The truck screeched as the brakes were slammed. The bat extended one hand, effortlessly overpowering Karl's grip on the steering wheel.
"Karl Scott."
The voice was cold and inhuman layered with a harsh electronic distortion, like something dragged straight out of hell.
"You know two people from the Falcone family."
"I" Karl tried to deny it, but the words died in his throat. Those empty eyes stared straight through him.
"I'm just a truck driver," he finally whispered.
"What did those two men ask you to do at 4 a.m. last Wednesday?"
"I"
"On September 16th, three years ago, you committed a hit and run. A woman carrying her child died from internal injuries. You watched the child bleed to death then left."
"On December 7th and 25th, two years ago, you crushed a motorcycle and ran over a drunk lying on the road. Last year"
"Enough!" Karl's fear twisted into hysterical rage. "I don't know what you're talking about! You freak"
CRACK.
"AAAAH!"
The pistol fell to the floor. Karl's right arm collapsed limply, bent at an unnatural angle.
"Answer me."
The bat's voice didn't change just as calm as before.
"I won't AH!"
CRACK.
Karl tumbled out of the truck door. This time, his right leg was broken.
"I'LL TALK! I'LL TALK!" He sobbed in agony. "I'll tell you everything! Please just stop!"
The bat lifted him effortlessly with one hand, like a chicken. A grappling line fired. Seconds later, both figures soared upward onto a nearby rooftop.
"Speak."
After Karl spilled everything he knew, the bat finally looked away.
"I've told you everything. You'll let me go now… right?"
The bat didn't answer. Instead, he took Karl's phone and dialed.
"Gotham Police Department."
"Tell Gordon to come to the Audisburg District. There's a suspect here responsible for multiple hit and runs and intentional homicides."
"No! You can't do this!" Karl screamed. "You lying freak!"
THUD.
A single punch shattered his teeth. Two incisors flew free. Karl fell silent.
"I'll keep the call open. You'll find him in the truck. Bring an ambulance."
With that, the bat struck Karl's neck. He went limp. The black wings spread once more. Batman vanished into Gotham's night already heading toward his next target. As always. Night after night.
Back home
"Where did you even get something this weird?"
"What do you mean weird? I got back from Audisburg in twelve minutes. Show my ride some respect."
"What? This unicycle flies?"
"It's a wheelchair. Thanks."
Marcus flipped it casually returning it to its ghost fire form. The rainbow lights were off now. Indoor use would've been visual pollution.
Drake fell silent. "…Anyway," he said, "work went smoothly?"
"Harvey Dent showed up."
"…No shootout?"
"You knew that place was hot!"
"I'm not stupid. Rumors travel."
Drake quickly soothed him. "Relax. That kind of thing is rare."
A year ago, someone had shot Dent's bulletproof vest. From his hospital bed, Dent, Batman, and Gordon wiped out a major Falcone operation and arrested a key family member.
"And setting that aside," Drake added, "the tips were good, right?"
"Yeah."
Marcus had already burned three hundred asset points on the wheelchair and driving skills funded entirely by tips. Gotham's rich really weren't poor. The only downside was that one wealthy woman's perfume had staying power. His right hip still smelled faintly sweet. Auntie had sweaty hands. Can't be helped. Gotta live.
That night, Marcus reviewed service notes on the system board, bathed, counted his earnings, glanced at the unlucky bastard hanging from a gargoyle and went to sleep.
It was Marcus Reed's third day in Gotham. Aside from meeting Harvey Dent, almost triggering a shootout at work, riding a ghost fire wheelchair, and being chased home by idiots firing guns nothing happened.
Another calm, peaceful day.