I’ve never actually seen Batman the movie but I had an idea for a new sequel and it seems likely that Hollywood is looking for such ideas, so I thought I’d just post it here and no doubt some Spielberg or other will see it and send my some dollars.
Batman – The Revenge
Bruce Wayne slid down the pole, or whatever, down to his BatCave. The previous night’s events weighed heavily on his mind as his momentum obeyed gravity’s law and approached his nocturnal terminus. Of course, he had many machines and gadgets and devices (or, more accurately, weapons) that sought to defy those laws of motion, so defined by that grandest of apple watchers, Isaac Newton. But ultimately, having no supernatural powers, he was ultimately bound by them.
But not, and this was what tormented him, was he bound by the laws of Gotham City. Yes, he was the utmost enforcer of order in this dire metropolis. But no, he did not do what he did under the auspices of the permitted. An occasional utilitarian, he attempted to balance his actions, hoping to find himself justifiable. He had killed The Marsupial. This was strictly a murder, being as he did not have licence to terminate super-villains. But The Marsupial was that; a super-villain.
The Marsupials thirst for evil was known to all; he had ravaged the food-stores of gotham, pouring valuable nutrients into his vile pouch, from which his vermin offspring fed, until they were strong enough to devour by their own means. These horrendous Marsupialettes had ravaged the rat-stock of Gotham, which in turn were the primary food source of the many humans who relied on minimum wage jobs in Gothic fast food establishments. When they were gone, those people died of starvation.
It would be a bizarre court that would condemn him for that selfless act.
And it had been dangerous. Bruce Wayne, or Batman, as he was known when abroad on such follies, had been forced to drive his Batmobile at speeds of up to 200 miles per hour, down some of the most urban streets in America. Countless numbers must have been startled, at the very least. He had stopped the Marsupial in his tracks with a coarse anti-bounding bomb – a mess of petroleum jelly that prevented his leaping foe from leaping far further. He knew from the evening news report that that same jelly had necessitated the closing of the junction between 5th and Pergutory for the duration of the day, and furthermore that leaking jelly had led to the closure of the A Line and had caused a rash of pigeon poisonings, further tightening the food supply to vulnerable workers.
Also, that final boomerang-grenade, that had exploded The Marsupial, resulting in a tsunami of canned peas and Marsupialette foetuses, that had physically sickened both Wayne and the populace, had also caused millions of pounds worth of damage to City Halls, a wave of diarrhetic gullet poisoning, and the bill was all going to be footed by the brow-beaten insurance companies that underwrote this hopeless place.
Furthermore, Wayne had recently seen a study that suggested the partially combusted fumes from his overcharged diesel engine where highly likely to be contributing to endemic rates of cancer in Gotham City.
But, wasn’t this all inconvenience? And wasn’t he only adding to pre-existing risks, re cancer and life expectancy? And after all, was it really his job to worry about the diets of Gotham’s poor? It wasn’t for Batman to involve himself in social policy! He killed super-villains!
This reassured him, but not entirely. But that was fine, because to be a true crusader, one must be unafraid of taking hard decisions. No, one must not heed health and safety legislation when one has bigger sub-mammals to fry. What would a world without him be? With egomaniac discordophiles free to act unimpeded, Gotham would be an inferno of sin. He must shoulder the burden, being, as he was, a man of unfeasible resources, and little in his life but time and sorrow.
He pulled on his Batsuit, and fumbled around for the keys to his Bat-aerofoil. He planned to spend a solitary night patrolling the skies, on the watch for evil that only he could prevent.
But the keys were not to be found. They were not under his Bat-4G-signal-blocker. Nor had they slipped into his Bat-Scuba equipment box. ‘Hmm,’ thought the Batman, and then he said, ‘Alfred, have you seen the key for my aerofoil?
But Alfred said nothing. Strange, thought Wayne. But he satisfied himself quickly – he must have been on the lavatory, or helping Robin put on his new bright yellow cape, which was constructed of a fibre that was both bullet proof and highly inflammable. Time not being of the essence, but Wayne being highly impatient, he resolved to simply hot-wire the contraption. Nothing cleared a troubled mind like escaping the cave and finding fresh turmoil to exacerbate.
The thing kicked in to life easily enough, but the Bat-Skylight remained unopened. No big issue, he would just wheel it out of the garage into the back lane and take off from there.
He pulled up the, perhaps surprisingly, simple garage door (just a normal garage door, to detract from suspicion) and turned back to push the Bat-Aerofoil into the lane. He did so in an uncharacteristically insouciant manner – his mind being on other things. It was only after the door had swung fully open, and he was a few metres into his cave, that he realized that something was amiss.
The hordes pushed in.
The proles, the ones he defended, who he had given his life for! He recognized their gaunt complexions, their simple smirks, their unfashionable and ill-tailored clothes.
‘Wayne,’ their leader proclaimed, from behind his pseudo-homesteader facial foliage.
‘The Hipster,’ thought Wayne, giving name to a villain he had hitherto not known to exist.
‘I am the Batman,’ he said.
‘Jesus Shit, we know who you are. We have come to stop you.’
*cut to black for no reason, then resume in the same scene, about one second prior*
‘Jesus Shit, we know who you are. We have come to stop you,’ said the Hipster.
‘I have work to do,’ said Batman, nonplussed, ‘there are evil being out there, and it is my calling to fight them.’
‘Not this time Batcunt. I have in my hands a freedom of information request that details the full costings of repair works and lost work hours in Gotham City that are a direct result of your boneheaded interventions.’
He passed it to Batman, who used his BatAudit device to verify almost instantly that this was indeed an accurate description of the costs of his own personal savagery. He was plunged into momentary depression, before the remembered that he was ludicrously wealthy.
‘Let me be on my noble way, and allow me to repay the City this invoice of rightful crusade.’
‘Well, earlier mobs may have been sated by this grand gesture, Batfink, but we were prepared for this. For we are from… Occupy Wall Street.’
An extraneous lighting flash briefly disturbed the otherwise quite democratic and orderly scene.
The Hipster continued:
‘It has come to our attention, Mr Wayne, that while the ills and menaces of Gotham are very much a reality, your meddling has been causative rather than curative. Indeed, any attention craving minor hoodlum only needs now to throw a ramshackle disguise together and attempt to steel a priceless painting or some other such MacGuffin, and they are guaranteed instant fame and all the sponsorship deals they can string out of it. You are no grand vigilante, you are a super-villain like the rest of them. You are the ultimate reactionary, and you have no interest in peace.
‘Furthermore, you are the very essence of the 1%. The roots of crime in our fair city are derived largely from material inequality. We note that you have done nothing to counteract this root cause. Indeed, you fund your bourgeois terrore via inherited wealth. Let it be noted for the record that we have reviewed your tax affairs and found that you were able to avoid a very large inheritance tax bill via the use of of a kafka-esque trust structure, meaning that nearly all of your income is now remitted from offshore.
‘And we additionally charge that a significant amount of this remitted income, which is barely taxed in this City, derives from stockholdings in armament companies, diamond miners, big oil and pharmaceuticals. For one, what makes you think that by the hand of your fore-bearers you should be exempted from honest toil? For another, why do you think it fair that the income that you do receive should be taken without a fair tax being taken from it first?’
‘We’ve all seen you shaking hands with the mayor, passing him another bad guys head; and we’ve watching as the newspapers have lauded your shoddy activities. But we charge that they too are corrupt. Day in, day out, we are treated to sensationalism rather than justice. And we are hear to politely ask for its end. We insist that you either accept an honest job with the city police, or desist from your foolhardy ventures. Additionally, we ask that if you really care about Gotham City, you hand over your wealth to a City trust fund to prevent childhood poverty, and improve educational attainment amongst the struggling majority.’
‘But, but, friends,’ began Batman, ‘all my funds are in blind trust. I have no idea where my money comes from!’
‘What a surprise! He pleads ignorance! Did you ever ask? Batman? Did you ever question your privilege? Or, let me infer, did you just think that, well, you are special aren’t you?’
‘But,’ said the Batman, his bakelite codpiece chafing awfully, ‘but, erm, comrades, this isn’t about me. This, everything, it’s all about you, it’s all about Gotham. It sincerely is. Isn’t that right, Alfred?’
‘Sir, excuse me,’ said Alfred.
Batman spun around. There he was, his bequeathed sesquipedalian fixer, standing to attention.
‘Thank God, Alfred. Can you fling me my anti-Hipster ray please? (referring, actually, to an iPhone speaker that played Johnny Cash’s final album at an untenably low bitrate, and was proven to debilitate audiophiles near instantly.)
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
Alfred said nothing, he only reached into his inner pocket, and retrieved the key to the Bat-Aerofoil. He dangled it, sadly.
‘But there are villains I must attend to.’
‘Not tonight,’ said Alfred. ‘I’ve been with your family longer than I care to remember. When, Mr Wayne, was the last time you reviewed my salary?’
‘I give you minimum wage! You receive room and board in addition!’
‘This gives me no pleasure, my lord,’ said Alfred, but the statement was incongruous with his demeanour. ‘I’m afraid it’s over.’
Luckily for Batman he was already dressed in his body armour and was well armed. He wept a little internally as he beat the last beatnik to death. He saved Alfred for last, and he killed him by stuffing dollar notes down his throat until he suffocated.
‘On this day,’ said Batman, to nobody in particular, ‘it has been made clear to me that (and the screamed the next part) YOU ALL ARE MY ENEMY, AND I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!’