ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ. ɪɪ

13

The cheerless, gloomy, and dirty bar. Hard wooden planks and stone pillars make up most of the building's outer structure. It's impossible to see through the small, stained glass windows, but the lethargy from within can be felt outside.

James called one of his people to find Michael Crawford, and it turns out he had been on the low lately after his brother died. That made it more reasonable why Joker would want to find him; Michael could get his revenge.

As I enter the tavern through the old, wooden door with James, I am welcome by watching eyes. The bartender is pouring a drink for a customer and makes an effort to acknowledge your presence. It's as dreary inside as it is on the outside. Several walls support the upper floor and the vast, dusty lamps. The walls are covered in a layer of dust, making it near impossible to see what the few paintings on the walls are about. The smell of alcohol and sweat bores my nostrils and is somewhat a mix of metal. The hundreds of conversations told in loud voices stop once their attention is brought to me, all of them competing with the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. The crowd is young and old, rockers and young women for the most part. However, I couldn't see Crawford anywhere. James and I wind our way through the warm bodies, figuring there's a possible chance he would be here if we did a little digging. Everyone split up in the middle, strolling through the room and scanning each person for him. The girls seductively spun their fingers around their hair strings, flickering their lashes to me, the Rockers raging on the inside because of my presence, but I didn't give it any attention. My concentration is on Crawford.

"Alright, kids!" James spat out, lingering his eyes on each person. "Have anyone seen or heard about a Michael Crawford?"

My eyes flicker back and forth, yet nobody says a word. However, I notice a staircase leading to dark shadows that aren't visible to me. My feet stroll over until the bartender finds his way to me and pushes me backward.

"You can't go up there." his voice lowers in frustration. I push his hand away and continue till I strut in front of the doorframe.

It's as dark as it can get; there is no small light up the wooden stairs with dirty red carpets. But a sudden sound of footsteps appears. I squint my eyes to catch a glimpse of whoever it is, until the person's head down with shadows revealing his body, kicking me against the small wall inside the staircase. I hit my back on the wall while it springs out, but James quickly snatches his gun and aims at the suspect. Everyone gasps lightly and presses against the walls.

"You stay there, you son of a bitch!" James spat out, clutching the holder of it.

Thanks to the lamps that leave a greyish light, the face is revealed now. I quickly join the main room to face his back; A flag of anger hits me, burning with resentment.

The man tilts his head to me, uncovering his true self. Oblong face with a lofty and broad forehead, noble cheekbones, sharp jawline, and light brown buzz cut match his eyes. He's tall, muscular, and has broad shoulders.

"What the fuck do you guys want?" Michael spat with a deep, roaming voice, turning his body to encounter me ultimately.

I take a few steps forward, clenching my hands into fists. "You coming with us."

"Yeah, fuck that." He chuckles and shakes his head. "You guys can get the fuck out. I already got too much in my hands."

James walks behind him slowly, still aiming at him in a hunting position. "You coming with us, dipshit."

"Fuck I'm not?" He turns his gaze back to James, taking a step backward. "I don't do shit but sit my ass here and drink."

I grab hold of his shoulder. "We need to talk-"

Suddenly an explosion occurs on the second floor. The violent shaking blows each dust from the ceiling and the dirty corner of the lamps. Some start to scream and crumble to the floor; others crawl to the door. I yank Michael down to prevent any fallen stones from quickly bursting through the roof; the thick layer of grey smoke appears pretty hastily. Everyone wraps their arms around their head, suffocating in fear and horror, yet almost difficult to catch their breath. The strikes of flaring lights beam on the staircase, with an immediate sound of footsteps and whistles.

A man wearing a clown mask strolls off to the main room with a shotgun. He pushes me away from Michael and jabs the end of the grip on my head. The pain ripples as my knee fall to the ground, groaning in frustration.

James hastily jumps up and aims the gun at the clown, clenching both hands. "Get down, you piece of shit!"

The clown slowly tilts its head, lifting his shotgun. "I suggest you sit your fucking ass down, or I will blow you in two pieces."

I grab onto my consciousness and quickly spring up, stretching my arm towards the clown and reaching up to his shoulder. The clown twirls around and points the shotgun at me, flickering his other hand behind him and grabbing another pistol as he aims it at James.

The clown rocks back and forth with his gaze. "He is coming with me."

"No, he's not," My voice deepens, and I swing my arm wildly into my stomach, tensing my knuckles as the punch continues to his chest. The clown stumbles back with a groan and attempts to re-arrange his senses to combat my powerful movements. Both guns fall to the ground, in which James strolls closer and presses his feet on top of them, gliding the guns further away from him. The clown raises and throws his hands in the air defeatedly yet laughs out of nowhere with his familiar tone.

Michael quickly jumps up, but I grab hold of him to stand still. "You're not leaving."

"Oh, yes, he is." The clown laughs louder and grabs hold of a granite smoke attached to his outfit.

"No!" James shouts and cuffs his gun back to his belt, hastily rushing up to him.

The clown tilts his head to me and laughs once again. "How is Davion doing?"

My eyes dropped wide, and I release the grasp onto Michael faster than my brain could comprehend. But it's too late, he drops the smoke, and it surrounds us like a detonation. Everything is blurry for me, causing my own anxiety to swallow his words. The fear creeps up with a sudden adrenaline rush, each finger digging onto my palm in shock. My mind is traveling with irrational thoughts and possibilities of how he knows about my son. That's joker all along.

The smoke slowly clears up, and I'm left with James and the rest of the people attending the bar. James flares through his nostrils in annoyance, kicking a chair once his hands land on both waists. "Goddamn!"

My instinct quickly jumps to a conclusion once my body runs out of the door, leaving everything behind. I heard James yelling as I sat on my motorcycle, watching him stroll out of the bar. Once the engine roams out, my feet tap the paddle and twitch the holder, disappearing onto the road and driving faster than usual, 108 MPH.

I run through the stairs in the Wayne Tower until I reach to the door, that's when terror froze my body. The entire door is lying on the floor, the locker has been melted and the small amount of stumps from the wooden material is flench open. My feet slowly walks in, facing the chaos it has left behind. Curtains were ripped to the floor, each shelf was off the desk, and every file that linked with the riddler, the government, and our current issue was torn apart, hovering over the fiery flames that were attached to the couch. The black smoke overwhelms the entire building, adding more pressure to the atmosphere — fearing my own son must've inhaled it.

My eyes darts back in forth with my breath shallowing, the anxiety rises more than I can comprehend. "Daisy, Alfred!"

Footsteps appears from the office, revealing Daisy limping with tears streaming down her cheek. Her entire leg is broken with blood streaming out, and clothes rip in pieces. I quickly rush over to her and grab a hold of her. Daisy grips onto my arm and cries out, shaking her head in horror.

"He has him, Bruce. He fucking has him," She whines out in tears. "He knows who you are."