Chapter 25: The Zoo
It started as a ripple, the kind of sound you'd swear you felt in your teeth before your ears caught up. At first, nobody really noticed, poeple were still happy walking around with thier famies, enjoying thier time, but again, no truly noticed it at first, not the parents buying overpriced lemonade, not the kids arguing over who got to push the "feed the giraffe" button, not even the staff member in the faded "Gotham Zoo" polo sweeping up popcorn kernels with the slow resignation of someone three hours into a double shift. The world was muddling along, and then the screech hit.
Starting as a high ringing noise before anyone would recognize it as a noise that something living would ever make.
It wasn't the sort of sound you got from angry parrots or the mating call of a peacock . . . nope, this was bigger, the sound not only fast but deep, seeping into the ears and crawling down someone's spine.
Wilder.
It sounded like someone had set off a tornado siren inside a cathedral and let it echo through every rib and bone in the city. The flamingos by the water feature went berserk, wings flapping and necks craning, their honks cutting through the air. The elephants, usually so calm, trumpeted in alarm, ears flaring like sails. The lions, who'd been enjoying a nap in the warm sun, jolted upright and started pacing, their tails lashing. Every animal in the reptile house froze; even the snakes seemed to coil tighter, disturbed by some ancient warning their ancestors never forgot.
SKREEEEEEE‑CHRRRAAAAK!
The sound came again.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEeee, as the sound echoed and started fading, reaching far into the distance.
People stopped.
The many Bodies walking around started going still, fear not showing on their faces just yet. But still they froze and stopped.
Not in the polite, "oh, what's that?" way, but in the "I've just remembered I'm prey" way. A deep primal feeling . . . . that slowly started to creep.
Ice cream dripped on shoes, cameras dangled at odd angles, and parents instinctively reached for their kids, pulling them close, eyes searching for the source. Somebody near the petting zoo dropped a bag of feed and muttered, "What in God's name was that?" Another whispered, "It sounded like it came from the garden… didn't it?"
Staff radios crackled, voices urgent. "Did you hear that? Anyone got eyes on the garden event? Check the perimeter, now."
The penguins, always ready for a bit of drama, huddled together in a tight, panicked cluster, feathers bristling.
The gorillas bellowed, the wolves howled, and even the red pandas, a true crowd favorite for their perpetual calm, bolted up their branches and stared through the glass, eyes wide and unblinking.
Then it happened again . . . .
KRRRREEEEE‑YAAAH!
SK'RYYEEE'THAAAAAAL!
Another screech and then another, but this time followed by a wild commotion.
People near the garden section gasped, some backing away, others reaching for their phones. And then, impossibly, they saw it: a thing that looked like the worst nightmare of every Gotham child, a monster-bat as huge as a car, wings blotting out the sky, claws clutching a flailing man in a top hat. It shot straight up, so fast and so strong it left a gust of wind that knocked hats off heads and set the zoo's flock of starlings spinning in a frantic cyclone.
Before anyone could blink, a dome of energy, there was no other word for it, snapped into place around the open garden. It shimmered, shifting color like oil on water, and in a blink, it was impossible to see through.
…krrr‑krrr‑krrr… SKREEEEEEEEee . . . ! . . .
The noise cut off. The monster, the chaos, the screaming, everything, it all vanished as if someone had turned off the sound on a very loud and frightening movie.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, unnatural. Even the animals seemed to recognize it as something wrong. The zookeepers exchanged looks. One, a man who'd worked with big cats and thought he'd seen it all, just shook his head and muttered, "Nope. No, thank you. I'm not paid enough for this," and then quickly made his way to the zoo's front gate.
A little girl by the lemur enclosure whimpered, "Mommy, was that Batman's friend?" Her mother, still holding her phone out, just shook her head, too stunned to answer.
People started to back away from the garden. Not running, not yet, but with that slow, instinctive shuffle of people who know that something terrible has happened and the smart thing is to be anywhere else.
For a long moment, the only sound was a nervous rustle as the crowd shifted. Then, as if the earth itself were protesting what had just happened, the ground shook . . .once, hard, deep enough to rattle teeth and set off a chorus of alarmed animal cries.
Someone dropped a soda. Another person screamed. A flock of birds exploded out of the trees, wheeling away from the dome as if they'd been shot from a cannon.
And then: nothing. Just the strange, suspended breath of a city that had seen too much to ever be surprised, but still knew when to be afraid.
Somewhere on the other side of that dome, the kids and their monsters and their nightmares were fighting wars the rest of the world would never understand. The rest of Gotham, parents and children and keepers and crows, could only wait. And hope, if hope was still allowed, that whatever was happening in the garden would stay there.
That the monsters would stay behind glass, and the world outside the dome would remember how to breathe.
. . . . a good amount of time later . . . .
The silence didn't last.
It never does in Gotham, especially not when something big and ugly enough to rattle the bones of a city has just let loose a scream that sent every beast and every heartbeat into a panic.
It started with sirens. At first, a single wail spiraled in from the main road, cautious but urgent. Within a minute, the sound multiplied, again and again, with squad cars, ambulances, fire trucks, and then the deep, throaty growl of the GCPD's riot van. Blue and red lights flickered off the zoo's wrought-iron gates.
The crowd, already restless, was shepherded into slow, uneasy lines by staff in sweat-stained polos and security in cheap body armor, all of whom looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
The news vans arrived next, engines sputtering and cameras slamming open before the wheels had even stopped rolling. Reporters in rumpled suits and too-bright lipstick jockeyed for space at the police line, shouting questions at anyone in a badge or a uniform. The Gotham Globe's youngest stringer elbowed her way to the front, notebook ready, already drafting a headline in her head.
The Gotham Times set up a tripod dead center, their anchor smoothing down his hair, prepping for his live moment.
The Gazette's crew, older, grumpier, and still, almost somehow always in the best spot, had their boom mic over the yellow tape before anyone else had even pulled out a press badge.
Then there was Vue Magazine, with Vicki Vale at the prow, camera swinging from her neck, eyes sharper than any lens. She was already halfway past the police tape by the time her cameraman caught up, waving credentials at a rookie officer who looked one missed meal away from fainting.
James Gordon was there too, of course. The Commissioner stepped out of his unmarked sedan, raincoat already slung over one arm, the other hand running through what remained of his graying hair. He'd seen it all, from masked madmen, monsters, even a few gods, but there was something about the dome, shimmering and shifting over the garden, that made him pause. For a split second, he just stood there, watching the light bend and refract, listening to the hush that had fallen over the zoo.
Vicki was on him before he could finish a sigh, notebook poised, pen already moving. "Commissioner Gordon! Vicki Vale, Vue. Is it true there's a barrier? Reports of a monster-bat, what's happening inside the dome? Are there people trapped in there? Who's inside? Is Batman responding?"
Gordon didn't break stride, but his jaw worked. "Ms. Vale, as far as we know, there's a psychic or technological barrier over the garden area. Yes, people are trapped inside. No, we don't have confirmed identities for everyone yet, private party, high-profile guests. We're working on a list."
She kept pace, heels clicking, voice steady. "But what about the monster? Several witnesses say they saw a giant bat or, Commissioner, are we talking about Man-Bat? Or something else?"
He shot her a look, the kind that said he was only answering because he respected her work. "We haven't confirmed any identities. We're investigating all possible connections to known metahumans and recent Arkham escapees. Right now, our priority is civilian safety."
Vicki pressed on, unfazed. "Is the Justice League being called in? Has Batman made contact?"
Gordon gave her a small, tired smile. "Ms. Vale, if Batman is here, he'll let us know when he's ready. For now, GCPD is coordinating with the city's metahuman response team. We're not ruling out League involvement."
She took a quick picture, of Gordon, of the dome, of the crowd pressing in behind the tape. "Commissioner, is there any message for the families of those trapped inside?"
He stopped, just for a second, and looked straight at her. "We're doing everything we can. We've got the best people in the city on this. Nobody's giving up."
She nodded, scribbling it down, then turned to her cameraman. "Get the dome, the crowd, and get some of the animals reacting, too. People need to see what's at stake."
Around them, the news teams jostled for space, each shouting their own questions, each determined to be first with a theory, a quote, a blurry shot of the dome's surface. The Globe's anchor was already speculating about terrorism, the Times was running with "Metahuman Incident at Zoo," and the Gazette's old-timer was muttering about "another day in Gotham."
Inside the zoo, the staff did their best to herd the remaining guests toward the exits. Kids cried, parents clutched them tighter, and the animals, still very shaken, kept up their own chorus. The flamingos had wedged themselves into a single, quivering mass. The elephants trumpeted, restless, ears flapping as keepers tried to calm them with soft words and handfuls of hay. Every enclosure was uneasy, the entire zoo on edge.
And through it all, the dome shimmered, silent and impenetrable, hiding a war the rest of the city could only imagine. The crowd outside pressed closer, some out of worry, some out of morbid curiosity, some just needing something to post about. Gotham's heartbeat, always loud and messy, seemed to stutter, waiting for a sign, a hero, or maybe just a reason to start breathing again.
Gordon let the tape drop, shoulders heavy, eyes on the dome. "Let's get to work," he said, and the city, cops, press, people and animals alike held their breath and waited for whatever would happen next.