patrolled the streets, too, outfitted and wearing their oxygen masks on the chance Scarecrow unleashed his toxins earlier than promised. They managed to extinguish the small fires that could be found on nearly every block, but had to leave the major blazes to burn themselves out. As with the police, there were too few of them to have any real effect.
* * *
Thomas and Martha Wayne had loved this city, and used their immeasurable wealth to help make it as great as it once had been. Believing in the fundamental good of mankind, they tried to rescue the city from the hell that was doing everything in its power to claim it. But in return for their charity, they were unceremoniously gunned down by a nobody with a gun.
Their son, Bruce Wayne, couldn’t embrace their larger, grander vision. He, too, cared deeply for the city, but he had a different approach. He wanted to eliminate all those other nobodies who carried guns. Long ago, as he stood in that alleyway, in a pool of his parents’ blood, he promised himself he would do everything in his power to prevent any other child from suffering as he had.
The mother and father had tried to attain an unattainable perfection. The son only hoped he could help keep the innocent alive.
As Batman sped through the madness, Gotham City was a city that was teetering on the brink—as it had been for more years than he could count. And as he hurried past the shouting crowds of frightened citizens, he feared Scarecrow had finally pushed it over the edge.
He tapped his comm and Oracle’s face appeared.
“Any progress with the fear toxin analysis?”
“I wish,”
Barbara replied.
“It’s going to take a little longer than expected. Come by the Clock Tower when you get a chance. I could use some fresh eyes on this.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon. But I can’t promise fresh eyes. It’s been a long night.” Cutting the connection, he took a long, deep breath and hit the gas pedal.
He’d sleep when he was dead.
9
When a cataclysmic earthquake had leveled much of Gotham City, the Clock Tower downtown was one of very few buildings to survive intact.
Its lower floors boasted stunning oversized suites only Gotham City’s elite could afford, while its much-desired penthouse, accessed only by private elevator, housed a luxurious living space, and much more. Hidden behind secret sliding panels lay Oracle’s headquarters—a multi-room citadel from which Barbara Gordon kept a watchful eye on the city, reporting to Batman all the varied problems that required his attention.
When Barbara chose the Clock Tower for her high-tech base of operations, Bruce Wayne’s construction company retrofitted the building to withstand far more than the publicly registered plans recorded, including the most damaging of natural disasters. It had proved to be a fortunate decision for her, as well as the tower’s other tenants.
After the quake, Wayne’s company used their success with the Clock Tower to bid for multiple city contracts to retrofit the rest of Gotham City’s skyscrapers. If all went well, more than seventy-eight per cent of the city’s towers would be refitted by the end of the decade. Thus far they were ahead of schedule, and under budget.
But no one could have predicted the current catastrophe.
Batman entered Oracle’s computer room, a vast digital complex equipped with technology that exceeded the state of the art. Barbara wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he stepped up to the multi-screen holographic display and began to key in data. The faster he got the answers he needed, the better off everyone would be.
“Excuse me.” Barbara’s voice came from behind him. He turned to see her rolling her wheelchair into the room. “Do I come into the Batcave and start messing with your stuff?”
“Your DNA hasn’t been processed for clearance,” he replied. “You wouldn’t get past the exterior cave without finding yourself hopelessly trapped behind bars.” Then he stepped out of
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