that ruinous face. But it lasted only a second before Bane cowed under Jason’s murderous stare. He lumbered off to check the room, mercifully heading to the opposite end of the room from where Lois was. He seemed in no hurry, as if he knew he had all the time in the world.
“You see, Superman? No one dares to challenge me,” Jason crowed.
“Well, I do,” Clark said firmly.
“Oh, really?” Jason asked, arching an eyebrow. “When I have this?”
He pulled a tiny revolver from his pocket. Clark scoffed, hoping to appear unconcerned. If he was to survive, he could not afford to let Jason know his aura of invulnerability was gone. He had to bluff, and it was absolutely vital that he do it well.
“A gun?” Clark asked. “Please. I’m Superman, remember?”
“Rumor has it that stone makes you somewhat less than super,” Jason said as he took aim. “Shall we test that theory?”
Bruce starting to sneak forward while Jason’s attention was focused on Clark. Clark could see his friend carefully and silently inching his way closer.
“The stone isn’t here anymore,” Clark baited him.
“Maybe not,” Jason shrugged, his gun still trained on Clark’s forehead. “But you haven’t even tried to use your powers against me. I’m more than willing to bet it’s because you can’t.” His voice dropped to a low, menacing pitch.
“Shoot me and Luthor loses his trophy,” Clark said. Though he was positive he wasn’t outwardly showing it, having the gun aimed at his head sent a chill of fear down his spine.
Jason appeared to mull it over for several seconds. Then he shrugged again. “Point taken.” A movement from Bruce caught his eye and Jason whirled on him, shooting wildly. “Oh, Batsy! Did you really think you could get the drop on me? I invented the move you’re trying to pull off.”
Clark saw his chance and dove forward, closing the distance between Jason and himself in a few bounding leaps. He tackled the insane Joker wannabe, diving directly into the man’s midsection and toppling them both to the grimy floor. Bruce cried out as a stray bullet grazed his left forearm, a heartbeat before Clark reached Jason. The bullet just missed embedding itself into Bruce’s flesh, but it did tear a nice hole in the Batman suit. In seconds, the fissure was filled with blood from the torn flesh that the bullet had kissed on its journey across the room. Bruce hissed in pain and reflexively put his other hand over the wound.
Clark saw it all from the corner of his eye as he made a grab for the gun. Jason was just distracted enough that Clark got a decent grip on the weapon. But Jason wasn’t distracted enough. He still retained his own grip on the gun, and Clark wasn’t able to easily wrest it from him. Jason struggled and tried to squeeze off another bullet, this one meant for Clark. Clark saw the man’s intention and pushed the gun so that the round went into the ceiling rather than his skull. Bits of sheetrock rained down on them, coating them in dust and who knew what else. Clark wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that asbestos was in the mix – the building had stood for nearly one hundred years.
A sizable chunk of the crumbling ceiling hit Jason’s shoulder in a lucky break for Clark, and Clark was able to finally wrench the gun away. He wished he could squash the metal in his fist like he’d done so many times before when disarming criminals, but with his strength no more impressive than that of a normal man, he had to settle for flinging it across the room – away from Jason, away from Harley Quinn – still under the effects of the sedative Lois had administered via needle – away even from Lois.
Lois!
Clark heard her yelp as Bane reached the place where she’d been hiding. But he couldn’t afford to look at her, not yet. Enraged, Jason wrapped his now empty hands around Clark’s neck, trying to crush his airway. Clark’s hands went to Jason’s hands and he worked at prying each surprisingly strong finger from his throat. Jason tried to maintain the hold that he had – Clark could feel the other man’s muscles straining. But Clark was, perhaps, just a little stronger. He managed to break free of Jason’s grasp, just before Jason smashed his head into Clark’s. With Clark stunned for a moment, it was all Jason needed to gain the upper hand.
“Bane!” he called frantically. “Forget the girl! Superman! Get Superman!” he cried as he scuttled backwards and out of the way.
Bane grunted. Clark saw him drop Lois to the floor as he let go of her neck. She landed with a thud and curled into a fetal position as she coughed and tried to recover. Clark stood and faced Bane.
“Are you okay…Spitfire?” he asked, cautious not to use Lois’ true name.
“I’ve been better,” she wheezed.
Bane roared and sprinted forward. Clark mirrored the bestial man’s movements. Behind him, he heard Bruce goading Jason into a fight, but he could not afford to pay it any mind. Bruce was a skilled fighter. He was more than capable of handling himself in a fight. And Clark had no doubt that against Jason, Bruce would be able to hold his own. Not that there was any choice in the matter. Clark had to devote all of his energy and attention to subduing Bane and keeping Lois safe.
Clark sidestepped at the last moment, and Bane went right past him, crashing into one of the X-ray tables Clark and Bruce had been strapped to. The table fell backward, taking the misshapen giant with it in a hideous clattering of metal. Clark rushed over, hoping to take advantage of Bane’s prone position to tie the man up with a length of cable. But for a lumbering behemoth, Bane recovered too quickly. He grabbed Clark’s leg as he approached and pulled hard, making Clark lose his balance. He fell to the floor and Bane’s meaty hands went to his throat. Clark struggled, but the man’s muscles were like steel and he had no hope of prying the murderous fingers from his flesh.
Bane made a gurgling sound that sent a chill down Clark’s spine. The monstrosity – so easily forgettable as human – was laughing. Not just laughing, but he was truly enjoying Clark’s plight. Clark tried to loosen the sausage-like fingers long enough to take a breath, but it was a futile effort. Bane gurgled again and smashed Clark’s head onto the tile floor, hard enough to make stars and colors explode before Clark’s eyes. But Bane was toying with Clark – it was more than obvious that he had the strength to bash Clark’s head into the floor forcefully enough to crack or break his skull open.
Clark tried to fight back, grunting and straining with the effort to try and push the massive mountain of a man off of him. Instead, he was rewarded only with a pop of pain as his shoulder was dislocated. He hissed in pain, which came out more like a strangled cry as Bane once again smashed his head against the floor. Suddenly, Bane threw his head back as a pair of slender arms encircled his neck, trying to choke him.
Lois! Clark’s mind screamed in recognition.
The distraction was all Clark needed. He pushed against Bane again, using his good arm, and managed to create an opening for himself to escape the giant’s grasp. It lasted only a split second, but it was enough. Clark scrambled up off the floor and dashed to Lois’ aid. She was already plunging a syringe into Bane’s neck – the very same kind she’d used on Harley Quinn. But Bane was too big, too muscular. The liquid Lois injected didn’t even make the behemoth flinch, let alone knock him out. Bane roared and reached back, plucking Lois from his neck, but not before Lois managed to stick him with a second needle, though she didn’t get the chance to fully inject the contents into him. Bane tossed her aside like she was no more than a ragdoll or bothersome flea. Lois hit the floor five feet away with a thud. But, to her credit, she got to her feet immediately. Bane turned to look at his handiwork and Clark saw his next lucky opportunity. He threw himself at Bane and injected the contents of the syringe into the monstrous man.
Clark retreated as soon as the plunger was depressed all the way. But he wasn’t fast enough. Bane lashed out and caught Clark in the face with his fist. Clark had been hit by trains before, trying to stop them from colliding with stalled vehicles on the tracks. This felt much the same without his aura of invulnerability to protect him. He felt his eye swell – it would blacken shortly, he knew – and he could only feel gratitude that he didn’t wind up spitting out any broken or loosened teeth. Bane grinned – a twisted, gruesome curving of his lips – and pushed with all his strength. His meaty hands slammed into Clark’s chest and the force sent him flying into the wall behind him. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he couldn’t be sure if some of his ribs had broken from the force. Bane took a menacing step forward…
And stopped.
He blinked slowly, then awkwardly fumbled around, trying to reach the middle of his back.
He took another step – this one stumbling, as if he was having a hard time supporting his own massive weight.
Another stumble.
Clark’s mind started to run through a list of his – admittedly few – options of what he could do, especially with his injured arm.
Bane lifted his foot and crashed to the floor.
Behind him, with a triumphant grin, was Lois.
And sticking up out of Bane’s back, up near his shoulder blades, were two more syringes.
Clark cautiously approached Bane, but the giant was out like a light. He even nudged Bane with his foot, but got no response.
“Good thing that worked,” Lois said casually, looking down with disgust at the ruined figure of a man. “I’m all out of needles.”
“Thanks, Spitfire,” Clark said, nodding and trying to catch his breath. It hurt with each lungful of air he took in. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot more than one,” she reminded him pointedly.
“And I promise I’ll make good on it,” he replied. “Just as soon as we’re finished here. Speaking of…where’s Batman?” he asked, looking around.
Lois shrugged. “No idea,” she said, readjusting the mask around her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention to him.”
“In here,” Bruce called from the morbid trophy room, sounding just as breathless as Clark felt. “I’ve got Jason subdued.”
“Good. You need a hand?” Clark asked.
“No. I’ve got this,” Bruce said. “Get ‘Spitfire’ out of the building, then we can deal with these three.”
“Bane’s down for the count. Spitfire saw to that,” Clark informed his friend.
“Nice work,” Bruce replied with approval, as he walked back into the room. Jason was bound with his hands behind his back. Bruce was pushing his former friend before him. “What’s with the arm?” he asked, seeing the way Clark was cradling his injured limb.
“Shoulder popped out when I was fighting Bane,” Clark explained.
“Need a hand?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Clark said with a grin.
Lois took hold of Jason’s bonds to ensure that he didn’t try to escape. Bruce grabbed Clark’s wrist.
“Ready?” Bruce asked.
“Ready,” Clark confidently confirmed.
Bruce yanked on his arm while Clark braced himself. The pain was blinding, but it lasted mere seconds until Clark felt his joint return to its usual place. Still, he couldn’t suppress the yelp of pain while Bruce set the shoulder back to normal.
“Okay,” Clark cried out breathlessly, as soon as his shoulder was set once more.
Bruce immediately stopped tugging on the arm. He let go completely and Clark tested his shoulder, rotating it to its full range of motion. Clark nodded.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Any time,” was Bruce’s stoic response.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Clark asked.
“I’d say it’s about damn time,” Lois replied grumpily.
“Agreed,” Clark said. Then, remembering that Bruce had been injured in the fight, he looked to his friend. “How’s the arm?”
“It’s been better,” Bruce admitted. “But I’ve had a lot worse too. The bullet only grazed my skin.”
“It’s a lucky break that it didn’t do worse damage,” Clark said with a nod.
“Speaking of, it looks like you’re lucky to be in one piece,” Bruce said, pointing to Clark’s blackening eye.
Clark chuckled ruefully. “I’ve had worse too.”
“You will have worse if we don’t get out of here soon,” Lois grumbled.
“She’s right. We should get going. I need the sunlight while there’s still enough left, and Harley’s starting to stir,” Clark acknowledged.
Bruce nodded. “Then what are we standing around here for?”
To Be Continued…
