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===Van Cleer Manor===
*She leads them through the corridors, unfazed by the undead Assassins. Every time one launches itself at her, it's down in seconds. They walk over a greyish puddle on the ground- the Talon's "blood," dionysium. At first too scared to speak, Sharpe swallows, and gently taps her on the shoulder*
Chancer- Hey. So... did Batman send you?
*Cass turns and nods. Sharpe sighs, relieved. "Good, good," he mutters*
Chancer- Are there more of you? I like your style, but there are hundreds of those things
Cass- Just me.
Chancer- ... Great.
*Axel is quick to elbow him in the ribs*
Axel- Hey, Cass is one of the best fighters in the world, and- The acid gun?
*Cass nods again*
Axel- That... I wasn't going to use it on people! ... Or the Flash! Stop staring at me. Hey-!
*Cass takes the gun from him and empties it onto the ground, burning a hole in the floor. Kitten whispers in Cass' ear*
Kitten- He was Cassie, he definitely was. Y'know full on "Fwash is gonna pay!"
Axel- Oh shut up. ... Where we going now?
*Cass stops and gestures at a pair of steel doors*
Cass- Bunker.
*Sharpe runs in immediately "Hey, they've got cartoons," he yells delightedly, sitting next to Cammy*
Axel- We just- We just left the bunker!
Cass- Go back. I have this.
*Axel pauses, but knowing better than to argue, slinks away*
Chancer- I mean, *I* believe her.
======
*Miranda stands alone, Talon bodies lying everywhere. Some, just some, stir. She grabs one, and pulls a sword to it's throat*
Miranda- I want to know everything.
Talon- You know nothing! We would die before we talk!
Miranda- Fine.
*She rams her sword through it's neck, and it splutters, before finally, dying*
Miranda- Anyone else?
*Cobb, rises from the floor*
Talon- There's no need for that Ms Walker. Or is it Ms Gaige? You, are a worthy opponent. You have bested twelve of the Court's greatest Talons- including myself. And as such, I will tell you everything you want to know.
You see, the Court has ruled Gotham from its- well, you'll know the rhyme I'm sure, for centuries. But, in the past five years, that has all changed. Ever since the Batman exposed us, there have been those who would seek to depose us. Each year we stood our ground, and each year we grew weaker. And then, nearly two years ago, the Secret Society of Supervillains activated a chemical weapon, here, in Gotham. They smoked us out, and we found ourselves fighting creatures we had never seen before. Their metahuman lackeys. These outsiders came to Gotham, and nearly destroyed us. So we changed our approach. We needed to take a step back and re-evaluate our position. I reached out to an old ally of ours- we *would* regain our power.
*Miranda pauses. "Twag... He was... Fuck's sake, he was working for you? Everything he did-"*
Talon- And will do? Yes. Your husband, he was the problem. So long as he tried to clean up Gotham, we could never retake the city. Twag hated him- perhaps unjustifiably so, and from the ruins of the Mirror House, he found himself a weapon, a relic of the first Injustice Society. Walker's brother. With him, we had Walker imprisoned for murder, and Twag primed to replace him, squeezing pressure on the regent, Grange, bit by bit until she too could be removed. Twag's errors in judgement killed him, and Grange stayed in power. But we got what we wanted. A mayor we could control.
Miranda- She's dirty?
Talon- Worse. She's idealistic. She wanted Gotham's Streets clean of criminals, and our partners are quite pleased with the result. Arkham City.
Miranda- And?
Talon- And what Ms Gaige?
Miranda- Who's that new Moth? Your leader.
Talon- Heh... Hehe... Our leader? That's... Amusing.
Miranda- I'm not joking. He threw my husband through a wall, now who is he?
Talon- You haven't been listening. I already told you, Assassin.
Miranda- No... Not him.
*She runs down the corridor. Cobb sits down, tired, and he patches his wound*
Talon- See you soon...
====
His name was Daniel "Danto" Twag. His family came to Gotham over 30 years ago. He reached out to The Falcone Crime Family in an attempt to make a name for himself, and was inducted into their inner circle. He organised hits for the Mob, which were carried out by Drury Walker and Garfield Lynns. Lynns, an pyrotechnics expert, was searching for new opportunities to test his tech. Walker was in it to support his family, though as time went on, he learned to love the spotlight. As Firefly and Killer Moth, the two eventually split from the mob to form their own gang, and caught the attention of other "C-List" criminals when they burned the GCPD down. When Lynns left, Twag tracked down an old friend of his- Ted Carson, to carry on the mantle of Firefly. His reign was short lived. With the police on the Mob's scent, and vengeful over the destruction of their Precinct, Falcone ordered Twag's death. Instead, fate had other ideas, and Twag was introduced to the Court of Owls. For ten years, he travelled the world, learning their ways, but he never forgot the men who destroyed his reputation, one day vowing to do the same.
But... Danto Twag, was dead. Drury knew this, or had guessed as much. Yet there he was. Pale, yes, but still standing. And in a Killer Moth suit no less*
Drury- How? How is this possible, I- ... Talon gunk, I guess. You know what, I don't care.
*He had dreamt of this moment, every night in Blackgate. He had wished for it every day in Arkham. Face to face with the man who had kicked him out of office, left him at the mercy of the Music Meister, stolen from him, and hurt his family. Hurt Gar. Hurt Miranda. Hurt Axel. Hurt Kitten, and Simon and Cammy. And he had hurt Norbert. The things he'd say.... The things he'd do... There was no one else he wanted to suffer more than Twag, but here he was. And he was... damaged*
Drury- All that time... All that pain... Look at me. Fuck, look at you. You made me half a man. I can't fight. I can't run. I... Come on, say something! Can you even hear me?
*He says nothing. He just... stands. Emotionless. A blade popped out of Twag's gauntlet*
Twag- Drury Walker. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.
Drury- I'll bet. Just... What's your name.
*He, maybe "it," pauses*
Twag- I have no name. Drury Walker. The Court of Owls have sentenced-
Drury- Yeah. Yeah, you do, so stop that. Your name is Danto Twag. You're a right pain in my arse, but you have a name. The other Talons remember. Don't tell me you can't.
*Twag's blade retracts back into it's casing. He looks confused*
Twag- I have no name. Drury Walker. The Court of Owls-
Drury- Gar Lynns. Miranda Gaige. Drury Walker. Norbert. Ringing a bell? Twag?
...
Twag- I... I have no- I'm a servant of the Court of Owls, and they have sentenced you to-
Drury- Black Mask. Bill Garth. Tarantula and Ono.
Twag- THEY HAVE SENTENCED YOU TO-!
Drury- Falcone. Carson. Carmen Pike and Bridget.
Twag- Carmen... You... Where is she?
Drury- Dead. You killed her. Last year.
Twag- No... it was... you! You made me- What do you mean last... last...
*Twag looks at his twisted reflection in the shards of broken glass, and recoils in horror*
Twag- What-? What have they done to me? They've turned me into one of *them,* a freak, a monster like Wasp.
*Drury looked at him, crawling about on the ground. Pity. That's what he felt. And just a little bit of anger*
Drury- His name is Norbert.
*Twag cradles himself in the corner*
Twag- They... took my mind... took my body... and Carmen... Carmen! They-!
Drury- Yeah. And... I'm sorry.
*Drury dropped his gun on the ground. He couldn't stomach it anymore. He'd lost his appetite for killing, any hatred he had left for Twag dissolved as he listened to his sobbing. He closed the door, and slid down it in defeat. Through the oak, he heard a gunshot, and he put his face in his hands. Miranda found him there, and, grabbing him by the shoulder, she pulled him close*
Miranda- That Talon said that Twag-
Drury- I know.
Miranda- God... Drury, how do you feel-?
...
Drury- Like crap.
*As they looked out the window, they saw at least a dozen more Talons sneaking off into the night*
Miranda- They're retreating. Must be too public for them. Drury... I heard you on the phone earlier.
Drury- I said... It said it was fudge.
Miranda- You're... Heh... You're a terrible lier.
Drury- Probably.
Miranda- It doesn't matter. It was about *this,* wasn't it? About the Court and Arkham?
Drury- No. That's just it, no it wasn't. Not entirely.
==Chuck's Apartment==
October 31st 07:15
The Misfits were gathered around a neat dining table: At one end, Drury was furiously scribbling onto a piece of paper. Chuck, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, preparing another pot of tea for them.
"Chuck, you got a spare change of clothes?" Gar asked, gesturing to his bloody hospital gown.
"Check the closet," Chuck replied, as he filled the teapot with hot water.
Lynns nodded, and opened the door. 'Jeez, that's a lot of knitwear,' he thought, grabbing the only leather in there, an Elvis jacket- Chuck's Halloween costume, and zipping it up. He pulled a black wig out of its' pocket, and rested it atop his chair- Beside him, Rigger and Sharpe sniggered at him childishly.
"Tell me about King of Cats again," Drury said, as he handed Chuck his cup.
"Not much to say," Reardon stated. "He wasn't really saying much, aside from the odd innuendo. You think he's involved?" he asked, as he grabbed a cookie from a nearby jar.
"I dunno," Drury sighed. "When I was at Slabside, I met this thing, Zoom. It looked like Thawne- y'know, the Reverse Flash, but it's eyes were soulless. Black pits of... nothing. I remember it saying... what was it... He said he wanted to make me better?"
"What, did he want to shave your beard, too?" Sharpe joked.
"But this Zoom bloke," Chuck interrupted, "He wouldn't be working for Carson, would he?"
"Eh, Carson's never been much of a free thinker," Fiasco shrugged. "If anyone's strings were getting pulled, it'd be his."
"Who is he? Carson."
Jenna, had re-entered the room. The boys turned their heads to Drury expectantly.
"Because he sure seemed to know you."
"We all have our secrets," Drury said faintly.
"And yours just tried to kill me. Sue me, I'm curious."
Drury scratched his beard awkwardly. "Billionaire looking for some excitement in his life, worked with the Mob- during the Falcone days. At some point, he got a hold of Gar's first Firefly suit, and got immediately arrested. He died years ago-"
"He looked pretty alive to me."
"He does that," Drury admitted. "I ran him over.".
==Jumbo Carson's Apartment==
October 31st 07:22
"Tears, really?"
"They're not for him."
Carson was perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped together, his back arched, his eyes watching the screen, confused.
"So he says he wants to end world hunger and overpopulation," he began, turning to Bridget. "But why does he need to wipe out all reality to do that? Couldn't he just double the resources? Make more planets?"
"I ignored my destiny once," Thanos' voice boomed. Carson's eyes narrowed, as they darted between the screen and to his daughter.
"It's just a movie dad," Bridget said reassuringly, as she patted him on the back. Below them, Roger Hayden sat on the carpet, legs crossed, engrossed by the film.
"Then it's an awful movie," Carson scowled. "It just doesn't make sense..."
"And by the way, it was half of reality," Bridget added.
The front door creaked open. "My oh my, haven't you been busy..."
"At last," Carson said, reaching for the remote. "Jumbo, the hell have you been?"
"No Jumbo, I'm afraid," the voice stated.
Carson stood up, grabbing his flamethrower. "Day."
"Hello, Barson," Julian smiled: He was dressed head to toe in a bright red outfit, a long white cape draped around his shoulders. His black gloves, were caked in blood, the result of a crude decapitation earlier that night. In one hand, he held a small pistol, in the other, a small orange basket filled with what looked like candy. "A gift for Mr Krill," he explained.
Hearing his name, Abner appeared from behind the fridge, and grabbed the sweet-filled pumpkin, stuffing several chocolates into his mouth. "I have a life outside you," he burped at Carson, before disappearing into the bedroom.
"You must be proud, Ted," Day smiled. "Few can say they've had their arse kicked by a flimsy piece of fabric."
"I was following your crappy advice," Carson scowled.
"Oh, my advice was sound: Strike at the heart. You, however, ran over Garfield Lynns with a car, at some flimsy attempt at poetic justice. But you didn't kill him, did you?"
"No," Carson muttered embarrassingly.
"And now-" Day smirked, "The Misfits are united, stronger than ever in the face of a common enemy- You. The cops won't investigate Walker, not now. What they will look into, though, is the four idiots who shot up a hospital."
"Five-"
"Four," Day interrupted. "Abner Krill had the foresight to vanish the moment the shooting began. You did not. What a calamity..." he tutted.
"Funny," Carson grimaced. "Yesterday, you didn't want anything to do with me."
"And, I still don't..." Day lamented, his lip curling. "My goals are the same as ever. Help the Misfits find themselves. Their true selves. And now, I have just the people to see that vision through. You see, unlike you, I choose my partners with great care. I don't rely on... nepotism to get the job done," he added, glowering at Bridget.
"Take a backseat, Barson," he added. "From now on, let the professionals handle this."
"No," Carson said firmly.
"No?" Day replied eyebrow raised. "Are you, what, going to crash another wedding? Perhaps steal someone's face in a poor homage to a John Woo classic? Merge with another bug demon?"
Carson looked at him, feebly. His composure crumbling, Bridget reached out and grabbed his hand. 'Don't.'
"Nice to see one of you has some sense," Day winked. "You want to make yourselves useful, you'll deal with that loose end of yours," he growled. "Find the midget."
==Chuck's Apartment==
October 31st 07:34
"Would he still hurt Gar?" Jenna asked.
Drury turned his head. He didn't respond.
"Jenna-" Gar began.
"Because it sounds very much to me like Carson only wants you."
"I can handle myself," Gar sighed.
"Carson, died with Suit," Walker said plainly.
Jenna snorted. "Oh, please, he came back, what six times, but a grenade finished him off?"
"What do you want me to say?" Drury said tiredly. "If he survived, if Krill dragged him through a portal, then Suit died for nothing."
"But he didn't die for nothing, did he?" Jenna replied. "He died for you."
The Misfits bowed their heads in silence. Drury nodded, and stepped out into the hallway, Jenna in pursuit.
Chancer scoffed, and turned to the others. "Why's it always about him?"
October 31st. 07:39
Drury closed the door. Behind them, the muffled arguments of the Misfits continued:
"I just think that, as an ensemble, some us of aren't getting the roles we should," Sharpe was complaining.
"Sorry, but psychopath with a bat doesn't scream leading man material," Gar spat back.
"What abou-"
"For the last time, Negan was the bad guy!"
"Well?" Duffy called out.
Drury's smiled faded. "'If you don't want me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best,'" he said softly.
"I know the phrase, Walker, why do you ask?" she grimaced.
"Because," Drury said, turning around. "Garfield Lynns, at his best, is a fiercely loyal, brave, gentle man. At his worst..." Drury rolled up his sleeve, burns running up and down his forearm. "At his worst, he's Firefly. And Firefly could burn us all down. If you can live with that, cool- good luck, hope you've got a lot of concealer. But if you can't, you better let him down easy, or hell mend you. He doesn't need protection. Never has."
"He was hit by a car!"
"He was also burned alive by his last girlfriend," Drury replied, as he walked back inside. "Consider that."
"You OK?" Gar asked Jenna, now standing in the doorway.
"Fine," she replied, as she rubbed her arm. "Are... You happy, Gar?" she questioned.
Gar's brow furrowed. "Why'd you ask?"
October 31st. 07:51
Drury lay several photos on the table, each one a supposed member of the "Outcasts." Below them, was a large map of the United States, with several locations circled by him.
"Duffy's got a point. We can't get near Carson, so long as he's got Krill with him, and no prison's gonna hold him. It's a longshot, but I think I know someone who could help us develop a countermeasure. Problem is, last I heard he's in Colorado," Drury explained, drawing a red line onto the map.
"Road trip!" Sharpe cheered, as he nudged Rigger and Blake's shoulders excitedly.
"-For that," Drury continued, "We need transport, we need gear, and we need to know whatever the hell that speedster was. And there's only one place that has all that. Which is why I called a professional."
The Misfits panicked as the doorbell chimed suddenly. Drury nodded, as Rigger held the door open for the new arrivals.
The group shuddered as a large group of rats ran across the floor; behind them, smelling strongly of cheap booze, was their master: Otis Flannegan. Chuck winced, as the rats began chewing on his skirting boards. Behind him, skipping cheerily, was the Condiment King.
"You called Mayo too?" Rigger queried.
"Actually, I didn't."
...
"I've no clue why he's here."
Otis, came to a stop by Blake's chair, and glared at him angrily. Blake, nodded stiffly. "Itchy."
"Scratchy."
Mayo looked back at Flannegan oddly. For once, he wasn't slouching. "I'm sorry, how do you two-?"
Otis snarled. "He slept with my sister."
Blake swallowed. "Yes, I did. How is your niece by the way?"
Flannegan bobbed his head from side to side. "Oh, you know. Reading. Writing. Thinking of getting her into the family business."
Blake smirked. "Lion taming?"
"Pest extermination"
"Otis," Drury interrupted, "Is going to help us get into the Batcave."
The Misfits spun their heads around. "The Batcave?" Reardon queried.
Chuck explained. "After Nanda Parbat, we had to hand over our weapons and costumes to Batman to maintain a ceasefire. He's got them all locked up somewhere in this cave of his."
"I've seen it," Drury nodded. "He has a dinosaur."
"What, he ripped off the Moth-Cave?" Blake snarled in disbelief. "That motherfucker..."
"No," Drury sighed. "I ripped off the- it doesn't matter."
"Len, you up for this?" Rigger asked. Fiasco, had been silently smoking for about ten minutes.
Len placed his cigarette in the ash tray. "Can't. Plans."
"Plans? Since when do you have plans?" Chuck uttered.
"I always have a plan, Brown. I just never share 'em," Fiasco grumbled back.
The Misfits all turned to him suspiciously.
"Look," Fiasco scowled, "Carson, wouldn't have known where Lynns worked, or who he was dating. And he wouldn't know what fucking hospital room he was staying in. Fix this," he ordered, as he pushed his chair in. "Sharpe," he called, as Chancer stood up with him, and left.
"What was that about?" Chuck frowned.
October 31st. 08:01
"You're asking me to choose between you, and Drury?" Gar said, taking a step back.
"I'm asking you to choose life, Gar," Jenna pleaded, her hand wrapped around his.
"It's just Carson," he said nonchalantly.
"And Carson almost killed you."
"And we'll kill him, we'll fix this," Gar smiled.
"It's not your mess to fix."
Gar shook his head. "Drury's not who you think he is. He's a good man, he just- Last time he needed me, I let him down. And y'know what happened? His wife died."
"That's not on you!"
"It is on me. It's on me to protect him, otherwise good people like Miranda, and that cloth, they pay the price. It's on me to take the fall so those people don't."
"Even if it means dying for him?"
Gar turned his head, and let her hand go.
"Gar..." Jenna sighed. "You know what happens if you go back in there, don't you?"
He placed his hand on her chin tenderly. "Yeah," he said softly. "I do."
October 31st. 08:10
The Misfits looked up, as Gar walked back inside alone, his coat hanging off his shoulders.
"No Jenna?" Rigger asked.
"No," Gar shrugged. "She, uh, she had to go. Edison called her in for some last minute set adjustments."
"Alright," Rigger said, convinced. "Just tell her we were asking about her."
Gar nodded slowly. "Yeah, uh, I will."
==Butchinsky's==
October 31st. 09:17
Fiasco unlocked the door, and moved a large crate of beer aside, revealing a secret hatch below. He descended the stairs, and flicked the light on. Beside him, Chancer swung his bat excitedly.
Tied to a chair, bloodied and bruised, was a man about four foot tall, his red and black outfit lay on the ground in tatters.
"Now, listen, insect," Fiasco tutted, as he took a golf club from off the shelf. "This is the part you tell me about your pal, Carson."
==GCPD==
October 31st. 09:30
Gordon slid his pipe into his pocket, the slight glimmer of sunlight filling the sky. "Cutting it close," he tutted, looking out into the city. "It's almost daylight."
Batman walked out from behind the signal. "The Gotham General attack?" he assumed, placing his hand on the warm spotlight.
Jim nodded stiffly. "Here. Had Major Crimes sweep the CCTV footage. Managed to pick this one up."
Batman held the photo in his hand, and grimaced. 'Walker...'
Thank you for 2.7 million views in less than two years (Apr-2017 to Mar-2019)
This is a scan of an original kodachrome slide. It was scanned with an Epson Pro V750, and finished up with very minor post processing work in Photoshop. The default size of this image is 2000x1250 pixels.
Clicking on the photo will enlarge it
The original comes from my own slide collection, which contains both my own photos and those acquired over the past forty or so years collecting.
I began uploading photos into this Flickr photostream to create a home for the slides that have been part of my collection. They deserve to be enjoyed by the aircraft enthusiast community as a whole rather than being tucked away in boxes and binders. Think of it like an old time aircraft slide show but for the 21st century.
Comments are welcome.
Aircraft MSN: 46541
Type & Series: Douglas DC-10-30
Registration: C-GCPD
Operator: CPAir "Empress of Sydney"
Location and date (if possible): Sydney-SYD
Remarks:
I'm watching the news.
Explosions all over Gotham.
I'm sure a certain group of people will be out there.
If this was month ago, perhaps Dad would be too.
Mom walks in.
"Oh, God, all of those people in those explosion. who would do that?"
"A horrible person."
Dad walks in behind mom.
Grabs her and kiss her on cheek.
She smiles.
He seems more lively.
"Wow, Abe. You seem better."
He flashes a quick smile.
"Yeah, my shoulder's feeling a lot better with those pain meds."
"Well, how was work?"
"I got assigned a case. Man has a missing face. Can't wait till this reaches the press."
Ah, sarcasm.
"Ew, that's horrible."
"Hey, you didn't even see it."
"Well, don't tell me how it was in real life!"
They're playful.
Haven't seen this in a while.
Seems this case is the medicine to his depression.
That reminds me I have a case of my own.
Savannah Willows has a past.
We all do.
I need to uncover hers to understand what we're dealing with.
"Dad, you're not helping with the explosions?"
"The rest of the GCPD task force is. I have the duty of catching a killer."
"Best of luck, father."
Fall into your urges, Abe.
I can see them.
You want to spend your nights out late again.
You want to be more than just a cop.
Go into that closet.
Do it.
DO IT.
But he won't.
Last time he did his best friend died.
I doubt that's a flame he wants to rekindle.
For now, father you're just Detective Abraham Arlington.
Soon you'll be revisiting your dirty pleasure.
Now is too late to stop.
====GCPD Interview Room====
Guard- Walker, your lawyer's here.
Drury- My-? What?
Spencer- Mr Walker, Kate Spencer, JLA liaison.
Drury- Is that a law firm or-?
Spencer- No, no, *the* JLA.
Drury- Oh. But you are a lawyer, right?
Spencer- Yes. I am a lawyer.
Drury- That's good.
Spencer- Yeah, isn't it just? Now, Batman sent me as soon as he heard about your little incident. Read this.
Drury- Well nice to see he cares, what's-?
Spencer- Your alibi.
Drury- "I went round Ms Pike's house for some late night mimosas...?" I don't really think this is going to work...
Spencer- What's the issue?
Drury- For starters, I don't drink mismosas.
Spencer- That is a snag. What do you drink
Drury- Ir'n Bru, lemon tea and there's this strawberry mocktail I had in a little café in Star City
Spencer- A mocktail?
Drury- Non-alcoholic. Like a strawberry lemonade. Really nice.
Spencer-... Isn't alcohol all the fun?
"Yes but the issue is that I am not known for obeying the law in a state of inebriation."
"No, yeah, I've got public urination down here. Not a big deal."
"No, no. I'm talking about the guy I hit drunk driving."
"Ah. I'd maybe not say that in front of the judge. In fact, don't say that in front of anyone."
"We can strike it from the record though, right?"
"I'd rather it never be on the record. Does that work for you?"
"M'yeah."
"Good."
...
"Not that it should matter, but who did you kill?"
"The victim's husband."
...
Drury- Look, I'm sure you're a lovely lady but I can't read this.
Spencer- Why? Don't tell me you're illiterate too?
Drury- Eh? No. But what's done is done and I'm not going to lie in court. I'm going to tell them exactly how it is.
Spencer- Oh. In that case, you better catch me up.
====Day One====
Judge- State your name for the record.
Chancer- Montgomery Sharpe.
Judge- And your relationship to Mr Walker?
Chancer- Former employee
Judge- Your file says you were in a coma for... ten years?
Chancer- That's right your honour.
Judge- It also says you killed three people. And a dog.
Chancer- Oh, nah. Blake killed the dog.
...
Spencer- You couldn't find any better character witnesses? Ones that aren't murderers?
Drury- *Whispers*
Spencer- How about any that aren't felons?
...
Drury- I got nothing.
Spencer- You are not making this easy on yourself
Drury- It's not my fault...
Spencer- You could at least find some different social circles...
Drury- Hey, I get out of this, maybe I will
Chancer- Hey! Is this gin?
Judge- No, that's water. Why would we hand out gin in a courthouse?
Chancer- I dunno, they did it in Santa Prisca...
====Day Two====
Clarke- I hold in my hand, the weapon used to kill Carmen Pike and lo and behold- it has Mr Walker's fingerprints on it! What do you have to say for yourself Mr Walker?
Drury- Well, of course it has my fingerprints on it- it's my gun, that said, I didn't use it to kill Ms Pike.
Clarke- If not you, then who?
Drury- My brother, Norbert Walker.
Clarke- Are you... Are you seriously trying to use the twin brother excuse?
Drury- No, he's not my twin brother. He's two years older than me.
Clarke- That makes all the difference... Moving on... This next item, security footage from May 6th, the early days of Mr Walker's administration and, would you look at that, there he is, kicking James Garth out of a window. Very nice footwork Mr Mayor!
Spencer- Objection!
Judge- Denied.
====Day Three====
Clarke- This passage, from Mr Billings' upcoming book details several unprosecuted crimes that our dear mayor has committed. May I?
Judge- You may.
Clarke- "Walker, with the help of Garfield Lynns abducted Harvey Dent from the Wayne Courthouse". That's this courthouse by the way. "That was the last time anyone saw Dent before he became Two-Face- Roman Sionis"
Spencer- Objection! I have to question the validity of Mr Sionis' statement. Or is he not going out at nights dressed in a black mask?
Clarke- Please, I hardly think Roman Sionis is Batman, Ms Spencer...
Spencer- That's... not what I meant at all.
Clarke- Your honour, may I continue?
Judge- You may.
Clarke- Thank you. Here's a fun one "Drury Walker murdered my father. All that remains of him is his severed, decomposed face- Bridget Pike". I wonder perhaps, what Ms Pike thinks of this, of him. The man who orphaned her?
Drury- ...Stop it.
Clarke- What's wrong? Have you finally realised that your little romps have consequences?
Spencer- Objection! Mr Clarke is deliberately trying to antagonise my client!
Judge- Denied!
Clarke- Can't handle the pressure Mr Mayor? Maybe you should have considered that before murdering Ted Carson, James Garth and Carmen Pike!
Drury- ...Go fuck yourself.
Clarke- I think I have what I need. No more questions your honour.
~-~
Drury- That did not go well.
Spencer- No.
...
Drury- I probably shouldn't have sworn.
Spencer- Nope.
...
Drury- What's done is done, you know?
Spencer- Yeah
...
Spencer- You're remarkably calm about this.
Drury- Lady, I was in and out of Arkham for five years. I can do it again.
Spencer- That's if they send you to Arkham.
Drury- Yeah. But why wouldn't they?
====Day Five====
*Drury is messing with the settings on his chair*
Judge- Are we quite settled Mr Walker?
Drury- The chair's a little low. Otherwise, right as rain.
*He throws a wink at Miranda and she returns a weak smile*
Judge- In that case... Has our jury made their decision?
Speaker- Yes your honour. We, the Jury, have voted... Guilty.
*Drury's chair collapses*
Judge- Quite right, too. Drury Walker, for your horrible crimes, for your utter disregard for the law and for the boundaries of others, I sentence you to life in Blackgate Penitentiary.
Drury- Oh no.
Spencer- Oh no...
Miranda- Oh no!
Chuck- Hell yeah! ... I mean no. That sucks.
*BANG* *BANG*
-----------
Guard- You have two minutes.
Gaige- We'll have five asshole. Minimum.
Kitten- Oh daddy!
*The family embrace Drury*
Drury- *Oof* Hi guys.
Miranda- Drury, god... it's not fair!
Drury- No. It is.
...
Gaige- No, it isn't.
Drury- Yes, it is. I didn't kill Pike sure, but I did kill Carson-
Miranda- That was an accident!
Drury- And I did kill Garth.
Miranda- You were under a lot of stress...
Drury- Miranda, sweetheart. Look at me- I need this, I need to repent.
Miranda- You repented by stopping Joker! And Signal Man and Scarecrow-
Drury- No. That was Lester.
*He wipes a tear from her cheek*
Drury- You'll see, they'll find Norbert some day and there will be justice. But for now, stay strong.
Guard- Time's up. Walker!
Drury-...Coming.
Axel- That's bull!
Miranda- In what world is that two minutes?! Drury! Drury, I love you!
Drury- I love you too, sweetie. I love all of you.
*Drury is taken to the prisoner transfer vehicle and the doors close behind him*
Driver- Hope you got a good look lads. That's the last blue sky you'll be seeing for a long time.
Bruce enters the Flaming skeletal wreck that was once a high security prison, through the obvious gap. The now almost non-existent rooftop. Without bringing the building to the ground, he drops almost gracefully to the concrete, instantly feeling the cold presence of prison thugs confident enough to think they have a chance against him
Bruce(to himself): I hate this bit
The first inmate hurls his meaty fists at Bruce, missing completely and instead landing his knuckles right in the smug face of his unfortunate “associate” who instantly proceeds to punching the man’s teeth out. Bruce of course lands several blows to the two thugs, and grabs them by the collars
Batman: get out of here now and turn yourselves into the GCPD. Your surrounded and if you don’t...I know your faces
Bruce then leaves the two men in shuddering fear to stumble back out into Harvey bullocks palm just as the bat told them.
Batman (into his comm): Alfred
Alfred: here as always sir
Batman: came in through a gap in the ceiling. I’m gonna head to the maximum security block. Some inside info says they’re keeping Arkham inmates in there during the rebuilding of the asylum but It’s like a maze in here. I’ll need directions
Alfreds: of course sir. I’ll get up a layout now...ok what’s around you sir. Any landmarks?
Batman: mostly grey blocks of concrete but there’s some sort of in door watch tower I can tell you that much
Alfred: cell block J Bruce? There should be something to indicate that. Perhaps on the ground?
Batman: uh..yes Alfred it’s J alright?...hang on, more inmates
Bruce quickly deals with an incoming wave of thugs, all armed with feeble excuses for weapons. Rolling pins, pans etc. After nearly knocking out several, they listen to Bruce and run in terror back out to the parking lot.
Batman: sorry about that Alfred. Please continue
Alfred: yes...ahead of you should be a curved corridor that takes you further towards the maximum security block. Go through there, take your first right and you’ll come across a stair case
Bruce: yes I see the stair case
Alfred: up the stairs. They will take you across a caged bridge. At the end of this you will find a very large metal door and you will be there. Good luck sir. And remember. Come...
Batman:....back in one piece. I know Alfred (chuckles)
Bruce finds himself at the hulking, monstrous steel doors, proceeding to carefully lining the edges with an extremely powerful explosive gel. After waiting a moment, the doors are blasted open and Bruce enters. This is when the laughing and screaming begins
———————————————————
Another cell within one of the standard cell blocks
A large, hunched old Hispanic man with slicked back grey hair and a well kept moustache and goatee, kicks at his cells door angered by its refusal to let him be free. Luckily for the man however, he spies an old friend not too far off who appears to be coming his way.
The man known by the name of Mortimer drake utters a name beneath his breath
Drake: walker...Drury Walker
Drury spies the helpless man, instantly recognising his old and beloved mentor. He, to lens bewilderment leaves all behind to free the man beginning by hurling away several mounds of rubble and taking a steel crowbar to the cell door
Drake: you came to this place for me!? Why?!
Drury: to save you drake. Why do you think
Drake: Pah. Have I taught you nothing child. The first rule of a true cavalier is not to insult another fellow cavalier with the implication of acting saviour!..Though admittedly I am somewhat flattered by your efforts
Drury: ah yes yes of course Mortimer. But you know I really could not let a man of your...cavalier,(chuckles to himself) Rot away in a dastardly place such as this for a crime he is absolutely innocent of!
Drake: yes yes...innocent of course. Atleast you could see that Drury
Len: sorry. Uh back up. What in the hell you too rambling on about. I’m sorry but two drurys that’s a lot to handle. He’s bad enough ya know. Goddamnit what has my life come to
Drake: Drury. Who is this man
Drury Walker: an accomplice. Somewhat of a bag carrier to tell the truth...
Drake: ahaha. Looks it
Len: for Christ’s sake. Just explain a few teensy little things. A) how the hell ya know Drury. B) what you in for? Cos I’m lost I tell ya
Drake: you’ve heard of the cavalier I presume?...an expert criminal mind and professional in the field of heists.
Len:...eh...no
Drake: hm disappointing. But Mortimer drake. Surely you’ve heard his name in the wind. A world renowned classical actor and master of his craft.
Len:....uh that’s another no
Drake: well then you boy are uneducated because you want to know something boy?...both of those world famous artists and pioneers of their respective fields...well they boy, are me...Now I can understand that you might perhaps request a signature or photograph of some form, but that dear boy shall have to wait...because for now I cannot help but be mesmerised. Mesmerised by your marvellous attire Drury. Does truly make a man proud you know! The student has truly become the master! Well not quite the master, I’m still the real master but I’m sure you get the idea. Now on the subject of attire. You have mine? Surely you do?
Drury: well actually Mortimer...
Drake: No?! It cannot be. You mean to say you expect a master mind such as myself to assume his criminal duties without the correct attire?!? Pah! Outrageous.
Drury: If I had it, I would have bought it Mortimer. But it is the simple truth that I do not know where such a thing might be found.
Drake: hmmm. Yes you speak some truth I suppose. I’ll try to keep my “cool” on these matters such as this on future occasions. Though we will, and I mean this Drury, we will have to make it our absolute priority that upon escape of this foul and wretched place, that we visit the one and only Paul Dekker aka the crazy quilt!!! Truly marvellous compadre and no doubt the man to go to for a more fitting attire than these wretched rags of a petty burglar which I find myself tragically clothed in
Drury: well of course Mortimer. I had wanted to speak to the man myself on account of my own attire. You see, short of wealth, I was forced to go to an amateur for this attire you see before you. And even then I was forced to make the finishing touches myself for I could not stand his ignorance. So much that I was damn near refusing to pay the man!
Len: yeah that’s lovely. But we gonna have to get outta here now so if you two are done reminiscing bout “attire” and whatnot, I’d like to move this show along if that’s okay with you. Any objections? Yeah didn’t think so
Drake: I might have a few...
Len: heh funny. Don’t care lets argue outside of the crumbling down prison block that just so happens to be on fire.
Drury: very well if you must be so eager, I cannot condemn your thoughts of self preservation. I must instead respect them for I thouroughly believe that not only do they benefit yourself but...
Lenny: just shut the hell up and move your asses
———————————————————
Nearby the maximum security block
Punch sings tirelessly without rhythm nor beat as he strolls eerily through the prisons damp corridors, accompanied by the painful melody of old rusty metal clanging and scraping as the getaway genius dawdles behind punch and Tensil
Punch: le..ts go fly a...kite up to...the highest height...flying fly fly kitey kite...kite....oh I forget the words sometimes you know..... shocker to me as it is toooo youuu. Used to be like a canary...now I’m more like a pigeonhole
They arrive at the grand entrance of the block to find no more security than a missing door
Punch: eheh...not so maximum huh?...or secure...*cough...am I right hehehe
He turns around: ...I said...oh shit. Uh you know. I haven’t got a problem with you sir. I happen to be a fan...so I guess that makes you my idol..eheh.. I’ll be on my wa...
The man he refers to as his idol just so happens to be twice his size. And added onto that..just so happens to be the batman. And just so happens to have the getaway genius held tightly in his arms
Batman: let go of the boy...and take off the muzzle.
Punch: hehehe you probably think I’m sick in the head...you’d be right you know *cough cough. But what you wouldn’t be right on...what you’d be wrong on...is...that I give a teensy speck about that there rusty tin man...go ahead kill him
Getaway genius: getaway...getaway...getaway!!
Batman:...no
Punch quickly takes his chance to throw a blow but is soon stopped when Bruce effortlessly trips him up....he saw it coming. But what he didn’t was this...
Punch stares into Tensils blank eyes and after loosening his muzzle, says: go on. Take it off but word of advice. maybe just maybe you might wanna be sure not to set off the 4 pounds of c4 inside your gut...cos that’d be a real damn shame now. wouldn’t it.
Batman: ...you’re lying
Tensil speaks in a wispy and raw tone that assures Bruce that he speaks the truth: no...he is not....He speaks only truth.....on this occasion
Bruce then without hesitation drops the getaway genius, allowing he and punch to flee from the scene
Batman: I want to help you... but first I must know. Are you human
Tensil: I am...not.... I was aware when I came that your race would likely deem me an alien...inhuman.... it appears I was more right than I had believed....
Batman: why does he need you?
Tensil: because to him, I am no more than an instrument or a tool. The ability that comes with being born into my race, is the ability to chew and swallow quite literally anything. Including C4.
Batman: I can get you a surgeon. To take it out of you...we’ll have to be quick
Tensil: no no. No surgeon. If the c4 explodes all that will happen is i May expand ever so slightly. He..of course did not know that
Batman: and you let him get away for nothing
Tensil: you, despite the fact that I admire your cause, can not be the one to see him punished. That is for me to do...alone. I suggest you leave me to do just that
Batman: I can’t let you do that. Twisted and evil he may be, all deserve justice. You will not take his life. I won’t let you
Tensil: yes but you won’t stop me either. No I’m sorry. You can’t stop me. You’re just a human. I am “a planet threatening extra terrestrial” good bye.... batman
Bruce, knowing he is helpless to catching up with Tensil, takes another root, heading through the prisons ventilation shaft
=The Falcone Manor, years ago=
Vale- Our top story- the "Blazing
Bugs" crime spree was brought to a close last night. The supervillain duo, Killer Moth and Firefly were caught by our very own dynamic duo, Batman and Robin, after their attempts to burn the GCPD building to the ground were thwarted by newcomer Batgirl. Garfield Lynns, Firefly, and "Cameron Van Cleer", Killer Moth are facing charges for multiple counts of arson. Tony Bressi was released from the hospital today-
Falcone- Turn it off. I think Mr Twag gets the idea. Don't you?
*Twag moves in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, then nods. Falcone looks to the other heads of the families. Maroni bows his head, Gaige sips a glass of salt water unperturbed by the bickering around him*
Falcone- Twag!
Twag- Hmm?
Falcone- Did you not hire those clowns?
Twag- I did.
Maroni- Good job there Twag, there they are, going rogue and near burning the damn cop house to the ground!
Twag- They went freelance after-
Maroni- Yeah, yeah, after Dent and Blackgate, that's not the point. We put you in charge of monitoring them, they were your people!
Twag- Don Falcone, Bressi-
Falcone- To hell with Bressi, we're talking about you! You don't think we have enough on our backs? Two years of Holiday murders! All I ask is for my people to do their jobs. And to man up and accept their responsibilities to this organisation! And now, I find out, that you're not even a gangster.
*Gaige spits out his salt water*
Gaige- Excuse me?!
Carson- Hey now, Mr Falcone-
Falcone- That's *Don* Falcone imbecile. Sit down.
*Carson stands stunned for a second, then slowly and pathetically collapses back into his chair.*
Falcone- This won't do Twag. I expect honesty here.
Twag- Give me another chance, please!
Falcone- To hire another freak?
*Carson looks ready to argue but closes his mouth, defeated*
Falcone- Get this idiot out of my sight.
*The mobster, caked in darkness, smiles sadistically, to Twag's horror*
Mobster- My pleasure.
========
*Now, Twag's apartment. He's lying there, bruised, broken but alive, he's barely conscious of course, but enough to know he's not alone. Two voices, one, a woman, Spanish perhaps? The other, high and cold without mirth or joy. The woman, notices him stirring, speaks again*
Flores- He's awake. Hey baby.
*"Baby", that must make her Tarantula, there was a woman with a libido that The King of Cats would be envious of. The other would then be Onomatopoeia, barely paying attention, strumming his fingers on the desk*
Ono- te-tum te-tum te-tum te-tum te-tum te-tum te-tum
Flores- Baby, who hurt you?
Ono- te-tum te-tum te-tum te-tum
Flores- Quiet Ono.
*Twag heard a noise, a "flip", he could imagine that Ono had just thrown a rude gesture at her*
Flores- You do that again, I'll cut it off.
Ono- Oof.
Twag- Tarantula, Flores.
Flores- Yes baby, anything.
Twag- Wasp, it was Wasp. He did this.
*Ono "speaks." Mockingly*
Ono- Wah wah wah waaaaah.
Twag- Find Wasp... kill the bastard.
*With a flourish, Ono puts on the TV*
Ono- Click.
========
*The Lost Property Room- Arkham Asylum. Having been notified of Twag's raid, Gar and Drury have to make do with the dusty helmets, torn gloves and ridiculous gadgets left behind by Gotham's worst (and "worst") criminals. Gar fiddles with a heat gun, one of Blaze's presumably, while Drury searches for something resembling his costume. At last he emerges, draped in about a dozen scarfs, triumphantly holding an old mask*
Drury- There! I knew I left one here! Purple too!
*Gar nods, then returns to the heat gun. Drury, seeing there was little chance of conversation, begins his search for functioning wings. Finally satisfied, Gar speaks up*
Gar- So.
Drury- Hmm? What is it?
Gar- It's... y'know... why are we doing this Drury?
Drury- Because we're good people.
Gar- Ah. But are we? Am I -? You're doing it for your brother, for me. Neither of us are doing it for the betterment of society, Hugo Strange is a combination of every mad scientist ever. I'm personally doing it because... because... Because you have an annoying habit of speaking for my behalf!
*Drury clasps a red belt, Polka Dot Man's, around his waist*
Drury- ... Gar, I know that you are a good person.
Gar- Ugh.
Drury- I'm serious! You fought against the Society didn't you?
Gar- For all of three seconds
Drury- Yet, when it came down to it, when you had to choose, you chose to take down Volcana, the woman you loved, for the greater good. That's hero material.
*Gar drops his gloves and glances at Drury*
Gar- You... You know what you are? A sappy, sentimental, lightbulb-fucking hippie.
*Drury bows his head for a few moments*
Drury- Was there a point to that rant or did you just want to hurt my feelings?
Gar- What I'm trying to say is, if I die, well, chances are you'd die first-
Drury- Again, thanks
Gar- You're welcome. Now, on the off chance my expectations are somehow subverted and *I* kick the bucket, you better burn down Gotham in my honour.
Drury- Why?
Gar- Eh, sounds fun. And alluring... What's the plan?
Drury- We'll make it up as we go along.
Gar- Oh! Oh! Some things never change...
Drury- Meaning?
Gar- You and your "plans" they either don't work, or you don't have one to begin with!
Drury- *stuffing a penguin in his bag* The Cobb plan worked.
Gar- That wasn't a plan, you played charades and ate cake.
Drury- I won. And the crumble was great
Gar- Tockman knows his bakes, yeah, but- What were we talking about?
Drury- Crumb- Plans. We were talking about plans
Gar- Right. And your lack of them.
...
Drury- You know Tockman gave me the recipe.
Gar- Now you tell me.
Drury- Heh.
Gar- Hey, shut it ... It wasn't your speech that did it y'know, that changed my mind, just so you don't get any ideas.
Drury- My speeches are always great!
Gar- Yeah, yeah.
Drury- Miranda likes 'em.
Gar- She told you this when?
Drury- Every time we- son of a bitch
Gar- That's what I thought. C'mon, let's save that creep
*Gar, fully dressed now, pats Drury on the back and rejoins the GCPD officers in the hallway*
Drury- She said she liked my speeches...
Batman: Batman to all units. Report in.
Nightwing: East tower reporting.
Red Robin: West tower here.
…..
Batman: South tower, report in.
…….
Batman: What’s going on, Alfred?
Alfred: Difficult to say, sir. I’ll keep trying to connect you.
Batman: Let me know the moment you do.
Red Robin: Is everything alright, Bruce?
Batman: We can’t raise the Outlaws. Hopefully it’s just an equipment fault. East tower, give me a status report.
Batgirl: East tower is offline. Toxin concentration is dropping rapidly. All being well it’ll be harmless within the hour.
Batman: West tower?
Red Robin: There were complications but we managed to get it offline.
Batman: And Ubu?
Talia: ….Neutralised.
The slight hesitation by Talia tells me exactly what is meant by ‘neutralised’. Dead, presumably. If not then fatally wounded. If it hasn’t been too long since he was last exposed to the pit then it’s possible he’ll live but if not then he’ll be dead soon enough. Assuming that Talia hasn’t lost her touch.
Batman: Restrained?
Talia: Neutralised.
A far more clear and forceful declaration that the first time. That all but confirms that he's most likely dead. Talia wouldn’t have repeated her statement so firmly were she unsure.
Batman: Understood.
Nighwing: I take it this means the north tower is offline as well.
Batman: Affirmative. The League is moving to phase two. Having split us up across Gotham they’ve accomplished the goal that the gas was intended to distract us from.
Red Robin: They’ve sprung him?
Batman: Most likely.
Batgirl: That doesn’t sound like a definitive yes….
Nightwing: They’ll have tripped the cave’s motions sensors, that’s how he knows they’ve freed him.
Talia: If that’s the case, Beloved, they’ll be coming for you.
Batman: That’s what I’m counting on. In the meantime, the League will be moving to cripple the city so it’s unable to stop the Arkham inmates once they’re set free.
Nightwing Arkham? Why do they want to release the inmates at Arkham?
Red Robin: To do their dirty work for them. Why dirty your hands when there’s a bunch of psychos willing to do it for you.
Batgirl: Not to mention it avoids drawing too much attention to themselves. Helps them to remain the shadows where they’re most comfortable.
Nightwing: Then let’s draw them out. How long will it take you guys to make it to Arkham?
Batman: You’re not going to Arkham.
Nightwing: What?
Batgirl: You can’t be serious?
Batman: The Outlaws will deal with Arkham. I need the pair of you to reinforce the GCPD and secure the lockup.
Batgirl: You think they’re going to target the GCPD?
Talia: They’d be foolish not to. With our numbers so small in comparison to theirs, the only way we could hope to contain a breakout at Arkham is with the GCPD’s assistance. If they truly want to break us, they’ll try to take the GCPD out of the picture.
Batgirl: Dad…
Nightwing: We’re on it.
Red Robin: What about me?
Batman: I’m feeding co-ordinates to a cache near your location, there should be equipment there that you’ll both need to reinforce Selina at Gotham General.
Red Robin: What about you?
Batman: …..
Nightwing: You can’t be serious.
Batman: I have to try and talk to him. Maybe, just maybe…
Talia: Bruce, you can’t negotiate with someone when you’re at their mercy. You of all people should understand that……..
She pauses for a moment before deciding on what her next course of action will be. If you know her as well as I do, what she says next doesn’t come as a surprise.
Talia: I’m coming with you
Batgirl: Are you both suicidal?
Alfred: Sir, we both know there’s a good chance that Ra’s set those alarms off intentionally. If you go there alone…
Talia: He’s not going alone. I’m coming with you, Bruce.
Batman: No, you’re needed at Gotham General, Talia.
Talia: I’m not letting you kill yourself. I’m going with you.
Red Robin: Selina and I can secure Gotham General. If you’re going to face him, you shouldn’t be going alone.
Batman: I’ll be fine. Our priority has to be stopping them from destroying Gotham.
Nightwing: And how are we going to do that if you’re dead?
Talia: I’m on my way to you now. Don’t you dare move until I’m there.
Batman: ….
There’s nothing I can say to change their minds. In some ways I’m impressed by their determination and also proud of it. Taking a stand and doing what they believe is right. Mother and Father would have been proud of them.
Batgirl: Alright, Dick and I are getting ready to head over to GCPD. It’ll take us some time to get there. Tim?
Red Robin: The cache’s location has just been uploaded to my cowl, I’m heading there now before rendezvousing with Selina at Gotham General.
Alfred: Ms. Al-Ghul I’ve dispatched the Batwing to your position. It should be with you in a few moments.
Talia: Roger, bunker. Any word from the Outlaws?
Alfred: Nothing yet, I’ll keep trying and relay their orders to them once I make contact.
Nightwing: Let us know if you still can’t get through to them. Nightwing out.
Red Robin: I’ll let you know when I’m at Gotham General, Al. Red Robin out.
Alfred: The Batwing is arriving at your position now, Ms. Al-Ghul.
Talia: I see it.
Alfred: I’ve pre-programmed the flight path to take you straight to Master Bruce’s location. It should take you a couple of minutes at most to reach him.
Talia: Thank you, Alfred.
Alfred: Master Bruce, Ms. Al-Ghul will be with you in a few of minutes. Is there anything you need from the bunker?
Batman: How is Lucius’ project coming along?
Alfred: Slower than he’d like. He’s only managed to synthesise 3 grams of the stuff so far. At best he reckons it’s only enough for one dose.
Batman: Tell him to keep trying. Until then I’ll rely on Hephaestus’ sword.
Alfred: What happens if he can’t make more? How are going to use it if that’s all we’re going to have available?
Batman: You know the answer, Alfred.
Alfred: But are you sure about it, Master Bruce? With how reliant he is upon Lazarus to survive it’s possible that using it may well kill him.
Batman: It’s a risk I’ll have to take.
Alfred: And are you prepared to live with those consequences?
I hesitate to give a response. In many ways that counts as a response itself. Hesitation always highlights uncertainty. Often, it’s welcoming just as it is in this case. My reluctance to answer that question shows that despite all he’s done, I’m still not sure whether or not I can bring myself to kill him.
If nothing else, it’s a sign of progress since my time with the League. When Talia brought me to Nanda Parbat I was young, foolish and driven by nothing but pure rage. It’s likely that had Talia and I not grown so close during my time there that I may well have ended up killing Dusan and that man for my final trial.
To a person on the outside though, it probably looks like I was a man of principle. Standing by my beliefs, choosing not to take a life when it was so easy to do so.
But the truth is anything but. Were it not thanks to Talia I wouldn’t have had the courage to stand up to Ra’s. Does that mean I might have gone through with the final trial? Impossible to say. Which terrifies me. That’s also why I never describe myself as a hero. A hero stands by their beliefs and does what they feel is right, regardless of the consequences. That I might have compromised those ideals under difficult circumstances makes me anything but.
Alfred: Batwing inbound.
I activate the tracker built into my gauntlets and signal the Batmobile to rendezvous at my location. Given how I’ll be walking into the lions den, it’s best to have a contingency in place for when my attempts to talk Ra’s down inevitably fail. The Batwing comes to a halt next to my position and Talia quickly jumps out of it landing next to me. Her hair flows gently in the breeze caused by the Batwing’s turbines as it comes loose from its hair tie.
She always did look beautiful when her hair was loose and free flowing.
Once it’s clear that she’s safely disembarked, the Batwing departs to an elevated position over Gotham in order to survey the entire city. Whilst I’m sceptical of how much good it will do, hopefully the Batwing may be able to track the League’s above ground movements. It may give us a hint as to what their next move will be.
Batman: You alright?
Talia: Yeah. Are you?
Batman: I’ll live………how do you feel?
Talia: About what?
Batman: Ubu.
Talia: I….I don’t feel anything….and yet… in some ways…I feel good…and that horrifies me.
Batman: Are you sure he’s dead?
Talia: Yes…no….maybe…I don’t know. I didn’t mean to it just happened.
Batman: What did you do?
Talia: He was….taunting me…I had him at my mercy and yet I did it without hesitation. In the blink of an eye I….I cut his throat with my blade…..and I don’t know why.
The Talia I first met would be disgusted with the Talia that stands before me right now. Uncertain, unbalanced….questioning her beliefs….certainly not words that you would expect to be used in reference to a child of Ra’s Al-Ghul. No wonder her and Ra’s find themselves on different sides of this battle. I wasn’t the only one to change during my time at the League.
Hopefully it changed us both for the better.
Before I say anything else, I walk up and wrap my arms around her in order to comfort her.
This mess of emotions she’s feeling are almost identical to the ones that raced through me when I chose to return to Gotham without her.
Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Disgust. Self-hatred. I felt them all on my flight back to Gotham from Kahndaq. For the longest time I wondered whether I made the greatest mistake of my life that night. Having been confronted with Damian and knowing all that Talia had to go through following my departure, confirmed it.
Talia: What’s wrong with me, Bruce? Why am I so much like my father?
Batman: You’re not. You’re better than him. We both are.
Talia: You might be. But what makes you so sure about me?
Batman: Look at you, here you are upset because you took a life. The Talia who brought me in to the League of Assassins wouldn’t have given it a second thought. If that doesn’t mean something I don’t know what does. Your father wouldn’t care had he been the one to do it.
Talia: But how does that make me any different from him?
Batman: If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from so many years in Gotham, it’s that how a person responds to doing something wrong tells you everything about them. Your regret, your pain at losing Damian to Ra’s’ crusade, to me that shows you’ve changed so much since we first met. You’re nothing like your father. Not anymore.
Talia: And you, beloved?
Batman: Me?
Talia: What is it that makes you sure that you’re different to him?
Batman: I hurt you…..just as he did.
Talia: You did what you thought was right.
Batman: So does he. But unlike him, not a day goes by where I don’t regret what I did. I never should have left you. Everything he’s done to you since then….it’s all my fault.
Talia says nothing for a few moments. For a while I come to suspect that she reaches the same conclusion. But then, she holds me closer and kisses me.
Talia: All of this is our fault. What has happened, and what will happen is because of the choices we made all those years ago. But being here now…..with you….there’s nothing I would change.
For a while I consider saying the same back to her. But that wouldn’t be true, and I could never lie to her. Instead I simply hold her close as the alert goes off on my gauntlet informing me that the Batmobile is almost here.
Talia: No matter what happens, Beloved. Please know that I did love you……I still do….
Batman: ……Me too.
We continue to hold each other in our loving embrace until the the second alert from the Batmobile goes on my gauntlet. It’s here. With that Talia and I drop down to it and load ourselves into it. Precious moments like those rarely come around in my life.
If only I had more time to savour them…
12:00 am
GCPD Building
Gordon goes into the building and looks around to find Bullock and Bilbao. He then remembered they were at the Lab, he ran down to the lab to see if there was any progress on the mysterious footprint…
Bullock: “Yeah the Bat was there and everything, he then pushed him off the railing and he fell into that…”
Bullock was talking to Bilbao when he saw Gordon walk in front of him.
Bullock: “Ahem, Hey Gordon, did the judge sign it?”
Gordon: “No he didn’t, something was very weird about the Judge he-”
Bilbao: “Hey we have somewhat of good news”
Bilbao handed Gordon a name of a shoe manufacturer
Gordon: “Matthias Co.”
Bilbao: “Yeah, we examined the footprint on the file and traced it back to Matthias.”
Gordon: “Long ago, Matthias had some ties with Sionis, we’re on a good track.”
Bilbao: “First we need to make sure that Mr Jalone has some ties with Matthias or Sionis.”
Gordon stared at the ceiling looking for an answer, then he remembered something in Jalone’s file.
Gordon: “I’ll be back in a second.”
Gordon ran out of the room and back into the evidence locker. He searched through the files and found Jalone’s file and ran back into the lab.
Bilbao: “What did you find?”
Gordon: “Guess who used to work at Matthias Co before joining the False Facers.”
Bullock: “Jimmy Jalone?”
While they were talking, Bullock was eating a turkey sub in the corner, ignoring most of what Gordon and Bilbao was talking about. He got up and walked over to Gordon.
Bullock: “Cause I tried to interrogate Jimmy this morning and got spat on, accused, and harassed.”
Gordon: “I’ve heard what happened, that’s why I will be-”
Bullock: “No need, I can handle it. This idiot is going to get demolished.”
Bullock grabbed the evidence and walked to the interrogation room.
Gordon: “Ok, Bilbao come with me to the interrogation room and-”
Sarah: “Gordon!”
Sarah Essen Gordon, blond hair, lab coat, lab specialist, and doctor. Gordon’s wife.
Gordon: “On second thought Bilbao, I’ll meet you at the interrogation room.”
Bilbao: “Understood.”
Bilbao left the room, leaving a silence between the two Gordons.
Gordon: “So how are the kids, I’m sorry I haven't been-”
Sarah slapped Gordon across the face, making Gordon’s face twitch in pain.
Sarah: “I haven’t seen you for 2 days, you never called me and never responded to any of my texts.
Gordon stood there shocked.
Sarah: “I have been worried that you were dead until officer Bilbao, and detective Bullock came to me asking me to analyse this footprint.”
Gordon: “Sarah I’m so sorry, I have 4 days to close this case and-”
Sarah: “You know what, we’ll talk later, I have work to do. If you need anything call me.”
Sarah walked away leaving Gordon speechless. He thought about the past 2 months, in which he hasn’t spent much time with her and instead working on cases. He shrugged it off, and walked to the interrogation room
12:10 am
Interrogation room
Bullock: “You’re going to be in here for a very long time Mr. Jalone, possibly forever.”
Bullock grasped the table tightly in frustration, Mr. Jalone is sitting in the chair, relaxed and comfortable.
Jalone: “Wow, you probably need a donut to satisfy yourself.”
Bullock: “Shut up you stupid little...”
Bullock kept calling Jalone many names. Meanwhile, behind the double sided glass, Gordon walks into the room with Bilbao sitting and watching Bullock go insane.
Gordon: “Did he confess?”
Bilbao: “Hasn’t had time, Bullock is too busy yelling at the guy.”
Gordon: “Has he said anything regarding the evidence to Jalone?”
Bilbao: “Nope.”
Gordon: “Is there a valid reason for why you didn’t stop this.”
Bilbao: “No authority?”
Gordon shrugs it off and goes up to the microphone.
Gordon: “Bullock, knock it off.”
Bullock stopped yelling.
Bullock: “Fine, I was just telling Jalone about my opinion on him.”
Jalone: “Already knew when you first spoke with that ugly face earlier today.”
Bullock grabbed the evidence
Bullock: “So earlier today, Lieutenant Gordon found a shoe print on the Roman Sionis file-”
Jalone: “Look I was stuck in a cell for the past 8 hours, I couldn’t have done it.”
Bullock: “Shut up and let me finish, we tracked the shoe print back to the manufacturer and found out that it was from a company called Mathias. Co, which you started working there for the past 10 years.”
Jalone kept his face in a stern expression, remaining unsurprised from the information.
Jalone: “Yeah, I worked there. But how is that related to anything I’ve done”
Bullock: “A couple years ago, Sionis and Matthias had a trade of employees, they did this to have moles in every organization and company in Gotham. And I’m pretty sure you were a part of the False Facers before you started working there. You make a likely suspect for the mole list in Gotham, which could add another 20 years to your possible 20 year sentence (depending on how the trial goes), but if you help us track down any evidence, we will limit your sentence for 10 years instead of 40.”
Jalone ponders the idea, but still has a stern face.
Jalone: “Fine, I have very little info, but enough. Like you said, The False Facers have at least one mole in every organization in Gotham, and that's how you will find any evidence regarding anything of the False Facers doing. Pieces of evidence are scattered throughout every building in Gotham. Specifically there is one building where most of it’s placed, which you will have to figure out yourself.”
Bullock sits up straight, shocked on the information brought upon him
Bullock: “Why are you telling us this?”
Jalone: “ Because the trick is if I’m lying or not, I was locked in a cell for 8 hours, I could’ve made all of that up. Alll the evidence could be locked in a bank in one of the biggest Gotham corporations, or it could already be gone, burnt in fire of Gotham’s undoing. You decide.
Bullock stands up and walks out the door with the evidence in hand, he meets up with Bilbao and Gordon.
Bullock: “You think he’s lying.”
Bilbao: “I think it’s probably scattered around the city, I mean who would put all their files all in one place?”
Gordon: “Black Mask; He has always played it safe for his past crimes, one of the reasons he hasn’t been caught yet. Mask is very paranoid and won’t be comfortable with all of the files scattered around, they have to be in the Sionis building.”
Bullock and Bilbao stand there, thinking about the idea.
Bullock: “So then, what’s the plan?”
Gordon ponders and then looks them straight in the eye.
Gordon: “We’re going to break into Sionis Industries.”
Bilbao and Bullock stand there, shocked.
Gordon: “Meet me in my office at 3:00.”
Gordon grabs his coat and walks out the door, slamming it shut...
Batgirl: You will suffer for an eternity.
Nightwing: Man, if this how you react to winning I’d hate to see how you'd handle defeat.
Needless to say, Barbara beat me to GCPD.
Comfortably.
I’m never going to hear the end of this now, am I?
Batgirl: I’d handle it a lot better than you are right now.
Nightwing: Oh? I’m not handling it well am I?
Batgirl: Oh dear, is someone getting sarcastic? Oooft, you really don't like that you lost.
Nightwing: I didn’t lose, you just….won….
Batgirl: Well that’s an interesting way to rephrase it. Last time I checked, if you didn't win a race then you lost it.
Nightwing: Alright, I get it say no more.
Rather than say another word I decide to play a joke of my own on Barbara. She might have won the race, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t have some fun in this situation.
Without saying a word, I get down on one knee and place my right hand behind me. Her eyes light up with what I presume to be horror as she thinks I’m about to ask the question again.
Batgirl: Dick, I don’t think this is the right time to…
Wait, she didn’t immediately say no. Maybe I really should ask her…no....too late. My big mouth can’t resist the opportunity to tease her.
Nightwing: Your majesty! I, your humble servant, await your command!
-------------------------------------------
Oh great. Here I was thinking that he was actually going to do it again. Well what did you expect Babe? Did you honestly expect him to do something nice for a change? I guess that makes you the real fool in all of this after all, Barbara.
Well…
I guess all I can do now is play along. After all, why should Dick get to have all the fun?
Batgirl: Arise, my loyal subject. We have much work to do.
Nightwing: Yes, my Queen!
-----------------------------------------
As I climb back on to both feet, Barbara turns to look at the GCPD. She’s most likely looking at the exterior of the building to see if there’s anything out of place. If the League are here already, they’ll likely have decided to infiltrate the building covertly before they make their move. From what Bruce used to tell me, there were only three ways to enter the GCPD:
-Through the ventilation system
-From the sewer system
-Through the front door
Given how Jim’s already expecting a possible attack on the building, the doors will be under heavy guard. So, if the League are already here, they’ll be using either the sewer tunnels underneath, or the ventilation system. Well assuming that they're not crazy. Then again, how can we truly know if they're crazy or not? Maybe that Lazarus stuff messes with your head if you take too much of it.
Come on Grayson, focus. You've got a job to do. Barbara seems to be confirming if any of the ventilation shaft covers have been tampered with. A smart move. If none of them have been removed, then that means they’ll probably be coming from below.
Nightwing: What is your command, my Queen?
Batgirl: There’s no obvious signs of tampering on any of the ventilation system covers, so if they’re already here they haven’t snuck in that way.
Nightwing: Perhaps they tried the front door, your majesty.
Batgirl: Knock it off. If they did try the front door then they would have been disappointed. According to the GCPD’s central computer, the main entrance’s security barriers are down so no-one would be able get in even if they wanted to.
Nightwing: And the roof?
Batgirl: It’s locked too. Looks like if they’re going to have any hopes of getting in to the building then it’s going to have to be by the…that’s odd.
Odd? What kind of odd? Wonder Woman’s love of ice cream type of odd? Or a bunch of crazy ninjas down in the sewers of Gotham kind of odd?
Nightwing: Something going on in the sewers?
Batgirl: No it’s the rooftop door. It was just unlocked.
Nightwing: By who?
Before Barbara can load up the I.D tag of the officer who unlocked the door, we’re both startled as a large floodlight on the GCPD shines on us. It takes me a moment to realise that it’s actually the Batsignal and there's only one person who uses the Batsignal.
Jim Gordon (with a megaphone): If you two are done flirting, we could use your help.
Oh Jimbo. Hearing your gravelly voice again after all these years is music to my ears. Would it be weird to hug him in costume?
Nightwing (shouting): We’ll be right there!
As he turns off the Batsignal and begins to slowly move it back into its resting position, I turn to look at Barbara who seems hesitant for some reason.
Nightwing: Are you alright?
Batgirl: I’m fine, it’s just…
Nightwing: The arm?
Batgirl: How did you know?
The honest answer is I didn’t. It was just a guess, but it’s not it’s a difficult guess to make. Barbara’s been really hesitant discussing her father these last two or so weeks, especially after his run in with the so called ‘Crimson Knight’. For a while, I couldn’t figure out why. But seeing Jim with a metal hook where his right hand should be…. it’s…. difficult to ignore. Back in the first few months as Robin, knowing that there were good cops like Jim out there on the streets, and not just cops bought off by Falcone, made me feel safer going out onto the streets of Gotham at night.
Now though, seeing him struggle to move the batsignal back into position with just his left hand….. it’s difficult to not feel a little uncomfortable. If one member of the League can make a man as strong as Jim look vulnerable, what the hell can an army of them do to all of us?
Nightwing: I always know you.
That comment makes Barbara smile. Nice one, Grayson. With that, I offer to let her jump over to GCPD first, but she declines so instead I leap across on to the police station rooftop. Barbara follows almost immediately behind me. We both land next to the Batsignal as Jim picks his cup of coffee up off a nearby table.
Nightwing: Commissioner.
Jim Gordon: Nightwing. Batgirl. You two picked a hell of a night to come back to Gotham.
Nightwing: It would seem so. There’s nothing special going on tonight is there?
Jim Gordon: Nothing more than the usual chaos.
Batgirl: Are you and your officers alright? Was anyone infected when the toxin was dispersed?
Jim Gordon: We were lucky enough to be inside when it was released into the city. Can’t say the same for most of the National Guard.
Nightwing: How many are dead?
Jim Gordon: It’s still too early to tell. I’ve got what officers I can spare helping out at the hospitals, but from what little I've heard, it doesn’t sound good.
Batgirl: Damn it.
Jim Gordon: So…Batman thinks these psychos want to attack the GCPD?
Nightwing: Yeah. Apparently, their aim is to cripple the city so it’s unable to stop a breakout at Arkham.
Jim Gordon: A breakout at Arkham!? Why the hell didn’t he tell me about that !?
Batgirl: Don't worry. We’ve got people working on it.
Jim Gordon: Working on it?
Nightwing: They’ll make sure there’s no breakout. Right now, we need to focus on making sure the GCPD is secure.
Batgirl: Has there been anything unusual in the last few days?
Jim Gordon: For Gotham? Not real. Although actually….
Nightwing: What is it?
Jim Gordon: You two better come inside.
Batgirl: Commissioner?
Jim Gordon: There’s something I think you both need to see…
6:40
Sionis Industries
Black Mask and Gordon stood still, eyeing each other as Black Mask held his gun to his face.
Black Mask: “Please, sit down. I wouldn’t want you to be so stressed when you are about to be killed.”
Gordon stood completely still.
Black Mask: “Fair enough, slide your gun on the floor, and other weapons.”
Gordon pulled his gun out of his holster and slid it on the floor towards him.
Black Mask: “Thank you, it’s been a while hasn’t it Gordon.”
Gordon: “2002”
Black Mask went over to grab a drink and started to walk circles around him.
Black Mask: “Yeah long time ago, though I have been watching you, trying to catch us for a while now. The many times you stormed this exact place for the file, the file that would put us behind bars.”
Gordon: “Why do you still have it?”
Black Mask: “In case the Facers or one of them turn on me, which I don’t think will happen, but if the time comes, then I could give you guys all the evidence to put them behind bars, all excluding me. Anonymously of course.”
Gordon: “Seems like a dumb idea to keep it.”
Black Mask: “Well, better be safe than sorry.”
Gordon: “What are you going to do to me?”
Black Mask stopped to a halt and looked at Gordon.
Black Mask: “I’m going to let you go, after a tell you a little something.”
Black Mask went over to his deck, slapped his drink down and sat in his chair, still pointing the gun at Gordon.
Black Mask: “I believe Bullock said that the 54th floor magically was open, am I wrong?”
Gordon: “No.”
Black Mask: “And do you think that was a coincidence?”
Gordon started to ponder and think about it, and then realized something. Black Mask knew about the break in.
Gordon: “How did you find out? Bilbao, and Bullock are the only ones that know.”
Black Mask: “I’m not going to tell you, which is the fun of it because the rumor of two moles in GCPD are true.”
Gordon: “Wait…”
Black Mask: “That’s right, Mr Jalone, wasn’t lying after all. I knew that he would get caught, and told him to say that, which made you think of checking the files, you found the footprint, you figured the connection between me and Matthias co, which brought you here.”
Ideas and thoughts started racing through Gordon’s head.
Black Mask: “And I’ll tell you, all the information that I got from the building was not by Jalone, but from one of your own. And that’s the fun part, you don’t know who the moles are. It could be Bullock, it could be Bilbao, it could be anyone in the entire building, and you don’t know.”
Gordon started to get frustrated with him, and ran toward him in full fury. Black Mask aimed his gun toward his legs and shot his knee. BAM. Gordon fell down on the ground in pain as Black Mask kneeled down and held his face.
Black Mask: “You are going to have to leave now. I told you everything I can without spoiling the surprise.”
Black Mask let go of his face.
Gordon: “I’m not leaving until you're dead.”
Black Mask: “i’ve technically haven't done anything wrong, so you can't do anything to me , though I can’t say it applies to your detectives currently in a mexican standoff at the GCPD building.”
Gordon was stunned and looked angrily at him
Black Mask: “I sent an anonymous message about the moles in the GCPD. From what I’m hearing, it sounds pretty serious. You can either kill me, and break the law,or let all your detectives kill themselves, or let me go and try save them. Your choice.
Black Mask went over Gordon's gun and threw it towards the main elevator. He then walked towards the secret elevator and pushed the button. Gordon inched over to the main elevator to grab the gun. The secret elevator door opened and Black Mask walked in.
Black Mask: “Have a hell of a time.”
The door closed and Gordon laid on the ground, struggling to get up. He then unraveled his tie and tied it around his leg, stopping the bleeding from the bullet wound. He got up and wobbled toward the main elevator and hit the button. The door opened and he fell in, and then hit the ground floor button. After a couple of moments the main elevator door opened and Bullock sat there at the desk with the guards unconscious on the floor.
Bullock: “Hey Gordon, I just took the guards out and- holy shit!”
Bullock ran towards Gordon and grabbed his arm.
Gordon: “We have to get to the GCPD, everyone there is at gunpoint.”
Bullock: “Wait what, how did that happen?”
Gordon: “No time to explain, we need to go.”
They both stumbled out of the building with Bilbao waiting in the car. They both got into the car.
Bilbao: “Geez what happen Gordon-”
Gordon: “No time get to the building.”
Bilbao: “What I-”
Gordon: “NOW! I’ll explain everything in the car.”
Bilbao started the car and headed towards the GCPD building.
7:20
GCPD Building
The 3 of them close the car doors and head into the building. With her hands on her head, Stacy was terrified.
Stacy: “Gordon, thank god you're here, They are all-”
Gordon: “I heard, get out of here while you still can, things might escalate.”
Gordon, Bilbao, and Bullock hear a lot of talking in the main room, they run in armed and ready, and see the room full of officers, pointing their guns at each other, and arguing. Among the officers, are Loeb, Blake, and Montoya.
Loeb: “Everyone calm down, there is not a mole in the GCPD.”
Montoya: “How do you know that, though the slip was anonymous, it could be right..”
Blake: But It could be fake. So let’s put our guns down so we can figure this out.
Loeb then sees Gordon, Bilbao, and Bullock standing there
Loeb: “Thank god you’re here, please talk some sense into these men.”
Gordon started looking at Loeb and noticed something. Loeb wasn’t looking at him, but directly at Bilbao, who was standing there, sweating heavily, reaching for his gun. Gordon looked at Bilbao and Loeb and whipped out his gun and pointed it straight at Loeb’s head.
Loeb: “Gordon-”
Gordon: “I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
Bullock: “Gordon stop this isn’t right!”
Gordon: “He may be the mole.”
Bullock: “We don’t know that, so put the gun down. This is what he wants.”
They looked dead eyed at each other
Bullock: “ I’m sorry then.”
Bullock raised his gun and pointed it at Gordon’s head.
Gordon: “Bullock, this isn’t going to help the situation.”
Bullock: “At this point nothing will.”
And so every officer and detective were all pointing their guns at each other, except for one; Bilbao. Loeb started to look at Bilbao, desperate.
Loeb: “Bilbao please end this now! You’re the only one that can end this situation.”
Loeb raised his gun and pointed at Bilbao’s head.
Loeb: “Please, I don’t want to do this.”
Bilbao looked at Loeb, but instead of being afraid, he was stern, while Loeb was terrified.
Bilbao: “Goodbye”
Gordon started thinking as thoughts started racing through his head. Gordon figured out who the mole was, but it was too late. Bilbao raised his gun, clicked back the hammer, and pulled the trigger; BAM. The lights went out and everyone laid on the floor...
So I tried my best to recreate the GCPD Mecha Batsuit from the comics, and I have to say I'm very pleased with the outcome.
See more of my DC Superheroes inspired builds on my Amino profile: aminoapps.com/p/3u4ta
It takes me just under five minutes to ‘stitch’ up both wounds properly enough so that I won’t have to worry about them. Obviously I could have done a better job but we’re already pressed for time as it is. The last thing we need is for one of us to be benched thanks to two lucky swipes with a sword. Barbara’s not going to be happy that it only took me five minutes to sew my wounds up. Hell, I doubt she’d be happy if it took me an hour and I sewed them up properly but that doesn’t matter right now.
She should be dealing with the controls right now and has no-one watching her back. Whilst she’s more than capable of looking after herself, with how things have already gone I don’t want to take more unnecessary risks. Next time we might not be lucky enough to only walk away with a few minor cuts. Holstering my medical kit, I remove a small canister of disinfectant and spray both wounds briefly.
FFffuu…does it sting.
But it also helps to make me more alert. Probably the adrenaline kicking in.
I can’t really tell. Not that it matters anyways, I need to get to Barbara. For all we know the controls could be guarded by twice as many guards as what we just had to deal with, and two on two was difficult enough. Climbing up onto my feet, I holster both of my sticks before locking on to the tracking signal in Barbara’s suit.
Floor 13.
Not suspicious at all.
For those who don’t believe in bad luck….
———————
Batgirl> Batgirl to bunker.
Alfred: Bunker here, go ahead Batgirl.
Batgirl: Tower secured. I need to know what floor the controls are located on so I can shut down the dispersal system.
Alfred: I’ll check the schematics now. Is everything alright there? We haven’t heard from you two in a while.
Batgirl: We had some complications with the people guarding our tower. They’re dealt with now.
Alfred: And Master Grayson?
Batgirl: He’s fine. He took two small injuries but nothing too serious.
Alfred: Are you in need of some medical assistance?
Batgirl: No Alfred, the wounds are just a pair of small cuts and a bit of his pride. Nothing to worry about.
Alfred: ……He’s not mending them himself is he?
I can’t help but hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to worry Alfred, but I also don’t want to lie to him.
Batgirl: Umm…how are those schematics looking?
Alfred: Christ, I’d better load some medical supplies into your drop pod as well.
He handled that better than I expected.
Batgirl: What floor do I need, Al?
Alfred: Floor 13. Make your way up there and I’ll have the Batwing deliver the equipment that you’ll need.
Batgirl: Thanks Al, I’ll radio in when I’m there.
Dick’s not going to be happy that Alfred knows I let him loose with the sewing kit again, but that doesn’t matter right now. The longer this tower stays online, the closer the gas gets to GCPD and the more dangerous it gets for Dad and his men. Come on Barb, you need to hurry.
I race out to the staircase and fire my grapple up to the top floor before I start quickly climbing up towards floor 13. If there was any sense to the architecture of this building the top floor would be floor 13, but it isn’t. Floor 13 is barely over half way up the tower. What a weird design choice.
Who designs a building to not have the main controls on either the ground or top floor? Only in Gotham.
——————
Following the signal from Barbara’s suit takes me out into the main stairway of the tower. Old, rusty and poorly maintained. An oddly perfect representation of most of Gotham. Then again, I doubt anyone’s taken much interest in these towers after the Second World War prior to today so it’s no wonder the whole tower is in this state. I’m rather amazed that the dispersal system even works honestly.
Firing my grapple up to the top floor, I begin to climb up towards Barbara’s signal. To my surprise though, I don’t detect her transponder on the top floor as you’d expect but just over half way up the tower. Is this right? What’s she doing there? Surely the controls are up on the top floor, right?
I check the tracker again and it insists that he’s on this floor, so that must be where the controls for the tower are as well. That’s the only rational explanation for what she’s doing there as there’s no chance that she’d have managed to get herself lost.
Oh who am I kidding. Of course they’d build the controls on a random floor for no clear reason, of course they would. This is Gotham after all. Sensible and logical just aren’t words that can be used to describe the thought process behind most of this city. In some ways it’s oddly reassuring to see that it’s no different for this tower either.
Consistency on a night like tonight is unusually comforting.
Landing on the 13th floor I retract my grapple and slowly make my way towards Barbara’s signal. So far, it’s all quiet. That’s a good sign. It suggests that the two guards we faced on the ground floor were the only ones guarding the tower. One less thing to worry about. Suddenly, I jump as I hear a loud crashing noise coming from the room where Barbara’s signal is coming from.
Crap, is it the League?
Batgirl: Alright Alfred, I’ve got the device. What do I do now?
Oh…..
Maybe it’s not the League….
False alarm.
Clearly this Lucius’ solution to the gas being delivered to us. Barbara must have radioed in to the bunker when she left me to deal with my wounds. No sense interrupting her, I’ll just enter quietly so as to not disturb her…
—————-
Batgirl: I really hope the next person tasked with building something in Gotham is a fan of logical construction.
Alfred: I’m afraid that will be unlikely. Mayor West has put all building projects on hold until he can appoint his full cabinet. I doubt you’d approve of his housing pick.
Batgirl: He’s a fan of this erratic style?
Alfred: That would be an understatement.
Batgirl: Well as long as he doesn’t decide to move to Bludhaven any time soon…
Cautiously, I slowly open the control room door with a pair of batarangs at the ready in my right hand. All clear.
Batgirl: Alfred, I’ve got eyes on the controls.
Alfred: Excellent, the Batwing should be with you in just under two minutes. How are the controls looking?
Batgirl: Rusty. But they look useable.
Alfred: Then we’re having more luck than Master Timothy.
Batgirl: What’s happened with him?
Alfred: His controls were sabotaged. Lucius is talking him through a manual way to shut down the tower with out them.
Batgirl: Nice to know Dick and I aren’t the only ones having bad luck tonight. So how do I go about shutting this thing down?
Alfred: You should be able to shutdown your tower’s dispersal system from there, that will stop it from pumping out more of the gas into Gotham. The Batwing is en-route to deliver what you’ll need to neutralise the gas that has yet to be dispersed.
Batgirl: Roger, commencing shutdown sequence now.
From what I can make out, the system itself is fairly simple just as you’d expect really. This stuff would have been state of the art when it was installed in this tower. By today’s standards it’s old and dated but since it was put in place in the early 40’s there should be no failsafes. In this case, its simplicity is a product of its time
Though it takes me a minute or so to properly figure out the controls, once I realise how the system works it takes me only a couple of seconds to begin the shutdown sequence. Easy enough.
Alfred: Drop pod inbound.
I step back from the controls as the familiar sound of the Batwing’s engines echo faintly in the distance before they’re drowned out by the loud crash of the drop pod landing next to me. After a quick identity check, the pod opens to reveal a device similar to what I remember seeing in Bruce’s archive back in the Batcave.
What’s Lucius doing using old Scarecrow equipment?
Batgirl: Alright Alfred, I’ve got the device. What do I do now?
Alfred: The device is loaded with a concentrated sample of the counteragent for the toxin. According to Lucius, all you need to do is to empty the contents into the loading chamber and it should neutralise the gas for you.
Batgirl: That sounds far too easy.
Alfred: Trust me, take easy whenever you can. I doubt we’re going to be so lucky as the night continues.
Batgirl: Lucius really does out do himself at times. I hope Bruce pays him well.
Alfred: He pays him more than he pays me.
Batgirl: You should ask for a raise.
Alfred: Maybe I will.
Batgirl: I don’t think anyone can say that you haven’t earned it.
Alfred: You’d be amazed how resourceful he can be at getting out of things when he wants to.
Batgirl: Or getting rid of things when he wants to.
Alfred: I have to go, Master Bruce is radioing in. If you need me…
Batgirl: It’s alright Alfred, I’ve got it from here. Batgirl out.
Neutralising the gas is relatively simple really, all it takes is five seconds and I manage to empty the contents of the device into the loading chamber and seal it shut again. Mission accomplished. Suddenly I hear faint footsteps behind me.
Ambush!?
I draw a batarang from my belt and jump up in the air, quickly spinning to face the entrance as I do so only to find Dick stood behind.
Nightwing: Woah! Woah! Same team!
God damn it, Dick.
After convincing Roy to call Oliver, we both join the others at the Batcomputer. To our confusion, they all appear horrified by what they’re seeing.
Jason: What’s going on?
Bruce: Ra's has made his move. A gas attack.
I can’t help but notice neither Alfred or Lucius are here. Bruce has probably already got them working on analysing the gas and figuring out a way to neutralise it.
Dick: This….this is horrible….
Scarlett: Do you think any of the national guard managed to make it to safety?
Jason: I don’t know, Scarlett. I really don’t know.
I feel Scarlett grab hold of my hand as I give my answer. The reality about just what we’re about to face seems to be hitting home for her.
Tim: Do we know just what’s in this gas?
Bruce: Alfred and Lucius are still working to analyse the gas and synthesize a neutralising agent.
Roy: This isn’t right. What sort of monster gases people without a second thought?
Barbra: One who believes himself above all others. A man who thinks it his right to decide who deserves to live, and who deserves to die.
Bruce: This cannot be allowed to continue.
Dick: What are you suggesting?
Bruce: The gas is toxic if inhaled, but the tests that have already been performed show it is unable to corrode a gas mask and rebreather.
Tim: You’re saying we go out there and try to shut the towers down ourselves?
Bruce: Without a neutralising agent, there is little more we can do than simply prevent the gas from covering all of Gotham at present. We must ensure that the gas is not able to make it towards the GCPD or Gotham General.
Scarlett: But what about the soldiers? How do we help them?
Bruce doesn’t respond to her question, instead choosing to keep his attention directed solely at the Batcomputer monitor. At first, Scarlett thinks Bruce simply didn’t hear her, but Roy quickly realises what his silence means.
Roy: You’re just going to ignore them? Leave them to die?
I feel Scarlett let go of my hand as Bruce confirms that Roy’s accusation is in fact what he’s planning to do. It’s not like doing so doesn’t upset him. He always views any life he fails to save as blood on his hands. But being the very reason for why all of this chaos has come to Gotham, Dick, Tim and I know just how much he’s probably tearing himself apart on the inside.
Bruce: They’ll all die anyway if we don’t stop this gas from covering all of Gotham.
Scarlett: They’re innocent in all this! This whole attack is only happening because of you! We have to save them!
Jason: Scarlett…
Bruce: We have to prioritise. Say we’re successful, say we save what? Ten of them? How do you then justify saving ten of them and dooming the hundred or so police officers in the GCPD to death? How do you justify to Barbra that her father died needlessly because you chose saving one man over an entire city? How do you justify to Tim that his friend died in Gotham General because you let your emotions overrule your head?
Roy: Ollie would try to save them.
Bruce: I’m no Oliver Queen.
Roy: That’s for sure.
Dick: Thank goodness.
Dick’s attempt to diffuse the situation goes down poorly. It was a worthwhile attempt, but with tensions so high now really isn’t the time to try and make jokes at someone else's expense.
Bruce: Given that the towers cover all four corners of Gotham, we’ll have to divide our forces in order to neutralise them simultaneously.
Barbra: So we split up into teams? Who goes with who?
Bruce: Barbra, you and Dick take the east tower.
Dick: The one closest to GCPD?
Barbra: We’re on it.
Bruce: Jason, you and the Outlaws will take the southern tower.
Jason: Roger.
Bruce is sending three of us to handle one tower? That seems like an odd choice, especially when the numbers divide evenly to make four teams of two.
Roy: Wait, how the hell are we supposed to stop those towers anyways?
Bruce: Alfred will be feeding us all live information including the tower’s schematics when we arrive.
Dick: Good old Alfred.
Tim: So which tower does that leave me with? North or west?
Bruce: You and Talia will take the western tower.
Tim: Talia?
Bruce is sending Talia with Tim rather than with himself? In some ways that’s comforting, knowing that Tim won’t be going after a tower on his own, but why send Talia with him when he’s sending three of us to deal with the southern tower.
Bruce: She’s a skilled combatant. We’d be foolish not to make use of her help.
Tim: Then why’s she going with me and not you?
Bruce: I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her.
Tim: You don’t trust yourself?
Bruce: Not unless it’s necessary.
Talia: He’s always been like that, I’m afraid.
Dick: You don’t need to tell any of us that, we’ve had to live with it.
Against my better judgement, I can’t help to ask why Bruce thinks it’s better to have uneven teams.
Jason: Wait, it doesn’t make sense that three of us are going to the southern tower but you’re going alone to the northern tower. Doesn’t it make more sense for Roy to go with Tim and Talia go with you?
Bruce: I’ll be fine. I have the sword.
Scarlett: What sword?
Tim: You know how every member in the League has a chemical in their body that gives them an unnatural healing factor? He's got a magical sword that neutralises it.
Dick: Then why haven’t you tried giving all of us one of those swords!?
Bruce: Because I had to do a deal with Hephaestus, and he would only forge me one blade.
Roy: That’s why you had us retrieve that stuff from Greene’s mansion.
Bruce: That was only intended as a contingency for this very scenario. The blade was the product of desperation.
Barbra: What did you have to promise him in return for it?
Bruce: Far too much.
Before any of us can ask for more detail on just what he had to promise, an alert comes up on the Batcomputer. The gas is beginning to spread deeper into Gotham.
Bruce: Suit up.
————————————
Thirty Minutes Later...
Given how the southern tower is built in the middle of the slums, it doesn’t take the three of us long to make it there. According to Alfred, we were the first team to make it to our tower which was rather surprising. Then again, the northern tower is in the direction of Wayne Manor…..or what remains of Wayne Manor that is. So Bruce will have less rooftops to help him traverse the city. He could always make use of the Batmobile or Batwing, but without knowing the effects this gas might have on either of them, he doesn’t want to risk having them taken out of commission. If what’s happened so far is anything to go by, we’ll be needing them.
Scarlett: I can’t believe he turned his back on them.
I walk up to Scarlett to see her looking down the scope of her rifle at a pair of dead bodies in front of the tower. It’s difficult to be sure from this distance, but they look like military. From Scarlett’s comment they’re no doubt national guard.
Red Hood: There was nothing he could do, Scarlett.
Scarlett: Of course there was something he could have done. There’s always something that can be done.
Arsenal: Save your anger. You’re directing it at the wrong person. Even if he is an asshole, the person who actually deserves that anger is the monster who’s leading the attack against the city.
Scarlett: In order to get back at him....
Arsenal: Do you have a problem, Scarlett?
Scarlett: I’m not the one who doesn't care that innocent people were killed because of this crusade against us. Against him.
Red Hood: You seriously think he doesn’t care?
Scarlett: Not if what I’ve seen so far is anything to go by.
Red Hood: Then you don’t understand anything. You might be upset to see those men on the street dead, but imagine how Bruce feels about this. He feels guilty if he’s not able to save the life of someone who was put in danger by something that wasn’t his doing. Imagine what he must be feeling about all this, knowing Ra’s is only doing it to get to him.
Scarlett: Then why doesn’t he just run? Lead them away from here and keep them as far away from Gotham as possible.
Arsenal: She’s got a point.
Red Hood: You don’t know Ra’s Al-Ghul. Neither of you do. You don’t know what’s he’s capable of. What he’s prepared to do. He only brought me back from the dead to use as a weapon against Bruce, and what did I do? I blew up a clock tower, I almost killed Tim and Alfred and I killed dozens of people just to try and hurt him. That was only after a couple of months with Ra’s, that's all it took for him to make me into a weapon
Scarlett: But you weren’t truly yourself. It was the Lazarus clouding your judgement.
Red Hood: Oh I knew what I was doing, and the worst part? I enjoyed it. When I went back to Nanda Parbat after we'd killed Black Mask, and told Ra’s just what I’d done? He was proud. He was proud. That’s why Bruce isn’t running. He knows Ra’s. He knows that this won’t stop with just him.
Arsenal: That’s why he went after the others yesterday. He wants to destroy everything Bruce cares about.
Red Hood: Ra’s already took his parents from him. Now he wants to take everything else. His city. His family. He's already taken his home indirectly. That’s why he’s choosing to fight. Not for himself. But to protect the others. To protect us.
Scarlett:…I’m…..sorry…..I didn’t mean…..
Red Hood: I know, Scarlett. I know.
Before any of us can say something else, Alfred radios in.
Alfred: Pen-7 to all strike teams. Mission is a go!
Red Hood: This South team, beginning insertion.
The three of us quickly make our towards the front entrance with our weapons at the ready. Scarlett holsters her rifle and pulls out a small taser pistol of her own whilst Roy removes an arrow from his quiver and rests it in his bow.
Red Hood: Roy, cover our flank. Scarlett, with me.
Arsenal: Roger.
Scarlett: I’ve got your back.
As Roy turns away from us to make sure there’s no-one watching us from a distance, Scarlett and I quickly make our way towards the front entrance. The door’s open and the lock's been shattered so clearly the tower has been broken into, most likely by the League’s agents. But what catches both of our attentions is the body laid in front of the door. It’s not wearing any military gear so it doesn’t appear to be another member of the national guard, but most of Gotham has been evacuated. So who is this, and what is their body doing here of all places?
Scarlett: Roy we’ve got a body.
Arsenal: National guard?
Red Hood: Doesn't look like it. There’s clear decomposition, a body killed by the gas would be fresh. This one’s anything but.
Scarlett: What’s it doing here anyways?
Arsenal: Clearly it’s been planted here for some reason. Probably a warning.
Red Hood: But what for, and why?
Scarlett: We’re not going to know without identifying the body.
Arsenal: Could be a trap.
Red Hood: I’ll give it a scan. It seems to be in good enough condition for us to identify it from DNA...
Scarlett: I’ll watch the entrance.
Arsenal: Keep an eye on the upper levels as well. Probably the perfect place to launch an ambush from.
Red Hood: Copy that. I’m moving up.
I cautiously approach the body holding a taser pistol in my right hand, trying to figure just why the League would go out of their way to unearth an body. Obviously whoever this person is, they’re important to all this. Well, important to us at least. Rather than risk disturbing the body, I choose to simply take a stray hair that is resting on the body’s chest and scan it using the interface Scarlett installed into my new vambraces.
The result that it gives both horrifies and confuses me.
Identity: Jason Todd.
How is that possible?
Red Hood What the hell. What the actual hell.
Scarlett: What’s wrong?
Arsenal: You know that person?
Red Hood: It says it’s…...how is that even possible…..?
Scarlett: Jason, who is it?
Red Hood: The scanner says it’s me.
Arsenal: What? You can’t be serious? Have you got that thing turned on properly?
Scarlett: Let me have a look at it.
Scarlett walks over to me and scans the hair herself. The look on her face confirms that my scanner is correct.
Scarlett: How is that even...
Arsenal: Are you sure the scanner’s not faulty? It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had problems with faulty equipment.
Both Scarlett and I desperately try to find something to help us identify the body properly. The face has been removed so it’s impossible to discern, and attempts to analyse finger prints come up with the same result.
Identity: Jason Todd.
Arsenal: What the fuck, man. What the actual fuck. How is this even possible?
Red Hood: When the League brought me back to life, they must have kept samples of my DNA. It’s the only possible explanation.
Arsenal: Are you sure? First the gas attack and now this, I’m really starting to wonder whether or not cloning is out of the question.
Red Hood: Are you serious?
Immediately, Roy points his bow at me with an arrow at the ready.
Arsenal: We know of aliens that are basically indestructible, can change form on a whim and an 800 year old man who is able to regenerate himself by taking a bath. Don't tell me cloning sounds stupid when this is reality.
Red Hood: Roy, what the hell!?
Arsenal: Who’s to say you’re not some clone that’s been planted here to spy on us?
Scarlett doesn’t step in, no doubt horrified by the prospect that the League has gone out of their way to create a fake dead body of myself.
Red Hood: Roy, you idiot it’s obviously a fake!
Arsenal: Prove it.
Red Hood: Or what? What are you going to do, shoot me with an arrow? Choke me to death with your mechanical arm?
Arsenal: Don’t tempt me, Todd. Prove it’s not you.
I turn around and begin to inspect the body for any defects. All I need is something small, but it has to be different and it has to be obvious. Whilst I’m occupied trying to deal with Roy in his paranoid state, I look up to see Scarlett clench her fist and check her own taser pistol before running into the tower.
Scarlett: Those……monsters…..
Red Hood: Scarlett, wait!
Arsenal: Scarlett! Damn it. You’d better hurry up and find something, as I’m not letting her go in there on her own.
Red Hood: Damn it Roy, this isn’t the time!
Arsenal: Then prove me wrong.
With no face to prove it’s not me, and the fingerprints suggesting that it is, I need to find something to prove to Roy that it’s a fake. The build is almost a perfect copy of my own and the body’s height is identical. It takes me a minute looking up and down the body before I spot something.
Shoe size. I’m a size 10, the shoes on this body look to be a size bigger. A quick look at the shoes confirms
my suspicion. Size 11.
Red Hood: Look at the feet. This body is wearing size 11 shoes and I’m a size 10.
I remove the shoe on the left foot and place it against my own for comparison. Roy glances down at the exposed foot and realises that there’s no way that foot could into a size 10 shoe.
Once he realises his mistake, he quick retracts his bow and places his arrow back in his quiver.
Arsenal: Sorry…..I wasn’t thinking straight.
Red Hood: Apologise later, we’ve got to find Scarlet!
Please excuse the crappy as hell cellphone picture. I need a real camera...bad. Besides a ton of crap I've been dealing with in real life, 'tis one of the other reasons I haven't posted much.
There are tons of other customs I could have actually posted, but I wanted to post some of my uniformed GCPD officers as an informal promo for GCW. For those that have seen my previous GCPD pic, Gotham's Finest, there are a few officers missing on this pic.
Anyways, enough babbling C&C always welcomed and appreciated. More to come later.
Nightwing: I never thought I’d miss the horrible skyline of Gotham.
Batgirl: Dear god, it’s happening?
Nightwing: What is?
Batgirl: You said you missed something about Gotham and framed it in an almost positive light. That’s one of the seven signs of the apocalypse.
Nightwing: Do I want to know the other six?
Batgirl: How brave are you feeling?
I pause for a brief moment to try and figure out just what the other six signs could be. Since Barbra viewed my remarks about Gotham as one of them, the signs are clearly more intended as jokes than anything.
Nightwing: Very.
Batgirl: Is that so?
Nightwing: With in reason.
Batgirl: How about we do one right now?
Suddenly, I don’t think I like where this is going…
Nightwing: ….Sure…..
Batgirl: Losing your confidence, Grayson?
Nightwing: That’s not one of the seven signs is it?
Batgirl: A sign is something that almost never happens.
Nightwing: Oi! What are you saying?
Batgirl: Here, repeat after me. Barbra..
Nightwing: Barbra…
Batgirl: I would like to take you to dinner…
Nightwing: How is that a sign of the apocalypse!?
Batgirl: I’m not finished. Barbra, I would like to take you to dinner. My treat.
Nightwing: I paid for dinner last time!
Batgirl: And when was last time?
It rather quickly dawns on me that it’s been at least two years since Barbra and I went out to dinner together. No capes, no masks. Just Dick Grayson and Barbra Gordon, out on the town. No wonder she turned down my proposal.
Nightwing: Barbra Gordon, when this is all over, would you do me the honour of letting me take you to dinner?
Batgirl: Dear god, it really is the end of days.
Nightwing: Is that a no?
Batgirl: How can that be a no?
Nightwing: It’s not a yes.
Batgirl: Fine. Yes Dick, I would love to go to dinner with you when this all over.
Nightwing: Shall we compare diaries to find a suitable date?
Batgirl: Why yes absolutely.
Nightwing: Positively spiffing.
Batgirl: You ruined it, good job.
Nightwing: What? How?
Batgirl: The over the top accent was one thing, but ‘spiffing’ was just a bridge too far.
Nightwing: You’re welcome.
Batgirl: Anything from Alfred yet?
Nightwing: No, we’re probably waiting on Bruce to get into position if I had to guess.
Batgirl: I’d have put my money on Jason and his so called ‘Outlaws’ being the ones holding us up.
Nightwing: Nah, trust me, we wouldn’t be waiting if it was anyone else. Bruce would have made his move regardless. Not to mention his tower is the furthest out of Gotham.
Batgirl: Great.
Barbra turns away from me to look towards the tower. The never ending stream of gas that keeps being pumped out of the tower has already claimed a significant number of victims in the vicinity of the tower. Five GCPD officers no doubt sent by Barbra’s father to invest the reactivation of the guardian towers. What a horrible realisation they must have had when they inhaled the toxin.
Then as I take a moment to survey the main to the tower, I can’t help but notice a figure in the distance. It’s laid down on the ground and though it’s hard to tell from a distance, I can’t see any movement. Looks like the GCPD weren’t able to convince everyone to evacuate Gotham even after ‘Ra’s’ publicly threatened the city.
Part of me feels angry. Don’t these people understand that all we want is to keep them safe? To keep them out of harm? We don’t seek to control them, to manipulate them. If we did, we’d be no better than the monsters we claim to oppose. In many ways, I suppose it’s our equal belief in giving people the right to decide their own path which is what causes situations like this. After all, freedom to choose also includes freedom to choose not to.
Alfred: Pen-7 to all strike teams. Mission is a go!
Nightwing: Roger Pen-7.
Batgirl: Do you think he’s making it obvious to the new recruits that he’s ex-military?
Nightwing: No, it’s just Alfred being Alfred. He’s always like that.
Batgirl: I don’t recall him acting so serious though.
Nightwing: These are serious times. Plus, you never had an ear piece connected to his communication channel.
Batgirl: You’re telling me that earpiece you gave me back then only connected to you? Why if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were ashamed of me.
I’m not sure if it’s possible to be anymore sarcastic than she just was, but it’s true. Somewhat. Whilst I wasn’t embarrassed by Barbra, I was worried about her. Then again, this was back when Bruce had been reluctant to train me, never mind the idea of someone else.
Nightwing: No more than usual.
Barbra: Is this how you treat all the girls you invite out to dinner?
Nightwing: Just the lucky ones.
Batgirl: Lucky me.
As we both get ready to make our move towards the tower, I step aside and wave my hands so that they’re pointing in the direction of the tower.
Nightwing: After you.
Batgirl: You’re really starting to worry me now.
Nightwing: How come?
Batgirl: That’s the third sign of the apocalypse in ten minutes.
Nightwing: Are all your signs of the apocalypse me being nice to you?
Batgirl: No, just most of them.
Nightwing: Most!?
Batgirl: Well maybe if you were more of a gentleman, that wouldn’t be the case, and maybe I would have said yes.
Nightwing: Really?
Batgirl: Who knows?
Before I can follow up with another question, Barbra runs forward and glides off the roof towards the tower’s entrance. Though I’m uncertain about whether I really heard her say the reason she turned me down, I don’t know. All I know right now, is that we have a tower to disable.
====Twag's Penthouse====
Wasp- Wake up.
Twag- Ahhh... where am I?
Wasp- Home.
Twag- What? No! No, what were you thinking?! What about the show, what happened there?!
Wasp- You screamed. You ran.
*Wasp hands Twag the newspaper*
Twag- No no no no. This is all wrong! All wrong!
*He knocks the coffee table over*
Wasp- Calm down.
Twag- * swallowing a pill* And DeVoe? Walker?
...
Wasp- DeVoe is dead.
...
Twag- And Walker?
...
Wasp- There's still time.
Twag- I give you one instruction... You can't even do that-!
Wasp- They caught Lynns. The GCPD is currently enroute to Van Cleer Manor.
Twag- Yes, yes, I see that... it's too late, without Walker, the plan's meaningless!
Wasp- What is my mission?
Twag- Your missi-? I don't know! Improvise!
*he exits*
Wasp- ...Improvise...
=====Van Cleer Manor=====
Bullock- Alright everybody, set up a perimeter. No one gets in or out.
Miranda- What the hell's going on?!
Bullock- Ah, Mrs Walker, we're looking to have a little chat with your husband.
Miranda- Why?
Bullock- That isn't really any of your business.
Miranda- This is my house and he's my husband, I think I have a right to know why you're barging in here.
Bullock- Oh, you want a reason? How about that your husband's a cold hearted bastard.
Drury- Language, please! There are children upstairs!
*All present officers point their guns at Walker*
Drury-... It's treason then.
Bullock- Enough with the jokes Walker, you're coming with us. Or do you really mean to say you've been in the shower this whole time.
Drury- Well, the only other explanation is that I got past your perimeter and I'm sure that's not possible... Go ahead, ask anyone here, they'll tell you I've been here all day.
Miranda- *to Bullock* That's what I was trying to tell you!
Bullock- 'Course they'd cover for you, they're your family.
Miranda- Yeah. And at least half of them hate him.
Drury- Under half, surely?
Bullock- The point stands.
Drury- For Godsake... are you at least going to tell me what's going on?
Bullock- As if you don't know!
Drury- I asked you a question Sargent, or I am not your mayor?
Bullock- This is... We caught your partner at the scene of the DeVoe murder. The Flash said he saw you too.
Drury- Did he really? Heroes aren't exactly infallible. I should know, twice I've had to do what they wouldn't. If that's all you've got then...
Bullock- Don't talk your way out of this Bugman! It ain't gonna work!
Drury- I'm not-
Gordon- Bullock, what the blazes are you doing here?
Bullock- Commish-
Gordon- I told you not to engage until we had sufficient evidence to make a case.
Bullock- We got his buddy on transfer to Arkham, ain't that evidence enough?
Gordon- Lynns is a loose cannon. And, the Flash has withdrawn his statement, says it was likely a shape-shifter, not Walker himself.
Bullock- He's what-? That's not fair! Superpower asswipes... thinking they can do as they please.
Gordon- Hold yourself together and when you've calmed down, get back over to Gotham Central.
Bullock- This ain't over bug boy! Not by a long shot!
*The cops file out and the door closes behind them*
Miranda- That was close.
Drury- Too close.
...
Drury- Gar.
Miranda- I know, sweetie.
Drury- Gar.
Miranda- Look, I'll put the kettle on ok?
Drury- Yeah.
*She leaves to go to the kitchen just as the phone starts ringing*
Miranda- *from the kitchen* Honey?
Drury- I'll get that!
*He picks up the phone*
Drury- Hello?
???- Drury Walker?
Drury- That's me! Who is this?
Pike- It's... Carmen Pike.
Drury- ...Oh.
Pike- Look, can we talk at my place?
Drury- What? Why?
Pike- I can't talk over the phone. They could be listening.
Drury- Who's listening? ... Norbert?
Pike- I don't know anything about a Norbert but there is someone on *his* payroll.
Drury- Who's payroll? What are you talking about?
Pike- Can you please just come over? My address is-
Drury- Let me get a pen.
*He grabs one*
Drury- Ok, go.
Pike- Twenty Six, Adams Avenue. Hurry.
*Meanwhile, Danto Twag is listening to the phone call, horrified by Pike's betrayal*
Twag- Turn it off.
*Wasp does so, Twag smashes a lamp and leaves the room. Alone in the dark, Killer Wasp ponders to himself*
Wasp- "Improvise"
I headed for the GCPD on my own while Huntress and Azrael returned to the Batcave. I stood on the roof as Gordon stepped outside.
NW: "Evening, commish."
JG: "Holy crap! You're really like your old mentor in that concept."
NW: "Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
JG: "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit stressed out."
NW: "Understandable. I've got news. I went to the mall and I spoke with Freeze about all of this."
JG: "Did you take him out?"
NW: "I told him he has to be back in Arkham at the end of this war, or we'll come and get him."
JG: "Alright, go on."
NW: "Freeze told me he has every camerafeed in Gotham. Long story short, Black Mask is going to the Joker to propose a partnership. Since Black Mask hasn't as much forces as Penguin and Two-Face, he wants to take everything to it's limits."
JG: "Joker and Black Mask? They'll kill each other before Black Mask sets one step in Joker's base."
NW: "Exactly! That's why I'm going to the Joker's base with Huntress and Azrael tonight, to take them both out."
JG: "What!? You're crazy! The three of you can't take down the forces of both Black Mask and the Joker."
NW: "Don't forget, they hate each other. When one has taken out the other, we strike down in all the confusion to finish this. Then the only threat we have is Penguin."
JG: "How insane that might sound, it could work. But let me help you."
NW: "That's why I came here, Jim. I want your men stationed around the base, to capture anyone who might escape."
JG: "And if you need us to barge in, just contact me."
NW: "Will do. Just prepare the men to take their positions in 1 hour."
JG: "Will do."
Today is the official release date of the first chapter of GCPD. Thanks for Woah what for adding me to his group and I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter.
-LegoBatbrick
(The final instalment of the arc)
Bruce follows the trail to an eerie plot of land cursed by the stench of death. A shipping yard. The same shipping yard that got shut down a year back when the gcpd busted a human trafficking case. He walked with caution to the centre of the yard. He can already sense blackfire wanted him to pick up the trail. Which means one simple thing for Bruce. He has taken the bait. And at that crucial moment the shipping yard is surrounded by flames more than 10 metres high. One of the shipping crates begins to emit a deafening scraping sound. Naturally Bruce walks towards the sound. It doesn’t last long and instead Bruce’s minds is corrupted by the daunting voice of BLACKFIRE!
Blackfire: well if it isn’t the devil himself. Come to seek forgiveness no doubt. If you are wondering where I am hiding. Do not even attempt To find me. You never will. oh no no no...for you see you cannot find what is not there!
His words echo through the yard as it is engulfed by a surge of white light. A distorted reality is instantly bought upon Bruce. The containers are gone and with no sign of mans industrial plague,he finds himself lying face down on the grassy hills which once stretched across Gotham. He gets too his feet and is soon shaken, struggling to keep steady, when a stone idol erupts from the very earth beneath him towering above the now dying grass. He instantly recognises the totem as the one which had haunted him on the grounds of Gotham cathedral when he was first faced with the evil that is Blackfire.
Blackfire: Familiar Bruce? You have to admire the sheer detail of it. The sinners. The justice. Just like the Old Testament. A personal favourite of mine.
Batman: You’re only mad with power Joseph. Where are you. End this now
Blackfire: Do not speak that ancient name!! You know who I am. What I am! But you do not know where I am...or when I am even... I would tell you but I loose track myself. You only need to know that I am century’s older than a mortal like yourself will ever be.
The white light surrounding Bruce intensifies, questioning his sanity and false assumptions of the world about him
Batman: What is this?! What’ve you done to me. A hallucinogenic?!
Blackfire: Hahaha. And yet he still relies on sense. Reality is bought to him with the snap of a finger and yet he cannot seem to make sense of it. I am very much honestly underwhelmed
...anyway I suspect you seek dear James Gordon.
Batman: Where the hell is he!?
Blackfire: Right before your eyes Bruce....or ears
Blackfires voice comes to an end and instead the screams of Jim Gordon can be heard at the top of the shadowing obelisk. A great stone door at the bottom is lifted with an abrupt rumbling sound and a steep winding staircase is revealed. Knowing he shouldn’t Bruce is compelled to climb the swirling stairs reaching to the heavens. A swarm of vicious winged devils fill the small space fighting for his body and soul,
screeching with the deathly sound of bloodthirsty madness . He throws his arms out desperately to fight them of to no prevail but when the sound of Gordon’s painful wail makes a gap in the crowd, he is reminded of what must be done and he abandons the stairs, pulling himself up the crumbling walls
He climbs up the walls, finding himself atop a stone slab surrounded by an endless sea of black. In the distance of the abyss, is a clear crucifix of solid red colour.
Blackfire: REPENT!!!
A second surge of white light engulfs the darkness and Bruce feels a strange clash of newfound emotions and conflicting morals flowing through his body and mind at the same time.
Batman/Bruce: what are you doing to me?! I don’t understand this...this urge.
Blackfire: yes? To see the light? No no no. Such mercy is beyond your reach. You are the devil’s child. And I am your executioner. Gods reward to me will be one of great thanks!!
He reveals himself towering above the bat,displaying a sense of confidence and illusion of ease at this simple task
Bruce will not make the mistake he made when first battling the man. He does not throw a punch or hurl himself towards the great beast. Instead,he disappears into the shadows and to Blackfires surprise, leaps onto the sturdy back of the shaman destabilising him as he stomps about. He clamps his arms around the mans neck choking him momentarily. The two fight and struggle for some time Causing the shaman to eventually drop to the floor.
Batman: Where is Gordon!!?
Within this crucial moment of realisation, Bruce comes to realise that he is back in the very same sewers he first fought Blackfire in. He takes control of his own mind and lifts the man, twice his size, by the neck,dropping him to the ground and hearing his plead
Blackfire: No..no no no...this is wrong...you are supposed to die...I must be your executioner. I must save Gotham
Batman: Save? You have Gothamites murdered night after night. Day after day. Yet you persist you are a saviour. I thought you at first, a mere cult leader. Somebody to brainwash the vulnerable in their time of need. But now I see. It is not only them who have fallen for these tricks. You yourself are a victim. Here to help you
The man Shrieks in retaliation
Blackfire: NOOOOOO!!!!!! Never!!!!!!!!!
Batman: Realise this now Or let delusion consume you
Blackfire: No...no...no....YOU ARE A LIAR!!! Do not deceive me Satan!!!! Face your punishment!!!
He stabs Bruce in the side of his stomach letting him drop to the stone cold floor
Blackfire: It has been done....the devil is no more!!!
And just at the point of doomsday, Gordon fires several rounds into the chest of the great shaman. He resists at first,refusing to die but is soon put down by the worn down detective
His eyes, now lifeless stare into Bruce’s soul resting guilt upon his burdened shoulders as he drops to the ground making his mark in the pool of blood and deathly waste which surrounds him.
Batman: No. He..he deserved real justice. You’re a man of law Jim. Yet.. you kill him like that? He didn’t need to die. No one does...As evil as they are
Jim Gordon: Come on now. you need to just Relax. It’s over now and we need to get you to a doctor. It’s bad. The cut. I’ll stop the bleeding but you need real surgery. Real attention.
Batman: no one can kno...know. Who I am. Don’t remo.. l
Jim pauses for a moment struggling to Supress his curiosity and urge to pursue truth
Jim Gordon: I won’t. You are fine. I won’t. And your armour seemed to help you quite a bit. Just please let me get you to a hospital goddamnit.
Batman: Thank you...but you killed him
Jim Gordon: that man has killed over a hundred Gothamites in the past month. Criminals or not, they were less guilty than him. Had to be done.....Now I really need to get you some help...
Batman: No... bye Jim
With that he makes his silent leave as Jim falls to his knees, pushing the dead shaman into the drift of the sewers green rivers. He kneels for a moment, letting his thoughts battle within his conflicted mind. After this he retrieves his radio as he climbs up one of the sewers ladders back up to the cold,empty shipping yard.
He talks under his breath
Jim Gordon: I don’t even know anymore...
Lego 70912
The Batman Movie
Arkham Asylum
My review : www.hellobricks.com/2017/01/review-lego-70912-lego-batman...
===LoA Computer Database===
Clark falls at Kuttler's feet, bruised and bloody, as Zod landed, he grabbed him by the throat and held tight. "Kuttler-" he gasped. "The JLA teleporters... They-"
Kuttler smiles as he places his hand over Clark's face. Super indeed. "-Leave behind a residual trace, yes. Think of it as a genetic imprint. With this device, Superman, we'll be able to latch on to each and every one of those teleporters, tap into their data-banks, that is to say, everyone who has ever used them, and form a link with the Phantom Zone that will drag every single member of the Justice League, the Titans and all your other fanclubs, through the wormhole, with no hope of escape. Poetic justice, no? How many times have you banished one of *us* in the Phantom Zone, or the Source Wall, or in a whole other universe."
"Not- what I was going to say-" Clark groans, as Zod's grip around his throat tightens.
"Let him go," Kuttler sighs. "If he tries anything, well, *then* you can kill him," he mutters to Zod. The General nods, and marches out of the room.
"Go on."
"Noah, I saw it's inner workings. It won't do what you think it will. It will pull in *anyone,* hero or villain! Zod doesn't want us *in,* he wants his family out, and he's going to do it by overloading the system," Superman explains.
"Check it, if you don't believe me."
Kuttler looks at Superman suspiciously, and walks over to the console, looking over the schematics. Putting his phone to his ear, he calls Bane. "That's not right... The schematics are all wrong... Bane, this is Noah, I-"
A blast of heat vision shoots the phone out of his hand. Zod, had returned.
====Nanda Parbat====
Arthur reaches his hand out to his brother, standing mere inches away from him. "Orm-!" he pleaded, as a gloved hand forced his head into the sand. "How does it feel, murderer?" Manta growled, digging the trident, *his* trident, deeper into his side. "That's how my father felt."
Orm watched with bated breath. He had no lost love for his brother. The pacifist bastard could've taken the surface world any time he wanted, but instead, he begged for peace. Peace! And yet, this... this barbarity wasn't conquest, but torture, plain and simple.
"You lost my sympathy when you murdered my son. When does it end, Manta?" Aquaman gasped, as he coughed up a mix of sand and blood. Manta knelt beside him, his eyes glowing.
"With you, strung up like those birds."
~
A terrible rumble echoed through the valley. A strike from Mardon's weather wand had critically damaged the Skull Ship, and as it crashed to the ground, sand flew through the air, knocking back everyone in its' path, Grodd burst out from the cockpit, his face filled with animalistic rage. Tearing his smouldering cape off, he turned to face McCulloch and Rory, their guns aimed at him. "Rogues...." he snarls, as he pounds his chest, and leaps into the air. As the battle raged on, reignited by the arrival of the Misfits' allies, the Injustice League ran for cover behind a feeble stack of rocks. Tremors from the crash landing had separated them from their camera crew, and they were terrified. "For god's sake, we're pinned down in here, tell me someone's coming!" Tockman screamed, no longer concerned that his fellow Green Arrow villains might recognise him. Scarlet Skier had flown in five minutes ago, and left just as quickly.
“Big Sir texted G’Nort!” Disaster replied feverishly, narrowing dodging a bright pink arrow fired by an even brighter, rainbow coloured archer.
"How the hell did Big Sir text?" Tockman yelled back, leaping out of the way of falling debris.
"Text to speech mostly," Brown murmured, the only one with any sort of composure.
Removing his clock face, Tockman sighed, exasperated. "You know my next question, Arthur."
"Wait, wait. I found it!" Multi Man cries out in delight, as he goes through Sir's phone. "Dear Doggie, need help from... dessert man," he finished, his face dropping.
"Dessert... You know, I really could go for a sundae right now..." Tockman said, as he unclasped his cape, and dapped his brow, his stomach now rumbling. “The last time I had a sundae was four months, two weeks, four days, and twenty seconds ago.”
“What? Can’t a man enjoy a banana split?” he added, as his teammates turned to face him, their brief moment of silence shattered with a blur of yellow and black flying above them, and quickly being dispatched by a figure just out of their eyesight.
"Sinestro!" Disaster cried out. "Who the hell took out Sinestro?!"
His question was answered moments later, as a shabby haired, foul smelling man jumped above them, a rusty old lantern in hand.
Ratcatcher looked down at the horrified group, and, grinning perversely, turns to Cluemaster. "Hello Artie, how's the stump?"
Arthur looks at Ratcatcher, and as he turns to run, trips and falls on his face. "It's him!" he yells out, the memory of his disarmament years ago fresh in his mind. "Kill him, kill him now!"
As Otis approaches, giggling to himself, Disaster makes sure to pull himself, Tockman and Pramble out of harm's way. Whatever history Artie had with him wasn't worth getting killed over. Now mere inches from his face, Artie began praying softly to himself. He'd already survived a plane crash, this was not how he'd die. And, as Otis drew a blunt knife from his belt...
Pow. Big Sir punches him in the face, knocking him out cold, and reaches out an oversized hand to Cluemaster. "I'm not thanking you, you tub of lard," Brown muttered, as he walked off.
~
Rigger looked out towards the desert, just below them, a ninja, about twenty years old, was thrown to the ground by a mass of fur and teeth- Cheetah. Her claws ripping out his throat, Joey watched helplessly as she began lapping up his blood. King Shark, smelling the still warm corpse, marched over, and dug into the boy's leg.
Chuck's hand on his shoulder snapped Joey out of his trance. "It's ok to be scared, Rig."
Rigger bowed his head. "Scared? Heh. Nah, scary is knowing that every day of my life I could get pulled over, or stopped in the street. And because I have a criminal record, no one would even think twice about it. Knowing that you've served your country, but your family's deaths are written off as cold cases because they ain't top priority. Or maybe because the building contractors paid off a couple unsympathetic cops. Couple a ninjas? Army of supervillains? Easy peasy!"
Chuck smirked. "Good. Because we're gonna need you, buddy."
~
As Drury climbed up to the surface, he was met with anarchy. Bodies strewn across the desert, buildings on fire, supervillains indiscriminately killing whoever they could find. 'This,' he murmured, 'Was no place for a child.' Yet, defying his orders as usual, were his children.
"Hi Dad!" Axel shouts, as he flies past him, a metal crown, Grodd's, atop his head.
"A-Axel?" he called out, turning to an equally bemused Norbert. "You brought your kids-?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
"No," Drury began. "I-"
"Daddy!" Kitten squeals, as she embraces him in a bear hug. Drury turns to the green and orange figure now following after them, a goofy smile on their face.
"Kitten-? McCulloch! Did you bring my kids to a warzone?!"
"Ach, the wee ones insisted," he smirked toothlessly, as he gives Axel a proud high five. "Grand job wi' tha monkey wee man. Could'ne ha' doon it without ye."
"Ah, well I owed him, didn't I?" Axel smiles, gesturing to his metal arm, him and his sister's attention now turning to the black figure behind their dad.
"Oh, uh, kids. This is your uncle Norbert," Drury mutters, still a little off balance.
"Awesome," Axel grins, but as he sees the look in his dad's eyes, it fades, as he walks past the group in silence, and enters the palace.
~
Staggering through the desert, and relying on sound alone, Ten's attention was brought to a familiar snapping of a camera. Watching the carnage unfold, and taking pictures, was Mr Camera. "Simms, you bastard!" he bellowed.
"Take it easy with the language, choir boy, I-" Simms calls out, his words muffled as Reardon tackles him to the ground, and smashes his glass lens. Pressing the button on the side of his mask, Camera activates his flash mode. "Smile!" he laughs, as he fires a series of bright flashes Reardon's way, before realising his fatal error: Philip Reardon, was blind. "Oh," he gasps, as he's swiftly knocked out.
====Ra's' Palace====
"Justice League. Can you hear me?" a deep voice calls out telepathically.
"Loud and clear, J'onn, good to have you back with us," Clark replies. "I'm engaging Zod, trying to draw him away from the control room. The device they're building is a Phantom Drive, which, if it reaches full power, can and will generate a wormhole that will suck everyone into the Phantom Zone."
"Understood," Cyborg replied. "Me and Miracle are heading to the server room now, see if we can't disable it."
"I'll help draw Zod away," Diana adds, as she soars into the air. "Bruce?"
"I've got to find Ra's," Batman said, as he attaches a sword to his belt. "He's the only person who might stop this madness."
"You sure, Bats?" Barry asks, as he steals The Fiddler's violin. "I reckon Bane's the closest thing we have to a lynchpin."
"Positive."
"Oh for- This isn't about Walker, is it?" Hal calls out, as he forms a green proton pack with his ring, and sucks up Gentleman Ghost.
...
"Keep this channel open, I'll let you know if the situation changes," Bruce murmurs, as he walks up a set of stone steps, opens a door, and is pulled through a wall by a large hand.
"We've come full circle, have we not?" Bane snarls, as he turns a dial on his wrist. "You, me, and a choice. Do you stop Ra's? Or do you stop the Society? Last time you couldn't do either."
He rips a chunk out of the wall, and hurls it at Bruce, who slides under it.
"Tell me. Was it compassion, Batman? Guilt? I bet it was. You can't help but take in strays, to fuel your self destructive quest, and here you are, about to implode," Bane gloats, as he throws several fast, hard punches.
"What are you talking about?" Batman snaps back.
"There aren't many who can freely walk into your Batcave, now are there?" Bane smirks, as he picks Bruce up, and throws him against a wall. He reaches for the venom tube on the back of his neck, but is thrown backwards before he can cut it. "You know I planned to kill the Misfits," he continues. "Keep them distracted at a bare minimum, torment them, anything to avoid their interference... And then, an invisible assailant- invisible! lay siege to your very own GCPD. Imagine my surprise when Tetch told me that that man... was none other than Drury Walker?"
"You're lying!" Batman retorts, as his slams a batarang into Bane's arm.
"No! When I heard the news, I called him, told him of my plan, that only one thing remained, to tune the Batcave's teleporter to Kuttler's network. And he agreed. All it took... was the right persuasion."
"Ra's... You offered him Ra's," Bruce gasped, as he swung his body around Bane's arm, and kicked him in the face, turning to the stairwell.
In turn, Bane grabbed his right leg, and tugged him backwards.
"Goddammit!" he yells, as he punches Bane's arm. "Ra's will kill him!"
"Let him! Forget about Walker. Forget about Ra's. And face *me,*" Bane exclaimed angrily, as Batman finally freed himself from his grip. Panting for breath, he reaches for his grapnel gun, and aims it at the balcony above. "Do you know what you are, Bane? You're a college football star, you never grew up, you never changed. You're just stuck reliving that one match you won. The one goal you scored. The one time you broke me. And you're not worth it," he sighed, as he scaled the stairwell.
"Face me!" Bane screamed back.
"No," Batman muttered, as he approached the League of Assassins' Archives.
Bane paused, lost for a second, and then he yelled back "I sent Tommy Elliot, Batman! I sent Hush after Selina Kyle! Now fight me!"
As Bruce places his hand on the doorknob, he turns around. "No. You didn't."
"Was it worth it, Ra's?" Bruce calls out. Gaige lies sprawled on the floor, blood dribbling from his mouth, his body slowly rising and falling from each slow breath he takes.
"Yes," he said. "After all, Detective, it brought me you. "Don't you see, the world is changing, it's finally moving forward, and I want you by my side, by my daughter's side when it does." He turned around, and Batman could finally see the damage Gaige had wrought. His face was scarred with three deep marks, like a tiger's claw. His right arm hung loosely, barely in its' socket, and his left eye was white. Colourless.
"This was all for you, Detective. All so that you might follow my example, and finally, finally take command of the League of Assassins."
"You maniac," Batman muttered, aghast. "You genocidal, tyrannical maniac. Look at the bloodshed, look at the people, your people, that have died today, because of Arkham City."
"Progress always has a cost, Detective," Ra's mused. "The offer stands. Bane could never lead, he's but a thug. Brutal. Inelegant. My daughters, alone, are unsuitable. But with you- The perfect heir. The perfect specimen. Think of the difference we could make... All that's left, is to-" he trails off, as he looks at the open doorway. Standing, gun in hand, is Drury Walker.
"Drury? What are you-" Batman begins, but he's cut off as a stream of webbing sticks him and Ra's to the ground.
"So I fixed the cocoon gun. Thought you'd like to know," Walker murmurs, as he walks towards Ra's, and kneels softly beside him.
"Don't do this-" Bruce urges, as he takes a knife from his belt, and begins whittling away the netting.
"No!" Moth yells back. "I'm done playing second fiddle to you and "your" rogues. This is my story, Bats, mine! And you aren't taking that from me. Miranda's dead, her death won't just be a footnote in the story of the Batman," he says coldly, as he places a cold hand on Ra's face.
"You ever heard of Quakemaster? How about Geomancer? Nah, I wouldn't expect you to. But when it comes to C-Listers I'm something of a expert," Drury says, as he reaches into his bag, and lifts out a pair of gloves taken from the GCPD. "I want you to feel the pain, all the pain of everyone you hurt... Everyone you *killed* when you dropped a city on them. Their bones breaking, fracturing, twisting out their skin. Their ribcages collapsing, the dust suffocating, clogging up their lungs. Course, I don't have the time to mine under *your* city. To build my *own* bomb... Good thing, I don't need to."
Just as Batman frees himself from the cocoon, a harpoon flies through the air, and lodges itself in his knee, a barely conscious Gaige nodding to Walker. The look he gives says everything he needed to hear. 'For her,'
Drury places the gloves on Ra's chest, he can't move, he can't fight back, the cocoon gun has make sure of that, and pushes down, vibrations shaking through his body, his bone's crushed, he struggles to speak. And when he thinks he's suffered enough, Drury picks up a blade, Ra's sword- and rams it through his chest. Just like he did her.
Edward Nygma was a forensic investigator for the GCPD with a penchant for asking riddles, one of the few fond memories from his abusive household. He was viewed as a know-it-all and weird by most of his co-workers, especially when he began to develop a crush on his fellow forensic investigator Ms. Kirsten Kringle. At first, what Nygma was doing seemed harmless enough; Small, passing gifts left on her desk now and then. Ed eventually started buying bigger gifts for her, though he found he needed the money to do so. He elected to grab money from the stolen goods processing vault and use it. No one would miss it, right? He bought watches, necklaces, expensive tokens of his affection. One day, while raiding the vault as usual, he was caught by an officer. Scared that he’d be reported to the captain, Ed stabbed him, over and over. He had cut the cameras to the vault earlier, replacing it with previous footage of the room so the officers wouldn't discover his theft. He remained within the vault, along with the body, until most had gone home. Ed dragged the body into the morgue and placed it in one of the freezers. He got a bit of a thrill from not being caught, and decided to chase that thrill, leaving a riddle on the body to find the killer and locking the freezer, heading out to buy Ms. Kringle a bracelet. Of course, Ed was caught. It didn't cross his mind that he was the only one in the GCPD known for riddles at the time, and when he tried to pass it off as a framing, the internal affairs investigation discovered the knife he left in the vault. Along with that, they uncovered the robberies he had been periodically carrying out. Awestruck that someone could possibly outsmart him, Ed snapped. He admitted to the murder and was locked in Arkham, where he quickly began to devise an escape plan and a new identity: The Riddler.
I did not enter this room under my own power.
I pull myself together, quite literally, off of the cold, sterile floor. The environment is sans sound, not even white noise. My surroundings, as revealed by scant luminescence in the ceiling, consist of four walls, three padded, one a window into a darkened room beyond. A closer look reveals various erect objects therein, looming so indistinctly in the shadows, one cannot discern if they are machinery, mannequins, or otherwise.
I no longer have the need to fall into deep slumber. SOMEthing has willed me into a dormant state and delivered me to this unfamiliar setting.
Two strangers, a burlesque rabbit and a clown with a surly complexion, seem to be joining me in this most precipitate relocation. Both are asleep as I was moments ago. The pervasive aura of nonsensicality about me, in the disjointed things and circumstances that are my company, exert what I must describe as the notion that I have been thrown into an abominable…
Wonderland.
If this IS indeed his production, Tetch is playing for a most unamused audience. I disperse my form up into the walls and corners, probing for the most minute crevice in which to escape through, to no avail. I return my attention to my fellow inmates. Strangely, the woman, March Harriet, was in league with Tetch when last I looked. The explanation as to why she was now a prisoner alluded me. And this thuggish clown is of no concern at all. I suppose there is no reasonable cause for killing them just yet. Dammit all.
Two more half-hearted inspections of my cell later, they have begun to stir. I know not if they are aware of their captor, as I am. As such, appearing before them as the Mad Hatter would be a gamble. Furthermore, as Clayface, they may be intimidated beyond giving me any clues to our situation. It would be wise to meet them on common grounds, as hired muscle myself. A Penguin goon will suffice.
The clown groggily rolls onto his back, grunts in realization, and leaps up to face me. Harriet remains seated on the floor, rubbing her eyes and already looking suspiciously bored… impassive?.. with the circumstances. As though she had foreseen all this. I shall question her first.
Clown: I’ll bust yer lip if you steps nears me, yah hear?
“Penguin Goon” (nasally): Relax guys, we’re in the same boat here. I already checked our escape routes, and it don’t look too peachy. Either of you kno-
Harriet (fuming): Hatter. For all his intellect, he’d agree to rob a street musician if the invitation was written in rhyme. WHY did I stick around with that WORM?
“Penguin Goon”: … Your BOSS caged us up? You’re saying he was roped into doing’ this by another crime boss?
Right then, a voice as appealing as an un-oiled door hinge crackles over the intercom.
Crane: A humble doctor is all I profess to be. Contradictorily to others in my field, however, FEARLESS in the realm of discovery.
One of the shapes opposite our side of the glass shifts, now evidently the Scarecrow: Hands clasped at his back, and beady eyes flitting between our trio, as he closes some distance between us with painfully deliberate strides.
Clown (backpedaling from his aggression): Hey, uh, Mr. Crow, I don’t think you really wanna have me in this box here. Y’see, my boss already has it out for you, an’ me? Well, I don’t like to brag, but I’m somethin’ of his right-hand man! “Chortle”, they call me. He won’t like this too good; not one bit.
I keep my composure with great effort. Knowing full-well of Chortle’s employer, and my hand in creating him, I cannot help but ponder if Crane has placed this cruel reminder of my handiwork here intentionally. He had indeed been there the night I awakened the Joker. As if on cue…
Crane (fixating solely on me now, his rasp sounding like wet grime trickling out of a rain gutter): For shame, Karlo, fooling the lower class criminals like this. Didn’t you KNOW your captors would spoil your fun soon enough?
Myself (whipping into the bloated and towering identity I assume when feeling uninspired): It would seem I’ve been made.
Chortle trips backward, his blue hair standing even more so on end. Harriet runs up to the glass and begins pounding at it.
Harriet: I know you’re out there, Hatter! You hear me? Let me out this instant! Do you know what this freak can DO to me?!
Chortle: To US???
Another shadow moves. Tetch whimsically glides into view, that half-sadistic, half-feather-brained look plastered on his freckled face. He makes a sweeping bow to our cell and readjusts his headwear.
Tetch (speaking through his teeth, in a singsongy manner): No sense in fretting, my dear. Dr. Crane has assured me this final procedure will perFECT our master plan once and for alllll!
Harriet: You’ll never find hired help again after this! I’m the best gun that your pathetic gang ever had!
Tetch (still waltzing about): Ah, but there will be no need for super-villainy in Gotham in a few short hours, no no… This is to be The Batman’s last hurrah!
Myself: Surely you cannot keep us in suspense, Crane. You do so enjoy… you must pardon my verbiage… to CROW.
He shuffles over to a control panel.
Crane: Do you want to hear a flaw of yours, Karlo? You see only cinematic solutions to problems. You deceive and thwart and trick, but you always so desperately need the scene to be genuine. You couldn’t accomplish anything if you didn’t receive raw emotion back for your efforts. Perhaps you’ve given up on killing The Batman for that very reason. The stone-cold vigilante that never appreciated your commitment.
As Crane and Tetch continue to adjust knobs and dials on their equipment, Chortle and Harriet fruitlessly search our limited space for a means of departure.
Chortle (to her): You’ve worked with the guy! You’re telling me you don’t know how to get people in and out of this box??
Harriet: I just deliver the goods! You think I’m into this psycho-crap? I’m just paying grocery bills here!
Crane (ignoring the babble): It was this study of your character, Karlo, that sparked my latest master plan. My GREATEST plan. You see, though I have developed variations to my toxins over the years, they’ve always brought about the fears festering deep inside my victims. They were REAL fears, Karlo, just like those you instill.
He approaches the glass barrier once again.
Crane (a brusqueness in his croak): Here’s whats going to happen. You three will be subjected to my most potent gas, as Hatter takes control of your minds. As a general rule of trial and error, the physiologies of a man, woman, and metahuman will do nicely to provide us with any inconsistencies in results. With luck, you will all be the final casualties of our tests to end The Dark Knight’s reign, as we engineer NEW fears for you to experience. WithOUT luck… well, you will all be much too dead to disapprove.
Chortle: An’ here I was thinking MY boss wasn’t funny!
Crane was not his usual self. Normally, he may have carried a creeping smile upon his stitches as he outlined his schemes, yet something was amiss on this occasion. His voice lacked smugness; his confidence seemed to have evolved beyond simple gloating. Now, a sense of unchecked purpose and drive was woven into his words. He believes unequivocally this to be his very last plot.
Myself: And IF you successfully implant phony terror within us, what then, Crane? We both know The Batman WILL have a way to evade the same fate.
Tetch: We will not beeeee targeting the big bad Bat this go-around, no siree! I’ve been busy as a beaver creating a new line of teeny-tiny mind control devices, that blend beautifully with Dr. Crane’s concoctions. Like pollen drifting from lovely flowers, they will float into every nostril and ear canal in Gotham…
Crane: And then we allow this cesspool of a city to experience the one fear it’s sorely needed; the fear of Batman himself. We will drag his symbol, his legacy, into the muck, and he will live to see thousands die, screaming in horror at the image he’s fought so hard to keep pure.
He throws a final lever, and the whirring and buzzing of electronics behind the walls commences.
Crane: This is a noble cause. You understand, of course.
Chortle: Okay, okay, look, I’m not really one of the Joker’s finest! My name’s Nate, Nathan Cachin! I just signed up a month ago, an’ I got a gal back in Blüdhaven! Listen, I know some corrupt cops in GCPD that’d let you take some death row inmates off their hands for your science project here. Great stuff here, by the way, I rea-
A haze begins to occupy the room. I realize now that the out layer of the walls themselves are Tetch’s microscopic devices, each housing a portion of Crane’s gas. They anticipated I could have escaped via ventilation, they had pumped it in from elsewhere.
Chortle (perspiring profusely): Um… UH… Deep breaths, guys!
Harriet (drawing an obscured knife from her outfit, striving to puncture the glass with it): You idiot, it *stab* gets into your system just *stab* by skin contact! He gave us a damn *stab* POWERPOINT!
It is time I resort to less than flashy means of elusion. I dehydrate the clay in my fists, and subsequently begin to pound the window along with Harriet.
Tetch (linking his modified hat to the instruments that are invading our bodies): Such unruly children! You’ll go to bed as instructed!
Harriet suddenly sinks to her knees, then flat on her stomach. Rapid glances over her shoulders up at the ceiling result in her howling into the floor, her face turning red as saliva flows freely from her mouth.
Harriet: DON’T LET ME FALL! OH GOD, THERE’S NOTHING BETWEEN ME AND IT! NOTHING BETWEEN..
Crane: Oh dear. It appears you’ve willed incurable casadastraphobia into your old colleague, Tetch. Given the severity of this dosage, she is convinced she will plunge into the sky at any moment. Momentarily, she will try with all her might to burrow into the ground. What do you think the cause of death will be? Heart failure? Concussion?
Harriet’s knuckles snap and an even brighter hue of crimson engulfs her forehead as she slams her limbs and body into the tile.
Harriet: GET ME AWAY FRO-
A snap like celery rings out, and her thrashing halts.
Crane (terse): And the next, Tetch?
Tetch: I’m getting another signal. The clown drank up his toxins like warm milk; Time for dreamland!
Chortle: This is not cool! I want to see your degrees, both of yous!
Chortle seizes up. His gaze slowly tilts down himself, his eyes bulging as it reaches his legs. Ungodly shrieking ensues. He topples into the wall, seemingly fumbling for an item in his coat pockets and kicking his legs out as though he had stepped in an anthill.
Crane: Stop PLAYING, Tetch.
Tetch: But the INfinite possibilities! … Very well. One order of “Batmanophobia”, coming up!
Chortle grasps his kneecaps, fingertips digging deep into his skin through his trousers. Amidst the blood-curdling hollering, two wet pops, and he at once sinks back, prominent vacancies where the joints had been.
Crane: Genuphobia. Almost laughable.
I am next. Little more progress than a hairline rift has come from Harriet’s and my aggression. I feel a tingle as Tetch starts to invade my mind. Before he can establish contact, I strangle the consciousness that is about to be overtaken. It bursts like a cyst, gone in the blink of an eye. The agony is incomparable to any other I have felt.
Tetch (stamping his foot): No fair! He went down the rabbit hole!
Crane: … Oh. Now that IS very interesting. You severed the persona that Hatter took hold of. But you’re still here with us, aren’t you? We can keep at this until we finally get the REAL you in there. With so many characters embedded in you, you won’t run dry any time soon. You’re a renewable resource, Karlo. Fancy that.
I resume feebly pummeling the glass, as Tetch reels in more of my personalities. One after the other, before he can inject them with Crane’s desired phobia, I extinguish them, losing myself in excruciating fragments. I won’t outlast this. They will breach my defenses in no time whatsoever.
As all life seems to dim about me, I hear a muffled shattering. My glazed eyes observe a pair of lime green and orange boots crack Tetch right in the cheek, leading him to somersault over the control console and land on his face. His assailant… Walker. Humming his own rendition of the Superman cartoon’s theme.
Walker: Daaah dadadadaaah, bum bum bummm. Daaah dadadadaaah… KILL-er Mottthhh!
Crane: YOU.
He leaps at Killer Moth with hypodermic needles clutched in his glove. Walker retaliates by drawing his cocoon gun. One shot sticks Crane’s hand to his machinery, another grazing his temple and twisting his mask sideways. Crane roars as his free hand also clings to the substance when he goes to remove the disguise.
Walker: Heads up Bas!
He chucks a detonator at my prison. I am too weak to avoid the blast, as it demolishes the glass and splatters most of myself all about. Walker leaps in, and begins shoveling my matter back into a cohesive pile with his helmet.
Walker: Don’t sweat it pal, Killer Moth has never let down loyal customers. Your Moth Signal will function for 5 years without fail, or your money back!
Myself (woozy and fighting to expel Tetch’s remaining gadgets from my essence): I am indebted to your punctual rescue, however, I… purchased no alert beacon from you.
Walker (face drooping): You didn’t? I got a signal from…
I clamber over to Chortle, and extract a small implement from his pocket, sopping with blood.
Myself (tossing it to its manufacturer): Your devotee, it would seem.
Walker: Well, that’s… not going on my brochure. It’s already hard enough to market protection to all these hoodlums. My prices are equitable! You would THINK it’d be a piece of cake, selling extra help to such a cowardly and superstitious lot…
Myself: Is that a paraphrase?
Walker: Might’ve been Robert Louis Stevenson.
He calls over his shoulder to Crane.
Walker (chipper): Nothing personal, Scarecrow, but you can’t go around kidnapping my investors.
Slightly more corporeal, I limp towards Crane, who is still furiously pulling at the adhesive. I lean down to his level. The speech pattern I am able to manage is a hoarse gurgle.
Myself: The Batman’s wings will be clipped one day, Crane… But not by means of this fraudulent ploy. Gotham’s children should suffer only their sincerest fears…
I hold a clawed hand close to Crane’s face.
Myself: You concur, of course.
He nods, a mixture of loathing and trepidation swirling in his eyes.
Walker: You were going to off Batman without ME? Never mind, Crane, DO take this personally.
One more shot from Walker’s launcher conks Crane’s head back into the desk, putting him out like the light. With that, I start off for the exit. I can sense the gaping cavity where so many voices within me once resided. Hardly any of them linger.
Walker (catching up behind me): Hey, Bas! Take this, on the house. It’s still active.
I accept the blemished Moth Signal.
Myself (in a voice I do not recognize): … Couldn’t hurt.
***
} I am delighted to announce that this Killer Moth dialogue has been approved by the man himself. {
I decided that I wanted to get back in the hero business. I have the same feeling as whenever I became Batboy. This is the feeling that made me decide what I wanted to do with my life. Perhaps I just should've remained alive, that would've spared so much people. I was selfish. I thought I had to die to become a hero, but it was horrible. This persona took over my whole life. I left my girlfriend, my best friend, my other friends, and it was so stupid. Uncle Bruce has set up a pressconferance. In a few days, people will know I'm alive again. As I'm lost in thought, Dick comes walking up to me, just coming back from a stakeout.
NW: "Hey bud. Watcha doing?"
KW: "Oh, hey Dick. Just assembling a new suit."
Dick picks up the helmet, looking very similar.
NW: "Boba Fett?"
KW: "You know I like Star Wars."
NW: "Why not use the Watcher costume? It is on display, but you don't use it."
KW: "Bad memories. I just keep it as a form of needed back-up."
NW: "Aha."
Dick looks back at the helmet, and then at the gauntlets that I am working on.
NW: "Boba has a whole arsenal in his suit. You trying to do that to?"
KW: "Already got a grapplinghook installed. I also had gauntlets with grapplinghooks, remember?"
NW: "Yes I remember, but those didn't have guns or flamethrowers."
KW: "Flamethrower can always come in handy. I stole those wristguns from the GCPD evidence locker. Courtesy of Deadshot. And don't worry, I won't use them lethally. Only rubber bullets."
NW: "Still... You should probably just install a stungun."
KW: "We'll see."
NW: "Also planning on using a jetpack?"
KW: "In fact I am."
NW: "Wait, really? That's awesome!"
KW: "Thanks. Al and Tim are helping me with it."
NW: "Nice. You nervous?"
KW: "Extremely. I don't know what to say. How will everyone react? Will Lori forgive me?"
NW: "It will be okay. We will always support you."
KW: "Thanks Dick."
NW: "So, have you thought of a new name yet?"
KW: "No..."
NW: "Hmm. Boba Fett was a Mandalorian right?"
KW: "Technically not. His father stole the Mandalorian armor and used it for bounty hunting. Boba would take that armor and modify it in his own way."
NW: "But the armor was Mandalorian, right?"
KW: "Yeah."
NW: "What about the Mandalorian?"
KW: "Hmm. Mandalorian..."
When I got back to work the day after Christmas, I had the guys down in the forensic department do scans on the DNA in the gloves. The first glove had DNA from a person not in our system. The second glove... Mike's DNA. As soon as I received this information, I immediately went into a deserted hallway and called Mike.
"Mike, I just got forensics in from the gloves."
"Any matches?"
"Yes, the DNA in the first glove was from someone who's not in our system. The second glove, well, had your DNA..."
"......."
"Look, Mike, lock yourself in the bunker until I can delete this out of the GCPD's system. I'm afraid this is exactly what we feard it would turn out to be..."
"The return of the Black Glove."
Vicky Vale here with Gotham City News! In most recent news, there has been confirmed reports of the Batman sighting! Many were worried the the Dark knight would not show his mask again! But, of course, with the return of Gotham's favorite hero, comes the dreaded Joker. Rumor has it Joker is once again back on the loose in Gotham! In other new, the vigilante Azrael is currently wanted for the murder of Father Day. Witnesses claim to seeing Azrael and Robin interrupting mass on the day of the murder. Other contradict this claim saying it's one of Gotham's many villains, or even the extremely controversial vigilante, Bloodfall, who I had on the show the other night. But only time will tell, while the GCPD investigates the case. This was Gotham City News, with Vicky Vale, good night.
"Fuck"
Baker looked at the bottom of his partially charred shoe. Dog Crap. As if clawing his way out of a burning, dilapidated Ace Chemicals, smelling and breathing in whatever dangerous concoctions had been released into the air during the explosion, and wandering around the cold dark streets of Gotham wasn't bad enough.
"Come on, dammit." Baker rubbed his shoe against the concrete, darting his eyes from one corner of his eyelids to the other simultaneously. Nighttime in Gotham, especially in the bad neighborhoods was about as safe as running around Arkham in nothing but boxers. Atleast in Arkham there were guards. Any maniac with a knife could run free in the Gotham streets till they attracted the attention of the police or...others.
Baker took care of the canine guano and kept walking. He had no idea where he was going. How could he? His current status was much more intriguing to him than any mere location. He looked like an albino that had tried to cut himself with a black marker. Other than his appearance however, he felt the same. The burns stung a little sure but, other than that he was just another criminal with peculiar looks. Something not rare in Gotham.
"What the hell am I even doing? Heading to my apartment, to do what? I can't sleep like this! I'm still not entirely sure what that fucking mad scientist, Wist's, machine did to me!"
Baker walked over to a GCPD car and sat down against it. He didn't care if a cop came out and arrested him right there. Why would they anyways? He looked like a depressed Zebra, not a dangerous looking individual at all. Besides, he thought * he glanced at the strip club across the street , the only decent looking establishment in sight* the cop was probably busy anyhow.
Baker wondered what to do. Go home, go to the hospital, pray? Pray, ha, that was a joke. Baker wasn't religious. A criminal like him couldn't be. He wanted power. And he was pretty certain the likes of Two-Face and Black Mask didn't become the top dogs of Gotham by going to church. What would praying do anyways? Would Jesus himself come down from the heavens and give him a hand?
"Hello my child."
Baker looked up at Jesus.
"Who the hell are you."
"Your savior, the son of the God almighty."
Baker wondered, was he tripping cause of the experiment, had some crackpot hobo read his thoughts and was trying to take advantage of him? Was Jesus actually talking to him?
"Ya right, listen I ain't given you any cash for drugs or whatnot, I don't even have any money on me!
"Oh, yee of little faith, I am not trying to take advantage of you in your time of peril. I, Jesus Christ, have come, despite your crimes and sins, to save you."
Baker glared at the man. But the man's loving stare did not waver. Oddly enough Baker seemed to trust the man more and more every second he continued to look at his face. Maybe he was...no..yes...no, are you dense Baker, your alone on a street in a bad part of town at around midnight at this random fucker claims to be Jesus? Ya right...ha...but...he...maybe...
The man's face was practically glowing. Like he was standing in front of some holy spotlight. He must be...he was...he...he is Jesus!
"I-I'm sorry. I-I-I didn't believe. Please forgive me *he kneeled infront of Jesus, who, for some reason, was wearing a bloody white tank top and vest with knives holsters* please forgive me of my sins!"
"Do not worry my child, I will forgive you, and I will take you to the kingdom of God. You must simply come with me. Come, come" *he talked to Baker as though he was a nervous puppy*.
"Yes, take me to the land of God!"
And so Jesus gestured to Jacob to follow him, and Jacob did, as though he was almost in a trance. But how could Jacob not trust the man, he was Jesus, and even if he wasn't his face was so kind and generous, that is until Jacob was behind the man and couldn't see his face, when the man quietly licked his lips, and grinned ear to ear, a sharp-toothed grin, with teeth stained a red, almost velvet color, like blood.
Clearly, the man was in fact, not Jesus...
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Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated ;)
==Pump Room. ACE Chemicals==
Doctor Alex Sartorius. As far as doctors in Gotham go, he's still one of the good ones, even now (granted, there ain't a lotta competition). When Cobb caused a city wide blackout, Al joined up with Gotham General, volunteering to strap himself up to a generator, all to keep the facility running. A makeshift human battery.
Later, he joined the Society- under my pressuring, and defected when Gotham became a target. Hadn't really talked to him since. Shame, he had a bunch of great party tricks. Infectious laugh. But as with a bunch of rogues; Freeze, Needham, his attempts to be better were thwarted. By Arkham City.
It's sickening, really. See, unlike the rest of them, I wasn't *planning* on going straight. Just kinda happened. Suppose I should thank Josie for that. Fact is, I'm not a hero and, unlike Drury, I never even wanted to be. I just look after my own. And Doctor Phosphorus is one I've neglected for too long. All I'm hoping is, that as one of the few rogues *not* to end up in Arkham, he's not feeling too bitter... Hah. Big fucking ask...
"Chuck," I say, "Can I trust you to get the rest of them free? And y'know, stop them from killing us."
"I'll do my best," he replies, as he fiddles with the door locks. Good, now I can focus on Phosphorus.
"Lynns...." his voice crackles, barely audible above his sizzling flames... His sizzling, gorgeous- Get a grip, Gar.
"Al. You take that drug too, or is the company here *really* that good?"
Phosphorus scowls. "You know, some of us aren't driven by greed or pride, Lynns. Some of us do what we do just to get by. My body is burning. Perpetually burning. My skin is on *fire,* and it will stay that way long after I'm dead. It used to be that every step I took was agony. I owe Doctor Crane, the painkillers he provides are the only things keeping me upright, so you'll be damned sure I'll protect his research."
"And here I thought you'd oppose human experimentation. You lot never learn."
"We have a plan, yeah?" Chuck asks, undoing the locks on Dekker's cell, avoiding a very grateful kiss.
"No, no we don't. My flamethrower's useless against *that*. Don't suppose you've got any baking soda in that kite of yours?"
Chuck pauses. In thought.
"Nah, of course not..." I sigh, dodging a fireball. God, green flames really are something special...
"Wait, I know someone who might," he responds, snapping me out of it, as he turns to the next cell.
==Mixing Chamber. ACE Chemicals==
Crane clutches a bag of seed in his hand, feeding his crows one by one. Even now his hands shake. Nervously. That just might be the key. "How did you get Mr Lynns to follow you? Threats of blackmail against his "family?" The simple promise of wanton destruction? Not, I hope, loyalty? These... misfits, think a lot of you. Mr Brown, especially, promised swift retribution, and, in the past I've had similar conversations, if you can call them that, with Mr Walker. It makes you wonder. Why *do* they believe in you? Every dog has it's day. Even you, you can't beat the "bad guy," every time. And yet their faith persists. Why? Fear, I suppose. But I know better. You're a fraud, Dark Knight. Two-Face can have what's left of you, I want your soul."
Two-Face pricks up at this, gripping his pistol.
"So, let's begin, shall we?" Scarecrow smiles, injecting Bruce with the serum. He rests his ring down on the table, and with it, the gurney disappears, and he staggers backwards, no longer is he held together by constructs, and nor, is Batman.
Two-Face scowls. "What are you doing, Crane?"
"Testing my hypothesis. I want to see how far he'll go. You're free, Batman. Free to win your war on crime whichever way you like! What first? A siege on Blackgate Prison? A hit and run in the Batmobile."
Batman looks down. The serum's taking it's toll, as hard as he's trying to fight it, the allure is... intoxicating. He's silent at first, and then, he whispers, softly. "What I should've done from the beginning"
He grabs Crane by the throat and hoists him above his head, a sadistic smile growing across his ragged face. "Wonder-urk-ful!" he cackles in-between gasps. Venom plays on Batman's lips. Each word a knife in Scarecrow's chest.
"They don't want you in The Society, Crane. You're unstable. Erratic. Flawed."
His smile fades. "Luthor-"
"Luthor's gone. Who does that leave? Bane. Sinestro. Black Adam. Do you really think they'd tolerate your psychoanalysis? Or your insane experiments?"
"The ring chose me!" he shrieks back. Two-Face reaches for his gun, pointing at it Batman's head. "Just give the word-"
"Wait-!" Scarecrow responds.
"Do you want to know what they really think of you? The truth? You're nothing. You're a distraction. Always were," Batman grins.
"The truth, Batman, is that I am *terrified.* I have no idea what is about to happen, and I love it... Fear is a drug... Ecstasy... Oh, I haven't been this afraid for so long... That's what happens when you've been on the receiving end of your wrath. Fear is wonderful... And that's what I'll take from you. The adrenaline pumping through your veins, the sweat on your brow... Fear is a privilege."
Batman stops himself from delivering a final blow, and loosens his grip around Crane's neck.
"You really are as naïve as you appear... How annoying..." Crane sighs, the ring returning to his finger. "Did you really think it would be that simple? On or off, the ring answers to *me* Batman. Did you think I had nothing left?"
Batman turns around, "No, I knew." Producing a syringe from his hand, taken from Crane's person, he hurls it in into Two-Face's wrist, the gun falling out of his hand. Next, he pins Cranes arm behind his back, and administers the toxin.
"What the hell are you doing?" Crane demands, as he sends a hailstorm of bats at Bruce. As they approach, the constructs fade. Powerless.
"Simple. Fearless gave Two-Face the push he needed to take control, introduce Fear toxin into the system, and he'll lose his foothold on Harvey's mind."
"Bruce... You lied..." Harvey coughs in-between breaths. His brow furrows, as he holds his hand in his. "I'm sorry Harvey, I can't give you peace. But maybe... I can give you control."
=======================
"Mayo! Mitch, buddy, I need your belt!" Chuck calls out, unlocking the cell door, the room smeared with sauces of every kind.
"Nice try, Charlie. But you betrayed us," Mayo utters in defiance.
Chuck raises an eyebrow. Confused.
"Arkham City? You left us at Zeiss' mercy. Twice. Then you dropped me in an earthquake!"
"That's not what... I saved you from Zeiss!" Chuck yells back, frustrated that this is what his kindness got him.
"You set him on us!" Mayo exclaims, a bottle of relish shaking in his hand.
"Technically, Penguin did-" Chuck groans.
"Forget about the midget, I am the Condiment King, and I will not be-"
Pow. A single blow and Mayo's unconscious. "Sorry Mitch, that drug did a real number on you..." But at the same time, he wondered if he *did* have a point. Fearless didn't make anything up, it just freed locked up feelings and brought them to the surface... No bicarbonate, anyway. What a waste, he thought, as he chased after Gar, his fight with Sartorius bringing him to the central vats.
"If it's medicine you want, Al, just let me-" Gar starts, another fireball grazing his face.
"It's Phosphorus! Doctor Phosphorus!" Sartorius screams, the catwalk beneath them melting under his heat.
"Yeah, yeah, and I'm Firefly but I'm not fucking uppity about it!"
"Hey you!"
"Chuck?" Gar coughs. "Did you get the stuff?"
"He had vinegar, would that help?" Chuck explains, holding up a single sachet.
"What are you idiots playing at?" Phosphorus turns around, laughing.
"Told ya, infectious," Gar smiles to himself.
An amused smile stretches across Phosphorus' skeletal features. "Yes, vinegar *can* remove phosphorus, but not alone, and not with a tiny sachet of it! Are you two insane?!"
Chuck smirks, Fearless flowing through his veins
He turns to Gar, winks, then turns back to Phosphorus, jumping on the ground, he grabs Gar's fallen flamethrower, aims it at the floor beneath Phosphorus, and winks. "Hell yeah."
The catwalk beneath them melts, and, as Phosphorus reaches out for a railing, it burns in his hand. With a final yell, he plunges into the vats below.
Expecting thanks, Chuck is instead met with Gar's unchained fury. "You lunatic! We're standing on a powder keg!"
"Hell yeah!"
"He's made of fire!" Gar cries out.
"Hell yeah!"
"You're going to kill us-"
Chuck places a hand over his mouth, newfound confidence surging through his body. "Gar, buddy, say it with me."
…
"...Hell yeah," he mumbles as they head for the exit, the room behind them exploding into emerald flames, a gun blocking their path.
"Seriously?" Gar mutters, as he looks at Condiment King's bloody face. "You want to shower me in ketchup later, go ahead, but right now, let's get out of here."
"The Condiment King bows to no one!" Mayo proclaims, stroking his broken jaw.
"Just... Just fucking do it," an exasperated Gar replies, pushing the ketchup gun out of his way.
"Hell yeah!"
Gar pauses to point an warning finger at Chuck. "Stop that."
===========
Brown's explosion is felt halfway across the plant. Crane looks at the window, aghast, then back to Bruce. "You have no idea what you've done!" he cries, summoning a scythe, and hurtling it at him. But, before landing in his skull, it fades away again.
"Actually, I do. That ring feeds off fear Crane. I *let* you inject me. Because right now, you've got no-one left to terrorise. Right now, you've got no power. No allies. Just a man playing dress up."
"You're lying... You're lying! I will not be made a fool of again, Batman, I will not have my own weapons turned against me! Never again!"
His power was draining, his body was falling apart. As he chucks a knife Bruce's way, he ducks, knocking him back into the cages filled with crows, all of them pecking at Crane, injecting him with his virus. Disappointed, the ring slips off his finger, and attempts to fly off, in search of a new bearer, for Bruce to quickly grab and seal it away.
"No..." Crane whispers, as he staggers around. "*I* want to be afraid... I want... I need... That's all I ever wanted."
"So the Doc failed after all. Shame. All those speeches... All that power, and he tried, what, talking you to death?" Two-Face is on his feet, gun in his hand. "Where were we?"
The first shot hits Batman in the shoulder. The second in his shin. The suit's armoured, but it's not bulletproof, not completely.
Two-Face loads it with his silver bullet, now Bruce is finally here, finally at *his* mercy, and yet, he stops. His hand shakes. "Don't be a hero, Harvey," he mutters to himself.
"We need to check the coin..." Harvey warns.
"There *is* no coin anymore, you idiot, *I'm* the casting vote."
"That's not *fair,*" Harvey complains.
Bruce is getting up, slowly. Soon the whole factory will be up in flames and them with it.
"Who cares what's fair? The things I've had to put up with, for you. Jimbo, Bats, the little Kite-Man... If you let *me* make a damn decision, those problems would be gone! Dead!"
"The floors unstable," Bruce groans, "Harvey, let me save you!"
Dent turns around. He knew about the floor. "That's just it Bruce, I don't know if I can be... Heh, the coin, that usually decides it for us."
The planks give way, and Dent outstretches his arms. His turn. His turn to be free... Only for Bruce to catch his arm.
"Soon, Harvey," he sighs, as he pulls him back up, "I promise," placing him on his back, and grabbing Crane's limp figure, he leaps out the window to safety, ACE Chemicals erupting in a colourful display of flames and fumes.
On the ground, Chuck and Gar emerge from the rubble laughing like madmen. They'd flown out on Chuck's kite. For several minutes they just lie there giggling.
"That was incredible!" Gar cries out, taking in the view, before composing himself
"Hell yeah!"
"PETA's gonna kill us..."
"Hell yeah!"
A familiar voice calls out, as he rushes to their aid. Drury. "Gar, you’re ok! When I saw the blaze I thought that maybe you’d blown up… again. But, Gar, listen, when I was at Slabside-"
"Hah! Drury fecking Walker, we meet again! How many children do you suppose you've killed? Must be hard, sustaining the moral high ground when you've spilled any blood, let alone an innocent's!" Scarecrow cackles, as the GCPD carts him away.
"Oh, fuck off!" Gar cries, standing up. "What were you gonna say there Dru?"
Drury looked to the ground, and sighed. "Grange is dead."
...
There's a moment's pause in the festivities. "Good." Gar finally says.
"Yeah," Drury nods "That was me a few months ago. But, I don't... I should never have left the house," he mumbles as he steps back into his car.
"Hey, Drury!" Gar calls out. "What… What happened to your hand, there?"
Drury smiles slightly. "Nothing, it's stupid, this bird, it, uh, pecked me at the funeral. Rotten Walker luck, that's all. Rotten Walker luck..." as he turns on the ignition.
...
Batman and Gar both turn around at this. "Bird?"
Lego 70912
The Batman Movie
Arkham Asylum
My review : www.hellobricks.com/2017/01/review-lego-70912-lego-batman...
Much to my surprise, the assailant who I thought I’d dealt with, attempts to attack me whilst I’m momentarily distracted dealing with his colleague. A cunning move. Hardly noble, but most definitely cunning. There’s a reason people say that there’s ‘strength in numbers’. It’s because it’s true. Though I do highly doubt that phrase was coined with the idea being that you’d sacrifice one of your allies for the opportunity to land a fatal blow to your opponent. But yet, it also perfectly describes the doctrine Ra’s enforces amongst all members of the League. Not the strength that comes from others, or the lessons that can be learnt from them. No, the League of Assassins teaches you one thing above all else.
The weak have no place in this world.
They must be purged.
Evidently this assailant now associates his colleague as being a member of that category due to his inability to best me when I had already been disarmed. However, he should not be so quick to cast aside those who unlucky enough to lose to me in combat, especially since he’s about to join that prestigious club.
Unlike most combatants though, he chooses to make no noise as he rapidly charges towards me with his katana at the ready. It’s frankly more thanks to luck that I was able to spot him moving in the corner of my eye before it was too late. Given the small amount of time I have to process his actions and plot a counterattack, it’s a miracle I was able to accomplish anything at all. Six seconds. That was how little time I had to respond.
Instinctively, I lean back and narrowly avoid the katana’s blade. My opponent is not as lucky. With his opportunity wasted, the assailant desperately tries to readjust himself. Only a fool wastes the element of surprise as poorly as he did. Now the advantage is mine, failing to land the critical blow he wanted, the assailant has thrown himself off balance and he’s in no position to defend himself in this moment.
Rather than attempt to extract any information out of him, I instead choose to bring the fight to an end. All members of the League of Assassins are trained to resist all known forms of torture as a precaution as well, so it’s unlikely I’d be able to make him talk without wasting time I don’t have. Instead, I decide to neutralise him by clenching my left hand into a fist and swiftly punching him in his Erector Spinae. The blow causes him to cry out in pain as the impact briefly paralyses his muscle causing him to collapse onto the ground. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though I have some form of super strength with how I was able to neutralise the assailant in one punch, but the reality is, how powerful your blows are is irrelevant. All you need, is to know where to land your blows. As I just demonstrated.
I’m doubtful many people know where and what the Erector Spinae is, nor the best way to momentarily paralyse it. The answer to the second question is that it’s the muscle that holds up your spine and gluteal muscles. Take it out, or momentarily inure it and you won’t be able to stand upright for quite some time, thus why my opponent almost immediately collapsed to the ground following my surgical blow. He won’t have to worry about any serious damage, the muscle will have fully recovered in an hour or two, but it gives me the opportunity to restrain both members of the League.
Given the GCPD’s difficult restraining the Crimson Knight, it’s for the best that both assailants are restrained before they arrive. It’s as I remove two pairs of handcuffs that I see the incapacitated assailant attempting to drag himself across the floor to his katana. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Ra’s would be proud.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not Ra’s Al-Ghul.
I grab hold of the back of his robes lifting his torso up off the ground with my left hand, before immediately using my right hand to slam his head against the wall. Aggressive? Absolutely. Fatal? Absolutely not. Though I’d be lying if I said that I would have done the same action if I didn’t know the masks were padded to protect the user’s head from as much damage as possible. However, since I know the masks shield the user from most blows to the head, I end up simply knocking the assailant unconscious as I’d intended.
Two down, at least a hundred more to go.
I run through the hallway and I'm almost at the entrance of Indian Hill. I turn around the last corner, and there I see Black Mask standing in front of the door with a gun in his hand.
BM: "Now I finally got you!"
NW: "Black Mask... I see your men have already been able to free you."
BM: "Quinn freed me, hoping everything would be 'cool' between us. I stabbed her with the knife she used to open my cell door. Hopefully that fucking bitch dies."
NW: "You're done, Roman! The war is done!"
BM: "Not if I'm not the winner of that war."
Black Mask aims his gun at me and he's ready to shoot. I make myself ready to dodge and counter, but then I hear large footsteps coming from the little hallway next to Sionis.
The footsteps come closer and I see Roman notices it too. Then we hear a click and in a flipsecond, Roman is frozen. Out of the little hallway steps Mr Freeze.
NW: "Victor, you came."
MF: "Of course. You were right. When I surrenderd, they let me work on the cure for my wife. When Black Mask's men attacked, my wife was in danger so I counter attacked."
NW: "Did the GCPD let you out of your cel?"
MF: "An officer was keeping watch on me and when the Asylum was attacked he left. I waa able to hold the door so I could get out."
NW: "Aha."
Freeze looks at the entrance to Indian Hill.
MF: "Is Batman in there?"
NW: "Yes."
Freeze looks at Black Mask and then looks at me.
MF: "I'll hold them of, you go get him and end this war."
NW: "I will, Victor. Thank you."
MF: "Just go."
NW: "Oh and Victor."
MF: "Yeah?"
NW: "You're a good man. Don't let anyone tell you different. Not even Batman."
MF: "I'll- I'll remember that, Nightwing. Thank you."
First official images of four LEGO Batman Movie summer wave sets (June release) were revealed on the Hollywood Reporter today—http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/first-look-lego-batman-movie-batwing-bane-two-face-vehicles-revealed-969539
Who in their right mind decides to give Harley and her goons a minigun of all things?
The League of Assassins, I guess.
Really that’s a bit of a stupid question to ask now that I think about it. I suppose if you want to destabilise a nation, arming the crazy is a good way to go about it. Just how they manage to get hold of such weapons to arm the crazies? I mean, does the League of Assassins make all the weapons they supply groups with? Or do they just buy them and pass them on? I’m going to have to ask Bruce when all of this is over. Assuming we all make it through this anyways.
Harley Quinn: Angel! Where’d the cat go!?
Angel: I don’t know I can’t see anything!
Harley Quinn: Split up, find her! We can’t have her ruining Mr. J’s coming home party!
Angel: What about the bird?
Harley Quinn: Leave him! Hammer and Lantern are dealing with him. We need to find ourselves a naughty little pussy cat.
Either Harley really trusts her goons or she thinks that I’m not going to be as hard a person to defeat as Bruce is. Oh who am I kidding? It’s probably both. She’s always had a problem of putting too much trust in people that’s partly why she can’t seem to give Joker no matter how many times he throws her away.
Then again, I’d probably feel pretty confident as well if there were more of me than them. If I had a minigun to boot, man I don’t know how confident I’d feel. Hope Selina can handle Harley and her lacky whilst I deal with these two jokers. Ha. Funny slip of the tongue. Imagine if there actually were two of him?
Jeez, just the thought of something like that gives me the chills and it doesn’t get me out of my current predicament.
My current position is exposed and there’s no good cover. This goon isn’t going to take his eye of the trigger as long as he has eyes on me. There’s only one choice. Hope neither of these two have thermal imaging on their weapons….
As I race up and down the various levels in the main entrance I reach into my belt and remove a pair of smoke bombs. Given that the building is sealed off and this room isn’t too wide it should take only a few seconds for the smoke to cover the group floor completely. Hopefully. Really hope this hospital doesn’t have an emergency extraction system for the main entrance.
Narrowly avoiding a couple of rounds from the minigun that almost manage to catch me, I throw both of the smoke bombs right in front of Harley’s two goons and almost instantaneously the room fills with smoke. Despite this however, the minigun wielder doesn’t immediately hold his fire. Not what I expected. You can often predict what should do, but never what will they do. The one thing you can never truly predict, is stupidity.
The maniac keeps firing for at least another ten seconds by my count. Man, he really is trigger happy. The folks at Arkham would probably have a field day studying him. Regardless, his itchy trigger finger is something I can use to my advantage. Nothing unnerves people more than a person with an itchy trigger finger. I dread to think how nervous it’s making the guy with the jack o’lantern mask knowing that his trigger happy friend is carrying a minigun.
Once the trigger happy fool comes to his senses and decides to stop firing I over hear him and his colleague discussing tactics.
Hammer: Do you think I got him?
Lantern: I don’t know, I can’t see crap but if he’s anything like the Bat, then probably not.
Hammer: Damn it. Then what the hell do we do now?
Lantern: We stick together. He’ll pick us off if we don’t.
Awwww. These guys actually learned something from the last time they crossed paths with Bruce. It’s quite heart-warming to see that Blackgate re-education system actually seems to be working. Unfortunately I wish it wasn’t working against me in this case. If they don’t separate then it’s going to be harder to take them out quietly, but as long as I take that minigun out they shouldn’t be too difficult to neutralise.
Hammer: Do you think he’s in here with us?
Lantern: I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Follow me.
Hammer: Where you going?
Lantern: If we stay here and wait for him to come for us he’ll come to us on his own terms. I’m making sure he comes to us on ours.
That doesn’t sound good at all. Just what is he planning? I activate the thermal imaging in my mask feeling relieved to know that their guns clearly don’t have thermal so for the moment at least, I’m safe. The pair of them start walking to the right seemingly heading for the nearby corridor. Which department that leads to I can’t tell with the room enveloped in smoke but it seems like neither do they for what it’s worth.
It’s only as I drop down into the smoke to quietly follow behind them that I start to realise the jack o’lantern goon’s plan. Two rooms down the corridor is the hospital waiting room, and there are at least 6 people hiding inside it. Not good.
Before I have to chance to think of something to possibly stop them, the goon carrying the minigun kicks down the waiting lounge and the pair of them quickly storm the room terrifying the people hiding in the room.
Hammer: Everyone get down on the ground!
Lantern: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt!
Great. Now it’s a hostage situation. Man, I hope Selina’s having more luck than I am.
==Sionis Industries==
October 31st. 04:00
"Early start, eh?" a voice called out.
Bookworm nodded, his briefcase held tightly against his chest. "Indeed," he replied, as he climbed the stairs. Guarding the door, was a brutish man dressed in a white judge wig and an accompanying black mask. One of the many eccentricities David Li had grown to live with as Roman Sionis' bookkeeper.
The guard raised his hand out. "He's in his office right now."
"Yes, thank you," Li said firmly, moving their arm aside. "I know the way."
October 31st. 04:03
"These arrived today," Li said laying a brown envelope on the table. "The White Mask files you wanted."
Sionis didn't reply. Beside him, Warren White let out an amused chuckle.
"Sir?"
Black Mask was hunched over his desk, an orange and black box lay opened in front of him, blood seeping from its' sides. Li approached cautiously, and recoiled at the contents within.
"Is that-?" he gasped.
"Yeah," Roman nodded, still not looking away. "Lucio Moxxom."
Moxxom's head had been crudely decapitated, a yellow candle stuffed into it's mouth. His orange spray tan dripped off of it's face.
Sionis handed Li a bloody note, and he read aloud.
"Roman Sionis. You should have stayed in Italy. A day of reckoning is coming, vengeance for the devestation left in your wake. We, the oppressed will not stand idle while you tear this city asunder. Before this year is through, we will see you burn."
"Happy Halloween..." Sionis whispered hoarsely.
"The results..." Li began, pushing the box aside. "Are legitimate."
Sionis' red eyes darted towards him.
"His mother's name was Maria Bowers. Your cook, I believe?" Li said.
Sionis smiled faintly. "Fat bitch, she was.... Pops always liked them fat... Does he know?" he asked. "Franco."
"Not yet," Li replied.
Sionis shook his head. "Before he died, Dad had me kicked out of Janus, disowned me. Me! Moxxom... Moxxom helped burn the paper trail and get me reinstated. If Franco has a claim to the company..."
"Then you better cozy up to the new boss," White laughed.
Li lowered his glasses. "Sir?"
Sionis' back arched, as he walked towards him. "I want my best people on this, you understand? Actually, scratch that, I want Ferris. He's an excellent cautionary tale."
Li nodded, "Of course."
==Gotham General Waiting Room==
October 31st. 04:23
Jenna opened a tired eye. Sitting by Gar's bedside, sharing war stories from the sounds of it, was a tangled mess of hair and bruises. Drury Walker.
"Remember the baby monitor?" he chuckled fondly.
"I remember," Gar scowled, "Having to shuffle my way out of a ventilation duct because you left that damn monitor on."
"We all make mistakes," Walker muttered.
"Just you a lot more than others," Lynns winked back. His eye caught Duffy's and he cleared his throat. "J-Jenna, you met Drury?" he asked.
Drury rested his cap on Gar's sheets and offered a gloved hand. "We spoke on the phone," she replied, as she shook it. Their eyes locked for a moment, as they both took mental notes of the other. The silence, was broken when the door slammed open, and Joey Rigger burst in.
"Drury!" Rigger gasped, as he leaned in for a hug.
"Hey, Joey," Walker blushed, as he nudged him aside. "What'd you say you did by the way?" he asked Duffy.
"Building consultant," Duffy smiled.
Drury's eyes widened, as he turned to Gar proudly. "Building consultant..."
"Don't-" Lynns warned, as he braced himself for Drury's patented lack of social awareness.
"Tool Girls, Gar," he whispered knowingly into his ear. "I knew they existed."
Gar recoiled, as he looked at Jenna apologetically. "That's derogatory, we call them handymen."
Drury frowned, as he places his arms by his side. "Weird. I didn't see you complaining when Chancer called Rigger "Black Gar" for a week."
Joey shrugged. "Yeah, but he called Pike "Thicc Gar" and Carson "The other one," so it balances out."
A doctor tapped on the door. "Hiya, I'd just like to ask you all if you could give Mr Lynns some space, please. He really needs to rest right now."
Drury nodded. "Sure, doc, just give us a mo."
"Love and respect you ma'am," Rigger added, as put his arm around Jenna and guided her out of the room.
"Who's Carson?" Jenna whispered curiously.
Rigger leaned over. "Eh, we barely know him ourselves, just roll with it."
Gar's eyes followed her out of the room, and turned back to Drury, embarrassed. Walker grinned back at him. "I've seen that same look in your eye before, Gar. With Clair. You're... you're in love," he laughed childishly.
"Shut up," Gar said, punching his shoulder. 'Ow.'
"She good to you?" Drury asked, watching her sit down through the window.
"Better," Gar said, reaching for his Jello.
Drury nodded warmly. "Good. Good. Because if she wasn't-"
"If she wasn't, you'd have no chance in hell in taking her on," Gar remarked, as he took another mouthful of pudding. "She's not Clair, if that's what you're asking," he added.
"Well, no one's quite like Volcana," Drury muttered. "What a massive, sadistic bi-"
"We're co-parenting."
Drury swallowed. "Lovely woman. Beautiful."
October 31st. 04:37
"Be kind of mean, call a woman a bitch. Place a product, I love my Switch," Blake sang, as he jotted the amended lyrics down into his notebook.
Fiasco threw his cup into the air angrily, as he pointed an angry finger at him and at Sharpe. "If I have to hear one more verse from either of you, I'm going to take this fucking pencil, jam it down your throat and- and-" he trailed off as a bizarre figure caught his eye.
Intrigued, The Misfits looked up at the new arrival, a mess of white fabric and sleek metal. The figure waved, and gestured to a haphazardly placed sticker on it's chest, reading "Hello! My name is Shit!"
"Not half bad," Chancer snickered.
"He sat in on one of Cammy's online classes," Drury muttered, defeated, as he came out from behind it, and hastily removed Suit's nametag. "He's learning."
The Misfits paused for a second, just staring at Drury peculiarly. And then the silence broke like a foghorn.
"Depression beaaaaaard!" Sharpe and Blake sang in chorus, pointing delighted fingers at Drury. Rigger joined in, and, immediately regretting it, buried his head under a nearby cushion.
Blake turned to Carpenter. "Every time Drury's sad, or grieving, or in prison, he grows out his beard. The group's mixed. Some say it's gross, some say it's hot. I go both ways. Heh. Woops. It borders on insensitive, but it's a bit of fun," he said jovially.
As Drury approached him, his demeanor changed slightly, as he cleared his throat. "Killer."
"Blake."
"It has come to my attention that I may have made several inappropriate passes at your wife. I wasn't myself, and I offer my deepest condolences," he said, offering his hand.
Drury took his hand in his, and nodded solemnly. "Thank you."
"Why's it always the hot ones..."
Blake whispered, as he sat back down.
Fiasco, examined Drury's makeshift disguise- a grey hoodie and a baseball cap, and snorted. "You look fucking stupid," he smiled weakly.
"Watch out, Drury, here comes Hydra!" Sharpe giggled.
"Oh, shut up," Drury scowled, as he buried his head into a woman's magazine.
"Yo, who's that one Spanish actress?" Blake asked suddenly, as he glanced over at the cover. Drury immediately flipped the page, in a childish attempt to ensure Blake couldn't read it.
Beside him, Suit tilted it's head curiously.
"Oh, come on, y'know, the one," Blake yelled to the ensemble. "Brown hair, big can. They're always the hot wife to the middle aged, balding fat guy in bad comedies. Adam Sandler, Kevin James, the entire cast of Grown Ups, I guess- You know what I mean, it's inexplicable. I know Will Ferrell is neither ripped nor funny enough to get a... wife."
"Not funny?" Rigger tutted. "Have you seen him in ELF?
Sharpe shook his head. "Heh. Every year in elementary school, we'd watch the start of ELF around Christmas time, but we never finished it. We just had that same hour, looping, over and over and over again. I still don't know how it ends. Did he ever reconnect with his dad, Rigger? Did his daddy ever love him?"
"Are those tears-?"
"Think she was in Get Hard," Blake said.
Drury looked up from his magazine.
"Elementary school-?" Chuck muttered under his breath despondently, as he caught Drury's eye. 'We are so old.'
"That's nothing, in High School, we were stuck with Home Alone. We never even got to see him defend the damn house," Jenna sighed.
"Sofia Viagra! That's who I was thinking of!" Blake said, relieved.
Fiasco grabbed Rigger's arm. "No, no, don't correct him."
"What the hell are you going on about? Sofia Vergara wasn't in Get Hard, the wife wasn't even Spanish in Get Hard," Drury said. "And by the way, she was his fiance."
"Yeah? And how would you know?"
Walker bowed his head, as Suit patted him tenderly on the shoulder.
Chuck groaned in realisation. "Do you just stalk that poor woman's IMDB or what?"
"It's not like that! I read the synopsis, and it... It just reminded me of Miranda..."
The Misfits bowed their heads. "Fucking ice cream reminds you of Miranda..." Fiasco hissed.
"She did like ice cream..." Drury smiled faintly.
"I give up! You make everything 20% more depressing just sitting there!" Sharpe exhaled angrily.
Blake turned to Drury. "We really need to get you laid..."
...
"I, uh, once you've had time to properly process your grief, I mean," he added sheepishly.
"So, uh, Drury, what've you been up to?" Rigger asked, as he slid beside him.
Drury tilted his head. "Not much," he said, a clear bitterness in his tone. "Since you all exiled me, I've mainly been binging a mix of The Room, GLOW and the Prequels on a loop."
Noting his mistake, Rigger took a cautious step back. "My god, he has gone mad."
"Oh, and The Disaster Artist," Drury murmured.
Reardon craned his head over to him. "Oh, I hadn't seen that one, is it good?"
"Eh, not James' greatest performance, bit too nasally, rough, even. Dave was so-so. Well played, but he's just not the hunk Sestero is. Definitely could've had Tommy play himself. He was on the bloody set, after all," Drury shrugged.
"It was alright," Chuck concluded, a slight frown on his face. "Didn't GLOW get cancelled?"
Drury's face fell. "What?"
His eyes darted towards Suit, who shrugged passively. Each of the Misfits slowly edged their chairs away from him worriedly, anticipating another meltdown.
Instead, Drury took a deep breath, rose from his chair and silently walked towards the vending machine.
"So, wait, that wasn't why you grew the beard?" Sharpe yelled out.
October 31st. 04:44
As Drury waited for the coffee to finish pouring, he turned his head. Now walking down the halfway were about a dozen GCPD officers, weapons drawn. Catching his eye, Chuck gestured for Drury to hide.
"Evening officers!" Joey said, in an attempt to distract them. The first looked at him angrily, and without a word, Rigger returned to his cup of soup- avoiding eye contact with the other Misfits. As the rest of the group moved past them, The Suit turned to them, and mimed a proud salute.
October 31st. 04:48
Drury stumbled backwards into Gar's ward, and gasped. Sitting by his bedside, flicking his lighter on and off, grinning was a bizarre Power Ranger of some sort, dressed in a gleaming set of red and gold armour. Standing beside him, Abner Krill- who took a slurp of Gar's Jello and waved cheerily.
"Yes, thought that'd get your attention," the armoured figure chuckled.
Instinctively, Drury reached for the mirror gun in his holster.
"I wouldn't" it tutted. "There are a dozen cops outside this room, and about half of those were victims of your GCPD siege. Nicely done, by the way."
"Carson-?" Drury asked, taking a cautious step forward.
"Prefer Mothkiller, actually," the red figure smiled. "Remember me now, Drury?"
"Vaguely," Drury spat back. "Shoulda stuck with Cockroach. Suited you better."
Krill gave him an appreciative smile, and Drury's focus shifted. "You called the cops?" he asked Carson.
Ted smirked. "Yep."
"You ran over Gar, too I'm guessing."
"Yeah," he nodded, a grin on his face. He was now pressing tightly onto Gar's chest; Lynns wheezing in pain.
Drury took another step forward. "And you, what, cancelled GLOW?"
Carson's smile faded. "No? What's a-"
"You better not've," Krill scowled. "I was very invested in Rhonda's character arc."
The trio stopped and stared at him; Gar, in utter bewilderment; Carson, in seething rage; And Drury, bizarrely intrigued. Krill shrugged slyly.
"Oh, don't be so surprised- Kate and I used to date, she even wrote a song about me."
"Really?" Drury asked, suddenly very interested. "Which one?"
"I dunno, I don't listen to that crap. Bet it was popular though," Krill replied through mouthfuls of pudding.
Drury scratched his beard. "Ah. I was actually more of a Ruth fan myself."
"I bet you were," Gar coughed.
"Shut up."
"Hey, different strokes," Krill muttered. "You see Horse Girl?"
"I did!" Drury said excitedly. "I- I was expecting My Little Pony, not existential dread."
Krill smirked fondly. "Wasn't all bad. Can you believe she married-"
"I'm sorry, can we get back on topic, please!" Carson interjected.
...
"Excuse me for bringing a little culture to this stand-off," Krill snarled back. "Cunt hasn't even seen Infinity War."
"I was dead!" Carson snapped back.
"How was that, by the way?" Gar asked smugly.
Ted's jaw clenched, his eyes bulged, and suddenly, with unseen strength, grabbed Lynns by the throat, and ripped him from his bed. "You know me, "Firefly," I'm a survivor," Ted said manically, as his gauntlets sparked with orange flames.
Behind him, Krill snorted. "You've survived jackshit. You've just been resurrected an absurd number of times."
"Krill-"
"Say, if there were an anti-thesis of plot armour, the wiki page would use your ugly mug. It'd be a redirect, mind. From try hard. And cunt," Krill yawned.
"Oh, I've just about had enough of you," Carson growled, as he marched toward an incredibly unimpressed Polka Dot Man, Gar still choking under his grip.
At last, Drury stepped forward, his weapon pointed at Carson's head. "Let him go."
Ted nodded, and hurled Gar at Walker, knocking them both to the ground; the mirror gun sliding out of Drury's reach. "Careful, Walker, that's seven years bad luck, Ted remarked, as he kicked the gun aside. As Drury struggled to get up, Carson slammed his head back against the ground. "You ran me over. You stuffed my body in an aviary, and laughed as I was killed and maimed and tortured again and again," Carson growled, anguish dripping off of each word. "This? This is the least you deserve," he said, as a stream of fire exited his gauntlet, brushing against Walker's struggling head. "Go to hell, Drury."
I race off to the hospital’s front entrance to investigate the source of the loud explosion. Whatever caused it must have been powerful if it managed to shake the whole building. It must be the League, they’re doing exactly what Bruce and Talia predicted that they would. Attempting to cripple the city in preparation for the breakout at Arkham. Unless I can stop their agents from destroying Gotham General we’re screwed. Unlike the rest of the League, none of us are pumped full of Lazarus. When we get cut, we bleed.
Actually that’s a stupid comment to make. When they get cut they also bleed as I saw when Bruce defeated Damian at City Hall, but the enhanced healing ability given to them by Lazarus causes their wounds to heal at a terrifying speed. It’s only by not holding back my attacks that I’ve managed to beat two of the League’s agents. Hopefully there’s not too many of them here now for Selina and I to handle.
From what I can remember of her file in the Batcomputer, she’s highly skilled at hand to hand combat but how that holds up against multiple enemies wielding katanas remains to be seen. But if I know Bruce, the equipment he had me bring here should hopefully help overcome any weaknesses. I just hope it doesn’t take her too long to put it all on. Since I don’t know what I’m racing towards it’s possible I’m about to walk into a group of say 5 members of the League and if that’s the case I’m as good as screwed without Selina’s help.
This hospital cramped and has few open spaces by design. Hospitals are designed that way to try and maximise as much space as possible to get in as many beds as they can. So whilst there are no areas more suited to slowly pick people off one by one, there are plenty of possibilities to hit someone hard and fast thanks to how many rooms are packed into each floor. Really that’s the smartest strategy to take.
If these people are as skilled as Bruce they’d no doubt be able to stop me from slowly picking them off anyways so I guess the hospital being a crammed space is actually a benefit really. Fortunately though, there is one rather large open space in the hospital, the foyer at the front entrance. It’s perfect to try and get a glimpse at the League’s agents who are attacking Gotham General. It has multiple floors and enough space for me to use my grapple to properly navigate the room and change floors if I have to.
But much to my surprise, as I get close to the front entrance I hear a familiar voice. A really unwelcome familiar voice.
What the hell is she doing here on tonight of all nights?
Harley Quinn: Talk about kicking things off with a bang!
Goon #1: The hole doesn’t actually look as big as you’d have thought.
Goon #2: That’s because we only used a grenade, you dumbass.
Goon #1: Yeah but it’s rocket propelled! I thought it would knock all the glass off the front at least.
Goon #2: We didn’t use the damn RPG, idiot! That’s for when we leave.
Goon #1: Oh? How come?
Harley Quinn: Zip it rocket-brain. We’ve got work to do. Them psycho ninjas ain’t gonna spring Mr. J if this hospital’s still standing by the end of the night!
Harley’s working for the League? Since when? And more importantly, why do they feel as though they need her help? Is this just another red herring? It must be. That means….crap Bruce and Talia are definitely walking into a trap.
Calm down, Tim. You know them and more importantly they know Ra’s. Besides, they’re no fools. They’re probably going to the cave specifically because they know it’s a trap. Let's hope so anyways
Harley Quinn: Hurry up and get those explosives in here already! This hospital ain’t gonna blow itself up!
Goon #1: On it boss!
The two goons who stood next to Harley turn around and race outside to their vehicle. It’s difficult to tell what it is from a distance but it can clearly carry a large amount of equipment judging from what Harley and her men are carrying. From what I can make out there’s six of them in total counting Quinn and they’re all heavily armed. Especially the one entering to her right.
Clearly he’s her muscle judging from the mini-gun that he’s carrying. Obviously Harley’s expecting company and decided to come prepared. Smart. Though I’m more curious about where she managed to those. It was only about a week ago where she escaped Bruce whilst trying to buy a state of the art of rifle from the Odessa mob. If she was struggling to buy even a single rifle from them a week ago, surely she can’t have got all of this equipment from them. Could the League have provided her with those weapons?
Maybe.
Firearms aren’t really their style according to Bruce, but if Harley truly is working for them it only makes sense that they’d give her the tools needed for her to do the job right. Another worrying similarity between the League’s methods and Bruce’s. In many ways Bruce has does the same with all of us. I suppose in some way that could technically make Harley their Robin. She sure does love playing sidekick to people. First the clown, now one of the most mysterious groups in human history.
Quite a step up.
But if they’re unloading explosives then I’m going to need the schematics of Gotham General so I can navigate the building quickly. If they’re on a tight schedule then they’ll split up to cover more ground so I need to be able to intercept them all quickly. Harley is clearly expecting company otherwise she wouldn’t have come so heavily armed so I don’t really have much of an element of surprise. If I fail to take her and her men out quickly it’s likely that she’ll take hostages the minute she thinks something’s wrong. So before I try to move against her, I need the Gotham General schematics.
Red Robin: Red Bird to bunker.
Alfred: Bunker here, go ahead Red Bird.
Red Robin: Al, the hospital’s under attack but not from the League. Harley and a bunch of heavily armed goons are here.
Alfred: Ms. Quinn? What in the world is she doing there?
Red Robin: By the sounds of it the League have promised to free Joker from Arkham so long as she destroys Gotham General. Have you heard from the Outlaws at all?
Alfred: I’ve managed to get hold of them since we last spoke and they should be at Arkham by now. I’ll have them put Joker under extra surveillance. Do you need anything from me?
Red Robin: Harley said something about explosives. What’s the best place to plant explosives if you want to bring down a hospital?
Alfred: I’ll have a look at the schematics but speaking from personal experience, when someone’s looking to try and bring down a building they tend to look for either the main support pillar or the generator in the case large buildings. Given the size of Gotham General, there’s no single main support pillar so my best guess would be the generator. I’m uploading the schematics of Gotham General to your suit now.
A quick glance at the small screen built into my suit’s gauntlets shows it flash up with an alert to show that I’m receiving files from the batcomputer. Good, those schematics will come in handy soon enough. Whilst waiting for the schematics to upload to my suit though, I notice a Waynetech security terminal on the wall leading into the staff changing room.
Interesting.
If I can get the access codes I might be able to control some of the equipment here and maybe even trigger the lockdown protocol. That should keep Harley and her men trapped inside the hospital assuming that it’s got a quarantine lockdown protocol. If it does then it should give me some leeway if they do manage to plant any explosives. No-one’s crazy enough to bring a building crashing down whilst they’re still inside it.
Well….
Most people aren’t.
This is Gotham after all.
Red Robin: Al, can you get me the specs for the Gotham General Waynetech security system?
Alfred: The system does appear to be rather outdated compared to some of the functions of the newer models, according to the records it’s been in place for just shy of a decade.
Red Robin: Does it have a quarantine lockdown protocol?
Please say yes.
Please say yes.
Alfred: From what I’m seeing it appears to. You’re not planning on trapping yourself in there with Ms. Quinn and her goons are you?
Red Robin: Call it insurance.
Alfred: Master Timothy, locking yourself in a hospital with a psychopath and several of her heavily armed goons is suicidal. You can’t be serious?
Red Robin: Can you trigger the lockdown remotely?
Alfred: It’ll take me a moment to bypass the hospital firewall but yes, I should be able to.
Red Robin: Do it.
Alfred: Are you sure, Master Timothy? Once I trigger the lockdown it’ll lock me out of the system and you’ll have to lift it manually from your end to get out.
Red Robin: I’m sure.
There’s a brief pause as I hear the faint sound of Alfred typing the commands into the batcomputer before coming to a stop
.
Alfred: Before I do this I need to be sure, are you certain this is what you want to do? You’re about to lock yourself in there with a group of heavily armed criminals and when that happens we won’t be able to help you.
Red Robin: Don’t worry, Al. You’re not locking me in with them. You’re locking them in with me.
Steph would roll her eyes at that line and I can’t say that I’d blame her. It’s a horrible cliché, but to Alfred it’s something more than that. It’s something Bruce would say, and that’s why I chose it. He’s incredibly protective of all of us but he trusts us to know what’s best for us. Oddly, whilst he’s no fan of the path Bruce chose seeing us all act more and more like Bruce tends to put him at ease. That’s what Dick says anyways.
Sure enough, it looks as though there may be a bit of truth to it.
Alfred: I’m triggering the lockdown protocol now. It should start in just a few moments. Good luck, Master Timothy.
Red Robin: Thanks Al. I’ll see you on the other side. Red bird out.
==Arkham Island==
Eric Needham staggered through the Arkham Forest, leaving dribbles of fresh blood in his wake. Finding a fleeting moment of peace, he rested against an old tree and placed a shaking hand on the side of his hips; Azrael's claw-like gauntlet had torn through him, and the gash it had left was now dripping blood onto the leaf litter below, advertising his movements to his opponent. He needed to change strategies, a fist fight wouldn't cut it. 'Stick to the canopies, keep him at a distance,' he resolved. But this was the middle of Outcast territory and he was out here all alone with no back-up. 'Restrain him, then move on out.' The last thing he wanted was to run into The Pirate himself, or worse, the Speedster.
Weighing his options, Needham climbed the nearest tree, and perched atop a branch near the top. Minutes past, and as he sat planning his next move, something caught his eye; he hadn't noticed them at first, but he could now make out a set of deep claw marks leading up the tree bark. Not like Azrael's gauntlet; these were an animal's judging by the space between each claw. Like a dog's, or a-
Oh no.
Or a cat's.
Needham turned around; sat on a nearby branch, was a man clad in black, his emerald eyes glinting in the moonlight, his slit-like pupils contracting. A mouse's tail hung from the man's drooling mouth, still wriggling. A sickening crunch of jaws breaking through bone accompanied the rodent's death squeal; its' tail hung limp, then was sucked behind the man's slobber-stained lips.
Needham looked at the man, then at the ground below; Azrael was closing in on him now, as though his glowing sword was guiding him through the woods, towards the 'sinner.' Desperate, Needham gave The King a non-verbal plea. 'We don't have to fight, just pretend you can't see me.'
But the King could see him. And with Azrael growing closer still, his night-time patrol had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. He raised his clawed hands, and with a swift stroke, slashed apart the branch Needham was sat on; deciding he wasn't going down alone, Needham grabbed the King's tail on the way down, dragging him with him.
The branch hit the ground first. Then Needham. The King landed on all fours; typical; then scampered off, disappearing into the thickets and shrubs of Arkham East. Needham gathered his scattered thoughts, then looked up, his worst fears realised: Azrael was dragging his sword along the frozen ground; orange sparks fizzled and lit up the darkened clearing.
Needham rubbed the dirt and drool off his person, and staggered to his feet, fists raised. "Fine. Was never a good Christian anyway," he growled, firing a web bomb at Azrael; pinning him to a nearby tree. But Azrael was relentless, with his free hand, he gripped the handle of his sword; webbing that would normally bind multiple men, came away like silly string with a single sword stroke. Needham checked his belt; he was running low on webbing. Shit.
Azrael lunged forwards and getting a lucky shot, scratched Needham's shoulder; the mystical blade shone brighter than before; the single cut incapacitating Needham as images of Linda, Mikey, Ferris filled his head, drawing on his guilt and pain.
'That was it.'
Before Azrael could perform a killing strike, Needham webbed his sword, using all his strength to wrench it from the man's hands; the blade landed in his hands, and as Azrael ran forward, Needham drew the sword upwards, cutting through Azrael's chainmail.
Bright, cleansing light burst from the shallow gash on Azrael’s chest and he fell forwards, the Pirate's influence subsiding at last.
Exhausted, Needham stumbled back. "Hhn. I'll be Damned."
==Gotham Shipping Yards==
On the other side of the city, a hooded figure in a purple costume sat atop a large shipping container, her legs dangling off the side; Stephanie Brown was holding a cracked pair of "Clue" goggles in her hands, something that should have been in the Hall of Justice, alongside all the other Supervillain tech recovered from Nanda Parbat. 'So what was it doing all the way out here?' She removed a card from within the broken spectacles and plugged it into her own mask.
Tim's head peered down from the container above hers, his face lined with worry.
"Your dad?" he asked, recognising the damaged goggles.
Steph nodded uneasily. "Yours?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
A bloodied boomerang dropped to the floor, rattling off the corrugated metal surface. "Yeah," he sighed, jumping down to join her. As they together in silent contemplation, a high pitched melodious voice called out to them from below, its' owner's red and black cape blowing in the winter wind:
"Robbie and Spoiler sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a golden carriage," the Psycho Pirate sang, clapping his hands along to the beat. Tim extended his bo-staff, as both him and Steph leapt into action, landing on the ground beside Hayden. "You had a baby didn't you, Spoiler?" Hayden pointed with a frail finger. "And you gave it away. Oh, well. That's probably the best thing for it. Imagine Granddad Cluemaster taking your child for ice cream. I bet he never took you for ice cream."
"Steph, I've got ear plugs," Tim reached into his belt. "Steph?"
"His father did," Hayden tittered. "His father cared sooooooo much. Didn't want him playing dress up. Didn't want him getting hurt. But he didn't factor in a boomerang to the jugular, did he, little Robin?
"That's why you resent him," he addressed Spoiler. "That's why you hate him. That's why you want to stomp his face into the ground."
"Steph..." Tim grit his teeth, watching as Spoiler's body stiffened, as her fists clenched and she began walking slowly towards him.
"Steph, Steph, wait wait wait wait wait!" Tim pleaded, his bo-staff at the ready, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.
Beneath his golden mask, the Pirate grinned, and then he was gone, carried off by a cloud of yellow lightning.
Tim covered his face, awaiting the onslaught, then... Steph slapped him. Not hard, not maliciously, just a painless tap on the shoulder.
He looked up, a confused expression on his face. "You- You're not trying to kill me?"
She slapped him again, a little harder.
"Course not, I love you, you dummy," she smiled, removing the card from her mask and placing it in Tim's palm. "Guess Dad was good for something after all."
Tim examined it, a geeky smile taking hold. "A neural blocker, nice! But, then, why the act-?"
"Had to play along," Steph explained. "Zoom would've stepped in if I didn't."
==Gotham Waterworks. Outside==
Cassandra Cain was perched on a cliff overlooking the ISA Headquarters, snow sliding down her black cowl, her eyes narrowing. Damian had been gone for a couple of minutes now, and she could a faint voice carried by the wind:
"Raised by assassins. Trained to kill. It's the same story, isn't it? Your story. So why does she get preferential treatment?
You know why.
Because he can look her in the eyes and not be reminded of his failures."
That voice... Melodious. Childish. Sadistic. It was Hayden's and from the sounds of things, he already had Damian. Cassandra kept her guard up, but outwardly, acted as though she suspected nothing was wrong. Until he drew his sword:
"I am the blood son! By all rights, I am his heir! And I shall not be usurped!" he spat, launching himself high above her head.
A single nerve strike took him out.
From a rocky alcove around the corner, The Pirate's pale eyes watched, a slight twinge of dissatisfaction coming over him. But it was nothing compared to the disappointment that took hold of him once Zoom ran in front of him, cutting 'playtime' short.
"We're leeeeeeaaaaaaaving," Zoom hissed, his suit stained with a mix of blood and cranberry sauce.
"That's not fair!" Hayden crossed his arms petulantly. "You got to play with the Misfits!"
"Thisisnot up for debaaaaaaaaate, Mr Haaaaaaayden," Zoom warned, and taking hold of his arm, they vanished into the night.
===GCPD. Outside===
Nightwing and Red Hood's fight had dragged onto the streets below; Dick bounced off the alley walls, using his acrobatics to get the edge on his younger brother; Jason favoured brute strength, having almost exhausted all his ammunition; he hurled a grenade at Dick while he was swinging from a ladder on the fire escape, knocking him down. Dick threw his baton; it ricocheted off the nearby garage door, hurtling towards Jason; he caught it, but didn't account for the charge; Dick pressed a button on his gloves, and a blast of electricity blinded Jason. Jason discarded his red helmet, and while distracted, Dick tackled him. Jason, elbowed him in the face, then grabbed a mix of snow and gravel from the pavement and tossed it in Dick's eyes. Disorientated, Dick flinched, giving Jason the opportunity to trap him in a headlock.
Before he could choke him out, a long black car pulled up to the alleyway. Jason's eyes narrowed as the car door opened and an impeccably dressed man exited, holding a two-barrelled shotgun, and firmly closing the door shut behind him.
"That is quite enough, Master Todd," the man warned.
Jason's featured softened. "You won't shoot me, Alfred," he scoffed.
"Of course not. You're as much my sons as Master Bruce's. Fortunately, I won't have to."
Beneath him, Dick headbutted Jason; stunned, he toppled backwards; Alfred dropped his shotgun, and tossed Dick a sedative from his medical bag, and Dick anaesthetised him. Jason growled an apology as he regained his senses and slumped over unconscious in Dick's arms.
"Sorry, bud," Dick apologised, before turning back to Alfred. "What now?"
"You can start by helping me escort Master Jason into the backseat. Then we are getting you patched up, Master Dick."
"Alright," he laughed in response.
Behind them, a large shockwave emanated from within the Police Department; the windows blew out, and glass shot outwards onto the street; Dick shielded Alfred with his body as shards of glass littered the pavement.
"Bruce was inside-!" Alfred gasped, rising to his feet.
"I can't raise him on comms," Dick frowned, his own worry subsiding once he caught Alfred's expression. "We'll find him, Alfred. What do you need me to do?"
Alfred ran his hand through his thinning hair, as the SAS agent in him took over. "I have an EMT uniform in the trunk, quickly now,"
==Sionis Penthouse. Downtown==
"-explosion from inside the GCPD. Three prisoners are unaccounted for, including Drury Walker. Commissioner Gordon has been rushed to Gotham General and a spokesperson has said that he is now stabilised. Reports say both The Batman and The Joker were inside the precinct when it-"
"Sir, we found it," Li chapped politely at the door.
Sionis muted the TV. "Good. Send 'em in."
The Sea Fox entered the room, dripping seawater onto the varnished floor. Two of his henchmen trailed behind him, carrying a large fish net.
"Well, you get points for presentation," Sionis murmured, sticking his hands into the net, and retrieving the sea-battered mask of Harlan Combs. Combs' head, fell out the bottom, and rolled across the ground.
Sionis' beady red eyes tracked the head as it rolled underneath his dresser. "Li?" he sighed.
"Yes, sir?"
"Get the cleaners in here."
==ISA Headquarters==
Chuck awoke to Flannegan prodding his arm with the base of his staff. He was lying on a bed, in some kind of hospital wing. As he looked around the room, he realised that 'laboratory' might have been more accurate; noting all kinds of jars, vials and half dissected animals.
"What happened?" he asked at last,
"Long or short answer?" Flannegan grunted.
"Short, please," Chuck sighed, clutching his thumping head.
"You got your asses kicked."
Chuck rolled his eyes, resting his head against the plump pillow, undoubtedly filled with Thanagarian feathers.
Flannegan inhaled a puff from his cigarette, then stamped it out on Chuck's bedsheet. "Fortunately, the Lizard of Waverly Place patched you up. Mind, you do look a little greener 'round the gills... Did ya have gills before?"
"What?" Panicked, Chuck shot upright and ran his hand along his mercifully smooth neck.
"Joking! Those two-" he nodded to Ten and Bridget, watching from the side with relieved faces, "-had just come back from whatever bible studies class they were at. They're the ones that called me. Luckily, I was already in the area."
"You mean you were in the sewers," Chuck realised, taking a gulp from the glass of water beside him.
"I do."
"God, it's all such a blur..." Chuck explained, resting his forehead in his hand. "We were in the kitchen, Gar came in trying to rouse us all, then Zoom, and- Drury! Joker was on the TV, he was-"
Flannegan placed his hand on Chuck's shoulder with surprising tenderness, and right then Chuck knew. He didn't even have to say the words: "I'm sorry, Brown."
===<???>===
The hallway was enveloped in scarlet light, as a round portal tore through the stale air. A single figure, dressed in a red cape, black tuxedo and a large square helmet stepped through. He ran his hands along the wallpaper and picked off a thin layer of dust; his excited breaths echoing behind his camera-like mask as he took in the surroundings. The house had been abandoned for months now, but most of its' furnishings remained. And the pictures. Oh, so many pictures.
As he walked, the lens opened and closed, the action accompanied by a loud "shutter" noise. He propped the nearest door open, the floor below him creaking as he entered the pink-coloured bedroom. He cast his eyes over to the bed, almost entirely covered by stuffed animals of every genus. His gloved hand wandered over one such bear, his mask making that same loud "clicking" noise. Then, something else caught his eye; a selections of photos on the corkboard on the farthest wall, their edges brushed with glitter. Oh, he did so like photos.
The next room, could only be the bedroom of a teenaged boy; untidy, its floor littered with old comic books and gag jokes. The man frowned as he peeled a plastic mound of fake dung from the base of his shoe. Continuing on, he shifted the pillow to one side, discovering a single photo below; a picture of a blond boy and a dark-haired girl; the boy he knew, of course, but it was the girl he was drawn to. It was her. The thespian's little scene partner. Beneath his mask, he smiled, as he tucked the photo inside his breast pocket and continued into the next rooms; a large bedroom with an empty aquarium, a pre-schooler's bedroom, complete with a purple and orange racing car bed, a fifth bedroom with a small workbench and scraps of purple and yellow fabric.
This pattern continued as he went from room to room, his helm clicking as he collected a portfolio of photos. He next entered the guest bedroom; a cream coloured room marked with grey scorch marks, with a collection of DVDs stacked beside the television, cult classics mostly. Out of curiosity, he picked one of the cases up, his stance stiffening as he recognised the film: Dread Castle. An anger taking hold of him, he tossed the plastic case to the ground; the silver disk slid out, then he shattered it with the base of his foot.
As his mission drew to a close, he at last found the master bedroom: He took a whiff of old perfume from a half empty bottle on the dresser, he rubbed the yellow strands of a blonde wig peaking out the top drawer. A single moth fluttered out of the large, wooden wardrobe on his right. Then, he crouched under the bed, clutching the hem of his cape as though he were curtseying, and unearthed a battered, dusty shoe box from below. Bingo.
He did so like photos.
} Relative to my other stories, this segment takes place earlier in the careers of Clayface and other featured characters. {
Hey, my name’s Wally West. I’m one of the, what, nine or so people that’ve been dubbed “The Fastest Man Alive”? … I’d say I’m at least the second fastest, especially when you factor in that some of those guys can only reach top speed on straightaways, I happen to know two of them are doppelgängers, and really, I’d call Savitar more of a sprinter… I, uh, don’t like to get hung up on technicalities.
I’m an invaluable member of the Justice League, and not just for my powers. I’ve got a winning personality that neither hardened space-cops nor immortal warriors can resist. Even Batman likes me. Or, “trusts me”… Trusts me enough to protect his city, and that’s saying a lot, for him. He contacted me this morning, explaining that he has business on the other side of the world, something about his ex and a pool turning people into zombies… I don’t think I would’ve gotten the gist of it, even if he’d expounded. He says he’ll make it back by tonight, and if it were anyone else but him (or me, I guess), I wouldn’t have believed them.
Being Batman for a few hours doesn’t sound so bad, but the thing is, I’ve got a decent system with the Rogues back in Keystone. They’re good at avoiding collateral damage, usually even-tempered about the “getting arrested” part… Even got Tarpit to take it to an abandoned lot the other week. I’ve heard Gotham has less cordial villains. And more of them. And more than a few citizens that have had their share of false vigilantes running around. Nothing a dashing guy like me can’t work around!
0.082 seconds after I stepped boot inside city limits (I was taking it slow until I saw some action), I was in the GCPD precinct to let the commissioner know about the changing of the guard, maybe catch a whiff of a case that could use solving. Turns out you don’t need the Speed Force to find a crime scene in Gotham. The nice officer at the front desk informed me that a break-in had occurred INSIDE the station at dawn.
*flash*
} GCPD EVIDENCE STORAGE {
I probably should’ve thought about how people from around here aren’t used to a red and yellow lightning bolt zipping through buildings. I might not have made the lasting impression of causing the portly detective before me to hurl his styrofoam coffee cup into the air. I caught it too late to save his shirt.
Detective: What IS this?!
Me (handing the cup back): This is yours. (pointing at his stains) THIS is my dry-cleaning bill, sorry pal. (jerking both thumbs at my chest) And THIS is Gotham’s substitute hero for the day, made with 100% less angst.
Detective (glowing crimson): I’m gonna wring the Bat-freak’s neck! What’s he do, take sick days now??
Another detective walks in around a shelf. Her uniform is tidy, her hair even more so.
Detective #2: Don’t tell me you MISS the Bat now, Bullock.
Bullock: If he’s gonna be a nuisance, I’d prefer he be a predictable one. Now he’s phoning up other leotards to come stick their noses in my cases!
Me: “Leotards”. I get it.
Detective #2 (offering a handshake): Detective Montoya. Batman already got in touch with the commissioner, told us you’d be here before we knew it.
Me: That’s my thing. So… don’t take this the wrong way, but how…
Montoya: … did we let someone sneak into our evidence room and get away? We’re in the middle of breaking up a gang dispute at the docks AND a massive manhunt for a birthday-obsessed serial killer. The station has been practically vacant, and no one’s had time to fully assess our latest acquisitions.
I look over the unsorted items that have halved the room’s capacity, all strewn across tables.
Bullock: Hands off. I don’t care if you ARE wearing’ gloves!
Me: You don’t have to tell me that… although I could touch everything in here, and if you blinked, you would never know.
Bullock’s mouth opens wide enough to ensnare passing birds, but Montoya interjects.
Montoya: Cameras were wiped. I know it looks like a mess, but we’ve had a dozen other of our people take inventory, and nothing’s been nicked. Someone came and went without lifting a single thing…
Me: … Had the sense to take out the cameras…
Bullock (unwrapping a toothpick): … But was sloppy enough to set off the alarm. It’s gotta be some goon screwin’ around with no real plan in mind.
Montoya: On top of all that, if they touched anything in here, we’ll never find it against a hundred other fingerprints.
Amidst the chaos, a computer monitor and what appears to be a heavily modified hard drive catch my eye.
Me: Mhm… What’s the story with this?
Bullock (hurriedly): Some guy we nabbed last week; Etienne Guiborg, “The Dealer”. Thinks he’s a real mastermind, but we dismantled his illegal auctioning ring without any fight at all.
Montoya: He has his OWN inventory on that computer; thousands of heisted weapons, artifacts, and their locations. Once our schedule lightens up, we’re hunting down every last one. Actually…
Me: You need a speed-reader. On it.
Bullock: Wait a minute, I’ve seen you in the papers before. Can’t you do that, whatsit called, time-hole thing? Go back a few hours and catch the perp in the act!
Me: Do you want to run the risk of my actions causing a ripple in reality that changes this timeline to one where everyone is biologically half-chicken, all on the account of stopping an opportunistic thief?
Bullock: …
Me: Time travel’s nuts, man.
*flash*
Me: Hey, anyone else notice this down here?
The detectives lean under the desk to where I went to plug in the machine.
Me: This outlet has dust all over it, but the lower socket, it’s clean. And what do you know… The Dealer’s extension cord has dust between the tines.
Bullock: Sunuva… they DID swipe something!
I think it over for 0.053 seconds (I’m sluggish on weekends), then a light bulb switches on.
Bullock: Well, are you gonna plug it in? They may have wiped the memory!
Me: Don’t touch anything.
Bullock: You can’t tell ME not-
*flash*
*Scotch tape obtained from main office*
*flash*
I begin tearing tape and sticking every inch of the keyboard’s surface.
Montoya: What is he-
*flash*
Me (thrusting fistfuls of tape towards them): LOOK!
Bullock: … Congratulations genius, you managed to get NO fingerprints on even one of ‘em.
Montoya: Wait… no fingerprints? But it hasn’t been dusted, not since we busted The Dealer.
Me: YEAH!
Bullock: Would you care to let us in on whatever harebrained theory you just concocted?
Me: No time, but I’ll have your guy in a jiffy.
Bullock: “NO TIME”, he says!
Me: Uhh, I’m going to need…
*flash*
Me: (arms loaded with twenty-odd tape dispensers): … all of these. I’ll restock, promise.
*flash*
Montoya: Under that mask, I’d put money on him being CSI.
Bullock: I’d put money on him being a fruitcake.
***
Thirty intersections later, and I find myself at what I’m hoping is the bad guy’s lair. A middle school, deserted for the summer. Everything’s fitting together.
*flash*
My entrance, like last time, startles the classroom’s occupant. This time, they drop a neatly-organized box of Crayola. This time, I don’t bother to recover it. Villains don’t deserve neatly-organized boxes of Crayola. I rush forward and slug the surprised criminal in his cylindrical mask. He careens over the desks, and catch him by the collar on the opposite side of the room, before he has an unfriendly run-in with the floor.
Me: Alright, pencil-neck, talk to me.
Eraser: Hands off the suit! Do you know how much money you have to sink into a cyber-yellow pinstripe suit? Did you even know CYBER-YELLOW was a color?!
Me (lowering him): Okay, noted, the suit’s expensive.
Eraser: How did you FIND me??
Me: Familiarity with GCPD’s layout and security, leaving no evidence behind but still tripping an alarm to show off… Fits your m.o. like a glove. I do my supervillain homework before I go barging into other cities. You couldn’t resist wiping off the keyboard, so I had a hunch you also compulsively cleaned other public property before use… like crosswalk buttons. After some trial and error, and no small amount of tape, I tracked y-
Eraser (scoffing): Aaand Batman would have me snitching by now. You’re not so fast.
Me: Trust me, you don’t want me to get too Batman on you, or…
Eraser (dramatically): You wouldn’t be able to come back from the darkness?
Me: I was going to say it might make me physically ill. Speedsters eat way more than the average person every day, and if I vomit, it’ll be one heckuva mess to clean up. One that you probably won’t be able to ignore.
Eraser: … That's the flimsiest, most contrived threat; you can’t actually get physically ill from tha-
Me (crossing arms): I’ll self-induce it.
Eraser: You wouldn’t…
Me: Tell me what you saw on Dealer’s database.
Eraser: Okay look, some guy I’ve never seen before hired me. Says he knew about Dealer’s confiscated computer, and wanted me to get him inside just for five minutes to look around. It’s not like I cared what he was doing, so I have no idea what he got out of it. But I know what I got out of it: Stencils. The good stuff.
Me (gritting teeth): I’m a millisecond away from collecting all the gum under the desks in this place and putting them inside your mask.
Eraser: EDWARD BURKE! I heard him whispering “Edward Burke” over and over! I’ve got nothing else!
Me: That’s oddly useful. Okay, I’m arresting you now.
*flash*
} GCPD HOLDING CELLS {
Me: I’d appreciate it if you confessed to your crimes, whenever they happen to notice you in here. I’m sort of up against the clock.
Eraser: Nothin’. doin’.
Me (locking Eraser in): By the way, you made me waste a bunch of these guys’ tape just to find you. Why can’t you Gotham rogues all hang out at a bar, like they do in Keystone?
*flash*
Eraser: … A supervillain bar… huh.
} BURKE INSTITUTE OF ASTRONOMY (formerly Norbet Institute of Astronomy) {
I pause for a entire 1.4 seconds to confirm the sign outside, before crashing through the main entrance and finding my way to the development facility. Machinery is scattered across the tiles, beakers bubble uncontrollably… and a man that looks like an astronaut suffering from insomnia is slouched on the floor, rewiring the circuitry running through his suit’s chest-plate.
Me: Dr. Edward Burke?
Burke: Oh, have you been here long? I’m very sorry, I’ve been preoccupied with my work for…
He glances at a wrinkled calendar, halfway lodged in a drawer near his head.
Burke: … a solid two weeks now, I suppose. Time management was never my strongest quality.
Me: Don’t get me started. Look, I know all about Etienne Guiborg using your laboratory to store his wares, and I think we can resolve this without any violence…
Burke (perking up): That name! I heard about him in the newspaper not long ago. Oh, no sir, I’m not involved with any smuggling, I must affirm! No, no more business with supervillains. My old boss Irving Norbet, he was a very bad fellow! Tried to use our technology to rob banks!
Me: You’re wearing the suit right now.
Burke (toying with small components and dials on the suit): AM I?!? … Ah, so I am. Well, it really has quite fascinating functions; I’m only looking to improve the design, not use it for anything nefarious, absolutely not! Dr. Norbet only did what he did after overexposure to a strange meteor we were analyzing… messed with his head. This was all confirmed by the police!
I take a quick survey of the room while he’s rambling, spotting a grey mass perched on a workbench, shrouded in a sort of haze, like it’s giving off energy.
Me (scowling): Does this meteor look anything like that one sitting over there, NOT in its container and likely effecting you?
Burke: Dear… dear me. Well, this all must look highly suspicious! If you didn’t believe I was innocent, as I’m sure anyone as keen as you would, you might be very confused by the circumstances.
Me: Actually I’m… still comprehending the idea that two people in this timeline wanted to use the name “Planet Master”.
Then the most embarrassing thing that can happen to a speedster happened; I got ambushed. Enough volts to jumpstart Gotham City shoot through my body, launching me straight through the reinforced wall of Burke’s Institute and into the evening air, leaving me a smoking red heap on freshly-cut grass.
… I’d like to take an intermission from my story to clarify that accelerated perception is a superpower that has to be turned on. OKAY? It takes a lot of adrenaline and carbs to activate. I can’t just see EVERYthing in slow-motion. … Moving on.
I crane my head and spit out a mouthful of sod, while my eyes adjust to see my attacker stepping through the Flash-shaped hole in the building. He’s dressed in black armor, orbs of electricity wavering in his fists, and grinning like a wild dog. Lester Buchinsky.
Electrocutioner: Heh. Friend of mine tipped me off that some hero might come poking around here tonight. Not the one I was hoping for, but murderers can’t be choosers.
Me (feeling Speed Force welling up inside me again): Just keep talking there, friend-o, I’ll be with you in a sec.
Electrocutioner (unfazed): Overheard you talking to that idiot Burke. You really think our kind would trust our gear with him? Be caught DEAD working with him?
Me: Yeah, well, the bar’s set pretty low, Taserface.
Electrocutioner: That’s it.
Before he can lift his arm to incinerate me, I dart at his midsection, only to once again rebound and land in the planters HARD.
Electrocutioner: Like the force-field? I’ve been upgrading. Get this…
I roll out of the way of a bolt lobbed from his fist, leaving it to carve a charred path across the lawn.
Electrocutioner (admiring the gloves): They’re projectile now.
Me: Mama Buchinsky must be proud.
I begin running circles around him, as Electrocutioner jerks around to try and draw a bead on me. The faster I punch him, the more the force-field will resist. If I try running at him at a normal pace, his gauntlets will meet their mark before I can land a blow. So… I guess I’ll have to try letting him hit me again.
I take a detour to the parking lot, rip the tires and hoods off of two vans, and race back to Electrocutioner before he knows I’m gone. I come to a halt and plant the hoods on either side of me, with the tires wrapped around my torso. Now for the only part of this plan that I know will 100% work…
Me: Yo, Shocker!
Electrocutioner lets loose a solid flow of electricity from his hand to me, and I brace myself as it races directly at my chest. My suit is a conductive elastomer: Good for streamlining my own charge, but the Speed Force doesn’t play nicely with outside currents. That’s why this guy is even a slight threat to me. Car tires, on the other hand, are great insulators. Or so I’ve heard. I’m really hoping that’s true.
Electrocutioner’s assault strikes the tires. I still feel it. A lot. But I force myself to stay put. As I hoped, Electrocutioner only pours on more power when he sees I’m still standing. I have no idea how much juice he has left in those gloves, or if I can outlast them. Just as everything starts turning grey and I feel my knees giving out, the pain stops, and he’s standing with outstretched arms and sputtering gloves, and I’M standing with two car hoods locked in potential difference.
Electrocutioner: Wha-?
Me: Capacitor. Seriously, you should know what that is.
*flash*
Electrocutioner collapses with a black eye. I shake out my knuckles and check on Burke, who’s still tinkering away carelessly. Maybe whoever hired Eraser thought to make up Edward Burke a ruse, just to sic Electrocutioner on anyone potentially tracking him. In which case, I was looking at a dead end, unless Electrocutioner wasn’t as dumb as he looked. As I go to interrogate my third supervillain today, I notice something on Electrocutioner’s fingertips and boot soles.
Salt. I hadn’t drained his power supply with my capacitor at all; salt was its own dielectric, and enough had accumulated on his weapon to short-circuit the system when Electrocutioner overdid it. The question of why it would be anywhere near his equipment came to me just as quickly as the answer. Salt. The Dealer’s storage space. I knew where I had to look next.
*flash*
} WAMPUM UNDERGROUND, PENNSYLVANIA (a lively 300+ mile jog from Gotham) {
I zip into the mineshaft-turned-warehouse, slowing once I pass into the restricted sections, and all ambient light winks out. I try to muffle the slap of my boots on the expansive floor, but the echo is unstoppable. Rubbing my palms together at just the right speed, I generate a steady flow of Speed Force sparks, enough to brighten a few feet around me. I’m in the right place; old movie props, autographed portraits, film reels stacked to the ceiling…
A mannequin with a camera for the head…
*flash*
Only this time it wasn’t me. Blinding white like I’ve never seen washes over my field of vision, and I stagger backwards, trying to shake it off.
Voice #1: Feeling a little EXPOSED?
Something damp and heavy envelops why chest and neck, lifting me off the floor. My head is still spinning, and before I think to phase through the restraint, I’m slammed back down. The back of my skull hits a metal shelf, and at once my strength gives out. I lay there stunned, barely picking up on another voice past the ringing in my ears. A choked, slithery sort of voice.
Voice #2 (sighing): “The Flash”, is it? No need to fret, in that event; your concussion will clear right up in a few hours, no doubt. You ARE one of those heroes that can heal. Makes for such dull, tensionless action sequences.
Me: What… are you looking… for, in here… Clayface?
Clayface: Ah, I needn’t introduce myself, how convenient. I see The Batman DOES brief his minions before sending them to their doom.
Me (ignoring him): Let me guess… a potter’s wheel? Been… wanting to lose some weight and… make a nice vase at the same time?
Voice #1: A regular Bob Hope, this guy.
Clayface (ignoring me in turn): You still managed to locate us.
Me: What, after you sent me on a goose-chase after Planet Master? Your hired meathead still had some salt on him from when he was, I guess, helping you break into this place? I already knew you were looking for something The Dealer had hidden away… Salt, secret stash…
I hear Clayface walking closer.
Me: … Salt mines. The moisture is great for preserving all kinds of stuff. I went to the one out in Hutchinson, Kansas for a field trip.
His pace stops inches from my face.
Clayface: I RIGHTFULLY assumed Eraser would betray me. I had not known he overheard my mention of Edward Burke until he queried me later on, and so I concocted a lie for him to pass on to YOU.
Me (the pain in my temple worsening): If you weren’t… looking for Edward Burke after all, then what… did Eraser hear?
Clayface: He heard correctly. I am looking for an Edward Burke… Edward C. Burke…
There’s a sound of metal clunking into metal; Clayface’s accomplice rummaging through the film reels. One last crash, and a whoop of excitement reverberates through the cavern.
Voice #1: Right where the computer said it was, Karlo!
Clayface (clasping his grimy palms): Splendid, Mr. Camera! You see, FLASH… Edward C. Burke is portrayed by the great Lon Chaney, in the lost film “London After Midnight”. That is to say, formerly-lost. The Dealer did indeed possess many antiquities.
Me: You… tampered with evidence in police custody, hired an… assassin, and broke into this place for a MOVIE?
Clayface: I cannot always gratify the wild imaginations of you vigilantes, assuming we supervillains are continuously out for blood, dreaming up blueprints for world domination. A film like this deserves to be in the care of someone who can appreciate it, not lock it away.
Me: And “Mr. Camera”; you suckered a C-Lister into… helping you with this insane hobby?
Mr. Camera: He’s in it to build a legacy. Me, I’m making a scrapbook.
Clayface (amused): You are so deluded, speedster, you think anyone branded a criminal has no allegiances to their own, never without an ulterior motive. Eraser, Electrocutioner, they knew precisely what they were in for. Now look at yourself, bludgeoned like a dumb animal, conveniently in a deep hole to have dirt poured over you… Did The Batman offer you some compensation for this humiliation? Why would he appreciate your reckless heroics when he would gladly sacrifice himself in the same manner, in the “righteous pursuit of evil”, and think nothing of it? … I could smother you right now, but I choose to leave you alive…
His footsteps leave in the direction of the mine’s entrance.
Clayface: … I do not wish to instigate bad relations with the Rogues. Unlike you noble heroes, I value partnerships. I would not dream of robbing them of their favorite quarry. Let us withdraw, Mr. Camera.
Mr. Camera follows him. I feel something light and stiff bounce off my arm. A Polaroid photo.
Mr. Camera (sneering): Here. I think I got your good side.
I muster the energy for one more sentence.
Me: Heroes don’t… need a pat on the back to feel… good about the work they do. You’re right, we hardly ever know what we’re… getting into… aside from our eventual deaths. That’s okay, because… we’re not living for ourselves…
The waves of nausea take their toll, and I pass out. Whether or not Clayface was still near enough to hear me, I can’t shake the feeling my words have fallen on deaf ears.
The new costume feels weird.
Then again, they always do.
I suppose anything’s going to feel weird when compared to my other suit, especially when you consider that I’ve worn that suit for countless years at this point. Still, as you’d imagine Lucius has outdone himself on this new suit. From what Bruce tells me, Lucius used the current Batsuit as the template when constructing it before making all the suitable adjustments to make it more in line with my style. On the outside, the differences are small and only slightly different cosmetically from the previous suit, but the improvement in armour plating is one of the first things I notice. Evidently, its designed to be able to take a blow from a katana.
Just whether or not it’d be able to take more than one is something I’ll hopefully not have to find out. The second major difference is the vambraces on my arms, they’ve been reconfigured to include various electrical components as oppose to just padding beneath the metal covering. According to Lucius, this should mean I can interface with most electrical systems in the field myself rather than requiring support from the Batcomputer. Probably not something many people would appreciate, but if you had experienced the pain of waiting for Alfred to break an encryption as much as I have, you’d consider this upgrade the greatest thing since sliced bread.
I certainly do.
Beyond those two major improvements, there isn’t much new on the suit besides a slightly reworked utility belt, making it lighter and also allowing myself to carry twice the capacity of my previous belt. No doubt it will be essential tonight. Especially now that Ra’s has made his first move.
A gas attack, slowly enveloping all of Gotham.
From what the satellite network can make out, the gas is being pumped out of four towers at different corners of the city, and the whole city will be covered in less than two hours unless we stop it.
Dick: This….this is horrible….
Scarlett: Do you think any of the national guard managed to make it to safety?
Jason: I don’t know Scarlett. I really don’t know.
Tim: Do we know just what’s in this gas?
Bruce: Alfred and Lucius are still working to analyse the gas and synthesize a neutralising agent.
Roy: This isn’t right. What sort of monster gases people without a second thought?
Barbra: One who believes himself above all others. A man who thinks it his right to decide who deserves to live, and who deserves to die.
Bruce: This cannot be allowed to continue.
Dick: What are you suggesting?
Bruce: The gas is toxic if inhaled, but the tests that have already been performed show it is unable to corrode a gas mask and rebreather.
Tim: You’re saying we go out there and try to shut the towers down ourselves?
Bruce: Without a neutralising agent, there is little more we can do than simply prevent the gas from covering all of Gotham at present. We must ensure that the gas is not able to make it towards the GCPD or Gotham General.
Scarlett: But what about the soldiers? How do we help them?
Bruce says nothing. Simply turning away and looking towards the main monitor.
Roy: You’re just going to ignore them? Leave them to die?
Bruce: They’ll all die anyway if we don’t stop this gas from covering all of Gotham.
Scarlett: They’re innocent in all this! This whole attack is only happening because of you! We have to save them!
Jason: Scarlett…
Bruce: We have to prioritise. Say we’re successful, say we save what? Ten of them? How do you then justify saving ten of them and dooming the hundred or so police officers in the GCPD to death? How do you justify to Barbra that her father died needlessly because you chose saving one man over an entire city? How do you justify to Tim that his friend died in Gotham General because you let your emotions overrule your head?
I feared that this would come. Bruce would feel it necessary to put both Scarlett and Roy in line to ensure he can rely upon them. They are after all, the only rogue element in this team. The only ones Bruce didn’t have at least some input in with how they were trained. Personally, I’m not too worried about them. Jason trusts them, and that’s good enough for me. But Bruce needs to be certain, and he’s completely right to want to be. We’ll be heavily outnumbered out there, so it’s critical that we’re effective and efficient.
They have the numbers.
We need to have the skill. It’s the only way we stand a chance of winning.
Roy: Ollie would try to save them.
Bruce: I’m no Oliver Queen.
Roy: That’s for sure.
Dick: Thank goodness.
Not really the time to try and lighten up the mood, Dick.
Bruce: Given that the towers cover all four corners of Gotham, we’ll have to divide our forces in order to neutralise them simultaneously.
Barbra: So we split up into teams? Who goes with who?
Bruce: Barbra, you and Dick take the east tower.
Dick: The one closest to GCPD?
Barbra: We’re on it.
Bruce: Jason, you and the Outlaws will take the southern tower.
Wait, what? He’s having both Scarlet and Roy go with Jason? I was certain he’d pair me up with Roy.
Jason: Roger.
Roy: Wait, how the hell are we supposed to stop those towers anyways?
Bruce: Alfred will be feeding us all live information including the tower’s schematics when we arrive.
Dick: Good old Alfred.
Tim: So which tower does that leave me with? North or west?
Bruce: You and Talia will take the western tower.
Tim: Talia?
Why’s he sending Talia with me? If anything it makes far more sense to pair me up with one of the Outlaws and Talia go with him, that way everyone has someone there to cover their back.
Bruce: She’s a skilled combatant. We’d be foolish not to make use of her help.
Tim: Then why’s she going with me and not you?
Bruce: I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her.
Tim: You don’t trust yourself?
Bruce: Not unless it’s necessary.
Talia: He’s always been like that, I’m afraid.
That’s….not really surprising. But it’s still kind of worrying.
Dick: You don’t need to tell any of us that, we’ve had to live with it.
Jason: Wait, it doesn’t make sense that three of us are going to the southern tower but you’re going alone to the northern tower. Doesn’t it make more sense for Roy to go with Tim and Talia go with you?
My thoughts exactly.
Bruce: I’ll be fine. I have the sword.
Scarlett: What sword?
Tim: You know how every member in the League has a chemical in their body that gives them an unnatural healing factor? He's got a magical sword that neutralises it.
Dick: Then why haven’t you tried giving all of us one of those swords!?
Bruce: Because I had to do a deal with Hephaestus, and he would only forge me one blade.
Roy: That’s why you had us retrieve that stuff from Greene’s mansion.
Bruce: That was only intended as a contingency for this very scenario. The blade was the product of desperation.
Barbra: What did you have to promise him in return for it?
Bruce: Far too much.
Before Bruce has a chance to say just what it was he promised Hephaestus, an alert appears on the monitor. The gas cloud is beginning to move further into the city.
Bruce: Suit up.
———————————————-
Thirty Minutes Later…
By the time Talia and I make it to the western tower, Dick and Barbra have made it to the eastern tower and the Outlaws are waiting for Alfred’s signal to assault the southern tower.
Red Robin: Pen-7, this is West team. We’re in position.
Alfred: Roger West team. I’m waiting on the signal from the North team.
Talia: Do we really have to call him a team if he’s just one person?
Red Robin: It’s protocol, designed to confuse the enemy incase they’re listening in on our communications.
Talia: Has anyone ever managed to?
Red Robin: No, not yet but….
Talia: Then we can ditch the protocol. Let’s not make things more unnecessarily complicated than they need to be.
Red Robin: Alfred, we’re waiting on your signal.
Alfred: Standby….
Talia and I both look down onto the street in front of the tower, four dead bodies. All members of the national guard. None of them have any visible wounds so they clearly died from exposure to the gas. Poor guys. They probably didn’t have any idea what was going on before it was too late.
Talia: This is what I hoped to prevent.
Red Robin: Sorry?
Talia: All this bloodshed, Bruce and my father on opposite sides of this. I should have done more to stop it.
Red Robin: Maybe you couldn’t.
Talia: But maybe I could have. Part of me still wonders what might have happened if I’d managed to talk my father out of trying to put Bruce through the final trial. Or if I’d managed to convince Bruce to stay…..
Red Robin: Then the world would be a darker place.
Talia: How can you be sure about that? Especially with all that’s transpiring?
Red Robin: I can’t be. No-one can truly know whether or not the world would have been a better place if something went a better way. Sure a lot of bad things have happened which led to this moment, but do you know what also happened? A lot of great moments as well. Don’t believe me? Look at Dick. Look at Jason. Look at all of us. We’d all be nothing if Bruce hadn’t touched out lives, and if anything about Bruce has told me is true. He’d have been nothing without you.
For a brief moment, Talia says nothing. I think she’s smiling, but I can’t be certain. It’s difficult to tell what expression she has on her face with the rebreather covering half of it.
Talia: Just what has he been telling you about me?
Red Robin: Well err…you know….just…ummm…..stuff ya know….like umm….how you trained him and….other stuff.
Talia: What kind of other stuff?
Her tone of voice as she asks that question is incredibly discomforting. Worse still, I think I have some ides of just what it is she’s curious about. Thankfully, before I have to attempt to answer that question, a miracle arrives.
Alfred: Pen-7 to all strike teams. Mission is a go!
Immediately, before Talia can repeat her question, I race towards the roof ledge before jumping off towards the tower.
Red Robin: Come on Talia, we’ve got a job to do.
Another group of villains, this time of the "Weird Guys Wearing Expensive Suits" variety.
From left:
Sterling T. Silversmith - Terrence Sterling was first investigated by the Bat Family on account of his silver smuggling (for which he used his Gotham antiques business as a front). This was merely to fund his true intentions - a scheme to crash the digital economy and destroy the value of fiat currency.
The Eraser - Aspiring forensic scientist Lenny Fiasco flunked out of the Academy and instead wound up working for the GCPD in a different capacity, as a crime scene cleaner. He began offering his services and insider knowledge to the underworld, mopping up after some of Gotham's messier criminals and culminating in his own bumbling foray into assassination.
Gentleman Ghost - In 1979, a GCPD raid killed pimp and money launderer Jim "The Gentleman" Craddock. For reasons known perhaps only to those with a connection to the arcane, Craddock's spirit never left the earthly realm and returned sporadically to seek vengeance on the GCPD. His continued existence remained an urban legend and his crimes themselves unsolved, until Batman (with the assistance of Hawkman and Hawkgirl) found a means to banish him.
Mad Hatter - Jervis Tetch was a prominent neuroscientist prior to his mental breakdown, which some Arkham doctors have partially blamed on his experiments with mind control and remote viewing. Insane, deluded, and obsessed with the works of Lewis Carroll, Tetch would use his technology to hypnotize citizens and make them take part in his psychedelic tea parties.
Great White Shark - Warren White was a financial analyst at a Gotham investment firm. Caught embezzling millions from the company's pension fund, White incredulously pled insanity to avoid a long stint in Blackgate. Hated by the public more than any costumed criminal, the judge humored his plea with a twist: an indefinite incarceration at the Arkham Institute. The other patients did not take kindly to the presence of their "new fish", disfiguring his face and slowly driving him truly insane. As the Great White Shark, Warren eventually escaped from Arkham and began to work his way up the ladder of organised crime.
Mr. Combustible - A humanoid entity seemingly composed of gas, Mr. Combustible (real name unknown) was a prospective member of The Penguin's gang during his war with Black Mask's False Face Syndicate. There was only room for one top-hatted criminal in Cobblepot's crew, and his time in the Iceberg Lounge proved to be short-lived - with Mr. Combustible himself proving combustible indeed.
Against all odds the last standing gunman thinks his gun will suddenly work despite having done nothing to fix. Heck, I'm not even sure he knows what's wrong with his gun in the first so how can he be sure it even works?
I know Alfred says I should never underestimate the scum of Gotham but sometimes they really do make it difficult not to.
"Let him go freak!"
"What do you think will happen when you pull that trigger?"
He says nothing, and yet his silence says everything.
"You think it's suddenly just going to unjam itself? Just because it's been a few minutes since you last tried to pull the trigger?"
"Shut up Batfreak! You're just trying to make me..doubt myself!"
"From what I can see I don't need to do anything to achieve that."
His hands are shaking, the fact that the gun is shaking is a clear give away. He's uncertain of what his next action will be. That's potentially bad news for me, but it also offers an interesting opportunity to deescalate the situation.
"SHUT UP!"
"You don't have to resort to violence."
"QUIET! I GIVE THE ORDERS HERE."
"No. You don't."
I take my leg off his friend and stand to face him.
"You can try to pull the trigger if you want, but the moment you finger begins to press down on it, I will be forced to break your arm. I don't want to do it, but I will if I must."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because you have a chance to make a better choice. Put the weapon down and turn yourself in. I'll be sure the GCPD knows of your actions."
"What if I don't want to go to jail?"
"Then pull the trigger and pray it works. But the moment you do you're going to get a broken arm and I'll make sure you serve ten years."
"You can't get the GCPD to imprison me for ten years when it's well within my rights to bare arms."
"Maybe it is. But who says that's what I'll tell the GCPD."
"You'd forge evidence to imprison me?"
"Who says I need to forge evidence? The moment you're unmasked I'll expose all your actions. For all I know you might be lucky to only get ten years."
There's a long stare off. He refuses to lower his weapon as he clearly weighs up his options. That's always a good sign. It implies he has activities that could give him a long prison sentence. Certainly helps to convince him to make the right decision.
Without saying a word he removes the clip from his gun and drops the weapon on the ground.
The moment he releases his grip I grab him and restrain him.
"Hey you said you wouldn't hurt me!"
"I never promised that. I just said I'd let the GCPD know you co-operated."
With that I grab hold of the unconscious guard that Harley brought with her.
"Pen-7 contact the GCPD. Let them know I've got a bunch of gunmen for the Odessa mob for them to collect."
"Of course Master Bruce. What about Miss Quinzel?"
"She escaped."
"She seems to be making a habit of escaping from you lately sir."
"It doesn't matter. I've got a lead on her."
"Oh?"
"Her bodyguard."
"I'm sure you'll convince him to co-operate sir. Try not to enjoy yourself too much though."
"I'm not making any promises."
"I'd be worried if you did. Pen-7 out."
With that I turn my attention to Harley's goon. Alright little piggy. It's time to make you squeal.
==Gotham City==
Hellhound was not having a good Christmas. As he ran down narrow alleyways and hopped over fences, his blood pumping, scattered thoughts raced through his head: Was it The King, back for seconds? Or just another unsatisfied client? Behind him, as loyal as ever, Cheadle bounced after him, barking excitedly as he crawled under the gaps in the chain fences to remain at his master's side.
Cutting the chase short, a strand of red webbing caught the conman's ankle and he tripped face first onto the snow-covered pavement, which did very little to cushion his fall. He rolled onto his back, sighing as his attackers came into view: an eclectic collection of misfits, who were approaching from all sides.
He may have been surrounded on all fronts, but he wasn't done yet. He let out a whistle and his rottweiler launched itself at his opponents, with limited effectiveness:
“Good boy... Good boy,” Joey Rigger giggled as he dodged Cheadle's slobbery tongue and rubbed the dog's belly with an un-gloved hand.
“Cheadle! You treacherous mongrel!” Hellhound snarled as he reluctantly raised his arms in the air in defeat.
Otis Flannegan stepped forward and lowered the end of his staff, shining the light from his lantern into the Hellhound's eyes as though conducting an outdoors police interrogation. “They say dogs look like their owners. Didn't hold much stock in it m'self, but I see the resemblance now. You both lack balls,” he teased.
Hellhound frowned, looking to the leader of the pack; the Kite-Man, dressed in his full green and yellow livery.
“So, King of Cats is back in town,” Chuck began. “I guess you already knew that. We're not going to ask for our money back, though we probably ought to, but we would like some intel.”
Hellhound said nothing, but crossed his legs in indignant defiance.
Gar glared, a hand on his holstered flamethrower. “Start talking.”
The Hellhound gulped, examining the Misfits' uncharacteristically stoic expressions for confirmation of Lynns' intent.
“Alright, I'll bite,” he sighed, raising his palms again. “There's a blade, a sword... Rumours were some Japanese girl had it, lost it to the Death Man. But in theory... it can trap the souls of its' victims.”
“Woah, with a sword like that, we could put an end to King of Cats for good. No body swaps, no resurrection,” Joey theorised.
“If it exists,” Ten frowned, more apprehensive.
“I swear, if this is another scam to get you tickets to Fiji-” Chuck warned, not forgetting the last time he took Hellhound at his word.
“It's not,” Needham determined. “Least, I don't think it is. Azrael had a blade like that, did some weird spiritual crap to me. I believe the sword exists; we just need to find it.”
==The Death Gardens. Japan==
Despite their ominous name, The Death Gardens, located in the Hinohara forest, west of Tokyo, couldn't be more alive; a large open area filled by lush green grass, cascading waterfalls and tall cherry trees that dropped pink petals into the clear blue waters below. It was a shame that the Misfits were there on business.
In the centre of the clearing, sat a physically imposing, but oddly dressed figure, fitted like a Halloween Skeleton, complete with a flowing black cloak and white thigh-high boots. In his lap, sat the Soul-Taker, the blade Hellhound promised could quell the King of Cats' threat once and for all.
The Misifts, this time joined by Blake and Axel, approached the man with trepidation; After all, none of them had seen the Death Man since his short-lived stint among their ranks, and rumours of his increasingly unpredictable nature and a tendency to hold grudges meant they were unsure if he'd even be willing to hand over the key to The King's defeat.
Of course, there was also a pretty large language barrier.
“Um, hi! Hello! Konnichi wa?” Joey greeted the skeletal man.
“That's good, keep going,” Chuck nodded affirmatively.
Joey's cheeks reddened. “You want me to keep going-? I watch Animé, my vocabulary doesn't really extend beyond 'mecha.'”
The Death Man watched the group; his skull-like mask made it impossible to discern his mood, but Chuck suspected he enjoyed watching the Misfits embarrass themselves. Unprompted, Axel walked over to The Death Man and whispered a Japanese message into one of the hollow openings where his ears ought to be.
The Death Man processed the words, then nodded.
“What'd you ask him?” Joey pondered.
“If he spoke English,” Axel explained, hopping down from the ornate throne. “Duh?”
Joey's cheeks turned redder still.
“Right...” Chuck sighed. “Mr Death Man-”
“LORD Death Man!” the man replied in an surprisingly nasally voice (surprising, due to the lack of a nose).
“Lord Death Man,” Chuck began anew, “We have travelled from Gotham City on a desperate mission to rescue one of our own. Though faced with impossible odds, we think your blade might just be the thing to turn the tide.”
“Promise we'll return it!” Joey vouched for him.
“Nyee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” The Death Man giggled, leaning back in his throne. “Be still, your prattling tongue! The Death Man has no stake in your plight, mortal fools!”
“Screw this,” Blake scoffed, strutting forward defiantly. “You listen, buddy, we're taking that sword whether you give it to us or not,” he declared, marking his point by poking the Death Man's chest.
The instant Blake made contact; Lord Death Man dropped to the ground like a stone in water.
The Misfits froze for a moment, then cautiously, Ten bent down and placed his ear against the man's ribcage and his hand across his throat. “I don't... There's no pulse,” he gasped.
And then, panic:
“I- I barely touched him!” Blake shrieked.
“I mean, he looked pretty frail.”
“He looked like a skeleton!”
“That's what I meant.”
“Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-”
“This is bad, I came to Japan for the hotties, not the rotties!”
“Calm down!” Flannegan ordered, clapping his hands together.
“That's better. Alright, grab a shovel.”
Less willing to accept the Death Man's demise, Gar kicked the body, and with a shriek of pain, the Death Man was sitting upright.
“Holy shit,” Blake remarked. “Dude's a possum.”
Flannegan grumpily lowered his spade. “As far as superpowers go, heart failure is on the same level as the cock cannon.”
===Homosassa Springs. Florida===
The group of four Misfits moved the garden gate aside and sighed at the tasteless sight of excessive decadence; though the house was comparatively ramshackle in appearance, the garden was full of large golden statues and finished with a marble fountain that towered above the visitors. Overtaken by curiosity, Sharpe knelt by the chicken coop, and was surprised to find half a dozen squawking pheasants in the place of common hens.
This was the place, alright.
Chuck rang the doorbell (the sound, was a particularly loud rendition of Beethoven's Für Elise) and waited outside as a long-haired silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass. The door swung open, and a delighted grin appeared on the occupant's face.
“Dear me! If it isn't my Merry Misfits looking decidedly unmerry! Charles! Garfield! Thomas! Come in, you ridiculous beard-splitter, how are you?” Mortimer Drake inquired.
“Been better,” Blake confessed.
“I thought as much! Might I tempt you with a nipperkin, you swill-bellied swine?” he asked, prodding Blake's belly playfully.
“'Fraid not.”
“Sorry, Morty, we're here on business,” Chuck frowned.
“Ah, I see. The jester. I feared it would come to this... That rapscallion was always balmy on the crumpet. Off his chump,” Drake drawled, as he tipped the remaining contents of his bottle of Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac into the bottom of his crystal champagne flute.
“There's a novel assessment,” Sharpe exhaled, sitting on the armrest of Drake's French settee.
“Montgomery. Yours always was a good voice to beg bacon,” Drake wagged his finger at him dismissively.
“Hiya, Drake. How's that 'life of luxury' working out?” Sharpe waved back, quoting the Cavalier's favoured mantra.
“'Heard you knocked over a convenience store for some booze,” Gar mentioned, frowning as a hyacinth macaw made itself at home on his shoulder.
“You can jolly well go fuck yourself, Garfield,” Drake scowled. “Why do you all have the hump?”
“Because Drury's been kidnapped? Because the clown wants him dead?” Gar snapped.
Drake dabbed his upper lip with a silk handkerchief. “Bah. Although it's rather too late in your case, Garfield, I would still advise you all to keep your hair on. We will rescue our antiquated rogue compatriot in due course. But firstly, if I were to join your caravan, what would I receive in return?”
“Well, we're not doing your fuckin' taxes.”
==Coast City==
Waves crashed against the boardwalk, rain pelted down onto the pier, but the Misfits moved forwards.
“You could have asked McCulloch to drop us a little closer, you know!” Blake lagged behind, as rain drizzled down his brown cowl.
“Nah, we're not teleporting into his living room unannounced: this isn't the kinda guy you sneak up on. Isn't much further anyway... see that lighthouse? He's got a cabin nearby,” Gar pointed to a lone light a few hundred yards away.
“You're starting to scare me, Gar,” Joey stated cautiously.
“Only now? He looks like the kinda guy that stalks kids in their dreams,” Sharpe teased.
“That was as hilarious as the first hundred times you made that joke, Chancer!” Gar snapped back.
“Gar...”
“He's... look, he's a contact of mine. From The Society days. But he's got a few screws loose, ok? So don't upset him.”
“I'll be as gentlemanly as ever!” Sharpe blew a kiss at him mockingly.
“Yeah, that's what I'm scared of.”
“Uh, how loopy we talking about here, Gar?” Joey tapped his shoulder.
“'s complicated. He has good days and bad days.”
“Ok, ok. So, on a scale of Freeze to Pyg, how bad is he? On average,” Joey pried.
“... He's a Two-Face.”
“Oh, he's a schizo!” Sharpe concluded.
As they reached the cabin, Gar took his phone out of his pocket. “One last thing: Anything metal stays outside. Helmets, belt buckles, guns... Watch our stuff, kid,” he instructed Axel, noting his prosthetic arm, as he unbuckled his grey utility belt and wing harness and pressed the doorbell.
There was a chime; then a sound of scrabbling from within; and finally, an unassuming man with tousled brown hair answered the door, dressed in a short-sleeved t-shirt that was far too big for him. “Firefly?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Neal,” Gar nodded cautiously. “Do you mind if we have a chat?”
“No, of course not,” Emerson obliged, “Come in,” he offered, although as Gar passed, a single curse of “Deserter,” escaped his lips, with a voice that wasn't his own.
“Sorry, you had your pick of The Society, and you picked fucking 'Neal' before Zod?” an oblivious Sharpe questioned Lynns, as the group invited themselves inside. Given the circumstances, Neal was surprisingly welcoming, even offering to put the kettle on for his guests. As he disappeared into the kitchen, Gar called out to him:
“So, do you keep in touch with the old guard at all?”
“No,” Neal replied. “But I received an email a few months back from a man claiming to be Phillip Cobb. I assumed it was one of those 'Biaylan prince' scams. You?”
“Not really. Most of the guys want me dead,” Gar conceded.
“You did ignite the Martian,” Neal reminded him, pouring hot water into a collection of mismatched mugs.
“He had it coming,” Gar reprimanded him.
“They always do...” Neal muttered softly.
Sharpe was bored now, and as he rose from his seat, he pushed the wrong buttons; “Listen, plug boy-”
Before he could say anything worse, a metal chain wrapped itself around his throat. The other Neal re-entered the living room, frowning. “You know, I really do detest that name,” he murmured calmly.
“Neal! Neal, stop! Emerson, christ, let him go!” Gar protested.
“My name, Lynns. Use my name,” the man scowled, his eyes glowing with violet energy. The chain dug into Sharpe's throat, his face turning blue under the strain. Just a little more pressure and his neck would snap.
“Polaris... He's not worth it,” Gar begged.
“I agree.”
With the flick of his wrist, the chain released and Sharpe dropped to the floor, gasping for air. “Now, I understand you have an offer for me?” Polaris cocked his head to one side.
“I thought you dudes had hypocritical oaths!” Blake wrapped his arm around Sharpe's back.
“Hippocratic,” Kuttler hissed in the corner.
“Bro, you're never fucking happy!”
==The Cluster. Orbit==
Joey and McCulloch landed on the metal floor with a thud. Since the incident with Polaris, Gar had determined that it would be safer and more productive if the Misfits split up; that left Joey on his own to handle perhaps the most important business deal of his life.
“Awfy soory about that, pa'. I dinnae tend to use ma mirror gun fer interstellar travel. Fook, ah mean, ah dinnae ken ahve even come out this far before,” McCulloch apologised, rubbing his bruised joints, but Joey wasn’t listening. They had arrived in some sort of observation deck; in front of them was a curved glass window that seemed like it stretched for miles, which was easily over twenty feet tall, and on the other side was Planet Earth.
Joey took in the majesty of the blue planet below, his mouth agape. “Woah.”
The moment was unfortunately short-lived, as soon a pair of heavily-armed robots hovered towards them, enormous laser guns aimed at the intruders’ heads.
“PREPARE TO BE OBLITERATED TRESSPASSERS,” one robot demanded.
“Wait!” Joey raised his hands above his head, motioning for McCulloch to keep his mirror gun holstered. “I seek an audience with the Great Manga Khan, Lord of Thanagar, Grand Regent of Krypton, Scourge of Bezos and Vice President of the Gemworld Amusement Parks.”
“Are those real titles?” the robot paused, lowering its’ weapons.
“They sound real,” the other responded.
“How tha fook-”
“I'm riffing, play along.”
~-~
A long walk through a dozen clean hallways later and Joey found himself sat opposite from the golden-clad business mogul. L-Ron, his robotic assistant, held a welder's torch to Lord Manga's neck, repairing the crack Krill had formed at the Royal.
“AHH, IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK IN MY FEET AGAIN,” Lord Manga celebrated,
“M'lord, you're shouting again.”
“BECAUSE I'M EXCITED L-RON!”
==Washington DC==
“No.”
Taken aback, Blake let out an abrasive chuckle. “You're serious?” he frowned. “Pussy.”
“You're the one with whiskers,” the other man responded, taking in another puff from his cigarette, his eye still trained on his gun’s targeting scope.
“I don't get it, Floyd. All his victims, all their families... Not one of them reached out to you? Not once were you offered a chance to kill him, to do what we've all thought of doing for years, and get paid for it, no less?” Blake asked pacing back and forth around the rooftop, something that was clearly getting on Lawton’s nerves.
“They did. Just happened to turn 'em down,” he responded as he readjusted his silver wrist guns.
“Why?”
Lawton dabbed the butt of his cigarette, taking a step back from the gun tripod. “Cause he's not my kill. Think of it as a professional courtesy.”
“A professional what-?”
Without looking and without warning, Lawton fired his wrist gun; it ricocheted off the shutters, struck the lamp above them, and found its' mark in the skull of the North Rheelasian Diplomat in the office 500 yards away.
“Jesus Fuck!”
“Professional courtesy,” Lawton repeated, dropping the cigarette to the ground and lowering his mask over his stubbled chin. “Rather like me not dropping you.”
“Don’t pester me when I’m out on a job. You’ll find my courtesy is pretty short-lived.”
==The Iceberg Lounge==
“I’m sorry?” Gaige’s bottom lip twitched.
Cobblepot exhaled, swirling his glass of red wine. “Perhaps you misunderstand, Doctor. If Walker was The Clown's true target, then he poses us no present danger. Why would we risk antagonising him?”
“Why would- He blew up your cops!” Gaige roared indignantly.
“And our thoughts and prayers go out to the victims' families,” Cobblepot shook his head mournfully. “Truly, a tragic, unnecessary loss of life.”
To his left, Warren White chuckled, mouthing the words ‘Thoughts and Prayers,’ disingenuously. On his right, Sionis’ red eyes revealed a malicious satisfaction from this latest roadblock.
“I understand your conviction, Doctor, I do,” Cobblepot admitted. “But we cannot afford to risk our men and resources to chase ghouls and monsters. The clown has taken enough from us already.”
A disbelieving smile crept across Gaige's face as he finally understood. “That's it, isn't it? You're terrified. All of you. Pissing your britches over a fucking clown!”
“That's enough, Gaige, be sensible,” Cobblepot squawked, to no avail.
“The Gotham Mob. I had it all wrong; they all did! The Big Bad Gangsters, scared of a Looney Toon! Franco and Ferris, fuck, Mr Moth, they fought and died for a seat at the table, they just didn’t realise it was the kid’s table! Drink your milk, kiddies, draw some pictures, call mommy to change your diapers, ‘cause that’s what this is! What it’s always been!
“ENOUGH!” Penguin screeched, thumping the table with his flipper-like fists.
“Nicely done,” Sionis applauded his long-time rival. “You’re finished.”
Gaige held the door open, a grim smile on his weather-beaten features. “No. You’re finished.”
He signalled to Flannegan, waiting outside, and the pair departed, leaving the mob alone to ponder the pirate’s closing words.
==Castle Street. Edinburgh==
Gar and Jenna emerged from a shop window on Edinburgh’s high street; McCulloch said he couldn’t stay, must’ve been the Glaswegian in him, but promised he’d be back in an hour to pick them up. The streets, were practically empty; the hotels and restaurants were open for the Holidays of course, but the stores were shut until the 26th. Gar looked at the directions on his phone, and guided Jenna to an apartment block sandwiched between a hairdresser’s and one of five Costa Coffee shops in the City Centre.
“You’re sure this is it, Gar?” Jenna asked, as she began unlocking the doorway with a selection of tools concealed in her purse.
“I am,” Gar confirmed. “The Playhouse is doing a showing of MacBeth, he doesn’t miss Shakespeare. Not in Edinburgh, he got his start in a Hamlet production here forty years ago, moved into film not long after.”
“Then to be or not to be! That is the question!” Jenna squeezed his arm playfully as she pushed the door open with an effortless shove.
“That’s- That is a line, yeah,” Gar blushed.
“The big one,” she smiled.
“The biggest even,” Gar conceded.
“I never paid much attention to the words, to be honest,” Jenna confessed, as they ascended up the narrow flight of stairs. “It was the sets that caught my eye.”
“It was the sets that caught fire,” Gar smirked back at her.
As they approached the door of apartment 40, Jenna held her nose. “Bloody hell, it stinks of-”
“Mud,” Gar corrected her. “Smells of mud.”
“You gonna be alright in there?” Jenna asked, a concerned eyebrow raised.
“Sure, I will,” Gar smiled back softly. He raised his knuckle against the door and knocked. There was a faint squelching from within, then the door opened, seemingly of its’ own accord, then slammed shut once he’d entered. ‘So, this is what a thousand bucks a month gets you here,’ he muttered. The curtains slid shut, then a brown silhouette slid into view behind Gar, yellow eyes fixed on him.
“That woman in the hall-” it began, objecting to Jenna’s presence.
“-Is with me, she’s ok.”
“She’s aiming a fire extinguisher at the peephole.”
“In case things get ugly,” Gar said cautiously.
“Might things get ugly?” the mud man asked.
“That depends, you gonna apologise for faking your death?” Gar warned.
The mud man shifted into a purple suit and adjusted the brim of his large hat. “Lynns…”
“Bas. You couldn't resist, could you?” Gar asked, his features softening. “Castle Street?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Karlo growled petulantly.
“Come on, this apartment's leased by an ‘Anna Lorde.’ Do I need to recount First Blood to you? Or do you get where I'm going with this?”
Karlo sank into his chair, placing a damp fist against his clay-like chin. “Lorna Dane... I... I hadn't realised.”
“’Guess you couldn't abstain from another performance,” Gar remarked.
Karlo ran his hand across the pile of film magazines on the coffee table. “You forget my first lesson. All life is acting, Lynns. Different masks, serving different functions. Agendas disguised by false smiles and cordial nods. I see that you have removed your own, let loose your true, blackened soul. A baptism of fire, perchance?”
Gar brushed his dry, cracked skin. “A couple, actually.”
“They have Sims, Bas. Sprung him from GCPD, right alongside Dru and Krill.”
Karlo’s face hardened at the mere mention of his former protégé. “Do they?” he asked. “And I suppose you have already begun rallying your allies... Hm. It was not so long ago that I sent out a casting call. Do you remember?”
“Of course, I do,” Gar snapped back a little too quickly.
“Yes. You were there. That weasel Flannegan also, oh, and that abrasive pirate, Gaige. And in case you have forgotten, and I know you have not, they sided with Sims. And when the dust settled, when my child was dust, dirt, mud to be carried upstream and washed away, where was Walker then? Hiding, to curry the Tiger Shark's favour.”
Gar ran a hand across his bald scalp, fishing for something, anything, to procure his first friend’s understanding. “He has a daughter, Bas. Three boys.”
Karlo’s yellow eyes softened, his face drooped and he sank even further into his seat. “Three boys...”
==Robinson Park==
Joined by Sharpe, Mayo and Blake (Who had returned earlier and more shaken than expected from his trip to DC), Chuck followed the cobblestone path towards the towering glasshouse in the centre of Gotham’s Robinson Park. His hand on the golden handle, he turned to his compatriots, his heart heavier than ever.
“I need to do this next bit alone.”
The Misfits nodded in understanding and offered Chuck their support. As he entered the glasshouse, Blake made a remark about a “Venus Guy Trap,” to Sharpe. In response, a branch thwacked him in the back of his head. As Sharpe chuckled at his friend's misfortune, a low hanging twig swung back and struck him in the groin.
~-~
As Chuck descended deeper into the glasshouse, the greenery was in turn lusher, more vibrant.
More alive.
Roots and vines shifted out of his way, giving him access to areas of the glasshouse that a seldom few had. Finally, he reached the centre of the room; a woman with flowing red hair sat on a enormous flower head like a throne, surrounded by multi-coloured flower petals of all shapes and sizes. Her skin had a greenish tinge to it, but it was nothing compared to her eyes.
Oh, Chuck could get lost in those eyes.
“Why are you here?” the woman spoke.
Chuck didn’t really know how to answer that. He hadn't seen her since… Since she left him at the altar.
“Drury loved the flowers, you know. At the funeral, I mean. I guess that was you,” he fumbled over his words.
“It was,” she nodded. “And I’m glad. Miranda Gaige and I had our differences, but she deserved better, so much better, than to die in some… hole beneath the city.”
Chuck looked at the ground, glumly. He couldn’t let himself look in her eyes, not again.
“Why are you here, Chuck?” she asked again.
Again, Chuck wondered. They had Doctor Polaris, the Rogues, Major Disaster and his Injustice League. They had more than enough to make a stand against the Outcasts, surely, and yet-
“Why… Why did you leave, Pamela? No note, no text. You were there by my side one minute. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together, I bought a tux, an actual tux, with cufflinks. And then, you were gone. Like you were never even there. Like… Like leaves, carried off by the wind. Yeah, I’ll always have those memories, I cherish them. But they’re like dreams, and when I wake up from that fantasy, I am faced with the cold hard reality of an empty bed.”
The woman was silent for a moment, then answered with a detached response. “Nature is always changing, Chuck. Deep down you knew that; it could never really be tamed. I could never just be a succulent on a windowsill. “
“But… I mean, we were happy, weren’t we?” Chuck asked, his eyes starting to brim with tears. “I know- God, I know I was. I know I wasn’t just a mark to you, there was more to it than that. Hell, what could I have ever possessed that you’d want to steal? What existed that I wouldn’t have given you if you had only asked?”
Pam looked away. “No. You were never a score, Chuck. The feelings we had for each other, those were real, not the pheromones or the lipstick. I never- I could never. Not on you. But Harley… Harley needed me. That monster… What he did, what he is- She needed someone nurturing. Someone to tell her she matters, to promise her that she didn’t have to be something she’s not. And you taught me how to be that person. I mean it, you cared. Since Woodrue, since the toxins… For the first time since I became ‘Poison Ivy…’ It was nice. Nice to have someone that cared for Pamela Isley.”
“What about me, huh? I needed you,” Chuck pounded his chest with a fist, a tear escaped from his eyes and ran down his cheek, and then, a vine caught it.
“No… No, Chuck, you never did. But now you’re at a precipice, like I was the day I left you in that corn factory. Now, I have the Green. I have Harley. And you? You have them. Your Misfits.”
~-~
Blake, Sharpe, and Mayo stood outside. It had been a few minutes since Chuck entered, and they had begun to feel agitated.
“The things I'd do to that mouth,” Mayo drooled, an unprompted remark which caught both Blake and Sharpe’s attention.
“Yeah?” Blake smirked. “Like what?”
“I would... Kiss it!” Mayo giggled, like it was the most scandalous thing in the world.
“Ooh, how audacious! Gonna hold hands next?” Sharpe teased.
==Butchinsky's==
The bar floor was practically empty, its only inhabitants a baby, a kindergartener and two more lost children. Bridget, sat by the bar staring into a glass of beer that she no longer had the appetite for. Simon stepped towards her, his fist clenched and his skin clammy, remnants from his encounter in the toilets.
“You've changed your costume,” Bridget observed.
“So have you,” Simon noted; Bridget's latest suit resembled her father's even more than it had in the other timeline.
“Yeah...” Bridget nodded, acknowledging his allusion to her contradictory loyalties.
The pleasantries finished, Simon dropped any pretence, adopting a stern face to mask his resurfaced trauma. He was much like his father in that regard, a brave face belying heaps of anxiety and insecurities. “I need to tell you something. Something I can't tell anyone else,” he started.
“What?” Bridget asked. She was much like her father too; she didn’t have much patience for preamble.
Simon hesitated, not sure if his decision was the right one. “You might be the only other person who can understand. Because you know what he's capable of,” Simon continued to speak evasively until he caught an impatient glint in Bridget's eyes. “I... I thought your dad'd be the worst of it... But he's back.”
Bridget eyed him with confusion, which quickly turned to dread and then horror as Simon uttered three horrifying words.
“Thawne is alive.”
Before Bridget had time to process, the front door swung open, and the Misfits came pouring back in.
“You said you might have something, Kuttler?” Chuck was asking.
“Yes, potentially our silver bullet. Emerson had got me thinking about the Society again, and I was reminded of an unfinished project of ours; Much like Batman’s Agamemnon Contingencies, one of our associates developed a series of algorithm, safeguards, really, to take down each and every one of our tech based ‘employees.’”
“Including Billings-?” Chuck inquired.
“Yes.”
“If that’s the case, why not bring this up before?” Ten asked.
“Because he defected before we could put his ideas into practise,” Kuttler explained. “There was a copy of it in his journal, until the clown destroyed it; he must have had his eyes on Billings for far longer than any of us realised… Which is why it’s incredibly fortunate for us that this man has a photographic memory.”
“But who?” Chuck asked, before it dawned on him. “Oh, no. No way.”
“Yes,” Gar said firmly.
“He's a prick, and a murderer,” Flannegan agreed with Chuck.
“So? Which of us isn't?” Gar questioned the room, each of them looking down sheepishly.
“Sure, but none of us have ever been smug about it,” Blake retorted.
“I do try to avoid killing people, thank you,” Ten stepped in.
“Look, that's not the point,” Chuck dismissed him.
“Chuck... he's the only guy who hates Joker as much as any of us,” Gar claimed.
Chuck shook his head. “Even if I did agree, which I don't- There's no way to find him.”
“Yes, there is. There's me,” Kuttler stepped in.
“Well?” Gar asked, his point made.
“God!” Chuck cursed, kicking the nearby trashcan.
“Chuck,” Rigger pleaded, a hand on his shoulder. “We have to try.”
==Slabside Penitentiary==
A man dressed in green sat beside Arthur Brown's hospital bed, watching the heart monitor. Brown had been comatose since Bane split his skull open. Some of the pieces, were still lodged in his brain. The man tapped his golden cane against the ground, each tap in perfect synchrony with the beeps from the device. A single pair of footsteps behind him caught his attention, and he lowered his green bowling hat. “Held in place, losing each race, ‘til someone cuts my strings, then I soar off into space. What am I?”
Chuck didn’t answer. “Can you stop him?”
“Hm.” The man slid off a pair of purple gloves and flexed his bare fingers. “Riddle me this: I can decimate the clown. Turn his smile to a frown. And I also killed the linage of the man called Charlie Brown. Who am I?”
Chuck’s fist clenched.
The Riddler’s white eyes narrowed, his pupils obscured by his purple domino mask. “The wound still hasn’t healed, I see,” he observed. “Interesting. So, why would a Kite-Man ask for my help?” he inquired,
“Your algorithm, I know you developed one to use against Spellbinder. Is it real?”
“You mean Noah couldn't figure it out?” Riddler started laughing, a childish, irritatingly smug giggle. “Oh, how delightful!”
Gotham city airport
Amongst the no nonsense hustle and bustle of an airport Jeremy Seinfeld sits quietly waiting for a plane that will leave the airport but certainly won’t land at another and he knows it won’t. Slightly sweating for the nerves, he stares endlessly at his pocketwatch, observing the way it ticks, tocks and ticks again. 3:59 and 57 seconds.58 seconds.59 seconds
Jeremy Seinfeld: four o clock
His eyes dart to a nearby air plane that has finally begun to lift off into the air after a tiresome period of preparation
Jeremy Seinfeld: people of Gotham!!! Listen to my words!
Under the presumption that he’s just another crazy preacher, most walk by but some glance a bit
Jerry Seinfeld: listen to my words I said. I come with knowledge. No I am no preacher nor saviour no I am here to save. Save lives!
At the other side of the airport two somewhat unfocused security gaurds, sit at Some rundown airport bar, chatting endlessly and stuffing their faces. When bending to pick up his dirty napkin, a guard catches the bright blue cloth of Jerry’s tunic in the corner of his eyes
Airport security guard: Oh shit...marv “. We got a nutcase
Jerry Seinfeld: i go by many names but non of which have stuck as much as that of: the zodiac master! I see the future and it is dark. An aircraft which you’ll see has left will not make it far! Please listen to my plea for lives are on the line!
Security guard 1: get down from there. We’re not going to hurt you.
Jerry Seinfeld: that I do not doubt but the people on that plane however, you are murdering with your ignorance!!
Security guard 2: what do you know about the plane. Empty fuel tank, dodgy wing? What?!
Jerry Seinfeld: I read it
Security guard 1: read it?
Jerry Seinfeld: yes I read it! In the stars!! They tell a great many things of the future. Some things good and some things bad!
Security guard 1: cuff him marv. Could be a threat
Security guard 2: and the plane?
Security: you kidding? He’s off his head. Take no notice
Jeremy Seinfeld: you’re making a mistake! A big mistake I tell you. You’re killing them!!!
———————————————————
Airport control centre
Before a crowd of untidy bulky plastic boxes known as computers, is a huge glass window, stretching all about the room. In the centre stands the leader of the operation, with one of the most important jobs in the whole building. Making sure all the planes take off....and making sure they all land. Today he might just loose that job.
Behind one of the oversized computers, sits, uncomfortably, a tall, dark haired woman of about 30. Shocked by some knew found news she rushes without hesitation to the head controllers ear where she whispers the new and disturbing news
Controller Powell:what?! No fuel? How the hell dis it leave the ground?!
The controller answers: that’s the strange thing. They’ve said it was all fuelled up when it left. It’s been in the air 140 minutes. And the fuel is almost completely gone
Controller Powell: a hole in the tank?
Controller: no but I think it’s better we work on getting it down safely
Controller powell: of course. Get security. Have them look for anything suspicious on the cameras or seen by the public. Anything
Controller: uh. Well that’s something else. They put a man in a cell for that night. He claimed to have information about the plane going down before takeoff
Controller: and it wasn’t reported! Have them fired. And have some proper detectives question the man properly but that’s not our job and we have a job to be doing so we best get to doing it. Oh and call the gcpd too...the armed gcpd
Shortly after the murder on Thomas and Martha Wayne, businessman William Earle took control over Wayne Enterprises. It didn’t take long for him to move away from Thomas’ morals and ideas for the company as he began focusing solely on making as much profit as possible. When the government of the United States asked Wayne Enterprises to create weapons for the military in return for a hefty amount of money, he immediately agreed. Lucius Fox was one of the people working on designing new military vehicles. He came up with the WE-278 “Trojan Horse” prototype; a heavily armored troop transport that can ram through enemy defenses and walls with ease in order to drop several troops right in enemy territory. The prototype was eventually actually produced and tested, but Earle shut down the project before it could be finalized and actually used in the military.
Years later, Lucius was demoted by Earle to the Applied Sciences Division. The “Trojan Horse” and other rejected prototypes of his are gathering dust in this part of the Wayne Tower. However, as Bruce Wayne reappears in the public eye again after years, Lucius is surprised about his interest in his division when he visits the Tower. Bruce especially takes a liking to the Trojan Horse, and after a quick test ride he asks if the vehicle also comes in black.
After replacing the spots to carry soldiers with compartments to store gadgets, a new paint job and a better engine the prototype has been dubbed the “Batmobile” and is now in use by the Dark Knight during night patrols. Although the vehicle lacks any actual weapons, the fact it can achieve a top speed of 45 miles per hour, can ram through almost any barricade and has very strong armor still makes the Batmobile very useful.
After returning home from a long shift at the Wayne Tower, Lucius Fox turns on the tv to watch his favorite show. However, the broadcast is interrupted by a breaking newsflash showing the mysterious vigilante known as Batman getting pursued by the GCPD in a tank-like vehicle. It doesn’t take long for Lucius to connect the dots as he sees his rejected prototype driving through the streets of Gotham.
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My take on the Batmobile, heavily inspired by the Tumbler design from Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy. Enjoy!