You know what? It's all... your... fault. No, there's not going to be a second chance with this. No amount of money or charm or double talk is going to bring you back around to peachy-keen o. It just ain't gonna happen, pard. You blew it. Those three words had haunted Tim Drake night and day for quite some time now. Did he try to put them out of his head? Hell yes, he did! But that didn't work -- when they came back, they were even stronger. The guilt was worse. And life sucked all the more. As much as it could for a super-rich genius watching the whole world as he knew it changing for the better, that is. Tim stood outside of the Gotham Mermacia, looking at the stars. What did he hope to see up there? Answers, maybe? That would be ideal, at the moment. But no -- Tim's gut, his reliable gut, told him Shannon was out of his life for now. And no, he wasn't going to be some kind of hothead and chase after her. He could, you know. He could utilize a fraction of his resources and intelligence and track her down wherever she was, demand to know what her situation was, what had happened, how she had lost the baby. But he wasn't going to go and do something like that. Part of Tim felt relief. Part felt more guilt. And part felt responsibilities to something more than any family. That part was probably just there to counteract the guilt. Tim sighed and looked at his watch. Almost time to go on. "I could really use a drink," he sighed, as he ran his hand through his hair and turned to go indoors. **** The DCFutures FanFiction Group recognizes that Batman and all related characters are property of DC Comics. These stories are written for no profit, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DCU. The stories and concepts presented herein, however, are property of the author. So there. **** BATMAN: DCF #33 **** Written and Directed by Erik Burnham darvey@rocketmail.com **** BATMAN created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger BATMAN: DCF created by Erik Burnham **** "Happy New Year" **** Jon Isaacs was not particularly comfortable this evening. He didn't like wearing a tux, the weather was bothering his leg so he'd had to bring his cane out of retirement, and -- of course -- there was the natural out-of-place feeling Jon had always felt when he found himself in a place like this without the cover of duty. It was interesting. From his seat, Isaacs saw the long lost Blues -- the uniformed officers of the GCPD -- file in, looking similarly disconcerted with the setting, to prepare for the twelve chimes that rang in 2113. After all, no one was going to say no to an engraved invitation from Tim Drake. But the question that John's inquisitive mind wanted answered was... why did Drake care? The host was due to give the masses a speech here before the clock ticked twelve. That should clear something up. It had better, anyway. **** Liam Concord looked at his watch again. Drake, Liam thought, you disappoint me. I was expecting something more from you on such an occasion! And what do I see? Liam's thought process stopped as he spied several women wearing dresses that could only be described as devastatingly sexy... if one were in the mood to make an understatement, that is. However Liam's mind, both sharp and youthful, returned quickly to its original track. He saw officers of the law. He knew some of them and, guessed at the others. Guilty by association and body language -- they weren't comfortable here. A smile crossed the lips of Liam Concord, as a new thought formed. What goes on here, Drake? Something interesting after all, I hope? **** The lights of the Gotham Mermacia sparkled in the eyes of a select group of men spread out around it, watching it intently. Tonight, they would strike. Graham, for one, was ecstatic. In fact, he could hardly suppress a shiver of ecstasy as he clutched the coin in his pocket. "Tim Drake, you will regret ever crossing us. We will have our revenge." "Now, boss?" A masked man near Graham spoke up. "No," Graham replied, shooting his masked inquisitor with a lethal energy dart. Graham heard the startled gasps of other members of his organization. He shushed them, as a kindergarten teacher would a group of disobedient students. "But soon," Graham promised, his eyes never leaving the Mermacia. **** "May I have your attention, please!" Tim's voice rang throughout the dining room, thanks to the enhancement of the state-of- the-art sound system. The echo sounded familiar, homey. It put Tim at a partial ease, not that he wasn't doing a good job pretending. "Ladies and gentlemen, do you know who you are?" Tim paused, allowing for a murmur in the audience that sounded like a giant 'what is he talking about?', if not a collective sigh. "You are Gotham City. You are what stands between the innocents and the tides of evil. You are the heroes that made us the great society we were, and could be again." No murmur this time. They were paying attention, if for no other reason than they were being polite. And the food wasn't served until Drake shut up, so they may as well be silent and speed the boy on his way. "The Batman..." Tim made brief eye contact with Commissioner Isaacs, "Is not the shield that this city needs. He is but one man -- and not half the man that you are, sir. Or you. Or you, ma'am, to bend a gender reference. He wears a mask and he uses advantages not widely available. That makes you heroes, ladies and gentlemen. Heroes." Silence, still. "As many of you know, the Justice League has been... downsized as of late. The people of Gotham need you now more than ever to defend them against that which they cannot defend themselves. Need. Not want, but need." Tim paused to take a breath, and build the drama. Hopefully, anyway. "But you are on a strike. A strike that has crippled our citizens with the fear of helplessness, a strike that has made the statement you intended. Gotham does not give you the respect you are due. That can, no, that will change. Commissioner Isaacs? Would you join me, please?" Jon Isaacs cursed to himself as he rose to stunted applause from one handful of people that didn't know what else to do under the circumstances and another that just wanted the buffet to start. "Commissioner," Tim started when Isaacs had finally hobbled his way to the front of the room. "I understand the men and women of the Gotham Police Department -- the Blues, the beat cops -- feel as though they are being treated unfairly. They have demands that they want met, but one thing or another keeps them from getting what they want, so..." Drake allowed for drama once more, reaching into his jacket pocket. "...I hereby present you with this -- in front of all your officers." Isaacs looked at the slip of paper. "It's blank." Drake's face squinted as he took a glance, and then returned to normal. "Turn it over, sir." Isaacs did, and his eyes widened somewhat. "The commissioner here is looking at a number, ladies and gentlemen. The number is a sum of money I have recently donated to the GCPD -- under the commissioner's nose, here -- for new equipment, a few more recruits, and a... small raise for all of you." The applause was now deafening. "Does this mean the strike is over?" Drake asked, a boyish grin on his face. The crowd rose to its feet. Cheering and whistling could be heard. "I guess so. Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the New Year, and have some fun here, will you?" The cheering got even louder... loud enough for Tim to momentarily forget those three little words. **** "Drake, sometimes, you surprise even me." The smooth tones of Liam Concord slid through the air with the effortlessness of a shark through water. Not to say that Liam was a shark, of course. Nothing could be further from the truth... he merely employed a few. But who didn't, in this day and age? "Glad to hear it, Liam. Ol' buddy, ol' pal. I do so love to surprise you, y'know." "My question, though... is why invite me to this little soiree? I've noticed no one else in our particular... circle is here tonight. You probably could have stolen the show as the sole fat cat here, without me present." "Hey, I did steal the show. I'm sure you would've come up with the same idea sooner or later," Tim smiled. "I just wanted you to witness me beating you to the punch for once, instead of finding out about it after the fact, like you usually do." "Are you implying that you're superior to me in some way, Drake?" "Implying? Implying. No, Liam, I'd never imply such a thing." Tim gave him a smirk and a nod. "Have some champagne, pal. Loosen up. It's New Year's Eve, after all." **** If there was anything resembling a conscious thought left in her head, she would have taken note of the fact that she could see through the darkness of the night as easily as she could in broad daylight. Her hearing was several times more acute. She could smell... things. People, mostly... nervous, lustful, excited. Sometimes a combination of all three. She couldn't put any kind of value on these emotions, however, because she experienced them only in the most distant of fashions. ...Her world was ruled not by emotion or feeling, but rather by the cold metal around her neck, the unnatural thing she had learned -- rather painfully -- not to claw at. A collar. A collar placed on her by the mad Doctor Tippitt, a scientist in the employ of one Angel Tuscotti. [Which, as we all know, is REALLY the nutcase called Clayface! -- E] Together they had devised a scheme and created her and... and... Images flashed in the mind of the woman crouched on the rooftop of the Gotham Mermacia. ...Images of other lives and loves. Images of being completely human. Images of... pain. Pain. Pain rushed through the body of the half-human woman, reinstating the purpose that Tippitt had decreed her own: search out the Batman and kill him. To kill the Batman, first find the commissioner of police and kill him. Whether or not killing was the desire of this woman, this Cat- woman, well, that was of no concern. The collar commanded, thus it would be done. She could smell the commissioner already... **** Okay, Tim ol' boy. You did it. You saved the day in a suit instead of a cape. Whoop-de-do. And you spent a good chunk of change on this good deed of yours to boot. Will it make a difference, though? In the grand scheme of things, will this matter at all? And when did I get so damned philosophical... and... and depressing? "Great question." Tim whirled instinctively to look into the face of a man he had met once before, oddly enough when he was feeling sorry for himself... "...In Italy, that's right. Laufeyson, at your service." This was getting creepy. "I'm sure it is," the man -- now a blonde instead of a brunette, with the pinkish tan of someone that doesn't see the sun too often. "But that's beside the point. Good party, Tim... I've been having a blast." "What are you doing here?" Tim asked. Aloud, this time. "Just dropping by to say hello, actually. And to complain." "Really." "Yes, really. Justice is no longer an issue, I've noticed. You and your playmates have taken care of that little detail." "Wasn't me," Tim noted. "No, I suppose not. But you were in the general vicinity. Now then; our little buddy is out of the way, but I still don't have that which I seek." "Did you try mail order?" "Don't get cute with me, Drake." Laufeyson's kind eyes transformed into storms of anger. "I will have my prize, and you will help me get it." "Listen, pal. I don't know what it is that you want, I don't care what it is you want, and given those two little details, I have absolutely no clue how to help you get it, okay? Enjoy your evening." Tim gave Laufeyson a nod and tried to walk past. A strong hand kept him there. "Then you will learn, little man." "Is that a threat?" Tim asked facetiously. He heard so many different kinds of threats in and out of costume it didn't take much to decipher one. Especially not when it was THIS OBVIOUS. "Take it for what you will. But trust me, you will learn; you will search, and you will find. And I will be there when you do." Laufeyson smiled and vanished into thin air. Damn, but that had to come in handy... **** Graham looked to the giant clock in the distance; the time was approaching. The time for action. The time for vengeance. "Move in," Graham said into a palm-sized transmitter. **** Liam Concord was just about ready to leave the party when he heard a sound. It wasn't the most audible of noises, but the intense focus he had came to bear; Liam was in tune with his surroundings... and he head a scratching. From above. A quick glance to the skylight revealed the silhouette of someone that looked very much like they did not belong. Well, Liam thought, it looks as though I'll get a chance to strut after all. And then he typed a series of numbers into his watch, bringing his newly restored hovercar to a nearby window. There were just a few things he needed... **** She was readying herself to pounce when she heard a strange noise behind her. A glance revealed a man... a strange man with an oddly shaped face, and very large eyes. He was dressed in many dark colors, but she could see him. "Alright then, darling. What have we... good lord." Liam Concord could not believe what he saw before him through the night vision lenses in his mask. Initially, it seemed to be someone in a terrible costume; but no -- no, now he could see it was much more. It was a woman dressed in a navy blue leotard, nothing more. The rest of her body was covered in a course, black fur. Her fingers and toes ended in sharp, cat-like claws... and her face, well, that too resembled a feline; short compact nose, slanted eyes with slit pupils, whiskers, and sharply pointed ears. "What has Dr. Moreau been up to these days..." Liam couldn't help but mutter. A growl was his only response. "Okay then, darling... let's dance." **** Tim was talking to someone. Who was it? Ah, it didn't matter, they were thanking him or something along those lines for all that he'd done tonight for the city of Gotham and... was it the mayor? Yeah, yeah it was the mayor. Was the mayor even invited? "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd advise you not move." Tim looked to the door and windows... and -- okay -- all possible exits were covered by yahoos in full facemasks, split down the middle; colored black on the right and white on the left. Their clothing was similarly schizophrenic. The reference was made immediately to a simpler time, almost a year ago... before men of steel and deaths of heroes and pregnancies and cloning and all of those assorted other headaches. Before Tim knew just how deeply his need to be the Batman was. These costumes he saw were from the beginning... from his first attempt at heroism. From... the Kangaroo Court. **** Graham surveyed the room and glanced at his watch -- right on schedule, two minutes to midnight. Perfect. Drake's conceited visage cut through the crowd, frantically looking for a way to escape his destiny. Graham could sense his fear. He would die. **** Okay, now who is this? Tim wondered as he looked at Graham. The face is a little bit different, but... hmm. Okay, think. Think. Think back, add Kangaroo Court to one year ago, a shadowy night in the Drake family home that you haven't lived in for months and... ...Bingo. It was the mook who'd tried to kidnap him. The guy he'd had to bust a vase on. The guy who was in jail, at last look. The guy who was probably out on bail by now. Tee-riffic. Tim's mind raced with possibilities. How could he get out of this room and get to a Bat costume? How. How. HOW? While he was thinking, Tim reached into his pocket and pressed a button on a small device. Miles away, the Batmobile hummed to life. **** "Tim Drake, you are the epitome of all that is evil on this world. You're... single-minded. Static. Wrong." Graham walked towards his target, firmly gripping a laser pistol in his left hand. One cop tried to disarm him. That man was immediately shot by one of the masked freaks that surrounded the crowd. Everyone else gasped and parted before Graham as the Red Sea had before Moses. "Fairness is our creed though, Drake. You still have a chance." Graham produced a coin from his pocket. One side was completely disfigured with scratches. Graham rolled the coin between his fingers; allowing Tim to see the opposite side; more scarred than the first. "Right," Tim muttered as Graham flipped his coin into the air. **** Thank God for the makers of Kevsteel, Liam thought as the cat-woman clawed at his suit, ripping through cloth but stopping just short of flesh. "Come on, now! We should kiss and make up..." Liam tried, talking to keep his nerve up in the face of the rampaging monster before him. Her response was a growl Liam had last heard on the Discovery Channel. It chilled him to the bone. The beast angled him, moving too quickly for Liam to get hold of one of his pistols -- he was more concerned with defense than offense at the moment, and was too occupied to notice just how much that went against the grain. Liam never noticed that he was backing ever closer to the skylight... **** "Are you prepared to meet your fate, Mr. Drake?" Graham asked, as if there was any question as to what that fate would be. "You tell me," Tim shot back, kicking himself at the use of such a lame quip. "Very we--" CRASH! All eyes were drawn to the ceiling as two silhouettes raced to the penthouse floor. "It's the Sandman!" Someone hollered. Terrific, Tim thought. But who was the other? A low, guttural roar came from the woman on top of the Sandman -- she looked almost like a cat, a monster from the cinema. Someone screamed when they realized it wasn't a costume. "Someone kill the gatecrashers!" Graham yelled. Confusion ensued as the cat-woman leapt at Graham, his threatening tone offensive to her. Some people decided to run -- and risk their lives when they were being paid to do so, and could fight back. The Sandman was loading his pistol with a concussion bomb. And Tim Drake... ...Was nowhere in sight. **** TO BE CONTINUED! **** NEXT ISSUE: Catwoman! Batman! Sandman! AND MORE! **** GOING BATTY **** Letters! Here we go! (Keep 'em coming!) From: MSR77@aol.com Date: Sun, 25 Apr 1999 15:09:10 EDT Subject: Re: [dcfutures] BATMAN: DCF #32 To: darvey@rocketmail.com Great issue there! I especially loved seeing the interaction between Tim and Clark, but one thing, when is Clark going to have a hero name? Also, Tuesday was a very devious and intelligent villainess and definitely one of my favorites. The epilogue was also interesting and I wonder how the person in the cell will meet-up with Batman and in what way. Keep up the good work! Mike ****Thank you, Mike! I'm glad you enjoyed Tuesday -- and I'm also pleased I was finally able to cobble together a decent and interesting villain! Keep reading (and I hope you enjoyed the return of the Kangaroo Court!**** Well, that's it for letters (eeyikes.) At least, that's all I found in my mailbox. I'm sorry about the major delay in Bat issues; I had #33-#34 written -- and then got a big hard drive crash! I'm also mid-move (long story) so it's been tough finishing this one! Don't worry, Batman will be regular again! JUST KEEP READING! And let me know what you think of this one, hey? (; -Erik VISIT GOTHAM: http://www.geocities.com/area51/chamber/9727/gotham.html VISIT THE DCF DISCUSSION BOARD: http://disc.server.com/discussion.cgi?id=6074