The Batcave Fiasco (1/2)- The Ant Man's Ballad.

==Butchinsky's. Basement==

 

November 4th. 03:41

 

"Thought you'd given this life up," Needham lamented.

 

"So did I," Fiasco confessed. "Things change."

 

Eric nodded slowly. "Yeah."

 

Len smirked, then turned back to Jumbo.

 

"Fiasco..." Needham warned, as he circled him, "You know as well as I do that that idiot doesn't know a thing."

 

Fiasco rocked his head back and forth. "Yeah," he grunted, a hand on his jacket. Beside them, Jumbo nodded his head up and down furiously.

 

"It's true, I don't!" he gasped desperately.

 

Fiasco took one look at him, and he fell silent again.

 

"-And we both know Ted Carson hasn't had an original thought in his life," Needham continued.

 

"Yeah."

 

"So, why. Why bother?" Needham said, gesturing at the tool rack.

 

Fiasco shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm angry. And when I'm angry- -When I'm angry, I like to hit things. I don't like being played. Not by Day, or Carson, not by you or your boss neither."

 

"Day?" Needham asked.

 

"Julian Day; Calendar Man, you donut," Len scoffed. "You said it yourself, Carson's a pushover, Krill's a thug, and that little psychotic sailor of theirs doesn't have a single foot in reality," Fiasco snarled in contempt.

 

"Can you prove it?"

 

"Don't need to," Fiasco replied, swinging a pistol in his hand. "Give me a couple phone calls, and I'll have him tied up beside this incel within the hour."

 

"That's not how we're doing things now, Eraser- The Reservoir Dogs schtick doesn't exactly play well with the Bats. Just... Just hand over the gun, we'll sort this out."

 

"Yeah. Yeah, alright," Fiasco nodded, holding out the gun towards Needham. "Fuckin' temper always did complicate things..." he lamented.

 

"I know, I know," Needham responded.

 

"Oh, that's rich," Jumbo chuckled in relief. "Let's be clear, pal, I don't need help from a damn, wall crawling-"

 

Blam. In a second, Fiasco had swung the gun around and shot Carson through the skull, splattering the back wall with his blood. The chair, fell to the ground with a pitiful squeak.

 

"Said he was a racist," Len said slyly.

 

"We have no idea what he was gonna say, because you shot him in the damn head!"

 

"I think we both know what he was gonna say."

 

"No, we don't!" Needham cried out, incensed. "What the hell did you have to go and do that for?!"

 

"What," Fiasco said, indifference in his tone, as he cocked the gun again. "They still killed that Suit."

 

As the gun fired again, Needham webbed the barrel, causing it to backfire; Fiasco threw his hand back, giving Needham the chance to get close, wrapping his arms around Fiasco's throat, choking him out.

Not finished, Len clicked his heels together, and a pair of blades shot out from his shoes, slashing Needham's ankles.

Back on his feet, he unscrewed the lid off of a bottle of acid and flung it at Spider's chest. Eric let out a pained yell, as the acid melted his costume away, and scarred his torso. In response, he dug his blade into Fiasco's shoulder, and both men slid down, exhausted.

 

Fiasco shot him an impressed glance, and slid a damp rag along the ground.

 

"You're a damn fool," Needham said, as he dabbed it across his abdomen.

 

"Yeah, probably," Len replied, as he removed a cigarette from his pocket, and fumbled around trying to light it. "Fuck... Can- Can you pass me that acid, I need to burn the little bastard," he added, raising a bloodied finger at Carson's lifeless body.

 

Needham looked at him in disgust, and threw the bottle cap against the wall.

 

"Fine..." Fiasco coughed, as he stood up, walked towards the leaking bottle, and collapsed to the ground. "I'll... I'll do it myself..." he murmured, as his eyes drooped closed, and his snoring filled the room.

 

==Chuck's Apartment==

 

November 4th. 18:02

 

Chuck turned the key in the lock, tucked into a plastic bag, was a series of walkie talkies, lighter fluids and shoulder pads. He lay them at the door, and jumped back. Standing over the dining room table, a teacup in hand was Batman.

 

"Walker was here wasn't he?" the Knight grimaced, a beam of moonlight glinting off the china cup.

 

"No, no- I don't know what- Look, if this is about Gotham General, that wasn't us, it was these clowns, and they-" Chuck said, fumbling over his words.

 

"That's enough. Jacob Carson is dead," Batman growled, his white eyes glowing in the darkness.

 

Chuck paused. "Jacob-? Who the hell's- Oh shit, Jumbo," Chuck sighed, slapping his forehead. 'Dammit, Len.'

 

"Drury Walker, Brown. You have 24 hours," Bruce replied, as he placed a gloved finger on Chuck's jacket, before climbing onto the windowsill and vanishing into the night.

 

"Yeah," Chuck said, sliding out his phone, and tapping the screen idly. "Yeah, uh, that's not gonna be a problem."

 

==The Underground==

 

November 5th. 01:42

 

The Misfits were walking together, a series of makeshift weapons strapped to their hips, as they made their way through the caverns. In the lead, holding an old oil lantern, was Ratcatcher.

 

"50% of marriages end in divorce," Flannegan was saying, as he took a huff of his cigarette. "The rest end in death. Food for thought."

 

Beside them, Sharpe and Mayo nodded their heads, as they pondered this, "You know what, you make a lot of good points, man," Chancer smiled.

 

Across from them, Gar was chastising Rigger. "You're an idiot," he mumbled irritably.

 

"I'm just saying, if we have guide dogs for blind people, why shouldn't we invest in guide people for blind dogs?"

 

"I'll ask Ten, shall I?" Gar said gruffly. "Ten!"

 

"Oh, no," Reardon moaned. "Not the dog thing again..."

 

"Cats are the future, lads," Blake said proudly, as he slapped both Rigger and Reardon on their backs.

 

"Dell Merriweather," Drury said softly, trailing behind the others.

 

"Huh?" Chuck asked.

 

"Suit. It was once a guy, Dell Merriweather.... Tried to join the Misfits, once, stupid kid. Suppose his spirit wanted that too."

 

"It's not your fault, Drury," Chuck sighed.

 

"I know," Walker sniffled unconvincingly, as he cracked open his medication, and ran ahead.

 

Flannegan raised a bony hand to stop him. In their way, a large iron gate, mounted onto a brick wall. A yellow sign was drilled onto it: High Voltage.

 

"Mayo, tct!" he called out, as Condiment King took the lead, and pulled on a set of white rubber gloves.

 

"Woah, woah, woah!" Rigger called out cautiously.

 

"What?" Flannegan snapped back.

 

"What are you- that's a 2000 volt fence, he's gonna get fried!" Gar reasoned.

 

Flannegan's eyes lit up, as he placed a finger onto the side of his head. "Ah, no, see he ate like four pounds of preservatives on the way over."

 

The Misfits stared at him, dumbfounded.

 

"Preservatives-" Otis explained. "They'll preserve him in case he gets- How aren't you getting this-?"

 

"Do I still take down the fence?" Mayo asked, as he did a series on stretches along the ground.

 

"Down boy," Flannegan whistled, as Mayo swung his arms back to his sides. "I preferred my way," he tutted, as Rigger applied an explosive charge to the door, and blew it aside. As the Misfits entered the cave, yellow and blue lights flashed on, exposing a series of glass cabinets, filled with costumes, gadgets and weapons. In the center, was an enormous computer, a large bat-symbol displayed on its' monitor. On a large turntable, a sleek black car, and suspended from the rafters, an equally slick plane.

 

"Woah, you never said it was a sex cave," Sharpe whistled, as he slid his finger across a vast collection of whips.

 

Gar grabbed his hand. "Let's just get what we came for," he said, as he gravitated towards a yellow and black wingsuit, and its' accompanying flamethrower. Rigger grinned, as he slid on a red onesie, and a yellow harness, while Reardon pocketed his glasses, and reached out for a pair of complex goggles.

 

"Hey, that's the Catmobile!" Blake exclaimed, dropping his sais, as he pointed out an ugly, yellow and brown car to Chuck; tucked under an massive, bronze penny. "He told me they scrapped it," he complained.

 

As Drury reached out for his own weapons, he felt the cold metal barrel of a gun against his head.

 

"Master Drury, I would've thought you might have considered the risks of trespassing by now," a smooth English voice called out. Holding the shotgun, was Alfred Pennyworth, dressed in a crisp white waistcoat, his sleeves rolled up.

 

"Holy crap! Jeeves is packing heat!" Sharpe exclaimed, aghast.

 

The rest of the Misfits turned to face Alfred, more confused than ever.

 

"That's Bruce Wayne's butler," Chuck yelled out.

 

"It is? Do you think he leases him out to people?" Rigger asked.

 

"Oh, goddammit," Drury groaned, as he pressed his fingers against the barrel.

 

"Ok, I really don't understand what's going on. The Englishman, why does he have an Englishman down here?" Reardon stammered.

 

"I figure he watches him," Flannegan said condescendingly.

 

"Holy shit, this really is a sex dungeon, isn't it?" Sharpe shuddered.

 

"Only one way to know for sure," Rigger said. "Blake?"

 

"Huh? Oh definitely, look at all those whips. And handcuffs. And Dinosaurs. That's weird right?"

 

Gar pointed his flamethrower towards Alfred, as he took a defensive step forward. "Drury, get behind me."

 

Alfred complied, as he lowered the gun slightly.

 

"Everyone else, get behind me," Reardon said defensively. "Nice to know where you stand, Garfield."

 

As the gang mobilised towards Pennyworth, each now armed and suited up, a single steel object flew into a wall beside Drury. A batarang.

 

"Oh," Chuck winced, as his eyes darted towards the darkness. "Your response time really is impeccable."

 

"We're taking Walker," Batman's voice boomed. By his side were Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Selina Damian, and a worse for wear Needham, all in costume.

 

Gar stepped forward. "Over my dead body."

 

Tim's brow furrowed. "We- You know we don't kill, right?" he said, before taking note of Cass, Jason and Needham. "Anymore," he added hastily.

 

Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lynns and Walker are the threats. Focus on them."

 

"That's not fair! How come they get to know our secret identities?" Sharpe whispered into Reardon's ear.

 

"Because they haven't been caught, you idiot."

 

Sharpe frowned, as his attention turned back to the Bat Family. "Well, screw you guys."

Done