DCU Emerald Knights #1 Book of Life

He's here! He's here!"

 

 

The roar of a jaguar echoes down the dim hallways of warehouse 4L. Frantic footsteps of men running from the origin of sound out, followed by agonizing screams and wet sounds of mutilation. As the last voice dies out, a new set of footsteps are heard, along with the sound of dripping blood.

 

 

Abel Lee Tarrant, the Tattooed Man. Abel walks through the damp hallway, black trench coat dragging along the blood soaked wooden floors. One arm hung at his side, fresh blood trickling down his fingertips. His other arm, extended out in front of him, recalls the ink beast back into his skin, the blood on its teeth and claws painting his arm red. His boot steps over a fresh corpse, blood leaking from a bite wound and gash along its neck.

 

 

"Kill!" one of the men shouts, flanked by three others as he cocks his shotgun back.

 

 

With every drop of ink his powers grow, every new tattoo adding another weapon to his arsenal. He pockets his hands, allowing a large pair of wings to form from his shoulder blades. The wings fold over his body like a barrier, blocking the rounds fired at him. As he's guarding himself, feathers shoot out like bullets, tearing the assailants apart. He pushes past the corpses, limbs torn off and bodies sliced to ribbons, and approaches a large door.

 

 

"He's out there, I heard it!" a man says from inside the room, his voice shaking.

 

 

"So you brought him back here!?" another shouts.

 

 

Abel hears the familiar clicking of weapons being loaded from behind the door, shotguns and pistols alike. Slipping his hand from his pocket, a small ink snake trails down his ring finger and slips under the door.

 

 

"What the hell is that!?"

 

 

"Kill it!"

 

 

"Agh!"

 

 

Gunfire sounds off, flashes of light shining brightly through the door's cracks. The cries from inside radiate through the silent hallways of the warehouse, followed by the sounds of flesh being torn apart. The wings once again shield him as bullets spray through the door wildly, giving him a small sightline into the bloodbath. As the screams stop and blood leaks under the door, Abel retracts the wings and turns the handle.

 

 

Sat tall inside the room, fangs drenched and dripping crimson, is now a giant serpent. Men are strewn throughout the room, their stomachs and throats ripped wide open. The beast coils down, shrinking in size as it returns to Abel's finger, again painting his arm in blood. His eyes lock onto the desk positioned in the corner of the room.

 

 

As he steps towards it, he lets an ink dagger out, impaling one of the still breathing men through the eyes. His fingers run along the bloodstained oak, pulling on a small lever to reveal a secret drawer. Though filled with various documents, he pushes the papers aside, plucking out a rusted key. Before he shuts the drawer, his gaze locks onto a small business card almost completely tucked away under the documents. He doesn't know why, but he grabs it, pocketing both the key and the card.

 

 

"The combination," he demands, peering over to the safe, tucked away in the opposite corner of the room.

 

 

A man peeks out from the safe, tears running down his eyes as his hands are raised above his head. "23, 48, 16!" he replies, trembling. "All the money, it's yours! Promise! I'll even throw in- GHGHLLGAHGL!"

 

 

Abel walks past the man, now standing on his tiptoes as an ink noose wraps around his neck. The noose tattoo around Abel's neck flows as the man struggles, clawing at the ink.

 

 

"I'm… not ly-ing!" the man pleads, his face going blue.

 

 

Abel twists the combination lock, opening the safe and watching as cash flows out. Grabbing the folded duffel bag in the corner of the safe, he piles in the stacks of bills. As he stands, he scowls at the hanging man. With a crack of his neck, The noose closes, decapitating the man in an instant. The body thumps as it hits the floor, as does his head. Abel's chest is given a splash of blood as the noose returns to him.

 

 

Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he leaves the room and approaches the exit of the building. Before stepping through the doors, however, he turns, taking the rotting wooden stairs into the basement. The smell of the basement was putrid, one that burned his nostrils. The walls ran brown, tens of cockroaches crawling along the cinder block.

 

 

As he comes across a large metal door, he slides the key out of his pockets, unlocking it with a click. Inside the room were men and women alike, all naked, covered in sweat, grime, and other bodily fluids. The prisoners back up as the door opens, crowding along the back wall as if they could get away. Abel slides the duffel bag off his shoulder with a frown, unzipping it for them all to see before kicking it towards them.

 

 

"Split it fairly," he says, turning and heading back upstairs to the exit. Upon stepping outside, he's met with a dozen bodies strung along the warehouses exterior. He once again pockets his hands, walking off in the pale moonlight.

 

 

-^-

 

 

"Just last night another instance of brutal justice occured when Coast City's newest vigilante struck a sex trafficking ring in the southeast side."

 

 

Cooper Cooperton, better (or worse) known as The Bottler, sits lazily on his sofa, a bowl of cereal in hand. He'd been flipping through channels in hope of something interesting to enjoy with his breakfast, but a new vigilante was the last thing he'd expect.

 

 

"Witnesses say the man was a twisted, dark mirror of a green lantern, vicious and covered in blood," the woman on the news says as B-roll footage of the site plays.

 

 

Cooper simply rolls his eyes. "I coull be lie Gween Wantuun," he says, his mouth filled with cornflakes.

 

 

"It is reported that over twenty men involved in the ring were found dead at the scene of the crime, with no survivors to be found," she announces, causing the man to spit his breakfast all over the coffee table. "More on the story at five. In other news; where are the Green Lant-"

 

 

Cooper flicks the TV off, leaving himself to stare at his own reflection. The corners of his mouth curve into a frown as looks into his own eyes. He brings himself to a stand to take the now empty bowl to the sink. As he turns on the water and begins to scrub, his eyes wander outside his loft's window. He spots the familiar trail of green, watching as a Lantern zooms by.

 

 

That's the new kid. After the apocalypse, all of the other lanterns practically vanished. Through his very low-level connections in the underworld, he heard that one of the lanterns had died, leaving the rest in shambles and unable to continue their crusade. He scoffs at the thought of just giving up that type of recognition, that notoriety. People die all the time, it's just a fact of life.

 

 

He guesses it makes some sense though, and wonders which bit it; more specifically, if it was John.

 

 

 

Shutting the sink off with a sigh, he heads to his bathroom, stretching his body and discarding his pajamas. Steam fills the room, the hot water from his shower bathing his skin. He can't help but wonder what his life might look like if he never decided to be a gimmick crook, maybe he'd be a gimmick hero.

 

 

Quickly washing himself down, Cooper steps out of the shower, drying off and putting on his formal attire; a dark brown button down, khakis, and an orange tie. Slipping into his shoes, he he gives his hair a small part, smiling at the reflection in the mirror.

 

 

"Another day, another dollar," he chuckles, grabbing his doorknob and swinging the door open wide. His head tilts in confusion as a small, black card flutters down to the ground, as if it were slid between the door and frame. Kneeling down, he plucks the card from the ground, running his thumb along the embroidered text.

 

 

Take your chance with DeChaunce.

 

 

Cooper's brow raises as he peers down the hallway. Spotting no one, Cooper looks back down at the card before shrugging. He tosses the card into his apartment and leaves for work, oblivious to the glow illuminating from the text.

 

 

-^-

 

 

"Yup! Right there!" a man shouts from a heavy lifting crane. "Yeah, that should be good."

 

 

A metal beam, engulfed in an amethyst glow, is lowered into place. Neal Emerson, the former super criminal Doctor Polaris, lowers his arms with the beam, making sure it's locked in place. He sighs happily, staring at the building as he floats back to the ground beneath him. He didn't expect to be called on by the mayor to help rebuild the city after the apocalypse, but he's glad he was, even after breaking his parole to fight off the undead. He knew the risks and fully expected to be sent back to Stryker's Island, but it was the right thing to do. He was lucky that the two lanterns who returned to earth, as well as a new kid, fought for him to be pardoned.

 

 

The moment Neal's shoes hit the ground, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, one of his co-workers smiling brightly at him. "You did great work today, brother!" he shouts, staring up at the building. "We keep this pace up and the whole city'll be back to its prime in no time!"

 

 

Neal smiles. He did do great work, didn't he? They all did, everyone on the site was working to help better the community, himself included. "Thanks sir," Neal says, cringing at himself. "I said it again, didn't I?"

 

 

"Yes you did," the man said with a playful scowl, patting Neal on the back. "We're all equals here, including you… and it makes me feel old."

 

 

"You're not?" Neal teases, stopping as he hears the sound of creaking metal, followed by the voice of a man. He stares at the base of the building for less than a second before taking off into the air, using the crane's magnetic field to slingshot himself forward. He hears the yelling of the men outside, but can't stop to explain. Maneuvering through the unfinished skyscrapers support beams and pillars, he scans the environment, wishing he had his visor more than anything to see in the dark.

 

 

"Help! Someone!" a voice cries out.

 

 

Neal's arm shoots towards the direction for the voice, hand glowing purple, along with the beams in the area. With the illumination of his powers, he's able to see his coworker, cowering in the dark, flashlight shattered.

 

 

"C'mon out," Neal calls, his other arm raising to hold the rest of the building in place. "Everything is secure, you're safe to go."

 

 

The man's expression, one of relief and gratitude, causes Neal himself to smile, nodding at the man as he stumbles out of the framework. After making sure the man is safe, Neal begins flying through the framework, expecting each support beam until spotting the one out of place. He stares at it, confused as to how it happened. His fingers run along the scratch marks before he shakes his head dismissively, fixing the beam and flying back outside. He's not a detective, he's a construction worker.

 

 

He's met with an array of cheers as he lands, both from his coworkers and some civilians in the crowd.

 

 

"Way to go Emerson!"

 

 

"He saved that man!"

 

 

"That's our Plug Boi!"

 

 

"Really, it was no trouble," Neal says, scratching the back of his head. He jolts slightly at the pat on the back from his foreman. "It was just a beam out of place."

 

 

 

"You're being too humble, you saved Ricky!" the man exclaims, slapping him on the back once more. "You'd make a fine hero yet, Neal."

 

 

"Nah, that's too-"

 

 

"Oh give me a break," sneers a man in the crowd, causing Neal to frown. "C'mon, 'just a beam out of place?' Who do you think is buying that?"

 

 

The foreman's cheerful expression darkens, "You better not be-"

 

 

"Ex-supervillain with magnet powers saves the day from a metal structure falling down!" the man says, fake enthusiasm riddling the words. "You're not fooling anyone, you're still just Doctor Polaris."

 

 

"Aye, shut ya damn mouth," one of the construction workers yells, thinking to Neal behind him. "That man right there is a better man than any of you fucks giving him weird looks."

 

 

"Don't ever try and paint a story like that on someone!" another shouts. "That type of slander is unacceptable!"

 

 

"It's fine."

 

 

The workers all turn to Neal, who now bears a sad smile. "I didn't… do anything to the building…" he looks down at his hand, a pale glow emitting from his skin, "but they aren't wrong. I am still Doctor Polaris."

 

 

"Neal, brother," one of the men calls. "You've changed! Look at all the good you've done!"

 

 

"It doesn't matter how much good I do, my past won't ever go away," Neal says, looking back up at the crowd. "I just hope that one day, you'll all be able to see me… not him."

 

 

Neal steps away from the crowd, heading towards the trailer to grab his things. The sound of rushing footsteps causes him to turn his head, spotting the man he saved, Ricky, running towards him.

 

 

"Ricky?" he asks, slowing his pace so the younger man can catch up. "Did you need something?"

 

 

The man jogs over with a smile on his face. "You saved me," he says, panting lightly, still shook up from the incident. "I thought I was a goner, thank you!"

 

 

 

"Like I said, you don't need to thank me," Neal mumbles, opening the trailer's door and stepping inside. "What were you doing in there anyways? You're usually on break at this time."

 

 

"That's… the other reason I wanted to talk to you," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "It sounds crazy, but I saw someone in there!"

 

 

"What do you mean?" Neal inquires.

 

 

"I mean; I was taking a bite of my sandwich when all of a sudden, I see some dude in a top hat walking through the beams," Ricky explains, his face losing some color. "I ran in to tell him to leave but he just… vanished… like a ghost."

 

 

"So there was a man in there," Neal confirms, thinking back to the scratch marks, "but he disappeared?"

 

 

"That's not all though," Ricky says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thin, black card. "This was laying on the ground where I saw him walking… it's got your name on it."

 

 

Neal stares at the card, cautiously taking it from Ricky. His eyes narrow as he reads the embroidered text aloud. "Take a chance and Dechauce…" he mumbles, looking up at Ricky. "DeChaunce… that sounds familiar, but I don't know why."

 

 

"A business card with no number on it…" Ricky says. "Spooky."

 

 

"Spooky indeed."

Done