Batman: Knight of the Hunt

Issue 1

Welcome to the Jungle

Blackness.

Falling.

Air rushing past his face, and the screaming of the wind.

Batman's eyes open. He feels weightless, yet plummeting. And beneath him, a carpet of green leaps up toward him. It's no longer dark out, and this isn't Gotham. He's in free-fall at least 10,000 feet up. And for the first time in a long time, he can't seem to think. He can hardly even comprehend what's going on. His brain is operating only on a caveman level. All he can think is, "I'm going to die."

His hands are clawing at his chest even before he realizes why. It's nothing more than an instinct. He eventually finds what he's looking for, a small cord attached to a harness around his torso. The green is close enough for him to realize he's above a dense jungle. He gives the ripcord a sharp tug.

Nothing. The ground is even closer. At the very moment he thinks he's accepted his imminent death, his hands jerk the cord again.

There's the briefest moment where the entire world freezes. No movement, no sound. Then a feeling like a giant claw tearing at him from above. His momentum is ripped away from him. Pain tears through his chest and shoulders as he's jerked upright. He stares down at his feet, floating above the ocean of green below him. And with that, his senses finally return to him.

Where on earth is he?

There's a small open space between the branches off to his left. He reaches up to grab the two straps above his head, turning and pulling to navigate toward the opening. The last portion of a jump is the most dangerous, as the ground comes up to meet you faster and harder than you realize.

He can feel a gust of wind pulling him off course. If he misses the clearing, he could become entangled in the thick jungle branches and easily break his neck, which would kill him instantly. Or he could break a limb. Without medical assistance, that could easily kill him as well, though it would take a little longer.

He pulls on the line, desperately trying to course-correct. Stay calm; he has to stay calm. The parachute bucks and twists in the wind, but he can feel it turn. His eyes scan the greenery for another opening, just in case. He sees nothing.

Another pull on the parachute. He's less than 100 feet from the treetops. One final turn – the branches reach up to grab him. He does his best to relax, keep his knees soft. If he locks up, the impact will snap both his legs under him, and he'll be as good as dead. He'll be a pile of bones less than five yards from a faded parachute.

Breathe, focus, relax.

He slips through the treetops, narrowly avoiding their branches' deadly grip. The ground races up to meet him, all rocks and moss and strange ferns. His feet kiss the ground, his knees fold, he slides forward. Finally, he stops. On all fours, staring at the dark brown dirt and the bright green moss, his breath shaking. There's a rustle behind him as the parachute comes to ground.

He's in a clearing perhaps twenty feet wide. The light spilling down from above fades to near blackness in the trees. Looking up through the gap in the branches, Batman can see the harsh sun looming directly overhead, much larger than in Gotham. He's near the Equator, and the heat is oppressive. The thickness of the trees blocks any hint of a breeze, leaving the air still and humid. Hopefully the shade will offer some relief.

He unfastens the harness and stands up quickly. The clearing is quiet, but from the jungle he can hear rumbling, birds cawing, and unrecognizable growls. Something is off about this jungle. It's not something the Dark Knight can put into words, more of a feeling tugging at the back of his mind. It looks and feels much like any jungle, but Batman can't recognize any of the plants specifically. He notices a bird flying overhead, but doesn't recognize its species either. The realization sinks in that he has no idea where in the world he is.