The Wingman #10: The Gossiper's Bridle

Six Years Ago: The East End

 

Perched on the fire escape, Eric Needham chapped gently on his apartment's window. “Linda, can we talk?”

 

No response. He figured that may have been the case. Since he had caught her using again, their relationship had been... Well, ‘strained’ didn’t exactly cover it. But with every dealer he took off the streets, Eric was certain he was making a brighter future for them, for their son. Mikey wouldn’t have to grow up like he did. Mikey wouldn’t have to do the things that Eric had to.

 

Behind the glass, he could make out his girlfriend’s unmoving silhouette on the sofa, his son sitting on the ground beside her.

 

No, not sitting… Lying; sprawled out across the ground. Eric’s eyes widened and a sense of dread washed over him. 'God, please, not them too.'

 

He punched through the glass window, paying no attention to the shards tearing his hand open as he entered the room. He rushed to Mikey first, his eyes drawn to an overturned bowl of cereal and the white powder on the ground beside him. ‘The cereal… He’d put the smack in the cereal… Must have thought it was sugar, I mean, why wouldn’t he?’

 

‘Please… Please God, let there be a pulse,’ he begged, shaking Mikey’s still body frantically. He turned to Linda next, his face twisted with anger and sorrow.

 

“Do you know what you’ve done?!” he shook her. “Do you know what-”

 

His lip twitched. Tears streaming down his fear, he huddled his family together and wept. Not just for his family, but for the death of a normal life.

 

Now:

 

Sionis Warehouse: South Gotham

 

Jenna’s head was spinning. She could just hear Franco arguing with Ferris. She tried to move but found herself unable to; her wrist was wrapped in cold metal: Handcuffs, pinning her to a steel pipe.

 

“You brought the girl?” Ferris was complaining. “Sloppy, Davey. Sloppy. Fortunately, I can work with sloppy.”

 

Franco ruffled his hair awkwardly. “They got Rosso.”

 

“Eh. No real loss.”

 

“You think? If they find out what he did for me, we’re both dead.”

 

“You’re dead anyway," Jenna spat.

 

“Ah! The sleeping beauty awakes,” Ferris cocked his head to one side.

 

“When Gar gets here-”

 

Ferris flicked his finger on her forehead. “When ‘Gar’ gets here, we’re gonna blast him full of lead. Heh. This girl of yours must be real handy with those lips, Davey, ‘cause I can’t figure out why else you’d let her keep flapping ‘em.”

 

Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks

 

The henchmen all wore grotesque masks, loading pallets onto a group of large semi-trucks. One, in a rubber elephant mask, was talking to the others. “There was some killing on Third and Milton. Nasty stuff: had the lieutenants real spooked. Strung him up like a fly.”

 

“Was it The Bat?” a henchman in a chicken mask asked.

 

“Was it the-? The Bat don’t kill, moron. Everybody knows that,” a third, in a pink bear mask, chided the second.

 

“Ain’t what I heard. Heard there was this guy; The KGBeast; a high-profile Russian hitman or mercenary or something? Bat trapped him in a sewer, left him to starve to death,” a fourth in an astronaut helmet chimed in.

 

“That’s horsecrap. He’d have let the cops know where to pick him up, the Commissioner at least. They’re tight,” a goon in a white rabbit mask stated.

 

“Nah, man. This Beast guy? Killed 130 people, good half of them were innocents. You don’t fuck with innocents. Not with The Bat,” the astronaut claimed.

 

“Bull! I’ve met the Beast. He works with the bosses now and then. You’re talking outta your ass,” the bear masked henchman frowned. “It’s probably that new guy, the-”

 

He didn’t finish his sentence. A strand of red webbing latched itself around his neck and raised him off the ground. His legs flailed helplessly for what seemed like an eternity and then, snap. The body went limp.

 

“What the fuck was that?!”

 

“Holy crap, he’s dead!”

 

The Rabbit fired his machine gun into the rafters, hoping to weed out the assailant. Screams echoed throughout the warehouse. “Come on out, you son of a bitch! You’re outnumbered.”

 

Something rolled across the ground towards him, shattering his confidence: A bloodied chicken mask, the head still inside. The Rabbit stepped backwards, colliding with an upside-down body; a disembowelled corpse in an elephant mask, pinned to the wall by that same red webbing. Before the Rabbit could call for help, a serrated blade tore his throat open.

 

“This is fucked, man!” the astronaut panicked. “There were at least twenty other guys in here, where the hell are they?”

 

He tripped over the chicken’s headless body, falling to the ground. A figure in an orange mask and several layers of body armour grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him close.

 

“Who are you working for?” the figure asked.

 

“I don’t-! I can’t-!” the Astronaut stammered.

 

“This warehouse is the biggest heroin plant in the city now talk!"

 

"I can't! He'll kill me!"

 

"I'LL KILL YOU! NOW, WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!” the Black Spider roared.

 

"The Black Mask,” the goon spluttered. “We’re working for the Black Mask!”

 

Before the goon could divulge more information, an armoured fist intervened, flooring Needham. The assailant was dressed in a suit of purple and grey armour, a single red visor across his eyes. Their gloves buzzed with yellow sparks. Needham hadn’t met this one before.

 

“No-no-no-no, please! I didn’t tell him nothing! I swear to Chri-”

 

The goon’s shout of protest was muffled by the Lightning Bug’s hand around his mouth. The gauntlet crackled with yellow electricity and lightning shot through the goon’s body, burning them from the inside. The body glowed with brilliant light, and then with a final muffled shriek: the light went out. Lightning Bug slackened his grip, and a charred corpse crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from the mouth of the blackened body. Beneath his mask, the Lightning Bug smirked: now he could turn his attention back to the intruder

 

As he approached, lightning dragged along the grated floor and railings, every metal surface a death trap beneath the Bug’s boots. So, Needham had to stick to the air; narrowly dodging a blast of yellow electricity, he leapt off the narrow walkway, firing a web at the wooden rafters to keep himself airborne. Recognising the Spider’s strategy, Lightning Bug shot at the rafters; as the blast found its mark, the wooden supports caught fire, the flames carrying down across the walls.

 

Needham lost his balance when the Bug struck the beams and fell into a pile of wooden crates. Shaking the wooden splinters off his person, Needham fired another web, carrying him onto the opposite end of the gantry. Aiming for the Bug’s visor, Needham grabbed a machine gun from a fallen False Facer and opened fire. The Bug raised his arm out in front of his face and used his gauntlet to shield his eyes, aiming to outlast Needham’s ammunition. And sure enough, the clip was emptied before it could penetrate the Bug’s armour.

 

As the fire intensified, the sprinkler systems kicked into gear; the water sizzling as it battered down onto the Bug’s armour. Needham discarded the gun, and firing two more webs, he brought a large crane down on top of the Bug. ‘The roof was going to cave in any minute,’ he realised. 'And soon the cops would be here.' Needham fired a web up at the open skylight, and swung out into the night, hoping the flames would finish the Bug off. But as he left, an armoured fist broke free from the debris.

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel

 

Lobby: Ground Floor

 

Time went on, and the remaining Misfits reunited in the lobby. The group’s attention was momentarily drawn to the window; the reporters had started to gather outside, taking pictures and forcibly extracting statements from the irritated witnesses and handcuffed prisoners. From inside the lobby, Sharpe stuck his tongue out at Jack Ryder, and pulled down the curtains. Mayo was slowly waltzing around the lobby. Bridget, who had arrived with Chuck, Kuttler and Ten, kept her distance from the group.

Chuck’s head was resting on the check-in desk, his arms sprawled out in front of him. Beside him, a sorrowful Rigger lay the broken hilt of his katana on the countertop, lamenting the weapon’s loss. Ten sat on his right, wearing a sling around his injured shoulder. Blake joined them last; a series of white bandages wrapped around his bare chest. Smiling, he plopped a quartet of glasses down beside them. “Drink,” he encouraged the trio, pouring a generous amount of dark liquid into each glass.

Chuck smiled back. “Cheers,” he toasted his teammates.

 

As they drank, Flannegan approached the group, dressed in an ugly, dark green raincoat.

 

“You’re leaving?” Chuck asked.

 

“Job’s done, isn’t it?” Flannegan challenged him.

 

"Unbelievable…” Chuck voiced his disapproval but knew there was little point in keeping Flannegan here against his will. Flannegan saluted the group, and took the remainder of the bottle for himself, tucking it under his overcoat.

 

Kuttler was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, pressing an ice pack against his bruised forehead. He lowered the ice pack from his forehead and rolled his eyes: Sionis was strutting down the marble staircase, Li by his side. Needham stood at the entrance, his arms folded and his back leaning against the door in defiance of the new arrival.

 

“What a dutiful bunch you all are. Can’t imagine how anyone got past you,” Sionis addressed the room of downtrodden C-Listers.

 

“That said..." he cleared his throat as if the words were painful to admit: "Thank you.” Clearly, he had been prompted by Li.

 

Mayo scratched his forehead as he struggled to make sense of the unexpected compliment. “But we ruined everything. A bunch of people died. The damages to the hotel-”

 

Sionis flapped his hand at him dismissively. “Oh, I know. But I’m insured on all of that. Well, not the men, but those are replaceable. Good work people, I hope I never have to see any of you again.”

 

The latter comment seemed to be directed at Kuttler specifically, as Sionis came to a stop at his side, paying no attention to the Black Spider's judgemental glare. “Oh, elevator’s back online, yeah?” he growled at him.

 

“They’re pre-programmed to shut down in the event of a fire,” Kuttler claimed.

 

“While occupied?” Sionis asked.

 

“It’s your building,” Kuttler challenged him, lowering his purple-tinted glasses. “We had no way to know Carson was coming,”

 

Sionis eyed him up and down, unsatisfied with his response. “Smartass,” he snarled, shoving him aside. "And you, kid, you on their side now?" he examined Bridget.

 

"Play nice," Needham warned, a hand rested by his sheathed blade. For the first time that night, Sionis noticed him.

 

"That's right, I forgot we had a Bat-Chaperone with us,” he raised his arms in the air. As he made a beeline for the check-in desk, Chuck looked down into his glass, avoiding eye contact.

 

“Doubt there’s any point asking the blind man…” Sionis stood intrusively close to Chuck. “So, how about you? You see Tiger Shark pass by here, Kite-Man?” he asked.

 

Chuck’s back straightened, and he turned to Sionis stone-faced.

 

“Who?”

 

Sionis took a step back. If he had eyebrows, he’d have surely raised one. “Well, aren’t you a grumpy little bastard tonight... You hit your head? Maybe fly into my desk headfirst?”

 

As tensions began to mount, Li stepped between the pair, handing Sionis his tablet. “Sir, you’ll want a look at this. The security footage from the 13th floor.”

 

As Sionis glanced at the recording, his eyes narrowed. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

 

“Just keep watching,” Li said calmly. As the footage played, a familiar man wearing a wolf-like helmet and purple suit walked into focus and pressed a button on the nearby keypad.

 

“Ferris-?” Sionis grimaced. “What the hell was he up to-?”

 

As he finished inputting the code, the wall slid out, and Ferris disappeared behind it, the wall closing back up behind him.

 

“I told you it wasn’t Day,” Li finished, his tone suggesting he felt vindicated.

 

“I wish I could say I was happy for you…” Sionis murmured. “Wait a minute,” he gestured to the corner of the screen. “The time stamp… This happened two hours before Day attacked,” he glared at Li, waiting for his explanation.

 

“If I might suggest something... Kuttler is a tech genius. The only way someone; Krill, Day; could bypass his systems is if they already had the security codes. Or knew someone who did.”

 

“And?”

 

“Ferris knew something was going down. That’s why he left the party prematurely.”

 

“Well,” Sionis scoffed. “It’s a hell of a theory.”

 

“It is. But I do my research,” Li spoke, swiping his fingers across the tablet to another photo. “This was taken outside the Thompkins Homeless Center. And that’s Ferris, sat across from Abner Krill.”

 

Sionis gritted his teeth. “Is there anyone who doesn’t want to kill me?” he snarled.

 

“Nope." Needham’s arms stayed folded.

 

Sionis growled, as he swung back around. “Hey, Misfits, maybe I could still use you.”

 

“Are you serious?” Chuck asked. “Drury’s gone. Have someone else do your dirty work.”

 

“Well, that would be nice, Kite-Man. However, you may not have noticed, but all my employees seem to be betraying me!"

 

As if on cue, the stairwell door swung open, and Garfield Lynns staggered into the lobby; his shirt drenched in sweat, his face bruised and swollen, and covered in still damp blood.

 

Joey's eyes widened. "Gar!"

 

"Here, take it easy, Garfield," Reardon advised him, offering him his seat at the desk.

 

"Woah," Sharpe whistled. "You look like shit! Like, more than usual. Like, think how bad you must look now if on your best day, you look like a shaved testi-"

 

"Gar, what happened?" Chuck asked, expressing concern as Lynns collapsed onto the stool beside him and drank his half full glass of alcohol.

 

"Gar, where's Jenna?" Joey asked anxiously. "Gar?"

 

Gar didn't respond. His eyes appeared to stare off into nowhere. “He took her," he said finally, his jaw slackening. "I tried to stop him, but he took her."

 

“Who? Franco?” Joey asked. That got Sionis’ attention, whose previous reaction to the conversation had been one of pure apathy.

 

"Franco did that?” Sharpe gestured to Gar’s wounds. “I’ll be honest, between this and the car crash, I think you might be losing your touch.”

 

"No, not him... His assistant… bodyguard. He is… was a metahuman. A blood monster. Took him out with a Molotov but... By that point, Franco had already sealed the upstairs passage."

 

“Cool,” Sharpe and Mayo nodded in admiration. The former, stuck his head around the door Gar had come through, hoping to catch a glimpse of the 'blood monster.'

 

“That tunnel, where does it come out?” Gar asked Li frantically.

 

“One of our old warehouses, South Gotham, I think. You said it was a blood monster?” he asked Gar.

 

“What?” Gar asked, failing to see the relevancy. “Yeah, some kinda bloodbender. Like, from Avatar. Have you seen Avatar?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, I have. Blame Rigger.”

 

“I shall.”

 

“You shouldn’t, it’s a good show!” Joey interjected.

 

“It’s fine," Gar conceded, realising he was getting off-topic. "This guy made me beat myself within an inch of my life, made Jenna watch, healed Franco’s injuries… Bloodwork, he said his name was.”

 

“And where is he now?”

 

Gar paused. “He’s splattered across the east stairwell.

 

“Aw, that’s not a monster!” Sharpe complained loudly as he re-entered the lobby. “That’s just a pile of blood.”

 

Li and Sionis looked at each other.

 

Li swallowed. “Sir… You don’t think-?”

 

“I want Franco's blood tested," Sionis ordered. “Dig up any files we have on Blackgate, including his connection to Gaige, and find out when his correspondence with Ferris first began; I need to know if they were conspiring before we lifted his exile...”

 

"That may take time," Li stated. "We'd need to find an uncorrupted blood sample, run it against the one we received from Blackgate."

 

"Franco took a polka dot to the stomach earlier," Gar stated. "I'd start there."

 

"Hmff," Sionis grunted. "Richardson's still on the take," he reminded his assistant. "Have him swipe a sample from upstairs. While we wait, I want you to surround the South Warehouse. No one in or out, capiche?”

 

“That may prove difficult. If Franco indeed got to Ferris, while he was exiled on another continent, he may have also enlisted your captains. We’re talking about a full-scale power play.”

 

“Then we’ll do it.”

 

Sionis tilted his head back. "Hm?"

 

Gar had risen from the stool and stepped between Sionis and Li. “We’ll take the job,” he clarified.

 

"Now, Gar, wait a minute-" Chuck protested, following him as he offered Sionis his hand.

 

"Bookworm’s right. You can't trust your own guys. Franco could've already bought them off. But you can trust me, because there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that woman.”

 

“Well, aren’t you the romantic.” Sionis smirked as he accepted the handshake. “You remember Iron-Hat Ferris, I take it?”

 

Behind them, Blake laughed. “’Iron-Hat?’ What does he do, haunt abandoned fairgrounds for the insurance money?”

 

“Didn’t realise we were taking pointers from the Catman.”

 

“You’re not coming,” Gar shook his head. “Not with that stab wound. Ten neither. And Mayo... Not Mayo."

 

“Hold that thought,” Sionis’ phone buzzed, and he rolled his eyes. “Penguin.” He turned his head to the quarrelling Misfits. “I have to take this. Mingle among yourselves," he said patronisingly, as he left the room, followed by Li.

 

As Sionis departed, Joey shook his head. “That man deserves a fiery death...” he muttered.

 

“Yes,” Reardon murmured in agreement. “And for some reason, we prevented one.”

 

"What's your problem?" Gar glared at Chuck.

 

"My problem?" Chuck squinted.

 

“Franco has Jenna. Jenna! This might be my only chance of getting her back. Why are you trying to mess that up?”

 

"Why? Because we're not his personal kill squad. Look, Julian was one of us, as were the rest of the Outcasts; to an extent, but I draw the line with Franco and this Ferris guy. That's mob business and I don't want to see any more of us caught in the crossfire."

 

“And you'd leave Jenna to die instead?” Gar spluttered in indignation. "Isn't she one of us?"

 

Chuck sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying! But God, Gar, at least think it through. You do what you’re planning, if you kill Franco, do you really think she can love you? You’re being used. You’ll be little more than Sionis’ executioner. Again.”

 

"You don’t understand! I love her!”

 

"Of course, I understand, but she’s a grown woman. A grown woman, who, I might add, managed to hit Carson with a car.”

 

“To be fair though, who hasn’t,” Sharpe interjected.

 

“Just have faith in her! Give her some credit, please," Chuck urged.

 

"It's not just mob business."

 

"What?" Chuck stared at Bridget.

 

"It's not just mob business,” she repeated, a little unsure of herself.

 

“Go on," Needham encouraged her. "It's alright."

 

Bridget turned to Gar. “Dad followed Carpenter home one night. He was looking for you; must’ve thought that she’d lead him to you and Walker. But he found Franco instead. I guess they developed some kind of understanding, because, well they’re both still breathing. Tonight, Franco phoned dad out of the blue. Said he knew where to find Drury. And his friends.”

 

“Franco phoned him? Not Jules?” Blake asked.

 

Bridget scratched her arm. “Uh-uh. Day thought Dad was beneath him. He was always bragging about these secret partners of his. Seemed to think they were going to take over the city.”

 

“Drury,” Gar whispered. He looked ashamed, disgusted that he hadn’t noticed his best friend’s absence. “Where is Drury?”

 

The Misfits looked at each other guiltily. Ten swallowed. “You don’t know?”

 

Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks

 

Roman Sionis stood by the harbour. Smoke was still billowing from the charred warehouse. His warehouse. “30 men dead. 30. The East End operation is fucked…” he gritted his teeth. “What the hell happened exactly?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

 

A man in a violet mask and a red suit and cape stepped forward. “Per the Bug’s account, this was the work of one man; calls himself Black Spider. He’s been active for a couple of years, never been worth our time; went after street dealers, the small stuff,” he explained.

 

“And? What changed?”

 

James Carter lowered his notepad. “We’re still working on that, sir. Still, it’s not uncommon for these types to get reckless, or cocky. Take down one street thug and they think they’re invincible all of a sudden. The Bug said he likely died in the blaze. We’re checking the river for a body. It’ll turn up soon enough.”

 

Sionis reached into his pocket and opened a bottle of his prescription heart medication. “30... Shit. You’re the PI, right? Gaige’s,” he inquired, swallowing a handful of orange pills.

 

“Incognito,” the red suited man introduced himself.

 

Sionis snorted derisively. “Yeah, with that cape?”

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel:

 

Room 792: Floor 25

 

A lone GCPD officer, Richardson, shone a torch at the wall. What looked to be Walker’s signature cocoon formula was peeling off the wall. A good chunk of the residue appeared to have been removed somehow, eaten, the cop suspected. And whatever the webbing had held, was gone

 

Six Years Ago: Sionis’ Penthouse. Diamond District

 

Sionis poured a bottle of scotch into a pair of glasses, offering a tumbler to his guest first. The guest declined, instead retrieving a thin cigarette from a pouch in his dark grey utility belt. Sionis shrugged, and after chugging down his whiskey, got down to business: “You come highly recommended from a… mutual friend of ours. Can’t say I’ve ever held his opinion in high regard, but my boys vouch for you. That kid, Joseph, he’s the one who set up the initial meet between me and your... manager.”

 

“He’s not my manager,” the guest frowned, flicking his lighter on and off compulsively.

 

“Well, he hyped you up plenty.”

 

“That’s just Drury. He exaggerates.”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Sionis inhaled. “Joseph... is getting cold feet. Guess that mess in the East End was too much for him to handle: bit of a softie, that one... I take it you saw the news?”

 

The guest, dressed in a dark grey jumpsuit and a bandolier lined with explosives around his torso, smiled thinly. “Saw your warehouse up in smoke, if that’s what you mean. Helluva blaze. Wish I’d been there in person.”

 

“You and me both,” Sionis glared at him. “That little... accident cost me a dozen of my best guys. High earners. I need someone to pick up the slack, recoup our losses. That gonna be you, Lynns?”

 

The guest closed his lighter suddenly. “Please, sir. Call me Firefly.”

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel

 

Lobby: Ground Floor

 

Gar sat back down as he processed this. Franco sent Carson. Carson, who Drury had sacrificed his freedom to take down. He remembered the look Drury gave him in that hallway, a non-verbal plea to find Jenna, to be happy. And his hand formed a fist.

 

“That settles it.”

 

The Misfits looked at Gar.

 

“Franco’s just given me two reasons to kill him.”

 

“I’m in,” Rigger patted him on the back, tucking the broken katana into its sheath. “A guy’s gotta have his wingman.”

 

Gar nodded appreciatively, then turned to Chuck, gesturing to Blake and Reardon. “Those two need a doctor. Can I count on you to be their designated driver?”

 

Chuck nodded hesitantly. “Sharpe says he knows a guy.”

 

The two stared at each other as realization washed over them.

 

“The lizard?”

 

“The lizard.”

 

Gar scoffed, then turned to Joey. “Suit up.”

 

“Already have!” he beamed back as he ripped his shirt open, revealing the red and yellow fireproof spandex beneath.

 

Needham’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been wearing that the whole time?”

 

Gar scratched his scalp. “Christ. You must smell like an old boot...”

 

“Like my pop’s old flip flops!”

 

~-~

 

“Oswald, this had better be good,” Sionis drawled into his phone. As Cobblepot spoke, Sionis’ eyes widened. “What?” he snapped.

 

Li watched from the side, concerned.

 

“Where? Yes, I’ll be there. Tell White to meet me there.”

 

“Sir?” Li tilted his head to one side.

 

Sionis didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swung around, placing a hand around his assistant’s arm.

 

"You still got that gun I gave you?" he asked. His tone was one of uncharacteristic concern.

 

Li nodded, gesturing to the bulge behind his tweed jacket.

 

"Good,” Sionis’ head swayed from side to side. And without another word, he stepped into the awaiting black limousine.

 

~-~

 

Li re-entered the Royal alone, his coat damp from the snow outside. “Have we reached a consensus?” he asked the group.

 

“Chuck here is gonna take care of our wounded,” Gar stated, “So Joey and I are all you’ve got.”

 

...

 

“Very well,” Li said, although he was clearly disappointed with this turn of events. “But be aware: Henry Ferris is not to be underestimated. He is a ruthless, unrepentant monster."

 

“Yeah, um, your boss is Black Mask. All things considered, isn’t that a little hypothetical?" Blake scratched his head.

 

"Hypocritical," Kuttler corrected him.

 

“You don’t understand,” Li shook his head. “Upon his return, I did some digging; research into the circumstances behind his exile, behind that mask he wears... Six years ago, Henry Ferris increased the potency of our drugs, and distributed them among poor neighbourhoods. Black neighbourhoods.”

 

‘Six years...’ Needham thought to himself, as he was filled with dread. ‘It wasn’t an accident...’ He remembered little Mikey on the floor, an overturned bowl of cereal at his side. Linda, her face white, stained with vomit. The still hot spoon on the table… The bag of heroin spilled across the sofa and along the floor...

 

‘It wasn’t an accident.’

 

Suddenly he leapt to his feet and grabbed Li by his collar. “Did you say six years?”

 

Six Years Ago: The Monarch’s Court

 

“Henry Ferris. You stand before the High Table, today, on July 14th, 2013, accused of the reckless endangerment of our assets and of drawing unwanted attention to our East End operations. How do you plead?” the red-suited man at the end of the table asked.

 

“How do I plead?” the accused repeated, a bewildered look upon his chiselled face. “This is a joke, right?”

 

“Hardly,” the man in the striped scuba suit snarled.

 

“Uh, should I repeat the question-?” the speaker asked his superiors.

 

“I heard you fine, Incognito,” Ferris responded. “I’m just confused. Confused why I’m on some sham trial and not shaking hands with the big bosses; No offense, pirate; in the Falcone penthouse.”

 

Ferris ran his finger along his crooked nose. “If I’m guilty of anything, and I do mean ‘if,’ it’s of maintaining the high standards that you’ve all let slip in Falcone’s absence. If the Roman were here-”

 

“He’s not,” the scuba-suited enforcer spat.

 

“If the Roman were here, I can guarantee you all that he’d be thanking me for purifying that disgusting, dirty little corner of Gotham.”

 

“Enough.” The man to Carter’s right raised his hand, a golden crown atop his head. “I’ve heard enough. 30 of our own men dead. 42 of our buyers dead from a modified supply of heroin you approved without our consent.”

 

“Drugs kill, who knew?” Ferris whistled.

 

“Enough!” The Monarch spat. “If you want to draw attention to yourself like a demented court jester, to hue and cry, then so be it. But you shall do so on my terms.”

 

The large man behind Ferris placed his hand on his shoulder, forcing Ferris to his knees.

 

“Rhino, you sack of shit-” he protested, spit flying from his mouth. “What the hell is this?!”

 

The Monarch rose from his throne, holding an iron mask in his hand. It was green in colour, with pointed ears attached to either side. “This, is a mask of shame. Rather popular in the 16th century… It’s also known as The Gossiper’s Bridle, used to punish women accused of witchcraft and so forth. It’s archaic, barbaric, needlessly cruel… And I’m sure it will fit you like a glove.”

 

Done