Fear The Reaper: Batman And Michael Myers Part 2 (1) PROLOGUE His broken body sunk into the cold, black nothingness of the North Atlantic. It swallowed him like a predator does its prey. He would have probably kept plunging indefinitely if not for the dead monstrosity which laid across the ocean’s floor in two pieces. Of all the spots in the Atlantic he could have fallen into, he had fallen directly over the location where the Titanic had sunk 88 years earlier. It was as if that spot was a graveyard for the invincible. During its day, the Titanic had been referred to as “unsinkable.” It was literally a floating city. Because of its creator’s arrogance it had not been equipped with nearly enough lifeboats to hold all of its passengers. In a cruel twist of fate, the Titanic was badly ruptured by an iceberg and broke in half before finally sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. Michael Myers’ corpse descended right down upon its bow. It laid there for many months before it was disturbed. CHAPTER ONE: TURNING POINTS December 13, 2000--Bruce Wayne had not been able to sleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time since his Halloween encounter with the serial killer known as Michael Myers. Though months had passed, Bruce’s dreams were still dominated by images of Michael killing Lynx and Harvey Bullock and nearly killing the others. Nightmares were nothing new to Bruce. In fact, he typically had nightmares about the night his parents were gunned down in Crime Alley when he was a young boy. He had been haunted by that scene over and over again. Bruce had almost grown accustomed to being awoken by the sound of a revolver emptying its contents into the chest cavities of his father and mother. For him it was simply a morbid reality. If anything, he had learned to channel his fear so that it would make him better crimefighter. His bad dreams were a constant reminder of why he went out each and every night. In all his days, Batman had never opposed a villain as ominous as Michael Myers. He was much more than a common criminal. He was a force of nature. Pure uncorrupted evil. Evil without purpose. Every thug he had ever taken down was driven by something. For some, like King Snake, it was wealth and power. For others it was revenge. All that drove Michael was the overwhelming obsession with killing his sister Laurie. But why? Why did he want her dead so badly? What could have possibly happened that would have warranted this kind of vendetta? Batman contemplated what would happen if Michael actually had accomplished his goal. Then what? Furthermore, he wondered what would happen if Michael had survived the fall from the airplane. He couldn’t still be alive, could he? Logically, Batman knew this was impossible. The clock next to his bed read 9:19AM, an otherwise normal time to wake up for most people. Most people. Bruce Wayne was the polar opposite of normal. Because of his nocturnal pursuits, he had not gotten to sleep until 7:30AM. But he could sleep no longer. He was already lying in sheets soaked by his own perspiration as he struggled to find his breath. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s British butler and most loyal confidant entered the room to check on his employer. Alfred was a member of a very elite group of people who knew that Batman and Bruce Wayne were the same person. He had worked for the Wayne family for many years. In fact, Alfred had been under the employ of Bruce’s parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne before they were assassinated. He continued to help raise Bruce afterward and became a surrogate father to him. There wasn’t a single person in the world Bruce trusted or relied on more than Alfred. “Master Bruce, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your breakfast. I do hope you’ll take the time to eat--” “No time Alfred,” Bruce interrupted. “I’ve got work to do.” “But sir, you really must eat something. You’ve been running yourself straight into the ground since--” “They never found the body. He’s the most dangerous person I’ve ever met, even more than the Joker or Bane--” Alfred cut him off. “He’s D-E-A-D sir. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always had this terrible habit of not letting the dead rest in peace. First your parents, now--” “Enough!” Bruce exclaimed. “I can’t afford to take that chance. Even if it kills me...” Alfred knew Bruce meant that. He knew that Bruce, or rather Batman would gladly sacrifice his own life in exchange for the life of an innocent. If bringing down a serial killer meant his own life, then so be it. “What was it this time?” Alfred calmly asked. “Two little boys,” Bruce answered, “One walking with his parents through Crime Alley on Halloween night. And the other, dressed in a clown outfit carrying a large butcher knife. This time it wasn’t Joe Chill, it was Michael Myers.” The dream was dripping with irony. Two children, approximately the same age, at a vital point in each of their lives. For little Michael Myers, the turning point was brutally stabbing his sister to death on Halloween night. For little Bruce Wayne, the turning point was watching his parents be killed in cold blood. One became a notorious serial killer and the other a feared crimefighter... CHAPTER TWO: SUNKEN TREASURES April 15, 2001--The Titanic had been visited many times since it sank on this date in 1912. For nearly a century, scientists had been trying to piece together the events leading up to the tragedy. They had managed to recover many artifacts as well as photograph the shipwreck in great detail. It had become something of a lost world. They had mapped the landscape using robotics technology and knew precisely what remained in each room and where things were located in relationship to one another. After such an enormous amount of time had passed, the bodies of the Titanic’s passengers were all but gone. Mostly, they had been consumed by deep sea creatures. The odds of finding a corpse intact after 89 years was as remote as winning the lottery three weeks in a row. Scientists had long since given up on recovering any human remains. When the crew of the vessel Keldon noticed a man’s body lying across the bow of the ship, they were astonished. “That wasn’t there before,” said Brock Lovett, the leader of the research team, “That’s impossible!” In addition to the various deep sea creatures that lived in the Titanic’s vicinity, there was another key factor which made this discovery highly unlikely. The pressure outside of Lovett’s craft was a whopping three and-a-half tons per square inch. If not for the nine inch-thick fiberglass walls, there would be no way for him and his crew to even make the two and-a-half mile trip to the bottom of the Atlantic. The pressure would totally obliterate a man in less than a second. Nevertheless, Brock and his team were fascinated. Who is this guy? Lovett wondered, Was he a passenger on Titanic? He ordered the launch of Dunkin, an experimental robotics retrieval craft designed specifically for recovery missions to Titanic. In mere minutes, the craft was hovering directly over the corpse sending visual images back to its mother ship. “I can’t believe how well preserved it is,” Lovett commented. He seemed rather confused by the face, however. It was a solid white color with almost no signs of decay whatsoever. Absolutely remarkable, Brock thought. “Let’s bring it aboard,” he said. The robot’s arms wrapped themselves around the corpse and returned to the ship. It looked almost as if it were a mother carrying its young. Dunkin reentered through the cargo bay where it was met by Lovett himself and two additional members of his research team. Upon closer inspection, Lovett realized that what he was actually seeing was a mask rather than the man’s face. This was totally inconsistent with the time period and with the culture of the passengers who were aboard the Titanic. “Something’s not right here,” Brock insisted. As if on cue, the body came to life. It rose to its feet and faced the three men. “Holy shit!” Lovett screamed, “This isn’t fucking happening!” The Shape advanced towards his two assistants first. He grabbed each of their heads and rammed them together so forcefully that they seemed to fuse into one large grotesque orb. Brock turned to flee but not in time to elude the Shape. He dragged Lovett towards the cargo bay door. Brock knew what was coming and he was powerless to prevent it. This man was incredibly powerful. “God no, pleeease don’t!” he pleaded. The Shape didn’t care. He released the hatch to the cargo bay and ocean rushed in immediately. Brock died instantly. Afterward, the Shape resealed the doors and flushed the water back outside. In the meantime, the pilot, obviously unaware of the fiasco in the cargo bay, had brought the craft nearly to the surface. The Shape waited patiently. He then entered the cockpit, grabbed the pilot’s head and rammed it violently into the fiberglass window. The impact was so powerful that it left an enormous spider web fissure from which water leaked through. It has been said that great white sharks can detect one drop of blood in the water at a distance of a mile away. It is because of this keen awareness that they are able to successfully hunt for wounded prey in the ocean. The Shape had just spilled enough blood to warrant the undivided attention of a great white that had been swimming nearby. Only seconds after the Shape slew the pilot, the shark had advanced upon the mini submarine and began hammering into its hull relentlessly. This caused the Shape to bounce off the walls like a pinball. The Shape managed to find his way to the cargo bay doors again where he promptly released the hatch and reentered the ocean. The great white intercepted him almost immediately. It lunged towards the Shape and clamped down onto his torso. Its teeth were as razor sharp as Ginzu knives. Its grip was as tight as a vise. The Shape’s body was submerged in the shark’s mouth up to his waist. Blood was everywhere. The Shape’s instincts kicked in and he reached for one of the Shark’s teeth, breaking it from its socket. The great white’s body convulsed in excruciating pain but it did not surrender its hold on its victim. Then, the Shape drove the sharp end of the tooth directly into the shark’s eye, puncturing it, then did the same to the other. Agony coupled with sudden blindness caused the great white to panic. Its grip on the Shape’s body tightened and its own body began to go into a seizure. Unable to withstand the extra pressure any longer, the Shape reached down and established a firm grip on the shark’s bottom jaw. The force he applied to it was so great that the jaw snapped completely off. He threw the jaw a great distance and freed himself from his captor. Meanwhile, the shark roared in pain. It eventually faded into unconsciousness and then death. CHAPTER THREE: THE POWERS THAT BE James Gordon had endured a firestorm of criticism from the GCPD and the media since the so-called, “Myers incident” at the airport last Halloween. Allowing Lynx, a key suspect in King Snake’s crime empire, to be murdered was bad enough. But losing Harvey Bullock in the line of duty to an unarmed assassin was unforgivable. There had been intense pressure for him to resign his post afterward but he weathered the storm. The incident had also shaken the public’s opinion of the Batman. His approval rating with the people of Gotham had plummeted from 69% to 25%. It was each of their biggest failures. Each man was held to such a high standard that there was almost no margin for error. They had each established a tradition of excellence in crime fighting. The Myers incident cost Gordon the title of Commissioner. In his place the GCPD promoted Sarah Essen, Gordon’s wife whom he met through the force. While Gordon had the highest respect for his wife and her professional accomplishments, he couldn’t help but feel humiliated. Furthermore, Sarah seemed to adapt quickly to her new responsibilities and wasn’t afraid to act like a boss, even in front of her husband. Gordon couldn’t help but admire her for that. But what made it hard on him was the fact that Sarah was not in favor of the Batman’s assistance. She wasn’t before the Myers incident. Gordon had to plead with her not to take down the Batsignal from atop police headquarters. If he had been any other man, he would not have been able to persuade her. Unbeknownst to the general population of Gotham, Harvey Bullock had also been a key member of a highly classified government agency called Checkmate before he died. While he wasn’t an active member at the time of his death, the federal government still treated his death as if he was. Michael Myers had captured Checkmate’s undivided attention. He was the subject of a massive manhunt. If he had survived that fall, they were going to see to it that he at least spent the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary. More likely his fate would be the same as convicted bomber Timothy McVeigh who was executed after his attack on a federal building in Oklahoma City. The covert action group code named Checkmate (which operated under the cover of Konig Industries, a small, privately held consumer electronics company), was originally set up by a woman named Amanda Waller and a man named Harry Stein, to perform operations worldwide considered vital to the security of American interests. Stein sought out the most stable personnel available from the American and international intelligence and law enforcement communities. His agency fielded only the best-trained and well equipped of agents, working under the strictest rules of secrecy. For the hierarchical structure of his new organization, Stein chose the game of chess as his model and so Checkmate was born. At the top was the Queen, a position filled by Amanda Waller who determined agency policy and acted as liaison to the President. The Queen, in turn, oversaw the activities of the King, Harry Stein, who was in control of Checkmate’s day-to-day operations. Beneath him were the Bishops, or administrative assistants. Harvey Bullock was a Bishop and Stein’s second-in-command before he rejoined the GCPD. Below the Bishops were the Rooks, Knights and Pawns. The Knights were the thirty costumed field agents who made up the real heart of Checkmate. The Knights were some of the best-trained espionage agents in the world, any one of whom was capable of completing his mission with nothing more than the shirt on his back. Checkmate had considerably increased the odds in their favor by outfitting them with specialized equipment, including bullet-resistant black uniforms and yellow visors resembling a Knight’s helmet. CHAPTER FOUR: THE SECRET RING The Shape had no idea how long he had been unconscious for. During his slumber he had washed up onto the shore of a small island in Gotham Bay. The island’s landscape was dominated by a large ominous-looking facility. It was completely surrounded by a twelve-foot barbed wire fence. The words over the entrance read, “Blackgate Penitentiary.” A prison. The Shape had been imprisoned himself for fifteen years in Smith’s Grove Warren County Sanitarium. Isolated in Gotham Bay, Blackgate Prison held a population of 2,342 men, 273 of them guards who commuted daily and nightly by boat. The rest only dreamed of leaving... “Get to your knees and put your hands behind your head NOW!” a voice hollered at the Shape. This had been the same command uttered by Bullock right before the Shape murdered him. He turned to his right and found three men approaching him, two of whom were heavily armed guards. The other man was bald and had a mustache and round rimmed glasses. He had been the one who barked the order. “I’m Warded Zehrhardt and when you’re on this island, I OWN YOU!” The Shape made no attempt to comply with this man’s orders. Still weakened from the shark attack, he began to move towards the warden then collapsed right at his feet. When the Shape awoke he found himself inside of one of Blackgate’s prison cells. He had been out for hours. His clothes had dried and the bleeding from the shark’s bite had stopped. The Warden had not removed his mask. Zehrhardt was standing by the cell’s door watching him while talking to two other men, different from before. “This must be my lucky day gentleman,” he said, “Michael fucking Myers is in MY jail. Half the god-damned country is looking for this guy, including the feds. Did you see the size of those teeth marks on him? If that son-of-a-bitch can survive a shark attack, he can survive anything! No wonder Batman couldn’t bring him in. If it wasn’t for Batman this prison would only be half full.” “You mean this is that Halloween guy? You gonna turn him over to the feds?” one of the men asked. “Are you out of your mind?!!?” Zehrhardt answered, “And blow an opportunity like this? No way. This SOB has value. He stood up to the freakin Bat.” “Yeah, but I thought the Ring was only for inmates.” Zehrhardt’s colleague had been referring to the Secret Ring, a highly barbaric yet lucrative underground bare-knuckles fighting circuit. It pitted inmate versus inmate and was enjoyed by only the wealthiest citizens in the world. Warden Zehrhardt was a key component in the Secret Ring’s operation. The fights were held at a place known only as “The Venue” and could either be seen in person at a cost of one million dollars per fight or via satellite for $500,000. So sophisticated was their setup that hacking into it was nearly impossible. Without the proper access code (which changed each fight), the fight would appear only as static on the viewer’s television screen. While Warden Zehrhardt provided the fighters, Sir Edmund Dorrance provided the capital as well as the facility and satellite from which to broadcast. In addition to the money raised from the fights themselves, millions more were brought in from gambling. Occasionally, Dorrance (the King Snake) had participated in some of the fights himself. “He IS and inmate,” Zehrhardt replied, “He escaped from some mental institution in Illinois. Nobody’s gonna know we have him except our customers. The feds never have to know. And neither does the Bat.” “I’ve heard your partner had a run-in with this guy at the airport last Halloween when all that business with the Bat went down,” the man said. “Rumors,” the warden responded, “Pure speculation. And if Myers somehow HAD gotten the best of Dorrance that night, what better chance for him to get revenge?” “Myers will fight the KGBeast first,” Zehrhardt added, “Then if he survives that, Bane...” Zehrhardt’s clients were grinning from ear-to-ear. They had been regular spectators at these events and knew how lethal the KGBeast and Bane were. A clash of the proverbial titans. Something would have to give. The KGBeast had a cumulative record of 50 wins, and 2 losses. He had lost once to Bane, and once to King Snake. Bane’s record was an impressive 75-0. Prior to Michael’s arrival at Blackgate, Bane had been scheduled to battle King Snake for the title. Meanwhile... “I’m sure you realize Mr. Kent that what you’re asking me is in direct violation of doctor/patient confidentiality--” “Perhaps Dr. Wynn, but it’s also very much a matter of public safety. People’s lives are at risk. How many people has he killed already? His body was never recovered from the water. Surely there must be something you can tell me--” “MR. KENT! I am a doctor, not a police officer! There are men and women who get paid to bring criminals in. My staff and I provide the best care possible to our patients. But once they leave here, we have no control over what they do--” “Dr. Wynn, I never asked you to take an active role in his capture. I’m only asking for a little background information on the man. It would be helpful to know what drives him. What would make him want to kill his own sister so bad?” “I’m sure you realize that question is out of bounds. And by the way Mr. Kent, what drives you? What would bring a reporter from Metropolis almost half-way across the country to a small little town like Haddonfield? Isn’t there enough to write about in the big city?” “You’re avoiding the question Dr. Wynn...” “What question?” another man asked. It was Dr. Loomis. He had just entered the room. “Nothing Sam,” Wynn replied, “Mr. Kent was just leaving.” “Were you two talking about Michael? Have they found his body?” “No, Dr. Loomis,” Kent answered, “I was just here to ask the good doctor a few questions. So far he hasn’t been very helpful.” “I’ll help you,” Loomis offered. “Sam!” Dr. Wynn shouted, “If you do you’ll be putting your whole career at risk! Loomis!” But it was too late. Loomis and Kent had already exited stage left. Besides, Loomis didn’t care. He was close to retirement anyway.
Copyright © 2001 Mark Brittan |