The Batman Delusion

Chapter 1

Alfred stood at the door, looking into Bruce's cell. He was slumped in a corner, so pale and gaunt that his skin blended in with the cream-colored straightjacket and wall padding. The only sign that he was even alive was his eyes, constantly flitting to and fro around the room, looking at people and things that weren't really there.

"Alfred," Dr. Crane said, coming to stand next to him at the door. "Good to see you again."

"Mmm." Alfred wished he could say the same but the truth was that being here and seeing Dr. Crane made him absolutely sick to his stomach. As did the smell of this asylum. And the moans and screams and cries that came from the other rooms. He hated that he had to keep Bruce locked up in this place; it felt like he was completely betraying his word to Martha and Thomas. But even with all the resources of the Wayne family, it just wasn't safe back at the Manor. The last straw was when Bruce had somehow escaped from his nurses and nearly broke his neck trying to get into the caverns beneath the southern foundation. "Hello again, Dr. Crane. How is..." he cleared his throat. "How is Bruce adjusting?"

Dr. Crane pursed his lips. "He is.... Well he has calmed down, at least." That was the bed-side manner way of saying that Bruce hadn't improved at all.

Alfred grimaced. "That will be the drugs, I assume."

"Yes, I suppose so." They'd been trying out a number of anti-psychotics with varying degrees of success.

"Can I speak with him?" Alfred asked. Even as the words came out, he wanted to take them back. He wasn't sure if he could even bear to see Bruce so far gone.

Crane nodded. "That should be fine. Bruce seems to only have violent tendencies with certain people, and he is restrained. Just to be sure, I'll have one of the orderlies go in with you." He subconsciously rubbed his arm, and Alfred noticed splotchy purple bruises from his wrist to his elbow. Not hard to guess where those had come from. He reached for a walkie-talkie on his belt. "Victor, could you please come give me a hand with Mr. Wayne?"

It only took a minute before a tall man wearing blue scrubs and round eyeglasses came around the corner. He introduced himself to Alfred as Victor Fries, one of Mr. Wayne's regular attendants. Together, he and Dr. Crane unbolted the door and ushered Alfred inside.

"Hello, Master Bruce," Alfred said, crouching down in front of his former ward. A lump in his throat made it difficult to speak, and he clenched his jaw to hold back any tears. He had to stay strong for Bruce in this trying time. "It's me. Alfred."

Bruce ignored him. His eyes briefly flickered onto Alfred for a moment, then kept roving around the room.

"Master Bruce, can you hear me?" Alfred asked.

"You might want to try referring to him as 'Batman,'" Victor whispered in Alfred's ear. "He'll respond to that when he won't respond to Bruce."

Alfred sighed. He'd tried to avoid that as much as possible back at Wayne Manor, so as to avoid encouraging this delusion. But he was willing to try anything at this point. "Batman, it's me. Alfred."

"Batsy's not here right now, I'm afraid!" Bruce answered immediately. His emotionless face sprang into a wicked scowl, and he gave shrill, high-pitched cackle that sent a chill shivering down Alfred's spine. "He's all tied up at the moment!" As if to emphasize that, Bruce suddenly began struggling to get out of his straightjacket while cackling again. Next to Alfred, Victor's hand fell to the holster of his taser and stayed there.

"I'd like to speak to Batman, please," Alfred said as calmly as he could.

"Don't worry!" Bruce said, still using the same voice and wide grin. "You can have all the parts once I'm done with him!" Then he laughed again, cold and maniacal. The sound seemed to reverberate off the padded walls of the cell; it made Alfred utterly sick to his stomach.

"It's a character of his," Fries explained to Alfred. "An evil clown sort, called the Joker." Fries leaned over Alfred's shoulder and addressed Bruce directly. "Batman, if you talk to your friend Alfred, you can have some more ice cream later. How does that sound?"

It was like Bruce didn't even hear. He laughed even harder now, wild and uncontrollable as though he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. A wave of intense nausea washed over Alfred. He stood and went to the door until Crane opened it again from the outside. Bruce continued to giggle to himself in the corner even after the door was closed.

"As I explained when you first brought him in," Crane said, "Dissociative Identity Disorder is just the beginning of the conditions that we're dealing with. His other personalities are.... violent, to start with. A whole array of criminal behavior is manifested and even glorified with some of these figures." He wrung his hands and turned to look Alfred in the eyes. "To be frank, it could be decades before we're even able to let him out of his cell, let alone Arkham. And even then, there's no guarantee. He will likely never be able to leave this place under a normal course of treatment."

Alfred sensed the loophole. "And what about an abnormal course of treatment?"

Crane looked up and down the hallway to see if anyone was listening in. "I know a man who has invented a device that he claims allows him to access a person's subconscious. I happened to mention Bruce's case to him..." Alfred glared; knowing how many people in Gotham would try to take advantage of Bruce's condition, he had insisted on a strict confidentiality clause in their contract. "Not by name or any other identifying feature of course. Simply the scope of his... predicament." Alfred nodded. "Anyway. He claims that he would be able to cure Bruce entirely within a matter of hours."

"Cure him?" Alfred repeated. "As in, completely normal?"

Dr. Crane shrugged. "It sounds outlandish, sure. But I've seen some of his patients and I have to say, there's a night-and-day difference. No side effects either. I have to warn you, of course, that the treatment is experimental." He adjusted his neck tie underneath his lab coat. "And very expensive. I only mention it to you..." his voice trailed off, but he didn't need to explain further. Because Wayne has all the resources in the world.

Alfred glanced back into the cell. Bruce was done laughing, back to the motionless zombie in the corner. His eyes still wandered around the room, and Alfred had to turn away. Seeing poor Bruce like this was more than he could bear. "All right," He told Dr. Crane. "I don't suppose we have much to lose."

Crane handed him a business card, off-white and embossed. It even had a watermark

              Dominic Cobb

              Extractor/Inceptor

"What does that mean?" Alfred asked.

Crane gave a slight smile. "I'm sure he'll explain everything."