Arion Hunter
For Madmen Only!
I don't do much fic, but this idea has been rolling around in my head for awhile, and I finally sat down to write it out. Batman canon used is comics only.
-
The theater Bruce is passing has “The Mark of Zorro†playing in bright red Japanese LEDs across the playbill. He is on a business trip; his mind will remain on business.
Bruce draws back into a defensive stance at the sudden burst of sand that explodes from his clothing over the limo’s interior.
“Tell me your wish. I will grant any wish. But you must pay one thing.â€
Bruce punches the sand creature direct to the face. It explodes outward in a shower but reforms quickly. His hand reaches for the glass of (fake, nonalcoholic) champagne next to him, but the creature has already begun to solidify. It ignores the next punch, calmly reaches for the door handle.
It refuses to open. The creature pulls again. Bruce grabs its outstretched arm and tries a wrestling lock. The creature grabs for Bruce’s neck.
The limo pulls out of traffic and the partition rolls down. “Mr. Wayne?â€
The creature looks up, throws Bruce back effortlessly, and hurls itself out the windshield. Bruce guesses it’s probably stronger than your average meta, but falls well beneath the level of a Wonder Woman.
“Go.†Bruce says nothing more to the driver but to hand him a check with the exact cost in yen to replace the windshield.
Going through the news archives, there are reports of monsters attacking people in the news files, but they always miraculously disappear. Always. The National Police Agency’s database has the statements, case reports, and no more answers. Bruce does not punch the mattress.
Oracle says nothing when she receives an expensively overnighted, well padded, unmarked package the next morning. Inside is a tiny evidence bag, single grain of sand nestled off in one corner.
She reports back to Bruce: A composite mix of quartz, gypsum, and other minerals. The combination does not match the local mineral composition of any known location on Earth. No special properties.
There is a string of clean, shining pearls on the bed when he wakes up. Bruce moves to the couch.
Between business meetings Bruce sets the Watchtower to scan the space around Earth. Any foreign object and its makeup is carefully recorded and filed on a list, those that most closely match the sand first.
The first item on the list is space junk from an Apollo mission. 10% match.
He has no idea how it found a first print run poster from the 1920 version. Even Bruce hasn’t been able to purchase one. A long strand of filmstrip, extending from the hastily-thrown-down reel, stretches out across his bed.
Bruce’s fingers refuse to still as he leans his hand on the lightswitch. He can’t bring himself to turn on the light. He doesn’t want confirmation.
He pushes the Watchtower to its detection limit and leaves J’onn a note, just in case.
Bruce has begun to stay out later and later at night, takes dates he normally would have avoided. He briefly considers not getting rid of his alcohol, but tips it out anyway.
Sleep escapes him now. Bruce tries intensive meditation, all the different training methods he knows. But then his eyes fall on the pile at the middle of his bed and all the air leaves his lungs. The couch jabs into his spine when Bruce tries to fit his frame into it, and he rolls over fitfully.
Staring at the ceiling, the thought flashes across his mind to call Dick. Just to talk.
Bruce readjusts the cushions and turns his back to the bed.
-
Ryoutaro watches from across the street as the Imagin smashes its way into the vintage clothing shop. Momotaros tries to argue his way into a fight, but the Imagin is airborne by the time they finish. Ryoutaro bikes after it furiously for a half-mile, but he loses it among the skyscrapers.
It takes two whacks from Hana to shut Momotaros up.
-
The clothing is torn in places his mother’s dress and father’s tuxedo never would have, but Bruce immediately recognizes the cut and shape.
Bruce has taken to sleeping in the front lounge of his suite. He no longer opens his bedroom door. All of his personal belongings are now piled around him. Reports that would be neatly stacked are cast into a pile that teeters on the edge of collapse. Bruce only sits with a wall at his back. He avoids standing near windows.
The meeting with the Sony executives is slow torture. Bruce feels exposed and open, surrounded by glass fifty stories up. His shoulders loosen as he rides the elevator down and out. As he’s about to enter his limo, Bruce hears a shout and looks up.
A man has seized a woman and is dragging her into a car at gunpoint; this kind of open crime is highly unusual in Japan. Bruce immediately tenses and reaches for a batarang that isn’t there. It takes all the effort he has not to touch his face to check that the cowl really isn’t there.
He swears he can feel it.
-
Joe Chill gapes at the thing in front of him. Two armored arms reach out to lift him up, and out of sheer reflex Chill begins to struggle. The creature makes it a yard before unceremoniously tossing Chill back into his cell.
Ten minutes later, the guards find an unconscious Chill lying naked on the floor of his cell.
-
How the creature got through the door when Bruce had both blocked and locked it, Bruce does not know. But the prison outfit has “#3475†printed conspicuously across the breast. Bruce has not forgotten that number.
A steady beeping begins to fill the room, and a small light blinks from his phone, covered by the bright orange fabric. Bruce has just closed a very important deal with Sony Electronics only an hour before; it’s probably a Wayne Enterprises board member. Normally, he’d stop almost anything to take this call.
The tinny noise echoes outward as Bruce stares. It ends as he slams the hotel room door shut.
Despite the difficulty, Bruce finds an electronics shop that will replace his cell phone. The clerk says nothing when Bruce requests the room next to his. He simply cancels the honeymooning couple’s reservation and hands Bruce the key.
The gun stares at him from his newly-made bed. The immobile face cannot smirk, but Bruce knows it is.
“Contract complete.â€
-
Ryoutaro’s lucky for once, and he knows it. The Imagin was close by when it broke into the small shop. Urataros gets them inside, and it’s easy to find the room on whose balcony the Imagin landed.
An American. Rich, considering the hotel. Ryoutaro just hopes the American knows enough Japanese to help them.
-
Bruce is collapsed against the wall, and his brain rapidly processes the conversation going on around him in frenzied Japanese. There are names he recognizes from childrens’ fairy tales, odd words that seem to be a mishmash of differing concepts.
What looks like a playing card is placed above his temple. When the young man asks him where the ‘Imagin’ went, Bruce can’t form the words. The man and woman look at each other. He can see from their expressions that it’s no use. Bruce slumps over, unconscious.
“Henshin.â€
-
Ryoutaro has never gone so far back in time. He leaps out of DenLiner onto a dark roof, scanning for any kind of activity. He sees a flash, hears a crack he knows only from the television. The gun.
They’re dead by the time he lands in the alley. The little boy stares at the killer, not moving when Den-O lands behind him. The sand erupts from the boy’s tiny body, and he collapses at the feet of the Imagin.
The Imagin isn’t difficult in either form, despite the wings and sharper than they should be ears, and Ryoutaro’s mind never leaves the little boy. After the explosion he guides Urataros’s hovercraft back to the alley. He removes the belt as he gets closer. The blood has dried and congealed, encrusted the scattered pearls to the ground. The boy is still unconscious. Ryoutaro reaches out to him, to shake him awake.
Hana grabs his shoulder before he can touch the boy, fingers digging in. “No, Ryoutaro.â€
“We have to…†Ryoutaro’s voice is cracking.
Hana yanks him up by his collar, and her hand hangs in the air next to Ryoutaro’s head. They stare at each other in the empty space. When police sirens draw close, Hana yanks him through a door and onto DenLiner.
-
When Bruce comes to, the gun is gone. The pile has vanished from his other bed. Replacing it is a small note scrawled in hasty Japanese.
“I’m sorry.â€
The writing is no hand he recognizes. Bruce does not crumple it in his fist.
-
Ryoutaro watches the curtains close from a roof across the way. He does not know if the man sees him standing there, but he hopes so. Hana stands next to him, watching his expression.
Den-O is not supposed to fail.
But he has.
-
The theater Bruce is passing has “The Mark of Zorro†playing in bright red Japanese LEDs across the playbill. He is on a business trip; his mind will remain on business.
Bruce draws back into a defensive stance at the sudden burst of sand that explodes from his clothing over the limo’s interior.
“Tell me your wish. I will grant any wish. But you must pay one thing.â€
Bruce punches the sand creature direct to the face. It explodes outward in a shower but reforms quickly. His hand reaches for the glass of (fake, nonalcoholic) champagne next to him, but the creature has already begun to solidify. It ignores the next punch, calmly reaches for the door handle.
It refuses to open. The creature pulls again. Bruce grabs its outstretched arm and tries a wrestling lock. The creature grabs for Bruce’s neck.
The limo pulls out of traffic and the partition rolls down. “Mr. Wayne?â€
The creature looks up, throws Bruce back effortlessly, and hurls itself out the windshield. Bruce guesses it’s probably stronger than your average meta, but falls well beneath the level of a Wonder Woman.
“Go.†Bruce says nothing more to the driver but to hand him a check with the exact cost in yen to replace the windshield.
Going through the news archives, there are reports of monsters attacking people in the news files, but they always miraculously disappear. Always. The National Police Agency’s database has the statements, case reports, and no more answers. Bruce does not punch the mattress.
Oracle says nothing when she receives an expensively overnighted, well padded, unmarked package the next morning. Inside is a tiny evidence bag, single grain of sand nestled off in one corner.
She reports back to Bruce: A composite mix of quartz, gypsum, and other minerals. The combination does not match the local mineral composition of any known location on Earth. No special properties.
There is a string of clean, shining pearls on the bed when he wakes up. Bruce moves to the couch.
Between business meetings Bruce sets the Watchtower to scan the space around Earth. Any foreign object and its makeup is carefully recorded and filed on a list, those that most closely match the sand first.
The first item on the list is space junk from an Apollo mission. 10% match.
He has no idea how it found a first print run poster from the 1920 version. Even Bruce hasn’t been able to purchase one. A long strand of filmstrip, extending from the hastily-thrown-down reel, stretches out across his bed.
Bruce’s fingers refuse to still as he leans his hand on the lightswitch. He can’t bring himself to turn on the light. He doesn’t want confirmation.
He pushes the Watchtower to its detection limit and leaves J’onn a note, just in case.
Bruce has begun to stay out later and later at night, takes dates he normally would have avoided. He briefly considers not getting rid of his alcohol, but tips it out anyway.
Sleep escapes him now. Bruce tries intensive meditation, all the different training methods he knows. But then his eyes fall on the pile at the middle of his bed and all the air leaves his lungs. The couch jabs into his spine when Bruce tries to fit his frame into it, and he rolls over fitfully.
Staring at the ceiling, the thought flashes across his mind to call Dick. Just to talk.
Bruce readjusts the cushions and turns his back to the bed.
-
Ryoutaro watches from across the street as the Imagin smashes its way into the vintage clothing shop. Momotaros tries to argue his way into a fight, but the Imagin is airborne by the time they finish. Ryoutaro bikes after it furiously for a half-mile, but he loses it among the skyscrapers.
It takes two whacks from Hana to shut Momotaros up.
-
The clothing is torn in places his mother’s dress and father’s tuxedo never would have, but Bruce immediately recognizes the cut and shape.
Bruce has taken to sleeping in the front lounge of his suite. He no longer opens his bedroom door. All of his personal belongings are now piled around him. Reports that would be neatly stacked are cast into a pile that teeters on the edge of collapse. Bruce only sits with a wall at his back. He avoids standing near windows.
The meeting with the Sony executives is slow torture. Bruce feels exposed and open, surrounded by glass fifty stories up. His shoulders loosen as he rides the elevator down and out. As he’s about to enter his limo, Bruce hears a shout and looks up.
A man has seized a woman and is dragging her into a car at gunpoint; this kind of open crime is highly unusual in Japan. Bruce immediately tenses and reaches for a batarang that isn’t there. It takes all the effort he has not to touch his face to check that the cowl really isn’t there.
He swears he can feel it.
-
Joe Chill gapes at the thing in front of him. Two armored arms reach out to lift him up, and out of sheer reflex Chill begins to struggle. The creature makes it a yard before unceremoniously tossing Chill back into his cell.
Ten minutes later, the guards find an unconscious Chill lying naked on the floor of his cell.
-
How the creature got through the door when Bruce had both blocked and locked it, Bruce does not know. But the prison outfit has “#3475†printed conspicuously across the breast. Bruce has not forgotten that number.
A steady beeping begins to fill the room, and a small light blinks from his phone, covered by the bright orange fabric. Bruce has just closed a very important deal with Sony Electronics only an hour before; it’s probably a Wayne Enterprises board member. Normally, he’d stop almost anything to take this call.
The tinny noise echoes outward as Bruce stares. It ends as he slams the hotel room door shut.
Despite the difficulty, Bruce finds an electronics shop that will replace his cell phone. The clerk says nothing when Bruce requests the room next to his. He simply cancels the honeymooning couple’s reservation and hands Bruce the key.
The gun stares at him from his newly-made bed. The immobile face cannot smirk, but Bruce knows it is.
“Contract complete.â€
-
Ryoutaro’s lucky for once, and he knows it. The Imagin was close by when it broke into the small shop. Urataros gets them inside, and it’s easy to find the room on whose balcony the Imagin landed.
An American. Rich, considering the hotel. Ryoutaro just hopes the American knows enough Japanese to help them.
-
Bruce is collapsed against the wall, and his brain rapidly processes the conversation going on around him in frenzied Japanese. There are names he recognizes from childrens’ fairy tales, odd words that seem to be a mishmash of differing concepts.
What looks like a playing card is placed above his temple. When the young man asks him where the ‘Imagin’ went, Bruce can’t form the words. The man and woman look at each other. He can see from their expressions that it’s no use. Bruce slumps over, unconscious.
“Henshin.â€
-
Ryoutaro has never gone so far back in time. He leaps out of DenLiner onto a dark roof, scanning for any kind of activity. He sees a flash, hears a crack he knows only from the television. The gun.
They’re dead by the time he lands in the alley. The little boy stares at the killer, not moving when Den-O lands behind him. The sand erupts from the boy’s tiny body, and he collapses at the feet of the Imagin.
The Imagin isn’t difficult in either form, despite the wings and sharper than they should be ears, and Ryoutaro’s mind never leaves the little boy. After the explosion he guides Urataros’s hovercraft back to the alley. He removes the belt as he gets closer. The blood has dried and congealed, encrusted the scattered pearls to the ground. The boy is still unconscious. Ryoutaro reaches out to him, to shake him awake.
Hana grabs his shoulder before he can touch the boy, fingers digging in. “No, Ryoutaro.â€
“We have to…†Ryoutaro’s voice is cracking.
Hana yanks him up by his collar, and her hand hangs in the air next to Ryoutaro’s head. They stare at each other in the empty space. When police sirens draw close, Hana yanks him through a door and onto DenLiner.
-
When Bruce comes to, the gun is gone. The pile has vanished from his other bed. Replacing it is a small note scrawled in hasty Japanese.
“I’m sorry.â€
The writing is no hand he recognizes. Bruce does not crumple it in his fist.
-
Ryoutaro watches the curtains close from a roof across the way. He does not know if the man sees him standing there, but he hopes so. Hana stands next to him, watching his expression.
Den-O is not supposed to fail.
But he has.
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