Chapter 1
It was a dark, cold and foggy night in Gotham City as Doctor Carl Peters, one of Arkham Asylum's most respected psychiatrists moved quietly down one of the lonely institution's corridors equipped with pen and clipboard. He grew nervous, as he was about to conduct an annual examination on one of the city's most notorious maniacs, The Joker.
After the death of his pregnant wife, the Joker, who at the time was nothing more than a failed comedian turned gangster, fell into a chemical bath during a failed heist at the Axis Chemical Plant in Gotham City. The accident that turned him criminally insane, also bleached his skin white, died his hair a shocking green and distorted his face into a leering and psychotic grin.
As Dr. Peters came to the dark, padded cell where the Clown Prince of Crime was securely imprisoned, a guard stood ready to grant the good doctor access.
"Hiya Doc," the stiff guard muttered in a gruff voice.
"Hello Sir," the doctor nodded a reply.
"I tell ya' Doc, I gotta get a better shift. These nights really screw with my head," the guard moaned tiredly, rubbing his temple.
"How has he been?" asked the impatient doctor, tapping his pen to the clipboard.
"He keeps sayin' that a storm is comin'. Crazy talk if ya' ask me."
"I'll be the judge of that," exclaimed Peters mockingly. He began to sweat as the guard swiftly unlatched the bulky steel cell door. He stepped inside to find the madman seated in a dark corner illuminated by the moonlight that was seeping through an arched window, barred on the other side of the cell. As the doctor stared in awe at the maniac on the floor, restrained by a straightjacket that has seen better days, he noticed that his usually bright green hair was dark and disheveled while his face was as white and cold as ever.
"Hello my boy!" exclaimed the clown as a devilish smile came to his crimson lips. "Are we here to prove my insanity or do you wish to play Ring around the Rosie?"
"That's enough Mister Joker. I am in no mood for games tonight. Let's talk about why you are here. It's not the killing that bothers me. In my mind you are much more than a murderous criminal -." Doctor Peters stated as he was suddenly interrupted.
"Your opinion doesn't interest me Carl. Didn't the nice man outside tell you? There is a storm coming and when it hits, a wondrous wave of crime will flood the city," he smirked.
"How do you know this Mister Joker?" Peters questioned.
"'Cause Doc, my boy, Harvey Dent has escaped your precious walls of Arkham."
"Two-Face?" mumbled the surprised doctor as a shocked glare came over him.
"That's right Doc and now that he's free, I have no doubt he will try to conspire with the greatest of Gotham's underworld. Face it Doc, hell is gonna come to this city. You people really need to tighten the security of this place," he cackled his famous laugh.
A wave of panic washed over Doctor Peters as he immediately rushed out of the dark cell to alert the rest of Arkham of the supposed breakout.
The following morning, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne slouched in his brown executive chair in his office at Wayne Tower, the cornerstone of Wayne Enterprises, in the heart of the city. As his secretary brought him the front page, he scoured at the headline of The Gotham Chronicle.
"Harvey Two-Face has Escaped from Arkham!" the frustrated playboy read over a cup of morning coffee. He slammed the page down on his desk in a hard motion. Rising from his desk he stalked to the window and stared out over the city horizon. As he stood in thought, his blue eyes peered toward the majestic, gothic architecture that helped make up his fair city.
He abruptly notified his secretary to cancel all of his appointments for the day, including the game of golf he had scheduled for this afternoon with Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises chief advisor. Snatching the paper from his cluttered desk, he immediately exited his office.
Riding the elevator down, he wondered the reason behind Two-Face's latest breakout. Bruce then thought of the old times he and Harvey Dent had shared before the tragic accident had scarred his friend, both internally and externally. Departing from the elevator, he exited Wayne Tower altogether. Reaching his green Alfa Romeo parked directly outside the office, he sped away.
Reaching the outskirts of downtown, Bruce recalled, as he had many times before, the vow that he had made to his beloved parents. He had made a silent promise to avenge his parents' death. He thought of the night they were murdered and the place his destiny was conceived. The place now known as Crime Alley was nothing more than an alleyway that people took as a shortcut to get to the now defunct Monarch Theater. A horrible feeling came over him, as he continued his drive. He remembered those two fateful gunshots. Bruce had since seen the man gunned down outside the local courthouse, but the name stayed with him. Joseph Chill, Bruce reminisced, as a cold feeling went up his spine.
He hadn't had his alter ego for very long. Just three years ago, he had returned to Gotham City from a 12-year odyssey. Shortly after was when he assumed the mantle of the Batman for the first time in order to strike fear into the hearts of criminals. He trekked across parts of Europe and Asia. With help from some of the greatest minds in the world, he had forged his mind and body into perfect weapons in an effort to become the ultimate crime fighter.
As the approaching stoplight turned red, he slowed the expensive machine to a halt. His gaze wondered to a group of stray cats scrounging in a nearby trashcan. The sidewalk was dirty like any common feasting table for an alley cat.
This sight reminded him of the illustrious Catwoman, whom he as Batman, had aided the police in capturing and returning to Stonegate Penitentiary the previous week after she was seen robbing a museum of precious artifacts for her personal collection.
His thoughts were suddenly broken at the sound of a loud car horn behind him. Wiping the previous thoughts from mind, he shifted into gear and sped away.
Moments later, he arrived at the stately Wayne Manor as the ironclad East Gate opened onto the sculptured grounds of the estate. Alfred Pennyworth, servant to the Wayne Family for many years and the only man who knows his darkest secret, awaited him at the door, ready to aid. Bruce rushed in, proceeding to exchange his beige overcoat for a small glass of water.
"I take it you've seen the news Alfred?" Bruce said questioningly as he drank his water in a thirsty gulp.
"Indeed Sir. All is ready," exclaimed the humble servant, his thin mouth curving into a slight smile.
With that Bruce raced to his study and set the old family heirloom, a massive oak grandfather clock, to 10:47 pm - the exact time of his parents' murder. Abruptly the clock shifted out from the wall, revealing a gaping void and a stone staircase. Treading down the gothic staircase, built into the solid cavern structure, Bruce entered into another realm of his psyche: the Batcave.
As Bruce brooded in his underground labyrinth, he worked quickly going through several files on Two-Face discovered by the Batcave's massive, flat panel central computer and other high-tech equipment. Squinting his tired eyes at the giant computer screen, Bruce concentrated on a certain file that detailed the previous capture of Two-Face before his latest escape.
From out of nowhere, Alfred came into the dank cave. "Master Bruce, I trust you will be departing soon?" the lanky man said with an arched brow.
"Yes, I'm planning to visit Axis Chemicals tonight. I think I know the motive behind Two-Face's latest breakout. Commissioner Gordon got a tip that he's going to rally with some of Gotham's lesser-known crime circles. Something about an illegal, chemical trade for profit. It's funny Alfred, I always thought of Two-Face as more than just a gangster for hire. Maybe a visit by the Batman will turn up some evidence as to why he is siding with small time crooks," he stated, as his face remained stern, not moving his eyes from the computer screen.
"But why would Mr. Dent engage in such petty crimes if he's not to benefit?" Alfred wondered aloud to Bruce. "Could it be a double cross?"
"Possibly Alfred" Bruce said unsurely. "Well, there's one way to find out. It's time to go to work."