Batman and Spider-Man

Chapter 7

The terror that would haunt Gotham for the rest of her days did not begin with something as loud as 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 chirpy 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..."

"I'm never wrong," the Joker said without any mirth, the absence of mirth more chilling than the joviality of the presupposed murder.

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, as if the very air had suffocated them. 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 house workers who had promptly been questioned. 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.

Slinking in the alleyways that lead up to Claridge's manor was a man in a trench coat. The man wearing the trench coat was none other than Bruce Wayne. Bruce would occasionally keep watch, peering through the windshield and making subtle rounds around Claridge's manor. Guards were stationed everywhere making it hard to get an uninterrupted view of the inside of the manor. Bruce decided to risk it. Grabbing a bottle of champagne he walked towards the manor gates.

"I'm sorry Mr. Wayne but we can't let you through," said one of the cops stationed at the gate.

"How about some champagne?" Bruce asked, dangling the champagne in front of him with a smile. "I have some more in the trunk. Surely, you'll change your minds after a good drink?"

The officer sighed. "That would be bribery. Look Mr. Wayne I suggest you leave and continue any meetings you might have afterwards."

"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.