"What have I gotten myself into?" Marc asked himself as he gazed out over the Gotham rooftops. The scene wasn't one that he was used to. The buildings seemed so foreign. Kingston was a million miles away right now. He couldn't even make out any familiar stars through the haze that was beginning to sweep across the city. Alone. That's how he felt. He was completely out of his element here. This was the Bat's city; he didn't belong here. A touch of boredom was enough persuasion to put on the suit again so soon after the Sandman put him in the hospital. Now he was wrapped up in a new mystery, one tied to an attempted murder that went down only moments ago and a supernatural killer on the prowl. It was a bit much for Marc to swallow. His monsters were real, tangible demons that walked the streets of Kingston. Dealers, thieves, rapists, and murderers; these were evils grounded in reality. Jack 'O Lantern-headed monsters with knives for fingers just didn't fit into the equation. He felt a tapping on his shoulder. Putting on his business face, he turned around, ready to continue his verbal sparring with the Bat. Nothing. No one was there. Marc sighed and turned to go the other way. "BOO!" Batman's featureless face was illuminated by a light from below. Marc jumped. "Dammit! Don't do that!" Marc cried out, shoving him away. Tim chuckled and attached the light back onto his belt. "You're awful jumpy for this line of work," Tim said, toying with him. "Are you ever serious?" Marc demanded. Tim folded his arms across his chest. "Do you really want me to answer that question?" Marc threw his hands up in disgust and muttered to himself. "The medics said she'd make it," Tim continued. "Thanks for your help down there; we saved her life." Now that he had time to do it, Tim examined the other man with the microptics systems in his mask. This guy couldn't be more than twenty, maybe twenty-one. He continued to study Marc, while Marc watched the alley below. "I want to know what's going on here," Marc said quietly. "I don't believe in ghosts or any of that mumbo jumbo." "You shouldn't question the paranormal. Just accept its existence, and let's do this." "Do this? Do what?" Tim crouched down beside him on the ledge. "I can see it in your eyes. You won't let this go, so we might as well go after this thing together." He turned to Tim and grinned. "Am I that transparent?" "Yep," Tim whispered before rising. "Now, this is my city, so we play by my rules." "Fair enough," Marc said, joining him on his way over to the next rooftop. "Good. We're going to visit Xanadu. That's our best bet if we're dealing with the supernatural." "Where is that?" Marc asked, trying his best to keep up with Tim's quick pace. "'WHO is that?' is the question you're looking for. Just follow my lead, and try not to look like a dork." *********************************** THE DCFuture Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns Batman, Nightwing, and ALL related characters and retains complete rights to said characters. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. We also acknowledge that the concepts and original characters introduced here are the intellectual property of the author. *********************************** BATMAN/NIGHTWING: WAKING NIGHTMARE #2 (of 3) October 1998 "Fear, Loathing, and the Nearly Dynamic Duo" Written/Created By: Erik Burnham (darvey@rocketmail.com) Tony Wilson (kilroy@si-net.com) Edited By: Jason Tippitt Special thanks to Tommy Hancock *********************************** The room smelled of incense. The good kind, Marc thought... not like that crap his roommates used in school. Marc still remembered that junk swelling his eyes shut and causing phlegm to appear in places Marc didn't know it could. Other than that, it looked like something out of an old spy film Marc barely recalled. Exotic, yet very urban... Figured up with his impression of Gotham... "Whoah." That's all the fearsome vigilante Nightwing could manage to say as Xanadu floated into the room. She couldn't be any older than 30. What a body! What eyes! ...What a time to be wearing spandex. Marc could hear the Batman snicker and quickly took a seat to cover his embarrassment. Xanadu smiled, nodding to the Dark Knight as she did so. Marc felt his embarrassment melt momentarily into a pool of jealousy. "It's nice to see you again," Xanadu said in friendly tones that felt as though they were coated in silk. "How has Mr. Brand been?" "Haven't seen him," Batman replied. "Pun intended. Xanadu, I'd like you to meet Nightwing. Nighty, this is Xanadu -- mistress of the mystic arts, friend to the side of good, masseuse par excellence..." "Hush, you," Xanadu said with a smile. "Nightwing, a pleasure." Xanadu held out her hand. Marc felt electricity when he touched it. Wow. Why didn't his contacts look more like this? "I'm just gonna go ahead and assume you know the exact reason we're here, sweetie. So fill us in. Give me a refresher, keep the words small for Woody here, and tell us what to do about the spook." "It is Hallow's Jack roaming Gotham," Xanadu said, very simply. "Stopping him will be... difficult." "Why Gotham?" Marc asked, probing for facts -- his analytical side taking over. "Why now?" A long silence. "Because of you," Xanadu replied at last. "Excuse me?" "Do you believe in magic, Nightwing?" "No," Marc replied. Xanadu stared at him through his mask. Marc could feel it, feel her eyes reaching past him. It sent a shiver down his spine. "Let me ask you again, Marc Chandler. ...Do you believe in magic?" Nightwing froze. A natural reaction, after all... just as a child sneaking into the cookie jar when a parent enters the room, Marc was quickly searching for a way to explain himself through a certainty held by another. A person who could not know what she knew... a person who could send his whole world into upheaval with relative ease. "I need you to trust me, vigilante. I need you to believe if you're going to fight this." "For the sake of argument," Marc started, "let's say I did." "Jack collects the soul of his victims, Nightwing. He allows some to go free each trip to allow them to perpetuate... he refuses to give up the hunt and take a place in Hell. He wants more trophy souls, the better to brag with. Marc," Xanadu said softly, "you are his trophy. He's after you. The others are merely small game. He's priming himself. For you." Nightwing allowed his life to flash before his eyes. He thought of the beatings he'd taken and received. From human beings, from automated battledroids back at the academy, from gorillas, even. At least they were all within the realm of reason. This was not happening. "I can guarantee you that it is," Batman said, placing his hand on Marc's shoulder. "How did you--?" "Hey, detective -- look at a mirror. It's written all over your face." "Why Gotham? Why didn't he come after me before?" "Nothing is an accident, Nightwing. You were pulled here by the strings of fate." "And I thought his name was Frank..." Nightwing muttered. "I need some time to think things through," Marc said, standing. "Good enough," The Batman said, holding out a card. "Call that number tomorrow. We'll talk." Nightwing nodded and disappeared from the pleasant-smelling room, wishing he'd never come to this damn city in the first place. **** After he was sure all was quiet in the apartment, Marc slid the window open and rolled into the living room. He rose up slowly, noting the coat rack was bare. Lauren and Frank were still out on the town somewhere and could return at any time. Not even bothering to turn on a light, he quickly grabbed his duffel bag off of the couch and rounded the corner into the bathroom. The door clicked as he locked it behind him. Marc slipped off his leather jacket, leaving it to fall into a heap on the cold tile floor. He exhaled loudly and leaned over the sink, bracing himself with his arms. His bangs, thick with sweat, hung down over his eyemask in places. He pushed the button on the sink, and a stream of icy water poured out. Cupping his hands together, he splashed his face with water and shook his head. He was tired, and this place called Gotham was getting weirder by the minute. The sink shut off, and he dabbed his face with a towel. A hiss filled the air and slowly became a whisper. "Marc..." The soreness in his body vanished, and he was instantly alert. He dropped the towel and fumbled around for a light switch. "Marc..." the voice said again, louder this time. It had an edge to it like nails across a chalkboard. The dark mirror over the sink filled with smoke. A blue glow made its way to the forefront, and the eerie visage of Hallow's Jack filled the mirror. His hollow eyes burned, illuminating the bathroom with flickering red light. The creature smiled. "I'm coming for you, Marc." Marc spun around, coming up with an uppercut that connected with nothing but air. There was no one behind him. Chilling laughter erupted from the mirror. He tapped his belt buckle and reached for one of his bat-shaped discs. With the flick of his wrist, he sent in spinning into the mirror at Jack's twisted grin. The mirror shattered, sending a shower of glass down into the sink. The laughter faded away. Out in the other room Marc heard the front door open. He finally found the light and flipped it on. The mirror was destroyed, and his disc was embedded in the wall. He pulled it free with a sharp tug and slapped it back into his belt. "Marc? You in there?" he heard Frank's voice call out. He pulled off his boots and pants, frantically stuffing them into the duffel bag. "Yeah. Uhm... I think I broke the mirror," Marc replied, throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. "Tell Lauren I'll pay for it, if you ever get around to giving me my next paycheck." "That's okay, dear," Lauren chuckled. "Don't worry about it; accidents happen. You've got seven years bad luck to worry about now anyway; that's punishment enough." "Oh, come on. Marc doesn't buy into that supernatural BS. Do ya, Marc?" Frank laughed. The bathroom door swung open, and Marc stepped out. His face was pale, and his dark hair matted against his head. The duffel bag hung loosely from his fingertips. He swallowed hard and stepped out into the hallway. "Yeah, something like that," he said weakly. **** "Hello." The dried English accent cut through the wire like a buzzsaw, grating Marc's nerves. "Would you be the vigilante I was told to expect?" "Um, yeah." This guy has a secretary? "Hold." And the secretary put him on hold. Why was that not surprising? Why was this just the umpteenth pain in the ass he'd had since he came to-- "Gotham's finest, Batman speaking." "Gotham's what?" "Finest. As in 'best.' As in, my friend, nice that you finally called." "Yes, well." "Xanadu tells me Jack paid you a visit. Care to talk about it?" "Xanadu... no. No, I don't." "Suit yourself. Y'know, machismo's going to be the death of you, I'll have you know. Slow up on the testosterone, I can feel it squirting through the teleline." "You're talking to me about machismo? A man that dresses up as a bat?" "I'm in touch with my feminine side. Several feminine sides, in fact, but that's beside the point. We've gone off track. Pumpkin-headed serial killers for 500, Nighty. What do we do?" "You're asking me?" Marc couldn't believe how nerve-wracked he sounded. "No, actually. You seem to have fish out of water syndrome. No big deal, I felt the same way the first time I dealt with this kind of thing. Put it to you this way; think average serial killer. Think obsessive. Think hates letting things slide. Think about Velma." "Oh my God, he's going back after her." Mark nodded to himself. Don't think about the magic, and things start to make sense again. His mind could wrap around the problem once more. Which was a good thing. "Hey, good call, detective! Nice to see you West Coast boys aren't all as empty-headed as I've been hearing. I'll meet you over at MercyCal at ten. Toodles." And the line went dead. Marc decided he needed a shower. Actually he needed about two days of sleep, but the hot water would have to do. Or, Marc thought as images of Xanadu fluttered through his mind, maybe a cold one would be better. **** Tim Drake hung up his teleline and looked over at Xanadu, looking radiant as ever. He was glad she'd visited, even if it was only to talk. Even her words were comfort to the extreme. "He is going to the hospital?" "Yep." "Jack will appear before midnight." "No predictable witching hour for this one, huh?" "Timothy. You know these things better than that." "Right, right, no need to resort to stereotypes. Which reminds me; yesterday you could have said my name in front of Nighty... whatsisname... Marc? Something. At any rate, you didn't. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's nice that I can find out someone else's ID and all without my own being compromised, beautiful thing and all, but I didn't know you cared." "I don't." "Shatter my illusions, why don't you?" "Timothy, it is imperative that you remain an enigma to the vigilante for now. His belief in your power is the key to defeating Jack." "His belief in my power? Babe, you sure you're not slipping in your old age?" "Quite." Tim sighed. Everything had to be complicated with women these days. **** Nightwing did his best to keep up with Batman as he stalked down the white hallway. Marc wrinkled his nose; that hospital smell was starting to get to him. They pushed through a set of double doors and made a beeline for the elevators. Batman pushed the up button and crossed his arms impatiently. "Uhm... is this how you normally handle things?" Marc asked hesitantly. "What do you mean?" Tim replied through his faceless mask. Marc averted his eyes; it creeped him out talking to someone whose mouth he couldn't see. "Just walking right in. I mean, what if someone stops us?" DING. The elevator came to halt, and the doors opened. "Would you stop two guys dressed like us?" he replied sarcastically. "Point taken," Mark said, stepping into the elevator. The doors started to close, and they heard a woman's voice call out to them. "Hold the doors, please!" Batman reached out and put a hand on one of the doors halting it. An elderly woman rushed over and stopped just before stepping on. He face went pale, and her jaw dropped. "Hi," Tim greeted her. "Going up?" Marc shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. "...sorry," he said quietly. The woman backed away from the elevator, her eyes the size of saucers. "I'll... I'll get... the next one..." she whispered. **** "Look, let me do the talking," Marc pleaded with him. "You walk up there and start cracking jokes, this lady will totally freak." "Whatever you say, Nighty." "Please, don't call me that." Tim snickered and waited around the corner while Marc approached the nurse's station. The woman behind the desk had short brown hair under her white cap and a square jaw. Marc hoped she would cooperate. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm looking for a girl named Velma. She was brought in last night. Can you tell me what room she's in?" The nurse started to speak and suddenly fainted. "What do you think?" Tim asked from behind him. Marc turned to see Batman dressed in doctor's scrubs, complete with a green mask across where his mouth should be. "Take that off! Man, are you ever serious?" Tim pulled the mask off and tossed it aside. "Boy, you're edgy. Afraid of the bogeyman?" Marc's face turned red. "No! I told you I don't believe in that stuff. There's a logical explanation for everything," he said defensively as he riffled through a med chart behind the desk. "Relax, I've got it all under control. I've got more than enough belief for both of us." "Come on; she's in room 419." **** The room was dark except for the light that trickled in from the open doorway and the small lights on the machines around Velma's bed. The doctor stood over her with a clipboard taking notes as he checked her vitals. Batman and Nightwing waited just outside the door watching the hallway. "So, what's the gameplan?" Marc asked nonchalantly. "Ah, grasshoppa, you seek my wisdom? I will teach of the arcane arts and the mystic," Tim answered with a stiff bow. "A mystical monster that shows up every so many years to stalk the ancestors of the people who wronged him in life? Sorry, I don't buy it. It's ludicrous! Welcome to the real world, where stuff that doesn't happen," Marc said defiantly. It felt good to say those things. It was reassuring to get that all out. There was a logical explanation for everything. The thing in the mirror was just because of stress, a hallucination and nothing more. It wasn't real. He was just letting himself get spooked. In Velma's room he heard the heart monitor flatline. His blood turned to ice, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He didn't want to look, but he knew he had to. The doctor's back splintered, and his limbs stretched to the breaking point. Hallow's Jack shrugged off the human form and stretched out to his full height. In his gnarled left hand he clutched a beating heart. Instinctively, Batman and Nightwing both went for their respective weapons. Batman readied a batarang, and Nightwing came up with a fist full of his bat discs. With a nod to each other, they let their tools fly, sending them towards the abomination in the room. The bat discs cut into his chest in a triangular pattern, while the batarang buried itself in Jack's face between his hollow, fiery eyes. His tilted his flaming head back and laughed. "Do you think you stand a chance against me?" he asked, removing the batarang and folding it up in his hand. Batman moved in, sizing up his opponent. In seconds, he had formed a plan. He feinted to the right, and before Marc could blink, spun around with a high kick to Jack's gaping grin. A flurry of punches followed, but the creature held its ground. "Anytime you want to jump in, Nighty, feel free," Tim offered. Marc stood in the doorway, frozen in fear. He tried to move, but his muscles wouldn't respond. His knees started to buckle. Batman was throwing everything he had at the monstrosity. He pulled out every move he knew, trying to find the proverbial chink in the armor, but nothing seemed to effect it. Hallow's Jack quickly grew bored with the exhibition and grabbed Batman by the throat. Marc watched as he hoisted off the floor by his throat. "You are nothing to me," he said in his cruel voice. And with that he cast the Bat aside like a ragdoll, sending him flying into the wall on the other side of the bed. Jack turned to Nightwing and leered at him. Inside he wanted to cry out, but he couldn't find the words. His body was numb as the monster walked over to him. He shut his eyes tightly. "This isn't real," he told himself. "It's all smoke and mirrors." He felt Jack's long sharp fingers coil around his neck. Heat radiated from the walking nightmare's flaming pumpkin head and warmed his cheeks. As his feet left the floor, he opened his eyes and stared at the horror before him. "You should feel honored. You're the big prize this year. It'll all be over soon, and you will be mine." Marc's eyes bulged, and he finally found his voice. He did what came natural in a situation such as this. He screamed. **** NEXT ISSUE Nightwing's life hangs in the balance. Can the Batman save him from certain doom, or will he become the next victim for Hallow's Jack?