Batman Beyond: Trigger Discipline .pdf download
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Sometimes I write essays, but I'm mainly here to share my urban fantasy comics and novels. Check out my original works, 1000 Years of War and Shatterrealm.
Batman Beyond: Trigger Discipline .pdf download
Read my cringe!
Mar 18, 2026
In the distant future, Bruce Wayne has seen to it that every gun control law he wanted was passed. But when an innocent civilian decides to defend herself, and a sting on a trafficking ring exposes widespread corruption, the Batman of the Future expresses his doubts — causing the original Batman to suspect they may not remain allies long.
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The billboard towering over the parking lot flashed. One by one, heroic stock portraits of cops slid into view. Gun crime? the silent text read. We’re coming for you.
Tuesday Valenti pulled the last box from her little car. She would have to sell the vehicle tomorrow – it was too recognizable – but the hour was too late to start that process now. Once that was done, and she and what remained of her life disappeared into this building, she could finally breathe easy.
One last hike up the stairwell for the evening. The gang of black men lounging there barely moved an inch as she wove through them for the dozenth time. Then Tuesday and her oversized, faux-fur coat rammed against the door to her floor. For the last time, her black combat boots trudged down the hallway.
Moving in had been a lot of physical effort. It was more effort knowing someone might be watching. She tried to remain situationally aware without accidentally mean-mugging her new neighbors (a few had already raised their eyebrows at her dreadlocks, trying to discern her race before they passed judgment). She was hot with exhaustion and ready for a shower.
That was why the sudden cold chill was so strange.
Tuesday froze. She looked back. There, in the stairwell door, was her ex-husband, Frank Valenti, Jr. They only made eye contact for a second. Then she was charging for her apartment and he was charging after her. She tossed the last box over her shoulder. Tumbling open against the wall and floor, it did nothing to slow Frank’s approach. Now Tuesday jammed her key into the knob and twisted. She flung herself into the apartment, slamming the door, but didn’t think to reach for the deadbolt first. She set the chain. It suddenly snapped taut as Frank tried to shove his way in, the door slamming hard on her forehead. Her glasses cracked.
The familiar screaming and expletives began as Frank’s giant hand fumbled with the chain. Then he withdrew it. Slam! He threw his body against the door. Crawling dizzily now, Tuesday made it to her purse and fumbled inside it for the smooth, polished wood grip of her snub-nosed revolver. Slam! Frank threw his weight on the door again. She lifted the heavy gun in her tiny right hand, using her left hand to dial the police.
Slam! This time, the slide holding the chain to the door broke loose. Tuesday saw every detail as time seemed to slow: the brass-colored screws tumbling through the air, the chain suddenly wavy and dreamlike, and the door swinging open for the enraged shadow blocking the hall light. She didn’t remember dropping her phone. Suddenly her hands were clasped together. Her thumbs clumsily pulled back the hammer.
Did Frank see the gun and hesitate? Should she have given him more time? It was some moments before she realized she was sniffling and sobbing, cocking the gun over and over until every round had either whizzed haphazardly past him or disappeared into his flesh. Then Frank was dead.
She stood with the empty revolver still aimed at him. It was as if she had died, too. She snatched up her phone and cried into it hysterically.
Eighteen minutes later, police finally arrived, examining the bullet holes in the walls and floor and making sure no one in the surrounding apartments had been harmed. The neighbors had kept their distance, not wanting to get entangled in the case, but they lingered in corridors and thresholds, talking and taking vids.
Tuesday had managed to calm down a little. Weak, practically limp, she didn’t think twice about going down to the station to explain everything. Anyone who knew her could have told them that Frank was incredibly dangerous and Tuesday had done all she could to escape without incident. With a thumbprint scanner, she signed the Miranda documents. She told her whole story under the interview room’s security camera.
Finally, she asked, “Could I go home and take a shower?”
“No,” the officer sighed, “you aren’t free to go.”
“Is there… more you need to know?”
“I’m afraid you’re under arrest, ma’am.”
Tuesday looked at him like he was crazy. “It was self-defense.”
“You probably won’t be charged for Frank’s death. But you brought a gun into Gotham City. That’s a felony. Has been for at least twenty years.”
“It was self-defense,” she said again, marveling at how frail her voice suddenly sounded.
“You drove here all the way from Dakota City? Because you knew you couldn’t get the gun past airport security?”
Tuesday suddenly realized she shouldn’t have been talking all this time. “Do I need a lawyer?”
The cop shrugged. “If you want a lawyer, we can stop talking.”
“It was self-defense,” she repeated for a third time, and the conversation continued. She spent the rest of the night incriminating herself.
Trigger Discipline By Hannah Rose Williams
443KB ∙ PDF file
This fic and others are included free with these Essays on Batman Beyond.