Warm Welcomes #2: Strings Attached

==Gaige’s Office==

 

Gaige overlooked his city from the window of his penthouse on the waterfront. He held a plastic cup in his hand, and sipped from its' paper straw. Penguin, sat at the desk, glass of wine in hand. Following his initial fall from grace (the details of which involved a sham trial, a bought jury and a kidnapped defense attorney), The Tiger Shark's properties were taken over by the mob and divided among its members. But in the wake of the Royal hostage situation and the firefight at the Sionis warehouse, it was now time for the keys to be handed back to their rightful owner.

 

“I’m overjoyed to be working alongside you again, Doctor. As you can see, I kept everything exactly as you left it," Cobblepot spoke, raising his glass of wine. "To the status quo."

 

"Hrn," Gaige grunted in displeasure as he noted the empty fish tank along the back wall. Nevertheless, he raised his blubber shake and clinked it against Cobblepot's own glass, toasting the successes that were sure to come. "Just one thing. If you screw me, undermine me or fuck with me in any way, I will kill you. Just so we’re understood, ‘Mr Mayor.’”

 

“Naturally,” Cobblepot replied, placing the tips of his flipper-like fingers together.

 

==Clair Selton's Residence==

 

Jenna was dressed in a oversized pink dressing gown, and was drying her hair with a towel as she stepped into the bedroom: Gar, was standing over by Josie's crib, running his finger across his daughter's tufts of orange hair as she slept.

 

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were-" Jenna started.

 

"It's alright," Gar smiled gently. "Hey, come here," he motioned. Jenna complied, and stood at his side, watching the sleeping child wriggle back and forth.

 

"She's beautiful," Jenna stated.

 

"You should see her when she's spitting fireballs..." Gar smiled proudly. "Shower alright?"

 

"Bit too hot," she shrugged. "So, what happens now? What’s next for ‘The Misfits,’ I mean," Jenna inquired, resting her head on his shoulder.

 

“I don’t know,” Gar confessed. “Joey's been talking with Chuck, says he has some theories... Can't say it'll make much difference. Truth is... Drury’s always had something of a martyr complex, always wanted to be the one to make the sacrifice but fallen short ‘cause someone else beat him to it. I dunno. But I think taking down Carson finally had him at peace."

 

“Crud,” Jenna exclaimed suddenly, slapping her own forehead in disbelief. "The notes! I totally forgot about them- Davey must lifted them, or they slipped out at the warehouse, or maybe even at the ballroom... Edison will blow a fuse.”

 

“It’s fine,” Gar claimed, placing his arm across her back, as Jenna leaned in closer. "It's all gonna be fine."

 

==Gaige's Office==

 

David Wist escorted his charges into Gaige’s office, a large, oval room with tall glass windows and marble pillars. Flannegan dropped the magazine he was reading (obscuring the cover) and rose from his seat to greet them. Wist rolled his eyes at the excessive decadence of the location, and frowned. “You can throw as much money as you want at them, it doesn’t change a thing. These kids need their father, not a crime lord or a pirate,” he murmured to Flannegan. Neither Cammy, Axel or Kitten seemed to mind the decor however, admiring the extravagant water features with wide eyes.

 

“Well, I’ll be sure to forward that to the big man,” the Ratcatcher sneered. “Who are you, again?”

 

Wist sighed. “My name’s David-"

 

Before he had a change to finish his sentence, Flannegan reached into his holster, and pointed his gun at the green and yellow-suited man.

 

“Flannegan! Not that Dave,” Gaige barked, descending down the grand staircase, a harpoon in his hand.

 

“Right,” Flannegan nodded. “Can’t be too careful,” he murmured, sliding the gun back into its’ holster.

 

“This is your pad?” Axel whistled. “Why the hell did you stay at our place for so long?”

 

“For the warm feelings, clearly," Gaige said sardonically. "Here: your father wanted you to have this,” he added, reaching into a nearby chest and handing Axel a scruffy-looking rabbit.

 

“Really? Dad wanted me to have this?” Axel inquired, glancing at his sister, who would have surely appreciated the stuffed toy more.

 

“Yeah,” Gaige challenged him.

 

“Cool, I love it,” Axel nodded.

 

==The Clocktower==

 

It had been days since the attack on the Gotham Royal, and although things seemed to have settled down, Bruce was worried. Arkham remained impenetrable, Joker's endgame was still unclear and there was no word on the King of Cats nor Psycho Pirate's whereabouts. The 'Bat-Family,' as the group affectionately called one another, had gathered in Barbara's clocktower and had taken their seats in the briefing room, where large monitors displayed the Batman's findings thus far. Haley, Dick and Babs' three legged puppy, circled Batman as he spoke, oblivious to the importance of the matter, then took a nap at his feet.

 

“They should get a dinosaur in here. It’s not a Batcave without a T-Rex," Steph spoke to Tim.

 

"Shh," Cass shushed her from behind.

 

Jason leaned in from the other side. “You know what? Why settle for a robot? There’s a whole island of them out there, doing nothing.”

 

"I like your thinking," Steph agreed, before turning to the matter at hand.

 

“Thank you all for coming. So far, we’ve been able to ascertain that the Joker has seized control of Arkham Island. We don’t know for certain, but I have to assume he took advantage of the chaos at Arkham City, and then Nanda Parbat before making his move. He has two hostages that we know of: Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, and Leonard Fiasco, The Eraser. The upper echelon of this cabal, dubbed the Outcasts, consists of Joker, Scarecrow, who he appears to have recruited when he first took over Arkham, and Hunter Zolomon, Zoom. We have not yet been able to discern Zolomon’s ultimate goal, nor do we understand his interest in their main target: Drury Walker. While Joker has targeted Walker’s family in the past, and Crane has several grievances against him, Zoom has no such history. Though I could speculate that he seeks revenge for his mentor, Eobard Thawne's death, that wouldn’t seem to fit his profile; the accident that gave him his powers seems to have detached him from reality, in more ways than one.

 

Working under them, are these men: Dellbert Billings, the Spellbinder, who was recruited by them while incarcerated in Blackgate. He, has remained largely off the radar, so far only using his illusion technology to project a smokescreen over Arkham. Roger Hayden, the Psycho Pirate, and Karl Kyle, the King of Cats, both evaded capture at the Gotham Royal, while Julian Day, Abner Krill, and Ted Carson have all been taken into GCPD custody. We understand that Carson, current alias The Mothkiller, was not privy to the Outcast’s plans, but was used as a pawn to draw Walker out of hiding. His step-brother, Jacob, the Ant-Man, was murdered by the Eraser, while his daughter, Bridget, is currently under the supervision of the Misfits themselves.

Day is catatonic. Krill isn’t talking. It appears as though the Outcasts are spread thin. But still dangerous.”

 

“So, why haven’t we moved in yet?” Tim asked, a question that seemed to be on everyone's minds.

 

“Before, Billings’ illusion technology was limited, now he’s expanded its' range unlike anything I’ve encountered. Joker, will know we're onto them, he'll expect it; and with the entire island covered in Spellbinder's illusions, who knows what could be hidden behind their subterfuge. We can’t afford to be caught unaware. Not when Zoom is involved. Power level notwithstanding, he has... an M.O, of targeting people heroes care about. He has a psychological need to make them better, and he’s deluded himself that the only way to do so is by blood.”

 

==Clair Selton's Residence==

 

Gar brushed the back of his fingers against Jenna's cheek tenderly. "This isn’t permanent," he assured her. He was now fiddling with the strap of his bag of luggage, filled with his Firefly equipment.

 

"I know," she nodded understandingly.

 

"And remember, if Clair tries anything funny -"

 

"I'll punch her in the tit," she beamed, fastening the bag strap for him.

 

Gar smirked back. "That's it then. Rigger, let's go," he commanded. He took a step down the stairs, then Clair said something that gave him pause:

 

“Of course. Heaven forfend you spend time with your daughter,” she murmured dryly.

 

Gar rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not like that... We just need to know what we’re up against.”

 

As the duo left, Clair patted Jenna on the back. “Don’t worry, dear. He cheated on me with that purple and green imbecile too.”

 

==Arkham Asylum==

 

Though Zoom's visits had quickly become a mundane routine for Crane, they always seemed to happen precisely when Dellbert Billings was slacking off (and usually mid-drink). The sudden crack of yellow and red lightning took Billings by surprise again; his hip flask fell from his hand, and spilled brown liquid onto the floor. Zoom’s red eyes fixed onto Billings’ own bloodshot ones, then cast themselves onto Crane, staring out of the stained glass window.

 

“I assume you have news?” Crane asked dryly, strumming the armrest of his wheelchair impatiently, not bothering to turn around.

 

“Theeeeeeee asset ishere,” Zoom announced, then sped off again.

 

As Zoom departed, a groan escaped Crane’s cracked lips.

 

“What’s the matter with you now?” Billings asked, as he went down on his hands and knees to retrieve the silver flask, straining as he adjusted his prosthetic leg. He picked up his hip flask, breathed a sigh of relief as he shook it, wiped the rim, then swallowed a slurp of liquor.

 

“A twisted vertebrae, a collapsed lung, four fractured ribs and partial blindness.”

 

Billings took another sip. “Apart from that.”

 

Crane spun his chair around. “If you must know, I was reflecting on my shortcomings, wondering what brought me to this moment. How I went from the Secret Society to hedonists and heretics.”

 

“It’s not so different really, the SS always had a few stinkers.”

 

“Don’t- don’t call them the SS.”

 

“Doctor Light, Girder, the guy with the freezer-“

 

“Mister Freeze.”

 

“Major Force!” Billings snapped his fingers. “But that’s what I mean. Why dwell on it. I started out same as you, on top of the world! And then they discarded me like a used condom! My book was on the charts! People did dissertations on it! I did dissertations on it.”

 

“You did a dissertation on your own book?”

 

“I had plenty to say.”

 

“In any case, the two don’t equate. At the height of your delusions, you made the mistake of targeting the wrong people, powerful people, with your tasteless schlock and written ramblings. You were beaten, bruised, and then you were rightfully labelled a drunken disgrace, disowned by the hypocritical, paedophilic and debaucherous social elites of yesteryear, your tail between your... leg.

I, at my most vulnerable, was blessed with the ultimate power in the universe; it stitched together my broken body, mended my shattered bones and nursed my bruised ego. Its’ only limitation was my own imagination, fuelled by the delicious fear I instilled in others. I had everything in place, a scheme that would forever immortalise myself in history. And then... And then it was taken from me. By Batman. By Kite-Man and the Firefly. And I was a cripple once more. Cast aside. Forgotten. Left to rot in the abandoned halls of this failed sanatorium... Once I had power that would set me up among the Gods... Now, I cower in this hovel, surrounded by clowns and drunks and degenerates.”

 

Billings shrugged, taking a further gulp of booze. “Sounds pretty similar to me," he stated. "Oh, and here comes the golden goose himself," he gestured towards the doorway:

 

A red and black suited man was skipping merrily down the hall, a golden mask hiding his face, his cape flapping behind him. Crane took one look at the Psycho Pirate and scoffed.

 

“Bah, in my day, we didn’t need medusa masks to break a man’s mind,” he mused.

 

“Course not,” Billings took another glug from his hip flask. “You just needed a gallon of neurotoxin.”

 

=Gotham Waterworks==

~ISA Headquarters~

 

Gar and Joey looked up. “This is the place?” Gar frowned, checking the address he'd been given.

 

“Told you it was spooky,” Joey confirmed.

 

“Spooky?” Gar repeated. “It’s downright Satanic. Might as well have a sign on the door that reads ‘Evil Lair; open 9-5 Monday to Saturday, closed on Sunday.”

 

“Uh, Gar?” Joey pointed to a metal plaque above their heads.

 

”HERE STANDS THE GOTHAM CITY HEADQUARTERS OF THE INJUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA, SWORN ENEMY TO THE JUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA, FOUNDED IN 1947 BY WILLIAM ASMODEUS ZARD”

 

“Jesus...”

 

“Course, the real injustice is that font,” Joey shivered

 

==Jimmy's Jazz Club==

 

"Yo Mugsy, you hear da news?" a brutish thug in a black suit asked his skinnier, grey-suited associate. "Da White Mask got whacked. Dey're saying Sionis did it."

 

"Yeah. I heard dat. Real shame," the grey-suited man spoke, chewing on a toothpick while counting several stacks of green bills, every group of $1000 wrapped neatly in an elastic band. "Kid had promise."

 

“Shaddup!" a voice ordered them. "Did you louses really think dat pretty goy Franco had any staying power? Youse all saw what his gimmick was: Masks! Youse all know what dat is? It’s deria... dariva- It’s geen done gefore gy getter men, dats all I’m saying."

 

As it spoke, an aged hand guided the speaker's fist to its' chin. The swinging light above them illuminated the speaker: a small puppet dressed just as sharply as the two goons, complete with a purple fedora and a cuban cigar in its' wooden mouth. A deep "scar" carved into its' right cheek completed the look. The timid man behind it, its' ventriloquist, might have looked completely out of place among the group of hardened criminals, but it was clear he was the true mastermind behind their racketeering operation. Raising the puppet's arm, it continued to bark garbled orders at the two henchmen.

 

"Still: All dis infighting and mog wars, seems like a prime opportunity for us to muscle in, and take a piece of Gotham pie all to ourselves. Rhino, Mugsy, arrange a sid-down wit’ da Glack Mask. We’ll see who runs dis town once Scarface is through wit’ it."

 

"Sure thing, boss!"

 

"You got it, Mr Scarface, sir," both answered enthusiastically.

 

"Frankly, I think "Da Glack Mask" has had enough "Siddowns" to last him a lifetime," a nasally voice called out from behind the dusty grand piano onstage.

 

“Who’s dere!” Scarface demanded.

 

The figure raised their lantern, illuminating their orange gas mask and narrow eyes. "Hey, Arnold," the interloper waved at the group.

 

"Oh, do be careful, Mr Scarface, that's-"

 

"I know who is, dummy! Goys, meet Otis Flannegan: da Ratcatcher: A weaselly, muddaless little gounty hunter. If you're here for da grie, we've just sold out. Rather like you to dah Gotham mog."

 

“Ya got me: They had a pet insurance scheme I couldn't turn down," Flannegan smirked. "You should have stayed retired, Slappy. Lived out the rest of your wooden days in peace. Died of natural causes at the hands of a few hundred termites. But hey, what do I know. Maybe you wanted to be a real boy. Or maybe your tiny hands around that peashooter gives you a thrill that backgammon with your puppetmaster never could.”

 

“Wesker, the puppetmaster? Don’t make me laugh, mouse boy. I pull da strings round here," Scarface chuckled, the tommy gun still aimed at Flannegan's chest.

 

“He’s the one with his hand up your arse, ain’t he? Lemme guess, it gives you wood? A stiffy. A plank in yer pants.”

 

Scarface gritted his wooden teeth. “You think you're something hot, don't cha? Well, let's see if you feel the same way when you're pumped full of lead: Glast him goys!”

 

Flannegan was way ahead of them, and tucking his head into his chest, he somersaulted out of the way of the three guns rat-a-tat-tat-ing in his direction. Scarface's insistence on outdated weaponry proved to be in Flannegan's favour. Or rather, it at least made a change from nano tech and portals.

 

“See, when you pull shit like that, it makes me think you haven't been listening! The problem is, things have changed while you were stuffed under Arnie’s bed. This territory, belongs to the Tiger Shark!" Flannegan hollered over the sound of gunfire, unhooking a smoke bomb from his belt, and tossing it over the overturned table he had made his cover.

 

He went after Rhino first. All muscle and no brains, that one. A kick to the groin felled him. A punch to the skull kept him down. Mugsy was next: Flannegan threw him against the grand piano on the stage, then dragged him to his feet and shut the piano lid on his head. An off-key melody filled the air as Flannegan repeatedly bashed the lid against his skull until he at last lost consciousness. That left Scarface. Fortunately, he already had a plan for that one.

 

Squeak.

 

As the air cleared, Scarface tilted his head to look at the brown, furry creature on his shoulder. The rat, waved back. "Get it off!" he demanded, dropping his gun in the commotion.

 

"Mr Scarface, please, I don't know where it's been, it could be diseased-" Wesker protested.

 

"Stop whining, ya gig gagy!"

 

"Allow me." Flannegan plucked the wooden puppet from Wesker’s hands, and dropped it on the ground. The puppet, lay sprawled across the floor, immobile.

 

"Dummy!"

 

"Dummy, I can't move!"

 

"Dummy, I can't- can't feel my legs!"

 

"Dummy, get over here-" it continued to plead with its' ventriloquist and then...

 

And then Otis Flannegan stepped on its' head. The rats in their hundreds emerged from the holes in the walls and devoured what was left while Wesker screamed in horror.

 

His work done, Flannegan started to walk away and then, gunfire. A rogue bullet passed through his shoulder. Confused, Flannegan spun back around: Wesker, was holding a sock puppet, and the sock puppet was holding a revolver.

 

“Fuckin' Gepetto!” Flannegan snarled in disbelief.

 

“You stupid rat gastard! You thought I could ge defeated so easily? Years of experience against da Gat and his cronies, I’m wise to his tricks!” ‘Scarface’ announced.

 

Bleeding and tired, Flannegan took the sock, then slapped Wesker with it. Wesker whimpered, crumbling to the floor instantly.

 

"I'll ask this once. Only once, cause you've pissed me right off. You amphibious?"

 

"P-pardon?" Wesker adjusted his askew glasses.

 

Flannegan sighed. "Left or right handed?"

 

“R-right. No, wait, please wait-“

 

A blank expression hidden behind his gas mask, Flannegan took ahold of Wesker's wrist. And pulled.

 

==Gotham Sea World==

 

The Walker family walked through the glass tunnel. Along either side of them, two large sharks swam through the channels. The smaller of the two, was marked with brownish stripes The second, was larger, bulkier and a dark grey.

 

“Sharkie! Sharkie! Grahhh!” Cammy giggled, mimicking what he must have assumed was a traditional shark growl. A child’s innocence, Gaige thought. As they reached the opening, Gaige saw a man sat at the bench, watching the fish in the center tank. He reached into his pocket, and offered a $20 dollar bill to the kids. “Kaitlin, how’s about you take Cammy to the gift shop, let him buy a knick knack. Keep the change, buy yourself something nice.”

 

“Yes please! Yes please!” Cammy jumped up and down.

 

With the kids gone, Gaige approached the man, who slid a brown envelope across the bench. “I hear your guy cut Wesker's strings,” the pale man spoke. "Your cut," he motioned to the envelope.

 

Gaige grabbed it, and tore it open, examining the massive wad of cash within, before pocketing it.

 

“Business is good,” the Great White Shark assured him.

 

==Arkham Asylum==

 

Roger Hayden sat crossed legged on the cold floor. Fiasco, was sitting on the bed, which had been stripped of its' sheets and pillows lest he attempt to escape. The bar illusion, had faded, revealing crimson bloodstains splattered across the cell wall; remnants from the clown's initial takeover.

 

“Hello Mr Fiasco. Do you know who I am?” the Pirate sang, scooting forward slightly.

 

Len leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Harley Quinn?” he squinted.

 

“No," Hayden replied petulantly.

 

“Anarky?” Fiasco pried.

 

"You're being quite silly," Hayden observed, sniffing slightly. "And tiresome."

 

“Ah. I know who you are,” Len declared, offering Hayden a beckoning finger. “You’re the little prick whose face is gonna match that stupid red and black outfit once I’m finished with you.”

 

Hayden recoiled. "Oh. You're upset. Why are you upset, Leonard? May I call you Leonard?"

 

Fiasco said nothing, but instead spat a glob of phlegm at Hayden's feet. Hayden, ignored it.

 

"Did you see something? Something at the bar that frightened you? Something that made you angry? Is that it?" The Pirate pried. "Is it because of Celia?" he whispered.

 

"Fuck you!"

 

"Who is Celia, Leonard? Was she your wife? Was she your giiiiiiiirlfriend? Oh. Or did you never get the chance to ask? So much love in your heart for Celia, tsk tsk. Do you hate her for that? For never giving you a chance when you would have, and should have given her the world?"

 

"Do I look like an incel to you? All mountain dew and playstations and stiff tissues?"

 

The golden mask glowed brighter as the Pirate spoke. "No. No, of course not, Leonard. But you do look sad. So very very sad. Because of your friends, yes? Because you do have friends, don't you? Or did, hm? Your friends left you, didn't they? After everything you did for them! How rude! I bet they didn't even know you were gone! Oh, but... Oh, what can you expect when you drive them away? With coldness and bitterness and violence, such violence. Of course... Of course, I don't blame you, I know it's not your fault. But I can be your friend, Leonard. If you'd like that. Of course you would. You want a friend. You need a friend. You need me. Don't you, Leonard? You need me to wipe your tears away and tell you that everything's alright. And I can. I'd be happy to. So so so so very happy. Come back to the bar, Leonard. Come back with me, and we can wipe those tears away forever."

Done