Batman hadn't expected Jude's answer to be so straightforward.
He paused, processing and recalibrating, before emphasizing his question again in case there had been some miscommunication.
"You cured Poison Ivy's poison," his voice was flat, emotionless. A pure statement of fact. "You're a GCPD officer with no experience in chemistry or botany. Yet you were able to neutralize her plant toxin in a matter of minutes."
He stared straight at Jude. His speaking style was almost identical to the Batman back in Jude's home dimension—the same lack of emotional inflection, the same intimidation-through-stillness approach. The Batmen across the multiverse apparently attended the same school of threatening body language.
"How did you do it?"
Jude shrugged casually. "I have a kind of milk candy that can treat toxins. It's that simple."
The moment the words left his mouth, Batman's entire posture shifted. Not much. Just the slight tilt of the head, the fractional narrowing of the eyes behind the cowl. The body language of someone who had just heard something too stupid to be true and was trying to decide if he was being mocked.
If a doctor claimed he had medicine that cured all diseases, he was either a liar or fundamentally didn't understand medicine. Snake oil salesmen made promises like that. Not legitimate medical professionals.
"You might not know this," Batman's voice took on the tone of someone explaining basic facts to someone who clearly needed them explained. "First, Poison Ivy's toxins are like the Joker's laughing gas and Scarecrow's fear gas. The formula changes every time. She modifies the chemical structure to prevent immunity. The antidote needs to be researched from scratch every single time."
He took two deliberate, calculated steps forward. His tall figure loomed over Jude like a black tower, blocking out the moonlight and turning the space between them into shadow.
"Second," Batman continued, his voice dropping half an octave, "candy cannot cure poison. That's not how toxicology works. That's not how biochemistry works. That's not how anything works." Another step. He repeated his question, slower this time. "So. How did you manage to remove the poison?"
Jude sighed.
"Mr. Batman." He emphasized the 'Mister' just slightly, the way you'd address someone who was being unreasonable but still technically deserved politeness. "First, when someone doesn't want to answer your questions, you have no right to force them. They have no obligation to do so. They're not a criminal, and you're not a judge."
He pulled his phone from his pocket, checked it briefly, and stuffed it back.
"Second, I didn't lie to you, but I'm too lazy to prove it. Believe me or don't. I genuinely don't care which you choose." Jude held up three fingers. "Third, a neutral person won't actively become an enemy unless someone actively pushes them toward the opposite side. And your threatening interrogation is pushing me."
Four fingers now.
"Fourth, when asking for advice or requesting information, you use the word 'please.' This is etiquette that even children know. Unless their parents haven't taught them." He met Batman's gaze—or where he assumed it was behind those white lenses. "Now. My answer is: I have a candy that can cure the poison. Do you have any other questions?"
The challenge hung in the air between them.
Batman remained silent. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he was recalculating.
He'd been through too much in the past year. Too many crime scenes, too many bodies, too many failures. This cold, tough method of negotiation had become an automatic habit. If he didn't project absolute authority and zero tolerance for deception, he couldn't instill the fear required to suppress Gotham's chaos. It was precisely because he couldn't save everyone that he needed to pretend to be omnipotent. Fake it until you make it. Except in Batman's case, he was faking being inhuman to protect the humans.
As for Jude's answer about the candy, Batman's thoughts had already gone darker. What if this was a conspiracy? What if the Riddler, the Joker, and Poison Ivy had joined forces? If this police officer gained Batman and Commissioner Gordon's trust, only to turn against them at a critical moment—how catastrophic would that betrayal be?
The idea wasn't groundless. If the villains had suddenly stopped killing people, it might be Jude causing it through some protective field or healing factor. Or it might be a coordinated plan. Earlier today, Jude had entered the Riddler's hospital ward. Batman had reviewed the footage personally. Jude had left cash for Edward Nygma—no conversation, no exchange of information. But the behavior was strange. Why would a rookie cop leave money for a mass-murdering supervillain? Charity? Or payment for services rendered?
Batman's trust was layered in concentric circles, and even he wasn't at the core of his own list. He knew his own capacity for the kind of paranoia that could turn allies into enemies. But he didn't give even the most superficial level of trust to anyone casually. His questioning of Jude was actually his way of actively seeking an ally—asking for a reason to trust him.
He just wasn't skilled at it. So the whole thing came across as an interrogation instead of a recruitment.
Batman opened his mouth, preparing to try again. "In the incidents where you appeared, no one seemed to have died. Is this—"
"Forget it," Jude waved his hand, cutting him off. "You'd better not ask. I'm not in the mood. Maybe next time."
Maybe next time.
Batman processed the rejection without anger. Jude's response actually indicated something important: the officer wasn't eager to establish a close relationship. He wasn't trying to ingratiate himself or offer information freely. Cons came to you. Manipulators tried to charm you. Real people with boundaries told you to back off.
Batman adjusted his strategy.
He looked down at one of the unconscious gangsters on the ground—a young white man with red hair wearing a ruined, expensive suit.
"His name is Christopher," Batman said, his tone shifting from interrogation to information-sharing. "Nickname: 'Fishy.' He has three children and a fourth on the way." Jude raised his eyebrows. "His wife thinks he sells seafood at the dock."
Batman moved his attention to the man beside Christopher.
"Carleno. Nickname: 'Big Gun.'" His voice remained flat, but there was something underneath it now that might have been empathy. "He married a man named Sam. A fifth-grade teacher. A week after the wedding, Sam found out Carleno's real job." A pause. "He committed suicide."
The words landed like stones in still water. Batman continued, methodically building a case not against these men, but for them.
"Leonardo. Nickname: 'The Fan.' Started working for Carmine a few months ago because his mother was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer. They couldn't afford the medical expenses. He needed money fast."
Batman paused, looking at the fourth man. Chino. "Baby Face."
But Batman couldn't tell Jude about Baby Face. He couldn't reveal that Chino was an undercover police officer working for Gordon. A Marine Corps veteran maintaining a deep cover identity under extreme pressure. Gordon had shown Batman the suicide note Chino had prepared in advance for his wife. If Chino's secret leaked, he was dead. If he had actually died here today, Batman might have been able to tell Jude to honor the sacrifice. But he was still alive. So, to everyone except Gordon and Batman, he had to remain a pure gangster. Batman filed the information away and looked back at Jude.
"They are all thugs of the Falcone family," Batman said quietly. "But they are also human beings." He let that sink in. "You saved them. And you clearly have the ability to save more people using this method—whatever it actually is."
Batman's voice was carefully neutral now. Requesting, not demanding.
"I don't want you to hand over this method. I'm not asking you to explain it, prove it, or give me samples. I just want to know if you're willing to use it to help others."
The question was simple and direct: Are you on the side of life or death?
Jude looked at Batman and felt a flash of genuine admiration. The man learned fast. In just a few minutes, he'd extracted useful information from Jude's etiquette speech, identified what wasn't working, and immediately pivoted to a conversation style more likely to achieve his goal.
From interrogation to appeal. From demanding to requesting. From intimidation to humanization.
Batman was Batman, after all. No matter the universe, they all shared the same genius template and frightening capacity for adaptation. Different cape colors, same ridiculous competence.
"I'll take this as your apology," Jude said, allowing the faintest hint of a smile. "Anyway, Commissioner Gordon mentioned that Batman has a heavy idol burden and can't bring himself to say 'I'm sorry.'"
Batman's expressionless face somehow managed to darken a little at that comment.
While the two men stood in the clearing, measuring each other through layers of secrets and half-truths, sirens suddenly erupted from outside the garden walls. Multiple vehicles. Commissioner Gordon had finally arrived with reinforcements.
At almost the exact same moment, Alfred's cultured voice sounded through Batman's earpiece. His timing was impeccable, as always.
"Master, we did find something about Mr. Falcone's relatives." The sound of Alfred pulling up information on multiple screens echoed over the comms. "His mother, Carmen Marie Falcone. She separated from Carmine several years ago and relocated to Metropolis."
Another pause, this one weighted with significance.
"She hasn't been seen since noon today."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~