The Batman Delusion

Chapter 6

The police car rolled slowly across the bridge and through the dark wrought-iron gates at the other end. Alfred saw the words "Arkham Asylum" written in a spidery script in the arch over the entryway. It somehow reminded him of the "Arbeit Macht Frei" motto that hung over Auschwitz; the jagged spikes atop the arch didn't really help dispel that comparison. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that they'd all just arrived at a haunted house instead of a medical facility.

They pulled up in the courtyard in front of what looked like an old Gothic castle, completely with jutting spires and a soaring clock tower. Off to the side, the remains of a fire were still smoldering in the charred wreckage of what had once been an ambulance. The large double doors leading into the asylum were swung open wide, but the interior was pitch black.

"All right," Cobb said. "Remember why we're here. We find Bruce's alter-ego here and then help him dispatch these 'villains' that he's fighting. No more bad guys, no more hero delusion. It's that simple."

Eames, Cobb, and Arthur climbed out of the car and circled around to the trunk. Alfred took a deep breath, still not quite sure that they were right about all of this. But if it would help Bruce, that's what had to be done. He exited the car, and Eames immediately handed him an assault rifle. It had been fifty years since he'd even looked at a gun, but everything seemed to come back pretty quickly. Just like riding a bike, he mirthlessly joked to himself.

Cobb led the way up the granite stairs toward the asylum entrance. The courtyard itself was pretty silent, but from somewhere inside they could all hear the muffled sounds of screams and explosions. The atrium of the asylum was... well, the best way to describe it was a warzone. There were at least two dozen bodies littering the room, mostly dressed in bright orange prison jumpsuits but with a fair number of guards in riot gear as well. The remains of a metal detector looked like it had been chewed up into a ball and spit out, leaving a crater in one of the stone walls. And the security glass of the reception area was so cracked and splattered with blood that they couldn't see inside the booth. "So much for a warm welcome," Eames whispered to the others.

"Which way?" Arthur whispered. There were three different hallways, all leading to different wings of the asylum. Holes in the wall indicated that there had once been signs mounted there that would have told them where to go, but they had been torn away. "Where would Bruce be?"

All eyes turned toward Alfred. "Why should I know?" Alfred said.

"Well, you know him best..." Cobb answered.

"I know his favorite breakfast cereal and the fact that he doesn't like the corners of his sheets tucked in. That doesn't mean I know this 'Batman' character that he has invented. And I certainly don't know where he would hide out in a warzone asylum in his fictional world!" This version of Arkham was nothing like the sterile hospital-like environment of Bruce's real treatment center.

Arthur and Cobb traded a look, then both shrugged at each other. "Well, let's find Bruce's cell," Cobb said. "Or at least, this world's version of it. We'll find the 'origin' point of where the dream started and then track him from there. Sound good?"

Eames and Alfred nodded their heads, and Cobb turned toward the hallway to the left.

An intercom crackled to life. "Oh, boy! New visitors!" A shrill voice called. It echoed from every room in the building, down all three halls. Cobb and Arthur and Eames swung their weapons around, searching every shadowy corner for some potential threat. No threats were detected, but they did realize that their every move was being tracked by cameras mounted at each end of the hall. "We just love making new friends, don't we, Batsy?"

Alfred stood and listened. He knew that voice. He'd heard it before. "That's Bruce," Alfred whispered. "Or, I mean, that's one of the characters he's made up. Bruce calls him 'the Joker.' Some sort of evil clown. I ... errr... spoke to him when I visited Bruce at the asylum the other day."

"What do you suppose they want?" Joker continued through the asylum's PA system. "Are they here for the show, you think?"

"Show?" Eames mouthed to the others.

"You know, I think they might even want to star in the show! What do you say, folks?" The intercom went silent, leaving the four of them to wonder there was some kind of studio audience they couldn't hear. Or, more likely, it was all in the Joker's imagination. Who was all a figment of Bruce's imagination to start with.

"Well!" Joker said after a fairly long pause. "Can't argue with that reaction, can I?" The lights in the hall flickered and died, leaving them stranded in darkness until they snapped on little flashlights mounted to their guns. "Why don't we get started, huh? How many of them do you think you can save, Batsy?" Joker didn't explain further; he just laughed into the microphone with that same manic, uncontrollable screech that Alfred had heard back when he visited Bruce.

"What now?" Alfred whispered.

Cobb, Eames, and Arthur didn't respond: the patter of approaching footsteps was enough of an answer for him.