The Wingman #8: Immovable Object

==The Gotham Royal Hotel==

 

Floor 32: West Ventilation Duct

 

Five Minutes Ago

 

Clack. Clack. Clack.

 

The sound of Carson's boots against the metal flooring was growing fainter now. He was on the move, going god knows where under the influence of that Pirate guy, Hayden.

 

Chuck let out a pained groan. 'Hayden... Where had Hayden gone off to now? He must've scurried off the instant Carson dropped him. But where?' Chuck knew the Outcasts had to have a base of some kind, but somehow he doubted Hayden would be welcome at the clubhouse after what he just pulled. That was, of course, provided Carson was ever an 'official' Outcast, and not just a scapegoat for him.

 

The phone was purple.

 

His head still spinning, Chuck dragged himself along the ground towards Ten. 'He was going to be ok, he had to be ok.'

 

'Good, he had a pulse. But he was bleeding. Badly.'

 

Chuck sighed. 'I could maybe make a tourniquet with the tattered remains of my kite-?' he suggested to himself.

 

'No, don't be stupid, Chuck,' he dismissed the idea. 'Kites don't solve everything. You know better than that. Remember that hurricane?

 

He looked over his shoulder. A few yards away from them, Noah Kuttler lay sprawled across the floor. 'One thing at a time,' Chuck decided. 'Kuttler would understand.'

 

It was just the five of them now: Himself, Ten, Kuttler and the girl.

 

'Five... Why did I say five? Who was I forgetting?'

 

'Ah, Julian. Of course.'

 

'Julian!'

 

Chuck rubbed his eyes, and looked down at the empty bottle still in his hand, and then over at Julian's still figure just inches away; a trail of vomit was trickling down his mouth, his eyes were glazed over and his breathing was slow and raspy. It was as though his body was doing everything in it's power to reject the medicine Chuck had forced down its' throat. The vial of Fearless, sat harmlessly in his open palm.

 

Chuck's hands shook, and finally, he launched the empty bottle of diaxymine across the room, letting out a disgusted cry of anger as he did so. He looked at Ten again, and swallowed his shame. "You're going to be alright," he promised him.

 

The phone was purple.

 

'That doesn't mean anything,' Chuck argued with himself. 'Drury wears purple. Colonel Blimp wears purple.' But then again, that voice wasn't Blimp's. And it sure as hell wasn't Drury's.

 

The phone was purple.

 

Bridget Pike was standing upright, her right glove enveloped in an orange flame. For a moment, Chuck thought she was looking to fight. That she blamed them for her father's psychotic outburst and his subsequent abandoning of her. Typical. And then she spoke:

 

"Let me cauterise it," she offered, gesturing to Ten's shoulder wound. "I can't stop it hurting," she added, "But I can stop the bleeding."

 

"So, what else is new?" Ten joked.

 

Bridget and Chuck shared concerned glances.

 

"Sorry, that was probably in poor taste, given... everything. Do it," Ten stated, as he took a rubber block from his medical bag and placed it between his teeth, biting down.

 

The next thing he said was muffled by the rubber block as Bridget got to work but Chuck surmised it wasn't anything pleasant.

 

The phone was purple...

 

"Chuck."

 

A voice had broken through Ten's muffled shouts of pain and pierced Chuck's inner monologue. And as Bridget recognised it, her body stiffened. "Drury."

 

Chuck panicked, bringing the comms device up to his mouth. "I couldn't stop him, Drury- I tried, really. But he's coming. He's coming for you and I didn't stop him."

 

"It's... It's alright, Chuck," Drury answered, a note of quiet acceptance in his tone.

 

"No, it's not, it's Joker! It's always been Joker!"

 

No reply. He'd hung up... But Chuck's plea had not gone unheard.

 

"What, was Joker?" Bridget asked, bringing her hand away from Ten's now healed shoulder, her gauntlet still glowing.

 

The phone was purple.

 

===Floor 19===

 

Now.

 

Carson's first attack caught the group off guard; a blast of intense bright light had shot out of his belt and blinded the hallway's occupants.

 

Gar, had been the first to recognise the device. It was similar to the prototype belt he'd worn during his first outing as Firefly, before he'd graduated to his wingsuit and flamethrower. The belt's circuitry had later been incorporated into Crazy Quilt's helmet.

Carson, Gar surmised, must have learned of the belt from Day, or maybe Dekker himself, dismissing Carson's own proficiency in engineering. Though he tried to warn the group, the damage had already been done.

 

For Gaige (Whose mask served as a protective visor) and Gar (Who had built up a tolerance), the light had less severe effects. For Jenna, Drury, Joey, Franco and even his bodyguard, Rosso, the light had brought them to their knees. Franco, embarrassingly, had thrown up a little, staining his lilac shirt. This had been Carson's goal, of course; to disorientate the group and keep them isolated, all so he could focus his efforts on Drury.

 

He had not, however, anticipated Gar nor Gaige's resistance to his belt, and before he had the chance to parry it with his firesword, Gaige had hurled his curtain rod at Carson, impaling his left shoulder.

 

Grunting in discomfort as he struggled to remove the pole, Carson held the firesword in his other hand, and brought it close to his wound, cutting off the protruding end of the rod.

Whether it had been an effect of the Pirate's influence, or if his inherent anger had simply dulled the pain, Carson walked off what should have been an decommissioning wound.

 

Gar lowered his flamethrower, and stared at Gaige as if to say 'Great, like he wasn't pissed off before.'

 

=Royal Elevator: Currently Stuck Between Floors=

 

Roman Sionis tapped his foot impatiently. "Now, who's bright idea was it to loop Mariah Carey through the elevator speakers?" he complained. The elevator itself may have stalled, but the speakers had remained intact, much to the trapped pair's annoyance.

 

Li rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I'd assume it was Salvatore Mirti. You know how he passionate he is about the holidays."

 

"Oh? He's still the general manager? Jeez... That's, what, thirteen years?"

 

"Fourteen. Fifteen in April."

 

"Christ. Think maybe I better leave it a week, then. His brother was pushed through a furnace."

 

"No, that was Viti," Li corrected him, consulting his notepad. "Sal's brother was the Thanksgiving killing."

 

"Ohhh. The one with the bomb up his-?"

 

"That one."

 

"Sheesh," Sionis shook his head. "Better make it two weeks."

 

===Floor 19===

 

Lying on the floor, Jenna opened her eyes, her ears ringing. Her eyesight not yet fully restored, she could only make out a group of blurred, colorful shapes trading blows. Several black shapes were battling a red shape; Carson, she had to assume. A pink shape, and a gold shape, were bouncing up and down in the opposite direction; 'That must be Lord Manga and his robot making their getaway,' she deduced.

 

One of the black figures was thrown to the ground. A second, attempted to provide cover for the first. The first, was Drury; she figured that out by the way it swore, how it's natural accent came to the surface. That made the second one Gar. She knew that by the protective way it had jumped in front of Carson's path.

 

As her senses returned, the situation became much clearer; Drury was on the floor again, while Gar was crawling towards them both, blood dribbling down his forehead.

Gaige, was keeping Carson at bay for now, but when his only protection was a three piece suit and an ascot tied around his forehead, it seemed to Jenna as though his efforts were very much in vain, proven when Carson picked up a broken piece of curtain rod and cracked it across Gaige's face.

 

Shaking him off, Carson reignited his firesword. Drury was in his sights again, and he had no intention of letting a disgraced pirate stand in his way again. He held the firesword aloft his head like an executioner's axe, but as he brought it crashing down, Joey swooped in on his knees, and met Carson's firesword with his own katana, blocking it from hitting Drury. Adjusting the temperature dial on the sword's handle, Carson swung his blade again, and cleaved the katana in two; the fiery blade cutting through Joey's like a knife through hot butter.

 

The metal shard clattered to the ground with a loud clang. Shaking with fear, and still holding the sword's handle, Joey raised his hands to defend himself. Carson rolled his fist, and with a loud crack, Joey joined his broken blade on the floor, unconscious.

 

Swinging his blade a third time, Drury's watch projected a blue shield, catching Carson's sword. Pushing Carson off of him, Drury swung the shield under Carson's legs, tripping him up.

 

Next, he fired his cocoon gun at Carson's chest, coating his breastplate in his signature formula. But no sooner had it landed on him, Carson's armour sizzled, melting away the goo.

 

Drury sighed, and untucked his shirt, retrieving a further two cocoon cartridges stuffed behind his waistband.

 

The first, shot out an acidic compound that bore through Carson's armour. Landing on the visor of his mask, Carson discarded the helmet before the compound could eat it's way through to his face.

The next, excreted a thick green sludge, an attractant for small flies and moths. Carson, swatted the insects away, smirking as the hapless bugs flew into the path of his firesword.

 

Gaige flung a homemade rope dart at Carson; made from a long piece of elasticated rope, and the remains of Rigger's broken katana.

The blade, found it's mark in an unprotected nook in Carson's shoulder; the hole where Gaige had previously thrown the curtain rod through.

 

Carson grunted in pain, but nevertheless tugged on the rope, pulling Gaige toward him and incapacitating him with a choke-slam.

 

Before Jenna could intervene, a hand clasped itself around hers and pulled her to her feet; dragging her along in the opposite direction.

 

"I said we're leaving," a familiar voice warned her. This time, Franco's tone was much more forceful.

 

Surprised by his sudden mobility, Jenna looked down at his stomach, "Your wound..." she gasped. The gash on Franco's side had completely healed. "How did Rosso-" she stammered, her eyes darting between the wound, Franco and Rosso in incomprehension.

 

"Doesn't matter," Franco deflected. "Let's just say... it wasn't as bad as we thought," he chuckled, as he forcefully escorted her towards the stairwell.

 

"Jenna-!" Gar grunted as he rose to his feet. As he started to run after her, he hesitated. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes met with Drury's.

 

In the midst of blocking Carson's sword with his shield, Drury nodded, a supportive smile breaking across his face. "Go get her."

 

Gar nodded gratefully, and sped after her.

 

===Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48===

 

A blue and black figure grappled up through the broken windowsill, two fingers in his ear. "We got any idea where the Misfits are?" he asked into his comms unit.

 

"Personally, I'd follow the trail of broken glass and the smell of ash; that's always a good start." the voice replied.

 

"Hah, good call," Nightwing smirked, as he walked across the penthouse towards the unconscious, hairy figure in the room's center. He squatted beside him, and consulted Oracle. "Oracle, I'm sitting here with Catman. Penthouse floor. Got a couple of dead guards, some goons... No sign of... anyone else."

 

"Batgirl's found some survivors in the lobby. Chancer, Condiment King, Polka Dot Man."

 

"Aw, man, all the fun ones," Nightwing smiled, pretending to sound hurt.

 

Blake stirred, putting a hand to his head.

"Wait... There's more people... Ten and Kuttler went into the ducts... Day went in... Chuck followed."

 

"Oracle?" Nightwing looked to her for confirmation.

 

"Hang on... Right, I am getting a weak signal from the 37th floor. I'm going to send Red Robin and Spoiler to check that out."

 

Nightwing paused, lowering his voice. "Wait. He's back to Red Robin again? What happened?"

 

"Damian had a tantrum."

 

"Oh. Well, at least it's not Drake."

 

"I hear you. So much for a secret identity."

 

"Yeah, about that," Nightwing trailed off, turning his attention back over to Blake. "You're going to be alright, man. I've got some gauze and antiseptics in my belt."

 

"Nightwing, yeah?" Blake yawned. "What, he couldn't send Catwoman?" he asked disappointedly.

 

"She was busy. I'm the next best thing," Nightwing joked.

 

"Eh, I suppose. I guess you kinda look like Catwoman. From behind, I mean. Similar... hairstyles."

 

"For both our sakes, I'm going to pretend that's the blood loss talking, that ok with you, man?" Nightwing asked. "Man, why couldn't he assign me to Condiment King?"

 

==The Lobby: Ground Floor==

 

A short girl in a long black cape and a matching, pointed cowl glided down to the floor, taking note of the three unconscious men on the ground, and the fourth man sat in the centre of them; bound to a barstool by a string of red webbing.

 

Krill's chair groaned, as he moved the stool from side to side, aiming to grab the attention of the new arrival: "Aw, Batgirl, thank god you're here!" he jeered. "These loonies came outta nowhere, kicked the shit out of me and tied me up! Then they had the bloody audacity to take a bleeding nap on the blooming carpet there! To think, I only came in for a pint-"

 

Krill paused. The girl, was walking right past him, heading towards the unconscious trio of Mayo, Sharpe and Needham instead. Rude. "No speak-y English?" he mimed.

 

"No speak-y... at all?"

 

Cassandra Cain ignored him, kneeling down at Needham's side. "Eric?" she whispered quietly.

 

"It is Batgirl, though, right?" Krill interjected. "Not the gimp from Pulp Fiction? The masks... They're pretty similar, might want to get something done about that."

 

Beneath her mask, Cass rolled her eyes. "Know about Joker," she spoke.

 

"Now, see, there-" Krill swallowed, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "There, I was seduced and manipulated."

 

"Aight. Good talk," he shook his head.

 

"Batgirl-?" Needham stirred. "We were blindsided... Psycho Pirate and the Pike girl-"

 

"Know about that too," she nodded. "So does he."

 

Needham shot upright. "He... He's here?"

 

"He's here," Cass repeated.

 

Needham put his hand to his forehead, and sighed. "Shit..." he muttered under his breath, and he lay back down.

 

==Floor 9==

 

"Send me to do clean up... Does he think I'm the fucking pencil?"

 

Shirking his duties, Otis Flannegan was trudging down the hallway, complaining to the rats following in his wake. "Plonker. Cut me out of the fight, will 'e? Probably worried I'd steal his thunder, kill the asshole myself. Which I would. Moron's gonna get killed. And if he's dead, I'm not getting paid, and if I'm not getting paid, then I went to that college for nothing. And if I went to that college for nothing, then someone is gonna get their throat ripped out."

 

He stopped as he made contact with a cloaked, pointed ear silhouette. "Where is he?" the figure demanded.

 

"Ah, fuck me."

 

==Floor 13==

 

Jenna struggled to wrestle free of Franco's tight grip, as they descended along the stairwell. "Where are you taking me?" she questioned him. "Didn't you see I was trying to help back there?"

 

"Yeah? By taking a nap?" Franco scoffed dismissively. "Sionis, has a panic room along here; it leads to an underground tunnel, to one of his Steel Mills. We go through there, and we're home free," he assured her, a cocky smile stretched across his face. Lagging behind, Rosso looked up towards the 19th floor, his eyes narrowing.

 

Jenna shook her hand loose from Franco's, and spun around to confront him. "Davey, wait. Just wait. Gar's still out there; even you can't just-"

 

All warmth drained from Franco's face at the mention of Lynns. "So, that Mighty Morphin Power Ranger was right... You do still have feelings for him."

 

"Yeah," Jenna admitted shyly.

 

Franco nodded half-heartedly. "Ok. Ok! But know that I didn't come back just to be a substitute for some psychotic has-been," he complained, waving a finger in her face.

 

Jenna's eyes narrowed. "Has-been? Garfield Lynns is a bigger man than you ever were!"

 

"No," he shook his head dismissively. "This wasn't supposed to happen. The Calendar freak was going to be dealt with by now... They were all supposed to be dealt with by now."

 

"You knew... You knew Day was gonna attack!" Jenna accused him in a hushed whisper.

 

Franco was barely paying attention to her now, rocking his head back and forth as he tried to justify himself. "Ferris made it sound so simple... The Calendar Man comes in, kills Sionis, and I swoop in, inheriting Janus and all its' under the table subsidiaries. Course that didn't pan out, so I had to improvise!"

 

Jenna took a step back, her hand stuffed down her purse. "Wait... Power Ranger. You said Power Ranger. You- You called Carson," Jenna realised. "Carson-"

 

"Is a tool, (and a tool) that's all. A means to an end," Franco waved his hands in the air.

 

"A means to an end?" she repeated, stunned. "A means to a-? You mean kill Gar and Drury, don't you?"

 

"Day's one of theirs, alright? They brought him here, ok? Not me. They, were the ones messing with the mob, remember? Pissing off Sionis, Cobblepot, Dent... But tonight's... Tonight's gonna finally tip the scales in our favour, Jelly Bean, didn't I say that? C'mon, what do you say?" he held his palm out, hoping she'd take it.

 

Jenna removed her hand from her purse, and with it, she slashed Franco's face with a sharpened screwdriver, leaving a deep gash across his nose and cheek.

 

Franco ran his hand down his wound, and licked the blood. "Course, you coulda just said no," he grinned.

 

Six floors up, using the support pillars as cover, Gar adjusted his flamethrower, tapering the nozzle so that he could get a clean shot of Franco. No go. He couldn't risk tagging Jenna. So, he had to switch tactics. He twisted the scope, and aimed the flamethrower at Rosso instead. And Rosso, stared back

 

==Floor 19==

 

Drury had but one advantage: On the ground, Carson was slower; sluggish; held back by the protective red and gold armour he wore.

And so long as they kept the battle here in this small, narrow hallway, Carson lacked the space to get airborne. If they reached the stairwell on the north end of the room, or the window on the south side, it was over; Carson would fly Drury up to the top of the Royal, and drop him. But unlike Chancer, there wouldn't be an awning to break the fall. This time, Drury would be splattered across the sidewalk like... Well, like a bug on a windshield.

 

"You know what the worst thing you did to me was?" Carson asked. "You made me the villain. You murdered me, and made me the villain. The bad guy. The monster. All because I wanted the retribution that I am rightfully owed!"

 

"You crashed my wedding," Drury spoke, spraying a fire extinguisher over Carson, coating him in clouds of white foam. Once it was empty, he bashed the canister across his chest. Twice.

 

"You, still got married. I, got shot in the head." The third time Drury raised the canister, Carson grabbed the fire extinguisher by its' nozzle and cracked it across Drury's face, flooring him. Drury's watch, slid off his wrist.

 

"How about my son's funeral?" Drury spat, wiping the blood off his split lip.

 

"He came back. You trapped me with a demon." Carson reminded him, stepping on the watch as he picked Drury up and slammed him into the left most wall.

 

Blood dribbled down Drury's chin. "You killed the Suit."

 

Carson's eye twitched slightly. "You're... You're still hung up about that? That mute piece of cloth?"

 

"He was good. Decent."

 

"HE WASN'T EVEN A REAL PERSON!" Carson screamed. He threw him again, and this time, Drury collided with a wooden door, rolling into a guest room, wooden splinters protruding from his hands and knees.

 

"When I finally came here. Home. To Gotham. Do you know what I found? Do you? My wife. Dead. Course, you already knew that, didn't you?" Carson's eyes bulged.

 

Drury grabbed one of the larger chunks of wood and hurled it at Carson's exposed head, but this time he was ready; and the firesword intercepted the makeshift projectile.

 

"See, Bridget told me Dan Twag gave the order. She didn't say, that it was your brother that fired the gun. Your gun. That little 'tidbit' I had to learn from Abner Krill. Abner Krill!" Spit flew out of Carson's mouth, his face contorted with contempt of Drury, and of Twag.

 

Drury hung his head in shame. He remembered that night in Carmen Pike's house. Vividly. He remembered the smell of the tomato soup on the stove, he remembered the daisy shaped post-it notes on the fridge. He remembered his brother Norbert's dead-eyed stare as he pulled the trigger, he remembered the taste of his blood in his mouth. The sound of the radio, playing 'A Beautiful Morning,' from his parked car outside. He remembered that feeling of despair as he realised he had been played by Dan Twag, manoeuvred into a no-win situation, as he understood that the next time he'd see Miranda, his kids, it would be behind glass.

 

"I just keep thinking... 'What if I'd been there?' To protect my family. My wife would be alive. My daughter wouldn't be a con, labelled a terrorist by crooks who don't know what true terror is. 'Terrorist...'" Carson swallowed. "My people betrayed me. They always do. Zodiac, No-Face, Hayden. Twag. My daughter's godfather, he was. We enlisted together. Tells you something, don't it? Tells you, you gotta watch your back. Always.

Now your people... Your people hang onto your every word. They'd do anything for you. Sacrifice themselves for you. And what do I have? WHAT HAVE YOU LEFT ME?!"

 

Drury had been reaching for another chunk of splintered wood, but relented. His hand fell by his side, as his eyes met with Carson's. "I gave you an out."

 

"You mean you walked away," Carson nodded. "But you can't walk away. Not from this. Not this time."

 

With a kick, Carson flung Drury from one end of the hotel suite to the other. Drury grabbed a vase placed at the balcony entrance, and threw it at Carson's chest; shattering as it made contact. In turn, Carson threw a ferocious haymaker at Drury that knocked him through the sliding door, and onto the balcony outside. 'No awning,' Drury reminded himself.

 

Flecks of white snow nestled in Drury's brown hair, turning red as they made contact with his bloodied scalp.

 

As he tried to steady himself on the balcony's railing, Drury slipped on the ice, chuckling at his own misfortune. 'Dead end,' he realised.

 

~-~

 

A black figure put a finger to its mouth, shushing the now stirring Joey Rigger.

 

~-~

 

Carson took a step out onto the balcony, and gazed out into the city, savouring this moment, his moment, as snowflakes drifted onto his gleaming armour, fizzling and sputtering as they evaporated from the heat. Carson pulled Drury to his feet, and slammed his back against the metal railing. As he did so, Drury slid his right hand against the yellow jetpack on Carson's back. Elated at the prospect of his victory, Carson didn't even notice the soft clanging of a cocoon cartridge clamping onto the side of the fuel cell.

 

~-~

 

A black boot stepped over the splintered wood at the room's entrance.

 

~-~

 

Suddenly, Drury let out an unexpected, strained laugh. "Does it...?" he started.

 

"Does it what?" Carson's triumphant smirk faltered, pressing Drury's spine against the cold metal.

 

~-~

 

A black cape drifted over the broken porcelain scattered across the hotel room.

 

~-~

 

"Does it ever... Does it ever seem strange to you that this whole unending, melodramatic eternal battle of ours was started over a Hit and Run?" he asked.

 

"That you caused," Carson snapped angrily, slackening his grip on Drury's purple tie.

 

Drury smirked slightly. "In my defence, we'd just watched Les Miserables. I was feeling rebellious." In an instant, the smile vanished from his face. "You shouldn't have killed the Suit, Ted."

 

A black grappling hook wrapped around Drury's leg, and pulled him out of Carson's grasp.

 

"NO!" Carson bellowed, as he spun around. Before he knew what was happening, a black bola pinned his left wrist to the railing, his eyes expanding as he watched a dark figure help Drury to his feet.

 

The Batman glowered, a pair of narrow, white eyes fixed on his opponent. "Carson, isn't it?" he asked.

 

"No. No-no-no-no-no. Don't pretend you don't remember me, Batman," Carson stammered, his fists opening and closing as he tensed up.

 

"I don't," Batman grimaced. "Which is why I'm giving you a choice."

 

"The same one he gave me? Give up?" Carson stamped his foot down like a tantruming child, his jetpack sputtering into life. "HE KILLED ME! HE KILLED ME FIRST!"

 

Batman, took a cautious step back as Carson used his free hand to fire a stream of orange flames at him and Drury from his wrist mounted flamethrower. As they took cover, Carson used the flamethrower to burn the bola's bonds, freeing him.

 

Batman hurled a grenade filled with thick resin at Carson's boot, with the intention of binding him to the ground, but with the jetpack still spitting yellow flames across the ground, the resin (which, Drury noted, bore a striking similarity to his cocoon cartridges) proved ineffective at halting him. Next, he hurled two batarangs at Carson's armour, hitting the two hoses along either side of his arms. But before Batman could plan his next attack, another blast of fire separated him from Walker; in that moment, Carson grabbed Walker's wrist, and shot up into the air, flying out of Batman's reach.

 

As Carson dangled his flailing body over the city, Drury wheezed, his legs swinging back and forth as though he was treading water. They were now hovering between the East and West Towers; 19 floors down, was the hotel lobby, sandwiched in the middle of the two towers.

 

"Trying to say something, Walker? It's better you spit it out, now," Carson goaded him. "Reckon you'll be screaming most of the way down."

 

A hook from Batman's grapnel shot out towards the pair. Latching onto Carson's arm, the cable wrapped around his and Drury's wrists, mooring them both to the Royal. Carson looked over at Batman, an incredulous smile forming across his face. "You're really going out of your way to protect this bastard, aren't you? Heh. But where were you when I needed you?"

 

Batman didn't respond.

 

"My hero," Carson spat. "The Caped Crusader, The Dark Knight... I met you during my little sabbatical. A version of you. Now, him? He made me sick with his unwavering positivity. His "Chums" and his "Champs!" and his ward with the booty shorts. But you? You, I actually pity. The people you fail... The enemies you make. Look at what your city's become, all for the sake of Drury fucking Walker!"

 

Drury reached into his pocket with his free hand, hoping to god he hadn't dropped it. "It's like you said, Ted," he interrupted Carson. "These days, you really gotta watch your back."

 

"Walker..." Batman warned. "What have you done?"

 

Carson's eyes darted towards the round capsule stuck to his jetpack. "Heh. More bug goop, Walker?" he asked, a note of relief in his voice as he recognised the cartridge.

 

"Actually," Drury smirked, as he slid an orange detonator out of his pants' pocket. "It's plastique."

 

The resultant explosion ruptured the side of Carson's jetpack, sending it into a downward spiral. Still tied at the wrist, Drury fell with him, sliding down the side of the building.

 

The sudden force dragged Bruce forwards, as he struggled to keep a hold of the cable. Sticking his boots between the balcony's railings to hold his footing, Bruce grasped the rope with both hands, but the weight proved too much, and the rope snapped under the added weight of both Drury and Carson.

 

The heavier of the two, Carson broke through the glass skylight first, his armour taking the brunt of the impact. Drury, fell through the entrance he'd made in the roof, and they both came crashing down onto the lobby Christmas tree, breaking their fall. Barely.

The tree buckled under their weight, and it toppled to the ground. Drury rose from the sea of pine needles and baubles, just to meet Carson's wrath once more.

 

"Can't stop until you're dead... Won't stop until you're dead..." Carson panted, staggering forwards. His broken belt hung loose from his waist, the hilt of his firesword fizzled with white sparks, and his armour was busted in a dozen places.

 

A large burn mark scarred his left eye, caused by the rupture in his jetpack. His shoulder, was still bleeding from his altercation with Gaige.

Drury's right arm hung loose from his side; dislocated when the cable snapped. His bad knee, the one injured in the Blackgate riot, had taken the force from his landing. Neither of them would survive a second round.

 

Then they saw it: A golden Christmas Star, fallen from the top of the tree. They both made a break for it, stumbling over one another to reach the weapon.

 

Drury was quicker, even with his broken leg, and he kicked Carson in the face with his other one. Crawling over him, he reached the star first, his hand bleeding as he held onto its' sharp edges, determined not to let it go. He turned back to Carson, and held the star over his throat.

 

Then Drury looked down: Cass and Needham were watching from the bottom of the lobby. Mayo, was cheering Drury on; Sharpe even seemed to want to join in, strike the killing blow himself, but Cass was holding an arm out to restrain him. Batman, had swooped down in front of them, his cape slowing his descent. Drury could hear police sirens now too, the GCPD were mobilising outside. And it all became so overwhelming.

 

Drury shut his eyes. 'Break the cycle,' he reminded himself, remembering how each and every one of his encounters with Carson had ended; with him dead, or trapped or mangled beyond recognition. And how conclusive those victories had felt. And yet, he always came back, no matter what.

 

Drury opened his eyes with newfound resolve, prepared to do the only thing that was left, the only other thing he could do:

 

Spare him.

 

He lowered his arm, and threw the star to the ground.

Done