I Am The Night- Part One by: Enemyoffun Bruce Wayne has been a vigilante stalking the nights of Chicago for months, doing what he could to help stop the rising crime rate. But he's just a man and now he's met his match.

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Author's Note: Here's the beginning of a brand new story and if you haven't guessed by the picture, you know who is involved. But I must warn you that he is not the Bat from the comics so I took some liberties with his character. I wanted to establish that this is a real world interpretation of him and as such he's not nearly as cool as he is in the comics or movies. So you need to keep that in mind when reading this. You also have to keep in mind that he is not the main character of this story. I'd like to thank djkauf for the editing and DC Comics for the wonderful characters.

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Prologue:

August 15, 2011

“Master Bruce, you have a phone call”

I nodded and set down the paper. On the front page was a dark sketch of a shadowy figure, representing the vigilante that was stalking the nights of Chicago. The press were dubbing him the “Bat” from some unreliable sources. It was kinda ridiculous as was the sketch. It was too dark to see anything finite and they gave me pointed ears. I didn’t have pointed ears. But I guess that’s what I get when I use throwing stars shaped like bats to subdue my victims. Sensei said in order for you to truly scare your opponent you needed to harness your own fear and use it as a weapon. As a child, bats frightened me, they were my greatest fear and now I was using that fear against those I stalked.

But this “Bat” thing was ridiculous. I didn’t have a name, I didn’t want a name. I was supposed to be a force. Not something the press could latch onto and make their own. It was like that damn woman in San Francisco, following around heroes like she owned them. It was insufferable and beneath someone’s time to waste. It was wasting my time. That’s why I worked in the shadows. None of this gallivanting around out in the open, letting people see me.

Alfred---my butler---cleared his throat. “A hum…sir…the telephone.”

I sighed, setting down the paper. “Thank you Alfred.”

He nodded, turned like a toy soldier and walked out of the room. He’d been stiff like that ever since I was a boy. I used to be so afraid of him because he never smiled. I once told my father that I thought he was a robot to which my father burst out into laughter. He told me that Alfred wasn’t a robot that “he was British, sometimes they were just like that.” I didn’t know what he meant then and I still don’t. Alfred never changed though. Even after my parents were murdered, he was still the same stiff robotic man, never even cracking a smile. Thank God for Leslie or else I would have gone insane a long time ago.

I watched my tin soldier as he walked across the large expanse that was my study. It had been my father’s study once and I hadn’t changed a thing about it, except maybe some of the equipment. The Waynes were already exceptionally wealthy before my father came into his riches. My great great grandfather was involved in the railroad. He built quite an empire for my family, which only grew as the years went on. My great grandfather started Wayne Enterprises from scratch; it was originally just an Export company, shipping goods from Lake Michigan up into Canada. When my grandfather took over the business in the earlier fifties, he revolutionized things by investing in modern appliances: things like color TVs and microwaves. He controlled the company until my father came of age in the early seventies. Instead of going to business school like his father before him, my father decided to go into medicine. My grandfather was outraged. My father went through medical school, met my mother and got married. He opened a small family practice in the city with Dr. Leslie Thompson. The two of them were fairly successful until my grandfather’s failing health pulled Dad back into the business. For the five years that he was CEO he brought Wayne Enterprises into the twentieth century by pioneering medical research, expanding the company into several other fields besides exports.

In 1985, when I was nine years old, my parents were mugged and shot in front of me. I watched them die and all for the paper in their wallets. It was the single most defining moment in my life. It helped shape the man that I am today.

The room was large and overbearing but I liked it. It hadn’t changed much since my grandfather---Thomas Wayne the Third---had used it. This house and everything in it, were mainly mementos of his many travels. He was a bit of an adventurer whenever he could be. He traipsed around the globe, picking up treasures whenever possible. This room alone was filled with several of them, from different continents and tiny places that I never even heard of. I thought about changing things several times---moving some pictures, taking down my father’s medical degrees---but every time I tried to it just didn’t feel right. So here the room sat---a tomb to the two men who it really belonged to.

Stiff and timeless, just like the butler who tended it.

I waited until Alfred was all the way out of the room before I pushed the button. “Bruce Wayne.”

“Mr. Wayne” said a familiar voice on the other end.

I sighed. I’d been expecting and dreading this phone call for several days now. “Agent Faraday.”

I met Agent Faraday back in February, shortly after I started my job to clean up the mean streets of “Gotham”. I was investigating the incident with the Spa; Faraday was the man in charge. And no, none of that ever made it into the papers. The official story was a cult ritual gone bad but the truth was far more sinister. I thought I was being discreet when I started poking around in the darkened halls of the Spa but I wasn’t being as stealthy as I thought. Agent Faraday got the drop on me almost immediately. I think it might have been because he’d been waiting for me. I think he’d suspected for some time that the vigilante and I might be connected ... especially after the incident with Cassandra Sandsmark in the museum.

He even called me “Mr. Wayne” at the time of his discovery. Instead of arresting me, he offered me a job. Well actually, he offered to work with me. They had a bit of a problem and though they had the resources, they didn’t have my ability to investigate. Too much red tape. So he handed me a bottle of pills and asked me to find out what I could, strictly off the record of course. I was a bit of a whiz kid in school, graduated from high school by the age of fifteen. I went off to college a month later---the name Wayne had a lot of pull---I had my first degree by the age of eighteen in criminal psychology, I got my second in forensics at age twenty one and a third in chemistry by age twenty-four. As well as honing my mind, I also honed my body. Ever since the day my parents died, I wanted to make sure that it never happened again. Three days later, I had private martial arts instructors---one of which was held in high esteem. I trained with them day and night for ten years straight---alternating schools, learning new and important things. From there I went to California for the next three years and found myself apprenticing under the great John Zatara, Master Illusionist. I also crossed paths with Ted Grant, former prize boxer---he taught me how to take a beating and keep on coming.

Faraday had known all of this. That’s why he was certain I was the right man for the job.

Which brings me back to our conversation on the phone.

“What have you found out?” he asked, sounding tired.

I pushed a button on my desk, bringing up the console I had built into it. As soon as the monitor rose into place and I typed in my password, I brought up the file. The woman who was peddling them called the bottle of pills he handed me months ago “Ambrosia”. It was a play on the food of the Gods in Greek Myth, it fit in with the crazy cult she was running. In truth, they were much more deadly.

“Your Ambrosia was actually manufactured by a company called Alva. It was supposed to be steroid enhancement for soldiers but it had unwanted side effects.”

Faraday sighed. “Thankfully most of the girls that were on it only had been for a few months. I vaguely remember reading something about Alva; they had a black op pharmaceutical deal with the US Army for a while.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me do so. “I traced the work to a man named Porter. He’s one of Alva’s top researchers; he has an office here in the city. I was thinking of paying him a visit as soon as night falls.”

“It’s taken you that many months to figure all that out?”

“I’ve been busy,” I said, referring to my numerous escapades.

“So I’ve read,” said Faraday “I’ve been up to my elbows in it as well if you haven’t noticed.”

“You know with all your resources you could have found out all this stuff by yourself.”

“I needed to test you Mr. Wayne,” said Faraday with a laugh. “To make sure you were every bit of a Detective as your fans on the Internet claim you to be.”

I scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“I never do.”

Faraday clicked off. I continued to stare at the file on the computer. According to this, Porter’s office was actually in an old factory that Alva stopped using. The company got scared of his initial results and forced him into an early retirement. After the drug proved to be too hazardous, he sold it on the Black Market. That’s how that deranged woman got a hold of the pills. But word on the street was Porter had perfected his serum and was in the process of human testing. Of course I didn’t tell any of that to Faraday. Not that I needed to, I was sure he had people who already knew all about it. Like he said before, he was testing me but there was more to it than that.

I smiled as I clicked off the console. It lowered back into my desk. Then I clicked the intercom button. “Alfred, get the car ready, we’re going out again.”

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The Internet had a lot of ideas about me, all of them false. According to the fan boys, I drove a sleek rocket powered car; someone actually dubbed it the “Bat mobile”. Give me a break. They also said I lived in a Cave somewhere, tinkering about in the dark in some over sized lab that was combination computer hub and chemistry set. As cool as that sounded, it was so far from the truth it was scary. The only car I drove around in was the Rolls Royce that belonged to my grandfather and the closest thing I had to a laboratory was the makeshift one I built in the basement of my spacious mansion. There were no computers save for the numerous PCs in just about every room of my house. I automated most of the place after I read that Bill Gates had a similar set up---well actually he dreamed that he had my kind of tech.

The other biggest rumor out there was the suit I wore. The only thing they managed to get right was the color. Yes, I did wear a cape but it wasn’t the kind they thought it was. It wasn’t really a cape either, more like a hooded robe; I wore to shield myself from the cold of the night and for the effect. It was a lot scarier to be seen flapping about then what I really was. Yes, my suit was armored–woven with Kevlar, but it wasn’t armor plated. No, there was no symbol of the bat on my chest and no I didn’t carry around my “gadgets” on a belt. I didn’t even have any gadgets, save for the night vision goggles and assortment of throwing stars I used.

I had a feeling that the legend of the “Bat” Man was going to outlive me for a very long time. It was kinda cool I suppose but it was so far from the truth it was scary. To think it all started because I wanted to bring justice to my parents’ killer. Everyone knew Joe Chill did it so when the jury came back and he was innocent, it was huge outrage. But at the time Chill was in deep with the Falconi crime family. He was a low-level enforcer, did some of the dirty work. The night he killed my parents he was on a fix---he was a little heavy into heroin at the time. He claimed he didn’t even remember doing it, which seemed to outrage everyone even more.

Falconi greased the palms of the judge and paid off several of the jury members. Chill got to walk and I had a purpose in life. It took me several years to catch up with him. I caught up with him outside a nightclub in the city---The 1000's---he was with some hooker. It was about two years ago, Chill was no longer with Falconi so he didn’t have his protection anymore. I dropped down on him from above, breaking his shoulder in the process. The hooker screamed and took off. At the time, I was new at the whole revenge thing. I thought I was doing pretty good until Chill pulled out a gun. He shot me in the arm and took off. I tried to give chase but the pain was too much. I missed my chance at him and I knew it.

Chill was killed in a botched convenience store robbery a week later. I was still recuperating from the gunshot wound. I went to a dark place after that, angered that I was unable to enact the revenge I spent years training for. Leslie helped me a lot, she taught me that there were a lot of bad people in the world like Joe Chill and many of them didn’t get the justice that they deserved. That’s what spawned me into my crusade. It took me the next two years to get everything right---there was a lot of trial and error---but in the end, things fell into place nicely. I used the nightclub as a base of operations, it was a crooked establishment run by a scumbag named Ballard. He was a business rival of mine actually but unlike some of the others---Luthor---he didn’t hide the fact that he was scum.

It was there that I met my first Metas. First, it was that shape shifter Chiller. I kept an eye on him because his name was so close to Chill. He arrived at the club after doing a job in California. Ballard had him impersonating some college football star to smear the kid’s name. It was practice for a bigger score. Ballard had this wild plot to assassinate the President and take his place. That’s where I realized there was something more to pretty Myka Carter. She was already trying---and failing---to land my receptionist, Beatrice De Costa. Who knew that Myka was harboring such a secret? After rescuing her and Bea in the alley from some of Ballard’s thugs, I kept tabs on her.

I ran a lot of illegal wiretaps and hacks. I had a hacker who could get into a system and get out before being caught. She was the one who found the information on the “virus” that Myka was looking for. She stumbled upon it by accident actually. I took everything she found and gave it to the would be hero, giving her the push she needed in the right direction. I wasn’t a Meta, it was too big for me to get involved with but it was the right bit of info. She needed to set things right with her career. It made me proud to know that I was making a difference.

Hopefully I’d make one tonight, too.

I was crouched on the rooftop across the street from the factory. It used to be the main pharmaceutical building where they manufactured the now defunct “ambrosia”. But after the Army cancelled the contract, Alva cut all ties and pulled out. That was over a year ago and the place was supposedly mothballed. But things started to change a few months ago. After the Bana Spa fiasco, I discovered that the power company was registering large amounts of usage in a building that was supposed to be abandoned. I did some digging and found out that the factory was also receiving weekly truck deliveries through the back entrance. On the books, this place was listed as storage and the deliveries were listed as “medical waste.”

It didn’t take long for me to find out what was really going on.

I pulled out my goggles and scanned the perimeter. There were two primary entrances into the building. One in the front, which had only one camera and the loading dock door in the back, which had two. The front one was probably the best bet but in my search of the place, I also found another door, one that had no cameras. There was a skylight on the top, thirty feet above the floor. Whoever set up security on the place never thought to put a camera there because no one in their right mind would dare enter from that spot. But I definitely wasn’t in my right mind.

I scanned the streets, making sure it was deserted. When it was clear, I dropped down onto the fire escape below then into the street. I ran across quickly, scaling the opposite fire escape up the factory wall with the same ease. On the Internet I apparently got around using a grappling hook and as efficient as that sounded it wasn’t very practical. There wasn’t a device small enough for me to carry around to do that and even if there was, there was nothing strong enough to fit into it that would be able to hold my weight. I got around like everyone else and like everyone else, I worked for it. I was in peak physical condition; I exercised for several hours a day. During my spare time---when I wasn’t jumping from rooftops---I spent time trying to figure out ways to train myself. I did a lot of mountain climbing and outdoor training.

I made my way to the roof and over to the skylight. Tonight I brought a duffel bag with me. I opened it, taking out a glasscutter. It wasn’t the most efficient tool but it got the job done. I cut a big enough hole to stick my hand through and unlock the window. After that, I lifted it open slowly. Then I took my harness from the bag. Once again, no grappling gun. I brought enough rope to get me down to the floor without a problem. After donning my gear and making sure my rope was secure, I slid down to the factory floor below. The whole thing took about two minutes or more. I left the rope hanging where it was so I could ascend later.

I had to smile at the ease of everything. The Internet made me out to be this great spook that disappeared into the shadows and flew through the air like a bat out of hell. But in truth, it was just a lot of gear, years of training and lots of guts. There were a lot of times that I thought I wasn’t going to get out of somewhere alive actually. Back in February---shortly after the spa incident---I tracked a man into the sewer. His name was Waylon Jones, a former Circus Side show attraction. He was dubbed the Croc Man because of the condition of his skin---it looked like scales. Jones had knocked over a few jewelry stores and was hiding out in the sewers. I got wind of it and ventured down there to flush him out. It never occurred to me how big a man Jones really was. It took everything I had to take him down.

After I left him tied up for the police, the Internet exploded. The Bat Man Ropes Killer Croc in the Sewer. It was absolutely crazy but as there were no witnesses people made up their own mind. I became a bit of a menace after that---the Chicago PD’s Number One Suspect. There were rumors that I worked for the Commissioner but those were just as much crap as the rest of it. Gordon was a good guy---he had a sweet daughter, Barbara---but that’s as far as our partnership went. In fact, he was convinced I was responsible for some of the crap that went around in the city. He said I was a nut with a hero complex and that I probably created some things so I could rush in and be the hero.

I put on my goggles again, looking around the darkness. There was definite evidence that something was going on here. There were a lot of wooden crates---marked with big purple L’s. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where they came from. It didn’t surprise me in the least that Lex was involved in all of this. It was no secret that he was looking heavily into the Metagene and everything that went with it. In fact while investigating the pills his name came up once or twice---as a private financial backer to Porter’s research. I looked around, it was clear that he was a lot more than private. There were a lot of boxes here.

I walked to the nearest one and broke in, taking a peek inside. There was nothing but foam packing peanuts but it was clear that something was going on. I pulled out my mini-camera and took several pictures, first of the boxes and then of the insides. Faraday was the documentation kind of guy. After taking my pictures, I started slinking around the place. I found a flight of stairs leading up into another part of the place. There were several areas like this one, all connected by an upper floor laboratory. If there were anything of substance, it would either be in one of those room or the vacant lab.

I climbed the stairs quickly then picked the lock on the door at the top. I pushed my way inside and found myself in a dark hallway. Well, it would have been dark if not for my goggles. I walked briskly along, looking at the doors on either side. At the end of the hall there was a door marked Lab One, a faint glow was coming from underneath it. I started for it when another door caught my interest first: it was Porter’s office. I picked the lock there too, and slipped into the room. I looked around the room, going to the file cabinets first but they were empty. So I tried the desk and the PC there. I had a minor in computer sciences so hacking into the computer wasn’t too much of a problem. I knew enough basics to get around the lax security.

It didn’t take me long to get into his private files either.

I took out a flash drive and started copying them, making evidence for my government friend. I’d make a copy for myself too, just in case I wanted to do some private investigating later. I didn’t plan to read anything right now until I came across a file labeled Project Venom. It piqued my interest so I clicked into it. It was password protected but I got around it quickly. After reading only a few lines, I realized I had hit the jackpot. This was exactly what Faraday was looking for; it was evidence that Porter continued his work on the drug after he sold the initial---flawed---batches. He was able to get over most of the side effects and after reconstituting the pills into a liquid form, he perfected it.

He called the concoction Venom. It was a very potent steroid that enhanced the users strength and durability by tenfold. Whoever took it was in essence a Superman. It was insane but the proof was staring me right in the face. The science was all there too and it scared the hell out of me. It became very clear as I read the file that this is what Faraday’s superiors were really after. They didn’t want to shut this operation down; they wanted the Venom formula for themselves. After all, it once belonged to the US government and now the government wanted it back.

I cursed. There was no way I could let Faraday get his hands on this. I continued downloading all of Porter’s files onto my flash drive then I smashed the tower and took the hard drive. It was the best way to do things and to keep it from going where it should never go. Faraday and his people knew where this place was after all. It was only a matter of time before they found it. But to make sure things were really taken care I needed to make sure he didn’t have any back up files in the Lab. I stuck the hard drive in my duffel---I brought it with me---then made my way out into the hall again. I moved fast, knowing that I had mere hours before Faraday followed. I was certain that my involvement here was his attempt for a scapegoat. I felt so damn used. It pissed me off even more that I actually suggested he might even be able to help Myka back when she needed it. I even gave her his card. That made my skin crawl just thinking about it.

I moved quickly to the lab. The door was locked with a card reader but there was no light on it. I tested the lock and sure enough, it opened without it. Whoever set it up must have forgotten to engage the system. When I opened the door all the way, I was shocked at what I saw. It looked like a normal laboratory but for one huge difference: it was all centered around a man strapped up in a mock of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, spread eagle. From Porter’s other files I knew this to be one of his human test subjects. My attention was diverted from the man to the small, bespectacled figure in the white lab coat.

“Dr. Porter, I assume?”

I startled him. He was in the process of injecting a syringe into one of the man’s various IV’s. His hand slipped and he jabbed the man in the arm instead, plunging most of the green liquid into the man’s body. There was no reaction from the subject but the doctor cursed. I looked back at the man. He was already a big guy to begin with, he looked like a body builder but I saw the various prison tats so I’m guessing he was an inmate from the local area. Porter’s files stated that he convinced the prison that he was trying to test cures for known diseases and needed test subjects. It helped that Luthor paid for everything---off the books of course.

The doctor snapped around at me. “Do you see what I’ve just done; I gave him far too much.”

He wiped furiously at the spot where the syringe went in. Instead of blood coming from the small puncture wound, it was the green substance.

“It looks like he’s had enough already” I said, adopting the raspy tone I used in this persona of mine.

“Mr. Diego is a special case. As you can clearly see his body has already been subjected to several doses of normal steroid to begin with, making him the ideal candidate.”

“What about the girls back in February, were they ideal candidates too?”

He scoffed, waving his hand. “I sold those defective pills; it’s not my responsibility if the buyer misuses them.”

This guy made me sick. “I’m shutting you down, doctor.”

He laughed. “My benefactor would never allow that. He has a lot of pull, you know. You can try to shut me down but he’ll squash you.”

I moved quickly through the space that separated the two of us. I grabbed the front of his lab coat and lifted him off the ground.

“Luthor can’t protect you from me, doctor.”

At the mention of his financier’s face, Porter started fidgeting. “You can’t, you can’t stop this. I need this, it’s vindication.”

“The DEO will be here soon, you can tell them all about it.”

Rage flashed before his eyes. “No” he said angrily, brandishing a scalpel. He slashed it across my exposed cheek, causing me to let him go. He dropped to the ground, knocking over the oxygen tank attached to his patient. When the tank hit the ground, it pulled the mask from the man’s face. The guy strapped to the vertical gurney was sedated but he started to stir. The doctor looked up, awe in his eyes. It was clear that this man---Diego---was in some kind of medically induced coma.

“This is incredible,” gasped Porter as Diego started to flutter. “The Venom is far more powerful than I could have imagined.”

Then Diego snapped awake. The first thing he did was scream. Then he flexed his muscles. When he did so I saw the green liquid flowing through his veins, it was inhuman. Then he snapped the leather straps that held him down, first the ones on his arms then his legs. He stumbled as he pushed himself off the gurney. I looked into his eyes---they were dark and bloodshot---for a moment, I saw no life there. Then it slowly started to come back.

Porter clamored to his feet. “Mr. Diego, I command you to get back onto the gurney. I need to run a battery of tests, this is incredible.”

Diego flexed his arms and wiggled his fingers. “You command me?” he asked in heavily accented English. “You, like those insignificant fools at the prison, you think you can tell me what to do.”

He reacted before I could. He lashed out, grabbing the doctor by the neck. He wrapped one whole hand around the man’s throat and lifted him off the ground. Then he squeezed. Porter’s face turned a shade of red, the purple and finally blue. I’m not sure what killed him first, choking to death or the fact that his neck broke seconds later. Diego dropped the lifeless body of the doctor onto the ground and smirked. He stared at him for a few seconds and then looked at me.

“You are with him?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached for my belt---ok, I had one. Then I took out a retractable baton, like the ones that police officers sometimes use to subdue their quarry. Diego looked at the baton as I extended it at my side. There was no way conventional fighting was going to work on this guy. I knew what was in those pills---what they did to those girls---I also read Porter’s findings. I knew what he did to the drug to perfect it. This guy standing before me was a monster, a bane of everyone’s existence if allowed to walk free. I couldn’t allow that. I knew I didn’t have the strength nor the skill to stop him but maybe I could slow him down long enough until the cavalry arrived.

He eyed the baton and scoffed. “You are the jailer, then. You look like a man who can hold his own but can you hold it against me.”

He didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead, he kicked me in the chest. It wasn’t even a hard kick but with his chemically enhanced strength, it sent me flying. I smashed over the two lab tables in the room, spilling several jars of chemicals and knocking over the Bunsen burner. The Kevlar padding in my suit cushioned most of his kick but upon sitting up I felt it. I took a deep breath and it hurt like a son of a bitch. He broke a rib, maybe two. There was no way I could fight like this. The best I could do now was keep myself away from him.

Unfortunately, for me, he didn’t seem to like that plan.

He walked over to me and shook his head. “I will give you credit for surviving such a blow. A normal man would have surely died. You are made of thick hide I think.”

He reached for me. I swung at him feebly with the baton. He caught my wrist and snapped it. I screamed out in pain, dropping my only weapon. My duffel was on the other side of the room and anything else that might be construed as a weapon was smashed to pieces now. All my intellect and training was useless in a situation like this. I’d been a fool to think that I could make a difference. I was a man---a man without superpowers---and this was a situation I should have never been in.

He reached down and lifted me up off the ground. He put both of his hands underneath my back; I was in too much pain to struggle and fight back. “I have beaten you in combat and now I shall break you.”

He brought me up over his head and looked like he was going to bring me down on his knee. Everything was moving too fast. I wanted to close my eyes but I couldn’t do it. Instead I watched as he was about to snap my spine on his knee. But the snapping never came. Something else did though. It was a glint of gold. It sailed into the room and hit the son of a bitch in the throat. It stunned him, causing him to choke and cough. He dropped me, I screamed out, my vision started to blur. But I saw someone else charge into the room. There was a whip of long blonde hair and black leather. Whoever she was she was fast. She slammed into Diego, using her shoulder to throw him across the room. He smashed into the far wall.

She ran to him and delivered several well placed blows to his chest and face, overwhelming him with the ferocity of her attacks. It was like a sweet sensual ballet, the stuff that I should have been doing. I’m not sure why I couldn’t pull myself off the ground. I trained for this, I prepared for this. And yet that thing Diego had become---that monstrosity---he tore me down with one kick. One kick and a chance of all this being over. That was my last thought before I slipped into unconsciousness.