Dead Man Walker #5: Mirror Match

==Arkham North: Courtyard==

 

Zoom's incapacitation was short-lived; spurred on by The Flash's sudden intervention, he had re-entered the fray with a renewed focus and drive. Furious, quick blows were thrown and parried just as quickly, as the Scarlet Speedster fought him back. And as they battled, as the ground quaked and cracked beneath their boots, Chuck realised something he hadn't understood previously:

 

Zoom had been holding back.

 

Yet, with their defeat no longer a certainty, the Rogues re-joined the battle with a tenacity on par with Zoom himself; blasts of fire, hail from above, razor-edged ribbons, all came crashing down against the man in yellow. But Zoom endured. A singed shoulder and a few minor cuts would not uproot his lesson. But perhaps The Flash could.

 

The Flash.

 

There was an effortlessness, a fluidity, in the way that he moved; unlike Zoom, who glitched and jerked and crackled as he popped in and out of the timestream, unnaturally, like a spectre. Even so, Zoom's lack of grace was off-set by a tactician's mind; aiming for his rival's legs and ankles in his attempts to disable him.

 

The Flash weaved in and out, matching Zoom's speed, his fists pulsating with the same golden lightning that had heralded his arrival moments before. And at last, he wound his arm back and delivered an earth-shattering uppercut that finally sent Zoom flying back onto the ground. The immediate threat passed, The Flash turned his attention to the eclectic collection of would-be heroes; a mismatched group with all the cohesion of a DnD party.

 

Chuck gasped, as lightning flashed across his brown irises. “Woah.”

 

The Flash; The Flash was standing in front of him; hands on his hips, a coy smile on his face, lightning pulsing through his bright red costume like golden blood through veins. Chuck had never really seen him up close before; although, once, he’d nearly been splattered into paste because a blur of red had overtaken him at the deli (Chuck didn’t hold that against him; Gotham bagels were miles ahead of Keystone's; Drury had confirmed as much to him once he had returned from his exile), but this was different.

 

“How- how did you know to come?” Chuck asked, tripping over his words.

 

“Our friend with the ears filled me in,” Flash smiled, sticking his forefingers up at either side of his skull, mimicking The Batman’s profile. Before he could elaborate, a metallic clunking caught his attention;

 

Zoom, was standing in the entrance of the Intensive Treatment building, his exit secured by the slamming of the twin doors. Flash's brow furrowed beneath his crimson cowl, as he attempted to discern Zoom's intent. A strategic retreat? No, of course, it wouldn't be that easy. Had to be a trap...

 

“Stay here,” Flash advised, as he took off; vibrating his body until it became intangible so that he could follow Zolomon inside.

 

"Freaky, huh?" Lisa smiled at Chuck.

 

"Unreal," he replied, an awed smile on his face.

 

The calm was cut short, as a quiet rustling from the shrubberies beside Arkham's East Gate grabbed Chuck's attention. He nodded to the others, and exhaled sharply, one thought on his mind; 'What now? King of Cats? Psycho Pirate? Charaxes?' Rory twisted the dial on his heat gun, Mardon lifted himself off the ground, aided by a small tornado, Norbert raised his fists, preparing for the coming battle.

 

Mercifully, that battle never came.

 

“Hold your fire! Don’t shoot!” a young voice shouted, as Simon Van Cleer and his siblings emerged from the bushes. Axel’s remaining arm was wrapped across his shoulders like a stuffed fox around an aging socialite’s.

 

The Rogues lowered their weapons

and Chuck's features softened. Drury's twins were the age his Charlie should have been.

 

“Younglings!” Lord Manga cheered, pointing an enthusiastic golden finger at the trio of youths.

 

“Youths, m’lord,” L-Ron corrected him. "Juveniles."

 

“Undeveloped minds, L-Ron! Susceptible minds! Susceptible to MARKETING!” The 'susceptible minds' elected to ignore C-3PO and R2-D2, instead making a beeline for their doting uncle.

 

“You’re soaking wet,” Norbert fussed over them. “Do we have any dry clothes?”

 

On cue, Lord Manga re-appeared at Norbert’s side, clutching a cardboard box filled to the brim with t-shirts branded with outdated slogans.

 

"Where's your arm, son?" Chuck paused, redirecting the conversation to something of greater importance, whilst Kitten fought Simon for the least embarrassing option within the mound of bootleg t-shirts.

 

Axel, shrugged. "Blew up."

 

"Where's the sub?" Rory grunted.

 

"Blew up."

 

Chuck lingered at the siblings' side, hoping in vain that Simon might provide a more in-depth explanation about their predicament than his brother. Lisa, however, brought him aside;

 

“You’re needed inside,” she spoke. “We'll look after them.”

 

“But Zoom is still-"

 

“Hey. Take it from someone whose spent a lot of her best years in Iron Heights because of him; Flash has this. You’d only slow him down.”

 

Out of rebuttals, Chuck nodded obediently. “I’ll need some height,” he smiled cheekily.

 

“On it," Lisa smirked. "I’ll try not to rip your arms out.”

 

Gold ribbons wrapped around Chuck’s torso and hoisted him above the ground, hurling him into the air. A gust from Mardon’s wand guided Chuck onto the roof of the Intensive Treatment block; He burst through the wooden door, and the atmosphere changed immediately. Carpet. He'd landed on carpet. He looked at the walls; plaster not concrete, and the photos; he knew those photos. And just as he began to piece things together, a voice called to him;

 

“Daddy?”

 

It was a child’s voice. His child’s voice.

 

"What the hell-?"

 

===Arkham East: Botanical Gardens==

 

“Montgomery, here, take the sword,” Drake was instructing Sharpe, handing the Soul-Taker to him, as he ripped a piece off of his emerald cape to form a bandage to place over Blake’s exposed eye socket.

 

“Oh, that’s actually quite a lot of blood,” Sharpe grimaced, as he held the blade close to his chest.

 

Drake rolled his eyes “We are all bags of blood and bile living on finite time, and yes, occasionally we leak. In our line of work, that is a particular gamble we must live with. I implore you to deal with it,” he shot daggers at his younger associate. “Thomas, how do you feel?”

 

Blake coughed. “Like Nick Furry.”

 

Drake smacked his forehead. “I am surrounded by children.”

 

“It might be the blood loss,” Sharpe shrugged, offering a weak defence of Blake’s character.

 

Drake eyed him coldly. “I think we both know it’s just Thomas.”

 

Sharpe exhaled, taking Drake aside so that he could voice his concerns. “This is bad man, this is Tom; do you know how important depth perception is to him?” he asked, idly scratching the edge of his nose.

 

“I KNOW PRECISELY HOW IMPORTANT DEPTH PERCEPTION IS TO HIM!” Drake snapped.

 

“YEAH?” Sharpe responded at the same volume.

 

“YES!”

 

Sharpe paused. “HE LIKES LOOKING AT BOO-”

 

“I said I understand, you juvenile twit!”

 

Sharpe, recoiled. “Jeez, bro. I didn’t think anyone felt as strongly about this as, well, Blake.”

 

“Don’t call me bro. In fact, don’t call me anything. You are a brother to no man. You are loyal only to yourself. I can trace every tragedy that has befallen us to the day Drury took you under his wings. Lynns lost to an inferno, Day to his madness. When you got yourself shot and Drury turned to that inhuman beast, Lightning Bug. You are a weaselly, shrewd enabler undeserving of kinship or friendship.”

 

“You maybe consider that all started the day you left?” Blake interjected. “Enhanced senses, remember?”

 

Drake scoffed. “That’s the blood loss talking, Thomas.”

 

Sharpe folded his arms. “No, man. I think that’s just Blake.”

 

~-~

 

Wally sped through the Asylum, slowing down as he approached a room of freakish funhouse mirrors, another one of Joker’s ‘renovations.’ As he passed each mirror, he threw a cursory glance at the distorted images; one Flash bloated beyond all functionality, surely unable to walk, let alone run; one Flash with an engorged skull, giving Hector Hammond a run for his money. And in the corner of one mirror, Wally caught a fleeting flicker of yellow.

 

“Hunter, are you there?” he called out.

 

“Alwaaaaaaaays, Waaaaaaaally.”

 

Unprepared, Wally was thrown backwards, the glass shattering as he fell against the closest mirror. ‘Rookie mistake,’ Wally cursed himself as he got back on his feet.

 

“Iam soooooo glad youcame,” Zoom’s voice crackled. “For the finaaaaaal lesson. How is Liiiiiiiiiiinda?”

 

“She’s safe. She’s where you can’t get her,” Wally responded coldly, his hand forming a balled fist. His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the mirrors at superspeed, tracking Zoom’s movements.

 

“Do you reaaaaaaaally believe thaaaaaat Waaaaaally?” Zoom cooed. “Doyou reaaaaaaaaaally believe thereis aaaanywheeeere youcanhide Liiiiiiiiiinda I cannot fiiiiiind?” he inquired as he again came into view, this time directly in front of his former friend.

 

Wally’s fist flew forward and punched through the mirror, shards of glass tearing his hand apart. ‘Thank god for speed healing,’ he thought. And he thanked Him again when Zoom struck from the shadows, knocking him through the cracked frame.

 

“You cheated,” Zoom continued, his distorted voice shifting slightly to one of annoyance as he circled his wayward student. “You undid the traaaaaaaaageeeeeeedy. Undid my woooooooork. SonowIwill need to fiiiiiiind a neeeeeeeew traaaaaaaaageeeeeeedy. For you and Liiiiiiiiinda.”

 

But Wally wasn’t listening; he was looking at the mirror behind Zoom, rippling like a lake disturbed by a skimmed stone; An orange and green blur shot through the mirror, dusted itself down, then immediately hurled over the floor.

 

“McCulloch?” Wally frowned; he’d admit the vomiting Scotsman was not his first choice of saviour.

 

“Fookin’ hell, ahm always a wee bit topsy-turvy jumping through one a’ those freaky funhoose mirrors… Oi, Seizure Salad! Ah’m gonnae smash the fook outta you,” he pointed at Zoom with a shaking hand.

 

Zoom smiled, then his fist drove forwards and embedded itself in McCulloch’s chest, twisting through his internal organs. McCulloch spluttered, smirked, then his body exploded into shards of crystal. “A duuuuuuuplicaaaaaate,” Zoom hissed.

 

“Och, weel ya didnae think ah was gonnae play fair, did ya?” a second McCulloch chortled from the other side of the room. “C’mon, ya wee fanny.”

 

“With pleeeeeaaaaaaasure,” Zoom sneered and, while distracted, Wally snuck in with a jab to his head.

 

“Och, ya beauty!” McCulloch cheered with the enthusiasm of a life-long Celtic fan.

 

Wally’s arms wrapped around Zoom’s shoulders, trapping him, giving McCulloch precious seconds to act; he fired his mirror gun in quick succession at the mirrors either side of Zoom; Thawne’s pupil broke free of his grip and threw Wally over his shoulders; McCulloch leapt through one mirror, striking Zoom’s jaw, did a combat roll through the other and reemerged on the other side to deliver a punch to the cheek. But this time, Zoom caught him before he could escape.

 

“Tiresome foooool,” Zoom snarled. “Whaaaaaat didyou hope to accoooooomplish?”

 

“Me? Ah was hopin’ that ya wouldnae notice me shoot those mirrors.”

 

Zoom’s head jerked backwards; red eyes darting back and forth beneath his visor as yellow claws emerged from the rippling mirrors; in total, there were six of them; each misshapen in some way, all monstrosities; Zoom’s distorted funhouse reflections, given life by McCulloch’s mirror gun.

 

 

“̸̛̻̗̈Y̶͍̆e̵̟͙͖̙͛l̷̡̮͍̺̻̓̾͒͐͝ĥ̸̡̦̥̻̆ͅs̸͙̝͂͗̅͘a̸̹̻͚͌̍̈́ ̸͉̪͛̿̔̚t̴̨̹̮͆̓̏͂u̷̻͍̬͙͌͌͒̄̀ơ̸͉̥̠̍͒b̵̦̟̃̕͜͝a̴̡̻̋ ̴̜̐̔̍̚ẗ̸̳̓̅̄͜ả̸̛̗̦̀͠h̶͚͖̄̉̎̇W̴̥͇̩̟̼͛?̴̞̞̻̻̂ ̴͎͔̩̻̓́Ẏ̴̦̩̍͛͌͝e̴̝͈͋̉̆ͅļ̴̞͚̭̤̊͆͋̃̈́h̶̙̏̍s̸̱͕̏̒a̵̠̙̩͍̾͝…̷͉̗̀͝”̶̢̱͖̳̠͋̄

 

̶͙̟̩͇͙̟̩͇̝̌̽͝͝

 

̶̨͚͈͍͔͌̑̀̃͝“̶̨͇̤͈͍̃̅́N̵̛̻̈́̿i̸̥̍̀̎̍̈́ś̵̠̳̔̓̕͜ṣ̶̨̛͓̐i̷̙̺̩̞̇̃͛ơ̶͖͚͇̫̈́̈́͗m̵̧̳̮̦̱̈͂̌̚ ̵̡̼̤͉̥̌̆̇̀r̸̨̗̣̠̄͆̀͠ù̵͔̰̩́ó̴͚͇͎̫̪̂̈̄ÿ̸̘̝̒̊̚ ̷̨̛͚̫̟h̶̥͗͗̔̇͘ẗ̷̢̖̞̲́͒ͅį̵̣̠̩̒͛͛͝w̷̯̋̒ͅ ̷̥̳̓͒̚͝ẏ̶̘͚̫̥́̈́̏ṙ̶͙̅ö̴̤͒̉m̸̡̼͍̭͆̀̀̆e̷̝̎̈͝m̷͚̦̃̐ ̵̗͒̑̈́s̵̝̆̊̅̋’̶̡̛̛͒͘r̵̛̺̀̄̂̀ͅé̴̼͝ḫ̵̛̗̙̤̮̽̀ṯ̶͕̀͘ă̷̧̫̈̕f̶͕̺̫͚̩̊̅̏͘͠ ̵̬̖͉̜͖͋r̴͉͚̻̥̽̇e̶̹̬̭̽h̶̫͉̣̗̰̀̈ ̴̢̺̃̃̒e̵̡͉̬̭̓c̷͚͔̻̓̓̀a̵̲͚̼̝̾͂r̶̪̺̹͓͊g̶̥̮͛̀̄s̴̛͕͒̕i̸̛̯̲̋͝d̸̝̋͂̎ ̴̹̳̞̌̅͆̂o̵̻̮̾̓̇̈̕ů̴̞̯̜̯̣̽̅͂̕ȳ̸̝̥̫̘͂͜.̵̳̹̠̕”̷̯͇̋͌͂̈́ ̶͔̔́

 

̵́̀̓̐͘ͅ

 

̷̢͈͉̈́“̷͚̐Y̵̲̙̓̈̕d̸̢͓͚̭̏ḁ̵͔͈̻̹͑̆e̸̝͛͛͛r̷̛̫̗̍̿̚l̷̻͚̅̀͠͝â̶̧̞͌̃ͅ ̸̪̾̀̚͝é̷̘͍͇̚c̷̯̫̈͗̓̽͋n̷̢̲̈o̷̝͙͒̿͒̇͂ ̸̗̦̎̒̂̆̚ḛ̶̱̤͉͝f̴͍͎͈̥̒́̃͘i̸͉͋͐̀̚l̴͈̅ ̶͕̥̼̦̻́r̷͖̻͓̺̪͆u̵̟̾̎̂͋o̵͔̓̀͗̚ȳ̸̛̤̤̮ ̸̝͇̳̖̠͋̽̈͘͝d̶̢͕̳̥͍̅̃̅̈́è̷̯̱̘͓͝n̷̡̲̓̍̅̄ḯ̴̻̤̝͜û̶̬͈͚̓̑͊ṟ̴͈̄ ̵̞̦̤̂͠n̵̻̜̓̀͛̀ͅͅu̵̎́̍ͅg̶̛͐̃̚͜ ̴͖͇̔̌̏ȧ̵̯͕̟̤̞̽͑ ̵͔̱̽̓͘h̸̩̪̜̋͆t̸͚̲͉͊͌̔͝ĩ̷̺͐͛w̷̥͚̖͚̲̽͋͠ ̵̡̟͙͍͆͒̓͝͠ḁ̷̣̬̑͌̉͆͘ ̴̠̪̱̾̒͜n̸̦̣̘̱̝͋w̷̧̟̓̇͝ó̷̳͎̹͔̈́͘͝ĺ̸̡̲̥̭͎͌͊̎̀c̵̝͇̣̰̳̈́̍̏̿.̵̰̞̭̋̍”̴̢̡̪̼̈́̓͐͠ͅ

 

̸͔̥̩̹̬͋̈́

 

̶̨̡̮͓̹̔̔̾͒͝“̵̼̬̤̿̿͛͠S̶̟̗̦̩̗̾̚̕͝ị̴̥͉̼̈́̂̽̽͝h̴͕̍̋͑̈́t̴̢̮͎̾̓͝ ̵͎̦̯͂̀̆͘̕ḏ̵̠̪̅ị̸̞̜̔̔̈́͜͝d̵̹̺̳͊ ̷̠̝̾ǫ̵͔̣͈̤͋̎͒͘͝u̶̗͍͉͐̚͜Y̷͔̗̖̆̈̍̕͝.̸̧͓̈́ ̷̝̹͙̜͛͆̕͠N̵̛̫̖̲̓u̴̙̦͋̆ǧ̸̢̛̛̛̼̜̝͈̐ ̶̡̼́̏̏̊ą̷̧͕̈̔̔̚͠ͅ ̸̜͔̱͑͒ͅe̶̱̼͑̽̈́v̷̡̛̝̣͕͆à̷̢̧͔̥̄͆͋̾h̵̥̜̹̏͆͆͘ ̷͉̜̤̊t̴̢̤̘͉͎͆̐̌̑͑’̵͍͎͙̬̋̓̈̚n̷̦̣̥͓̍̋͜d̶͚͊̄̍ĺ̴͉̜̬͋ų̸̗̜̜̼̈́ö̷̧͕̪̞́w̵̓̀ͅ ̵̢̧̦͙̥̒̏͝ȩ̸̏̇͗̅̋ḧ̷̻̦̭̝̮̐̄ ̵̺͇̘͔̾̍̊̒d̴̨̀̀̈́͘i̸̻̩͚͉̮͗͒̉́͠a̷̺̲̱͈͝s̷̨̺̤̙̄́̐͠ ̷̝͑̏̏͒ô̵͍̭͉͛ǘ̴͉̠̪̱Ẏ̴̩.̶̤̮̀̈́͂”̴̳̳̺̲͎͐̇͗͘

 

̷̫̭̙̜̰̈́͊͒̄

 

̶̞͎̓̔̈̍“̸̺͋̽͗͌͌L̶̺͇̼͖͉͑e̶͎̲͑e̴̡͎͍͙̦̎́̀͒̋f̴̢̢̛̝̭̖ ̷̨̂o̴̞̔̍̋͠ǘ̸̗̽͠ŷ̵͔̩ ̶̘͉̓̍̀̉ͅt̵̯̞̳͓̅̊r̷̹͕̙̲̀̅͗͝u̸̧̧̙̞̔̆̑̈̈́ḧ̴͙̘̣̣́͐͛͐͘ ̶̟͆̃̍e̷̝̫͓̻̟̿̈́h̶̼̘͙̾̏̚t̴̢͇̦̜̯̓̓̃̈̓ ̷̣̿e̶̻̺̽̎ć̷̬̃͛̚ą̸̢͈̖̍́́̒l̴̪̰̣̔̅̾̆p̷̧̛͈̌̿̚e̶̛̘͎ṟ̴̈́̉ ̸̧̤͉̹͗̾͝͝ṋ̷̢̬̤̖̈́̈̏͘a̴̰͉̅̑̂͠ć̶͍̞͚̤̱ ̷̞͙͗t̵̺͒͐̔̇ȁ̶̡̻̲h̷̛̟̔̇̕ț̶̹͔̌͠ ̶̱͎̽́̽͌̀ḱ̷̢͙̭̃͋n̷̬̻͚͊i̶̢̧̢̫̹̽͘h̷̩̻̦̲͆̄̀̏̽t̶̯̥̗͚͙͐͋͛̍̓ ̸̬̬̱͊̐͝ō̴̞͔̗͜u̸͉̝̞̟̾͌̏͠y̸͈͝ ̵̨͇͉͈̬͌ê̸̜̞̞̼͓s̷͕̝͎̀͂̉͑̈́u̵̫̒́̑ā̸̤̯͖̖̏ͅc̷͉̈́̂e̷̮͈̘̬͊̃̀͂̒b̷̼̀̈́̇͛ ̴̲̻̗͝H̵̞̓̌ş̴̣̺̗͋̂͜ą̴̜̯͚̝̈́͑̕̚͝ľ̴̙̔ͅf̸̡̞̩̞̖͌͗ ̷̦͈̝͍͖͐̑̇E̶͚̦̪͓͝ͅh̷̟͑̎ͅt̶̢̨̰͑ ̸̫̮̎g̸̜̩̫̽̍͠n̴̩̠̋i̶̤͌̅̋t̵͖͓̭̼̉̇ͅŗ̶͓͇̘̄u̸͈̮̯̝̘͛̌̿ḥ̷̟̯̟̯̽͗̕.̴̥̣̓̋̀̅͜ ̷̨̧̹̠̈̆C̴̢̮̣͔̄͋͒̐͜͝i̷̜̬̖͋̈́̚t̵̖͈̅ẹ̷͋̀̅̀̕h̶͍̭̺̏͂͜t̷̘̅͐a̴͇̬͌́́ͅṕ̶̜̅͂͝”̶̛̟̫̣͓̦͆̈́͌

 

̷̢̤̼̗̫͋̿̂͐

 

̵̝̫̽͂̐͜“̸̩̒̅̊̚T̴̛̘̗́̓͝’̴̢̢̟̹͗̎͌̄́ń̶̛̺͈̝̺̍͠a̸̱̖͛̒̓̈́̌c̶͉̳̰͉̜̑͌̓͝ ̴̛̻̩̤̞̀͛̕t̸̙̖̂̎̉͆͝i̵͔̎̉͌ͅ.̶̠̈́̃́͌”̷̧͔̞̣̬̉̐͑͐̐ ψ

 

Zoom attempted to fight them off, but their speed matched his own; they crowded him, wrapping their clawed fingers across his arms; at first it looked like they may tear him apart. That might have been mercy compared to what followed: the mirror creatures dragged him along the floor, towards the swirling vortexes from which they had been birthed. Towards eternity. Zoom struggled, Zoom fought, but he wasn’t fighting creatures that could bleed or die; in the end he was fighting himself. And Hunter Zolomon had lost that battle long ago. When Zoom next spoke, it was with Hunter’s voice. “Wally, help."

 

"I just wanted to help.”

 

His face disappeared behind the rippling glass, and the mirror was still once more.

 

Wally stepped forward, but McCulloch held him back. “Flash, mate. It’s over, alright? It’s done. Let the mad bastard go.”

 

Wally bowed his head, Hunter no more than a yellow silhouette trapped behind glass, growing fainter by the second. “McCulloch, can he...? Is he...?”

 

“Nah,” McCulloch answered. “But he cannae hurt anyone no more. I’d say that’s ah point for tha good guys,” he spoke, slapping Wally’s back in a rare display of solidarity.

 

~-~

 

Despite his earlier outburst, Sharpe seemed to hold no ill will towards Drake; perhaps because he was used to being the one in the wrong and he was enjoying the change of pace. Together, they lifted up Blake, guiding him over dried up vines and plants. They had almost reached the exit until they were harshly reminded of the present threat; Sharpe’s calve was torn open by the King’s claws, and the trio tumbled to the ground as one dysfunctional unit. The sword, clattered to the ground once more.

 

“Leaving so soon?” The King asked mockingly, lapping the blood off its silver claws.

 

Drake and Sharpe took fighting stances, fists raised, as they guarded Blake’s slumped over form. The King, giggled. And the fight began anew; Drake’s rapier slashed the King, a fireball singed his catsuit; courtesy of Sharpe’s dragon staff; this was the fight of their lives, and they knew it. But even so, they couldn’t keep the beast at bay forever. They fell down for a final time, and The King continued its approach towards Blake.

 

“He's going for the katana!” Drake realised.

 

“C-catana,” Blake chuckled (Now in a state of blood loss induced delirium). He tried to move, but The King’s boot pinned his wrist.

 

“As I understand it, gingers don’t have souls…” The King teased, picking the Soul-Taker off of the floor and holding it level. “Shall we test that?”

 

But before The King could test its hypothesis, something peculiar happened; The King’s face twitched in pain; its hand flung backwards, and a feline-like yowl burst from its’ lungs with the pain of someone burned by a hot iron. The clear source of the King’s ire, the Soul-Taker, landed into a nearby crowd of shrubbery. “Sorcery!” The King yowled, removing its leather glove to reveal the putrid pus-filled blisters that had erupted across its palm.

 

“It matters not; There are worse ways to wound,” the King declared, crouching over Blake and placing its hands across his throat. But as The King choked Blake, Blake dug his claws into its cheeks and dragged them across the surface of its face. The King recoiled; scars were dug into the side of its cheeks like whiskers. Drake rushed to Blake’s aid, leaving himself vulnerable.

 

The King re-entered the fray, mounting Drake’s back; fanged teeth bit into his throat; deep, lethal bites. Drake fumbled, grabbing the knife tucked down the side of his boot, then stab: The King fell, and Drake fell with him.

 

The King gurgled, its eyes red, its mouth stained with Drake’s blood. Drake’s knife handle was pointing out the side of its skull, the tip barely poking out the other side. “Wots… wots noo poosi caaaat,” The Fallen King slurred. “Poos. Poos. Poosi. Heehn.”

 

“The sword! Kill him! Kill him now!” Sharpe panicked. “The- Where’s the sword-?”

 

He turned his head around just in time to see a black whip wrap around the sword’s hilt and tug it far from the King’s reach. The King sniffed the air and smiled its final smile. “Siiiiiister-?”

 

Blake stirred. “Ni- Nightwing...”

 

The King turned back, and the sword pierced its stomach. Its eyes, once green, now red from the knife lodged in its brain, dilated. Selina Kyle stared back coldly, no expression on her face beyond residual pity for the brother she had lost long ago.

 

“Does... does The Batman know you carry his seed?” The King dribbled blood onto the floor.

 

The sword twisted. A mercy killing, if anything, though mercy wasn’t on Selina’s mind. Green smoke emanated from its mouth, forming a monstrous, bestial cloud above them, its silhouette resembling an enormous bi-pedal panther. As it was drawn into the sword, the swirling tornado let out an animalistic cry; then, quiet. The King’s reign had ended; The creature had spoken its last words; vulgar though they were. But Karl Kyle hadn’t. A blue spectre lingered over the body; the brother Selina had known before the Cat King had claimed his body and soul. Untethered and unburdened.

 

“Selina… thank you,” it spoke, finally at peace.

 

“Karl-?” Selina gasped.

 

The spectre smiled in mute confirmation, then faded into nothingness.

 

“That thing was inside me…” a repulsed Blake remarked. Even so, a slight smile played across his lips, comforted by the knowledge that the nightmare was over, that finally, The King of Cats was dead: Long live The King. But their victory rang hollow. Sharpe was cradling Drake; his white suit was stained with his blood; he wasn’t even complaining; Blake could tell something was wrong based off of that alone. He limped forwards, Selina’s hand brushed across his shoulder, but he kept going, crouching by their side. “Drake, Morty, c’mon, man. You can’t go, not like this, not from some hickey. What about... what about your peasants?”

 

“Pheasants, Thomas,” Drake smiled weakly. “No; Sod that life of luxury malarkey… the only life worth living is one… is one with frien-"

 

He never finished.

 

Blake and Sharpe looked at one another; making a non-verbal agreement for how to proceed. Sharpe unfastened The Cavalier’s velvet cape, then carefully lowered him onto the ground. He handed Blake the cape, who draped it over Drake’s body, like a flag over a fallen soldier. Not to grieve the death of their friend, but to honour the life of a Misfit.

 

===Arkham Penitentiary===

 

They had been walking for what seemed like hours, down cobweb infested hallways and past empty cells. Yet, it wasn’t until they had reached Maximum Security that Eric Needham finally noticed they were one member short.

 

“Where’s Pike?” he asked the remainder of his group. Flannegan and Karlo, exchanged confused glances. Karlo's yellow eyes darkened, shadowed by his drooping brow; Flannegan shrugged with the energy of someone who considered shrugging too much effort.

 

Needham let out a low sigh and placed his hand over the bridge of his nose, making sure his displeasure was apparent to both man and mud. “Stay here, I’ll find her,” he grunted, certain neither of them would volunteer in his stead. He turned 180 degrees and activated his wrist shooters; using his webs to pull him forwards, carrying him back the way they came with an enhanced speed. He reached a doorway, and dropped down. As he approached the handle, he noticed a fine white powder sprinkled on the ground like salt.

 

It wasn’t salt.

 

“Pike? Kid?”

 

Keeping a hand on his sheathed knife, he walked through the doorway and was quickly swept away to a small apartment; a woman was standing over the stove, her back facing him.

 

“Linda?” Needham asked, raising his mask over his face.

 

The woman turned around, and smiled. It was Linda, yes. But Linda from a time before the drugs hollowed her cheeks and thinned her hair. The Linda Eric had fallen for.

 

“The hell is this?”

 

~-~

 

Ten raised his hand, moving it from side to side, the corners of his mouth drooping downwards. “The signal stops here,” he announced to the rest of the group.

 

Gar looked up, taking in his surroundings; They were in The Nexus. A network of doors splitting off into different corners of the facility. “We’ll split up,” he decided. “I’ll take the North door; Joey east, Ten west. Gaige-”

 

“South, yeah. I know how directions work,” Gaige growled, twisting the end of his harpoon. “I’ll see you and the rest of Apocalypse Now in five. Once I find Walker.” And without waiting for Gar’s approval, he stepped through his assigned door.

 

Joey leaned forwards, whispering to Gar. “I told you he cares.”

 

“Uhuh,” Gar nodded dispassionately, rejecting the notion that Gaige held any sentimentality for Drury within his stony heart.

 

~-~

 

Joey entered through the door, and stepped on a bright green welcome mat. Dismissing it as the clown's idea of a joke, Joey continued onwards, but the further he walked, the more he began to recognise his surroundings. He arrived at a small table in the hall and picked up a framed photograph of a young man in military uniform. Himself. “What-?”

 

“Jo-Jo!”

 

Joey turned around just in time to witness a small toddler tactically crawl towards him. She let out a delighted squeal, then dropped at his feet, hugging his shin like a koala against a tree trunk.

 

“Maggie?” Joey asked. “Baby sister?”

 

“Ah, there you are, kiddo,” Joey’s father called out to him beckoning him from the dining room doorway. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

 

Joey answered with a dry throat, with tears welling up in his eyes. “You have?”

 

~-~

 

Gar walked through the door and entered a building cloaked in shadows. Suspicious, he raised his flamethrower and he veered around the corner into what appeared to be a dining room; the lights were dimmed, the curtains closed, and there was but a single candle on the table, illuminating the room. Orange sparks danced across Gar’s pupils. He reached forward, old habits, then he saw his hands. First of all, he was no longer wearing his costume, but more than that, his hands were unmarked. Unscathed. No longer cracked and chipped like years-old paint. And if his hands weren’t burnt… He ran to the mirror and gasped: a man with pale skin, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow and a full head of black, slightly greying, hair was staring back.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

~-~

 

As Ten progressed further into Arkham's bowels, he continued to raise his hands in front of him, guiding his path through a building he was grateful he had never been ‘treated’ in. It wasn't until ten minutes of walking, that he finally noticed his hands.

 

His hands. Pink and fleshy sausage-like appendages, not the metallic, peach-coloured prosthetics he’d grown accustomed to installing each morning. And then he realised he didn’t need them to see either. His goggles were gone, and his eyes were finally open. “This shouldn’t be possible,” he gasped under his breath.

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Tenny,” a voice called to him, as a man entered the room, wearing an orange suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in David S. Pumpkins’ closet. “Here, my dear two-eyed friend. Anything’s possible.”

 

Ten’s eyes narrowed; a sensation he wasn’t used to, as he focused in on the man and his unusual attire. “You’re Spellbinder, aren’t you?” he identified him. “I bought your book.”

 

“Did you like it?” Billings asked, hoping for heaps of praise towards his prose.

 

“I never read it,” Ten responded dryly, taking in his surreal surroundings. “How are you doing this?”

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Billings scoffed, an arrogant, slightly drunken, smile on his face. “Even if I had a decade to explain it.”

 

“I can only imagine your illusions function similarly to my prosthetics, projecting the images you want me to see directly into my brain.”

 

Billings, said nothing.

 

===Sheldon Elementary===

 

Drury adjusted his tie, Cammy’s hand in his, as he walked him backstage; he took a peak through the silk curtains and caught Miranda smiling back. He blew her a kiss, then retreated back behind the red shroud, before she could notice his eyes had begun to water.

 

He turned to Cammy and knelt beside him, placing both hands on his shoulders.

 

“Cammy... What I told you earlier, about being a Walker-” Drury swallowed. “You’re also a Gaige. And Gaiges? They do what Walkers can’t. They fight for what they want, and they don’t stop.”

 

“Why are you crying, daddy?” Cammy asked, his cheeks reddening.

 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Drury lied. Again. “Maybe… maybe because I should have told you all of this before. Every day, every night. Just you remember, when those curtains open, if you feel frightened or nervous or alone. I’ll be there on the other… side.”

 

Cammy’s music teacher came into view, and as he smiled, he exposed a gap in his front teeth. When he did, Drury found his vision begin to blur again and again, he didn’t know why. “Great pep talk, Mr Mayor. Are you ready, Cammy?”

 

 

Done