Interaction(s): None1977The rain hadn’t stopped for days.
It plummeted from the sky, drenching the panicked figure running down the narrow alley. The man's footsteps echoed down the alley, soaked boots stomping against the wet cobblestone. A newspaper was crushed under the man’s heavy sole, the ominous headline still visible on the soggy page.
Peter Pan Killer Strikes Again.
Stumbling as he rounded the corner, Lewis LeBeau caught himself on the bricks, cutting his hand before letting out a sharp curse. Regaining his balance, he ran along the sidewalk, waving at the passing cars as he tried to flag down a ride. Wiping the wet hair from his brow, Lewis tucked under a nearby awning.
Suddenly, the canvas above his head was punctured as Lewis found himself dragged skyward. A hand took ahold of Lewis collar as he was brought face to face with a monstrous visage.
“Where is Roy Blount?” The horror roared as Lewis felt the fight drain from his body. It had been almost twenty-four hours since the Peter Pan Killer had taken his latest victim. The previous five victims had all been killed within thirty-six hours of their abduction.
Each abduction had been the same. The killer had entered the child’s residence through an unlocked bedroom window before abducting the child from their bed and transported them out into the night. There was never a trace another individual had been there, the killer always leaving without so much as a single footprint left on the windowsill.
The media had dubbed the murdered children, ‘The Lost Boys’ due to the killer’s preference for abducting young boys. But his modus operandi had changed, the latest abduction had been different. This time, the Peter Pan Killer hadn’t abducted a single child.
He had taken two.
“Two children.” The monster roared into LeBeau’s face. “You were there.” It accused, warm spit and saliva flying from its angry maw. The latest victims were siblings, a nine-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old girl. They had been taken from Gotham’s Upper West Side last night.
“You were driving for Blout!” The monster roared. “Where did you take them!”
“D’you know what he’ll do to me if I tell ya?” Lewis managed to stammer before he was pulled closer to the heavily breathing face Gotham’s Bat.
“Do you know what I’ll do to you, if you don’t?” The Bat retorted.
“I know you won’t kill me.” LeBeau replied, a smile crossing his face. A soft chuckle almost escaped from between his lips before dying in his throat. A cold sweat began to bead on Lewis’ forehead as he noticed the monster before him smiling back.
“You’ll wish you were dead.” As soon as the words left its mouth, LeBeau felt the hand at his throat loosen. The ground below suddenly came closer before the sickening crack of breaking bones and cartilage echoed in his ears.
A cry of agony escaped from Lebeau’s mouth as he flailed about on the ground. Another yell echoed into the night as something took ahold of his ankle, pulling Lewis skyward again. The blood rushed to Lebeau’s head as he was hung by his ankle.
“Next time,” The Bat growled, “You won’t walk again.” Lifting the man’s leg above his head, Gotham’s Dark Knight brought LeBeau’s face up to his own again before speaking.
“I won’t ask again,” He snarled, “Now, where did you take them?”
PresentThe forensic scanner rotated around the broken device Terry had retrieved from the body of Richard Cunningham. On the main screen of the Batcomputer was a three-dimensional reconstruction of the device based on extrapolated data.
“So it was a band of some kind,” Terry said, nodding towards the image projected on the large screen. As Bruce turned to answer, Terry felt something cold and wet nudge against his hand. Looking down, he smiled at the large dog before petting Ace behind his ears.
“Good, Bad-Dog.” Terry muttered as Bruce began to speak.
“It’s a neural transmitter.” Bruce stated, “The signals transmitted by the device are consistent with neural oscillations. Brainwaves in layman’s terms.” He added, nodding towards Terry, “ It’s a highly specialized piece of technology.”
“Wait, are you saying it’s a mind control device?” Terry asked, raising an eyebrow as he shot Bruce a confused look.
“In crude terms.” Bruce replied, “The neural oscillations synchronize with the wearer’s, opening the host mind to suggestion.” He explained, “It’s high-tech hypnosis.” Turning his chair towards another screen, Bruce magnified the damaged neural band before pointing towards a mark on the device.
“That’s a manufacturer's mark.” The older man stated, “There however is notably no conformity mark. It’s not mass produced.” Bruce continued, “But there should still be a patent, and if there’s a patent, we’ll follow the evidence and locate the perpetrator.”
“And if there isn’t a patten?” Terry asked.
“We’ll follow the evidence and locate the perpetrator.” Bruce repeated, his voice devoid of any uncertainty. For the briefest of moments, Terry could have sworn the old man smirked.
Turning back to the console, Bruce’s fingers flew across the Batcomputer’s interface as he input the search parameters into the system. Watching his mentor work, Terry couldn’t help but feel impressed as Bruce didn’t hesitate on where to act next. Years of training and decades of experience had made the old man a force to be reckoned with. An electronic chirp interrupted Terry’s thoughts as he re-adjusted his focus to look towards the screen.
“Stagg Enterprises?” Terry asked. “What does Stagg Enterprises have to do with a Wayne Employee’s murder?”
“Nothing,” Bruce replied, “But they manufactured the technology that was used in the murder. The patent, however, belongs to a Dr. Jervis Tetch, a Gotham resident.”
“Jervis Tetch,” The younger man interjected, raising an eyebrow as a smirk of amusement. “Did his parents want him to suffer through life?”
“Jervis Tetch.” Bruce echoed, muttering the name as he mused primarily to himself. Pressing a button on the Batcomputer’s interface, Bruce spoke again. “Computer, cross reference the name Jervis Tetch with all cases files.”
The computer responded to the command with a quick chirp as it began to process the parameters.
“What are you thinking?” Terry asked, approaching the computer as Bruce pressed his hands together, resting his chin atop his arched index fingers. Looking from the screen to Bruce, Terry spoke again.
“You think he’s one of yours?”
“No.” Bruce replied flatly.
“I rescued him.”
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