Batman: No Man's Land
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ORACLE
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
ORACLE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
ORACLE
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ORACLE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PART TWO
ORACLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PART THREE
ORACLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ORACLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
PART FOUR
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
EPILOGUE
ORACLE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Batman: No Man’s Land
By
Greg Rucka
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ORACLE
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
ORACLE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
ORACLE
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ORACLE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PART TWO
ORACLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PART THREE
ORACLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ORACLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
PART FOUR
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ORACLE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
EPILOGUE
ORACLE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Batman: No Man’s Land was primarily adapted from the story serialized in the following comic books, originally published by DC Comics:
Batman: No Man’s Land #1 (March 1999)
Batman #560—574 (December 1998—February 2000)
Detective Comics #727—741 (December 1998-February 2000) Batman: Shadow of the Bat #80-94
(December 1998—February 2000)
Legends of the Dark Knight #116—126
(April 1999—February 2000)
With additional material adapted from or inspired by:
Batman Chronicles #16—18 (April, July, and October 1999)
Batman: Harley Quinn (September 1999)
Batman: No Man’s Land #0 (October 1999)
These comic books were created by the following people:
GROUP EDITORS WRITERS
Dennis O’Neil
Mike Carlin
EDITORS
Jordan B. Gorfinkel
Matt Idelson
Jordan B. Gorfinkel
Scott Peterson
Darren Vincenzo
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Joseph Illidge
ASSISTANT EDITOR
Frank Berrios
WRITERS
Steven Barnes
Bronwyn Carlton
Paul Dini
Chuck Dixon
Ian Edgington
Bob Gale
Jordan B. Gorfinkel
Alan Grant
Devin K. Grayson
Larry Hama
Janet Harvey
Lisa Klink
Dennis O’Neil
Kelly Puckett
Greg Rucka
PENCILLERS
Jim Aparo
Jon Bogdanove
Mat Broome
Mark Buckingham
Rick Burchett
Sergio Caridlo
Guy Davis
Mike Deodato
D’Israeli
Dale Eaglesham
Yvel Guichet
Paul Gulacy
Dan Jurgens
Rafael Kayanan
Greg Land
Alex Maleev
Jason Minor
Tom Morgan
Jason Pearson
Pablo Raimondi
Roger Robinson
William Rosado
Paul Ryan
Damion Scott
Frank Teran
Phil Winslade
INKERS
Eduardo Barreto
Sal Buscema
Robert Campanella
Randy Emberlin
Wayne Faucher
John Floyd
Drew Geraci
James A. Hodgkins
Andy Lanning
Mark McKenna
Jaime Mendoza
Sean Parsons
James Pascoe
David Roach
Matt Ryan
Bill Sienkiewicz
Batt and Aaron Sowd
Phil Winslade
To Corrina Joan Rucka,
My mother, who taught me to read;
and
To Dennis O’Neil,
The Master, who inspired me to write.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
/> IN A WORK SUCH AS THIS, THE DEBTS ARE PROFOUND and the list is long… so buckle up.
First, foremost, and always… a debt of gratitude to Bob Kane and Bill Finger. It’s an honor to be part of the legacy.
At DC Comics and Pocket Books, special thanks to the editorial team who allowed this book to happen—Charlie “Chas Man” Kochman, Elisabeth “Spicey” Vincenteili, and Marco “MX” Palmieri. Additional gratitude to the on-deck circle at both houses, particularly to Trent Duffy, Sandy Resnick, Larry Ganem, Dorothy Crouch, and Scott Shannon.
Much admiration and appreciation for the real Bat-squad, in downtown Gotham City (… or is this Metropolis?): Jordan B. Gorfinkel (who had the bright idea in the first place), Darren Vincenzo, Joseph Illidge, Frank Berrios, Matt Idelson, Mike Carlin, Eddie Berganza, Willie Schubert, Arlene Lo, Patty Jeres, Ivan Cohen, and Scott Nybakken. A fond farewell to David Vinson—you will be missed.
To the writers who make Batman come to life: Paul Dini, Chuck Dixon, Bob Gale, Alan Grant, Larry Hama, Doug Moench, and Devin K. Grayson, as well as the countless others, too talented to forget, and too many to be named herein.
Thanks, always and in abundance, to my agent David Hale Smith, for joining me in my love of comics.
Special note of thanks to Mark “Boomer” Waid for knowing not only what Batman keeps in his Utility Belt, but which compartment it’s in, to boot.
From the trenches, and for keeping my back: Nicolo, Max, Jessie, and Han.
To the Rom: See you on the rooftop express. Bella loves you.
To Mike Rucka, for knowing exactly what the Richest Man in the World would have for dinner, and for knowing how to spell it.
Finally, to Jennifer, who’s sassier than Barbara Gordon.
ORACLE
PERSONAL
Entry #001—No Man’s Land, Day 001
0001 Zulu
Dear Dad—
This is harder than I thought it would be.
This is me breaking the silence and telling the secrets.
I wish there was another way to do this, and I pray that you’ll never read these words, and the many words sure to follow. But someone has to keep the chronicle, someone has to record and remember and the only person left who can do it is me.
The problem is to tell it right I can’t hold anything back—not for myself, not for him, not for any of us—no half-truths, no dodges, no feints, not even the parts that will hurt.
This, as they say, is the proverbial it.
All or nothing, for us like it is for Gotham.
It means I have to strip the masks away. It means I have to betray secrets shared in confidence or learned through treachery. It means nothing is sacred.
I’m trying very hard not to think about what might come, how you’ll react if you ever do read these words. I’m trying very hard not to think about your righteous anger, or about how you’ll curse me for keeping so much from you fur so long. I’m trying very hard not to think about the proud man you are, and hew humiliated you’ll feet I know you as you know me. Commissioner; you’ll think you were played for a fool.
But Dad, you’ve never been a fool. Never to me. Never to him.
I really, really, really hope that no one else will ever read this but me.
Because, if you’re reading this, it means we lost.
It means Gotham City really and truly is dead.
And probably me along with it.
My name was Batgirl, once.
Now I’m called Oracle.
But my name is really Barbara Gordon.
First mask removed.
I had to get that out of the way up front, because you have to understand my bona fides such as they are. You have to believe that I know what I’m talking about, that when I say such-and-such happened, or Batman and Joker did this or that, I’m reporting the facts, as best I can. When I say that I know what’s going on, you must trust that I am telling you the truth, all of it.
You must believe that you can believe me.
As Batgirl, I learned Gotham City like the back of my gloved hand. The Gotham that Fodor’s doesn’t write about, the Gotham that lives between criminal madness and ultimate despair. I know things. For example, I know that the sewer grate on the north side of the intersection at Middaugh and Cohen is a false one, not on any city record, installed by a certain vigilante to allow for immediate access to a cache of equipment if he’s ever low on Batarangs as he’s passing through.
I know, too, that if you dive off what was once the Babylon Towers with a good cable and perfect aim, you can loop your throw around the statue of the Zion Lion thirty feet below, the one that sits atop the GCBC building. If you do it right your arms will feel like their leaving their sockets the hard way, but if you keep your grip and your nerve, you can swing all the way to the penthouse apartments overlooking Victory Square.
I know that if you do it wrong, you’ll hit the ground so hard they’ll need a sponge to get you out of your costume.
I know that if you do this at 2337 hours Monday through Friday, you can clear the next three rooftops in time to land atop the J Street el as it slows to turn up Broadway. On Saturdays, you’ve got to do it three minutes earlier.
At least, you could before the Cataclysm.
As Oracle, my knowledge is even greater, though perhaps more abstract. Given time and a computer or six. I can find just about any piece of information stored in any electronic system, anywhere on the planet, provided I can hack my way in. And I can hack my way in like I designed the code myself.
Usually.
Remember back three years, when the Gotham Knights made it to the World Series? Remember how all the cameras went down at the bottom of the ninth for three seconds, just as Malone was pitching on a full count to the Meteors?
Oops.
More than that, I’ve got records like you wouldn’t believe, from places you wouldn’t imagine. Scanned documents from two hundred years ago up to the latest burn of the Complete Who’s Who CD. I know how to research, and I know how to investigate. I’m a spymaster to give George Smiley a run for his money, know what I mean?
I should be. I learned it from two of the best there are.
And yes. Dad, one of them’s you.
I read back over this so far, and I realize that, though those two alter egos may be me at my best, Barbara Cordon is the woman at its heart.
She’s the most important part of this, in a way.
She is, after all, the girl who was raised in Gotham City, the girl who sneers at New Yorkers who talk about their tough town. She’s the girl who tells the Metropolis jokes.
Me.
As much Gotham City as anyone, in a way. As much as you, Dad. As much as any of your cops.
As much as Batman himself.
* * * * *
I’m looking out the window now, which is not really a window at all. I’m not in my apartment, not exactly; I’m through the secret door in the wall where you normally hang your coat, in my control room, my command post. This is where Oracle lives. I’m surrounded by monitors and mini-towers, computers running on battery power charged by the solar cells I’ve stockpiled. I’ve got a satellite phone with a T3 connection and uplink. I’ve got flashlights and rope, even a couple of nonlethal weapons—a tonfa, a sawed-down baseball bat, a collapsible baton—and one rifle, in case things get really nasty.
I’ve got two portable heaters and a blanket, and I’m using all three, and I’m still freezing my ass off.
I’m looking at the worst winter in Gotham City’s history, and it’s not the weather that did it, or even Mother Nature.
I can see the flashes of light as the charges go off, demolishing the Brown Bridge, cutting off this island city from the rest of the United States of America.
As of exactly seven minutes ago, we’re no longer citizens of the U.S.A. As of exactly seven minutes ago. Gotham City officially became a No Man’s Land.
Everyone who could go, has. As for the rest of us, now we couldn’t leave even if we w
anted to.