The Disaster Artist 2/2- Gotham Central

A special credit to this issue goes to Lord Allo, who contributed to and provided a couple of my favourite Injustice League moments in this issue. Enjoy.

 

==GCPD. Major Crimes Precinct==

 

"Yo, Mac, Sarge said you're the go-to for the Kyle case?"

 

Macdonald looked up from her desk, smirking. "Sure am. Been chasing that one for years. Reports can't seem to decide whether he's dead, alive or something in-between-"

 

"-Need those files on the Arkham escapees. Crane and Dent may be in custody, but that doesn't mean we get to rest easy. Joker, Day, and a dozen others are still in the wind," Captain Sawyer yelled, drowning them out, as she exited her office.

 

"Yes, Captain," the bullpen replied in chorus, as the station erupted into a flurry of activity. On the balcony above, a couple more officers talked to one another. The first approaching his superior, report in hand. "Sir, I need a signature on the Radium gear before we can transport it, anyone know where the DA's hiding?"

"That's a negative, kid. Forensics wanted to go over the toxicity levels one last time before they let them go. No stone unturned kinda deal-" Sarge explains, as he makes his way towards the break room.

Down the hall, three more cops stood outside the interview room, coffees in hand. Behind the glass, the inmate, had been yammering all morning, a high pitched melody echoing throughout the room. "Frabjous Day, callooh callay! The time is now, the world shall pay.

Societies are on the move with leagues in hot pursuit! Their armies dream of winning, with a world beneath their boot!

Other factions chart a course- the base atop the hill. Men once filled with honour, care only who they kill."

"What's his problem?" a cop asks, peering into the interview room. Inside, the small, red haired man taps his fingers on the table, singing tunelessly to himself.

 

"Who, Tetch? Some rookie forgot to take his hat off when he booked him. The wee bastard mind controlled him into raiding the kitchens. Stole all our teabags. Think he got a sugar rush, or something," a second cop explains.

 

"Teabags? Why not the armoury? Why not free himself?"

 

"Paranoid schizo, Tom. I'll sleep easy when they open another loony bin," the third cop mutters.

 

"Like that'll happen, Nate. Their last one nearly killed all the inmates."

 

"If it works, it works," Nate mutters as he walks past the interview room. "Chandler, let me know if you need some back-up in there," he calls back to his partner.

 

"He's four foot tall, Nate, I think I'll manage," she smiles back, opening the door. Hatter gazes up at her, and joyfully bursts into song once more.

"Assassins! Misfits! Knights and Thugs, across Earth far and wide! But no one could forever live, and many of them died!

Darkness grew in hearts of men, promises were made! The bug, now just a widower knew vengeance must be paid.

The Caped Crusader, pointed ears, remembered his first vow. Though evil's power grew and grew, never would he bow.

The Merc to once have broke the bat, had a heart now snapped in two. He thought about the daughter, and his attempts to woo.

Disaster rose, his powers grew, forgotten he may be. But now he yearned for his own seat, and, just in time for tea."

 

Outside, the main door opens, pushed inwards by an invisible hand. Making their way past cop after cop, the unseen figure arrives at the evidence room, a home run, he thinks. But just as he steps through the doorframe, the metal detector sets off, and a loud, ear piercing siren erupts throughout the precinct. He looks down to the ground, and mutters under his breath, as the cops swarm his way.

 

"Shit."

 

=====Star City====

 

Far from the hustle and bussle of the Financial District, Starling Court Drive is situated in the middle of suburbia. The people are kind, honest, unassuming and unsuspecting. The perfect cover for any supervillain hoping to maintain a low profile.

William Tockman was one such man. He exits his house at 10:30 exactly- as he did every day, his red dressing gown draped around his shoulders, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand. He walks down the driveway and opens his mailbox, wrapping the contents under his free arm: bills, bills and the newest issue of his favourite clock magazine (His newest German antique was coming along wonderfully).

Across the road, exiting a shabby old ford, three gaudily dressed men slam the car door closed, and proceed to bicker with each other.

"Hey King," their leader, Disaster, yells cheerily.

Tockman looks at the trio, then at his watch- waving, then promptly running back inside.

 

“Cmon man, let us in! We just wanna talk!” Disaster calls out, rapping at the door impatiently.

 

“I haven’t the time!” Tockman exclaims, now barricading the door with whatever he can find.

 

“Of course you do, man, you always have the time, it’s your thing!” Disaster fires back indignantly.

 

“Right right, I’m looking at the clock now, it says it’s time to leave me the fuck alone o’clock!” Tockman bellows.

 

Cluemaster pauses, letting go off the doorknob. “He said ‘o’clock’, Maj., that’s solid proof of the time. Let’s go get a burger or something,” he mutters sheepishly.

 

“Shut up Artie, and help me kick this idiot’s door in.”

 

With a single strike the door falls off it's hinges. Big Sir beams at Disaster proudly. It's not returned. Tockman sighs to himself, just add that to the list of repairs... The trio push him aside, track dirt across the floor, and make themselves comfortable on his coach. The group finally static, he gets a good look at Cluemaster.

 

"Good god, Arthur, what happened to your face?"

 

"Plane crash," he mutters.

 

"Ah. Again?"

 

"No, no, this time it was Black Adam."

 

Tockman lowers his glasses, confused. "What was he doing flying a plane? The man can fly!"

 

"No, really- Did you text Multi Man?" Cluemaster asks Disaster, desperate to change the subject to something other than his latest embarrassment.

 

"I did he hasn't- Wait, hang on that's him now."

 

"Give me that, it's... a YouTube link."

 

"Well, dammit man, spit it out, what did he want?" Disaster yells expectantly.

 

Cluemaster braces himself, clicks the link, and the noise of Rick Astley fills the room.

 

-----

 

Disaster sits down in the kitchen, now a makeshift confessional, camera aimed at his face. "Multi-Man... Has been getting into memes. Old memes. It's harmless, really. Well, physically. Mentally, it's very, very draining."

 

------

 

"You brought a camera crew..." Tockman scowls.

 

"I *bought* a camera crew! You remember Bruce don't you? Bruce is heavy into cinematography!"

 

"I, uh, I wouldn't say "heavy," I mean, I dabble, I guess-" The once mighty Bruce stammers.

 

"Sure he is! Don't you get it, King, I want the final, brilliant downfall of the JLI to be televised. Live! On Netflix."

 

...

 

"Major, the JLI has been disbanded for years."

 

...

 

"I... I did not know that," Disaster pauses, as he returns to the kitchen confessional.

"Well how was I supposed to know, Bruce? I was in community service! Big Sir traded my TV for some magic beans Queen of Fables gave him, and- What? Oh, no, I don't know how Netflix works. Ironically it's the one thing Big Sir's good at. His password's pasword. With one "S" "

 

=The Headquarters of the Secret Society=

 

"The armies are ready," Kuttler says, as he struggles to keep up with Bane. He's wearing his costume- *that* he hadn't worn in a while. It was heavier than he remembered.

 

"Good, we depart in an hour. First, I need to make a stop in Gotham," he replies, as they enter his quarters. It's sparse, filled mainly with training equipment, books, a couple of chairs, and a small television.

 

"An hour? What could we possibly need now?" Kuttler asks, as the two sit down.

 

"Who. A useful distraction."

 

With that, Kuttler immediately knows who he's talking about. He sighs, and places his glasses on the desk. "Bane, I'm all for power, control, order. But I also want to *live.* You've seen the files, after what he pulled with the Walker kids-on our watch I might add-"

 

Bane raises a hand to stop him. "Walker will come for Ra's. When he does, with his band of Outcasts-"

 

"-Misfits."

 

"-Rejects... we will need someone to occupy them," he mutters calmly.

 

"Zod's in the brig, guarded by Corben and Jones. I can fetch him. He could rip them *all* in half," Noah interjects

 

"Excessive."

 

"From you, Bane, that's a compliment. I'll inform the council. But, by now, The Justice League will be right on our tails... I'd like to be free, too, when this is all said and done. I'd say unharmed, but I suppose that's an... impossibility." Kuttler trails off, as he looks at the TV screen, and reaches for the remote.

 

"-interrupt this broadcast to bring you to the GCPD Cauldron Precinct, where, just ten minutes ago, a hail of gunfire was reported from within- No reported casualties yet, but-"

 

A frown appears on Bane's face. His confidence falters. "Get me Tetch on the line."

 

======GCPD=======

 

"I need a run down on everything that was in that evidence room, understand? Guns, gizmos, you name it. This skel thinks they can bust into our house, they've got another thing coming."

 

"One for every freak in Gotham, ma'am," a young cop yells feverishly. "Freeze rays, shock gloves, think we've got one of Quakemaster's drills in there. But ain't none of them got any juice in them."

 

"Not good enough officer, we need a list, and we need it now. Sooner we know what we're up against, the... better." She runs her hand against the wall where Pinkey'd been shot. Webs-?

"Listen up people, we've reason to believe that Black Spider, aka Johnny LaMonica has infiltrated our precinct. Already, six of our brothers have been incapacitated. Let's not let him get anyone else."

 

Blam. Blam. Another two down.

 

"Boss, I just got off my cell. Blackgate says he's been in isolation for months."

 

"Call him again. Could be a shape-shifter. Probson, I want the files on Needham. Webs, knives, all of it. Probson-?"

 

Sawyer turns around. Strung up against the wall.

 

"They're not webs... They're cocoons," the voice mutters, as he pins her to the wall.

 

====Star City====

 

Disaster sits at Tockman's computer, trying to break the dozens of firewalls Netflix has set up. All around him, King's clocks tick, making it hard for him to concentrate. "Could you maybe turn those clocks down? Do you even have to have so many?"

 

Sir nods in agreement. "Big Sir stop the ticker," he smiles, as he rips a clock off the wall, and tries taking the battery out without breaking it. At this, King leaps from his armchair, and starts wrestling it out of Sir's enormous fist.

"No, you brute, if even one of those clocks is a second out of place, the entire space time equilibrium will become imbalanced!"

 

...

 

Cluemaster leans back in his chair. "You're shitting us," he remarks tiredly.

 

"Time is my life, dammit!" yells King in-between screams of exertion.

 

"Ach, Sir, leave King alone and give me a hand, will you?" Disaster calls back, agitated.

 

"Coming Major," Sir replies cheerily, as he marches towards the computer, clock still in his hand.

"Give me that," Tockman hisses, successfully snatching it from Sir's hands now that his attention has been diverted.

“Big Sir also has YouTube. Free to upload. Maybe easier?”

 

“Shut up, Big Sir, let me think!” Disaster screams, battling with Netflix *and* Tockman's poor WiFi.

 

“Perhaps it *is* time we gave YouTube our consideration. It would only take five minutes and twenty three seconds," Tockman suggests, still panting, as he examines his clock.

 

“Now we’re talking. Good idea, King, now the world will see the Justice League brought to its knees! And we won’t even have to wait for a submission process!”

 

Artie turns to Big Sir, his massive arms now wrapped around him passionately. “What’s the password to your YouTube account, Biggie?”

 

“Pasword. One S”

 

--------

 

Once more, Disaster takes a seat at the kitchen, Artie at his side- their work done for now. "Sir said that the Society was rendezvousing at this place called "Panda or Rat." I think it's Chinese or something."

 

Artie turns to him, defeated. "Nanda Parbat... I told you, he means *Nanda* Parbat."

 

Disaster looks away from the camera, as the cogs turn in his head. "That, makes a little bit more sense. Here, I thought it was a Takeaway."

 

=======GCPD=====

 

One cop left... The cloaking tech did wonders, it must be said, the figure thought. The kid was young, no older than... Simon. His breath trickled down the boy's neck. Though he couldn't see him, the kid knew he was right behind him, an invisible gun pressed into the back on his head.

 

"I want everything you have on the Dan Twag case, his gear, his assets, everything he stole."

 

The boy stammered, as he turned around. "Y-you mean the moth gear? Why... Why would anyone want that."

 

The voice sighed, as it deactivated the cloaking tech. "Call it, uh, personal reasons. Where are they?"

 

The boy fell out of his seat, backing slowly away from the purple clad assailant. "Oh, jeez, I didn't mean, I- The impound lot, it's by Port Addams!"

 

"Thanks."

 

...

 

"Are you going to kill me?" The cop stuttered suddenly.

 

Drury was taken aback. He'd not... He'd never... He looked at the bullpen, dozens of incapacitated officers. In one corner, The Mad Hatter squealed in delight, a phone in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He lowered the gun, and whispered, maybe to the kid, maybe to himself, in reassurance.

"I- no. Never."

 

The cop had closed his eyes as soon as he'd seen Drury. When he felt safe enough to open them again, Killer Moth was gone, leaving just him and Tetch, singing to himself.

 

====Van Cleer Manor, later====

 

"You can't go in there."

 

Gar stood guard at the door, flamethrower in hand. In the basement, Drury remained hard at work. Though he'd not told him where he'd got the new gear, to Gar it didn't matter. He had a drive, something he'd not had in weeks. That had to mean something.

Gaige stared at him for a moment, then, with alarming strength, he flung him- and the door aside. "Fuck off Freddy. Walker, I'm coming in. Put down your hankie, zip up your trousers and turn off A Bug's Life!"

 

"Ah, Gaige," Drury murmured, blowtorch in hand, a large piece of metal propped up by Rigger.

 

"I don't care what you've been told, an AC/DC montage isn't going to make you a badass. That requires training, perseverance and an attention span longer than your namesake- Is that kinetic armour?" Gaige pauses, as he examines his son in-laws' handiwork.

 

"I mastered in electrical engineering, how do you think I built the car?"

 

"To be frank, I thought you had it commissioned," Gaige murmurs.

 

Drury turns around, as he rests the metal against the wall. "Oh, and who'd I commission to slap a big Moth face and half a dozen stripes of pink and yellow to a Roll's Royce? ...Don't answer that."

 

"Lady Gaga?"

 

"I said don't answer that, Gar."

 

...

 

Gaige stammers- a rarity, as he ponders Drury's words. "Wait, fuck... A Royce? That mother fucking eyesore was once a Roll's Royce? ...I've seen a Doll-o-Tron in progress... But that, that's the most disgusting transformation I've ever heard of! Fuck! How the hell did you even get a Roll's Royce?!"

 

"Probably the same place he got the house."

 

"*Cough* The Mob *Cough*" Chancer interjects, as he finishes loading their guns onto a cart.

 

"I got the house for dirt cheap really, the money was just for refurbishments," Drury says, trying to ignore Gaige's shrieks of utter disbelief.

 

"Hang on, you had the chance to make a spy car and you didn't choose an Aston Martin? Shame," Sharpe muses.

 

"I've told you, not all Aston Martins come equipped with machine guns and scuba gear," Chuck adds, as he finishes sketching some new kite designs.

 

"How'd you know, Working Class, you've never set foot in one," Chancer shoots back, as The Misfits start bickering with one another. The last to arrive, Ten, taps Drury on the shoulder, as he glances at the various guns, swords and kites.

"Drury, can I talk to you?"

 

"Ten, we can re-enact Riverdale later, right now I'm kinda busy," Drury mutters.

 

"It's important, please. Riverdale-?"

 

"Oh, right, prison. Best you don't know."

 

Ten cocks his head to one side, confused. "Right. Anyway, Drury, what I wanted to say was... I know what it's like. The allure of vengeance, to hurt those who hurt you.

When Deacon Blackfire had me drink his elixir, each word he spoke made it seem oh so... appealing. Beautiful. I had Harry Simms at my mercy, and if I hadn't fought his programming... He'd be dead, and I'd be left with nothing. Are you *sure* this is what you want?"

 

Drury looks at him, and whispers coldly "More than anything."

 

Needham's the next to speak. "Revenge... Ha. Revenge doesn't make it better. I tried. Had Sionis dead to rights. But the thing is, killing him wouldn't bring my family back, and killing Ra's won't bring back yours,"

 

"Ra's is staying alive somehow, if I find that machine, I don't know, maybe I could."

 

Ten places his hand on his shoulder, the Misfits are all looking at them now. "Drury! She's gone."

 

...

 

"I can save Norbert, I have to save Norbert," Drury repeats to himself.

 

"Then save him for god's sake! You don't need to fight Ra's to do that," Reardon pleads.

 

...

 

Drury nudges past Ten, and stares Needham dead in the eye. "You. You should've killed Roman. Think about all the other families he's killed. Think of everyone Simms will keep hurting. Tell me, how did mercy work out for Roman? He threw Chuck off a building."

 

At this Needham, punches Drury in the face, blood pouring from his nose. As he tries to get up, he trips him over again. "Bam. Punch to the gut. You're disorientated, barely on your feet. Bam. Strike to the throat, you can't breathe, you're choking. Bam. Sword in your chest, blood on the floor. Miranda was a fighter, trained by Ra's himself. You aren't. She couldn't have lasted, what, three minutes? You won't even last one. It doesn't matter how vengeful you are, you fight the Demon's Head and you're done."

 

"You got a point to this-?" Drury wheezes, as Gar rushes to his aid.

 

"Yeah. Your path of self-destruction only ends one way. I know, I lived it. You want to save your brother? Avenge your wife? Then you'll need all of us."

Drury looked up at Needham. At Chancer and Rigger. Chuck and Gar. Gaige... The Misfits, his Misfits stood assembled... Maybe Ten was right. Maybe this was a suicide mission, but they, *they* believed in him, just like she did. And that, that was all he needed.

 

~

 

"The game was set, the players poised, the battle had begun!

The Moth sat with his Misfits, for his colleagues, this was fun.

The Bat prepared to fight a war he'd prepped for like the rest.

The Luchador stood in the sun, his armies were the best.

The Major led his underlings, though folly was his quest

The Demon in his quarters smirked, and so began the test."

 

 

 

Done