Chapter 5: Feeding Time
The first reports came in at 11:47 PM—three separate 911 calls about "people acting weird" in Crime Alley. Detective Harvey Bullock crumpled his fourth cigarette pack of the day as he studied the dispatch notes, trying to make sense of witness descriptions that ranged from "really pale junkies" to "people with glowing eyes" to one hysterical caller who even insisted she'd seen "vampires with fangs."
"Great," Bullock muttered, reaching for his coat. "Halloween isn't for another month, and the freaks are already coming out to play."
Crime Alley had always been Gotham's festering wound—eight square blocks of abandoned buildings, failed businesses, and human desperation that even the city's most ambitious urban renewal projects couldn't heal.
It was where Bruce Wayne's parents had died, where hope went to die, and where the city's predators traditionally hunted the weakest members of the herd.
Tonight, those predators had evolved.
Detective John Driver was first on scene, his patrol car's headlights cutting through fog that seemed thicker and more persistent than the weather reports had predicted.
"This is Car 23, responding to disturbance call on Park Row," he radioed. "Visibility is poor due to unusual fog conditions. Requesting backup before proceeding into Crime Alley proper."
The radio crackled with static, then silence. Driver frowned and tried again, but the usual chatter of police communications had gone completely dead. Even his cell phone showed no signal, despite being in the middle of downtown Gotham.
A scream echoed from deeper in the alley—high-pitched, terrified, and abruptly cut off. Driver drew his service weapon and activated his flashlight, advancing cautiously toward the sound. His training had prepared him for armed criminals, drug-crazed addicts, even the occasional costumed lunatic that plagued Gotham's streets. Nothing had prepared him for what he found hunched over a body near the mouth of the alley.
The figure was human in general shape but wrong in every detail that mattered. Pale skin stretched too tight over bones, fingernails grown into claws that dripped with blood, and when it looked up at Driver's approach, eyes that glowed like red coals in a furnace.
"GCPD! Step away from the victim!"
The thing that had once been Jimmy Russo, small-time drug dealer and frequent resident of Gotham City lockup, straightened to its full height with insufferable arrogance. Its mouth stretched into a smug grin, revealing canine teeth that had elongated into genuine fangs that it displayed like trophies.
"Well, well, well. Officer Driver," it said in a voice dripping with condescension. "Look who's crawling around my territory now. You arrested me last month, didn't you? Possession with intent to distribute. You treated me like garbage, like I was nothing."
Driver's training kicked in despite the impossibility of the situation. "Jimmy? Jesus Christ, what happened to you?"
"What happened to me?" Jimmy laughed, a sound full of satisfaction. "I evolved, Officer. While you were still playing with handcuffs and parking tickets, I met someone who recognized my true potential. Someone who saw that Jimmy Russo was destined for greatness." The creature flexed its clawed hands with pride. "Look at me now—stronger than ten men, faster than your pathetic human reflexes can follow, and hungry in ways that make my old drug habits look like children's games."
The body at Jimmy's feet was completely drained of blood, skin pale as paper and eyes rolled back to show only the whites. Driver had seen plenty of corpses in his fifteen years on the force, but this one looked like it had been mummified while still alive.
"Step away from the victim, Jimmy. Whatever happened to you, whatever you've done, we can get you help."
Jimmy's laughter was pure mockery, "Help? HELP?" He gestured grandly at his transformed body. "Officer, Look at me! What you are seeing is perfection. No more shaking, no more begging dealers for fixes, no more scraping together nickels for my next high. I am the apex predator now. I am the top of the food chain. You humans are just... cattle."
He leaned over the drained corpse. "You see this? I did this with my bare hands—well, bare fangs, technically. This poor bastard thought he could run from me. Run! From ME!" Jimmy's eyes glowed brighter with self-satisfaction. "I caught him in three steps. Three! And the feeding... oh, Officer Driver, you have no idea how good it feels! Its the best!"
Driver's finger tightened on his weapon's trigger. "Last warning. Step away and put your hands behind your head."
"You know what the best part is?" Jimmy began strutting toward Driver with swagger, like a peacock showing off its plumage. "I can smell your fear—and it smells delicious. Better than the finest wine! Heck! Even better than the purest cocaine. And that pathetic little heartbeat of yours? It's like a dinner bell, inviting me for dinner."
Jimmy flexed his claws dramatically. "Twenty-six years I lived as a nobody. I have been arrested by cops like you, talked down to and treated like scum. But now?" He spread his arms wide in a gesture of supreme arrogance. "Now I'm a god among insects. My master chose ME, Officer Driver. Out of all the worthless criminals in this city, he saw something special in Jimmy Russo."
Driver fired twice, center mass, just as he'd been trained. Both rounds struck Jimmy square in the chest, jerking him backward but failing to drop him. Dark liquid leaked from the wounds, but it wasn't blood—it was something thicker and darker.
Jimmy looked down at the holes in his chest with amusement, as if Driver had just thrown pebbles at him.
"Bullets. Seriously? That's the best you can do?" He laughed. "Officer, you're still thinking like prey. Those little toys might work on ordinary criminals, but I'm extraordinary now. I'm perfection. I'm everything you pathetic humans wish you could be but never will."
He examined his claws with admiration. "Look at these beauties. Natural weapons that make your guns look like children's toys. And the strength—oh, the strength! I could tear you apart with one hand tied behind my back. In fact, let me demonstrate what real predators can do to inferior species."
He moved faster than anything human should be able to move, crossing the fifteen feet between them in what felt like a single step. Driver tried to fire again, but Jimmy's clawed hand closed around his wrist with strength that ground bones together. The service weapon clattered to the pavement as Driver screamed.
"The master said to be selective," Jimmy whispered, his fangs inches from Driver's throat. "Quality over quantity. But he also said we needed to send a message about what happens to those who try to interfere with the new order."
The last thing Officer John Driver heard was the sound of his own neck breaking.
---
Batman crouched on the fire escape above Park Row, watching the scene unfold with growing unease. He'd been tracking increased criminal activity in Crime Alley for the past three nights, following patterns that suggested either a new gang moving into the area or existing criminals becoming significantly more violent and coordinated.
What he was witnessing through his cowl's enhanced optics defied both explanations.
The figure attacking Officer Driver moved with speed and strength that exceeded human parameters by a considerable margin. Worse, it demonstrated intelligence and thinking that ruled out drug-induced psychosis or mental breakdown.
This was something else entirely—something that aligned uncomfortably with Dr. Arkham's theories about supernatural predators.
Batman fired his grappling gun and swung down into the alley just as the creature attacked the police officer. His boots struck the pavement with calculated force, announcing his presence while maintaining strategic distance from the potential threat.
"That's enough."
The pale figure turned toward him with obvious delight rather than concern. In the eerie fog and dim streetlight, Batman could see details that made his analytical mind struggle: elongated fangs that Jimmy kept running his tongue, eyes that burned with pride, claws that he flexed and admired constantly.
"The legendary Batman!" Jimmy exclaimed, clapping his hands like an excited child. "Oh, this is perfect. This is absolutely perfect. My master told me you might show up, and here you are—just in time to witness the debut of the new and improved Jimmy Russo!"
The creature struck a pose, arms spread wide as if expecting applause. "I was hoping we'd meet, Dark Knight. I wanted someone important to see what I've become. No more hiding in alleys dealing drugs to junkies. No more running from cops and getting kicked around by bigger criminals. Look at me now!" He gestured at his transformed body. "I'm a work of art! A masterpiece of evolution!"
Batman's hand moved to his utility belt, fingers finding the blessed silver cross that Dr. Arkham had given him. He didn't fully believe in its supernatural properties, but something about the situation suggested conventional weapons might prove inadequate.
"Your master?"
"My master is Count Dracula—yeah, THE Count Dracula—and he personally selected me for this honor." Jimmy's chest swelled with pride. "He said I had potential that others couldn't see. Said I was wasted as a mere human criminal. And was he ever right! You should see what I can do now, Batman. You should see how far above you pathetic mortals I've risen!"
The creature bounced on his feet like an eager show-off. "Want to know a secret? Your precious war against crime is about to become waste. We don't just break laws—we transcend them! We're the next phase of criminal evolution, and I'm leading the charge!"
The creature lunged forward with inhuman speed, but Batman was already moving, his cape billowing as he rolled aside and came up with a handful of batarangs. The projectiles struck the creature center mass, embedding deeply but failing to slow its assault.
Batman found himself fighting something that combined human intelligence with quick instincts and insufferable arrogance. His opponent was faster than any human he'd ever faced, strong enough to dent steel with its bare hands, and completely convinced of its own superiority.
"Is that all you've got?" Jimmy taunted between exchanges, dodging Batman's attacks. "The great Batman, reduced to throwing toys! This is almost disappointing—I expected more from Gotham's so-called Dark Knight!"
A backhand blow from the creature sent Batman flying into a brick wall with enough force to crack the mortar. "Did you see that form? Perfect technique! I'm not just strong, Batman—I'm an artist! A virtuoso of violence!"
"NOW you're beginning to understand your place in the new order!" Jimmy gloated as Batman struggled to his feet. "All your gadgets, all your martial arts training, all your brooding intimidation tactics—completely useless against me. We are evolution in action, Batman. The apex predators. And you?" He laughed with cruel delight. "You're just another costumed clown who's about to learn that the age of human heroes is OVER!"
"I'm going to be famous after this. The vampire who took down the Batman! Count Dracula will probably make me his lieutenant. Hell, maybe I'll get my own territory to rule!"
Batman pulled out a flash-bang grenade, hoping that enhanced physical abilities might come with enhanced sensory vulnerabilities. The explosion of light and sound in the confined alley was devastating, but when the ringing in his ears subsided, he realized his opponent had simply vanished.
Not fled—vanished. As if it had melted into the fog itself.
"This is just the beginning of the Jimmy Russo era!" the voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Tell your police friends that their badges and guns are jokes now. Tell the people of Gotham that they're living in MY world now. And tell yourself that you just got schooled by the greatest predator this city has ever seen!"
The voice took on a gloating, sing-song quality. "Jimmy Russo: zero arrests, one dead cop, and the Batman running away like a scared little boy. Not bad for my first night as a superior being, wouldn't you say?"
Batman remained motionless in the alley, listening intently for any sign of his opponent's location. But the fog seemed to muffle all sound, and even his enhanced cowl systems couldn't penetrate the mist that filled the space around him.
When he finally moved to examine the two bodies, he found Officer Driver drained of blood in the same manner as the three harbor district victims. But this time there were witnesses—three separate emergency calls had been placed before the police communications went dark. The supernatural threat was becoming bolder, more public, less concerned with maintaining secrecy.
Batman activated his comm system, connecting to the Batcave. "Alfred, I need you to research everything available on enhanced human physical capabilities. Cross-reference with European folklore about blood-drinking predators."
"Sir, are you suggesting—"
"I'm not suggesting anything yet. But conventional criminals don't move like that, don't demonstrate that kind of strength, and definitely don't survive direct hits from explosive projectiles without showing any trauma." Batman studied the impact points where his batarangs had struck the creature. Dark fluid stained the brick, but it wasn't blood as he understood it. "Whatever we're dealing with, it's not human anymore."
"I'll begin research immediately, sir. Are you injured?"
Batman tested his ribs gingerly, confirming that nothing was broken despite the tremendous force of the creature's blow. His armor had saved his life, but barely. "Bruised but functional. Alfred, there's something else. The creature mentioned a master—Count Dracula specifically. It wasn't some random rambling or psychological intimidation. This thing was delivering a message."
"Count Dracula, sir?"
"Dr. Arkham's research is looking more credible by the hour." Batman began moving toward his concealed vehicle, keeping to the shadows while being alwrt. "Whatever's happening in Gotham, it's organized, it's strategic, and it's being directed by something that calls itself by that name."
"Alfred, contact Commissioner Gordon. Tell him to pull all units back from the Crime Alley district until further notice. Whatever's happening down here, standard police procedures aren't adequate to handle it."
"Very good, sir. And if he asks for an explanation?"
"Tell him the truth, Alfred. Tell him that monsters are real, and they're hunting in Gotham's streets."
Batman retreated toward the Batcave, knowing that everything he thought he knew about crime and punishment was about to be tested against forces that operated by rules far older and more vicious than human law. The war for Gotham's streets had begun, and for the first time in his career, Batman wasn't sure he was equipped to win it.