"Okay, before I answer that question, I'd like some confirmation; you're aware that Wildcat is actually..." I ask leadingly, waiting for Batman to respond.
"Former heavyweight boxer Ted Grant, current proprietor of Grant's Gym, where you have been training for several weeks, yes."
"Hold on, have you been following me around?!" Not that I'd be at all surprised if he had, I just didn't think I was anywhere on the Bats radar yet.
There's a slight shake of his head "No, before today I have not seen you in person. However, Ted Grant is one of several former masked crimefighters who I am in contact with for various reasons, and one of the topics he's brought up to me recently is "this new wizard who showed up asking to be taught how to punch better" I can almost hear the quotation marks in that sentence "He also informed me that his new student tracked him down after figuring out he had once been active as Wildcat. Combined with events of the previous few days makes it likely that this individual is you."
Well, can't argue with that. "You got me on that one. Yeah, I used my scrying magic to track him down. My abilities are powerful, but they're not infallible, and I wanted to have some backup training in case I ran into trouble I couldn't just magic my way out of. I figured the punching guy from the Justice Society who could fight alongside the original Green Lantern and The Flash might know a thing or two. Turns out he did!"
"Have you used this ability to uncover the identities of any other crimefighters?"
"A few, why? Oh, oh, wait, is this leading up to asking me if I know YOUR identity?" There's no response, though I swear the lenses on the mask narrow ever so slightly. "Don't worry, I only ever used it on superheroes I knew to be retired, I don't use it on active heroes. It's professional courtesy, you know? I figure if someone actually got the balls to clean up this shithole of a city, they deserve their privacy."
Of course I know his identity, almost literally everyone from my own reality knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman, western pop culture tends to get around quite a bit, but I can honestly tell him I did not use magic to find that out.
He doesn't seem entirerly satisfied though "An ability like that could be a very dangerous security threat..."
"I get that logic, but you can't really do anything about it, can you?" I shrug "I have the ability to use it, it doesn't matter if you like it or not. You'll pretty much just have to take my word that I'm using it responsibly."
There's a slight tension in his jaw, and I get the feeling that Batman doesn't often have problems he can't fix with either money or punching, so this must be a frustrating situation for him.
"Look, if it helps to convince you I'm on your side, how about a free sample?" I reach down and open the second drawer of my desk, revealing a row of white plastic bottles. I pick one up, and place it on the top of the desk in front of him. He stares down at it, not moving.
"What is this?"
"Healing potion. Remember the guy I healed at Dr. Thompkins clinic?" I tap the top of the bottle with one finger "This is what I used on him. Basic healing potion, heals cuts, bruises, scarring, broken bones, organ damage, pretty much everything except death. If you've had a rough night out crime fighting, just drink this, and you'll be right as rain!" I pause "Uh, unless you've lost a leg or a hand or something. It'll stop the bleeding, but it can't regrow lost limbs. First one's free, only here at Randall Flagg's!"
He doesn't move for a few moments, and just when I think he's about to just turn around and leave, he reaches out and picks up the bottle, holding it up and studying it like he's trying to see through the white plastic. "According to Leslie Thompkins, you were able to heal a patient going into cardiac arrest. What did this do, exactly?"
I shrug "Beats me, you'd have to ask Dr. Thompkins about the details, I don't even know what was wrong with him. It's a magic potion, dude, it doesn't require me to know a damn thing about medicine, just that I know how to brew it properly."
"You are aware there's severe legal consequences for selling medical supplies without a license."
"Oh, shit, really?!" I say, smacking the right side of my face in mock-surprise "Better shut down all those New Age shops that sell, like, fake healing crystals and boner pills made from ground up rhino dicks then! Better be careful though, I hear the tanned white guy pretending to be native american at the counter can put up a nasty fight with his greying ponytail!" I slam the drawer shut and sit back down in my chair, whirling it around to face him "Look man, I've told you what I know, and I got shit to do tomorrow, so if there wasn't anything else, can you please go? Unless you want me to turn around first so you can make a sneaky exit?"
Batman doesn't bother to respond, instead slipping the bottle into his belt before striding over to the open window. With one foot on the windowsill, he turns back, giving me one last glare. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Flagg." And with that, he's gone. I peer outside, just in time to see a corner of his cape disappear over the edge of the building across the alley.
Well. Guess we can file this first meeting under "bit of a mixed bag", but at least we didn't end up fighting eachother, since that's usually how these things go in the comic books...
...
The Narrows, Gotham City, July 6th, 1987
Arnold Sutton wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, exactly. Not closure, he'd spent far too many years on the street to believe such a thing was even possible, at least not for people like him. Some sense of satisfaction, maybe? A feeling of accomplishment, like he'd finally managed to gain some small measure of justice? He'd even been prepared for disappointment, knowing it was the most likely outcome of all this.
Instead, all he felt was a vague sense of anti-climax. Walter was still dead, nothing Arnold had done, and could ever do, would change that, and he'd known that going in. There was a grave at least, a place he could go to mourn his friend, which was more than he'd been expecting if he was honest with himself, but the bastard who'd put Walter in the ground had gotten away. The kidnappings had stopped, but it wasn't over. Not really.
Arnold leaned back against the bridge pillar, watching as the sun began to rise over the city skyline across the Gotham river. Behind him, the homeless camp was slowly beginning to stir from sleep. The sound of a rattling shopping cart coming along the sidewalk just outside of the camp meant that Blind Ivan and Freddie M were returning from their nightly scavenging. He heard Old One-Eye cough himself awake inside his tent, the rasping coughs and gasps sounding worse than usual. The old man probably didn't have much time left. Further down the riverside, Injun Joe was washing his face in the water, though Arnold didn't know why he bothered. You didn't go to the Gotham River if you wanted to be clean, that was for damn sure. You'd be more likely to pick up a new and interesting infection from all the crap that floated around in the water.
So many people had died, and aside from this small piece of Gotham squalor, no one would even know, or care if they did. But what else was new?
There was a noise behind him, and Arnold looked back in time to see the kid he and Flagg had picked up struggle out from his sleeping bag. The boy had stuck close to him ever since they pulled him and the other survivors out from that horrible laboratory, and it had taken most of the evening to even get a name out of him; Otis. Either he didn't know his last name, or more likely, didn't want to tell it to anyone to avoid having to go back where he came from. You saw kids on the street sometimes, sometimes with a parent, usually on their own. Orphans, runaways, whatever the reason, they usually stuck to the streets because either they had nothing to go back to, or being homeless was the better option. Arnold wasn't crazy about having another mouth to feed, but he was hardly going to tell the kid to get lost.
Otis had finally managed to untangle himself from his sleeping bag and began to pull his shirt on. They'd managed to scrounge up some clothes for him, but even kid-sized clothes hung like bags on the boy's scrawny frame. Arnold doubted he'd gotten much to eat during his time as Doctor Death's prisoner, and he wasn't likely to fatten up out here. Dressed, he rifled through his backpack, and came up with a granola bar he'd found somewhere, quickly tearing off the wrapper and nearly inhaling most of the food, aside from a small chunk, which he poured out into his hand.
And then, something strange happened.
Otis made a whistling sound, not quite a note, more like what you hear from a boiling kettle, and from beneath a pile of rags next to last night's barrel fire, a brown rat appeared. Not that Arnold was in any way unused to seeing rats around the camp, but they sure as hell didn't act like this one. The animal scampered across the ground, right up to Otis, scrambling up the boy's back, and onto his shoulder. Otis offered the rat the granola chunk, and it happily took it, devouring the morsel in seconds. Rather than fleeing with it's meal, the rat remained, allowing Otis to stroke it's head with one finger.
Arnold blinked. Well. That was something new.
....
From The Personal Notes Of Professor Hugo Strange
DATE: July 7th, 1987
It is with an unfortunate sense of sentimentality that I am forced to put an end to my activities as Doctor Death. The scrutiny caused by the unexpected exposure of my other half's operation beneath Gotham City has made it unfeasible to continue my research under the same identity. Predictably, the media is awash with lurid tales of death and mutilation happening right beneath the feet of civilized society, the voyeuristic masses reveling in dramatic accounts of Doctor Death's depravity, even as they hypocritically express their false horror at his actions. Still, it was to be expected, this orgy of hypocrisy, the combination of revulsion and fascination. After all, does Jack The Ripper not still fascinate the common man, despite the relative mundanity of his deeds? Five deaths, most of which only tenuously connected to one man, when many murderers have dozens, even hundreds, of deaths to their name? All because of an added element of mystery.
I suppose it's flattering in a way, to be seen as Gotham's own Jack The Ripper, even if their plebian minds can not hope to comprehend the true reasons behind my actions. Rather than to fulfill some bizarre sexual urge, or to live out some repressed childhood trauma, every cut, every drop of blood, every death, was to serve the purpose of science. The things my research has uncovered is only the beginning of my true plans, and I doubt that Gotham will ever know the connection between the horror they have now witnessed, and what is yet to befall them. Still, I cannot help but feel a certain sense of loss now that I am forced to discard the identity of Doctor Death. There was a sense of freedom, a liberation from the chains of society, to assume the face of another, an individual who's evil and depravity was worn on the outside rather than supressed beneath the banality of morality. To be a monster, it was freedom! As a man of science, such childish revelry should be beneath me, but alas, I am still regrettably human, with all the foibles such a state entails...
Regardless, the mantle of Doctor Death has served it's purpose, and I, Professor Hugo Strange, will once again set forth towards my true goal. I suppose I should regret the loss of Jabah, but the creature was little more than a prototype, a proof of concept if you will, and he will soon be replaced. The research I gained from his creation, and the tests I performed on the subjects have given me all I need to finally build my army. And yet, even now, at the cusp of success, my thoughts are drawn towards the individuals who exposed my actions as Doctor Death. This... Randall Flagg, and his compatriot. Two men who exhibited exceptional abilities, men who's skin would not cut, who's bones would not break. Even poor departed Jabah could not stand against them. Most intriguing. Further study may be needed... but in the end, they will not stand in my way. No one will.
Soon, all of Gotham City will tremble at the coming of my army. My Monster Men...