BATMAN: SHIVER

Chapter I

"Cold Vengeance"

Three years ago…

Doctor Victor Fries took a deep breath and watched as the expelled air from his lungs became a visible mist in the cool air of the cryogenic laboratory. This particular section of Wayne Enterprises had been shut down for maintenance due to faulty electronics, but that was of no importance to Victor. Only one thing matter to him now.

Nora.

Victor placed his hand against the frosted-over glass of her suspension chamber and watched his beloved sleep the deepest sleep known to science. The chamber kept her disease-ravaged body in cryonic suspension, meaning that the sickness infecting her would spread much more slowly through her systems, but at the cost of her consciousness.

When Nora had been diagnosed with the terminal and untreatable Schivell's Disease last year, Victor vowed to find a cure before it could take the only person he ever loved from him. Knowing his wife had precious little time, he had her removed from Gotham General Hospital, telling her doctors that she was being taken into private care. This was partly true.

Besides himself, the only person who knew of Nora's true whereabouts was Lucius Fox. Victor and Lucius were old friends, having both worked at Wayne Enterprises for years. Fox had even been on the board when Thomas Wayne had run things. But since Wayne's death, and the mysterious disappearance of his son, the untrustworthy Bill Earle had been in charge, and Lucius had been relegated to "Applied Sciences", a fancy name for a dead end.

But Fox's genius had not dwindled all these years and today he knew the company better than anyone. It was he who had quietly rerouted enough power to this disused lab, yet still managed to keep it off the radar. Lucius, ever the golden hearted, had many times attempted to "reason" with Victor and put him off his "fruitless" search for a cure. But Victor was beyond logic now.

At first, he would perhaps have admitted his efforts were in vain, but now, after nearly a year, he had made a small step forward. Victor had developed a compound similar to liquid nitrogen, based off redundant designs for a cold-based weapon he and Lucius had worked on some time ago. This freezing solution would supercool Nora's metabolism, much like her cryonic chamber did now, but this would allow her to remain conscious and mobile despite the effects to her body. The disease would still be slowed but she could continue to live her life.

There were side-effects however. She would be unable to survive in anything except sub-zero temperatures. But Victor had developed a way around even this. He had fashioned a "cryo-suit" that would regulate Nora's body temperature and allow her to survive in ordinary environments. It would mean he would still be unable to touch her, but he could at least hear her voice again and for that alone, Victor would give the stars themselves.

It wasn't a cure, but it was a step closer to getting Nora's life back. Victor even speculated that Nora, a fellow geneticist, could be of use in finding a cure for her own ailment.

The solution was nearly ready. Victor tore himself from his wife's frozen gaze to check the temperature of his compound, which waited in a nearby tank below the walkway he and Nora stood on. It had to be precise; the slightest variance in temperature and it could kill her.

Victor took another deep breath. For the first time since before Nora's diagnosis, his heart began fluttering with excitement. Soon he would be able to talk to her again, about everything and nothing, just like they used to do long into the night.

The doors to the lab crashed open, shattering Victor's dreaming. It was Bill Earle, flanked by two security guards – Victor recognised them as Marty Cale, newly added to the staff, and Bob O'Dowd, an older man. Both of them were so-called friends of his.

"Dammit, Fries!" Earle bellowed, pronouncing Victor's surname with a harsh -eez sound instead of the proper, soft -ees. "How long did you think you could hide this from us!?"

"Please, Mr. Earle, let me explain," Victor pleaded, even though he knew Earle would not care.

Earle merely glanced around the spacious and well-equipped laboratory. "How in the hell did you manage all of this? Hm? It was Fox, wasn't it?"

"Mr. Earle, please, my wife is very sick, and…"

"I know all about your wife, Fries. What, that insurance money wasn't enough for you? You have to steal from me as well? I'll see to it you lose your degree for this, Fries. You won't be able to get a job polishing test tubes when my lawyers are through with you." Earle motioned to the guards. "Get him out of here. Shut this down."

Cale and O'Dowd each took one of Victor's arms and he struggled against them. "No! Please, Mr. Earle, my wife…"

"Your wife," said Earle, right into Victor's face, "should have died a long time ago, Mister Fries."

That was enough for Victor. The months of work about to be destroyed for nothing, his beloved being condemned to death, his career eliminated, and his easy dispatch by two workmates – no, friends – but the worst of it was Earle's total lack of remorse. It was safe to say that Victor lost it.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed at Earle. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS, EARLE!"

Even Cale and O'Dowd, two well-built men, struggled to contain the thin-framed, forty-two-year-old scientist in his fit of rage. "Victor, for Christ's sakes," pleaded O'Dowd. "It's over."

"No!" Victor yelled. "It's not over!" Straining against the guards holding him, he lunged for the controls that would enable Nora's cryo-chamber to slide into the freezing solution underneath the floor. But he was too frantic, he must have hit in the wrong sequence. It all happened too fast.

The console flared and sparked and Victor inwardly cursed the faulty mechanism. One of the sparks must have ignited some chemical he had sitting out in a beaker on his nearby workbench, because there was an explosion that threw him and the guards back. As Cale and O'Dowd were thrown into Earle and off of the platform, Victor was thrown onto the opening doors that covered the top of the freezing tank.

He fell right through the gap in the doors and into the liquid solution. To say the cold hit him was an understatement. It devastated him. It was as though it had eliminated his ability to feel anything in one instant, like he had completely lost his sense of touch, yet still he felt blinding pain. It was nothing, however, compared to the pain he felt next.

The explosion had been just powerful enough to shatter open his wife's cryonic chamber. As cold as the lab was, it was still far too warm for Nora to be suddenly exposed to. The fire caused by the explosion did not help matters. He knew at once, even in his torment, that she was surely dead. He did not need to check her heartbeat to know, for his own heart felt as though it had itself stopped beating.

Earle and the guards had got to their feet. "Let's get out of here!" shouted Earle over the various alarms blaring as a result of the spreading fire.

"But, sir!" Cale shouted back, gesturing towards Fries and his wife.

"They're both already dead, dammit!" Earle shouted back. "C'mon!" He ran from the burning lab with Cale and O'Dowd grudgingly in tow.

Victor could not blame them. With Nora gone, he did not want to be rescued. He closed his eyes and let his dead weight drag him to the bottom of the tank. He was not a religious man, but his final thought was that he might be reunited with Nora at last and this gave him joy at the end. He would have wept, would his tears not simply have frozen.

Present

A dark streak made its way through the equally dark streets of Gotham City on a typically cool night, weaving its way effortlessly between cars and through alleyways.

It was Gotham's own "Dark Knight", the Batman, riding his most recent mode of transport; the Bat-pod. Similar in appearance to a common motorbike, but lacking any unnecessary add-ons, the Bat-pod was pure function and it showed in its performance.

Tonight, Batman was on his way towards the home of a serial killer.

For weeks now, a sinister series of murders had been taking place, involving seemingly unconnected victims. The killings were particularly gruesome; the bodies were all found at home and had been crudely stitched together after having been taken apart. Every limb had been savagely hacked off and then re-attached, the bodies long dead by then.

Ever since a horror-struck police officer had stumbled out of the first murder scene and muttered to a waiting reporter "…he put them back together again", the press had dubbed the murderer "the Humpty Dumpty Killer". It was disgustingly unsophisticated, but it seemed the public had to have a simple name for all the themed psychopaths out there today.

The victims had not known one another, each of them living in different areas of the city. The first was a young mathematics student at Gotham University who worked part time at a fast food restaurant. The second victim was a middle-aged woman who worked at the library. The third was a male bus driver in his fifties. The latest victim had been a young woman who was a small-time actress. Nothing connected them; apart from that they all lived alone, which did nothing but aid the killer.

It was at the final victim's house – and she would be the final victim, if Batman had his way – that the Dark Detective had found a significant clue. It was getting more and more difficult for him to search crime scenes since taking the blame for Harvey Dent's crimes last year. The Batman was now an enemy on both sides of the law. But he had managed to sweep the latest scene before the police noticed him, and he had discovered something they had missed.

In between the pages of a copy of The Merchant of Venice that the woman had on her bookshelf, Batman found a library card. If it belonged to the suddenly-careless killer, then he had just handed over his identity on a silver platter.

It belonged to one Edgar Humphries. Bruce had Alfred check the name and it hadn't come up on any police databases, but his address was listed. Alfred had also checked the library records, and not only was the library he frequented the former workplace of his second victim, but he had only one currently overdue book: Grey's Anatomy. Presumably to aid in his horrific tasks.

The Bat-pod growled to a halt outside an old shop which Humphries lived above. The sign read "Humphries & Sons – Handymen for Hire". It looked old and abandoned but, not wanting to be careless, Batman fired his grapple gun onto the roof and pulled himself up, choosing to enter from above.

He had called Commissioner Gordon from the road, knowing his only friend in the police department would treat his evidence seriously and without question. The men Gordon would send would only know that there had been a sighting of the Batman phoned in from this address. It was up to Batman himself to present enough evidence for Humphries arrest.

It most likely would not be easy. Unless Humphries had accomplices, he was probably strong enough to overpower his victims. Batman would have to incapacitate him quickly, and then search the house for clues before the boys in blue arrived.

Dropping silently through an unlocked skylight, Batman prowled the darkened upper floor. Finding it empty, he made his way noiselessly downstairs. In what appeared to be the living room, he saw an elderly woman, seemingly asleep in a rocking chair by the window, lit by a very dim lamp bulb.

At once, Batman sensed something wasn't right. He crept slowly across the dusty carpet towards the rocking chair as it creaked at a steady and deliberate rate. Placing his hand on her bony shoulder, he turned her around.

He found himself staring into the eyes of a dead woman.

Like Humphries' other victims, she had been crudely stitched together using twine, bootlace, and various other everyday household materials. Her arms and legs were bent into awkward angles and her head lolled unnaturally. Her skin was a mottled yellow and her eyes glazed over coldly. Batman had not seen any of the others up close and, although he had steeled himself against this possibility, he was overwhelmed with disgust. This Edgar Humphries was clearly a monster.

"She was broken…"

Batman turned at this mysterious voice and braced himself, only to find a sight he did not expect.

An incredibly obese man sat in the dark corner of the room on a two-seater couch that was taken up entirely by his bulk and looked ready to collapse.

"Edgar Humphries?" Batman asked, his deep voice was usually emotionless, but traces of shock managed to creep through.

Humphries nodded his dome-like head and Batman could see through the darkness that tears ran down his cheeks.

Batman struggled to maintain his composure. "You…killed those people…" He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"They were all broken," Humphries replied, his voice tremulous and high-pitched, like a child's. "They were all bad… Inside. I fixed them… I'm good at fixing things…" His hands were fidgeting nervously.

It was clear that Edgar Humphries suffered from some sort of mental instability or disability and was not fully aware of the consequences of his actions. Batman knew from experience the difference between those who used their mental condition as an excuse to kill and those who killed because of their mental condition. Humphries was clearly the latter and needed treatment.

"Why did you fix them, Edgar?" Batman asked. "Why were they bad?"

If Humphries was intimidated by the Batman, he did not show it. "They… They… They were just bad. There was the boy who worked at the burger place… He was rude. He made fun of me and spat in my food, called me names… He was first. I followed him, wee, wee, wee, all the way home. I can fix things you see… Anything that's broken or bent or crooked or…bad. And he was very bad… So I had to fix him. He didn't like it… Then he…he didn't say anything…"

Batman was almost afraid to ask. "And the others, Edgar. What about the others?"

"There was the old lady who lived in the library. She was always so very cross. I needed a book, you see. I didn't fix the boy properly, so I needed a book. My granny always said that books made you smart and that's why I was stupid, 'cause I only read my story books. I got a book about fixing people, with pictures and everything, but I don't think it helped, 'cause the library lady didn't get fixed.

"Then there was the bus driver, bus driver man. He never stopped for me. And then the pretty girl who came to get her radio fixed. She wasn't very nice… Pretty outside, ugly inside… I tried to read one of her books, but it was just like her. Pretty cover but no pictures inside."

Batman realised that was when Edgar must have left his library card at the crime scene. He took the card out a pocket in his belt and knelt down before Edgar to hand him the card. The rotund man smiled at it.

"Always mark your place in a book," he burbled. "So you can come back to it later."

"Edgar," Batman said, his voice pleasanter, "is that your grandmother?" He pointed to the woman in the corner.

Edgar began to tear up again and couldn't look at her. "She was always shouting. Calling me stupid… Always wanting to know where I went at night. Then she saw. She saw the book and my messy hands and all my string and she said I was the man in the paper. The Humpty Dumpty man. I tried to make her see, but she wouldn't stop crying… She wouldn't stop crying… I had to… I had to… I had to fix her…"

A car could be heard pulling up outside. "Edgar. I want you to tell the policemen what you did. Show them your grandmother and tell them you didn't mean for anyone to get hurt and they'll take care of you."

Edgar nodded again. "I… I just want to fix everything…"

Knowing that the approaching officers would be at the door shortly, Batman left Edgar Humphries' house as silently and as undetected as he had entered it, confident the simple man-child would do the right thing.

Watching from a nearby rooftop, Batman saw Edgar being tearfully led into the back of the squad car as the arresting officers shook their heads in disbelief.

"Pardon me, sir," Alfred's Cockney accent came in clearly through his cowl's earpiece.

"Go ahead, Alfred."

"Just heard over the scanner, sir. Commissioner Gordon has left Police Headquarters for a crime scene located across town."

With Batman's newfound status as an outlaw, the Bat-signal was no longer a practical means to contact him. But when Gordon himself inspected a crime scene, it might has well have been a beacon.

"Send the address to the Bat-pod's GPS. I'm on my way."

Jim Gordon entered the small, one-bedroom apartment and the cold instantly hit him. It was already a chilly night, but the cold in here was more like that of a meat locker. An enveloping, penetrating coldness that hung in the air. His breath was even misting before him.

The walls and furniture were coated with a thin layer of frost and sat right in the centre of the main room, in an armchair before the broken television set, was a dead body.

"I don't think any weather man saw this cold snap comin'," said a voice with a thick New York accent.

Gordon turned to see the new head of GCPD's Major Crimes Unit – Lieutenant Harvey Bullock.

"Evenin', Commish," said Bullock, tipping the brim of his old-fashioned fedora. The man just stood out in every way – portly, unshaven and he dressed like a 1940s movie gumshoe with his crumpled trenchcoat and battered hat. "What brings you all the way out here in the middle of the night?"

"Well you should know by now that I like the strange cases, Lieutenant," Gordon replied. "What've you got?" He nodded towards the dead man.

Bullock reached into his deep pockets and produced a tattered notebook which he read from. "Martin Cale. Twenty-eight years old. Single. Lived alone. Was a security guard over at Wayne Enterprises. Neighbour came home from work 'bout midnight, saw his door was busted, then saw…this." He indicated the room with a casual wave of his hand.

Gordon took a closer look at the corpse. The skin was a mottled grey-white and, like the rest of the room, covered in thin frost. His eyes were wide open in fear and he was missing his right index finger. "Cause of death?" he inquired.

"That's the strange part: He was frozen to death." Bullock pointed to the victim's right hand. "That's how we lost the finger. Don't touch him; he's as brittle as ice."

"Jesus," Gordon cursed under his breath. "How could anyone do this?"

"Got me, Commish," said Bullock. "Forensics reckons it's liquid nitrogen, but they won't know for sure 'til they get him downtown." He shook his head. "Boy, they warned me about Gotham…"

"You don't know the half of it yet, Lieutenant," said Gordon. "Look, uh, Bullock, do you mind stepping outside with the other officers? I wanna take a look around myself, if that's okay."

Bullock nodded to himself and took a look out in the corridor to make sure the police guard was far enough away, and then turned back to Gordon. "Look, Commish, I ain't stupid. I know you've been working with this 'Bat-Man' everyone's been telling me about, even though they all say he's a cop-killer. And I ain't gonna judge ya, either. You got your reasons, that's fine by me, but don't go thinking I'm slow every time you inspect a crime scene by yourself."

"He's good," a voice growled from the shadows. Gordon and Bullock turned to see Batman emerge.

"I'll be damned," said Bullock, pushing his hat back.

"Lieutenant Harvey Bullock, Batman," said Gordon. "Batman, Lieutenant Bullock. He just transferred-"

"From the NYPD last month," finished Batman. "I know. New York to Gotham. Quite a change."

"Eh," Bullock shrugged. "Things were a little too slow for me."

"Lieutenant," said Gordon. "If you would…" He motioned towards the door.

"Alright," said Bullock. "Hope you know what yer doin'…" he said quietly as he left and shut the door behind him.

"You trust him?" Batman asked.

Gordon sighed. "He seems a good cop. If a little…rough."

"In New York, he was charged with excessive force several times and was known for violence against suspects during questionings, although nothing was proven." Even as he spoke, Batman was looking over both the dead man and the room.

"If you already read his file," said Gordon, "why did you ask me?"

"You and I both know that there's always more to someone than what's 'on the record'."

Gordon nodded. "Well, he trusts me. He hasn't told anyone I'm working with you."

"Any leads on this murder?" asked Batman, changing the subject.

"Firstly," said Gordon, "I'm assuming that address you had me send a car to was for this 'Humpty Dumpty Killer'?"

"Yes. Edgar Humphries," said Batman.

"Glad that sick bastard is finally gonna be put away…"

"Edgar Humphries is mentally disturbed. He thought he was 'fixing' his victims. He has the mindset of a child, but is clearly highly intelligent. A savant, perhaps. There were various pieces of technology around his house all at different stages of repair."

"Guess he's better with machines than people," said Gordon.

"He should be sent to Arkham," said Batman. "One of the few there who needs serious treatment, rather than being simply locked away."

Both men immediately thought of the Joker and how he may very well be beyond treatment.

Gordon shook his head. "More and more of these bizarre crimes. Almost theatrical. Like this guy." Their attention went back to the current crime scene. "What could do this to a man? Who could do this to a man?"

"Someone looking for revenge."

"What makes you say that?"

Batman moved over to the window and drew open the curtains. In the frosted glass of the pane, someone had written four words:

REVENGE IS A DISH…

"Great. Someone with a sense of humour," said Gordon. "I take it we'll be covertly working together on this one?" He turned away from the window, but the Batman was already gone. "As usual then."

Jervis Tetch anxiously ran his hand over his unruly blonde hair, trying to get it to sit straight for the umpteenth time that day. He tugged on the lapels of his lab coat, also trying to straighten it out, but it was already too far gone to be brought back into the realm of smart-looking. It was smudged, torn and the Wayne Enterprises logo that had adorned the breast pocket had fallen off a long time ago.

Despite the condition of his coat, Jervis had only been at Wayne Enterprises for a month now. He had been headhunted for his revolutionary work in neurotechnology and the project he'd been working on for WayneTech was truly a breakthrough. This was why Bruce Wayne himself was coming down to Jervis's department today to inspect his work.

But this was not why Jervis was on-edge. He could handle having to talk to his employer, one of the world's richest men, and justify funding his very expensive research even though he'd yet to yield results. He could deal with that. It was talking to Alice that panicked him.

She was the receptionist for the floor that Jervis worked on – Advanced R&D. He saw her every day and never managed to discuss anything more than pointless small-talk with her. Although he managed to enjoy even something as immaterial as that; simply listening to her talk about every minute aspect of her day was exhilarating for him. She was so beautiful and Jervis knew that if he could just say more than "Lovely weather we're having" she'd like him too.

He pulled himself out of his lab and made his way over to Alice's desk in front of the elevators.

"Morning, Alice," he managed.

"Oh hey there, Jervis," she said in her wonderfully pleasant voice. She sent him a glimpse of her perfect smile and tucked some of her glorious golden hair behind her ear. "What can I do for you?"

Jervis always found it difficult to look her in the eye as he found that he lost himself too easily in their bright blueness. "Ah, um, well, you know that Mr. Wayne is coming down to see me today, right?"

Alice gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. "How could I forget? I've had your appointment circled in red for a week now!"

He managed to look up at her from the corner of her desk that he was pretending to inspect. "Y-You have?"

"Of course! Bruce Wayne practically never comes to any department himself. I'm finally gonna get to see him in person!"

Jervis sometimes had to remind himself of how young Alice was. At twenty-three, she was eight years his junior and still susceptible to somewhat girlish infatuations. "Oh," he stuttered. "You, uh, you like Bruce Wayne?"

"He's so hot! I can't wait 'til he gets here."

"B-But what about all that stuff they say about him? All those…women he dates."

"Oh c'mon, Jervis. Don't be so stuffy. Besides, you can't believe everything you read in the tabloids."

Jervis nervously moved around some random objects on Alice's desk. "I-I dunno… Everyone around here says he's kinda... Well, y'know, an idiot."

"Who's an idiot?" Bruce Wayne himself stepped out of the elevator accompanied by Lucius Fox, CEO of, and the real brains behind, Wayne Enterprises.

"Oh, uh, Mr. Wayne, I was uh," Jervis verbally stumbled.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," said Alice enthusiastically, standing up to greet him.

"Hey there," Wayne's eyes darted to her desk's nameplate, "Alice. How are you today?"

"I'm just fine, Mr. Wayne. How are you?"

"Pretty good," said Wayne, grinning boyishly.

"Mr. Wayne," said Fox. "This is Jervis Tetch, who I was telling you about."

Bruce's attention quickly switched to Jervis. "Oh yeah. Mr. Tetch, Lucius tells me you have something very interesting to show me."

"Oh yes, sir, ah, em, right this way, sir." Jervis hastily led the way back to his lab.

Once in the lab, Jervis frantically typed in his code for the safe at the back of the room, but couldn't seem to get it right. "Um, sorry about this, always takes me a while. Should've had it out ready… Ah! There we go." The safe opened and Jervis removed an object that looked like a metal headband with several other bands crisscrossing over the top in a semi-spherical shape, as if to fit over the head. It was quite bulky for such a small device and looked very complex for such a simple design. "I call it the mind-hat," said Jervis proudly.

"Mind-hat?" said Bruce with a dubious tone.

"Uh, well, it's just a silly name, I, uh…" Jervis babbled.

"Why don't you tell Mr. Wayne what it does," said Fox.

"Right," said Jervis. "Well, this is just the prototype, you understand, but as Mr. Fox has, I'm sure, explained to you, I've been developing a means to…amplify, or unlock, the human brain's potential."

Wayne suddenly became very interested, folding his arms and asking, "You mean like how they say we only use ten percent of our brains…"

"A-Actually, Mr. Wayne, that's, um, a common misconception. You see, we actually use one-hundred percent of the brain, but not all at once. We are only using about three percent of our brains at any given time, but which three percent is always changing."

"And you're saying you've found a way to allow human beings to use more of their brains at once?"

"Well, Mr. Wayne, my intent is to one day be able to use my entire mind's potential."

"Your mind?"

Jervis quickly corrected himself. "I, uh, I mean our minds. As a people."

Wayne continued with his questioning. "So, what your device can do is give people…what, psychic powers? Mind reading, telekinesis, that sort of thing?"

"Well, um, this is just the prototype, you understand, it's yet to be tested, of course, and while it may give the user the abilities you mentioned, I think it's more likely that the wearer will be able to, uh, project or extend his will onto another, less developed, mind."

"You're talking about mind-control, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne.

"Well, ah, only of, um, lesser creatures. I don't think it'd work on humans. And it's really more like hypnotism than mind-control." He fumbled with the device. "You see, as I told Mr. Fox last week, it uses focused-"

Bruce cut him off. "I'm afraid the science part is lost on me, Mr. Tetch. Lucius?"

Fox took a heavy breath. "The theory is sound and shows promise. But I've inspected the prototype myself and in my personal opinion…it's too dangerous. I believe the effect of the device would cause lasting cerebral damage to whoever used it."

Jervis's face dropped. "B-But, there's only a slim chance of neural damage. It could easily be hammered out in further research and-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne. "But it's not just Mr. Fox's opinion I'm taking into account. I personally can't see any positive use for this device."

"D-Don't you see? The vastness of the human mind has yet to be explored," proclaimed Tetch. "Think of what we could accomplish."

"You're talking about mind-control," said Bruce again. "That's something I cannot condone. Give Mr. Fox the device, he'll put it in storage and you'll be assigned a new project."

Fox put his hand on one of Tetch's slumped shoulders. "I'm sorry, son," he offered. Jervis wearily handed him his prized invention.

"Don't worry, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne as the two men left him. "I'm sure one day this 'mind-hat' will be of use to someone. Just not in the way you think."

Jervis offered a weak smile to show he had no hard feelings, despite it being a lie. He felt crushed. It didn't help when he heard the playboy flirting with Alice down the hall.

Bruce and Lucius walked passed the security checkpoint on the storage floor and into the large vault room. Once Tetch's prototype had been safely stowed away and Bruce made sure they were out of earshot of the security guards, he spoke seriously to Lucius.

"I need to talk to you about something important," he started.

"Business, pleasure or you-know-what?" Lucius jokingly asked as he sealed the device in its own drawer.

"I'm afraid it's that unique kind of important."

"Oh?" Lucius was now listening fully.

"One of our security guards was found dead last night. Martin Cale. I'm sure you'll be informed through official channels later in the day…"

"Marty Cale…"

"Did you know him?"

"Not personally. He worked front desk. Damn shame." Fox shook his head mournfully. "But other than his employment, what interests you about his death?"

"He was murdered. Frozen to death in his own home."

Lucius frowned. "That certainly is…unique."

Bruce continued. "There were no clues, nothing left behind – no DNA, no fingerprints – nothing except a message: 'Revenge is a dish'."

"Revenge?"

"Yeah. The message looked as though it was meant to be continued, that's why I think whoever did this will strike again. Possibly tonight. The police will pursue leads and Gordon will inform me if they turn up any suspects, but for now I need to know: What kind of weapon could flash-freeze someone like that?"

Fox searched his mind. "Y'know, there might be something like that in this very room…" He crossed to a wall monitor and input a search into its small keyboard.

"There was a geneticist who worked here a few years back," said Lucius. "Before your time. Doctor Victor Fries."

"Fries?"

"I know, I know. It was back when Bill Earle was running the place. He had me and Victor work together on a weapon that could freeze a target. It was designed to be non-lethal, but I suppose- Ah!" He read the inventory number off the monitor then went to the corresponding drawer and removed a set of schematics and other papers which Bruce pretended to study. "We only have the designs; the prototype was destroyed in, ironically, a fire years ago.

"It sprays a concentrated jet of a compound similar to liquid nitrogen. It actually gets colder over time, so the victim would essentially be dying slowly unless thawed. Although I suppose a more concentrated dose could cause instant death."

"Does Dr. Fries still work here?" asked Bruce. "I'd like to talk to him about it."

"No, I'm afraid he…" Lucius suddenly stopped.

"Lucius?"

"My God… It couldn't be…"

"What?" Bruce asked. "What is it?"

Lucius quickly explained how Victor Fries had perished years ago. He told Bruce about Fries' wife, his illegal use of equipment and what happened when Earle found out.

He finished his account with, "Marty Cale was one of the security guards there that night."

Bruce suddenly saw the relevance of the story. "Fries body was never found I take it?"

"When the tank was drained, it was empty. Everyone assumed that Victor's body had totally crystallised and disintegrated. Several pieces of equipment were presumed lost in the fire but…"

"But now," said Bruce, "with Cale dead – frozen – it seems likely that Fries didn't die. That he stole the missing equipment and that he's back after all these years."

"And is out for revenge," Lucius added.

In a disused cold storage warehouse in one of Gotham's generally disused areas, a lone man stood in an ice-cold room, staring at a photograph.

Several men slowly approached the figure. They were dressed in gear designed to brave Arctic winds; not what they were expecting to wear in Gotham City on a September afternoon. The head of this pack, who called himself Jackson, stepped forward.

"Yo!" he proclaimed. "Word on the street is you're looking for muscle."

"Indeed," said the bald man with bone-white skin. His flat, emotionless voice cut through the men more harshly than the temperature. Jackson also noticed his breath wasn't misting when he spoke.

"Yeah, well, ever since the damned Batman put an end to organised crime in his town, you gotta take whatever's thrown in your direction. Even if it weren't aimed at you. Right, guys?" There were murmurs of agreement. "You pay us the right amount; we'll do just about anything."

"I assure you," said the pale man, "money is no object. You will all get your rewards and I shall have mine."

Jackson snorted. "These days, everybody's after something weird or something. Like that Joker guy. I hear he burned his share of the mob's money. These days money isn't good enough for guys like him. Guys like you. What I'm trying to say, Mister, uh…?"

"Fries."

"Right. What I'm trying to say, Mr. Fries, is: What is it you are after?"

Fries gazed once again into the photograph, which Jackson could now see was of an attractive woman. Then the tall, intimidating figure turned to what looked like some sort of high-tech suit of armour with a domed glass helmet. Fries placed a hand on the suit's chest.

"Tell me," said Fries. "Have you ever been in love?"

Jackson shifted slightly. "What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"When you are dealing with me, it has to do with everything.

"You asked me what I want. I shall tell you." Fries turned to the others and for the first time since they had entered, Jackson saw his eyes flare with an emotion – hate. "Revenge! I swear upon the grave of my beloved Nora, I shall have my cold vengeance!"