AZRAEL #28
ANGEL INSANE
PART II OF II
EXIT
SPECIAL THANKS TO
@azraelgirly
Jeanne-Paula Valley was forced to wake up from slipping in and out of consciousness by the bitter coldness of the unclean asylum floor, her messy blonde hair spilled in a fan out in front of her, streams of blood from being struck by a giant furry ape-man leaking from her mouth and staining her lips a deep shade of red, sparks of red and black and white emanating from the corners of her eyes, her vision going in and out of focus, even though she could only see the tiled dark green floor of the indoor prison yard and a bit of bangs in her face. To make things worse for her and exacerbate the situation, she didn’t even have her clothes, save her black underthings, for all of them had been stolen away from her and were currently the worn property of a certain white-skinned man with a green mullet, sharp fanged white teeth, dark green eyes, and red lips that perpetually curved into a sickly smile. The joker had been busy with prancing around in her Azrael outfit while she had been unconscious, and now that she was, in fact, awake, she was now able to hear him speaking as well.
“Well, well, well, what a fun evening this has turned out to be! And here I thought that I would have nothing to do tonight but sit around here eating our dead. But nobody was going to show up for the human sacrifice, anyway, so it’s assuredly much of an improvement.”
Turning over to the now-awakened blonde on the floor, he smiled his slasher grin at her and kept on talking.
“Well, now, anyway, whatever shall we do with our most unexpected guests? Kill them, murder them, slay them, or slaughter them? I always did particularly love the word slaughter. It’s laughter… But it’s with an S! How could you not love it? Ah, slaughter is so soignee, n’cest’ pas, everyone? Of course, I’m so soignee, myself, what with these fantabulous new drip and ice and all that fun stuff.”
“Killing them would be a waste.”, muttered the Ventriloquist while carelessly holding her gun.
“I mean, we could eat them.”, the Joker responded. “There’s nothing stopping us from eating them. Plus we’re all here because they falsely call insane murderers, lunatics, and criminals, right? So a bird and a bat with one stone, we get to down our meal, and further confirm our residency in this defenceless funhouse instead of a no-fun boring conventional jail, am I right, ladies?”
“I once knew a really vindictive cannibal.”, came the cry of Socko upon the Ventriloquist's hand. “Up and ate a guy he disagreed with. Ah, what a fine fellow, that Stirk man was. Wonder where he went to. Oh well.”
“But no, seriously, folks…”, Riddler began.
“We can very well use them for bargaining chips.”, finished Mister Freeze in his place. “These odd fellows right down here with us, this pathetic little vigilante and this even more pathetic little doctor… They can buy us our freedom.”
“It might very well work, Doctor Victor…”, replied the blonde woman in the white hat while she struck a cigarette against his armour to light it up. “By now those oppressive fascists they call the Gotham Police doubtless have this place surrounded. Now, I’m just a simple little mobstress, but surely even I could see that we stand much better odds of getting out and free if we have an edge.”
“Ough, it seems we have a disagreement amongst ourselves. Predictable, yes, but utterly disappointing, most especially to me. We are at loggerheads and I don’t have a gun to make you people listen to me. I mean, you would think that being Batman’s biggest opponent would give me SOME swing in here, but NOOO, all of you figurative clowns have to go and be all independent.”
Responsively to the Joker’s whining, Ventriloquist and Socko proceeded to step on over to the centre of the room and take the proverbial stage.
“I know.”, Socko said in the puppet’s trademarked exaggerated, cartoony voice, like an adult woman voicing a male character. “Now you can call us crazy — but not to my face —”
“I can call you a wacky-dacky, a really droll fellow, AND call you late for dinner.”, Joker grumbled.
“ANYWAY,”, Socko continued. “I have just the perfect little solution to solve the conflict problem. Why. Don’t. We…”
The sock-gloved hand pointed right to Two-Face.
“Toss a coin?”
Two-Face, who had been busy with pointing a pistol at the asylum doctor, snapped back to attention and made him turn his attention to one of a total of three blondes in the room.
As the man split in half turned his focus to the centre of the mob, Socko’s owner took over. “Anyone in this general vicinity think that that might be a good idea? Hmmmmmmm, Harvey…?”
“Yes.”, the man with two faces replied as he picked up a coin from his breast pocket. Both faces featured the same relief of a woman’s face, but the side considered to be tails was marked with a nasty scar, induced by a common knife, serving as the physical manifestation of its owner’s own evil.
“Let’s begin with the psychologist and psychiatrist…”, began Ventriloquist, her heels stomp-stomp-stomping on the dark tile floor and carrying her to within breathing distance while she slapped her gun in her hand with an oddly-soothing rhythm. “Now throw your two-faced coin and we’ll see if we need to put a girl away…”
Flippppp…!
The black man’s hand immediately slapped the coin down onto the other hand, the one with scars cut into it, the result of the psychosis of his two halves compulsing him to spread the split even further. A few more seconds of tension as a hush came over the crowd, everyone looking right at him to inspect the result.
His hand slid away from the coin.
He brought his scarred left hand up to his face.
The silver woman’s appearance was undamaged.
“HEADS!”, he proclaimed, to the jeers and the boos of everyone in there except for two of the three blondes, that being the powerless angel in black underwear, and the other being the dazzled and frazzled Harleen Quinzel, who, against all odds, had been overcome with a rushing sense of thrill with being right in the heart of these criminal minds, even while the loonies pointed a loaded gun at her.
“Unscarred side lands Up?”, The Joker asked out to the aether. “Why, ‘pon my word, it did!”
Pointing over to Doctor Quinzel, he smiled and cartoonishly slapped his hand on her shoulder like they were just the best of chums. “Con-grrradulations, sissy! You are now the proud winner of every next breath you take! Courtesy of your good old buddy Mister J! By the way,”, he said as he turned over to face two more faces.
“By the way, Two-Face, are you named after the coin, or did you name it after you?”
Silent treatment from the man in the suit.
“Well, never mind. There are some things a decent man keeps to himself. Now, let’s go about moving right on over to our other contestant…”
Soon enough his face was staring up at Jeanne’s bloodied visage and his annoying mannerisms now turned themselves over to her, while she was powerless to do anything against him, especially considering that she was being held in place by someone whom she had met before; Killer Croc, a dense-muscled man with what Damian had told her was a terrible medical condition that warped his flesh into a reptilian form with a carnivorous crocodile face. They were only the same height as each other due to the croc’s warped spine that made him hunch over, and she could only hope against hope that he didn’t recognise her in time to try and eat her himself. “That is, the chap – or chapette, I can’t really tell – who supplied these boss threads I’m sporting. Say, who is your tailor?”
A dwarf. She thought.
“Not telling, huh?”, the clown prince of crime responded to the air of silence, never something that he liked, not one little bit. “Well, I don’t blame you, Mum’s the word. Though only if you have a mum.”
The look on her face was so miserable and so glum that it could even kill somebody’s illegal spice high.
“Enny-wayy, time to decide the fate of the fashion plate. Give ‘er the old flipperoo, Mister Face!”
Flippppp…!
The other man’s hand immediately slapped the coin down on his flesh, the one with scars cut into it. A few more seconds of tension as another hush came over the crowd, everyone looking right at him to inspect the result.
His hand slid away from the coin.
He brought his scarred left hand up to his face.
The silver woman’s appearance was scarred.
“Well, the plate of fate has sounded once more, and my, oh, my!”, proclaimed Joker while bending over to inspect the coin. “I guess we’ll just have to bury your silent hide.” His voice still retained its always-on comedy as he turned back over to the powerless Jeanne-Paula Valley, grinning even wider and smiling at her even harder, but now it had a different edge. Now not everything was just a joke, now it was cold and chilling.
“But you won’t be able to mind. Matter of fact, you’ll be at peace. Resting in peace.”
Batman had been busy with the finishing touches on stopping a caper done by several of the Riddler’s men in his absence by securely leaving the money with a branch of the city police to give back to the bank, and now he was busy with swinging himself through the air, kicking out his left leg in a jackknife pose configuration while a giant length of corded metal rope kept him from falling down below to his doom at the hands of simple pedestrians. His cape fanned out behind him like a proper set of wings, casting the image of a bat-man in shadow, a silhouette against the moon that cascaded across the skies, gliding through the night, and landing smoothly upon the roof of a Waynetech office building that overlooked one of the only good, clean-looking Gotham streets. He was the sole ruler of the city, he was above them all, both literally and figuratively, he was…
…Standing in the presence of a Vampire.
The woman known only as Nocturna stood there waiting for him, the regal expanse of her intricate black dress patterned with webs of red and grey and white blowing about in the winter night wind, her presence on the roof itself sending out a chill in the air. Initially, Batman tried to brace himself for combat, but he quickly realised that her intention was not to fight.
“What are you doing up here?”
“I have not come to engage in the typical heroic and villainous routine against you. Nay, nay, nay, nay, I have… A different strategy to deal with you. Mostly, because… I need something from you?”
“Spit it out and then get out of my sight.”
Nocturna simply stepped a little closer, closing her pale-skinned hands into tight fists and looking down at the caped crusader through blowing long curly black bangs, speaking to him while the lights of the technological expanse bared the sharp fangs of her canines under her lips.
“Your son. Nightwing. The bird had disappeared in Blüdhaven, and he had not surfaced for a number of weeks. Now he has turned up in the hospital, and he needs to get out if he wishes to have any hope of care for his injuries. You know just as well as I do that Blüdhaven is Hell, no chance to get the resources Dick needs, and doubtless you would want to save your son from such a situation, correct, bat?”
“Of course I would. I would do anything to get Dick back. Point me where to go and I’ll get him out.”
“Good, good, good, good. I shall provide a convenient transportation for you to reach him.”
“Why are you telling me any of this?”
Nocturna simply sighed, and the howling of the bitter winter breeze even cut into her living dead body a little.
“Because once upon a time, I cared enough about you to care about your happiness. I suppose that’s why I want you to save your son.”
With that, Nocturna became a swarm of giant furry black bats, and the Batman was swept up in their embrace, speedily escorting him down to his vehicle in the abyss below, a gesture of compassion from someone who had once been more than just another woman in Batman’s life.
Meanwhile, back in the crowd, a certain ape-man from earlier and his handler were shifting around a little bit, having now become uneasy with how the situation in front of them had played out. The man with the long white beard now had a look of regret upon his wrinkled face, leaning a bit more on his wooden gold-tipped cane than usual, and realising that he may have made a mistake. Sensing his thoughts expressed all over his visage, Charles pronounced out loud.
“Ghadda.”
“Perhaps this should not happen.”, the abbot began. “They will take him. They will mutilate him. They will desfigure and desecrate his corpse. Unideal. I have yet to learn much about his body after death, and now I might not ever get that chance again.”
“Ghadda.”
“Ah, but what if we were, in our infinite wisdom and largesse, decided to spice up how to kill this fellow a little bit here, HMM?”, Joker rambled as he continued on and on. “OI, Ivy! You’re a poisoner, correct? How about you kill him?”
A response was heard from the inside of a cell, the only one with its barrier still not broken through, not for lack of effort, but simply because its occupant, one Poison Ivy, simply didn’t like being out of her environment. In practical terms she was a plant couch surfer and she didn’t feel like leaving her warm, damp, and comfortable nature-filled asylum cell.
“Don’t bother me, clown, we don’t work for you. Don’t get me wrong, I find that one annoying, but not annoying enough to make me move. And don’t make me have to come down there, you would not like it. Now let me nap.”
“I noticed that these here glad rags come equipped with a blade or two.”, the clown-man said as he turned his attention back to Jeanne in a surprisingly good example of verbal rebounding. “Just the proper ticker-ticket for getting or two on the bus, am I right, folks? Or for slicing and dicing a guest.”
Regrettably for him, once he found a way to turn the flame-activation mechanisms on, he was rudely responded to by the mechanical systems with an uncontrollable blaze that immediately set his green mullet on fire.
“YEOWWWWW!!!!!!!!”
“Hmmph. That clown accidentally activated the fire mechanism.”, Brother Khass snarled while the Joker began running around like the crazed maniac that he was, except this time with his head a-blazing.
“Ghadda.”
“Azrael needs to be wearing his garb to possess and harness his full power…”, the abbott continued while kneeling down to grab the Azrael mask undetected from the floor. “But perhaps the mask will be sufficient. AZRAEL, HERE!”
Barely managing to catch the mask in time, Jeanne’s hands automatically flew out to grab it, spending a single second that she didn’t have to look into its waiting eyes, before shoving it on over her head and feeling herself shift away.
“HAAAAAAALLLLPPPP!!!!”, the Joker kept on screaming while everyone was distracted by turning their attention over to him, Killer Croc included.
“Don’t just STAND there!”, yelled the Gray Abbot to the woman in the mask. “You are Azrael! VANQUISH THEM!”
“Vanquish them…”, Azrael finally said, turning her fist over to the crocodile-man and intercepting an attempt from him to claw her arm off.
“Azrael vanquishes…”
After dropping Killer Croc with a sporting tackle that sent him flying into the crowd and a subsequent throw that sent him into a wall, and getting back up with a slightly increased quantity of gusto, the next one up was Two-Face. A shot from his revolver was barely dodged, but a responsive punch right to his clean and unscarred half was definitely not.
“No fair!”, the suited man moaned as he held his eye. “You hit HARVEY! He’s the GOOD one!”
Azrael just kicked him while he was down and sent him into the mob, too.
For a solid moment of about ten seconds, the crowd was simply stunned. Not even Batman started out fights so callously, this one was something different. Too much like the bat for them to not care, but so unfamiliar to all but a few that the assembly of villains was left unsure of what to do. Then, they all became enraged. Supremely enraged. And so naturally, all of them jumped her at once.
While a flurry of weapons and punches and kicks and hair-pulling and all other forms of dishonourable combative tactics were busy being employed by Azrael while scrapping against almost the entire cast of Arkham Asylum’ regular attendees, plus an alternate or two and a newcomer or ten, the Joker had finally managed to put his hair out with the fabric of the Azrael suit, while having accidentally to a corner of the room, wherein the doctor who had just been under the literal gun had been busy with huddling in fear.
“Somebody could have splashed a little water on my hair! I wasn’t even asking for conditioner!”
Then, he began to fiddle with his garments, shrugging them all off while grumbling to the doctor, who was the only one nearby who would listen. “As for the suit, better get rid of it before I discover a nuclear bomb underneath the lapel.”
“Probably… Probably should… Mister J…”, Doctor Harleen said through physical takeover of extreme fear.
“And don’t think it’s any funny business, either, Doctor Harley Quinn!”, the clown said, not bothering to remember what her name actually was. “Haven’t you ever seen a comic strip?”
“I haven’t really…”, she responded, her face distorted from shedding tears of fear mixed in with the sensation of being unable to take her eyes away from the evil of the asylum. She really didn’t quite know how to feel, right there with the Joker, of all people, taking casually to her. She probabl should’ve been dead by now. But she wasn’t. Maybe all of the things that they had said about him wasn’t true. Maybe… he just liked her. She just had to think about it.
“Riddle me THIS, masky!”, Riddler yelled to Azrael while Tweedledum held her down and the man in the bowler hat prepared to swing his reinforced cane right at her head. “When is somebody who hates country boys like a rock groupe? When they’re Smashing Bumpkins!”
Riddler’s question-mark cane connected with its target, knocking her back a little bit, but inadvertently letting her escape from Tewwdledum’s grasp with the difference in momentum.
“That wasn’t really up to my standard.”, the man in green remarked while his back was turned, right before he was the fifth villain to be taken out of the game, by an unamused Angel who had just finished knocking silly the dumb muscle-man and taken Tweedledee out along for the ride.
“I’m Commissioner Gordon. Gotham P.D. I got your call. What’s goin’ on around here?”
The Gotham City Police Department had by then assembled outside of the Asylum, crowded around at the front gate, the wrought iron entrance topped with pointed spikes and emblazoned with reliefs of bats and rats and cats and angels, and so many more creatures, all engaged in a never-ending battle, the fight to the death over all of time. Red and blue lights covered the cold stone fronts of the complex, bathing the atmosphere in blinding lights that only the most insane people on the planet would fall asleep in. Rain by then was pouring down upon them, and the wind was blowing both their voices and their wardrobes.
“Ugh. The inmates are loose.”, replied Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, a man dressed in a black-trimmed cold grey coat with stark white hair pristinely combed to his left side, which was now frazzled with several strands out of alignment as the night breezes blew his hair about, and a pair of thick-framed black spectacles that he had taken off at the moment in exasperation. “The inmates are loose. Fault of some intruder who blazed in hard enough to trip every single one of the fire systems. Which automatically opened all the cell doors.”
“So the patients wouldn’t be trapped.”, finished Gordon while scratching his rough steel-grey mustache and pushing up his dark polarised sunglasses. “Don’t blame yourself, doctor. It was the humane thing to do.”
“While I don’t agree, I do get where you’re coming from, Jim.”, remarked Police Detective Renee Montoya while holding her dark grey trenchcoat and fedora as close as she possibly could to hang onto whatever semblance of warmth she could. Brushing a bit of her curly black hair from out of her face in the sharpened winds, she walked up to the two bosses with an update.
“Nobody’s managed to actually get out yet. Seems to be some sort of hangup in the primary detention block. They seem to be holding some kind of a tribunal. A court of sorts.”
“Perfect.”, Gordon replied. “We send in a S.W.A.T. Team—”
“Maybe not a good idea, sir. We got two hostages. An asylum doctor… and a mask.”
“Someone in a costume, huh? One of those masked do-gooders again. Must be Tuesday. Or Saturday, I forget which one.”
The commissioner sighed.
“It’s never simple.”
“He’s fighting, but not well.”, Brother Khass remarked as him and Charles continued to observe. “Azrael should have disposed of them all by now. The mask alone is not enough.”
“What are you, a bunch of sissies?!”, Joker yelled from the corner while the carnage continued. “He’s just one man with a terrible taste in clothes! LAY HIM DOWN LOW!”
“You must go to his assistance, Charles.”, Khass finished.
“Ghadda Ghadda.”, the ape responded. “You said to me: ‘Remember that I told you of him? How he humiliated me? How he murdered his own brother?’”
“The situation has changed. I now realise that he can help me unlock the secrets of nature, just like you can, Charles. Now help him.”
“Ghadda.”
Charles entered into the mix of the chaos in a combination of running and jumping, crushing at least six different nameless asylum inmates as he started to pulverise the ranks.
“Heathens of Gotham, you are all about to be slain by Charles.”, the abbot began while tapping the hard ground with his Tanzanian blackwood cane to get their attention. “Charles is the true reason why I am in this prison. When I learned of his potency and precision of powerful prowess, I reasoned that he must have been a descendant of experiments that the order initiated. Dumasian Great Apes, a species of experimental enforcers so powerful and yet so unpredictable that they had to be exterminated en masse. But one of Charles’ ancestors must have mated with a normal human woman before the apes were wiped out, and thus Charles’ mix of brute strength from ape genes, blended together with carnage-rending traits from other predatory species, and the restraint and capacity for sentience, sapience, and intelligence afforded by the presence of human Deoxyribonucleic Acid, producing a creature capable of embodying both ends of the spectrum between beast and man. He may very well be the Rosetta Stone of unlocking the key of enhancing human genetics to beyond even Azrael’s power. This affords me the opportunity to undertake experimental studies even the order has forbidden. He and he alone will be sufficient enough in killing you.”
“Oooh, oooh, goody, goody!”, the Joker exclaimed from all the way back in his corner. “A contest! Winner gets to drink the blood of the loser!"
“So then you didn’t come in here to hide?”, asked Azrael while Charles began to run through the mob.
“Hide?”, responded Brother Khass. “From that fool Rollo?”
Charles proceeded to slam his fists down on the floor and send everyone flying.
“A canary could outsmart that witling!”
Gunfire didn’t even make the great ape flinch.
“I am a scientist. My passion is knowledge.”
At that point the only thing protecting the villains from Charles was their numbers, which were dwindling down further and further with each and every successive strike.
“Charles is the greatest secret of the human species, the missing link between the human species and their own potential just out of their reach.”
“Heh. Stone rockin’.”, Doctor Harleen Quinzel remarked as a smile slowly began to return to her face. “Get it, mister J? Stone? Rockin?”
“Hehehaha. Stone. As in rock. Hehehaha.”
“What did… What did Charles do to get himself in Arkham?”, Azrael asked, knowing full well she was not going to like the answer.
“Oooh-Ee-oohh, it was disgusting!”, said the Ventriloquist, nursing a head wound and stopping the bloodflow with Socko.
“All that gore! All that carnage! All those infants!”, Mister Freeze continued.
“The moment I heard about it, I knew I loved the guy.”, the Joker finished.
“Fast, is he not?”, the bearded Ethiopian said concerning Charles while stepping over to Azrael resting on the floor. “And since he has few nerve endings, he is nearly impervious to pain.”
Then he turned back to the crowd and proclaimed: “You have made a grave mistake in electing to trifle with me and my studies.”
“Get your Ghadda fender on that, boyo.”, Charles agreed while simultaneously trash-talking the mob. “Definitely not Marquis Of Queensbury Rules, I can tell you that much. Hauling a pigsticker into the fracas is what I come here to do. Steams my clams, and that is no Ghadda lie. Wave bye-bye to any nice guy, if you can catch my signification and sophistication.”
One more attack came from him, a breaking swipe of his clawed fist that swung right into the crowd, sending them all scattered across the floor in piles of human bodies.
“Ghadda Ghadda.”
“As I said, he is fast.”
“And eloquent.”, Joker interjected. “Actually sounds a little bit like me.”
“Good work, Charles, now get him out of here!”
Instantly obeying, Charles turned around immediately and picked Azrael up by her feet, slinging her onto his back and running back through the now-cleared path, followed by the man in the purple robe trailing close behind them after absconding with Azrael’s other apparel.
“In here, the both of you!”, he shouted, and all three of them were soon enough some measure of safe inside a room accessed by a door inscribed with the proclamation Janitorial Supply Closet, while the pursuing tidal wave of remaining villains bulldozed right on past them through the hallways.
The Gray Abbot quickly presented Azrael with the rest of her suit like a sacred and sacrificial offering, calling upon her to: “Take it. Slay them.”
“Why? There’s no need.”, Azrael responded, the newfound fragile peace of the situation inviting some semblance of Paula to return and let her think a little harder and a little bit more. “Besides, we would still have the Police to contend with, and by now they doubtless have the whole area surrounded…”
“So what’s the deal, Commissioner?”, Montoya inquired while adjusting her hat. “Are we doing to try to do something to save those hostages or are we just going to stand out here all night?”
“We’re waiting for the S.W.A.T. Teams to be in place, Detective.”
“Fair enough. You know, I’m pretty surprised he isn’t here. You know, old pointy-ears, as we call him.”
“Now that I think about it, so am I.”, James retorted. “He must be terribly busy to be ignoring something as big of a deal as this.”
“This place here did always give me the creeps…”, Renee remarked. “I can only wonder what’s happening in there…”
Back in the walk-in supply closet, Azrael was currently busy with rifling through an assorted set of cleaning equipment, sanitising products, tools for covering up whatever gore and blood that the staff didn’t feel like touching all too much that night or day, and, most importantly, a replacement uniform for the janitor employees, clean and white enough to seem like it was still in good condition, with a certified Arkham patch on the top half of its left arm — proof that it was legitimate — and a nice dosage a of pleasant grey trimming along the edges of the worn-out collars and cuffs and lines near the buttons. It wasn’t the prettiest thing out there, but it would definitely do.
“Let me see the suit a minute.”, the avenging angel started as she got her new pair of red-rimmed glasses out of the literal glove pocket and got her mask off. Then she grabbed a random set of ropes — she didn’t even want to know what that was about — and started to tie her now-free hair back as the three in the closet began to hear another set of footsteps; approaching guards.
“You two, get away from the door. Let me try and handle these guys.”
RHAP!!
RHAP!!
RHAP!!
RHAP!!
Soon enough the door was kicked open by gun-carrying men in brown uniforms, pointing their rifles and pistols into the darkness of the room while their black ties flopped around a little.
“COME ON OUTTA THERE NOW!!”
“Gotta be one of the crazies!”
“Or the guy in the suit…”
“Get your pieces ready…”
“Oh, thank Heaven, it’s just you men…”, said a woman dressed in the white uniform, with her light blonde hair wrapped up with a length of black and gold-patterned cord into a messy low bun behind her and with a few bangs hanging out and over her eyes, as well as a pair of oval-shaped red-framed spectacles worn a bit looser than normal. “I was beginning to worry that they had beaten you… Whew, I was afraid to run into more inmates!”
“Who are you?!”, yelled a black-mustachioed guard while shoving his gun in her face.
“Joan Arceuid.”, the woman responded while throwing her hands up in the air in attempted surrender. “I’m an exterminator. I was checking the cells for mice when all hell broke loose. I panicked and ended up ducking in her to try and hide from them all.”
“Hmm, whatever, checks out.”, the guard replied as he put his gun down. “Where did they abscond to, lady?”
“I think it might have been that way.”, she responded as she pointed to the hallway with the most obvious blood spatters and footprints all over the floor. “You’d better hurry, too — I heard that they were gonna kill that Doctor Quinn person.”
“Duly noted. Do you know the way back to the lobby from here, or do you need some help getting back there?”
“Thank you very much, sir, but I should be fine. Down that hall, and to the left, and down another hall and to the left.”
“Sounds about right. Okay then, sorry for the inconvenience."
With that, the brownshirts departed down the blood-spattered hall and left her alone by the closet door. Once a solid minute or two had passed, she went back into the closet and looked upwards into the ventilation duct.
“You can come out now.”
Charles and the abbot dropped out of the ventilation shaft with a mild noise of thudding, and Jeanne-Paula managed to get the rope out of her hair as they did so. While she kneeled down over to get her uniform, the abbot asked her a question.
“Why did you feel that the impersonation was necessary? Do you not claim who you are and your own identity?”
“I don’t see how that’s something you would care about, considering how many times you called me ‘him’.”
“Hmmph.”
“But more importantly,”, Azrael continued before slipping her mask on again. “They were between us and the hole that I made.”
Azrael’s golden hand pointed to a giant hole in the roof that now they could clearly see after walking a few feet across the corridor, the same one that she had cratered when she waltzed into the prison, and had purposely directed the guards away from.
“I did not wish to chance instigating a physical confrontation and getting someone hurt in the process. And by that, I mean them.”
Her attention then turned back to the pockets in her gauntlets, and she proceeded to pick up a Two-Way Wrist Radio and pressed the rectangular button to make it crackle to life, all while holding it delicately with her gigantic fingers.
“Nomoz, can you hear me? Calling Nomoz in the aircraft, can you hear me?”
“Perfectly clear.”, the Dwarfling replied while hovering in his helicopter and hidden behind the darkened clouds, beginning to move in downwards and enter into the view of the cops.
“Pick us up as soon as you can.”
Unfortunately, the helicopter was spotted immediately by Detective Montya, even in the immense wind and rain.
“COMMISSIONER, A CHOPPER!”, she yelled while her finger pointed to the silhouette of a vehicle against the moon.
“I see it, Detective!”, Gordon confirmed while reaching into the inner pockets of his dark brown trenchcoat to pull out a communicator of his own. “We can’t wait any longer!”
His communication crackled up to life as he flared with zeal and emotion.
“ALL UNITS, MOVE IN! I SAY AGAIN, MOVE IN!!!!”
Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop…
“We only have a few seconds.”, the red-garbed angel said while spotting the chopper in the distance. “Abbot, you come along with me.”
“I noticed that you neglected to mention Charles in that particular command, Azrael.”
“He stays behind. End of story.”, she responded. “It was you yourself who told me he was dangerous to an unprecedented degree.”
Brother Khass stood there for a few seconds while leaning on his cane, and he then responded.
“This is the farthest thing from satisfactory. No doubt I would learn very much from examining your brain, Azrael… But from Charles much more is to be learned. The very key to completely understanding the human condition certainly lies with him.”
“Irrelevant to me. You come. He stays.”
Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop-Chop…
The Grey Abbot just leaned over a little bit more, and for a few more precious seconds, looked at her with the faintest hint of regret in his face. Then he pointed.
“Then you force me to choose. It is an immeasurable choice between treasures, but… I must leave with my specimen. BREAK HIM, CHARLES!”
“Ghadda.”
The Great Ape of Saint Dumas pulled his fist back to pound her into pulp, but before he could get the chance to act on that impulse, driven by nothing but the simple yet selfish desire for total freedom to once more act with impunity upon the civilized world, the nearby doors were broken down by a squadron of the Gotham S.W.A.T., or Special Weapons And Tactics, an armoured unit of supposed law enforcement that was more often simply used to gun down criminals to avoid the hassle of the process of a trial, now hot on the trails of a crazed red vigilante and a bizarre pair of folks who came to Gotham from a cult.
“THERE THEY ARE!!!”
“FREEZE!!!”
“ON YOUR KNEES!!!”
“NOW!!!”
CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP!!!!
Azrael was the only one of them lucky enough to jump upwards and soar through the hole in the roof and catch the thick and corded braided rope that Nomoz had let down, grabbing on just in time to look downwards at the grisly sight going on down there.
“Wait!”, the abbot yelled to her from below. “You must help me! You promised to help me!”
Charles said nothing, just looked beyond, arrested with shock.
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
RAT–A–TATT–TATT–AT-TATT--TATT–TA–TATT–AT–TATT–TATT!!
“AUGHFF!!!!”
“EUGHFFFF!!!!”
A swarm of bullets buzzed like a hornet’s nest and tore through the abbot’s clothing and Charle’s fur, riddling right through the both of them and sending the abbot falling down in a pool of his own red blood, mixed with some of Charles’, coloured a sickening blue. The last thing that Azrael saw from Brother Khass was him raising his hand in vain, perhaps to plead for her to assist him, or perhaps to curse her. She didn't really know. What she did know was that her biggest priority in the moment was to climb on up there to Nomoz and try the best that she could to try and find a way to spin this disaster of a narrative at Batman’s feet.
CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP!!!!
She just tried her hardest to keep her focus on getting up that rope, a task that was made at least a little bit easier by the soothing rhythm of the chopping blades of the old Army surplus helicopter.
A minute later, a gold-gloved hand touched down upon the metal floor of the craft, and Azrael pulled herself up and in.
Shambling on over to the passenger seat, Paula tugged her mask off, throwing it away down onto the red-carpeted diamondplate metal floor, and getting her glasses back on over her extremely-red eyes. While she panted and wiped a trail of sweat off of her forehead, Nomoz, naturally confused, asked her the following question.
“Where is the ~Feh~ Gray Abbot, Azrael?”
“Dead. Maybe. Or maybe not. The cops, they shot him.”
“You did not rescue him?”
“What’s it to you? Didn’t you say that Azrael does not rescue?"
“Azrael did not rescue. This Azrael evidently does.”
“Shhgghhhhhh… I didn’t fail him. He failed me. Cared more about his wicked experiments than about his own safety.”
“Of course you were not the party to fail. Azrael does not fail her missions.”
Her. He called her… her. Her missions. Perhaps he was learning, after all.
“Even if the Abbot didn’t fail me, I think I still wouldn’t have left with him. Jeanne-Paula Valley, she… I… made a promise to Batman. I promised him that I wouldn't let any of Arkham’s inmates escape. Then, when I was in there, I realised that included the abbot.”
“Was it you who realised? Or Azrael?”
“Both. It was both of us. The barrier between my two selves fell away for a moment.”
She slumped a little in her chair and sighed heavily out loud.
“It felt good.”
The dwarf was silent for a few seconds, before he gave her a mix of a warning and a reminder.
“Sister Lilhy will be angry. Very angry.”
The woman sighed again, this time with a bit more emotion put into it.
“Then she’ll just have to be angry. I can’t worry about it right now.”
A momentary pause followed, and then Jeanne noticed the radio installed into the helicopter’s front seating area.
“Could you put something on while we go back to Gotham? Or we can honestly go wherever, I don’t really care right now, either.”
“I can.”
Nomoz’s fingers flicked the system on, and soon enough the dial was set to a station playing music they actually liked.
“In violent times,
You shouldn't have to sell your soul.
In black and white,
They really, really ought to know.
Those one-track minds,
That took you for a working boy,
Kiss them goodbye.
You shouldn't have to jump for joy!
You shouldn't have to jump for joy!”
A minute into the song, and a sharp-clawed hand touched down upon the metal floor of the craft, and a loud THUD was heard by the both of them, just in time for Paula to turn around and see that Charles had somehow followed them and climbed aboard. She practically didn’t even have time or room to breathe before the great ape picked her up by the foot and threw her out of the craft, while all that Nomoz could do was to keep flying the helicopter and try to pretend that the fear on his face wasn’t there, that the look in his eyes didn’t exist, as the red-eyed Dumasian creature sat himself down in the passenger seat and made himself at home.
“Booley Booley and ‘Pon my word.”, the ape said while grinning his sharp teeth ear-to-ear.
“I’ve never before copped myself a ride in one of these helicopters before, and I must opine the fact that I am assuredly and positively delighted with the experience.”
Meanwhile, under the chopper, Azrael’s civilian half was hanging on, but barely, having caught onto one of the railings with her left hand, and now left to behold the rising light of the night sky and hope against all hope in the world that her arm didn’t give out.
At least the sky was pretty. Twilight was just a few minutes away. That was always beautiful. Not the oppressive light of the day, instead still carrying the haunting and yet comforting darkness of the night.
“Shout, shout, let it all out!
These are the things I can do without!
Come on!
I'm talking to you, come on!”
“Say-Say, old chap, old bean, old pip-pip-cheerio, are you aware of the undeniable fact that we are descending?”, observed Charles out loud.
And, sure enough, they were. The helicopter, piloted by a nervous Nomoz, had been descending, whether consciously or subconsciously, into a clearing in the forest in the sprawling and area surrounding Arkham, where the grass was a dead shade of tan, the surrounding evergreen trees stabbed high up into the sky, and someone could disappear into for ages. Fortunately for all of them, it was by no means an unexpected descent, and the landing was, very thankfully, one with no resemblance of a crash. And so, when Charles got out of the door of the passenger side and beheld the signs of the oncoming light of the day, he was unhurt, save for the small amount of bullets that had managed to pierce through his toughened hide.
“Ah, ‘The dusky night rides down the sky and ushers in the morn—’”
“Not another step.”
The voice obviously belonged to Azrael, who had jumped ship before they had landed, was somewhat hunched over with her fists ready for combat, and the bright red eyes behind those glasses sporting dilated feline pupils and her whole entire body practically trembling with rage.
“Ghadda?”
“You’re going back. I made a promise and I’m going to keep it.”
“Ghadda.”
“They gave you life,
And in return, you gave them hell!
As cold as ice,
I hope we live to tell the tale!
I hope we live to tell the tale!”
Charles turned around to face Azrael, who was once again experiencing that sensation of her two selves being on the same proverbial page, working with one another, not against one another. It was indeed Azrael who was in the front seat, but Azrael alone would not have cared about ensuring that the great ape went back to Arkham, at her fists if she had to. It was Paula’s promise and it fell to Azrael to keep that promise.
“Ghadda-Bool.”, Charles said while his silhouette was darkened by the incoming light, and pointing down to her, almost mocking. “Are you of the lucidity to be aware that I clobbered and cleaned your clockishness free from effort?”
Azrael was not amused and simply replied: “This time it’s not going to be a dirty sneak attack.”
WW
HH
AA
KC
KK
KK!!!!
Charles’ fist struck first, sending Azrael flying back onto the field with a stone-cold punch to the jaw. Still not amused, and despite her head ringing and vibrating from the shock of a giant fist to the face, she still just got up and spit the blood out.
TT
HH
WW
AH
CK
KK!!!!
“Shout, shout, let it all out!
These are the things I can do without!
Come on!
“I’m talking to you, come on!”
Shout, shout, let it all out!
These are the things I can do without!
Come on!
I'm talking to you, come on!”
Azrael’s fist, in response, struck with the sound of a rocket mixed with a piston when it struck Charles’ jaw for revenge, sending him into the dirt and the dead tan winter grass with visible spouts of thick blue blood spurting out of his mouth on his way down. He proceeded to drive Azrael right into the metal side of the helicopter, impacting her with enough force to feel like the Earth itself was quaking from her point of view. Instinct seized control of her and both of her knees drove themselves right into his snout, spouting out even more blood and forcing him to let her go. His next shot when he got up was to her stomach, causing her to spit out another round and load of deep red blood, this time spilling onto and staining the front side of her mantle and spilling down onto the knees. As he proceeded to pick her up by her neck, once more he pulled back his fist, this time preparing to slice her skin open with his claws.
“Ghadda.”
And it was then that the tide turned.
Azrael managed to duck down low enough to avoid the claws of the ape in the baggy pants, taking advantage of his attack landing in the air to strike from down below, slugging him with the side of her fist and her wrist and following that up with a rush of flurried punches that had so much energy and so much passion put into them that they finally managed to something that nothing and no one had ever done to the hulking thing; they left a flurry of bruises upon him and actually drew blood from his furry skin. She kept the chain up with a good KICKCKCK!!!! to the head, a connecting punch to the gut, and another punch to the head.
Charles was left reeling as he stepped back a few paces and brought his pawed, clawed, hands up to his canine snout and held it as it bled, which gave Azrael the opening to take a couple much-needed breaths, reel on her knees for a few seconds, and finally swell up the physical and mental power inside of her to launch a devastating two-handed uppercut to the jaw, with enough force behind to make her own vision violently shake and throttle and black out for a few seconds, coming back to just in time to watch the ape-man soar through the air and come back to Earth with a final mighty THHUUDDD!!!!!!!!
He didn’t move.
Charles was conquered.
The last remaining Great Ape of Saint Dumas was defeated.
His conqueress stood proud against the rising sun. The darkness was now interspersed with the glow of the light, the faint oncoming of the light of day just beginning to make its presence known.
Azrael wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth with her wrist and wiped a bit of the fighting-induced fog off of her glasses with one of the banners of her mantle, and finished up with that just as Nomoz made himself known again as he climbed out of the helicopter and came up to stand by her side.
“Azrael… Your mask…”, he commented, as he held the black and red and white solid mask in his hands, and Azrael realised that she had been present even without the aid of the physical object that let her come up to the forefront.
“Didn’t need it… I didn’t need it…”
But now, the barrier had once again temporarily fallen away, and Azrael could think with Paula’s sense of emotion and compassion, and the red eyes once again managed to prove it. In response to the Dwarfling, the angel smiled, relaxing a little bit in the soothing winter breeze that cooled down her body and her spirit.
“Not as long as I’ve got a promise.”
THE END
