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Batman: Eternal: Episode One - Gotham Gala

by Mockingchu

Mockingchu Originally, I was going to make a Batman comic on here. But then I realized how bad my drawing skills are. So here's your written series! I've worked hard on coming up with a crazy story that isn't afraid to change the world of Batman that you know and love. I hope you enjoy.
Bruce stepped out of his red Lamborghini, and waved to the small crowd gathered around his car. He spotted a few familiar faces. Vicki Vale, a reporter for the Gotham Gazette. Tony Mathin, a reporter for GTV6. And was that...?
"Brucey!" a tall man with long, glossy black hair and a stubble beard called in an Australian accent.
"Oz?" Bruce asked.
"So you still remember me, eh?" the man chuckled, giving Bruce a punch on his arm. "Wow. There's a lot of muscle under that sleeve mate. Been working out?"
"Something like that," Bruce said. This man was Oswald Cobblepot. His childhood friend. They had been so close until eight years ago, when Oswald left for Australia on his twenty-first birthday in order to "find himself".
"So how you been mate?" Oswald asked, leading Bruce towards a large, white mansion with bronze pillars on the front steps.
"I've been doing fine. How about you Oz?"
"Oh you know me. Always up to something mischievous," Oswald laughed.
"What kind of mischievous?" Bruce grinned, casting a look at a tall blonde woman leaning against a pillar.
"You dirty minded man," Oswald smiled, shaking his head, "I haven't done anything as fun as that in ages. Mischief now is me screwing people out of there money."
"What?" Bruce asked, shocked.
"Well yeah," Oswald nodded, "I'm a stock broker."
Bruce smiled, and shoved Oswald.
"So how did you get invited to this 'Gotham Elite Gala'?" Bruce asked, "You've been away for eight years!"
"Glad someone noticed," Oswald said. "I got invited because my mum let Falcone know I was coming back. They're pretty close."
"Esther Cobblepot is close to Carmine Falcone? I never would have guessed," Bruce said.
"Most people wouldn't," Oswald admitted. They had made it to the open double doors.
"Ready?"
"Ready," Oswald nodded. They walked in.
The air was filled with the noise of low chatter, and glasses clinking. Staircases ran up the walls on either side of Bruce. In front of him, on the floor above, a short, bald man, with thick creases in his forehead, stood wearing a stark white suit with a red carnation. Carmine Falcone. His hawk-like gaze immediately found Bruce. His lips curled into a distorted smile.
"Bruce Wayne!" Carmine Falcone called out in a thunderous voice. The room silenced, and turned to see Bruce.
Bruce was easy on the eyes, so it was no wonder that the guests' eyes lingered on him. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a chiseled face and combed back black hair.
"Hello Falcone," Bruce said, at a low volume. But the room was so completely silent that Carmine could understand him. They stood there, staring at each other for a few more seconds before the guests resumed their conversations. Bruce turned to find that Oswald had already left his side. So, Bruce walked up the left staircase, and approached Carmine Falcone.
"So the recluse came out for my party," Carmine said, "What an honor."
"I figured I couldn't miss a party full of stuck up elitists," Bruce delivered in a deadpan tone.
"Ah, I see," Carmine said, his smile disappearing, "Why don't we head upstairs for a private chat?"
Bruce said nothing. Carmine grunted, and started walking towards a singular staircase that lead to the third floor. He motioned for Bruce to follow. Bruce reluctantly walked after Falcone.
At the top of the stairs, there was a solid oak door. Carmine fished a key out of his breast pocket, and unlocked the door. He then walked in the large, dome-like room. There was a round, maple table in the middle, with shelves full of books and pictures along the walls. The ceiling was made of glass, so Bruce could see the clouded night sky. No stars out tonight.
"Have a seat Wayne," Carmine instructed. Bruce took the seat nearest the door, and Carmine sat across from him. Two guards stood behind Bruce, and two stood behind Carmine. Carmine placed his folded hands onto the table. Bruce knew what was coming.
"No," Bruce said.
"You haven't even heard what I'm going to say," Carmine protested.
"No anyways," Bruce said, standing up.
"Sit. Down."
The two guards placed a hand on Bruce's shoulders, and shoved him back into the seat.
"That's better," Carmine smiled, "Now listen to me. 'Cause I have got a little prop-o-sition. We both know that you are a powerful man Wayne. So am I. And we both know another powerful man. I assume you know who I'm talking about."
"Mayor Hill," Bruce said.
"I knew you were a smart guy," Carmine smiled, facetiously, "Now, you, me, and Hill, we could-"
"I. Said. No."
"Wayne, you know what kind of, ahem, business I run. And you know that people like that no good Gordon down at the precinct are throwing a wrench into my operations. Gordon likes you. Likes how you operate. It's hard to get that man to like you. Hell, he doesn't even like Hill. Which is why I need your help. Get that goody-two-shoes son-of-a-bitch off my back, and you'll have more money than you know what to do with."
"I already do," Bruce said.
"Bruce, I need your help with this. Just a favor. I'll make sure your name never comes up if this ever gets out."
Suddenly, the WayneWatch on Bruce's wrist illuminated. A message from Alfred Pennyworth.
-THERE'S A BAT IN THE HOUSE
"I have to leave," Bruce said, standing up quickly. The guards again placed a hand on his shoulders, but he shook them off. He stormed out of the room, and down the stairs.
"You have a made a powerful enemy, Wayne!" Carmine called after him. But Bruce didn't pay any attention. He quickly made his way over to his car, and slid in. He drove away from the mansion.
"Thomas. Martha. Kane. Finger," Bruce said.
Suddenly, the space between seats lit up.
"Sorry to interrupt the party, Master Bruce," a British voice said, coming from the screen between chairs.
"I was glad to get out of there," Bruce admitted. He then touched the middle of the steering wheel with three fingers, and twisted. The middle of the wheel slid out, revealing a small black screen. Bruce placed his thumb on the screen. Then, the screen slid back into the wheel, a black one-way covering slid over the windows, and the car began to morph. A holographic webbing coated the car, and shimmered, making the car appear black. Blue spikes jutted up above and around the wheel. Two turrets slid out from just in front of the wheel, primed and ready to fire. Two triggers rose from the sides of Bruce's seat.
"So what's the situation?" Bruce asked.
"There's been a break in at the Evidence Warehouse," Alfred said, "The police haven't received the alert yet.
"Oh really? Interesting. There's no need to alert them. I can deal with petty thugs," Bruce mused. He hit a button on the screen next to him that was the shape of the bat symbol. His seat softened, allowing him to almost sink into it. Elastic spread its way over his body, and connected in the back. Gloves dropped from the ceiling, along with a black cowl. He put these on, and made his way over to the Evidence Warehouse.

"You think he's gonna come?" a small man in a blank white mask asked timidly.
"Think who's gonna come?" a taller man in the same mask asked in a deeper, gruffer voice.
"You know who he's talking about," a third person, a woman, in an identical mask, said in an annoyed voice.
The three of them were walking down a dimly lit aisle between shelves piled with boxes of evidence. They each held an automatic rifle that had been spray painted white.
"The bat?" the gruff man asked, "A myth."
"Are you sure?" the timid man quivered.
"Positive," the gruff man nodded. "Alright, listen up. Sherri, Timmy, you two guard the doors. I'll get the evidence. Got it?"
Sherri and Timmy, the girl and timid one, nodded, and turned to face the door that they had barred shut. The gruff man continued walking.
"So what do you think?" Timmy asked, "About the bat? Real? Or a myth?"
"Doesn't matter. I made sure no one would receive the alert. This building is completely off the radar for the next seventeen minutes."
"Oh, oka-" Timmy began.
Suddenly, a scream filled the warehouse. The scream was quickly followed by a yelp from Timmy.
"Gavin?" Sherri called out. No response.
Timmy gulped, and stood back to back with Sherri. Suddenly, he felt something dragging against his back. He whipped around. Sherri was gone. But he heard her. She was yelling. From above. Timmy dared to look up. She was stuck to the ceiling by a cable.
Timmy bolted. He ran from the door, which was still shut. Whoever was here had gotten in another way. But Timmy already knew who it was. He had to get out. He passed Gavin's unconscious body. A file was sticking out from under his red, plaid shirt. Timmy snatched it, and continued running. Whatever was in this file, the boss wanted it. Bad. And when the boss was angry... Well, sometimes Timmy was more afraid of the boss than he was of Batman.
Timmy continued running. Finally, he saw where the Batman had come in from. A window was open. Timmy jumped through, smashing through the glass. The shards tore up his skin, but he was so full of adrenaline that he didn't feel a thing. He bolted down an alley. At the end of the alley, he risked a look over his shoulder. He had done it. He had escaped. He turned back around, relieved. Then he nearly fainted.
The Batman was directly in front of him. He had on a skin tight gray suit, showing off his six pack abs, and bulging arms and legs. His cowl was pitch black, with glowing white eyes and tall ears. His gloves almost reached his elbows, and had three black spikes running along the outside.
"I believe that file belongs to the Gotham Police," Batman said in a low, growling, almost mechanical voice.
"Wha-! Y-You can't have it!" Timmy shrieked. In that moment, he made a radical decision. Sure, the boss wanted the file, but the boss sure wouldn't want the Batman having it. So he pulled out his cigarette lighter, and quickly ran the flame over the whole file. Then he sprinted away from the Batman.
Batman yanked out his rectangular grapple gun that had blue, glowing lighting running through it, and fired a cord at Timmy's back. It yanked him over to Batman. But the file had already almost disintegrated.
"What was in the file?" Batman growled, glaring into Timmy's eyes. Timmy was wailing, trying to tear the cord out of his back.
"WHAT WAS IN THE FILE?" Batman roared again. He took the cord, and twisted it, making Timmy scream louder.
"No! The boss will kill me if I tell!" Timmy cried.
"You think I won't?" Batman asked.
"Alright! Alright! Fine. I'll tell you," Timmy said between sobs. Batman yanked the cord out of his back, and Timmy whimpered. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words never came. What did come was a sniper bullet. It whizzed through the air, and shattered Timmy's skull. Batman turned, but saw no one.
"Penny-One, scan for heat signatures in my area!" Batman ordered.
"On it," Alfred, or Penny-One as he was called in the field, responded. "Three people. Two unmoving signatures in the warehouse. One crippled in front of you. What exactly happened, Batman?"
"Not entirely sure," Batman admitted, "Go ahead and call in the police. They can clean up this mess."
"Typically Batman. Always lets the police clean up after him," Penny-One sighed.
"I've got a gala to get back to."

Bruce stepped out of his Lamborghini, and approached Falcone's Mansion. The last few guests were trickling out, all of them drunk. Bruce saw one man passed out of the front steps. Oswald. He walked over to make sure he was alright. Well, alright other than the fact that he was going to have a nasty headache when he woke up. He saw that Oswald was holding his phone in his hand. The screen was on. There was a text from a person named "Leo".
-THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE
"The transaction?" Bruce asked out loud. To any normal person, a "transaction" would be typically for a stock broker. But after what had happened with Falcone, Bruce was wary of shady "transactions". He picked up the phone, and tried to unlock it. But he had no idea what Oswald's password was. Luckily, he had his Multi-Tool in his pocket. He took out the small cylinder, and scanned the phone's screen, searching for which places were most tapped. Hopefully this would reveal the passcode. Eventually, seventeen possible combinations came up. One caught his eye. 6-9-9-9. When corresponding with letters when dialing a number, the letters spelled "OZZY". So, Bruce typed 6-9-9-9, and the messages opened. He read the day's conversation between Leo and Oswald.
OSWALD: IT'S BEEN TWO WEEKS. WHERE'S MY MONEY?
LEO: SORRY P. I'LL GET YOU YOUR SHARE SOON ENOUGH.
P? Who was P? Maybe it was a typo. P and O were close on a keyboard.
OSWALD: SOON ENOUGH? SOON ENOUGH HAS PASSED. I NEED IT NOW.
LEO: FINE. I'LL HAVE IT TO YOU BY TONIGHT.
LEO: THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE.
This conversation sent up red flags all over in Bruce's mind. Something was going on. And Bruce was going to get to the bottom of it. He began to scroll up, but then felt a hand that was getting all too familiar. Bruce whipped around to see the guard.
"Time to leave orphan-boy," the guard grunted. Bruce shrugged his hand off, dropped the phone onto Oswald's chest, and walked over to his car.
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  1. Mockingchu
    Mockingchu
    New "episodes" will be posted every Friday. Or maybe every Wednesday and Friday if demand is high enough. Also, if you want to illustrate this series, contact me. I'd love it to be illustrated.
    Sep 10, 2017
    33v33_lover likes this.