GCPD SPEC OPS 2013 Ford PI sedan. This is 1 of 2 in the entire fleet.

Gotham Cemetery, Two Hours Until Christmas

 

Bridget Pike stood over a gravestone, holding a wreath decorated with beautiful red and yellow flowers. She knelt beside the marble slab, and ran her hand across the engraving:

 

CARMEN PIKE

 

BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

 

GONE TOO SOON

 

Bridget shot a cursory, almost fearful, glance at the second grave stone, and sighed, a stream of warm air escaping her lips.

 

A man's voice broke the silence. "You want to visit him, don't you?" they asked.

 

Bridget didn't turn around, but she recognised the speaker: Philip Reardon. She paused before answering, her hand never leaving her mother's gravestone. "He's been back before, you know. After the car crash, the wedding, the bug demon. I kept track of all of them. But he never came back for me, did he? While he was chasing Walker, he let me and my mom grieve. Tore us apart waiting for him to return... By the time he did, mom was dead."

 

"Do you think I should see him?" she asked, turning to face him.

 

Ten contemplated her question, running his prosthetic hand through his greying hair. He was wearing a thick scarf, and was holding an umbrella in his other prosthesis to keep the snow at bay. "I don't know," he said at last, an answer that was perhaps unsatisfying. "My dad... My dad was so angry when I told him I'd enlisted. He fought in Vietnam, you see. Lost a leg in a snare trap... But I was young. I thought I knew differently. Knew better. And when I left to 'fight for my country,' my head full of patriotic notions and falsehoods, I had no idea how much harder I should've fought for my family instead... I got on a plane and we never spoke again. Not when I was injured, nor when I was imprisoned either. He died while I was in Blackgate, lung complications. Another 'gift' from the jungles. He's buried nearby, Frank Reardon," he added, making a sweeping gesture across the graveyard.

 

"Mom died when I was in Blackgate too..." Bridget said softly.

 

"She wanted to be buried beside him. It was in her will, the one thing she wanted most. But, his body kept moving, resurrecting... disappearing. Best they could do was put her headstone beside his. We had it erected a few months after the car accident, mom and me... But, he's back. He's been caught. And with more people dying every day, there's talk of taking his down. But I... I don't know if the dad I lost was the one that came back. I don't -"

 

As Ten held the umbrella over her head, the floodgates opened; Bridget crumpled at the gesture, and buried her face in his chest. Ten was surprised at first, but put a fatherly arm around her. "It's going to be alright," he promised her, although again, he spoke with uncertainty. And as he repeated himself, it was as though he was reassuring himself as well.

 

~-~

 

The Batwing tore through the air; bursts of purple flames blasted from its’ rear engines, propelling it through the night sky. Batman sat in the cockpit, his hands grasping the control yokes tightly. The flight path was set: In four minutes time, he’d be back in Gotham. He pressed a flashing green button on the dashboard and spoke into the receiver on its’ left.

 

“Oracle, I have the location for the Cloudburst. It’s in Walker’s Cave, I’m headed there now,” he spoke calmly.

 

“You got a location? How did you- Never mind. Batman, listen, I need to patch you through. You were radio-silent for a while there; we’ve run into a few problems.”

 

“Bats, your Renaissance guy has gone AWOL,” Eric Needham’s voice called out. “He’s trying to cut my damn head off!”

 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, taking note of Needham’s panting. “Spider? Report.”

 

“Your man, Azrael. Must’ve got whammied by the Pirate or something, started taking shots at me, bemoaning my ‘zeolotry.’ I’ve managed to shake him for now, but-“

 

“You’ve got a call from Nightwing on line 2.” Oracle interjected.

 

“For now, stay out of sight. Backup’s inbound, Spider,” Bruce assured the man, before turning his attention back to Barbara. “Put him through. Nightwing, Hayden’s at Arkham, Azrael’s compromised. I need you and Red Hood to-“

 

“No go, Batman, Jason’s down. I’m sorry… Hayden got to us too, dredged up old wounds,” Dick sighed regretfully.

 

Bruce nodded. “Understood, hold on, Dick, I’ll send someone over.”

 

“Batman, call from GCPD.” Barbara chimed in again.

 

“Jim? What’s wrong?”

 

“He’s here, Batman.”

 

“What? Who?” Bruce asked, dreading Gordon's answer.

 

“God help me, Batman. The Joker’s at the station.”

 

“I’ll be there ASAP. Don’t do anything," Bruce swore.

 

“No. If you have a location for this Cloudburst, find it. Gotham’s the priority.” Jim urged him.

 

“Understood, Jim. Stand by, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

 

==GCPD==

 

Two joybuzzers. One for each hand.

 

Four knives. One in each sock, each with collapsible blades. Two tucked inside his jacket, one with a rubber blade, the other without.

 

A Cabbage Patch Doll that vomits when you squeeze its' stomach.

 

Two packs of 50 razor-edged playing cards, hidden up his sleeves.

 

An acid-spewing lapel flower.

 

Two pairs of rubber hands. One splayed, one pair of fists.

 

A packet of 'Itching Powder.' Filled with fire ants.

 

Two badges: One plastic sheriff badge, one "Mayor of Motham" pin, each with poisoned tips.

 

A halibut. Dyed green and white. Lips contorted into a smile. Deceased. For quite a while, judging by the smell.

 

One revolver with one 'Bang' flag and five bullets.

 

A silk magician's handkerchief with a hidden garrote wire running through it.

 

A set of purple car keys.

 

Numerous sets of wind-up false teeth. Metal jaws.

 

A stick of gum, believed to be a sort of plastic explosive. Strawberry scented.

 

A firecracker. Stuffed in the waistband of his underpants.

 

Three colouring pencils. Recently sharpened.

 

Two tickets to Cabaret. Expired.

 

A Bob the Builder colouring book.

 

A Whoopie Cushion.

 

Gordon took a step back to take in the full picture: A tabletop overflowing with tools of death. The CSIs were in the midst of bagging and tagging the lot of it. It’d take them hours that they didn’t have.

 

Joker sat opposite them in the holding cell, dressing in nothing but a vest, long striped socks and a pair of white underpants dotted with red hearts. Gordon shot a disgusted look at him, and murmured to Montoya:

 

"Tell him he can put his clothes back on."

 

===ISA Headquarters===

 

The Misfits were gathered in the kitchen; Joey, dressed in a crimson Christmas jumper, was fiddling with Ito’s ancient television, a screwdriver in one hand, an HMDI cable in the other, chuckling delightedly once the device hummed into life. The Shadow Man Chuck had encountered weeks prior, was sat at the table, stirring his cup of tea with a plate of warm, buttered scones by his side. Between sips and bites, he was reading a copy of The Strand magazine from 1893, paying particular interest to the Holmes story within, titled "The Final Problem." Sharpe was under the tree, shaking his presents one by one and speculating to Blake what might be inside them. Mayo was simmering a pot of cranberry sauce over the stove, finishing the last of his preparations for tomorrow's Christmas Dinner. Chuck, who was stroking a plant by the sink rather absent-mindedly, broke out of his trance-like state suddenly, as a door upstairs swung open, and a pair of footsteps thundered their way down the stone steps.

 

"Garfield, it is impolite to enter without knocking," Ito’s cool voice was saying, as it called after the intruder.

 

"Get the hell out of my way-" Gar's own voice replied gruffly, as a faint shuffling was heard.

 

"That is-"

 

"I'll fill your fucking jar, just you wait-" Gar yelled back irritably, finally arriving at the kitchen.

 

"Gar? Thought you were with the family tonight-" Joey's brow furrowed, emerging from behind a nest of wires.

 

"You see it? You fucking see it?" Gar asked, his head bobbing back and forth. He was wearing his Firefly suit; that boded poorly.

 

"I don't know what you mean-" Joey stammered.

 

"Gar, what is it?" Chuck stepped forward slowly.

 

"The TV, have you seen it?" Gar's head swung back, looking at each of the Misfits faces and finding nothing but confusion in their expressions.

 

"No, I- I just got Netflix set up, we were about to-" Joey started.

 

"Change it over! Now!" Gar demanded.

 

Joey looked up for Chuck's approval, who nodded slowly, and with a shaking hand, switched the TV back to its' default setting, and when he did, he was met with the Joker's pale white face and grinning mouth. Mayo's hand shoogled the pot slightly, the voice taking him by surprise: "And if you want to stop it, Batsy, 'cause I know you're watching, you little TV addict, then you'd better grab your Batreindeers and Batsled and get your Bat-Ass moving! Heh.

 

After all, I'm a Ryde or Dye kinda clown, so you can be absolutely sure I'm not bluffing. Of course, I also have a reputation as a general mirthster and prankmaster extraordinaire, so perhaps I am! What do you have to lose? Oh, right, the city. Heh. Toodles!"

 

"That message was broadcast twenty minutes ago. So far, The GCPD and City Hall have refused to comment on this shocking threat. We'll bring you more news on this story as we-"

 

Sharpe's jaw dropped. "Hole. Lee. Shit."

 

The Shadow Man, kept reading.

 

"You got your gear?" Gar turned to Joey.

 

Face white, Joey scratched the base of his head. "It's downstairs, I didn't think we-"

 

"Grab it. You and Blake, with me. We can grab Otis and Needham on the way, they probably already know. Let's fucking go."

 

"Go-? Go where? We don't even know where Joker is!" Chuck countered.

 

"Then we go to the Cop House. We get Drury and we take him somewhere they can't get him!"

 

"And do what, exactly? Roast chestnuts? You're not thinking straight!"

 

Just then, something caught Gar's eye; The candles on the table were extinguished by a gust of wind. But there were no windows down here. No ventilation. The entire labyrinth had been designed to suit the Dragon King's cold blooded veins, so where did the cold air come from? Gar backed towards the entrance and found his past blocked. As soon as they saw it, the Misfits jumped back: It was a man, features blurred, followed by crackling lightning, dressed in yellow.

 

"Leaaaaaaaaaaave?" the figure cocked its head to one side. "Youregoing to leeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaave?"

 

"But weeeeeeeeeee haven'teveeeeeeeen beenproperly introduced."

 

Sharpe, dropped his present, and fled down the hall. A crease on Zoom's blurred features could almost be mistaken for a smile.

 

"Hhhhhn. Calendaaaaaaaar Maaaaaaan saidhewould run."

 

The first to make a move, Blake dived forwards, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter, making two jabs at Zoom in quick succession. But not quick enough. On his third swipe, Zoom caught the knife and plunged it into his thigh, slashing downwards. His leg cut open, Blake fell forwards. A punch to the skull kept him down. Mayo tried next, bless him: reaching for the pot of cranberry sauce, he sloshed the hot mixture in Zoom's direction; another misfire; Zoom slapped the base of the pot, splattering Mayo's face with scalding cranberries. As he yelped out in pain, Zoom caught the pot, and cracked it across his head.

 

Gar reached for his flamethrower, but Chuck clutched his arm. 'Don't.' The last thing they needed was him to miss and hit a flammable elixir or twelve.

 

And therein lay the problem; any manoeuvre, any tactic, any offensive attack or last-ditch defence they could think of, Zoom was watching play out in slow motion, and already concocting a cruel counter. He could anticipate anything they threw at him, but the Misfits had never faced anything like him. Gar and Joey had worked with Thawne in the Society, sure; Chuck had even shared an awkward plane ride with him, but they'd never had to fight a speedster themselves. And while no one could ever say Gotham had made them soft, it had left them unprepared for the kinds of metas and monsters that lurked outside its' borders. And in recent weeks, they'd been so caught up with the 'native' threats and their old scores, that they'd underestimated the real power behind The Outcasts.

 

===Downtown Gotham===

 

"Conflicting reports after this chilling message was broadcast-"

 

Roman Sionis was watching Joker's broadcast in his office, a half empty glass of scotch beside him, his hand shaking slightly as the clown's maniacal laughter filled the penthouse. He was dressed in a maroon smoking jacket, a phone pressed against his deformed, blackened ear. Beside him, sat a collection of three newly acquired masks; a copper wolf-like faceplate, a charred, ivory skull, and a cloth mask decorated with a red "webbing" pattern. He muted the TV momentarily, as the dial tone was replaced by a low grumble on the other end.

 

"What time is it?" the voice snarled.

 

"Back of ten, I think. You watching this?" Sionis asked, his own eyes locked with the clown's green glare on the screen.

 

"Yeah," Gaige's voice growled. "Are you using a burner?"

 

Sionis rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

 

Halfway across the city, Gaige strolled out to the balcony, taking a deep breath of the salty sea air. "We have people handling this?" he frowned.

 

"Our guys on the take say the cops have him. Just sauntered right in." Sionis answered.

 

Gaige's knuckles whitened, as he gripped the balcony's railing. "Thought the Bat had people posted outside?"

 

Sionis scoffed. "Guess they got distracted. Oh, Penguin called. The Old Bird wants this dealt with. Quietly, of course."

 

Gaige chuckled at the notion. "I thought the clown's good for business? Gets people panic buying. Guns, ammo, toilet roll... his bread and butter."

 

"That's not the issue. It's the legit biz. Our esteemed mayor doesn't want a crisis in his first month in office."

 

"Then, tell him to get over it. Grange had Blackgate. Walker had the Society. It's a rite of passage."

 

"Hm," Sionis murmured with indifference, amused by the implied challenge to Penguin's authority.

 

Gaige swallowed. "We have a list of demands, yet?"

 

"Just one," Sionis smirked, leaning back in his chair, picking a piece of dried blood off of the scalp of the cracked, white mask.

 

"And?" Gaige asked impatiently.

 

Sionis was quiet, savouring the moment. "He wants Walker."

 

"What?" Gaige snapped.

 

Sionis rolled the scotch around in his glass, repeating himself with an even wider grin. "He wants Drury Walker."

 

Gaige's knuckles turned whiter still.

 

~-~

 

Sharpe turned a corner and burst through the door of Noah Kuttler’s temporary laboratory (located within the ISA's archives), holding the left side of his chest in pain. He grabbed an unguarded glass of scotch and, before Kuttler could intervene, gulped it down. Already in poor spirits, Kuttler lowered his purple spectacles and exhaled through his nose. “Chancer, you’re perspiring all over my workbench.”

 

“Fuck… you… too,” Sharpe panted, looking for something else to drink and settling on a beaker filled with clear liquid.

 

“That’s lighter fluid.”

 

Sharpe set it back down, battling his dehydration to clue Kuttler in: “Zoom… Zoom’s here… dickhead.”

 

Kuttler shot up from his seat, and without a spoken word, grabbed a grey remote from his desk, and pressed a red button. The door behind Sharpe slammed shut, then a second set of metal blast doors closed behind them, then a thin blue forcefield activated, completing the lockdown.

 

“What are you-?”

 

“That’s a meta-dampening shield, adapted from Dominator technology. He can’t get through here.”

 

“I’m a meta! What’s gonna happen to me?!” Sharpe panicked.

 

“Nothing,” Kuttler said coolly. “Unless you try to headbutt it. Now open that cupboard, hand me the tray marked “Clariss.”

 

Sharpe rummaged through the drawers, sifting through a coterie of names; King, Bowin, Savage, Degaton, before finally finding the one Kuttler requested. “This is the best you’ve got? There’s a dustbin lid in here!” he exclaimed with crushing disappointment.

 

“That’s a helmet,” Kuttler sighed, snatching the tray from Sharpe’s hand.

 

~-~

 

'No weapons. Fine then.' Gar charged at Zoom. Recklessly. Big mistake; Zoom caught his fist, and using his momentum, threw him against the kitchen table. Shade, continued to sip his tea, even as Gar, several saucers and half a table cloth careered off the edge of the table. Chuck tried to sneak up on Zoom while he was examining his handiwork with Lynns; but Zoom was onto him, turning his arm like a windmill, a gust of wind sent Chuck flying against the wall.

 

"Look atthe Rooooooyaaaaal," Zoom hissed. "Lookatwhat you wereableto dooooo. Nobodies. Misfits. You couldbeso stroooooooong. But nooooooow youwillonlybe lessons. A cautionary taaaaaale.”

 

~-~

 

"Stay here," Kuttler warned Sharpe, attaching a white harness to his own chest. "Don't touch anything."

 

~-~

 

Joey, grabbed the base of the TV and with great exertion, hurled it at Zoom; by the time it'd left his hands, Zoom was already on the other side of the room. "Youuuuuuuuu know traaaaaaaaageeeeeeedy, don't you, Firebuuuuuuug?" he taunted him. "I wooooooooonder how much mooooooooooore youcantake."

 

"Leave him alone!"

 

With a gesture that could be mistaken for amusement, Zoom turned towards his opponent. "Aaaaand whatofyou, Kite-Maaaaaaaan?"

 

Wounded, but not finished, Chuck had picked himself up, and was raising his fists out in front of him. Admirable, but futile.

 

In an instant, Zoom was behind him; seconds later and Chuck was against a wall again, feeling the cartilage in his nose break. Zoom let him drop, and Chuck gurgled blood on the floor. "Why... Why are you doing this?"

 

Zoom knelt beside him and, with a voice like a whistling kettle, whispered in his ear. "Ihavea message fromthe Jooooooooooker. Anda lesson from meeeeeee."

 

Just as he was just about to impart his knowledge, a silver dart struck Zoom's throat. His beady red eyes looked up; Noah Kuttler, in his white and violet livery, was holding a small dartgun, the sights trained on him. Zoom ran his hand along his throat and removed the tiny dart from his neck.

 

"A speeeeeed dampener," he realised. "Designedto seveeeer myconnectionto The Speeeeeeedforce."

 

"Butiam not poweeeeeered by The Speeeeeeedforce, Mr Kuttleeeeeer."

 

Kuttler's pupils dilated. "What? No, my files-"

 

Zoom rose to his feet, his body crackling with red lightning. "Youmadea mistaaaaaaaaake."

 

And in a second, his hand was around Kuttler’s throat. "Imadea mistake once too."

 

"Todaaaaaaaaaaay's lesson?"

 

"Cheateeeeersssssss never prosssssspeeeeeeeeer."

 

"Oh, for Heaven's Sake," the Shadow Man tutted, lifting his black cane with the flick of his wrist; His eyes blackened, the air around him turned into a black mist, Zoom dropped Kuttler in shock and then-

 

Darkness. Pitch black. Impenetrable.

 

Or so it had seemed.

 

Though Chuck's head was spinning, he could hear something reaching out from the shadows. A voice, lurking in the fog.

 

-your fault, you and your damn profiling!

 

- My father's dead, Hunter, he's dead, because of a call you made!

 

- You said... You said he wouldn't have a gun!

 

And then another voice, this time the Shadow Man's, but deeper; raw power dripped off of each word as he issued his warning.

 

"You and your masters are not welcome here, speedster. You would do well to remember that."

 

The shadows lifted, and Zoom was gone. Whatever nightmare he saw in that abyss was enough to frighten him off.

For good? Unlikely. Chuck knew that they'd see him again, just as he knew they couldn't count on any more last minute saves to bail them out.

 

The Shade, collapsed into his chintz armchair. "Oh, bother. Now I'll need to find a new, weekly haunt for tea and scones," the man muttered to himself. "Do give Shiro my regards," the man disappeared behind a cloud of black smoke.

 

===The Mothcave===

 

Batman's eyes glowed white. He came to a stop at one of the trophy cases and frowned. The scanners were picking up a piece of paper stuffed underneath. An envelope. A clue, perhaps? Worth a look, surely. He pushed the case aside and unstuck the letter from the wall. His eyes widened. A date was written on the front. And it was addressed to Drury Walker. He tucked it inside the belt and returned to the matter at hand, his heads-up display signalling high levels of energy coming from a battered purple and orange car.

 

He stepped forward and removed the hood of the Mothmobile; The engine had been torn out, and in its' place sat the familiar metallic drum. The Cloudburst. One hour and thirty minutes left on the timer. Set to go off at Midnight. Purple wires ran down the side of the device, and it was firmly rooted in the car. Any attempt to remove it would surely result in its’ immediate detonation. So, he turned to the interface and sighed. It needed a password. He put his hand to the comms link in his ear and a sigh of resignation escaped his lips. “Jim… There’s been a complication.”

 

~-~

 

Gordon entered the interrogation room, his head heavy. "We found the Cloudburst," he announced to the jackal on the other side of the table.

 

"'We' meaning Batsy, I assume? So he found Cobby Wobby, after all... Heh. Sly as a Flying Fox, that one!" Joker leaned forwards, his grin widening.

 

Gordon removed his glasses, wiping the lenses with a white cloth. "However..." he spoke slowly. "The mechanism requires a code."

 

Joker put on a mocking show of askance surprise. "Oh! Oh dear. I'm afraid I'm awfully scatter-brained these days... The consequences of regular head trauma!” he clicked his tongue for effect. "Now, Jim, Jimbo, James, you know my respect for you is undying, unlike Captain Essen's. Heh. But you know my price! I have something you want; you have something I want!"

 

~-~

 

"We can't just hand him over," Bruce was saying over the comms device he'd left the Commissioner.

 

“What choice do we have?” Gordon asked regrettably, lingering outside the cell block, squishing a loose piece of gum in his pocket.

 

Batman didn’t reply. His silence, damning.

 

Drury, looked up through the bars. "Why? What's happening?"

 

Gordon swallowed. "Mr Walker... Drury. There's an ongoing situation-"

 

He never heard him finish. Two words overtook Drury's thoughts, flooding out everything else; Gordon's words of reassurance, his proposed strategy, all drowned out by two single words. "It's Joker."

 

"Listen. I don't envy you. Yes, if there's a chance he'll talk, it's in our best interests to cooperate... but if you're not comfortable, we don't have to go through with this. We can put you in another room, we bargain with something else. We'll find another way."

 

"No."

 

Gordon looked up, a quizzical expression on his face.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

~-~

 

Gordon sighed, his regret immediate. "Five minutes with Walker. Cameras on. Full restraints. Armed guards stationed outside."

 

If his hands weren't bolted together, Joker would have showered Gordon with a condescending round of applause. "Now, we're talking!"

 

"Give him a pen," Gordon nodded to the nearest officer. The guard uncuffed one of the clown's hands (keeping the other restrained) and placed down a notepad and a piece of paper.

 

"Write it down."

 

Joker's eyes crinkled. "I'm left-handed."

 

~-~

 

With an exasperated sigh, Bruce inputted the password into the console, grimacing. "SMELL U L8R."

 

Then, something peculiar occurred; The device kicked into life, beeping loudly. He'd booby trapped it! The minutes quickly turned into seconds. No time to halt it. Not now. Batman shielded his face with his cape, then boom! The gas filled the room, and it smelt ghastly. Like rotten eggs and spoilt milk, its putrid scent was perhaps the worst thing Bruce had inhaled. But it wasn't lethal. It never had been.

 

A tray opened between the console, and within it was a small box. Bruce pulled the lid back and frowned. Gingerbread Men. But not just any cut-cookie confectionery, these had been decorated to resemble himself, the Joker and one Killer Moth. A greasy note attached to them, written in frankly beautiful calligraphy, read “Sharing the Knight together xoxo.”

"How about it, Charlie? Want some ice cream?" Chuck asked his son, a beaming smile on his face.

 

"Hell yeah!" his son answered back, jumping up and down with glee.

 

"Charlie..." the elder Brown tutted. "Don't say that word."

 

"But you say it all the time!" his son protested. "Before football, during football, after football... When you're arguing with mom..."

 

"Because I'm a grown up," Chuck deflected. "Promise me you won't say that word again."

 

"Daaaaaaaad..." Charlie rolled his eyes

 

"Charlie, promise me," Chuck said sternly.

 

"Ok, I promise," the boy relented.

 

"Good," Chuck smiled. "Now, how about that ice cream?"

 

"Hel-uhhhhhhh, yes, please!"

 

==The Gotham Royal==

 

East Hallway: Floor 25

 

Time until Detonation: 27 minutes

 

Drury was thrown through one of the guest room doors, landing on the king-sized bed at the room's rear. He grabbed the table lamp, and flung it at his attacker's head, knocking the King's crown off the top of his head.

 

The King of Cats smiled, swinging his whip above his head, and bringing it down across the mattress; Drury rolled off the bed, hiding behind it for cover. Looking for an offensive weapon, he ripped a drawer out of the bedside table, and threw it at the King, striking his left arm, but doing little to halt his approach. Joey attempted to rush the King from behind, but the King used his momentum to fling him up in the air, and onto the floor beside Drury, followed by a knife that lodged itself in the headboard above them.

 

"Go on, napalm him!" Drury instructed Joey.

 

"Dru, I don't carry that stuff on me," he pointed out.

 

"Gar does," Drury said with unflinching certainty.

 

"And, uh, you've seen Gar, right?"

 

"I- fair point," Drury relented. "So, how come you're alive, Karl? Thought you'd expended your nine lives."

 

"Because you shot me in those catacombs?" The King chuckled. "If you shoot a man four times, they're only dead once."

 

"His, uh, logic is sound," Joey admitted. "Can't believe I just accepted that..."

 

Chuck entered the frey, holding a fire extinguisher plucked from the hallway. Firing it at Kyle's back, the foam forced him against the wall, giving Drury the opening he needed to fire his cocoon gun, sticking the King to the wall.

 

"And I thought I was the freak," Kyle commented, licking the substance with his elongated tongue.

 

"Gross," Joey rolled his eyes.

 

A second blast covered Kyle's mouth, preventing him from saying anything further.

 

"That took longer than expected," Drury admitted, wiping a string of drool off his shirt. "Should we be expecting Zodiac or Planet Master, or are we done here?"

 

"We're done," Chuck nodded, as the trio walked back into the hallway. "Assuming the guys grounded Krill."

 

"They will have," Drury assured him. "C'mon, Roman's penthouse is in the other building; We can use the overview bar to reach it."

 

"Drury, Julian knows that's the closest way to reach the second tower; by the time we get there, it's going to be swarming with goons; we don't have time for another fist fight," Chuck stated.

 

"Besides, that's still 23 flights of stairs we'd have to climb, sure there's no other way?" Joey asked.

 

"I suppose we could use the wingpacks, but I don't trust them in this weather," Drury stated. "What do you suggest?" he paused.

 

"I... might have something," Chuck smirked. "Pass me that knife, will you?" he asked.

 

Drury raised a confused eyebrow, but obliged, removing the King's knife from the headboard and handing it to his teammate.

 

"Thanks," Chuck nodded. "Won't be long. Probably. You two look after him."

 

He pried the window open with the blade, and clambered onto the ledge; Gotham's frigid winter weather pummeling him in the face.

 

Drury, turned to Kyle, and back to Joey, frowning. "Don't suppose we could play Charades?"

 

~-~

 

Chuck looked up at his target; 23 floors above him, was Sionis' Penthouse. On the opposite tower. If he could get some height, he could glide over to the other building, that he knew. But if he botched it... Well, 25 storeys was a long way to fall. Should've invested in that grappling hook... Drury always assured him it'd cost too much, that flight was the future. Well, Drury wasn't the one dangling off the side of a high rise hotel. ​

 

~-~

 

"I heard Nygma payed you a visit," Arthur Brown tutted, examining a framed photo of Chuck's family.

 

"Yeah? What about it?" Chuck frowned, removing the photo from Cluemaster's grip and placing it back on the counter face down.

 

"Listen, Charlie, I ask the questions," Cluemaster shrugged. "Now, what'd he want?"

 

"Information," Chuck said plainly.

 

"Hey, don't be a smartass," Cluemaster scolded him.

 

"No, of course not. That's your thing, right?" Chuck muttered under his breath. "He wanted me to set up a meeting. With the boss."

 

Cluemaster's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't told."

 

"Because I said no," Chuck explained. "I told him that I don't have that kinda pull. That even if I did, I kinda enjoy living."

 

"And then?" Cluemaster scowled.

 

"He left."

 

==Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48==

 

"What do you mean they got Kyle?" Day snapped.

 

"I'm telling ya boss, Walker and the Rigger kid took him out. We're getting pulverised down there," a henchman protested.

 

"Nevermind..." Day lied. "I want the rest of your men covering the Overview Bar, do you understand?"

 

"Sure, but-"

 

"Ahem," a second goon cleared his throat.

 

Day stiffened up; the approaching henchman was holding a purple cushion, and resting atop it was a comically large rotary phone. "It's for you," the goon stated with a deadpan delivery.

 

Day clutched the phone, and held the receiver close to his ear. "Hello?" he whispered.

 

"You know, I've never been too fond of calendar puns. I just don't know... They're pretty week, and they always feel a little dated. To be honest, I think their days are numbered."

 

~-~

 

"Look, I'll give you a tour!" Drury Walker said enthusiastically. "Here's the old suit; like the eyebrows? Gar hates them, but I dunno, I always thought they were pretty snazzy. Here's the cocoon gun; god, you should see it in action. Doesn't always work, but when it does? Beautiful. That's Gar over there, obviously. You've met him before. And that's Len. Say hi, guys."

 

Gar tilted his head at Chuck disapprovingly. Len, on the other hand, took a step forward and shook his hand firmly.

 

"Good to meet you," he nodded. "Loved seeing Riddler taken down a peg or two. And Lynns too, of course."

 

Chuck's eyes widened in recognition, as he spun around. "Oh my god! You were on Team Riddler when I-"

 

"When you sabotaged our kites?" Gar spat his toothpick onto the floor.

 

"I'm so sorry!" Chuck repeated over and over.

 

"I landed in a tree. Drury there had to come get me."

 

==Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48==

 

Ten, cocked his head to one side. Day was distracted; Krill and the King of Cats were gone. Now was a good a chance as any:

 

"Blake, I need you to pull my finger," he whispered to his captive cohort.

 

"This is no time for a fart joke, Reardon," Sionis warned. Li, shook his head disappointedly.

 

"It never is," Blake sighed.

 

"No, not- My prosthetics have an emergency release mechanism. If you can reach it, I'll be able to slip out these restraints."

 

"It... it could work," Kuttler pondered aloud.

 

~-~

 

"Kids, Drury! Kids!" Chuck slammed his hands on the desk.

 

"Leave off me, how was I supposed to know?" Drury gulped down a fourth glass of whiskey.

 

"You didn't think to, I dunno, check the guy you hired wasn't a psychopath?!" Chuck stammered.

 

Drury wiped his nose. "Roman was more than happy to loan him out. I thought-"

 

"What? That Black Mask is the benchmark for strong moral fortitude?"

 

"So, what!" Drury snapped.

 

'So what-?' Chuck mouthed in horrified disbelief.

 

"It's over! That Red Hood wacko got him, didn't he? He's gone."

 

"Yeah, just like Chancer."

 

"Hey! You leave the kid out of it: He's in a coma, that poor sod might never wake up!" Drury yelled, his lip trembling.

 

"Drury," Miranda nudged his elbow. "Tell him."

 

"Tell me what-?" Chuck asked, puzzled.

 

"I... ran a guy over. Few weeks ago. Killed him on impact."

 

"A civvie-?" Chuck asked, his hands shaking.

 

"Nah, one of ours..." Drury confessed. "A cape, I mean, not a Misfit. It was some D-Lister."

 

"You... you get a name?" Chuck slid down into the chair opposite him.

 

"Does it matter? He's fertiliser now," Drury shook his head.

 

...

 

"I met Lightning Bug. When I was-" Drury stopped himself from finishing the sentence. "It doesn't matter. It's just... he seemed like a good kid."

 

~-~

 

As Chuck scaled the side of the East Tower, his left shoe slipped off his foot; Panicking, he used the nearby flagpole to steady himself. Hanging above the Gotham Skyline, one shoe lighter, he smiled to himself. He remembered the day Charlie got his first kite... Funny the things that come to you, when you're precariously hanging from a fire escape thirty storeys up...

 

He had just separated from Maria, and to keep his son's spirits up, he'd taken Charlie to see Toy Story 3, just the two of them. Charlie loved the first two films; wore out the VHS replaying them over and over again.

They'd gone to the toy store afterwards, and he had picked out a white and purple kite, styled after Buzz Light-Year's jetpack. It was an off-brand thing; not an exact replica, the manufacturers must not have gotten Disney or Pixar's permission... But Charlie didn't care. He loved that purple and white kite.

 

He sighed. The wind in his face, and one hand on his harness, Chuck closed his eyes and let go. 'It's not flying,' he reminded himself. 'It's falling with style.'

 

Opening his kite harness, he leapt from the tower and glided up towards the penthouse window, tucking in his limbs as he burst through the glass, and collided with the large wooden desk positioned towards the room's rear. The purple telephone, slid off the desk and clattered to the floor.

 

Getting to his feet, Chuck looked around the room: "Sorry about the draught," he apologised to the captive Sionis. "And the desk."

 

"That's Italian maple," he stated bluntly. "Asshole."

 

'There's gratitude for you,' Chuck thought, as he moved towards the hostages.

 

Before he could reach them, however, a large wooden statue collided with his skull, knocking him to the ground.

 

Day dropped his weapon, and jumped onto Chuck's chest, wrapping his hands around his throat, squeezing tightly. Chuck's skin turned purple, his eyes grew puffy and swollen as Day's grip grew stronger.

 

"Why did you have to persist?" Day demanded. "Why?! You still don't understand, do you? We could've ruled this city, ruled this country. We could've been kings: Icons! But no. It's Drury's story, Drury's friends, Drury's mess that we always had to clean up. Holding us back. No more. No more. Don't you understand that everything I've done has been for your own good? Arkham City made you stronger, you realise that, no? Fearless will too, you know it will! The masses, will fall of course. Unshackled, they'll all kill each other. Spark a gang war. Lay siege to the GCPD, perhaps. But you; all of you? You will ascend! And the world? The world will finally know the name Julian Gregory Da-"

 

He was cut off, as Blake lunged on his back; Day looked over, confused, as he spotted Kuttler helping Reardon reattach his prosthetic hands. Distracted, Blake scratched his head. "Wait. Your middle name is actually Gregory? I thought you'd just made that up. Damn, your parents really didn't want to give you a chance, huh?"

 

Using Blake's confusion to his advantage, Day retrieved a small dagger from his sleeve, and slashed his torso. Blake slid off him, and crumbled to the ground.

 

"My parents?" Day asked, scowling as he reminisced. "My parents were demanding. Arrogant. Dismissive. I've talked about them before, do you remember? I doubt you would... They were Jehovah witnesses, you see. They didn't celebrate holidays, and I was expected to follow their example. So, I grew up watching my classmates and neighbors celebrate their birthdays and Christmases and Valentines year after year, while I got nothing. My first, ah, 'date' was my High School Prom- I went alone, naturally, even if I had an interest in such... things, my condition made me a grossly undesirable partner. I laced the punch with a concentrated laxative, and watched as my classmates collapsed and embarrassed themselves. The teachers thought it was food poisoning. But that thrill, I had never felt anything like it. I had to chase that high. To feel. The scars were Zsasz' handiwork, the result of an Asylum riot some years later. I used to find them rather tacky, but over time, they've grown on me."

 

"Then you won't mind this:" Chuck wheezed.

 

Still beneath him, he grabbed the wooden idol, and cracked it against Day's head. Day stumbled back, and putting his hand to his forehead, examined the fresh wound. Then he fell on his back, immobilised.

  

~-~

 

Drury scratched his forehead. "Yeah, I might've said the corn factory was a bad call," he said grimly, as he checked his watch impatiently.

 

Chuck looked down at the enormous bouquet of potted flowers in his hand, nodded, and lay them down at his feet.

 

"Hey, look on the bright side," Blake grinned. "If that corset's made of real ivy, then you absolutely dodged a bullet. Think of the rashes she must get, eh?"

 

Julian patted Chuck on the back, and smiled supportively. "She wasn't worth it, Charles."

 

~-~

 

Chuck sat up, rubbing his red throat, and looked over at Day. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the diaxymine. Julian was defeated... He wouldn't be able to fight back, it'd be so easy to force the chemical down his throat and get his friend back. 'So easy...'

 

'No,' Chuck slid the bottle back into his pocket and held his head in his hands. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the phone:

 

He knelt beside it, and out his mouth to the receiver. "Who is this?" he asked.

 

"You know... I heard there was a broken kite up for grabs..." a voice giggled down the line. "No strings attached."

 

The line cut out. And Chuck was left with a cold shiver running down his spine.

The love birds in Bludhaven featuring Nightwing, the last surviving member of the flying Graysons, and Barbra Gordon, the daughter of GCPD commissioner Jim Gordon.

 

Together these two patrol the streets of Bludhaven following their departure from the Batcave following a fall out between Grayson and Batman. After the fall out Batman attempted to have Barbra cut off her relationship with the young Grayson to put the mission of protecting Gotham above all. It almost succeeded until Barbra realised what Bruce was doing and chose to leave Gotham and go to Bludhaven with Dick establishing themselves as the dynamic duo of Bludhaven.

 

I make my way to the GCPD building, they apprehended Two Face after our little fiasco a couple days ago, I’ve noticed myself calling him Two Face more and more often, I used to refer to him as Harvey, but after what happened to Dick…it’s hard to think of him as the friend I’ve had for years, the friend I started working in my early days as Batman, but now, since Maroni flung that damned acid into his face. Eventually I landed on the GCPD rooftop, Gordon stands there, his face looks distrustful, as he looks directly at me. Gordon steps over to the signal and turns it off, in the same motion he grabs something from behind it, wrapped in an evidence bag, it’s the bat that Harvey used to beat Grayson.

“Harvey told me the kid is dead” he says bluntly, Two Face did a number on him, he did look pretty beat up, I can see how this lead to such a misunderstanding like this.

“He isn’t dead, I’ve benched him.”

“Good to hear, vigilantism isn’t a job for him.”

“I agree Gordon, Harvey’s getting shipped to Arkham soon, I need to see him, ask him what he meant.”

“What do you mean, what he meant?

“He told me Harvey Dent was dead, and now Two Face would avenge him, I have to know if he was serious.”

“That sounds horrible, especially… with the situation you were in, sorry for coming off so blunt before, honestly, I’m sorry about what happened to your kid, anyways I’ll meet you there, whenever you want.”

“Alright, thanks for your condolences Gordon, I do miss the kid.”

“I can tell, I have a kid at home, well not my kid, my cousions daughter, they died in a car crash, I’ve been taking care of her since.”

“My condolences to them too, I have some news for you.”

“I’m assuming it’s crime related, or is it something else?”

“Crime related, anyways I was making my way to the GCPD building when I saw a robbery, Wayne Enterprise, several children dressed as ninjas, broke in, and were greeted by our good old ninja friend” he looks shocked as he realizes who’s back in town.

“Deathstroke, that sword slinging mad man’s back in Gotham, and now he’s leading a bunch of little ninjas.”

“Yeah, trust me Gordon, I’ll figure this out” I grapple away, but I know what he’s thinking, it must be hard for him to trust me, a man in tights word isn’t the best. I begin to head back to Wayne Manor. Eventually I return home to the cave, it’s nice to get back to the cave, we’ve gotten some better lighting in here, you never want an accident in a place like this, hopefully the EMTs wouldn’t ask too many questions, that’s something Dick would have said, he always brought life to this cave, it was really just a cave under my house till he showed up.

“So, do you have a name for this pace?”

“No, it’s just my base of operations, I keep the car, and computer down here, with some trophies.”

“Alright, you have a Batmobile, and you’re Batman, why not call it the Bat Cave, oh and maybe that will be the Bat Computer.”

Good memories, things were pretty good back then, everything was very cheerful then, now it’s back to normal, the brooding dark kind of normal.

“Bruce, it’s time for you to go to bed, you have a lot to do tomorrow” I look away, and head to the computer, before I head up I need to do some research, the Red Hood Gang has become more active recently, the used to have a lot of members, till the clown showed up, killed most of them, though they may have more members now. Looking around I’ve gathered that eight members are still around, Johnny Fisher, the current leader of the gang, my current intel shows me that there will be a big break in somewhere in Gotham, but I have no idea where, If I’m lucky I’ll be able to find some information on them soon, but now isn’t the time, I go put away my suit, and slowly head up, and turn off the lights, time for Bruce Wayne to get some rest.

__________________________________________________

Hope you guys enjoyed this issue, anyways i keep staling but I'll put out another Titans issue eventually.

They say your enemies define you.

 

The greater the monster you face, the greater a hero you are.

 

I never did like it when they called me that name. A hero. It’s not what I wanted to be known as, but it seems that people want heroes. That people need heroes. I’ve been gathering a reputation as a hero more and more over the recent years. It started ten years ago when I first met Clark, a year after I had taken on Dick as Robin. That should tell you how long ago that was. Back then we were somewhat civil with one another. How times change.

 

But one of the most defining moments is when I first encountered the man whose actions would force me to define myself. The monster that took so much from me. That has destroyed the lives of many Gothamites, all in the name of his mad quest. To make the people of Gotham smile. He’s done a bad job to say the least.

 

The moment I first learned of him is fresh in my mind. The day he paid a visit to Commissioner Loeb at the GCPD…..

 

Gotham City 5BJL

 

An unknown figure entered the GCPD offices and approached the help desk.

 

“Hello sir. How can we help you?”

 

“I’m hear to see Commissioner Loeb. I believe he’s expecting me.”

 

“Do you have an appointment to see the Commissioner?”

 

“I should do, yes.”

 

“Name?”

 

“Napier.”

 

“Mr. Jack Napier?”

 

“Last I checked.”

 

“It says you were due to meet the Commissioner fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“Well there were some complications. I had to lose the freak that I’m seeking protection from. I’m sure he won’t mind that I’m a few minutes late.”

 

“I’ll have to check with him. The problem with trying to get an appointment with the Commissioner is that he’s obviously a very busy man.”

 

“No worries my dear. I’m happy to wait.”

 

As if on cue Commissioner Loeb walks past the help desk closely followed by Lieutenant Jim Gordon, the pair seem to bickering between one another.

 

“For the last time Gordon. He’s a menace. He killed Marcus Wayne three years ago, and if he hadn’t then why the hell hasn’t he come forward and said as such?”

 

“Probably because he knows half the cops here are on the pay roll of Falcone, so he wouldn’t be safe to be held here just for some questions. Maybe if you chose to actually do job and deal with all these corrupt cops rather than simply standing by and taking a small percentage of their cash you wouldn’t be worrying about the possibility of Mayor West having you replaced.”

 

“Watch your tongue Gordon. I may be on my way out, but I’m still the Commissioner and I can quickly have you out of a job if you don’t pull your neck in now mind your own business and get back to work.”

 

Gordon, disgruntled complies and walks off back to his desk to deal with the paper work needed for the prosecution of the recently detained Julian Day. As if on cue as soon as Gordon walked off angry at the response he got, the unknown figure stood up to greet the Commissioner, his red biker helmet coming into the light as he approaches the Commissioner.

 

“Commissioner Loeb. So sorry that I’m late.”

 

“Sorry but who the hell are you?”

 

“Jack Napier, sir. He says his name his Jack Napier.”

 

“Thanks Sarah, alright then you’re in luck. I’ve managed to get a few minutes to spare before the Mayor is due in. Come on we’ll talk in my office.”

 

The man in the biker helmet walks behind the police commissioner into his office and locks the door. The commissioner takes a seat in his chair as he waits for the man who goes by the name of Jack Napier to take a seat. Instead the man seems to be looking out of the office, almost as if he’s inspecting certain things about the office. How many windows. How visible things in the office are to the outside world.

 

“Take a seat Mr. Napier.”

 

The red helmeted man takes a seat in one of the three chairs in front of Loeb’s desk and leans forward on the table.

 

“So tell me Mr. Napier. What is it you claim to have on Mr. Falcone that we could use to prosecute.”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’ve got nothing on whoever this Falcone is, he sounds like an unpleasant guy though I bet he’s made a lot of people sad. I’m sure his death would make a lot of people smile.”

 

“You do know I can have you sent down for wasting my time. It’s a crime to waste police time.”

 

“Indeed, which is why I’ve come to you with the same charge.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Oh don’t act so surprised Commissioner it’s no secret that you’re as corrupt as they come. We all know you’ve been responsible for having police dispatched to different parts of the city far out of the reach of a robbery that is being instigated by a certain Mr. Maroni or Falcone, which ever fills the pocket the most.”

 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

 

Commissioner Loeb reaches under the table to grab his silenced revolver he keeps taped to the bottom of his desk in case of emergencies. This man knew far too much and if he managed to talk to a wannabe good cop like Gordon, Loeb would be out of a job before he knew it.

 

“Really? Well you might not remember, but a lot of people who lost family members to those robberies remember.”

 

The man in the red helmet stood up and grabbed hold of the Commissioner, lifting him up and pinning him on the desk.

 

“And I’m sure those families would have a nice smile on their face if I were to kill the man responsible for all their pain.”

 

The man in the red helmet reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a vegetable peeler of all things. The Commissioner eyes quickly focus in on the odd choice of weaponry. What sort of man carries a vegetable peeler around in his pocket casually?

 

The commissioner tried to speak, but the man had his right arm pressed on the mans mouth, stopping him from calling for help. Desperately, Commissioner Loeb tried to shake himself free, but he was unable to move. Unfortunately for him, his assailant saw his struggles.

 

“Oh dear. It looks like someone spiked your coffee with a cheeky little neurotoxin meaning you can’t run away. You really should be careful with how makes your coffee Mr. Loeb.”

 

The man pulls a handkerchief from his other pocket and stuffs it into the Commissioners mouth, preventing him from crying out for help.

 

“Now before we have our little fun, I need to do a couple of things.”

 

The man reaches into his backpack and pulls out a variety of different parts for an unknown device. Most concerning for the Commissioner he pulls out a body bag as well. The helpless Commissioner notices this and gives off worried muffled sounds that brings a smile to the assailant, though the Commissioner cannot see it beneath the helmet.

 

“Don’t worry dear. The bag is for you. But you’re not joining those you wronged just yet. First I need to have my fun.”

 

The red helmeted assailant lifted the helpless Commissioner of the desk and into the body bag he had just unpacked. The Commissioner gave a terrified look but he was met by the blank response of his assailants helmet as the bag was zipped up. With his objective complete, the assailant prepared to have some fun. He took the Commissioners bullet proof jacket and his helmet, placing them both on himself before assembling the item he had removed from his rucksack.

 

He placed the finished weapon on the desk as a large smile erupted from his face.

 

Time for some fun.

 

With that he kicked down the door that led out of the Commissioners office, with his weapon in hand and a huge red grin on his face. His face was white, seemingly covered with makeup but that wasn’t the most concerning thing for the officers in the GCPD who saw him walk out of the office. What was the most worrying thing for them was the mini-gun that he held in his hands.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen. You have all failed your duty as protectors of this city. The people hate you and wish to see you gone. I’ve chosen to oblige their request and put a big old smile on their face when the scum that is the Gotham City Police Department is no more. Now, if there any of you who actually try to do your job then please, smile for me baby! I’ll let you guys get a quick death!”

 

With that the assailant in white make up began laughing as the mini-gun roared into life unloading bullet after bullet into the main lobby of the GCPD. The police officers quickly ducked down to avoid all the fire whilst the assailant jumped on top of a desk overlooking the room. Laughing more and more as his mini-gun mowed down cop after cop….

 

===Somewhere below Arkham===

 

Ubu- Master, we moved the asset, as you have requested.

 

Ra's- Very good Ubu.

 

March- *ahem* However, there has been an incident.

 

Ra's- Do not mince your words.

 

March- It was the bugs. I told you, letting them live- bad idea.

 

Ra's- Enough. You're sure?

 

Ubu- Yes master, the bird man is correct. Three of them stormed the main entrance. The Moth, his brother. And the Bat's... mate.

 

Talia- Father, if Walker is here, then surely his wife must be nearby.

 

Ra's- Yes. Yes, this could work well for us. Tell Strange he can use his puppets, but I want them brought to us alive. It is time we met our enemy head on.

 

Talia- As you wish, Great One

 

====GCPD Rooftop====

 

*It's cold, and he's late. Which is never a good sign. Maybe one day, we can just meet up in a cafe. Would certainly be warmer. I breathe in, put my gum in my pocket, preparing for the incoming heart attack, and-*

 

Batman- Jim.

 

*I nod, and hand him the file*

 

Gordon- Evening. Here. Just got wind of the Fairbanks autopsy, you won't like what they found.

 

*It takes him seconds to flick through it, then, he hands it back, a grimace on his face*

 

Batman- It's not him.

 

Gordon- Didn't think so either. *Sigh* It doesn't matter, you know how it is. Mayor's got a reputation to keep and people have kids to protect: Everything goes on lockdown, schools close, curfews at five pm, place becomes a ghost town by six...

 

*He gazes off into the distance, like he suspects we're not alone. He must have some kind of thermal imaging in that mask of his. Satisfied, he turns back*

 

Batman- Jim. It's the Court. They're working with Ra's Al Ghul, and though I don't know the *whys* I know that they're behind Arkham City.

 

*Jesus. You would thought they'd have all fled the country years ago. But, then again, this is Gotham... Has a habit of attracting the criminal element. Like moths. Now for the elephant in the room*

 

Gordon- I *assume* that's why you tackled Fairbanks in the subway? You know I'm all for taking them down, but you can't just abduct a CEO during rush hour.

 

Batman- It worked with Luthor.

 

*He almost smiles. Almost.*

 

Gordon- Was that a-? Look, you know that's not the same thing. Anyway, the real reason I called you, was a breach in security at Arkham. ... Another one.

 

Batman- Hmm?

 

Gordon- It's Walker. His wife, and the Texan guy, the one with the dice, flew in, landed somewhere in Amusement Mile- Hatter territory. Walker was sighted making his way through Park Row with Catwoman and the damn Secretary of Metahuman affairs. His brother.

 

Batman- Norbert?

 

Gordon- Yeah, that's him. ... The way I see it, if you want to stop The Court, find out what's what, now might be the best- -Time.

 

*Heh. You'd think he'd have grown out of it by now...*

 

====City Hall====

 

*Look at the pair of them. They see me as a thug, a puppet they've wrapped around their fingers. Peh, they're all the same. Machin's scum like the rest, but he's right about one thing. The politics. Self serving scumbags, just like the one's I've put away in Arkham. Only thing separating them from the inmatea is money and posh suits, and even then, Cobblepot has both in spades. Let 'em ignore me. Let 'em underestimate me. In the long run, only one of us will come out on top*

 

Strange- Madam Mayor, this is most irregular, we are in the middle of a complicated situati-

 

Grange- And I've got one of my own. In. We need to talk.

 

*She shows us the files, nothing I hadn't seen before. This is Strange's mess. And we both know his partners arranged this*

 

Grange- Michael Fairbanks, the Arkham contractor. You'll know by now that he's dead? Pulled out of Dixon Docks a few days ago. Well, I only just got the files on my desk from an anonymous source. He was half eaten by sharks, but it's undeniably Joker venom in his bloodstream. Imagine that. If I were to go down to those secret cells of yours, am I to assume that his would be empty?

 

Strange- I am well aware of the matter.

 

*He's a hypocrite. The point of Arkham was to get rid of those meatbags. Don't care about the reason, what he's paid... If you let the Joker loose, what's even the point? But even this isn't going to keep him down for long. He can spin the PR, he's a master at it, saw it every day at the Asylum when I was chief of security*

 

Grange- Shut your mouth, I'm talking. ... How did this happen?

 

*She's got a mouth on her. So did Walker before her. And where did that get him?*

 

Strange- Poor security.

 

*Grin you jackal. Laugh why don't you*

 

Grange- And Bolton assured me this place was impenetrable!

 

*Like I said. All the same*

 

Strange- Mr Bolton tells me that you've not been listening to his advice. Perhaps, if you had, we would not have these breaches in security, and perhaps Mr Fairbanks would still be alive

 

Grange- You mean public executions? Mounted guns?

 

Strange- Precisely.

 

Grange- Of course I didn't take his damn advice- don't look at me like that- These are people Strange!

 

*Letter opener on her desk. Metal. Maybe I'd do it just to see how Strange would spin *that* *

 

Strange- No. No, that's what they want you to think. They are cruel. They are deceitful, but they are not people. Mr Bolton knows this, as do I. Keeping these monsters in line requires discipline.

 

*Finally, he's speaking *my* language*

 

...

 

Grange- Did you say "breaches"?

 

Strange- As I was about to say- Drury Walker entered Arkham City an hour ago.

 

*She turns around immediately*

 

Grange- Are you out of your-

 

Strange- Actually, I had nothing to do with it. All I know is that Walker, and a small group of his associates entered the prison. Of their own volition, I might add.

 

*She collapses into the chair. The doc offers her a cup of Joe*

 

Grange- I didn't think he would-

 

Strange- Didn't you? These are troubling times. You've no doubt read my psychiatric profile on him?

 

Grange- You weren't authorised to conduct one.

 

Strange- He was my patient. And I will warn you now that he is dangerous, delusional, and has laid some hefty accusations against me upon his release. He suffer severe mood swings, stemming from a *potent* case of bipolar disorder, and if there is something- or someone in his way, he will do everything in his admittedly limited power to take them down.

 

Grange- Well, we both know about those "accusations." Including illegal experimentation, was it? It's a good thing the President likes you, you-

 

Strange- Nevertheless, I have discussed this matter with Senator Eilling.

 

Grange- Eilling *scoff*

 

Strange- And, he suggested now would be the perfect opportunity to release Task Force XI into the field.

 

Grange- Do I even have a say anymore?

 

*Strange chuckles. "I'll be in touch" *

 

Bolton- Just remember who's the shrink and who's the warden here Doc.

 

Strange- And remember who *I* represent, Lyle.

 

Bolton- Hard not to. You won't shut up about them.

 

=====Arkham City====

 

*I'm already starting a fire, while he's still trying to untangle his kite. Idiot. The only reason we brought him was as a mascot. After all, Drury said we could use the luck. Someone's watching us up there. And I hate being watched*

 

Miranda- Get up.

 

Chancer- Not every day you go hang gliding. Still a bit-

 

Miranda- Well, get over it.

 

Chancer- You don't like me, do you Gaige?

 

Miranda- "Oh, gee, why ever would you think that?"

 

*He frowns, taking off his mask. A shroud of dust comes pouring out of it. That's what happens when you can't fly for shit*

 

Chancer- I'm twenty six now, I'm not eight.

 

Miranda- You tried to kill Drury. And, because of that, The Reverse Flash kidnapped him, and then killed Simon.

 

Chancer- He came back, that's the important part.

 

Miranda- The important part is that they may have forgiven you, said it was probably Charaxes who was messing with you, just like Carson. I don't care, understand?

 

Chancer- *sigh* That's the game, miss. We're scum. Scum and proud. It's just who we are. It's what I've always been. You meanwhile, were the first lady, or whatever the mayor's wife's called, so maybe you're just a bit out of touch about-

 

*He grabs his throat, and falls to the ground, unconscious. I'm beginning to doubt he even has luck powers. Sure hasn't helped us so far. Guess it's up to me again*

 

Miranda- Show yourself. I'm not playing.

 

"You never did, Aibnat Albahr"

 

*Talia... Still doing daddy's bidding.*

 

Talia- I'm sorry about your friend, Miranda, but he was attracting attention. The wrong kind. Come, sit. We've much to discuss.

 

===Crazy Quilt's===

 

Situated in the middle of Gotham's Fashion District, Paul Dekker's nightclub was host to a wide range of degenerate activities. The main dance floor was lit by a gaudy array of high-intensity strobe lights; seizure inducing shades of reds, blues and yellows bore down on the partying clientele. The Misfits, were treated to the best seats in the house; a balcony on the second floor that served as a sort of observation deck for the debauchery below. Wearing his best brown suit, Reardon worried he was a tad overdressed for the night ahead. The gang had been sorted into two smaller groups; the "grown-ups:" Gar, Chuck, Bridget, Ten and Kuttler, and the "boys:" Mayo, Joey, Blake and Sharpe, with both factions seated at separate, but close by, tables.

 

While the rest of the party looked through their menus, Kuttler refused to touch his until he had first put on a pair of thin surgical gloves.

 

"Sorry, is there a prostate exam we're keeping you from?" Gar glared at him, massaging his left temple with his hand.

 

Kuttler ignored him. "Siracha, Tabasco, jalepenos..." he read aloud the toppings of the house specialty; something that was dubbed "Crazy Fries."

 

"Oh, yeah," Joey turned his chair around. "Those are meant to be really good."

 

"Well, I have a sensitive stomach. And though it may be preferable to... this, I'd still rather not spend the rest of the evening on the toilet."

 

Arriving at perhaps the absolute worst time, a waitress appeared suddenly at Kuttler's side. “Are you folks ready to order?” she asked.

 

“Think so, yeah. Can we just have some sides for now?” Chuck asked, folding up his menu.

 

“Sure thing, honey," she beamed back.

 

Kuttler raised his forefinger to interrupt her. "Question: Do you have non-Crazy Fries?”

 

“If it’s not on the menu, we don’t sell 'em," the waitress answered.

 

“But you have normal fries. You must do, in order to “crazify” them," Kuttler countered.

 

“But we don’t sell them.”

 

Kuttler sighed, slumping down in his seat. “Two baskets of Crazy Fries it is then.”

 

At the other table, a pale woman in rabbit ears, stockings and a thong, slapped Blake's shoulder playfully. “C’mon, big boy, catch me if you can!” she teased.

 

With great self-restraint on his part, Blake resisted the urge to make an innuendo of his own, and swallowed. “Ma’am, pretty sure that if I chase you, the only thing I’ll be catching is an STD.”

 

The playful smile vanished from the woman's face, a scornful expression appearing in its place. "Jerk!" she hissed, hopping away towards the exit.

 

As she left, Mayo's eyes followed her "tail" in confusion. Joey nudged his side to get his attention, and shook his head.

 

“Proud of you man,” Sharpe patted his friend on the back.

 

“Stiiiiiiill kinda sexist, Tom," Joey observed.

 

“What’re you talking about? I turned down that prostitute!” Blake laughed back.

 

“Yeah, that wasn’t a prostitute, that was White Rabbit.”

 

...

 

Blake’s face fell. “White Rabbit? Jaina Hudson? That White Rabbit? Daughter of a Bollywood actress and a Gotham Socialite, turned to philanthropy and then to crime? Confusing motivations and even more confusing origins? That-"

 

“Yes, and for god’s sake, stop talking,” Kuttler turned around to shush them.

 

Sharpe shrugged. “That doesn’t track. Isn’t she, y’know-" he started, then stopped himself abruptly.

 

Joey sighed. “You can say it.”

 

“Not white?”

 

“It’s one of her powers,” Kuttler stated.

 

“She- She has white powers?” Mayo scratched his head.

 

Kuttler frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t quite call it that, no," he murmured.

 

"She was DTF and I just told her to GTFO..." Blake moaned regretfully.

 

“Hey. You were probably thinking of March Harriett. She’s a prostitute," Sharpe assured Blake.

 

At a nearby table, a man in a tan blazer was peaking over the top of his menu, glaring at the Misfits with contempt. “Do they have to yell everything?” Paul Strobe growled to his partner.

 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. Don’t let them spoil our evening,” Ned Creegan advised, running his hand across Strobe's back. He was wearing a cream-coloured woollen jumper over his distinctive red and black containment suit.

 

“I’m calm. I’m calm! I might fry Catman’s balls later, but that aside, I’m pretty fucking calm," Strobe complained.

 

“Eh. I hear he kinda likes that. Really likes that. Enough that it’s mentioned in his Find a Foe profile.”

 

“Uh huh. And why were you on Find a Foe, exactly?” Strobe snapped back.

 

“Reviewing my options," Creegan replied.

 

Strobe didn't laugh.

 

“I’m joking! C’mon, I’m clearly- Neutron wanted help setting up a profile. Things didn’t work out so well with his last girlfriend. He... well, he blew her up.”

 

“Christ... Metas date metas, why does no one get that? Keeps everyone happy, and for the most part, alive. That’s really just common sense.”

 

While staring out across the room, Joey noticed the duo, and pointed them out to the group. “Hey, isn’t that Bag o’ Bones over there?”

 

Sharpe snorted.

 

“What?” Joey raised an eyebrow.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Just... Talk about a skeleton in the closet.”

 

“They’re looking at us," Strobe hissed.

 

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Just... smile and wave,” Creegan suggested, as he held Strobe's hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

 

“Smile and wave, are we the Penguins of Madagascar now?”

 

~-~

 

Once his sorrows had been successfully drowned, Blake slammed his glass onto the table. “Let’s hit the dance floor!” he shouted (much to Strobe's chagrin) and he staggered downstairs, tripping twice on the way down. The group looked at him cautiously, then followed after him. Hours passed and the Misfits got drunker still:

 

“And I call... I call this one the Catusi!” Blake confided in Joey, strutting back and forth with underserved confidence.

 

“You do NOT!” Joey giggled back. "You do NOT!"

 

“-So you have the mustard mash, and of course... The Ketchup Squirt!” At this, Mayo jumped on the floor, performing a perfect split.

 

Sharpe's lip twitched. “You’re a fucking legend.”

 

Meanwhile, Dekker approached the second table, addressing them in a singsong voice. Bridget avoided eye contact. "Gentlemen, lady, can I get you any more refreshments? Something stronger, hmm?" he winked suggestively.

 

"Oh, uh, Coke, please," Ten said politely.

 

Dekker smiled knowingly, then on cue, tossed a small bag of white powder onto the table.

 

Ten pursed his lips together. "I meant Cola."

 

Dekker's pale eyes darted across the table, then he snatched the baggie back and stuffed it up his sleeve.

 

=GCPD==

 

Chuck was standing by the admissions desk, waiting to receive his visitor pass. He was dressed in a beige suit, a pale blue shirt and a red and white striped tie. He was also hungover. Beside him, the radio on the desk blared: "You're listening to Sage Advice, with me, Vic Sage. Our next caller, is Michael from Bella Riviera, Louisiana. Mike, you're on with us now."

 

"Answer me this you faceless fuck, why don't you respond to any of my texts?"

 

"Brown, was it?" the desk sergeant asked, bringing Chuck back down to earth.

 

"Hell yea- Yes. Yeah, that's me," Chuck nodded, hanging the lanyard around his neck.

 

The sergeant pointed towards a narrow hallway on Chuck's left. "He's right past the holding cells. Wait for Detective Bullock, he's got the key. Oh, and try not to get lost."

 

"Got it," Chuck nodded, biting his lip to prevent another 'Hell Yeah' from slipping out.

 

He followed the sergeant's directions, walking towards the holding cells. He hesitated for a moment as he lingered outside Day’s. Julian was pale, (paler than usual that is) and was rocking back and forth on his bed, muttering the words “He said I was special,” over and over. No luck there, then.

 

The occupant in the opposite cell cleared his throat. “You won’t get anything out of him, he’s been replaying hits from The Exorcist all bloody week...”

 

Abner Krill was sitting on his bed too, but was much more relaxed. His hands were resting behind his head, and he had an amused smile on his face. “It is you, right? Kite-Man? The senpai to Jules’ yandere?"

 

"I don't know what either of those words mean."

 

Krill sneered, hopping down from his bed. "You lucky bugger. Didn’t really recognise ya without that piss-yellow ‘football’ helmet... Impressive stuff. The Royal, that is. Thought he’d never stop monologuing."

 

"Then I’ll direct my questions to you. When did Joker conta-"

 

“Uh uh,” Krill wagged his finger in Chuck's face. “First, you gotta do something for me-“

 

Chuck rolled his eyes. “If you think I’m getting you your belt, you’re out of your mind.”

 

“Who said anything about my belt? Listen, there’s a vending machine in the bullpen. Get me a packet of M&Ms, and then we’ll talk.”

 

“M&Ms?” Chuck's brow furrowed.

 

Krill leaned back. “Yah, I’ve got hypoglycemia, I’ve been making do with fruit cups and cheese sandwiches. Oh, and make sure you get chocolate, not peanuts. Higher sugar content.”

 

As Krill spoke, Chuck’s eyes were drawn to the cell on the Polka Dot Man’s right. A grey-haired man was pacing around his narrow confines, like a caged tiger. Every so often, the man would stop suddenly, if only to kick, punch or scream at the wall. Chuck had never actually seen Ted Carson without a mask, but the flash of his blue eyes told him everything he needed to know. The fourth cell, opposite him, was empty.

 

Chuck sighed, then dragged himself over to the vending machine. Chocolate, not peanut. He frowned at the prices; he knew for a fact they were cheaper at the grocers next door, but he didn't have a lot of options. He inserted the coins, retrieved the chocolate from the tray below and lastly, tossed the sweets through the bars of Krill's cell.

 

Krill wolfed down the candy hungrily, smacking his lips once he was done.

 

"Finished?" Chuck spoke. “What do you know about Joker?”

 

Krill’s face scrunched up, as though he was trying hard to remember, and then he finally answered: “Green hair, green eyes, pale skin, possibly bulimic.”

 

Chuck sighed again.

 

Krill chuckled. “C’mon, be real. Batman’s been here every night for the last week; If he couldn’t make me talk, what chance does the Kite-Man have? Thanks for the chocolate. Come back any time,” he waved Chuck off with chocolate covered fingers.

 

As Chuck was bemoaning the loss of the two dollars he'd donated in service of Krill's lunch, a hand took a hold of his shoulder. He turned around and was met with a man he had never seen before: he was a cop, a huge bear of a man even by GCPD standards, with scarred knuckles and a thick black beard. He leaned over, and spoke in a deep Boston accent: "Kite-Man? You have a minute?"

 

~-~

 

The lock clicked behind him. The cop had brought Chuck into a disused office, his, Chuck had to assume.

 

The cop lowered the blinds, then brought Chuck away from the door, and away from prying eyes. Something in the cop had changed; Chuck didn't catch on immediately, but then it hit him: the accent was gone.

 

"I know you're investigating Joker," the officer spoke.

 

Chuck was taken aback. "How? How could you possibly-"

 

Oh.

 

Chuck recognised that voice. Fake beard, stolen uniform, and extensive make-up aside, he knew that voice. That deep, authoritative tone that had lectured him a thousand times. The Batman's.

 

"I need you to stop. You know Walker. He has a fight or flight response, it’s instinctive; like a reflex. If he thinks he’s in danger-“

 

“But he is in danger, that’s the point-“

 

“If he thinks he's in danger-" Batman repeated. "He’s bound to do something irresponsible, reckless or self destructive.”

 

"I can't- I mean-" Chuck ran his hands through his hair. “Who else knows?” he asked.

 

"My people. Black Spider."

 

“Eric? Eric knows? Now, wait, what about Psycho Pirate? What about Zoom?"

 

“The Commissioner is aware of the situation. He’s doubled security around the lock-up. And I have people posted outside. But that will all be for nothing if Walker resolves to take Joker down himself, do you understand?"

 

"I-"

 

"Brown, I need to hear you say it."

 

A steely expression appeared on Chuck's face, as he released the latch on the door. "That uniform suits you," he stated coldly. He tensed up for a moment, bracing for a punch that never came.

 

He looked back over his shoulder, and frowned: Batman had vanished

 

~-~

 

Harvey Bullock’s key turned in the lock. He took a step forward and waggled an invasive flabby finger in Chuck’s face. “You got five minutes. We got an “UP” situation downtown," he warned.

 

“UP situation?” Chuck queried.

 

“Your pal Colonel Blimp’s got hostages at the Merchant’s Bank. And a hundred balloons tied to the roof.”

 

“He’s not my pal-“ Chuck sighed, but recognising that there was no point in arguing, walked past Bullock into the cramped room ahead. A small table was in the centre of the room, with two chairs on either side. A single stubbled occupant was handcuffed to one of the chairs.

 

“Hey, Drury. How are you holding up?” Chuck asked the man as he sat down at the opposite end of the table.

 

Drury, scratched his hairy cheek. His hair was lighter now, as it reverted to its’ natural orange colour, although now, his temples were on the verge of turning grey. “It ain’t so bad,” he answered. “The cops had their Christmas party the other day.”

 

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

 

“It was. Bullock brought me a piece a’ cake.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. He smooshed it into my face," Drury smiled meekly. "How about you, Chuck? How're you doing? How’re the boys?”

 

“Good. Great, honestly. We were actually out clubbing last night. Nothing fancy, but... it gave them something to do, y'know? Dekker’s treat, if you can believe that.”

 

Drury smirked. “Yeah, ok, I’d like to never hear those words together again please. ‘Dekker’s treats’ sounds like slang for rohypnol.”

 

Chuck smiled politely back.

 

"And Gar? I heard about that Franco shit... God. He and Jenna alright? Keeping their noses clean, I hope?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, he's doing ok, I think."

 

"Good," Drury nodded. "Cause, I'd sure hate to think all this was for nothing," he grinned.

 

Chuck didn't laugh.

 

"Hey," Drury paused, his smile vanishing. "You alright?"

 

Chuck paused: he hated lying, but especially to Drury. After everything they’d been through and after everything he'd suffered. He swallowed, and a fake smile replaced his previously remorseful expression. “It's nothing.”

 

==S.T.A.R. Labs. Chicago Branch==

 

"Lunch!" The young intern entered the laboratory, laden with food. With the way the room suddenly exploded with excitement, you would think they had discovered a new element. A metal, cylindrical drum stood in the center of the room, held behind glass, having been donated by the Gotham City branch.

 

"Gimme gimme," one of the female scientists strutted over, grabbing their coffee and panini.

 

"Tell me you got my Gutbuster, kid," a portly man asked, rolling across the room on his spiny chair.

 

"You didn't..." a grey-haired co-worker sighed, as he grabbed his salad from the intern.

 

"Aw, let me have this, Greg," the portly man pleaded.

 

"Sorry, what's a Gutbuster?" another of his colleagues raised an eyebrow.

 

"Big Belly's finest, or worst, depending who you ask, Molly," Greg, the grey-haired scientist, explained.

 

"Only the single greatest burger this side of the continent," the heavy-set man declared as he peeled back the wrapper. "And, banned in 30 states."

 

"Well, c'mon, Larry, what's so special about this thing?" Molly asked.

 

"Three beef patties, four onion rings, six rashers of bacons, five cheese slices, all of it drizzled in gravy, and! And! Served in a deep fried brioche bun."

 

"Well, that's your five-a-day

sorted," Greg smirked.

 

"Jeez, you're sounding like a spokesperson," another scientist sipped her coffee.

 

"Hey, Kate, if they were paying me in Gutbusters, I'd hand in my two weeks right now. I'm telling you, when folks talk about the American Dream, this is what they mean!"

 

"The American Nightmare maybe. Vile," Kate shrugged.

 

"Hey, kid? Mattie? Some free advice; you looking to live until 30, never step inside another Big Belly Burger," Greg advised the intern.

 

Larry didn't mind. He'd been waiting weeks for this burger, and he wasn't going to let anyone stop him from enjoying it. And just he took a big squelchy, greasy bite of it... he choked.

 

"Larry?" Kate paused. "Lar?!"

 

The burger fell to the floor, its' diabetic toppings sliding off the patty. Larry clutched his chest, gasping for breath and then... a gloved hand ripped through his torso. Larry hit the ground with a lifeless thud.

 

Molly screamed. Kate rushed to Larry's side, but it was too late. She looked up, tears in her eyes, and then she saw it: a man in yellow.

 

The figure raised its' forearm, now glistening red with blood. A single distorted word escaped its' mouth: "Gutbusssssssssterrrrrrr."

 

An icy blast shot through the air, freezing the wall the monster had been standing in front of moment before. Greg, was holding a pink cold gun, one of the weapons their Central City branch had left them.

 

"I know what you are, you piece of shit! You're a speedster! We've got a catalogue of weapons in the basement tailor made for scum like you!"

 

"Scuuuuuuuuuuum like meeeeeeeeeeee?" a voice whispered. Greg's whole body shook, he couldn't tell where it had gone, but he knew it was still in the room. It had to be. A flash of yellow lightning vanished behind one of the office cubicles. There.

He raised the cold gun again and pulled the trigger. Only this time, the beam shot backwards. The blast encased his head in ice and as his brain began to freeze; he slipped backwards, he hit the floor and his skull broke apart into frozen chunks. The monster, had turned the gun around in the milliseconds after Greg had fired.

 

Mattie stepped towards the exit, pounding his fists against the metal door: They were locked in. They were locked in, and they were going to die. He hadn't even told Molly how he fel-

 

Two bloody hands took a hold of Mattie's head, and squeezed. The pressure built and built, it felt like his head was going to explode. And then it did. His skull burst open, the contents splattering across the door. His body, slid down the metal surface with a loud squeak.

 

"Molly, you need to get out of here," Kate begged.

 

"I can't- it's... It's locked us in-" she blubbed.

 

"I'll distract it, just-"

 

Kate's words were cut off by the cracking of her neck. Her body fell at Molly's feet.

 

The monster stepped forward, its red eyes staring curiously at the one survivor.

 

"Please don't-" Molly slid backwards, tears in her eyes. "Please, take whatever you want!"

 

A noise like a bee's buzzing exited the monster's mouth. Molly couldn't work out was it was doing at first, then she realised. It was shushing her. "You seeeeeeeee this massacre? You seeeeee these bodies? These corpses? Your colleagues, your friends killedbeforetheir tiiiiiiiiiiiime? Husbandsand wiiiiiiiiiiiiives. Mothersand faaaaaaaaaaathers. Sonsanddaughters. Peoplewhoare never cominghoooooooome. Remember it. Hold ontothis memooooooooory. Hold ontothe traaaaaaaaagedy."

 

It placed its' bloody hand on her shoulder and she flinched. "Itcanonly make you stroooooonger."

 

Molly closed her eyes, whimpering in fear: she could hear the breaking of glass; the whirring of the doors unlocking. When she finally opened her eyes, the monster was gone. And with it, the Cloudburst.

 

==GCPD==

 

Drury returned to his cell that night. Moonlight crept through the bars from outside, shining into his eyes as he tried to sleep. Just as he had finally settled, a voice called out to him from across the hall.

 

"Do you... Remember that other timeline? The one Bridget made?" the voice asked, not bothering to check if he was awake first.

 

The question caught Drury off guard. It was the first time Carson had said a word to him since they'd been arrested.

 

"Just flashes," Drury sat up, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. "Odd images, faces I don't recognise, places I've never been to. The smell of... burning." As he spoke, an involuntary tear ran down his cheek. He didn't know why.

 

Carson swallowed. “Huh. 'Cause I do. I remember Charaxes using my suffering to goad my daughter into creating the alternate reality he'd use to make his escape. I remember my hand on the wheel, as I sought to take control of my 'Mothpoint' counterpart. And I remember you. As insufferable then as you are now. So, don’t you think you’re forgiven. That anything is forgiven. Soon as I’m free from these bars, you’re dead. You’re fucking dead.”

 

Drury rolled his eyes, and turned over in his bed.

 

"And then there's the name," Carson continued to goad him. "Why 'Killer' Moth?"

 

Drury didn't reply.

 

"You coulda called yourself anything. Been anyone... But it seems to me like you made your bed all those years ago. You'll always be scum."

  

Lego 70912

The Batman Movie

Arkham Asylum

 

Probably not an actual employee of GCPD...

Abner’s bar and grill, Gotham City-

 

O’Hara: “…the t’ing about office donuts is… they have more of an enigma. You don’t have to race into work early for store-brought donuts. What do you think Lenny?”

 

Lenny: “No Miss… not the… Ben Swolo… *SNORES

  

Chief O’Hara glances up at CSI Leonard Fiasco, who is almost half asleep at the bar…

 

O’Hara: “Lenny… LENNY!”

  

Lenny suddenly springs awake, his mindless muttering ceased.

 

Lenny: “Yes… sir!”

 

O’Hara shakes his head in disappointment as Lenny regains his sense of surroundings. Lenny was perplexed that the portly police chief had invited him out for drinks.

 

Lenny: ‘I’ve gotta say chief *BURPS*, I used to think you were a right… whats the word… Shit! But buying me all these drinks… … … what was I saying again?”

  

Lenny lunges forward suddenly, narrowly avoiding O’Hara as he vomits all over the floor. O’Hara’s left eye begins to twitch, his face seemingly holding back a cascade of rage.

 

O’Hara: Listen, Lenny. Most people you’ll meet will say that sacking people is the worst part of the job. Frankly, it’s the reason I have climbed the job ladder in the first place…”

 

Lenny: “Wut… wut are you trying to say?”

 

Lenny looks at O’Hara, his face painted with an unmistakeable shade of dread, albeit, slightly undermined by the chunk of vomit dripping from his lower lip.

 

O’Hara: “what I am trying to say, Lenny, is that yer sacked.”

 

Lenny stares blankly at O’Hara, the revelation having passed through him. After a moment’s tedium, the news hits him… hard.

 

Lenny: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SACKED?”

 

O’Hara maintains his calm, greasy demeanour.

 

O’Hara: “Yer sacked, yer fired, yer dismissed from duty! No matter how many ways I put it, you know what I mean.”

 

Lenny grows visually enraged (unless you couldn’t tell from the caps lock)

 

Lenny: “How can you fire me, I am the best this police force has ever produced… you’d be lost without me?”

 

O’Hara pulls out a large incident file with Lenny’s name in it.

 

O’Hara: “Chief Clementine, before I got him sacked, let a lot of your antics slip between the cracks. Apparently, he saw a bit of himself in you, frankly the only part of me I see in you is the part that comes out of me arse. Besides, the whole CSI division agrees, you gotta go.”

 

Lenny turns to the rest of the CSI’s, sharing drinks in a booth at the other side of the bar. Eerily, they turn to face Lenny, before nodding their heads in unison at the chief’s statement. O’Hara begins to look at the different incident reports.

 

O’Hara: “Ah, here’s an old classic. In 2015, you took a ‘cool looking’ lighter from a crime scene. As a result, the Broome Street Stranglers went free… and got the key to the city… and one of them married the mayor’s daughter… and…

 

Lenny: ‘Yeah, I get the point! Well, I suppose the only thing to do is to go graciously without burning any bridges… goodb…

 

Suddenly, Lenny loses control, projectile vomiting all over O’Hara (only high class comedy for you, audience). The whole bar looks at Lenny, disappointment, shame but mostly amusement on their face.

 

Lenny: “…well, since an honourable exit has gone out of the window…”

 

He grabs a full pitcher of beer, and pours it all over the room. GCPD or non GCPD, the whole bar is drenched.

 

Lenny: “Goodbye, f***holes, I will miss none of you. Except you, Gonzales…”

 

He points towards a femal detective in the corner, who immediately ducks her head down in shame at being the object of Lenny’s attention.

 

Lenny: “…call me!”

 

Lenny, still intoxicated, blows a kiss towards the detective, before waltzing out of the bar with ill -deserved swagger. The bar initially attempts to resume its regular, albeit now beer-soaked, practices, only for Lenny to walk in once more.

 

Lenny: “Actually, I just realised, I was supposed to carpool with sergeant Lin, is that still happening?”

 

A thrown glass narrowly avoides hitting Lenny in the face.

 

Lenny: “I’ll take that as a no.”

 

Lenny, with a lot less swagger, runs out of the bar, hoping to avoid further retribution from his former colleagues. The whole bar sighs with relief as he goes.

---------------------------------------------------------

Well… I have nothing to say. This has set the bar for what is to come (albeit with a little less vomit). BTW If you want a good piece of music to have on in the other tab while writing, this www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgG5V7LWaGs is one I have been using a lot lately. You don’t have to know the TV show, it is just a really good piece of music.

==Van Cleer Manor: Then==

 

Drury was in the kitchen, singing along to the radio. There was an almost hypnotic rhythm to his movements, as he danced around the room, wooden spoon in hand. Kitten, stood on the other side of the kitchen island, giggling at her father's sporadic movements.

 

"I come home, in the mornin' light

My mother says, "When you gonna live your life right?"

Oh momma dear, we're not the fortunate ones

And girls, they wanna have fun

Oh girls just wanna have fun:"

 

He handed the wooden spoon to his daughter, like a singer handing over a microphone, and she sang the next verse:

 

"The phone rings, in the middle of the night

My father yells, "What you gonna do with your life?"

Oh daddy dear, you know you're still number one

But girls, they wanna have fun

Oh girls just wanna haaaaaave-"

 

The kitchen door swung open, as a dishevelled, blonde haired teenage boy entered the room. Axel took one look at the musical duo and shook his head, grunting a single "morning" to his dad.

 

"Afternoon!" Drury stopped singing for a moment to correct his son.

 

"Whatever," Axel shrugged, then opened the freezer, grabbing a pizza roll. "You made pastry from scratch?" he inquired, noting the floury work surface. We've got a box of stuff in the freezer still."

 

"Not good enough," Drury said as he pirouetted from one counter to the other to shoogle the saucepan, then squeezed a wedge of orange juice into the bubbling, creamy mixture. "It needs to be perfect."

 

Axel rolled his eyes as he placed the pizza roll in the microwave.

 

Drury put his fingers in the tub of raspberries beside him and sucked down a particularly plump one. "Want one?" he asked, waving the wicker basket in his son's face.

 

"I'm good," Axel said dismissively. "What's this all about anyway?"

 

A smile, like a lovesick schoolboy's, broke across Drury's face and Axel understood immediately. When it came to his stepmother, there was nothing his father wouldn't do, no matter how embarrassing it was for his kids (and Axel specifically). "Your mother... is taking a half day from the office. Thought I'd surprise her with a little something," Drury beamed. "Mille Feulle: With a twist! Orange and chocolate creme patissiere for the filling, which, when piped, ends up looking rather like a certain favourite animal of hers!" he nudged his son playfully.

 

Kitten, flicked a spoonful of frosting onto Axel's cheek.

 

==The GCPD==

 

The precinct was filled with the mundane tapping on keyboards, the beeping of broken photocopiers and heated discussion over that night's college football match. Drury, stood at the entrance, guided by a group of four police officers. A fifth, stood by the full-body scanner, hands on his hips.

 

"Empty your pockets. Place your shoes, belt and any other belongings on the tray beside me," he instructed the man.

 

Drury nodded slowly, removing his watch, his moth-shaped cufflinks and his wedding band and placed them in the plastic tray, followed by his leather belt, and his scuffed black shoes. Satisfied, the officer consulted a sheet of paper, and read aloud the contents of the questionnaire:

 

"Do you have any metal fillings?"

 

"No."

 

"Piercings?"

 

"No."

 

"Sigh Any cybernetic augmentations?"

 

"That can't be on the list."

 

"Answer the question."

 

"No, I don't."

 

"Have you had any surgery that has resulted in a metal plate being installed in your skull?"

 

"Wouldn't that come under cybernetic- nevermind." Drury tapped the side of his skull as a demonstration. "No."

 

"Please step through the x-ray machine. Slowly, please."

 

The scan completed, Drury was directed to the desk sergeant, who read out another series of questions:

 

"Do you have any dietary requirements?"

 

"No."

 

"Do you take any prescribed medication?"

 

"Lithium tablets. I'm bipolar."

 

"Are you a metahuman, or have you displayed any metahuman abilities in the last 48 hours?"

 

"I wish. Never met-a-human I didn't like."

 

...

 

"That was a no. Not recently. This should all already be in my file," Drury stated tiredly.

 

"Just standard procedure."

 

Drury looked over the desk, glancing at the sargent filling in the form. Was this all his life amounted to? A series of ticks and crosses on a coffee-marked sheet of paper?

 

"You're still a size 34?" the officer handed him a poorly folded orange jumpsuit.

 

Drury bit the inside of his cheek. "Right, that you remembered."

 

==ISA Headquarters==

 

Gar and Joey were escorted into the main meeting room by a group of six red-robed figures. Chuck finished writing something on the whiteboard, then walked over to greet them. The rest of the Misfits, were already seated at the red leather chairs.

 

"Gar, Joey, thanks for coming," he spoke, hugging Joey, then shaking Gar's hand.

 

"Your doormen frisked me on the way in," Gar stated, glaring at Dr Ito's red robed assistants, now retreating back into the shadows.

 

"Yeah, sorry about that. They're probably checking for... viable organs," Chuck trailed off.

 

"Hey, you're safe, Lynns, your lungs are black as shit," Sharpe smirked, miming a pair of finger guns.

 

"You said you had something, Chuck?" Joey interrupted.

 

"Right, yes... Where do I even begin..."

 

"Soon would be good," Gar said.

 

"I'll do my best; it might be better if you sat down first." Chuck slumped his shoulders, directing them to his drawings on the whiteboard. "There was this telephone in Sionis' office. A purple rotary. Julian must've brought it in with him. When I broke into the room, I flew into the desk and knocked the phone off it. There was this voice on the other end. And it told a joke."

 

The group was silent for a moment, before Sharpe chirped up. "Could've been Bart Simpson," he smirked dismissively.

 

"The phone was purple! I know that voice! It was him." Chuck said defensively. “But even if we put that aside, we know Julian has partners, plural, and I don't think he was hyping up the Pirate or the King of Cats either. Sure, we know Zoom is involved. Yes, we know the only person able to build a cloudburst and who wasn’t, um, blown up, is Crane. But when he was overdosing, Julian confessed that someone told him he was special. And I never viewed Scarecrow as the sentimental type."

 

"I thought Crane was in Arkham?" Ten asked.

 

"Oh, right, you came from Blackgate... 'Thing you need to know about the Asylum is, it's really more of a 'hostel,'" Sharpe stated.

 

As they spoke, Mayo drifted off, his eyes drawn to the large portrait hanging on the wall, depicting the members of the ISA, painted by Ito himself. His eyes narrowed as he recognised a purple-clad gentleman in a matching hat and a white goatee. "The Colonel..." he muttered under his breath.

 

"So, that's Scarecrow, Joker, Zoom. King of Cats, that pirate guy... Krill and Julian are in lock-up... I'd hate to see the chatroom they met each other in," Blake remarked, counting them on his fingers as he listed them off.

 

Kuttler scoffed. "There was no chatroom. The Society brought Zolomon and Joker together."

 

"I'm sorry, you knew about this?" Ten asked.

 

"Shocking," Gar said dryly.

 

Kuttler removed his glasses and rubbed his eyelids. "No, not all of it. But when we lost Eobard Thawne, The Society reached out to his protégé, Hunter Zolomon. He was never going to sit on the council, of course, but he was a useful tool for a while.

And when The Joker escaped Arkham and threatened to disrupt our plans, we found a place for him too; nothing too outrageous; an assignment to keep his deranged mind busy and his knives pointed away from our backs. Zolomon, served as our liaison with him. I simply assumed they dissolved their partnership when the Society collapsed. Evidently not. The clown must have appealed to his sensibilities, offered Walker up as a guinea pig..."

 

"Here's what I don't get: So, Joker; if it even is Joker; brings these all guys together, riles up Carson, then has Jules attack the Royal Hotel with a couple of bombs and some of Crane's gas? Why?" Joey inquired.

 

"I'm with Joseph. If this all circles back to Walker, why didn't Day grab him? Why not deliver him to his partners right then and there?" Bridget added.

 

"It's Joey, you can call me Joey," Joey waved across the table.

 

"I don't know," Chuck admitted. "There's still a lot here that doesn't make sense. We don't even know where Joker is."

 

"We can deal with him later. What about the kids?" Gar asked. "The clown's made a move on them before."

 

"Tiger Shark's been looking after them. He's been keeping his distance from us, for the most part, but we know he's got Flannegan with him, watching their backs," Ten explained.

 

"Good. Good," Gar nodded stiffly. "Does Drury know? About Joker?"

 

Chuck paused. "No. No, not yet. But I'm going to the GCPD tomorrow. It'll give me a chance to clue him in, and to see if Julian can give us any answers."

 

~-~

 

"So, what happens now?" Gar walked alongside a trio of Chuck, Bridget and Ten, his hands in his pockets.

 

"Dragon King's letting us stay for as long as we need. But there's still a lot of pieces missing. Obviously, Julian might be able to answer some of them, but-"

 

"But you gave him a near-lethal overdose of experimental anti-psychotics," Bridget's brow furrowed.

 

"I think I preferred it when you were trying to kill us," Chuck replied. "The files we got from the Batcave on Zoom were pretty thorough; Psycho Pirate's still a loose cannon, mind, and everything we thought we knew about King of Cats was probably a load of crap."

 

"Not everything," Ten spoke.

 

~-~

 

"Doctor Ito? Doctor Ito?" Chuck chapped the back of his hand against the door, before entering the kitchen. The good doctor, was hunched over the stove, skillet in hand.

 

"I am frying Paella. The secret ingredient is saffron," Ito declared, tapping the side of his hood knowingly.

 

"And I'm sure it's delicious! Listen, you studied the King of Cats, didn’t you?”

 

“Indeed, I did. Alas, my research was co-opted and corrupted by that confounding Crazy Quilt, and passed off to an unseemly associate of his, to profit off the gullible and weak minded.”

 

“Oh, yeah! Those, uh, gullible weak-minders...” Chuck scoffed loudly and unconvincingly. Bridget rolled her eyes.

 

“Where’s Dekker now?” Ten asked. "Have you kept in touch with him at all?"

 

Ito stared at Ten peculiarly, as though the answer was obvious. “In the dungeons.”

 

The Misfits frowned. “This isn’t the dungeon?” Bridget spoke in disbelief.

 

“Goodness gracious, no. It’s the master suite."

 

~-~

 

In captivity, Dekker's neatly trimmed mustache had grown into a shabby beard and his black hair had grown to shoulder length, with the odd strand of grey scattered throughout. Although he couldn't have been imprisoned for more than a week or two, the lack of access to his usual selection of exotic face creams and hair products had aged him dramatically. He moistened his cracked lips with his tongue, and chuckled at the group assembled before him: Gar, Chuck, Blake, Joey, Sharpe, Bridget, Ten and Mayo (Kuttler, had decided the visit was not worth his time or dignity), all in costume. “You know, trapped in a dungeon, tied to a chair, surrounded by a dozen suitors in tight fitting spandex... This reminds of my 50th birthday bash. Anyone bring a paddle?" he asked expectantly.

 

"Let's skip the foreplay, shall we?" Gar said coldly, his arms folded.

 

"Hmph. Up to you, my sweet Garfield, but I think you're missing out," Dekker shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "While I have you all, let's talk about the reptile in the house: Far be it from me to judge anyone, but I fear that hostile homo-reptilian host of yours has a crooked cloaca."

 

"Yeah? How d'you figure that?" Gar asked, a bemused look on his face.

 

"Well, why else I would be quite so unfairly persecuted?" Dekker queried, a question that stunned the Misfits with its' lack of self awareness.

 

"Maybe 'cause you stole his research?" Blake offered an explanation.

 

"That? Hmph, nothing more than a little exercise in tit for tat warfare. I may have- may have -stolen his research; he may have bombed Pearl Harbor."

 

"Hey, that's way over the line-" Chuck interjected.

 

"I say 'may have,' but he definitely did." Dekker examined the Misfits disgusted faces and his teasing smile dropped. "You really have no idea, do you? That 'man' is a snake! A duplicitous reptile who has no concept of decency! Whereas I am an entrepreneur, a businessman really, and I'm feeling philanthropic! And if you let me go, I promise I can make it worth your while!" he promised, a grin once again creeping up his wrinkled face.

 

Blake's nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

 

...

 

“What? I can’t be the only guy whose mind went there."

 

Chuck stepped forward. “That's just it, Dekker. We might not trust Ito, let's be honest, we'd be idiots if we did."

 

"Hey!" Sharpe protested.

 

"But we'd be even bigger idiots to take your word. Or are you going to deny working with Hellhound? Setting us up? Scamming us? Stealing our money?"

 

Dekker pondered the question for a moment, placing a balled fist under his chin, then answered: "My trademark deception and patented guile has served me well thus far."

 

"You’re in a dungeon," Ten observed.

 

“Besides! Hellhound is no longer a part of the equation, my well-hung Hang Glider," Dekker declared cheerfully, to the Misfits' surprise.

 

“He isn’t? Then what the hell happened to him?” Gar was the first to ask.

 

“Oh, dreadful business really. Let's see... I was conducting business over at the Stacked Deck: Now now, nibblings, don't give me that look; I was on the up and up; strictly professional! A client of mine wanted some adjustments made to a new costume, more zing, more pep, more concealed weapons, the usual... We had a few drinks; he paid, not that he realised it, and after popping a few pills in the back, we parted ways. I found Kai, Hellhound, in the back alley; bruised, bleeding and dripping in saliva that I'm sure wasn't his. He wouldn't speak, and when he tried, bless him, a high-pitched warble came out in lieu of words.

I wish I could say I was torn up about it, but the truth was, he blew me off the night before and I was feeling proportionately bitter about it," Dekker paused for a moment as he reconsidered his wording. "Oops. What I meant to say, was that he was supposed to give me my cut for another 'successful' exorcism but he jilted me. Never showed. Havishhammed by a mongrel! Although, I suppose, come to think of it, that must've been when the King of Cats found him... Never mind!" he chuckled.

 

"The King of Cats? You're sure?" Chuck asked, his face white.

 

"Oh yes, even high on ecstasy, I know that fleabag's handiwork... Who else could be quite so debaucherous? And don't say yours truly," Dekker winked back.

 

"What about Hellhound? What'd he do to him?" Blake piped up.

 

"Fine. Fine. Tell me, what does every doggie dread the most? Tell me, why does every nasty horndog fear the vet's scalpel?"

 

“You mean to say-?" Joey asked, mouth agape.

 

"Mhmm," Dekker nodded stiffly. “Neutered. Although, I suppose the more appropriate term would be cats-tration."

 

The Misfits were silent for a moment and then:

 

“Ok, I know we’ve long passed the point of What the Fuckery, but what the fuck!” Blake yelled in disgust.

 

"You asked," Dekker tutted.

 

“Well I have a question!" Mayo declared suddenly from the back of the crowd.

 

"You do?" the group asked in unison.

 

"Yeah," he replied, shoving Ten and Gar aside as he made his way to the front. "If you’re really an expert on all things fiendish, what are the Colonel’s 11 herbs and spices?”

 

Dekker's smile faltered. "Why would I know-"

 

“Mitch, it’s ok, we have this," Chuck urged.

 

“It might come up later...” Mayo protested.

 

“Not... not unless we’re fighting the Colonel.”

 

"Hey, to be fair, I do kinda get where the kid's coming from," Blake defended him. "Why the hell is there a painting of Colonel Sanders upstairs anyway?"

 

...

 

Sharpe frowned. “Blake, that's my grandpa and you killed him.”

 

"And you forgot to feed my panther, so I guess we’re even," Blake countered, arms crossed.

 

"Aw, no, Sasha starved?" Joey asked.

 

"What? No, she ate our landlord," Blake answered in an irate tone.

 

"‘s a win to me,” Sharpe replied."

 

Dekker, clapped his hands together, breaking up the boy's argument before it could turn ugly. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen! So, Tommy killed a landlord! So, Monty ate his granddad-"

 

"None of that is right."

 

"The world keeps turning! Let us not quibble over the minute details, the itty bitty highly debatable hearsay regarding what ate what, who scammed who etcetera etcetera...” Dekker smiled broadly, seizing the opportunity to barter for his freedom. "Let us put this unpleasant matter to bed. Hah. As a token of good faith, and made possible due to my increased wealth (thanks to your recent and highly generous donation)-"

 

“Well, it wasn’t a donation, we were expecting a service. You didn’t deliver,” Chuck stated.

 

“Poppet, please, let me finish! Haha, oh, I’m so naughty. You will have priority seating at Crazy Quilt’s! And free Drinky Poos! (When you spend over $100! Per person)”

 

“I can hear the brackets," Gar frowned.

 

“Hang on a minute, Gar. Chuck, we've been cooped up here for two days now. Maybe a night out would do us all some good,” Ten proposed. “Take our minds off of things.”

 

“Fine, but you’re not saying Drinky Poo ever again," Chuck instructed Dekker.

 

Mayo nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I really don’t want to turn my nose up at you, Mr Crazy Quilt, but I’m not drinking any poop.”

 

==The GCPD==

 

The GCPD bullpen; so often subjected to the juvenile verbal sparring matches of cops and lawyers. One such attorney delicately removed the teabag from his paper cup and discarded it in the nearby trashcan. A portly looking policeman approached him, dressed in a grubby grey trenchcoat and strangely, a fedora.

 

"Wow, if it ain't Adrian freakin' Chase! New York's 'best and most psychotic...,'" the cop applauded mockingly. "Secretary Walker must've really splashed the cash to get you out all the way out here. He must really love his baby brother."

 

The lawyer smiled politely, but there was an intensity behind his deep brown eyes. "Ah, Detective Bullock, never a pleasure," he spoke, offering him a handshake. Bullock declined. "My client has been fully cooperative since handing himself into your custody, almost to a fault. And in return, he has been treated with nothing but hostility. What's this I here about... a fruitcake?"

 

"So?" Bullock shrugged. "'Was just a bit of fun: The Three Stooges got away with it all the time, why you gotta ride my ass about it?"

 

"The Three Stooges, didn't throw pies in the faces of prisoners under their care. On Christmas," Chase replied sternly, sipping his tea slowly.

 

"Yeah? Bah humbug, he's a cop killer. He should be thankful it wasn't a grenade I threw at him."

 

"Cop killer? That's a little strong, no? If you're referring to the incident in June, I have it on good authority he employed non-lethal tactics only."

 

"Oh, so it was just run of the mill assault and property damage. Good for him!" Bullock exclaimed sarcastically.

 

Chase smirked. "I'll cut to the chase. My client, gift-wrapped three of the city's biggest at-large criminals. And a fourth, who I understand, escaped from under your boys' watchful eyes."

 

"The three biggest? Ya mean Polka Dot Man and Ted Carson? Gimme a break. And don't you worry about that "fourth." King of Cats isn't getting far; We have people on that."

 

"Those people the same ones who were guarding the Royal when he escaped? Boy, I feel safer already."

 

Bullock took an invasive step forward, waving a finger in Chase's face. "I know what you're trying to do, Chase, but there's no deal. The GCPD has always had a zero-tolerance policy towards vigilante 'justice.'"

 

"Is that right? That spotlight on your roof says differently," Chase stepped forward. Their noses were almost touching now.

 

"For all intents and purposes, that's a piece of modern art, installed by civilians for civilians, and we don't touch it."

 

"Cut the crap, Bullock. Your department is Batman Incorporated in all but name. Mr Walker's vigilantism isn't the issue, it's his branding."

 

"Yeah? You wanna maybe consider that Bug Boy don't want a lawyer? That maybe he's done the one decent thing in his miserable life and actually owned up, and faced the music for his bullcrap?"

 

"Harvey, that's enough," another cop interjected, stepping between the two and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

 

Bullock scowled, then stormed off down the hall.

 

Renée Montoya finished stirring her coffee, then offered her hand to Chase. "It's good to have you back. You're about the only guy I know who can wind Harvey up like that without a cape."

 

"From my experience, detective, capes are overrated," Chase smiled, then shook her hand firmly.

Airport Interrogation room

 

Gordon: Jeremy. We’ve just received word that the plane you admit to attempting to crash has just refuelled. Now about those other threats in the stars

 

Jeremy: you? How?!

 

Gordon: the batman. Now talk

 

Jeremy. At the...the...no. The stars shall be kept to me for now

 

Gordon: Jeremy...don’t

 

Jeremy: you thought I was joking did you. No. Not going to say

 

Gordon: your going to prison for a long long time. But atleast it’s prison. Not Arkham. That can always change though can’t it Jeremy....can’t it?

 

Jeremy: fine! You’ve got me Jim. Well for. It’s...it’s the gcpd. The precinct up town. Get there now and you may save them....But you also may not. *grins

 

Gordon: Oh shit...Montoya! Call backup no w. get them to the uptown precinct. Thomas. keep an eye on this guy. We’ll be back soon enough. Keep the door locked

 

Within seconds Thomas is left with Jeremy and Montoya and Gordon are well on their way to the precinct

 

Jeremy, grinning ,whispers as they leave: safe journey...

 

———————————————————

 

The airline

 

After refuelling the plane, Bruce boards the now safely flying aircraft after cutting a hole into the doorway to prevent a huge gust of murderous wind sucking every last passenger out into oblivion. He paces carefully down the isle making note of each passenger. Non of which appear to be a threat.

He begins to turn around until he spies, in the corner of his eye, a man sweating like hell with what looks like a small handgun placed strategically down the side of his track pants. He bursts out of his seat, gun in hand ready to shoot Bruce but is swiftly stopped in his tracks as a woman of about Bruce’s age grabs on to the side of his head pinning him down and kicking away the gun to rest by Bruce’s feet.

 

Bruce stares for a moment then says to the woman: nice work...don’t make it a habit

 

The woman has redder hair and paler skin than any one Bruce has met throughout his short time on earth

 

She replies: names Kate. I served so it’s already a habit

 

Bruce: I see. You know who I am. No need for introductions I think.

 

He begins to take a second closer look at the planes passengers but is soon distracted by the ear piercing sound of a gun shot echoing through the compact cockpit of the aircraft. He runs as fast as possible and to his annoyance, Kate follows. They enter the cockpit and as he had both feared and expected, Bruce lays his eyes upon the dead and disfigured corpse of a pilot with the long and skinny hand of a second pilot grasping the very murder weapon within his dirtied palms. The gun being a shotgun left it’s mark and the cockpit was now layered with the dead man’s guts, organs and blood

 

???: he spoke to ground control. Then the police and then you. Something had to be done. Would you not agree?

 

Batman: are you behind this? Is Jeremy Seinfeld innocent

 

Jeremy: in my eyes yes

 

Batman: why is he in custody then

 

Jeremy: he’s not...he’s on this plane...sat here...talking to you...with a gun to your forehead.

 

Batman:.. but the gcpd...

 

Seinfeld: arrested a disposable idiot with a PHD in god knows what who thinks he’s The chosen one! Desperate people fall for a lot of stupid stuff. Especially when the stars are involved! Learnt that from experience mr batman. Now don’t move a muscle or I’ll pop one in the control panel and guess what...then we will all beeee...F*cked! Wouldn’t want that now would we? No didn’t think so

 

Kate reaches for the gun the henchmen dropped. Jeremy’s lack of urgency to stop her rises Bruce’s suspicions

 

Batman: Kate listen to me. Put the gun down. It’s a fake. And if it’s not. You don’t want to kill this man anyway. Trust me. You don’t

 

Kate: ...no I do. It’s my plane ticket right? I paid for it

 

Jeremy: Oh please by all means pop one in me. That way I have a justified excuse to blow this plane to the very ground!...Kate....or do you prefer misses batman?

 

Kate: I prefer you dead

 

Jeremy: dramatic. Now listen up children. I’m here with a prophecy! You see I predict...That in a few fatal seconds times you will turn your heads. And what will you find? Oh that’s right. Nothing! Nothing living anyway. Unless of course you leave now and uh...trust me your good pal jez, to get this pathetic lot to their... true destination. Where they really really belong. Besides in the ground of course. I’m not a monster am I?! No I am not. I do not have horns or great leather wings. I am just a man. Cut me I bleed blood. Kill me. I will die. Torture me. I will come back to haunt you....by hijacking an airplane with a hundred or so innocent lives on board and...

 

He lifts his gun, aims at Kate. Bruce pushes her out of the way, takes the bullet and Jeremy continues:

 

....shooting one at random

 

Kate: NO! She lifts the gun in her hands

 

Jeremy: ah ah ah. No you do not. Sit tight and dooooo nothing. Or I won’t miss next time! Will I?! No I will not... in case you didn’t get the hint. Oh and over there where I can see you. Thank you.

 

As he lies in a pool of fake blood he reaches for his com and whispers into it: Alfred. I’ve been shot...again. Kevlar protected me. Let out false blood. He’s fallen for it. Give an anonymous tip to the GCPD. they’ve got the wrong guy. They need a squad up here now and the planes refuelled. Over and out

 

————————————————-

The gcpd

 

Gordon and Montoya rush into the precinct jumping straight into bullocks office

 

Gordon: harv. Anyone suspicion been round here

 

Harvey: apart from the usual junkies being dragged off the street, no

 

Gordon: nothings happened?

 

Harvey: no not that I know of. Uh What’s this about

 

Gordon: Jeremy gave a threat on this precinct

 

Harvey: well no ones been in.

 

Montoya: boss. We just got an anonymous tip. We heard Batman’s on the plane so we assume it’s from him

 

Gordon: go on. What does it say

 

Montoya: Oh shit...we got the wrong guy. He’s a fake. Jeremy’s on the plane. It Says we should get a squad up there

 

Gordon: Harv

 

Harvey: I’m on it

 

Gordon: Montoya. see if we can regain contact with anyone up there and I’m gonna get back to the airport to find out who we’ve really got in custody and what he knows.

Lego 70912

The Batman Movie

Arkham Asylum

 

My review : www.hellobricks.com/2017/01/review-lego-70912-lego-batman...

I stare at the street, just your average street, cars passing by, people walking their dogs, teenagers traveling either by bike or skateboards. Lois wanted me to meet with her in a pizza restaurant because she had something she wanted to show me that could help with her investigation.

  

“Clark!” I’m interrupted by Lois, greeting me with a backpack of what looks to be papers, files to be specific.

  

“Hey to you too Lois. Can I ask what those files are for?” I ask while pointing at the backpack.

  

“They’re not JUST files Clark,” She says while putting the backpack on the table. “They’re evidence.”

  

“To what?”

  

“The people that have collaborated with intergang.” She says while taking out each document.

 

“The problem is, nearly every member of intergang is either dead or anonymous.” She then pulls out one file she’s looking for. “Except one. His name’s Winslow Schott, AKA ‘Toyman’.” She hands me his file, he looks…… odd to say the least.

  

“Toyman?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

  

“He was well known in the criminal underworld, he operated from Bludhaven to Gotham. He originally worked for Okamura Toys until he was fired due to some controversial features in his toys, he tried to assassinate the CEO with his prized jester toy, but was officially apprehended by the GCPD. However, unofficially, it’s believed that he was taken out by the Batman. He currently resides in Stryker’s Island.”

  

“Okay, when can we interview him?” She gives a sigh before replying.

  

“I don’t know. I tried contacting them this morning, but got no answer.” I then hear sirens and gunshots coming from somewhere close by.

  

“I’d love to help you out Lois, I really would but-”

  

“I get it, just let me know if you find anything.” She gives a kiss on the cheek before I leave the pizza restaurant, suit up and fly off.

Part 2

 

1.

“I’m flattered that you decided to debut this outfit at my place rather than on a front page of the news”, said Anna and put out a half smoked cigarette on the ashtray.

 

“I’m glad you like it, your apartment is the first place I’ve worn it.”- I told her as I looked down at my new uniform.

 

“May I ask how you found my address?” – She asked me when I came inside.

 

“I always keep tabs on my old friends, and I think you do too.” – I said.

 

“If what we have is a friendship…”-She raised her eyebrows and threw her head back.

 

“It’s a rocky relationship, I know. I just want to talk it all through. Anna, we have years behind us, we can’t just part ways and stay bitter. I haven’t been sleeping lately, I’ve been staying up and thinking a lot about everything that’s happened between us.”

 

“Wait, you’re kissing up to someone so that you don’t feel guilty about being a bitch to them? You’ve, like, never done that before.”- She rolled her eyes at me.

 

“I know how bad this looks for me, but I swear I have good intentions. I want to tell you why I did what I did and make peace with you. You are obviously still mad that I left you, I mean, you worked for Red Claw just so you could get back at me. This whole feud we have going on is so old and I want to give it a rest, that’s all.”

 

“Oh, my God, you’re so self-absorbed. I knew you’d think it was all about you. It’s so typical of you. What happened between us was years ago and I don’t care anymore. I only accepted the job because I needed the money.”

“So, you violently attacked me in my apartment, took pictures of me laying helplessly on the floor in my own blood just because you needed money?”- I raised my eyebrow.

 

“When you have to kill someone you used to care about you can only go about it two ways: you can get emotional and back out of the job, or you can channel the anger you used to feel because of them and just get it done. It’s less painful that way and I needed the money, Kate.”- Anna said.

 

“So it’s all good now? You know, besides the murder attempts and shit like that?”

“Honestly, I could’ve done just as well without you taking all the money that we stole, but, each to its own.”

I stared at her, somewhat confused, somewhat touched. I felt strangely nostalgic. She smiled, “It’s all good. I’m sorry for stabbing you in your bathroom.”

 

“I’m sorry that you made me hurt your wrist.” I took her left hand and lightly caressed the bandage over her wrist. “Man, was it seriously as simple as a need for money?”

 

“How the hell did you think I paid for this place? It has two bedrooms and a view to die for.”

 

“Was that an invite?”

 

“Not in the slightest.”

We exchanged smiles. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds when she smiled.

 

“Your old outfit was better.”

 

“Then I’m keeping this one.”

 

“So, what’s the next step?” – She asked.

 

“The next step?”

 

“You know, with the crime-fighting stuff.”

 

“I don’t know, I’m just going to try and find some homicidal douche to punch in the throat. Why are you asking?”

 

“Well, I think I know where you can start.”

 

“I’m all ears.”

 

“Okay, so, for the past month or so someone has been killing people all over the city. The victims’ bodies have been found in terrible condition, almost dismembered. People think the killer could be a runaway from Arkham.”

 

“You think a serial killer is murdering these people?”

 

“That’s the only possibility I can think of.”

 

“Do you have any information about the victims?”

She scratched her head and looked at me numbly.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your detective part of the job right now instead of interrogating me?”- She tilted her head while keeping eye contact.

 

“Well I’ve got to start somewhere.” – I shrugged.

 

“Google it, it’s not hard to find. Besides, the internet is a much more reliable source than I am.”

 

“I think I’ll ask my friend who works in the police. He should know something about the case.”

 

“You think he will tell you? I mean, isn’t that, like, confidential information?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I mean, if we are talking about legal possibilities, he should not only not tell me anything about the case, but also arrest me because God knows that what I do isn’t legal. He should know better than that, though.”

 

“Yeah, well, good luck on your investigation.” – She said.

 

“Thanks, I’ll need it”, I said and jumped off her balcony before I started swinging among the buildings of Gotham with my grappling hook gun.

 

2.

Talking things out with Anna brought me a feeling of relief and motivation to move on. It felt so good, that it almost made up for the years of guilt and having my life endangered. Not only that, but it was also a great start to my ‘new life’. An even greater start, though, would be to gain some information about the murders.

 

I lied about having a friend in the police because, quite frankly, saying that Moreland is a private investigator would’ve been embarrassing, so I guess that plan is out of the question. There is, however, a different way to solve the murder with the help of the police.

 

3.

The GCPD building was big and completely useless. Whenever I felt like giving up, I thought about how Gotham’s police station still exists. I’m kidding. Well, partially, at least.

It was broken into by all sorts of clowns and court jesters, yet it still remained the same place it was when it was built.

 

I got on the roof with my grappling gun and looked into the window bellow. One policeman was sitting at a desk, trying his best not to fall asleep.

I climbed down and checked every window to find my potential entry. First I checked the ground floor. There were no available entries.

Then I climbed on and checked all windows above the ground floor. Fortunately, there was a small window I managed to kick in and go through. When I kicked the window, I grabbed it before it could make a sound.

 

The room I broke into was an office. It was mostly empty, with only a desk and a chair inside. Other than the door, there were no exists at my disposal.

I couldn`t go through the ventilation system like they do in the movies, because not only because it would make an inconvenient amount of noise, but I also wasn`t sure if I could fit and/or breathe in there.

 

I tried my best not to make any noise while opening the door and since the policeman downstairs didn`t seem to notice me, I thought I succeeded.

After a couple of minutes of crawling around the police department, I found the storage room. It was placed at the end of a light grey corridor. Bingo.

 

The files were organized neatly on the shelves. They were sorted in envelopes by year. I pulled out an envelope with 2018 on the spine. The envelope was surprisingly thick (although I wasn`t really surprised considering that these were all the crimes that took place in Gotham), so it took me a minute to find the right file.

When I did find the file, I took it, closed the envelope and put it back.

 

Caught up in the moment, I marched out of the storage room without considering the noise I was making by doing so.

“Hello?” – The policeman`s raspy voice caught me off guard. Crawling by the stairway I got a quick glance at the policeman.

He was looking around, probably looking for the intruder. He started walking towards the stairway.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs got louder as the policeman climbed higher and then went almost silent as I opened the office door.

 

“Hey!” – He charged at me and grabbed the door before I could shut it.

 

I kicked him in the ankle, knocking him off his feet and slamming the door at him. He muttered something at me and ran towards me, but by the time he started talking I was already cruising through the wintery night.

 

Honestly, I could’ve done without fighting a cop, especially on my first day back. If I’m lucky, and I’m obviously not, the police won’t pay too much attention to me. If not, I’ll have to watch this bloke grumble on about me on the news.

 

I flinched to look back at the police department, but the grappling gun dragged me forward.

 

Two weeks pass by and Jason shows greater health improvements as the time passes by but he still remains deep in his coma. Alfred and I have researched all known methods to try and wake Jason up from the coma without harming him. So there is has all been to no avail. So for the moment there’s nothing else we can do besides allow time to do its work, and that’s the most painful thing about it. That no matter how much I want to, all I can do is sit back and wait for Jason to come around in his own time.

 

In the meantime as much as I’d love to watch over him until he’s back to full health Gotham needs me. Since I returned the clown to the asylum things seem to have picked up again, I suspect rumors spread that I may have finally snapped and given the clown what he deserved thus why they were scared to go out at night. But with Joker back in the asylum it will be common knowledge that I still don’t cross the line, and the vermin will be back out on the streets.

 

With most of the equipment still damaged from Jason’s actions in the cave I’m reliant on my old motorbike that I haven’t used for about six years. Fortunately Alfred being the obsessive maintenance freak that he is has kept the bike in prime condition so I’m still able to traverse Gotham, if not as fast as I would like. Fortunately, most of Tim’s vehicles were overlooked so whilst my mobility around Gotham may be limited, Tim’s is not.

 

He’s a good soldier. He does me proud everyday. But I thought the same of Jason before the clown stole him away from me. The fact that someone who was once so close to me could become what Jason was terrifies me. It also has me doubting my methods. Am I what’s right for the ones who I take on? Sure Dick is flourishing now in Bludhaven with his own identity but not before he left me. Had he stayed with me rather than leaving would he be the man he is now? Or would he be something else entirely? Would he have suffered a similar fate as Jason?

 

I know that Dick’s talents were refined during his time with me, but I wasn’t the one who inspired him to take up the fight in his own way. That was Clark. It always seems to be Clark that inspires good in people. All I seem to achieve is to make people afraid of their own shadows. What sort of man does that make me? I’m no Superman but I like to think that I at least manage to bring about some good in my actions. But despite holding a position on the Justice League, a team the public says is made up of ‘the world’s finest heroes’ I can’t help but think that I shouldn’t be on the team. They’re all heroes. I’m anything but. Hell I’m not even sure if I’m a good man or not.

 

This question has been running through my head since I learnt of all that happened to Jason. All of it being my fault. Had I taken the time to train him properly and help him overcome his issues perhaps all this could have been prevented. Perhaps if I was a better man poor Jason wouldn’t have suffered. Perhaps he’d be awake right now and helping me out on patrol.

 

But then again, were it not for Jason’s loss I would never have met Tim and the poor young man would have been left homeless and alone with no parents to care for him. Hell he probably would have become one of the vermin that I’m hunting right now. It just goes to show doesn’t it? That even in the worst of times, there is some good if you’re willing to look for it. As all this races through my head I hear Tim climbing up onto the rooftop. I hear him from the minute his grapple attaches to the building and I hear every single footstep he takes.

 

“You alright?”

 

“You need to work on your stealth. I heard you from the other side of the building.”

 

“Well I guess it’s no wonder that Jason managed to track me down to the old clock tower then eh?”

 

“…”

 

“Aw come on lighten up it’s a joke.”

 

“…”

 

“Hey.”

 

He puts his hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

 

“It’s going to be alright. He’s got Alfred looking after him, what more could a guy want?”

 

"To have not gone through any of this in the first place. Perhaps if I was a better man all of this could have been prevented.”

 

“Bruce. You mustn’t think like that.”

 

“But it’s true. Isn’t it? If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened! Jason wouldn’t have be tortured by the clown, Dick and Barbra wouldn’t have fallen out. You wouldn’t have those bruises, and Jason wouldn’t be in a coma….”

 

“You don’t know that….”

 

“I do Tim. That’s the problem.”

 

I turn to face him. He lowers his hand as I turn to him.

 

“Bruce, what’s brought all this on? What’s the matter?”

 

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about…”

 

“What was it?”

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course why?”

 

“I want you to answer this question honestly. With no regard for my feelings or anything. Just tell me what you think.”

 

“What is it Bruce?”

 

“Tim. What do you think of me?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“What do you think of me? Do you think I’m a good man?“

 

“Of course! You’re the best man I know? What’s brought all this on?”

 

“It’s just….”

 

“Bruce?”

 

“I’m not sure whether I’m actually doing any good. I mean I claim to be honoring my Father’s last wish but am I actually doing them justice? Sure I have criminals running scared in the streets just at the sight of me, but at the end of the day what difference does that make? The city doesn’t change. They just depend on some fool in a mask to make the difference for them. Perhaps…..I’m not what this city needs.”

 

“That’s rubbish! You’re exactly what this city needs and you know it!”

 

“Really? If it weren’t for me the old clock tower would still be standing, not the charred husk that it is now. The clown wouldn’t have filled five hundred and seventy one graves just to get under my skin. Harvey wouldn’t have had the accident! Jim would still be speaking to Barbra!”

 

“And Gotham city would have been all but destroyed if it weren’t for you. We both know the GCPD would never have caught the clown if it weren’t for you! Sionis would have launched a gang war with Cobblepot and killed hundreds if not thousands in the crossfire!”

 

“And what about Clark?”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t play coy with me Tim. I know you read my report of the first time I met Clark, and how I nearly killed us all.”

 

“That’s not you being a bad person Bruce. That’s you being human. We all make mistakes, that’s inescapable. Even Clark and Diana mistakes! Remember when he intercepted a shuttle craft believing it to be a missile?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“I mean the news networks played that story for weeks! You see? Even the mighty Superman makes mistakes. It’s inescapable. But it’s not about the mistakes you make. It’s about how you work to redeem them. That’s what counts.”

 

Blimey. Tim’s clearly spent a lot of time with Alfred lately. Those are some wise words. Hard to believe they came out of a 17 year olds mouth.

 

“So I know you think you’ve made a terrible mistake with how you handled Jason, that’s fine. But rather than focusing so much on the mistakes you made, I think you should look forward to the future, and to what you think needs to be done to correct the mistakes you made.”

 

Tim’s right. There’s nothing I can do to correct my past mistakes. It’s inescapable that I will always have to live with these mistakes. But it’s down to me to correct my mistakes, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

 

I’m not sure when or if Jason will wake up from his coma. But if he does, I’ll be there for him. I’ll be there to help him through all this no matter what. I promise you that Jason.

 

“…”

 

A tear drops down from my right eye. The lenses in my cowl hide my eyes from Tim’s view but he notices the tear fall down my cheek.

 

“Are you alright Bruce?”

 

“Yes. I’m fine Tim.”

 

I spread my arms and hold him tight.

 

“Thank you, for everything.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“No really. Thank you. If it weren’t for you tracking me down when you did I wouldn’t be the man I am today. I’m a better man because of you. Because of all of you.”

 

“All of me?”

 

“You. Dick. Jason. All of you. I wouldn’t be the man I am without each of you, and I’m proud to call you all my sons.”

 

Tim moves his arms and places them around me.

 

“And I’m proud to call you my Father.”

 

I spot a couple of tears dripping down from underneath his mask. I hold him tighter. I feel warm on the inside. It’s touching to hear that Tim thinks of me in this way.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The moment quickly gets cut short by the sound of a burglar alarm echoing out into the street below us. Tim and I look down to see Harley robbing a doll store. Hard to believe anyone could take sympathy on the clown, but then again given the state the clown was in when Dick and I returned him to Arkham from the County Fair it’s not surprising.

 

“Never a dull moment eh?”

 

“It would seem not. Come on we’ve got work to do.”

 

End of Volume #2

 

--------------------------------------

So Volume 2 comes to a close, but I feel that I should mention something. It's common knowledge that a good friend of mine, Brandon (FILMGMR) chose to depart Flickr for his own personal reasons.

 

I feel I should note that in the original plan Jason was to wake up and he would begin to work towards redeeming his actions as the Red Hood. But with Brandon's departure that seems unlikely to occur. As such I thought it would be best to honour Brandon's sensational Red Hood series by choosing to somewhat end Jason's story. As I feel I stood no chance of matching up to Brandon's excellent series and it would have been a dis-service for the story to continue not under Brandon's vision.

 

But yeah. Hope you liked the volume. Stay tuned for Volume #3, When World's Collide.

==The Gotham Royal Hotel==

 

Floor 32: West Ventilation Duct

 

Five Minutes Ago

 

Clack. Clack. Clack.

 

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

 

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

 

The phone was purple.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

'Ah, Julian. Of course.'

 

'Julian!'

 

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

 

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

 

The phone was purple.

 

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

 

The phone was purple.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Bridget and Chuck shared concerned glances.

 

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

 

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

 

The phone was purple...

 

"Chuck."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The phone was purple.

 

===Floor 19===

 

Now.

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

=Royal Elevator: Currently Stuck Between Floors=

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Fourteen. Fifteen in April."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"That one."

 

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

 

===Floor 19===

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Gar nodded gratefully, and sped after her.

 

===Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48===

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Blake stirred, putting a hand to his head.

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

 

"Oracle?" Nightwing looked to her for confirmation.

 

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

 

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

 

"Damian had a tantrum."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

==The Lobby: Ground Floor==

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"He's here," Cass repeated.

 

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

 

==Floor 9==

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Ah, fuck me."

 

==Floor 13==

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Yeah," Jenna admitted shyly.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

==Floor 19==

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"He was good. Decent."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Batman didn't respond.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Spare him.

 

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

GCPD Headquarters. 1500 hrs.

 

(Gordon)Alright men! Listen up! Today, at 2300 hrs, we are assaulting the last reported position of Merlyn: Through the sewer entrance, at Miller Harbour.

What, the magic guy?

No, dipshit. The expert archer. SWAT teams will be heading in at 2255 hrs, and get into position. When it hits 2300 hrs, we blow the grille, and get in there and smoke him out. You will be wearing full body armour, and be armed with M4's and smoke grenades. Do not underestimate this man; he will use deadly force to stop you. Do you understand?

Yes, sir.

Captain Wallace.

Yes, sir?

Your men will enter here, and wait until 2300 hours before blowing the grille. Your team will enter the sewer first. So that my men can see the damn entrance, there will be a spotlight trained on you immediately after you blow the grille. Are you ready?

We sure are, Jim.

Alright. Lock'n'load, everybody. Curtain goes up at 2300.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miller Harbour. 2255 hrs.

 

*Clink*

*K-chunk*

 

...ready?....

 

...3....2...1...

 

*Boom*

 

Throwing smoke!

 

*Paf*

GO! GO! GO!

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

GCPD move from #81, Miller Harbour, to attack and secure #165, Gotham County Underwater R.R. Tubes, from Merlyn.

There were a lot this week.

 

Amazing Spider-Man: Venom Inc. Omega (2018) # 1

VENOM INC. Part 6 The symbiotic super villain called Maniac has seized control of all of New York's major crime families, and he's now got his sights set on the entire city! To make matters worse, he's also got a cadre of super villains under his symbiotic spell, and Spider-Man, Venom and their allies are the only things standing in their way! The final chapter of VENOM INC!

 

Days of Hate # 1

The United States of America, 2022. The loss that ripped them apart drove one into the arms of the police state and the other towards a guerrilla war against the white supremacy. Now they meet again.This is a story of a war.

 

Mr. Crypt # 3

Mr. Crypt and Baron Rat make their triumphant return in the final story of this 3-issue mini! After earning a well-deserved vacation, Mr. Crypt soon discovers that this will be a trip like no other. Also: find out what Baron Rat does when Mr. Crypt isn't home!

 

Ice Cream Man # 1

OVERSIZED FIRST ISSUE!Chocolate, vanilla, existential horror, drug addiction, musical fantasy…there’s a flavor for everyone’s misery.ICE CREAM MAN is a genre-defying comic book series featuring disparate “one-shot” tales of sorrow, wonder, and redemption. Each installment features its own cast of strange characters, dealing with their own special sundae of suffering. And on the periphery of all of them, like the twinkly music of his colorful truck, is the Ice Cream Man—a weaver of stories, a purveyor of sweet treats. Friend. Foe. God. Demon. The man who, with a snap of his fingers—lickety split!—can change the course of your life forever.

 

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers # 23

The Rangers discover just how far their new allies are willing to go against Rita.

 

Damage # 1

Ethan “Elvis” Avery just wanted to serve his country. Instead, he’s been changed into a monster!

 

Tasked as the government’s own living, breathing, ticking time bomb, Ethan retains no control when the monster takes over. Cheaper than a nuclear warhead and twice as effective, Ethan fights to rein in the damage he unleashes when the beast inside him springs free for one hour a day. With everyone around him in danger, Ethan struggles to contain the DAMAGE he inflicts on the DC Universe.

 

Belle: Beast Hunter # 1

NEW SERIES! NEW HERO! The Grimm Universe is filled with heroes far and wide dealing with threats from vampires, werewolves, corrupt governmental organizations, to ancient orders battling for control of the realms of power. But what lies in the deepest corners of our world could give the evilest creature nightmares. A threat since the beginning of time is rising and only one person will be there to stop it from destroying everything! Working from the shadows a long lineage of warriors have been defending life from the darkness that exists and from that family of soldiers comes the newest ally in the war of monsters, Belle the Beast Hunter! Don't miss this new series as a new hero is introduced into the Grimm Universe!

 

Batman: White Knight # 2 (Repurchased)

Public support for Batman dwindles and Gotham City's 99 percent rally around ex-Joker Jack Napier's crusade to expose decades of corruption within the GCPD. A proposition inspires new revelations about Harley and The Joker's past; and as Jack transforms into a hero of the middle class and takes extreme measures to mobilize a revolutionary army of super-villains, Bruce struggles to stay focused on engineering a technological breakthrough to save Alfred.

 

Jenny Finn # 3

The death toll continues to rise as the tentacle plague sweeps through London, and slop yard worker Joe tries to flee the city after being haunted by visions of cursed young Jenny Finn, but everyone from a local painter to the Prime Minister is searching for him to try to get to Jenny.

 

Mike Mignola and Troy Nixey's acclaimed series, in color for the first time by Eisner Award winner Dave Stewart.

 

<Rasputin: Voice of the Dragon # 2 (Back order)

A seance reveals that Bruttenholm's mission may be more than he bargained for when the stakes become more dangerous but the enemy only more mysterious.

 

Batman/Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II (2017-) # 3

Batman and the Turtles go on the offensive in the belief that they can take Bane down while he’s weakened, due to a lack of Venom on the Turtles’ world. But that’s not true any more! The Turtles’ foe Baxter Stockman has found a way to reproduce the deadly substance that feeds Bane—which means the Dark Knight and the Heroes on a Half-Shell are in for the fight of their lives.

 

Call of the Suicide Forest # 1 (Of 5)

The sequel to the acclaimed graphic novel! Portia, an American student overwhelmed by her life, prepares to commit suicide in Japan's notorious "suicide forest" of Aokigahara. The living and dead who make this forest their home will begin a struggle not only for Portia's life... but also for her soul! Every issue of this miniseries features a connecting cover by Toni Fejzula!

I must be getting old. We’re only a couple of blocks away from the GCPD and Barbara still has the lead. Come on Grayson, you’ve still got a few years before you’re at the big three zero, there’s no way you can let her beat you. We jump onto the roof of Harvey’s Wine Bar and before I know it, Barbara’s almost at the other end of the rooftop. She’s clearly been training quietly behind my back, but who with? At this rate it may well have been Wally with how fast she’s going.

 

This means only thing. There’s only one way I’m going to win this race. I’m sorry, Babs. You leave me no choice…

 

Nightwing: Ah, ze sweet delight of the Gotham rooftops.

 

Batgirl: Do you really have to do that accent?

 

Nightwing: What accent would that be?

 

Barbra gives no response and simply shakes her head as we jump across another street.

 

Nightwing: What’s wrong mademoiselle?

 

Batgirl: What if they’re already there? What if we’re too late?

 

Nightwing: We won’t be.

 

Batgirl: But what if we are? You heard what Talia said, they already out number us. Who’s to say that they don’t have sleeper agents within the GCPD already?

 

Man, Barbara really is worried about her father. Even more than usual which is odd. Good ol’Jim is as tough as nails. She knows it, Bruce knows it, I know it. So why is she even more worried than usual? Suddenly it dawns on me why. It was Damian who took her father’s hand. Now it all makes sense. They’ve already shown what they can do to him if they get a chance to. What if they manage to get even more time alone with him? Oh boy, you’ve really stepped in it now, Grayson. It almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do next….

 

Before I respond to Barbara’s question, I race past her and start to jump across to the next rooftop.

 

Nightwing: Well then we’d better not dilly dally!

 

As you’d imagine, she gives no verbal response in fact, more worryingly, she gives no response at all. Well, I guess there’s no point asking her the question anytime soon now. Looks like it’ll be another two weeks before I can even think about trying to get her to say yes.

 

Nice job, Grayson.

 

That’s 10 days’ work straight out the window.

 

Guess I’ll have to…wait what’s grabbing hold of my leg?!?!

 

He can be such a child sometimes, and I love him for it, but now really isn’t the time to be making silly jokes. Unless….no….come on Barbara, you know better. If you respond all it will do is encourage him. No. Rise above it. When he acts like a child you have to treat him like such or he’ll never stop.

 

…

 

…

 

Alright Grayson, you’re not the only one who can play dirty…

 

As he starts to leap across to the next rooftop I reach for my grapple gun and before he knows what’s happening, my grapple grabs hold of his right leg and I pull him back.

 

Nightwing: What was that for?

 

Batgirl: Just returning the favour. You’re not the only one who can play dirty.

 

That’s right, Grayson. Two can play that game.

 

Nightwing: Could you have been a bit nicer about it? I was terrified that the League was attacking me for a moment.

 

Batgirl: Yeah, I probably could have. But where’s the fun in that?

 

Damn it, Barbra. That scared me half to death.

 

Nightwing: …..

 

Actually….

 

Now that I think about it…

 

That was pretty funny…

 

She really did spook me.

 

Nightwing: I wish I could stay mad at you.

 

Batgirl: No you don’t.

 

As she says that, she makes a point of nudging me in the chest with her elbow. There’s the Barbra Gordon I know and love.

 

Nightwing: So what do we do now?

 

Batgirl: Well since you decided to cheat first, I think I should get another head start.

 

Nightwing: A head start?

 

Batgirl: Don’t think you can catch up?

 

Nightwing: No…it’s j…..

 

Batgirl: Because I swear you seemed to be lagging behind before you distracted me.

 

Oh, Miss Gordon. It’s on now.

 

Nightwing: Oh you mean when I decided to let you win?

 

Batgirl: Really? Is that why you had to cheat to take the lead?

 

Nightwing: …

 

I hate it when she makes such a good point. How can I possibly respond to that and not look stupid? The answer is simple: I can’t.

 

Batgirl: That’s what I thought. So how far ahead would you say I was? I reckon it was at least five or six.

 

Nightwing: Five or six? Are you trying to insult me?

 

Batgirl: I don’t need to insult you to win.

 

Nightwing: Big words. Fancy putting them to the test?

 

Batgirl: Name your price.

 

Nightwing: I win, you have to say yes.

 

Batgirl: Oooft, that’s a pretty big price.

 

Nightwing: Scared?

 

Batgirl: Not at all. I’m just wondering what you’re going to give me when I win.

 

Nightwing: Name your price.

 

Batgirl: Alright. Since you’re so confident, I win and you have to do something for me no ifs, not buts.

 

Well that’s a terrifying proposal. There are like 60 possibilities for what it could be, some good, some I wouldn’t even wish on my enemies. Just say no, Grayson. Say no.

 

Nightwing: You’re on.

 

Batgirl: You’re going to regret this.

 

Nightwing: I’d say the same but I’d like to think that you won’t.

 

Batgirl: Well there’s only one way to find out. On your marks…

 

Both Barbara and walk up next to the rooftop edge and take our starting positions. She seems to eager to win which is a bit worrying the more I think about it. Does she want to win to get me to do something willingly? Or does she really not want to say yes?

 

Nightwing: Get set….

 

Come on, Grayson. This could be the most important race of your life. You have to win it.

 

Batgirl: Go!

==Arkham Asylum: Guard Quarters==

 

"Let me see! Let me see!"

 

“Careful, you’re crumpling them!”

 

"Ooh, such wonderful emotions! Delicious, frozen expressions!"

 

Abner Krill’s face was pressed against the microwave, like a child’s at the zoo’s red panda exhibit, as he waited for his cocoa to be ready; the room was small, modest, and utilitarian, which had suited the Asylum Guards just fine in the past. Hayden and Billings had cornered their newest member, Mister Camera, and were clearly enjoying themselves as they perused through the shoebox he’d retrieved from the 'Bug House.' The microwave pinged, and Krill removed the steaming mug from inside.

Billings had spotted a particularly erotic photo from the pile and grabbed it, bearing a crooked smile as he rubbed his thumb across the edge. "My my, is that lace? That naughty little bug girl… Rather nicely composed too...”

 

Krill snorted from the sidelines, as he stirred a sixth spoonful of sugar into his hot cocoa. "You don't know dick about composition, you peg legged twat."

 

"I'm a filmmaker, Krill, an auteur, I picked up a few things,” Billings replied condescendingly.

 

"Mm. About filmmaking or alcoholism? 'Cause, didn't it bomb? Like, bomb so bad the suits sent you to rehab? Twice."

 

Billings spun around, photo still in hand. "Now, you listen here, you pimpled prat! That was entirely out of my hands!" he scowled, his face turning a deep scarlet. "The Society completely dicked me over! Class A censorship from small-nubbed pricks! If I was allowed to tell my vision-!"

 

"Stop it! You're dribbling alcohol onto them!" Sims clutched Billings arm, protecting his precious photos from Spellbinder’s spit.

 

The squeak of rubber on metal broke up the argument. The crackle of lightning kept it that way. Crane sat in the doorway, two tired, mismatched eyes and a downturned mouth peeking out from behind his burlap mask; Zoom stood behind him, fists balled. "Cease your juvenile ogling, you primitive pack of apes, you all have work to do," Crane chastised the group. They didn’t need to be told a second time; Sims exited first, carrying the shoebox under his arm; then Hayden, kicking the ground defiantly; Billings shuffled away last, wiping the rim of his flask with his cuff.

 

Zoom however, stayed rooted to the spot, his blurred gaze fixed on Krill. Crane stared at him suspiciously, then wheeled himself away.

 

"Yeah?" Krill eyed the Speedster expectantly, slurping his hot chocolate from an Arkham-Branded mug.

 

“I haaaaaaaaavea job foryooooooouuuuuuuu,” Zoom slurred. “Offthe record.”

 

Krill smirked back, a greedy glint in his eyes. "Will it pay?"

 

"Ohyes."

 

==GCPD==

 

A group of four entered the GCPD; security was lax as of late; with so many dead and even more injured, it was easy for Chuck, Gar, Joey and Bridget to slip in through the roof; Chuck went on ahead to check out the interrogation room and gather clues while the three pyros lingered by the cell block. Confused, Joey looked at Ted Carson, still held behind iron bars.

 

"Joker didn't want him?" he whispered to Gar, conscious not to upset Bridget.

 

"Would you?" Gar answered back coldly.

 

“Laugh it up, Bug Boys,” Carson growled at the duo. “I’ll get outta here, and I’ll kill you all.”

 

“Hn. And I thought some time to yourself would give you space to reflect,” Gar stared at him, flicking his lighter shut. “Guess I figured wrong.”

 

“Ah, but it did. ‘Cause now I know what to do. No more schemes. No more plans. No more lousy, two-faced partners. I’m just gonna burn it all down.”

 

Gar’s brow shifted slightly. “Good luck with that,” he scoffed, stepping aside. As he did so, Carson finally noticed his daughter. His jaw slackened, his eyes narrowed, his puffed-out chest deflated, at the sight of this final, crushing betrayal.

 

"Bridget?" he choked, struggling to process her presence.

 

Bridget fidgeted with her hands, avoiding her father’s gaze. "Dad..." she began to defend herself, but nothing came out. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

 

"You're with them now, is that it?” Carson scowled. "Figures.”

 

Gar exhaled, stepping back in front of Bridget defensively. "You, are an idiot,” he remarked. “A big, shiny, Megazord of an idiot."

 

"Careful," Carson warned.

 

"Oh, please! If you were any sort of a husband or father, if you ever cared for your wife, for Bridget; for Jumbo for crying out loud, you'd have gone back to your family as soon as you'd woken up, when you were resurrected that very first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Or the fourth. But no, you just had to get revenge on your killer, on a drunk fuckin' driver, no matter what! You couldn't let it go that the great "Ted Carson" got punted 100 yards by Killer Moth in his bright purple Mothmobile. If that were me, if I had died, and somehow, through divine, demonic or whatever that crap was, intervention, I'd run back to my apartment, I would hold my little girl in my arms, and I would not let go. But look at you! You! You let yourself get so fucking consumed by vengeance that you let it all slip away.

 

Drury didn’t ruin your life. He didn’t destroy your family. By the way, he didn’t put you in Arkham either. You did that all on your own."

 

Finished, Gar stormed off, Joey in pursuit. Yet, despite every fibre of her being telling her not to, Bridget lingered by the door to her dad’s cell.

 

“Go on then,” Carson growled. “Run back to ‘daddy.’”

 

But Bridget didn’t. She couldn’t. Despite everything he’d said and done, despite her newfound loyalty to the Misfits…

 

He was still her father.

 

~-~

 

Chuck knelt beside an upturned table in the interrogation room, peeling off a scrap from an orange jumpsuit that had been caught on the edge. ‘Drury…’ he lamented quietly. Amongst the glass, and the trails of dried blood, he found something else; a single Joker card pinned to a sheet of A5 paper. The door behind him opened, signifying Gar and Joey’s arrival.

 

“Anything?” Gar asked, not expecting a whole lot.

 

"Looks like he left a note,” Chuck replied, noticing some writing on the back.

 

“What's it say?” Joey inquired.

 

Chuck cleared his throat, and began to read: "225g plain flour, two teaspoons bicarbonate of soda, ground ginger, a pinch of cinnamon, 75g unsalted butter, 100g soft brown sugar and 100g golden syrup. To decorate: one bar of dark chocolate, finely grated."

 

"I- I think it's a shopping list."

 

~-~

 

The group walked back the way they came, despondent over their lack of leads. Carson remained in his cell, but something had changed in his demeanour, an underlying quiet malice. Dragging behind, a voice called out to Chuck from the cell diagonal Carson’s. A cold, refined voice that Chuck had hoped he’d heard the last of:

 

"Charlie?"

 

Chuck turned around: Julian was standing by the bars, a quizzical expression on his face.

 

“You look healthy,” Chuck replied, perhaps a little more venomously than he had intended.

 

“Your poison has worked its' way out of my system, yes. As you can see, the GCPD is rather short staffed at the moment,” Julian observed, a slight, malicious smile on his face.

 

“That ‘poison’ is meant to help you, Julian,” Chuck responded. “You’re sick.”

 

“Yes, of oh so many things… You never understood Diaxymine, Charlie. It’s not a solution, it doesn’t suppress my darker half and worse impulses. It never did. It’s a flood. Drowning me in remorse. Burying me in sorrow and pity and regret. Is this how it is for you? For the Misfits? Knowing that despite how hard you try to better yourself, the things you’ve done, those terrible terrible things will stick with you, forever.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How can you bear it?” Julian inquired, in a tone that revealed an underlying pain.

 

“By trying my hardest, doing the best I can.”

 

“Then surely, you understand why I tried to free you from that burden? From that pain? To escape from that baggage and be your truest self?” Julian asked softly.

 

Chuck took a step towards the exit and opened it. “No,” he called back. “And I never will.”

 

==<???>==

 

Emerging from a kaleidoscopic vortex, Krill and his charge stepped forward onto weightless ground, only to be hit by a blinding wave of white light; They were standing in a void of white clouds, lit up by bolts of coloured lightning. The only sounds were the faint rumblings of thunder in the distance. Krill lowered his goggles over his eyes and began scanning for signs of life. "Thought you said this place was a prison?" he squinted.

 

Zoom looked out at the howling wilderness. "Itis."

 

Krill frowned. It didn't look like a prison. It looked like Cloud Cuckoo Land, and Zoom’s non-committal responses weren’t helping matters. He peeled a dot off his chest, and hurled into in the endless void, hoping it could find something his scanners couldn’t. They were standing in something elemental; Krill knew that much. Something ancient. Something ethereal.

 

Something wrong.

 

As they walked (that's right, walked not ran), something changed in the air, the fluffy white clouds all around them turned grey, as though they were travelling into a hurricane of swirling wind. The sounds of thunder overhead became louder. The lightning changed too, gone was the rainbow of colours, only one hue remained, angrier, more aggressive than the rest: Red.

 

And the further they walked; the more anxious Krill became. "Where are we? What... what have you done?" he asked, uncharacteristically uncertain. Shaken.

 

"Zoom. Where are we?" he asked again.

 

"Thislesson isbeyondme. Ineed someone toshow me the way,” Zoom whispered quietly, merely raising more unsettling questions.

 

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU TAKEN ME?!" Krill bellowed, his entire body quaking; tiny globs of spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on Zoom's face. He ripped two dots off his shoulders and pointed them at Zoom’s face, both glowing with neon energy.

 

"Iwould nooooooot do thaaaaat ifiwere youuuuuuuuuu,” Zoom wagged his finger back and forth.

 

"Yeah? Why the hell not?" Krill demanded, his eyes bulging.

 

"Youuuuuuuuuuuuu'll unsettle the wraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiths."

 

Krill’s arm fell by his side, the energy dissipating from his fists. Realisation had set in, and grovelling even quicker. "Oh... Oh, God. I... I was loyal. Didn't betray you, didn't tell Bats or the Kite-Man shit. You don't... You don't have to do this. Please, don't do this."

 

Zoom cocked his head to one side, a motion that could almost be described as pity. "Youmisunderstand, Aaaaaaaaabneeeeeer. Thisis not apunishment. Thisisa leeeeeeeesssoooooooon."

 

"Lesson." A word that anyone who had ever been on Zoom's receiving end had learned to fear. But Krill wouldn't stick around for the demonstration, he reached for the dial on his belt, and then a final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife: The belt was gone.

 

As Krill struggled to reconcile what had happened, Zoom raised his hand, and his heart beat even faster than before: all his hopes of escape vanished at once. Dangling from Zoom’s wrist was his red belt. Krill had never even noticed he'd taken it. Zoom’s syllabus was at last revealed with one haunting phrase: "Suuuuuuuuuuuuurvival ofthe fittest."

 

"No. Please. I'm not like the rest of the psychotic grunts who lube themselves up over LiveLeaks or nuke cities for jollies," Krill chuckled nervously, sweat across his pimpled brow. "I'm... I'm like you."

 

Before Zolomon could answer, a third voice broke through the fog; calm, arrogant, evil. "Oh, Abner, I don't think we're alike at all.”

 

“Quite the reverse, actually."

 

Krill tried to offer a pitiful rebuttal, but it was too late: Lightning bolts wrapped around his wrists like manacles, dragging him deeper into the void, his corporeal form fading, then for a moment: silence.

The Storm had accepted Zoom's offering. And then all at once, red lightning shot down on the spot Krill had been standing prior, forming a yellow silhouette. "In academic circles, this is what we'd call a 'teaching moment,' Mr Krill,” the figure smiled, his image becoming clearer; he looked like Zolomon but his uniform was a brighter yellow, his build was leaner, his red irises were exposed, and he was smiling. The Professor, was in.

 

“Class dismissed.”

 

Zolomon offered his mentor Krill’s belt; the device clicked as Thawne fastened it around his waist; a portal opened, but more destructively than before; without its true master, the circular vortex was jagged, unstable. But the Reverse-Flashes didn't need long. Faster than you could blink, they were gone; and the portal folded in on itself, leaving the Speedforce quiet once more.

 

==Keystone City. West Residence==

 

Wally West closed the door to his daughter Irey’s bedroom, then sped downstairs, yellow lightning trailing after him. His wife Linda was on the sofa, who, upon spying him, raised a bottle of non-alcoholic wine off the coffee table.

 

“Kids asleep?” she asked slyly.

 

“Yep,” Wally smirked; in an instant, he was sitting beside her on the sofa. He held up a glass and she began to trickle wine into it.

 

“Merry Christmas, Mr West,” she kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Park,” he smiled back cheekily, reciprocating with a longer smooch on the lips.

 

Then suddenly, Wally stumbled back, clutching his head as images flooded his head. The glass hit the floor, shattering on impact, and staining the floor a blood red.

 

"Wally? You OK?" Linda knelt beside him, placing her arm around him comfortingly.

 

"I... I don't know."

Lego 70912

The Batman Movie

Arkham Asylum

 

My review : www.hellobricks.com/2017/01/review-lego-70912-lego-batman...

We quickly trek to Jerrick's shack. It's covered in chains, knives, guns, and other miscellaneous items. One weapon in particular that stood out was the minigun he had sitting on a crate. Next to it was a top hat, which seemed oddly out of place. This is Jerrick though, so this is expected. Even the crate full of skulls isn't surprising. We walk over to an object covered in a tarp. I state, "Well, Mike, we all pitched in for this. That is J, Tim and Stephanie, and myself. We were gonna have a little get together tomorrow, but in light of the circumstances, you're getting your birthday present early. Jerrick."

 

Jerrick pulls the tarp tarp away, revealing a silver motorcycle clad in gray armor. Michaels eyes widen. He seems speechless as he walks over to it. I go onto describe the cycle. "Carbonttanium shell, 250 HP Hayabusa 4 cylinder engine. It's about 350 pounds. And the armor -- removable so you can use this when you're not crusading this city."

 

Running his glove over the front of the cycle, he says, "Abraham, Jerrick, I can't than you two enough. How can I repay you two?"

 

Dropping the tarp on the ground, Jerrick exclaims, "Don't worry about it, man. This is a present."

 

"But how did you guys pay for it?"

 

"Well, Tim is the adopted son of a billionaire, Jerrick's a world renowned MMA fighter, and I have a secret bank account full of money from some jobs I had in highschool and college."

 

"Very well. I'm dying to to take this out on a ride. Now, what say you we head over to the GCPD building now?"

 

"I'll be taking the Sky Slayer. Abe, I think you can squeeze in the cockpit some how."

So like last time, I will do a explanation of what happens in the story. Also if you want to check out the previous story in this universe, (Batman: Reflection) the is an album that you can check out. Anyways, here we go.

 

1: Unhinged

 

So this photo shows what Batman has been doing after the events of Reflection, he goes on a murderous rampage and kills all of his enemies.

 

2: Memories

 

Again like the last one, this is just to clarify that batman is going insane and killing everybody. Also the grin adds to the madness that he is into.

 

3: Decision

 

So when Batman is done killing everyone, he moves onto the people that care about him most. Gordon is on the GCPD building and Batman swings down and aims his gun at him. He is torn between killing him or not. I really didn't show the result of this, but I came up with the conclusion that Gordon was shot and killed.

 

4: Alone

 

So after Batman kills Gordon, he reflects on his past and who he has killed and if killing is the right thing. But his madness still is growing rapidly and he snaps out and heads to Wayne Manor

 

5: Home

 

So I'd say that Batman has been away from Wayne Manor and the Batcave for about 4 months. So Alfred is shocked to see Bruce with a gun that is aimed at him, Batman walks down the stairs to the Batcave...

 

6: Confrontation

 

So after killing Alfred, Bruce brings the limp body into the batcave and sees Robin standing by the Jason memorial. Robin turns to see Batman, and they fight. After a while, Robin grabs the gun and points it at Bruce's head. Robin sees a man of craziness and madness in the suit; Joker. Robin is dealt with the same decision that Bruce was with Gordon; To kill him or not. Robin grip tightens...

 

7: Silence

 

Robin shoots Batman and crys over his dead body, losing a mentor and friend. In the reflection of the Jason memorial, Joker is seen gazing down onto Robin...his next victim.

  

So I hope you guys enjoyed this mini series and like this abstract story style. I think I'm not going to continue it because of how this ended, but time will tell.

 

Thanks guys for support,

 

-LegoBatbrick

  

P.S This explanation isn't edited since I'm in a rush, so sorry for misspelling errors and incorrect grammar

   

Gotham city sewer system

 

The batman trudges through the sewers infectious green water, His wounds stinging in retaliation of the waste. He leans against the wall gasping for breath and coughing blood into the thick and sickly lake of Gotham’s poisonous waste. The cultists are far behind him now but Blackfire is not. The booming voice of the so called shaman bounces off the tunnels brick walls

 

Blackfire: Why my fallen angel do you you run from your fate? Why do you refuse to see what is right in front of you

 

Batman: You’re just another criminal claiming to be what you are not

 

He scans the sewer lines but finds nothing.blackfires daunting voice continues to speak

 

Blackfire: Such brave words from a lost soul such as yourself. A soul whose time on earth is to be dreadfully short. A soul who’s only choice is to look into his saviours eyes and see that his unholy quest must come to an end!

 

Batman: and I suppose that’s you is it. My lord and saviour?

 

Blackfire: More a messenger in actuality though I did come to this city as a saviour. Or so I thought...your soul is beyond redemption. I see only the horns of lucifer when I gaze upon your black skull

 

With these sharp words the almost invisible shaman drops from the ceiling hurtling his spiked cane towards the weakened Bruce

Bruce resists defeat and dodges the cane with a single swift movement. He rises to his feet and begins to hurtle himself recklessly at Blackfire. He hits blackfire several times but the sheer size of the preacher is completely unmatched by a wounded bat.

Death is almost definite for Bruce. Or so it seems for those fateful few seconds. In which the sewers are flooded with the bright lights of armed riot officers. Batman is gone in a matter of seconds leaving Blackfire in the hands of the GCPD but this means little to the man for the first stage of indoctrination is pain and Blackfire has inflicted more than enough upon the bat

 

———————————————————

 

The basements of Wayne manor

 

A wounded batman stumbles to the concrete floor of the basement, trying to suppress his wounds as much as possible. Alfred enters the room hurriedly lifting Bruce to a stretcher by the corner of the cave. And much to Bruce’s resist, gives him a dose of morphine sending him to sleep within seconds

 

The next morning Bruce wakes up and attempts to lift himself. With great difficulty he manages to make it to his feet.

 

Alfred: No Bruce. You mustn’t move. blackfires awful practices have left you with no option but to let the police handle his devilish escapades. They’ll be getting everything they need to know out of him as we speak.

 

Bruce/batman: No Alfred. He’s too smart for that. Where’s the suit.

 

Alfred: No Bruce. I insist you stay where you are for the time being.

 

Bruce/batman: I’m only getting info. Nothing life threatening. I’ll be back in an hour.

 

Alfred: Bruce really. You need to rest

 

Bruce/Batman: Thank you for the stitches Alfred but I’m gonna need my suit now

 

Alfred gives up the argument and instead brings a mannequin holding the bat suit over to the stretcher.

 

Alfred: Then in that case you should know I made a small upgrade.

 

Bruce/batman: Ditched the heavy goggles? Can’t say I liked them much either..

 

Alfred: Replaced them with some new lenses

 

Bruce: Thank you Alfred....for everything

 

And with that, He fades away into the caves shadows as Alfred collapses onto the empty stretcher, worrying for the boy who he has raised for so long.

~Stephanie's Journal: Old man Ra's

Batman from the future? Are you serious? Sounds like a really bad idea for a cartoon or something. Whatever, Tim said all the heroes were going after Freeze's lackeys, including us. Our target? Ra's Al Ghul. Great, just what I wanna deal with after fighting a Batman. Ninjas. When we went to Wonder City to fight them, though, it wasn't too bad. Ra's was another story. Me and Tim had to work together at our best to beat him. It was beautiful...like a ballade. When Ra's fell, Tim told him to leave Gotham, for his own good. I doubt a stubborn old goat like Ra's will listen, though. We'll be back...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Superman: End of the Road

My target was Bane, a madman who considers himself the perfect human specimen with a addiction to a super steroid called venom. I cut the power to the hideout, before I made my way inside. “Batman, so you’ve finally come. You think darkness is your ally. But you merely adopted the dark; I was born in it, molded by it. I didn't see the light until…” his words were cut short with fear by the sight of me lunging towards him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Green Arrow: Justice

Oliver had recovered from his encounter with Hal, but I still had work to do. Oliver saw d that KGBeast would pay for what he has done, and I'm going to make sure of that. He was holding up in some safehouse, hidden in plain sight, an old shabby building. I busy in through the door, not giving a shit about the "surprise attack" method that Ollie and Bruce love, I was going to face him head on. He was shocked, to say the least, and he scrambled to pick up his pistol lying on the ground, but was pinned under an arrow before he could even load it. He came running at me, engaging in hand to hand combat. The "Mudak" as he would say was slow and predictable.

Left hook in the jaw.

Stunned with a hit to the edge of my bow.

Uppercut to the chin.

Kick to the chest, knocking his head into the weak, brittle wall.

"KGBeast, you will pay for your crimes".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Aquaman: The Last Time Is Better Than the First

So Batman won, just ya know which? Dick got in contact with me, gave me a lead on Man-bat, it was time for this freak to get the point.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Batman Beyond: Digging into the Past

I shouldn't be here. There's a million other places I could be, a million other people that need me. Instead I'm here browsing through GCPD files trying to find some way of making things right again. The timeline's been slagged. Things are happening that shouldn't, and I think it's because I'm here. It's too late to change that now. The top priority is neutralizing Mr. Freeze. The others chose the obvious targets, the lieutenants of Freeze. They forgot one thing, the one man responsible for kicking Gotham City while she was down. The Joker is still out there. Bruce would tell me to stay away, and that I'm not ready. I don't have the luxury of his experience, I have to find him before he finds me. I know he's a genius hiding behind the ravings of a lunatic. So where do I begin?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Angel Of Death: Down with Tyranny

A little after Abe left my house, a letter slid under my door. It had an address to which I was to go and was signed "R". I suited up and headed for the address. Upon arrival, I noticed it was a residential neighborhood, though concealed in it was a greater danger: one Freeze's Lieutenants Onomatopoeia.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  

Annnnd I'm back. With that I bring a collaboration between five of my bestes buddies in whole wide world! And to those bestes buddies, I have to say something. The amount of apologies I have for you all is endless. This delay was absurd, you guys put this work into it and I held it off. Better late then never I guess. Hopefully this thing finally being up will be enough to make up for this issue. Anyway, each character and their scenes+stories were made by the respective people who play the characters in GCW. A big thanks to them all,and an extra to Steven Stone who did the editing to this picture. Thanks everyone. This came out great.

  

The Batman is crouched below a billboard on the side of a building just opposite a derelict cathedral. The cathedral is lit up by a mass of bonfires surrounding its grounds. In the center of them lies an eerie statue depicting several distorted faces and what seems to be the foot of a great deity crushing the skulls of sinners.The facade of the cathedral is a morbid display of lost faith and hopelessness standing desperately in a city that has forgotten its purpose.

 

Batman: Alfred. You there?

 

Alfred: yes master Bruce I’m listening.

 

Batman: I tracked the two to Gotham cathedral. It’s decorated with the mark of something sinister and I can’t yet get a direct visual of what’s inside the place but the thermo scan picked up at least 200 bodies. And yes they’re alive. Or barely at least. I’ve noticed a large amount of purple and a lack in body mass so I’m supposing the population is mostly taken up by the homeless.

 

Alfred: does it seem threatening?

 

Batman: can’t tell at this point. I’ll have to get inside somehow...Quietly and unseen...The city already thinks I’m some sort of devil without having a punch up at a church.

 

The batman glides across the grounds to the cathedral and without a single disturbance scales the side of the building finding himself atop the cathedrals rooftop. He then comes across a number of missing and discarded roof tiles and without hesitation crawls through the small gap created. Once he’s inside the once holy sanctuary he takes position perched upon a stone gargoyle struggling to keep itself in place.

 

Batman: Alfred. I’m inside

 

Alfred: anything of interest to be reported Master Bruce?

 

Batman: it appears to be some sort of homeless shelter. There’s food and beds...but I can’t help but think there’s something very off about the whole atmosphere...

 

Bruce fails to finish his words when a gloved hand is forced onto his mouth and he is helplessly put to sleep without any acknowledgement from the hundreds gathered below in the old cathedral

 

Alfred: master Bruce?....master Bruce?...bruce?...

Alfred speaks with an increasing sense of concern through the cowl when he receives no response

 

————————————————————————

 

Gotham city sewer system

 

When Bruce regains his consciousness, he feels an excruciating pain in both his feet and hands. He then opens his eyes and sees the haunting ends of four nails in his hands and legs as he realises he is the victim of the ancient practice of crucifixion and is now hanging from the brown stained walls of Gothams sewer system...within a matter of minutes several of the people he recognises from the archway come stumbling around the corner of the tunnel. They walk up to where he is hung and bring him, still nailed to the cross, onto the ground. He try’s desperately to utter whatever few words he can: wha..what are you...doi..ng..to me...

 

They do not reply and instead lift the crucifix to their shoulders, carrying him through the luminescent green swamp that lies beneath Gotham itself. After what felt like days the four men come to a halt laying the crucifix to the ground with a lack of care causing a great pain to fill Bruce’s body.

Bruce is then tormented by the sound of a hundred souls chanting in unison: BLACKFIRE!! BLACKFIRE!! BLACKFIRE!! BLACKFIRE!! BLACKFIRE!! BLACKFIRE!!

 

A huge man of about 7 foot steps up to a stone slab of the same size and looks to his crowd emulating a sense of righteousness and self importance.

 

Deacon blackfire: Fear not my pure hearted children and loyal followers for I have come to liberate you! Come to liberate you from the chains in which you lie victims of the devil! He holds you there without remorse feeding from the very blood of your body. Stealing from your very hands and eating away slowly at your souls!!! At times it seems the devil has beaten us! But it is the Absolute truth that we will always conquer his evil ways. He often seems to hide amongst us Never to be seen by holy eyes or never to pay for his unforgivable acts of sin. But today my children I give you vengeance. I give you his body. I give you his mind. I give you...the BATMAN!!!!!

 

The Mass of Blackfires followers turn to the batman with the intent of ripping him limb from limb and draining him of his devils blood

 

Batman forces his body through the pain of parting with the nails on the crucifix and therefore his own flesh. He drops to the ground with a thud and begins trudging through the thick green water, reaching for the comme in his cowl

 

Batman: Alfred I’m back. I had trouble in the cathedral. It’s a man called blackfire. He’s running some form of cult in the Gotham sewage system. Give a Tip off to the gcpd. I’m going after blackfire

 

Alfred replies: they are on route now master Bruce and are you sure it is wise to chase after this madman? He could be the end of you

 

Batman: thanks for the vote of confidence Alfred but if I want to protect Gotham I have to do what must be done. It’s settled

 

Alfred: if that’s what you wish master bruce, then so be it. Be safe as always

A little custom of Harvey Bullock to work the GCPD with Jim Gordon.

Officer Kenneth was most forthcoming in the end. The fear of death is often when people are most honest. The natural survival instinct we possess is a wonderous thing. We’ll do anything to avoid death. Whether it’s squeel to the man dressed as a bat, stab our Friends in the back, or take a dip in a pool of a ‘magical’ compound. Curiously I’ve faced death quite a few times over the years yet I've never done any of these things. I like to tell myself that it’s because of my training and the strong moral principles my parents raised me on, or I'm just lucky enough to have never found myself attacked by a guy in a batsuit. Well, beyond when Alfred wore the suit once early into my career so a large number of people have seen Bruce Wayne and Batman in the same room to prevent any suspicion from being aroused. Deep down though I fear the reality of the situation is that after all these years as Batman I’m anything but human. Mentally anyways.

 

Physically I’m the same boy who needed Tommy and Harvey to help me fight back against a single bully. I wonder if Clark ever had to deal with bullies during his early years? I’d imagine that whole boyscout routine really bugged quite a few people at school. Hell it bugs me to this day. I wonder when he started to develop that boyscout persona as he sure didn’t have it when we first met. He still had that killer throw though, at least now I know where he got it from. He said he got it from baseball camp, yeah the baseball camp of Krypton. He keeps talking about the league having a game one day. I wish he knew how stupid an idea that is, especially when both he and Barry are faster than a speeding bullet nevermind a speeding baseball.

 

It took a few minutes for the batwing to scan Gotham and pin down the only exposed signal that matches the specifications of the trackers used by Wrath. Curious that I can only track one though. That should have been my first warning but I quickly brushed it off. From the time I spent dissecting Wrath’s technology last year I know how they work and that when surrounded by Lead the signal is blocked. Presumably Baum knew this as well and has his caches stored in lead containers. A Smart move really, it prevents me from tracking them and a Kryptonian from finding them should he inevitably swing by as he likes to do. Dick’s had him acting as a sniffer dog a couple of times to help him crack down on human traffickers.

  

With the signal found I quickly make my way to Dixon Docks, Cobblepot’s old shipping area before Sionis claimed it. I wonder if this was the place that Jason supposedly killed him. His memories are a tad sketchy in certain parts thanks to the bullet so he’s not overly sure where it was that killed Sionis but I know he didn’t do it. I’ve had a few sightings of Roman Sionis around Bludhaven and Dick’s been keeping an eye on him ever since I learned where he was hiding. At the moment he’s nothing. His empire is in tatters thanks to Jason and the last thing I want is for him to begin a resurgence. After circling the skies for a few minutes to scan the área I exit the Batwing and make it to the warehouse where the trackers signal originates from. The building is old and a scan with my thermal vision gives me nothing just static, clearly there’s something affecting my connection to the batcomputer so entering the building is probably going to cause me to lose comms. I inform Alfred of my position before I enter the building and he mentions something about Tim’s father. Apparently he’s back in Gotham and at the Manor. Regardless of this I press on and enter the building.

 

I don’t bother try to use the sensors in my cowl to scan the room as without a connection to the batcomputer they can’t tell me much. Fortunately though I don’t require the sensors to notice the explosives rigged up to blow behind a set of hastily placed fake walls. It’s clearly a trap, but not a desperate trap. If the one behind all this was keen to get me off their trail they would have detonated the explosives the moment I entered the buidling. Whoever is behind this wants me to investigate. Given the amount of explosives it’s clear the intention is to bring the whole building down on me so naturally the one behind this won’t be here. That means he’ll be detonating the explosives remotely so he’ll be sending to a reciever somewhere in the building to trigger the explosives. As I walk further in to the warehouse the lights begin to come exposing more and more of the inside and it’s then that I see the scale of the trap. Every single pillar of the warehouse is covered in military grade C4 as well as large cans of petroleum placed in the walls. Unwilling to risk the culprit getting trigger happy I start throwing down jammers from my belt every few steps. It’s once I run out of jammers that a light comes on in the middle of the room showing a table with what I can only asume to be the gun I’ve been tracking.

 

Cautiously I approach the table and after checking that there’s no mechanism attached to it, I lift it off the table to inspect it. It’s the standard pistol of the US army corps I’ve seen quite a few of them before mainly as Bruce Wayne rather than Batman though. I still remember the weight this gun carries and as I inspect it I can’t help but notice it’s heavier than usual.

 

I remove the clip and it’s missing two rounds so it’s clearly been used only to execute the ones who killed Mayor March. Delving deeper in to the gun I finally find the tracker that Officer Baum had placed in the firearm and I must admit it’s very well concealed. Only someone who knows this firearm well would able to spot it. My hope is that these trackers still keep a record of where they’ve gone in the last seven days so I can hopefully find where the one behind this is hiding. As I start to pack the parts of the pistol into my belt to be analysed back at the cave a voice begins to speak over the tanoid.

 

“Congratulations. You’re faster than those pigs at the GCPD I’ll give you that. I hope you didn’t hurt Officer Baum too much, I am rather fond of him.”

 

The voice is male. That much is clear but there’s no distinct accent to help identify him from the words he just spoke so I try to engage him in a conversation to get him talking. Hopefully then he’ll slip up and expose any accent that he’s hiding.

 

“He’s fine. For the moment at least. Why’d you have Mayor March killed?”

 

“Why did you choose to start dressing like a bat one day?”

 

“I asked you a question.”

 

“I know but the answer isn't important so I chose to pose a more interesting one.”

 

“Why did you kill your own gunmen?”

 

“What does any child do once it grows tired of its toys? I merely disposed of them.”

 

“Disposed of them? They’re not your puppets!”

 

"Not anymore they’re not no. Now they’re nothing more than a couple of wood chippings since I threw them out.”

 

“Why did you kill them?”

 

“What can I say? I like to be entertained and those puppets got boring so I cut their strings. All they wanted was money but you……you’re far more interesting. Judging from your attire and equipment, such as that big jet of yours far above us, you don’t have a funding issue so you’re not merely driven by money like those other two clowns. No. What drives you is your desire to help this city, god only knows why.”

 

“Gotham can be a god place. it just needs protecting from monsters like you.”

 

“Monsters? Look around you, who’s the one dressed like a rodent?”

 

I fall silent for a few seconds and in those few seconds of silence I can feel his smugness through the tanoid. It is a valid point really as much as I do hate to admit it.

 

“Now Dark Knight, it’s been fun having this little discussion with you but alas I must move on. Thus I have no choice but to cut your strings now.”

 

As he says those words I hear the familiar click of a remote detonator being pressed. Most people would have begged for their lives when he revealed his plan to off me, but I’m not most people and I’m more than adept at getting keeping the odds in my favour.

 

“Most impressive Dark Knight, you’ve managed to block my detonators signal from reaching the transmitters.”

 

That sure didn’t take him long to figure out and I didn’t hear any more presses of the detonator. Clearly he’s confident in his own abilities. Most people I know would have pressed the detonator two or three extra times before realizing I’d done something rather than their detonator being faulty.

 

“It looks like you will be a fun play mate.”

 

“This isn’t a game.”

 

“Of course it is. Life’s nothing but one big game of chance. You manage to stop a bomb one day you don’t manage the other day! You manage to save the Commisioner from the clown, his daughter’s less fortunate.”

 

As he continues monologing to himself I take the momento to disable the reciever for his detonator. I have complete faith in Lucius’ equipment but these days it’s better to be safe than sorry. A quick inspection of the device reveals it to be a modified Amertek reciever. These things usually can only recieve the specific signal of its matching transmitter from a 500 meters away thanks to a limiter installed in the device by order of the US government to prevent it being using as a tool for terror attacks. This reciever though has had its limiter disabled. Not an easy task to accomplish. You need to know the complete specifications of the device to modify it not short out the device, believe me I’ve tried. As I rip the device off the wall and start to leave the building with the bombs difused I notice the familiar red dot of a sniper on the barrel in front of me. Great. Looks like this looney had a back up plan. With the jammers active I can’t signal the Batwing to intervene so I race for the nearest window as the the red dot disappears and I hear the sniper rifle let off it's first shot…

The pulse goes off without a problem and a quick test with one of the firearms confirms the success. That’s one problem dealt with. With the threat of these weapons dealt with it’s time to turn my attention towards dealing with the last members of the Crimson cult. Since I’ve placed a tracer on the leader I can track him down once I’m done here, but if I can get the names of the ones in masks then I can put the nail in the coffin once and for all.

 

As fortune would have it I have just the means of getting the names, and it’s with a little help from Santa Prisca. I grab hold of the semi-conscious mercenary and throw him across the room. According to Alfred these men are trained to resist most forms of torture, or at least they were during Alfred’s time in Santa Prisca. Either they’ve become laxer on their training since then, or I’m more skilled at torture than the British secret service. I’d like to think it’s the former than the latter. If only because it’s worrying to consider that I’m more terrifying than a government sponsored intelligence agency.

 

”Here’s how things are going to go. You’re going to give me the names of all the attendees here tonight, and then you’re turn yourself over to the GCPD.”

 

” No te digo nada.”

 

”Sí. Vas a.”

 

”¿Me entiendes?”

 

”Si. Now, the names.”

 

He says nothing. Why do they all choose to try and resist at first? Surely they know by now just how far I’m willing to go in order to get what I want. I step on his head, forcing his face into the ground. I keep his face pressed against the ground for about thirty seconds. Not long enough to do any serious harm to him but long enough to make it difficult for him to breath before I release the pressure.

 

”You’re not the first of your kind that I’ve forced information out of. You’re not the first one to resist either. But no matter what you might think, you’re going to tell me what I want.”

 

I slam my foot down on his back and grab hold of his left arm. It always comes down to breaking an arm before they even consider squealing. I suppose it’s a case of until you make the first move, your threats are only words. Unfortunately for him, unlike most I’m more than willing to act on my words.

 

”Have it your way.”

 

Within seconds of saying those words, I break his arm. Most people choose to break an opponent’s arm slowly, drawing out the pain for a prolonged period of time to make them suffer. I’m more of a surgeon, choosing a quick precise strike to deal with them. Not to mention that it forces them to experience all the pain in one sudden rush. Hell, I’d consider talking if I was forced to endure that amount of pain.

 

”ARGH!”

 

”The names! Or I break the other one!”

 

”¡No lo sé!”

 

An obvious lie. The second most common trick encountered when interrogating someone against their own will. They’ll lie the first time they give an answer. How quick they are to lie indicates how far you’ll have to go to force the truth out of them though. I suppose the one benefit of these mercenaries is that because they’re so unwilling to confess you can always trust most the stuff they say. For all I know he may well have just told me the truth, but the only way to be certain is to go further.

 

I take a moment to lift his torso up off the ground and forcibly remove his body armour. What exactly I intend to do with his exposed torso, I’m not entirely sure but neither does he and that’s to my advantage. The broken arm will make him fearful, and the fearful always imagine situations to be worse than what they actually are. Highly beneficial if you're the interrogator.

 

”What are you doing? Stop! Please!”

 

”I’ll stop when I have the names.”

 

”I’m telling you I don’t know who they are!”

 

Without saying another word, I grab hold of his other arm and get ready to break it once again. I have no intention of breaking it, but he doesn’t need to know that.

 

”So be it.”

 

As soon as I say those words he begins to cry.

 

He’s telling the truth.

 

He doesn’t know who they are.

 

Damn it.

 

”I SWEAR I’M TELLING THE TRUTH!”

 

I let go of his arm, much to his relief.

 

”I know you are.”

 

I walk away and begin to load up the remote tracking live feed from the batcomputer. The two masked strangers might have escaped but I can at least take the leader out of play. The mercenary groans as he attempts to lift himself up off the ground.

 

”Do yourself a favour, hand yourself over to the GCPD when they get here. If you’re not here when they arrive, I’ll come looking for you and this time I won’t be so nice.”

 

With that I remove my grapple gun from its holster and exit the penthouse through the penthouse.

 

”Alfred.”

 

”I trust you had fun crashing another party, Master Bruce.”

 

”Certainly less eventful than the last.”

 

”So I hear. Master Timothy said the last two Santa Prisca mercenaries were at this rally. I trust you had fun giving them Gotham’s kind regards.”

 

”Naturally. I managed to plant a tracker on the leader as he was fleeing the rally after I made my entrance.”

 

”Feeding the signal’s co-ordinates to the batwing now. Looks like it’s on the move.”

 

”Current location?”

 

”29 Scala road.”

 

”Further into the slums.”

 

”The batwing is on it’s way.”

 

”No, that’s unnecessary Alfred. Whoever this guy is, he’ll be on edge after what just happened. It’s better if I approach the old fashioned way. Last thing I want is to give him a tip off.”

 

”Very well Master Bruce.”

 

”Tim still there?”

 

”No, he said you gave him the night off.”

 

”He go anywhere interesting?”

 

”The local fair with Miss Brown I believe.”

 

”Glad to hear.”

 

”I trust you’ll want me to make a call to Commissioner Gordon?”

 

”It’s his night off, Alfred. We’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.”

 

”An anonymous tipoff to the GCPD?”

 

”From a very concerned citizen.”

 

”I suppose we’d better hope I can still pull off my finest American accent.”

 

”I’m sure you’ll manage Alfred. Good luck.”

 

”Keep me posted Master Bruce. Pen-7 out.”

 

Greendale: Day 11 of the Misfits' Undercover Operation

 

With the rest of the Misfits still enrolled in the college, Drury had left Rigger, Reardon and Gar to browse the nearby mall. With them distracted, and in good enough spirits, he was able to enter the Ballroom, a small bar in Greendale's town center without arousing their suspicions. As he opened the door, he was met with a large, suited guard, standing between him and his contact.

 

"You're late," the guard noted.

 

"Couldn't find a parking space I liked," Drury lied, placing his cocoon gun and the accompanying cartridge of white pellets onto the cork crate beside him: holding his arms out so that the guard could pat him down, pausing as their hands reached the large stuffed rabbit Drury had forced halfway down his back jacket pocket.

 

"It's for my son," Drury blushed. "He'll be 20 this month."

 

The guard raised a judgemental eyebrow, but gave way nonetheless, allowing Drury access into the private booth. The seated occupant rose to his feet and offered his hand out to greet him.

 

"Mr Walker. We haven't been formally introduced yet. My name is David Li, but you can call me-" he began, only for Drury to cut him off.

 

"-Bookworm, yeah, yeah, Roman's right hand, I know. Chuck's mentioned you. Said you were an honourable sort. Or at least as honourable as a mob accountant gets, I suppose... He's also said that he wished you'd find more... eh, 'ethically sound' employment."

 

"Oh, I'm quite satisfied in Mr Sionis' employ, thank you," Li smiled politely. "Although we have been... challenged, as of late. Perhaps it's better to show you: Here."

 

Li reached into his briefcase and handed Drury the first of many photos, as Walker tried his very best not to throw up.

 

"Lucio Moxxom. October 31st. Halloween. Head decapitated and mailed to the Sionis penthouse," Li explained, before moving onto the next victim:

 

"Marco Viti. November 5th. Bonfire Night. Thrown into a Steel Mill furnace. Headfirst."

 

And the next:

 

"Angelo Mirti. November 16th. Thanksgiving. Drugged and strung up outside the East End Warehouses. A pound of C4 placed... Well, in a place best left unsaid. And since then, there have been three other murders just like them. Remind you of someone?"

 

"Julian..." Drury realised, as his heart sank.

 

"Yes. There was a note attached to the first victim's... ah, head, which matches the handwriting we have on record... Here's the copy I made," Li handed Drury a small sheet of paper, and he read it aloud:

 

"'Roman Sionis... should've stayed in Italy... blah blah... day of reckoning...' bit pretentious... 'Before this year is through, we will see you burn.'" Drury read. "How come I didn't hear about this sooner? Why didn't you go to the cops?"

 

"Because the last thing Mr Sionis wants is the GCPD intruding on his businesses. He gets enough bother from the Bats: Something we have in common, I hear. We can help you with that," Li lowered his glasses. "Mr Sionis, believes there's a connection between Day, and this man: The White Mask. And, on Halloween, a recent blood test confirmed his suspicions that White Mask, real name: David Franco, is the son of Richard Sionis. His father. This revelation has Mr Sionis reeling, as he's now certain that Franco, has joined forces with Day to remove him from power."

 

Though he had only been half listening, Drury suddenly perked up. "Sorry, Dave Franco-?"

 

"Yes, believe me, we all know what it sounds like... Might we skip the jokes and focus, please?" Li sighed.

 

"Oh, no, we can not just gloss over that. I've got so much material to work with!" Drury joked.

 

"If you could concentrate please-" Li restated, as he motioned to his bodyguard, the burly man who had patted Drury down earlier with firm enthusiasm.

 

"Right, yes, sorry," Drury gulped. "Continue."

 

"In the weeks since he first received those blood tests, Mr Sionis has turned to Henry Ferris: Iron-Hat, a vile man really. Ferris, believes that to catch Day, we must first lure him out into the open. And what better way is there, than with a holiday party? I believe you're familiar with the annual Janus Cosmetics Christmas ball."

 

"I am, yeah," Drury reminisced. "But you could wrap Roman in tissue paper and a big red bow, and Jules would probably still show up. Doubt it matters to him, but it would limit casualties."

 

"You're being sarcastic, I take it," Li noticed. "Believe me, you have every reason to distrust my employer, hate him even, but if you do nothing, if The Calendar Man kills Roman Sionis... Well, you have no idea the kinds of monsters he's kept at bay. Or the evils that will rise up in his place..." Li stopped himself from elaborating further and instead, took a pen from his breast pocket, and scrawled a few digits onto the napkin beneath his soda. "The offer stands. We can grant you safe passage into Gotham, however many guns you require, and in exchange, we request your expertise in dealing with Calendar Man. I'll be staying in the hotel on Rhodes Street; visit me there when you have an answer."

 

==Greendale: Day 17==

 

"You didn't tell me you were working with Sionis," Kuttler frowned.

 

"No, I didn't..." Chuck murmured, just as confused as he was.

 

Drury approached the False Facers and shook hands with Li. "You remembered my terms, yeah?" he asked.

 

"Yes," Li spoke. "We already have people bringing Mr Sharpe to the rendezvous point," he confirmed. "We are, however, still struggling to locate Mr Fiasco. We've not heard from him since he was released from GCPD custody."

 

"Forget it, Len knows how to disappear: he'll be deep underground by now," Drury reasoned. "He's never really liked the spotlight."

 

"Quite," Li agreed. "We have a small smelting plant in one of the neighbouring towns. I've arranged to have your truck moved there, where it can be quietly decommissioned."

 

"But not before you 'quietly' scavenge whatever Bat-Tech you can get a hold of, right?" Drury questioned him, hesitantly reaching into his back pocket, and placing the keys into Li's expectant palm.

 

"Perhaps," Li said coolly.

 

"Oh, mind you, I quite like the hood ornament," White remarked, as he ran his fingers along the grill of the truck. "Might have to keep that for myself."

 

"Uh, Drury?" Chuck interrupted, speaking on the group's behalf. "Could we maybe talk about this for a minute?"

 

Drury, looked back over to Li. "Five minutes," the Bookworm relented. Walker nodded gratefully, and rejoined the rest of the Misfits.

 

"How exactly did you arrange an escort from the Great White Shark of all people? Did you subscribe to the Iceberg Lounge's loyalty scheme?" Kuttler inquired, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

 

"They do that?" an oblivious Mayo asked. "What a gip!"

 

"Dru?" Rigger asked expectantly, electing to ignore Mayo.

 

"Well, you remember those couple of days we spent in the city center? Blake had his teaching gig, you got your sword, Gar got that nifty new lighter and we all had a brief pint in that place on L-Street?"

 

"Sure, that was the happiest I've ever been," he replied.

 

'Really?' Gar thought.

 

"Well, while you were browsing through shops, I actually had a meeting with Li there: The guy with the hat. We'd been texting for a couple of days prior; think Sharpe maybe gave him my mobile... Doesn't matter. Well, matters a little... But, what's important is, Li told me that Sionis' people are being taken out one by one. On holidays," he stated, pausing for dramatic effect.

 

'Julian...' Chuck gasped.

 

"Jules?" Blake wondered. "But that'd mean..."

 

"Exactly. I think we've found our mastermind," Drury concluded.

 

Ten placed his head in his hands. "God, Drury, I thought we moved past this," he sighed wearily.

 

"We did, I know, I'm sorry, but look at the facts: We know Carson isn't smart enough to play the long game. Julian is. If he's part of- or the leader of the Outcasts, we have to take him down. We could end this all, right here."

 

"Just like in Nanda Parbat, right?" Reardon asked, standing his ground.

 

"That was different. Please," Drury pleaded.

 

"Ok, Drury, let's say that he is behind all this, that he paid Krill and promised Carson revenge: that still doesn't explain that Zolomon ghoul," Chuck addressed it. "What does he get out of this?"

 

"Guess we'll just have to ask him ourselves," Gar stated, as he stood by Drury's side.

 

The other Misfits, looked more hesitant to join him.

 

"There'll be a party," Drury tried to entice them. "Booze. Food. Women," directing each of these at Flannegan, Mayo and Blake in that order.

 

"I'm in," Blake replied confidently, as Rigger also cheered enthusiastically.

 

"You know me, boss, I'm just here for the paycheck," Otis agreed.

 

"And if there's a free buffet-" Mayo licked his lips. "Well, that'd just be swell."

 

'Swell...' Gar mouthed, looking at Drury and nodding affirmatively.

 

The next to speak, Chuck sighed. "God, peer pressure is a bitch... Hell yeah, let's do it," he smiled. That just left Ten.

 

"Hey. You said you trusted me," Drury smirked.

 

"Eh-" Reardon protested.

 

"You said, 'Drury, I trust you,' you did," he teased.

 

"Hey, if you said that, it's on you," Blake shrugged.

 

"Well, that's- That's not a direct quotation," Reardon responded. "It's not!" he repeated to the skeptical ensemble. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "Fine."

 

"Does it even matter what I think?" Kuttler asked bitterly.

 

"I mean, I thought I'd at least give you the illusion of choice," Drury smiled boyishly.

 

"Good job," he scoffed.

 

==Gotham City==

 

The Apartment of the Deceased Jumbo Carson. Now home to his brother Ted, his daughter Bridget and their lackey Roger Hayden

 

The door creaked open, as Julian Day entered the room, his hands smelling strongly of hand sanitizer: A habit he had taken up since his meeting with The King of Cats. Hayden, was currently sat atop the kitchen stool, watching cartoons with intense delight, while his hands caressed his beloved Medusa mask. ​

At the side of the room, Bridget was putting up a Christmas tree; with many of the decorations recovered from her childhood home to celebrate the first Christmas she was spending with her father since his return- a gesture gone unnoticed by Carson himself.

 

"Allow me," Day said softly, as he reached into the cardboard box of mementos and placed the star at the top of the tree. 'No tinsel?' he noted. 'Pity.'

 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Carson perked up. "Who'd you kill this time, huh?" he demanded, as he poured himself a cup of black coffee.

 

Day didn't reply.

 

"And where the hell's Krill anyway?" Carson continued to press. "Would never have agreed to this arrangement if I'd known you'd be poaching my people for god knows what."

 

Bridget, was actually quite grateful for Krill's absence. Though responsible for bringing her father home, Krill himself had been both crass and disrespectful to her family, with his constant jokes aggravating Carson's already foul temper. Day, at least, buried his insults in flowery language that often went over her father's head.

 

"My partners have Krill working on a separate assignment right now," Day spoke. "You, should stay focused on yours."

 

"Separate assignment- Stay focused? But I'm not doing anything!" Carson disagreed.

 

"Precisely," Day said coldly. "I can't have you bumbling around Gotham like a drunk Darth Vader."

 

"I-," Carson stammered. "We should be out there, searching for the putz who killed Jacob!"

 

Day took the coffee pot out of Carson's hands, and poured the steaming liquid into his festive mug. "No. You really shouldn't," he disagreed. "The matter has already been dealt with. Pass the milk, please, Roger."

 

Carson intercepted Hayden's hand. "No, 'Roger,' don't pass him the goddamn milk! Dealt with? Dealt with?! You have no right to-"

 

"Oh, and you do?" Day scoffed. "It was your failure at the hospital that got Ant-Man captured. And your inaction that got him killed."

 

Bridget arrived at her dad's side and placed her hand on his shoulder, in an attempt to calm him down. "It's not worth it," she urged.

 

Carson took a deep breath. "That's my point," he told Day. "Listen, if you'd just let me talk to your partners, we could coordinate on this. Let me set the gas mains alight, hit the power station. Something big to draw Walker out of hiding!"

 

Day paused to process the magnitude of Carson's suggestion, and brow furrowed, turned to Bridget sympathetically.

 

Dejected, Carson changed direction. "At least I'm trying! While you were out... washing your hands? I, had a talk with the White Mask. Turns out, he's seeing somebody,"

 

Day rolled his eyes. "Barson, I'm really not interested in tabloid news and idle gossip," he said disinterestedly.

 

"But you'll like this: His new girlfriend, is none other than Jenna Duffy. Lynns' girl. You know what that means, don't you? They broke up," Carson said gleefully.

 

Day raised an eyebrow, suddenly invested. "Really?" he wondered.

 

"Really?" Carson quoted. "Yes, really, why would I lie? It was a big teary eyed thing, Franco said. Apparently, Lynns had to choose between her and his best friend, and he chose Walker. Crazy, right?"

 

"Crazy," Day repeated. "Hn. Congratulations, Barson, perhaps you're not all that useless after all," he concluded.

 

=The Iceberg Lounge's Private Bar=

 

Sionis was sat in the backroom, in a makeshift surgery room. Doting over him, was Lazlo Valentin: Professor Pyg. Sionis, had refused anaesthetic, of course: He'd heard all kinds of horror stories about Valentin transforming simple surgical procedures into nightmarish experiments. Presently, Valentin had been put to work adjusting Sionis' face in anticipation of the holiday party: Sandpapering his scalp, varnishing the surface and tracing over his skull-like features with a small scalpel, all to accentuate Sionis' fearsome visage

 

"Pretty as a picture," he snorted, as he kissed Sionis' bald scalp tenderly.

 

"Thanks, Porky. Feel better already," Sionis remarked disingenuously, as he unhooked the white bib from his person, and admired himself in the overhead mirror.

 

"Sir, the Misfits are outside," Li's voice announced through the door.

 

"Alright, give me a minute," Sionis replied as he swatted Valentin away.

 

"Look lively, the strippers are here!" White yelled crassly, as he and Li led the Misfits into the parlour. The convoy, had arrived later than scheduled, having first stopped off at Kuttler's home, to allow him to recover various devices and gadgets he believed would be useful against Day and his apparent henchmen.

 

"Just remember," Drury was warning them, "Roman's not exactly our biggest fan. Because we keep trying to kill each other. So tread carefully." He paused, as he sniffed the air. "Did you just varnish this floor?" he addressed Sionis' bodyguards. "Smells great."

 

"Lynns!" Sionis greeted them, as he entered through the backdoor, adjusting his red tie as he made his way towards them.

 

"Mr Sionis, sir," Gar replied a little awkwardly, as the two shook hands firmly.

 

"Roman, son. Call me Roman. Here, sit down," he offered, pulling a chair out for his former employee, and handing him a crystal glass of whiskey. "You too, Flannegan."

 

Chuck looked like he was going to throw up. "Otis, he threw me off a building," he muttered in his ear.

 

"That's business, Brown, you gotta look past things like that," Flannegan responded, as he too accepted a glass from Sionis.

 

"Aha, Kite-Man," Sionis sneered, finally addressing the rest of the group. "How was your trip?"

 

"Eventful," Chuck responded.

 

"Oho, I'll bet," Sionis replied, recalling their last encounter with sadistic pleasure. "Please, as a sign of good faith; your comrade in arms." With the snap of his fingers, the door opened behind them, as Montgomery Sharpe was escorted in by Iron-Hat Ferris, and a rather familiar hooded figure. As Ferris made his way to Sionis' side, his attention was drawn to Gar and Rigger. "Aw, look, they come in different colours now, that's neat," he said mockingly.

 

As Gar's fist clenched, Joey instead pulled his arm back as if to say 'It's not worth it.'

 

"Hello everyone, happy holidays to you all," The Dragon King cheered. "Montgomery has told me all about you, of course," he elaborated, placing a hand atop Sharpe's shoulder.

 

"Love that guy," Sionis said. "Caught him raking through my dumpster for body parts a while back."

 

"Quite so," Ito said nostalgically. "When Mr Sionis first asked me to tend over Montgomery, I was hesitant, but during our weeks together, I have been most impressed by his growth and maturity."

 

"That Montgomery?" Reardon asked, noting Sharpe's uncharacteristically quiet composition.

 

Ito paused, as his reptilian eyes locked onto Drury, and his gaze softened. "Ah, of course, you must be Cliff Walker's boy. You look so very much like your father."

 

Ito's remark, was intended as a compliment, sure, but Drury had never felt sicker. He put on a fake smile, and thanked him.

 

"Alas, I'm afraid I cannot stay for the festivities," Ito admitted. "My daughter, Cynthia, is having a sleepover this weekend with her fellow classmates, and it is paramount I remain there to supervise her, to limit any potential ruckus. She gets awfully rebellious when she has too much sugar. But, you should know that I have cookie dough proofing in your fridge downstairs. Once it has been baked, it shall be splendid."

 

"Thank god," Sharpe whispered under his breath, as he finally exhaled. "He's a nice guy and all, but he eats pizza with a fork and he hides all the alcohol," he confessed to an appalled Blake. "Lost $200 to his fucking swear jar already."

 

"Montgomery?" Ito inquired in a paternalistic tone.

 

"I said ducking."

==Gotham General==

 

October 31st. 5:00

 

The flames cut into Drury's flesh like a scalpel, as though a white hot needle was cutting into his skin, and burning everything it touched. He let out a pained scream, while Carson knelt beside him, laughing, as he drew it across his skin.

 

"That's the last thing you said to me, do you remember?" Ted asked. "As Charaxes dragged my flailing, faceless body through a wormhole, you stood there. Jeering as I screamed."

 

"Screw you!" Drury yelled back defiantly. But Carson could hear the strained agony in his voice, and he smiled.

 

"It'd be so easy, wouldn't it?" Ted continued. "Blame everything on some kind of big bad. But the truth is, everything that's happened, you did to yourself. Ha! I came halfway across the multiverse to kill you, to destroy you. And the truth is, you've beaten me to it. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy this," he chuckled, as he kicked Drury along the ground. "What are you waiting for Walker? There's no clown with a gun here. Or a pig with a cleaver, or a rat with a can of bug spray. It's just you, me, and a pair of hapless spectators. So c'mon, show me why they call you Killer-"

 

Carson's words were cut off by a sudden blast of energy, knocking him off his feet, and into a nearby medicine cabinet. Instinctively, Krill leaped out of the way and disappeared into a lime green portal. As Drury looked up, the Suit was standing above him, arm raised.

 

"Gar-" Drury said panicked, as his attention shifted back to Lynns, unconscious since Carson choked him out, but breathing. Drury breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thank God.' With Suit's help, Drury carried him onto his back, and they exited the ward.

 

"Who the heck was that?" Jenna exclaimed, as Drury handed Gar over to her and Rigger, and collapsed to the ground, exhausted. Suit knelt beside him, and dabbed his face with a cotton swab tenderly.

 

"That, would be Ted Carson," Rigger explained. "Like I said, it's getting harder and harder to follow..."

 

Jenna raised a confused eyebrow.

 

"That won't- That won't stop him," Drury gasped, gesturing a warning finger back at Carson's stirring body. "Need to get Gar out of here."

 

The group nodded, and got back on their feet.

 

October 31st. 05:04

 

Now conscious, Carson yelled out angrily, spitting into his wristband. "Yeah, this is Mothkiller. Time for Plan B."

 

October 31st. 05:09

 

"Get down!" Jenna yelled.

 

The group ducked for cover, as a blast of orange flames shot past them. Marching down the hallway, were Bridget Pike and the Psycho Pirate. Suit and Drury ran west, while Rigger and Jenna dragged Gar east. Carson, was slowly staggering towards them from the opposite end of the hall, a sort of lightsaber drawn from his wrist.

 

"Chuck, we could do with some back-up," Rigger called out, narrowly missing another fiery blast of napalm, and flung himself into a nearby ward.

 

October 31st. 05:13

 

"On it," Chuck replied, as the Misfits made their way up the stairwell. He opened the nearest door, only to be met with about six police officers.

 

"GCPD, nobody move!" the nearest one yelled, drawing their gun.

 

Fiasco pushed Chuck aside, smirked, and then slammed the door on them. "Fucking pigs," he hissed.

"Let's just get off at the next floor," Chuck nodded, as he glanced behind him: Sharpe was drawing his middle finger, and Blake was sticking his tongue out at the barricaded officers. Reardon, was several paces behind, trying to pretend he wasn't associated with them.

 

October 31st. 05:18

 

Gar's eyes slid open. He was in an abandoned ward of some kind, the lights turned off. He looked over at Jenna, then at Rigger drowsily, and then peered over the counter: Pike had entered the room, gun raised. "Fuck... Listen," he muttered, "Here's what we do-, we- What?"

Rigger, was tapping Lynns on the shoulder anxiously, his eyes drawn to his waist. "Gar. Gar!"

 

Lynns slung his arm off his shoulder, and hissed angrily. "Rigger, you can profess your love to me later, right now I just want to get the hell out of here."

 

Rigger frowned. "That wasn't what I was gonna say at all," he muttered reproachfully. "Your... Your gown's... undone."

 

Gar looked at him inquisitively.

 

...

 

"Just cross your legs, alright."

 

...

 

"Wow, Volcana really burnt it all, huh?" Rigger whistled.

 

Without a word, Gar pulled his gown down over his knees, and folded his arms. That didn't seem to stop Rigger however.

 

"So, how does- You know what, none of my business."

 

...

 

"So! What've you been up to, lately?"

 

...

 

"Oh not much, Joey, how about you? Well, Gar thank you for asking!"

 

Gar glanced over at Jenna, crouched behind an adjacent cabinet and sighed apologetically.

 

"I think Hellhound might've grifted u-"

 

"Oh, can you shut up for just one minute!" Jenna exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the room. Pike's ear pricked up, as she finally spotted them.

 

"Ok, that one's on me," Duffy sighed, as she helped Gar back up, and slid out the door.

 

October 31st. 05:18

 

Drury tripped onto the floor. As Suit reached out an arm to grab him, a gloved hand grasped its' shoulder, a musical voice filling the air. "You don't want to fight," it sang to Drury. "You want to lie down. You're tired, so very tired."

 

Drury's eyelids drooped, as the Pirate's control strengthened. Next, Hayden turned to the Suit, singing into it's ear.

"Show me," Hayden hissed. "Show me those delicious emotions.

 

Suit tilted his head towards him, exposing it's empty innards. Hayden took a shocked step back.

 

"No..." he gasped. "Not fair, not fair, not fair!"

 

With a single punch, Suit knocked the Medusa mask off the Pirate's face and sent it clattering to the ground.

 

"No!" Hayden snivelled, as he reached out towards it on his hands and knees. But as soon as he reached it, it was gone once again: A strand of red webbing ripped the golden mask off the ground, and into the waiting hands of Eric Needham.

 

"And now, you're just a ponce in clown shoes. Wanna try me?" he glared, knife drawn.

 

In a matter of seconds, the Psycho Pirate had barrelled down the hallway and out of sight.

 

As Drury turned to thank Needham, he stopped. Carson, was racing towards them, jetpack sparking.

Before Needham could react, Carson grabbed him by the leg, and hurled him at an MRI Machine, hitting it with an uncomfortable thud.

Next, Ted flew into Suit, and wrapping a cable around Drury's arm, dragged both of them out the window with him, bringing them to a stop on the wet ground outside. "Now," he paused, "Where were we?"

 

October 31st. 05:18

 

As the Misfits reached the fourth floor, Reardon was flung backwards by an unseen force; Blake was sent hurtling down the stairwell. "What the hell was that?!" Chuck exclaimed, as he tripped backwards into the wall.

Fiasco looked down; running along the ground was a man no bigger than an ant.

"Move and I squish you," he warned.

 

"Get me a jam jar and a piece of paper," he told Sharpe.

 

October 31st. 05:30

 

The trio had made their way to the parking lot. All they had to do was get in a car and drive off. Then, they'd be home free.

Gar lay his hand on a nearby squad car, and turned to the pair. "Rigger, can you hotwire us a car?" he asked.

 

"Why you asking me?" Rigger scowled.

 

"I'll do it," Jenna said, as she nudged past him, and got to work unlocking the car door.

 

"By the way I can, but it's still a racist assumption," Rigger added, as he helped Gar into the passenger's side.

 

"Stop!" a voice rang on. Bridget's. Her hand was wrapped tightly around her flamethrower, now aimed squarely at Gar's head. "Just... stop," she whispered.

 

Rigger took a step towards her, and sighed. "Please," he pleaded. "He's a father."

 

Pike hesitated. "What's her name?" she asked.

 

"J-Josie," Gar stammered.

 

"Pretty name," Bridget nodded, lowering her gun. "She should definitely keep it."

 

Gar smiled faintly, as he clambered into the passenger's seat, and shut the door.

 

October 31st. 05:37

 

Drury rubbed his head, blood dripping off his forehead, as Carson drew his blade, walking slowly, but purposefully towards him, a massive smile on his face. "Any last words?" Ted chuckled, as he stood above Drury.

 

"Just one," Drury smiled. "Duck."

 

Carson turned around, speeding towards them, was a blue and white police car, stationed behind the wheel, Jenna Duffy. Before he could move out of the way, the cop car slammed into him at full speed- a deafening crunch filling the air. Flung several feet in the air, Carson struggled to his feet without suffering any more than a few dents in his armour.

 

"My god, he's developed an immunity!" Rigger gasped, emerging from the passenger's seat, gun drawn.

 

Carson smiled, as he wrapped his hand around Rigger's throat, and smashed him face first onto the concrete floor. As he drew his sword again, Joey closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. But it didn't come. He opened his eyes. Posed above him, a molten blade through it's chest, was the Suit. Joey rolled out of the way, and looked back despondently.

 

"Like I said..." Carson grunted, as he pulled the blade from Suit's chest. "Any last words?"

 

Suit looked at its' wound, its' fabric slowly burning away, and nodded, slowly, and raised its' middle finger. Resting on it, like a ring, a single grenade pin. Ted looked down at his belt, screamed, and threw himself backwards, the grenade still stuck to his waist.

 

"Suit!"

 

Drury ran over to the explosion, moving rubble aside. Nothing. Whatever fabric survived Ted's initial onslaught had been incinerated in the blast. All that remained was a pair of its' silver gauntlets.

 

~-~

 

"Toffee Apple?" a familiar voice called out.

 

Carson's eyes widened. "K-Krill-?"

 

"That was a no, was it?" the voice replied, as he bit into the candy shell with an obnoxious crunch. They were back in Jumbo's apartment, the faint smell of Mountain Dew filling the room.

 

"I don't understand- Walker, what happened to Walker?" Carson asked.

 

"Nothing," Krill. "Sides from a bit of grief, but that's par for the course, ain't it?"

 

"Suit..." Carson murmured, as it slowly came back to him. "The Suit- Oh, my god, am I dead again?" he screamed, aghast.

 

Krill winked. "That's right. My real name's Beelzebub, welcome to hell."

 

...

 

"I saved you, you idiot. I wasn't expecting roses, but I wouldn't mind a thank you."

 

"No..." Carson stuttered. "No... Walker- Walker should be dead! He needs to die!"

 

Krill raised a warning hand. "Careful. You're in no condition to go wandering out again. Not for a while. There's still half a grenade stuck in you. I'm not a miracle worker- granted I do come pretty close."

 

"But-"

 

Krill rested his finger on Carson's lips. "Carson... Carson Carson Carson.... Do us all a favour, and shut the fuck up."

As I look upon the disease ridden city, it eradicates the disturbing memories of my past.

 

I was a cop. During my time at the GCPD, I was selected by Doctor Hurt to undergo experimental military training, along with two others, to replace Batman, incase anything was to ever happen to him. Then that faithful day happened. My 3 year-old son was killed by a drunk driver. Everything spiraled downward from there. My son’s death made my wife go insane. Within a year, she committed suicide. Six months later, my siblings, the last two survivors of my family, were viciously murdered by a satanic cult. This caused my mind to snap. I was let go by the GCPD due to my state of insanity. With the training I had acquired years prior, I was able to take on the persona Bat-ghost. I worked as an agent for the God-forsaken Doctor Hurt, trying to stop Batman in his quest to better Gotham. I was no match. In realization of my ungodly ways, I went to confession in the Gotham Cathedral. Father Day, the leader of the Gotham section of the Order of St. Dumas, heard my confession. He found me worthy to don the Suit of Sorrows, along with the Swords of Sin and Salvation.

 

I shall rid this city of its vermin Whatever it takes. I am Azrael, Angel of Death.

  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  

The moon was done by cutting a circle in posterboard, and putting white paper over it. I then used a blacklight from the front.

I've mentioned in a picture somewhere that I had updated my Abe to match my good friend Billbobful's version. The head is exactly the one he uses for his, but the yellow version. : P

 

I decided to post a picture of the cop duo, since I finally got a hold of the same head he uses for Mike/Azrael.

Name- Ronald Johnson/ Bone Crusher (Hero)

 

Universe: DC

 

Age: 45

 

Weapons- Any firearm or bladed weaponry

 

Allies: The US Marines, Commissioner Gordon and The GCPD, and Batman

 

Enemies- Anyone who threatens the US, The Shadow, and gang operations. and Thugs.

 

Skills/ Abilities- Extreme strength, Extreme intellect, Rock Hard Skin, Great Leadership Qualities, Weapons and Hand to Hand Combat knowledge and experience.

 

Back Story:

Ronald Johnson, Ron to his friends, was always a good child. He was a tall, built boy with blond hair. He did well in school and never got in trouble. He knew that he wanted to join the US Marines when he grew up. When Ron was 19, he joined the US Marine Corps. He was one of the top members of his squad. When Ron was 29, he was sent over seas for War. Ron had such a strong punch, he would break several bones of anyone he hit. Because of this, his squad gave him the nickname "Bone Crusher".

 

During the war, he suffered a horrible accident, causing him to loose both his arms and legs. Surprisingly, he survived the incident, but his life was forever changed.

 

The Military had been working on a new procedure that would allow injured War veterans to be able to move and fight like they use to be able to. Hearing of Ron's accident, they asked if Ron would like to be the first subject to the operation. John accepted.

 

The procedure made Ron into a new Man and changed his appearance drastically. His arms and legs were extended and his skin was turned rock hard, making it extremely hard to pierce his skin with a bullet or knife. Some of his body was also reinforced with metal joints and plates. He was made a custom US Marine Armor Suit that covered his head and Chest. He could take the armor off, but he wore it most of the time to show support for his Country. Because of the procedure, Ron was not able to age. He is not immortal, but he would not show signs of aging.

 

Ron used his new body to fight against terrorist and anyone who fought against his country. He was given his own squad and was sent back overseas to fight in the war. Due to the non stop battle that Ron and his fellow soldiers fought, the war was won

 

When John returned from the war, he was shocked by the actions of the new vigilante "The Shadow". He agreed with what he was doing, but not how he was doing it. He did not want to anymore people suffer from the horrible deaths caused by The Shadow. After seeing multiple News Reports about The Shadow, he finally contacted the GCPD and traveled to Gotham to meet with the Commissioner. He was also introduced to Batman by the Commissioner. He was amazed by The Batman and how he was able to stop crimes with only his Mind, Gadgets, and his Fists. He took Batman's ways to heart, and vowed to only kill if absolutely necessary.

 

Since his trip to Gotham, he has moved there. He is the leader of the top Swat team in the city and does whatever he can to stop the horrific murders of The Shadow. He frequently reports in with Batman and The Commissioner, and together they try to find the whereabouts of The Shadow. Ron is now a full time member of the GCPD and and would gladly go back overseas to fight if another War was to come up.

    

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

———

 

3rd person

 

Sunday, December 19th, 2010

 

“Fifteen dead, and thirty wounded in a shooting at the inauguration of the commissioner James Gordon. The two gunmen were sporting clown masks and orange Arkham jumpsuits have been apprehended. Upon being detained all they did was laugh. The police fear it’s the return of the mainiac dubbed: “The Joker,” who disappeared four years ago just shy of the first Batman sighting..” A man clicks a remote shutting off the television.

In a dark secluded room sits two people tied down to chairs, a man and a woman. A third chair sits there with a faceless body. “Channel Five, am I right? Just a bunch of libtards and republicans fighting amongst themselves over who’s dumber. We live in a society, and this one needs a little bit of anarchy,” The man’s voice calls from the darkness as his faint silhouette emerges.

The silhouette moves over to a sink and turns on a light. The shadow forms into a man as the light shines onto him. He’s tall and skinny dressed in a purple suit and an orange vest that seems too short for his stature. On his left pocket hangs a yellow flower. Beautiful, though a strange spout pokes out from the middle. Yet there’s something off about him. He lacks a face, as if it were cut off like the third man in the chair. He puts on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and grabs some green hair dye. The man runs it through his hair, then pulls out a comb to comb it through after the fact, all while humming the tune of Little Drummer Boy. He grabs the severed face of the man in the third chair and starts stapling it to his head. He pulls one corner to his temple. Click. The blood drips out. He runs his finger along and does the other temple. Click. He goes down to the end of his jaw. Click. The other side. Click. He admires his work. But he isn’t done. He goes and fills the outline of the face making sure it’s secure. Mending them together. He then grabs oversized paper clips and puts them through the ends of his cheeks and the ends of the face’s lips, creating a permanent smile. Blood slowly pours out, he wipes it off with a handkerchief, gleefully.

The man is the long lost Clown Prince of Crime- The sadistic Joker. He turns around and walks over to the two remaining hostages. The face he put on has been bleached beforehand, leaving it a gleaming white, eye holes cut out showing red circles around his eyes, perpetually open. The Joker’s yellow teeth poke through his flesh. The flesh around them resembles a red lipped smile. He pulls up a chair and sits in front of the woman. She shudders and tries to pull away.

“What’s wrong? Is it the face? Yeah it’s new. Still breaking it in. The previous owner left it in really bad shape.” He looks over to the third chair with the lifeless body sitting there. Smiling, he looks back and cracks his jaw. “Wow so silent. Oh yeah, I forgot,” He removes the tape from their mouths.

The man spits on the Joker. “You sick freak. You better let us go! Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the boss! I control Gotham!”

The man is wearing a three piece blue suit and white cufflinks. He has three beautiful children and a loving wife. Then bang. The man’s life leaves his body, the woman screams and the Joker puts his gun back in his pocket. Blood splatters on his shirt and the yellow flower in the left jacket pocket “Sorry about that ma’am. Now tell me. What’s your name?”

She shudders a bit before answering. “V-Vicki. Vicki Vale.”

“Ah of course! Victoria! How could I not recognise you! You’re from Channel 6. The good news channel!” The Joker exclaims with excitement. “Now, say your famous sign-off line”

“This is Vicki, reporting for your Gotham City. Signing off...“ She trails off with tears trickling down her face along with her makeup. Bang. The Joker shoots his gun. A red flag comes out the barrel saying the very word ‘bang.’ He laughs for a minute. She screams for her life.

He then smacks Vicki across the face with the butt end of the gun and grabs her face. “Oh we’re gonna have some fun.”

————

 

Jim Gordon’s POV

 

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

 

I stand there in shock. Three bodies. One without a face, male, no identification. Bled to death. One fully nude, bent over a sink, female Vicki Vale of Channel 6 News. Shot in the head. No exit wound. Lastly, one shot between the eyes. Male, Salvatore Maroni “The Boss.” What kind of man could’ve done this extremely wicked, shockingly evil and vile thing. My heart starts racing. I can feel myself sweating, I need a patch. I look in my pocket for one and pull up my sleeve. There’s already one on there. I need something stronger. I reach into my pockets and find a cigarette and lighter. I run out to the street on the corner of Finger and Kane. I put the cigarette in my mouth and light it. “Commissioner, call for you,” Captain Bullock says while handing me a phone. I nod, take the phone and put it up to my ear. “Those will kill you by the way,Thought you quit anyway.” A voice says clearly using a voice changer being the infamous Batman.

“What’s In there will kill me first.” I reply referring to the crime scene. “Speaking of, did you

see anything we didn’t?”

“Depends, what’d you see?”

“A sadistic man’s brothel.”

“Me too.” He replies wearily.

————

 

Bruce Wayne’s POV

 

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

 

I hang up on the commissioner and think back to five years ago in 2005 before I was the Batman. The take over of city hall. The murder of Mayor Galavan. I then snap back into reality. The tip line, that’s how they found the crime scene. “Computer, tap into the GCPD tip line. Date: twenty-one twelve ten.” The screen lights up, reacting to my voice command. I scroll through the tips and spot one from a blocked number at 9:25 am. “Hi, I’d like to report a disturbance. I heard gunshots and loud laughs then screams. It came from the abandoned apartment building on the corner of Finger and Kane. Please send help.” The recording stops. It’s a female voice. I run it through the system trying to get a match. I first go through known associates of the clown. No match. I put it through a sub system testing every recorded conversation in Gotham city in the past two years. One match. Harleen Quinzel. Deceased. Ex-doctor at the Arkham institute for the criminally insane. I triangulate the location of the call to a phone booth by the GCPD precinct. Strange. How can she have used the tip line if she’s dead? One man would know this. Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot, the one man in Gotham who knows everything. I make my way over to the armoury to prepare for the confrontation.

 

The glass doors of the case open with a hiss. The grey armour platings sit with the black soulless mask and cape staring back at me. A dark reflection of who I truly am… and once was. I turn around and walk back into the suit as it decompresses, opening it. The under armour shocks the case, having the armour close onto my body. The mask goes onto my head. The lens light up with infrared flashlights invisible to the human eye. The metal clasps onto me sending a shiver down my spine. I exit the cast and go to pick up my utility belt. “Going out sir, should I call master Todd?” Alfred says from the darkness.

“No, I’m doing this one solo.” I reply bitterly.

“Very well sir, I’ll get the car ready.” He walks over to the port and scans his hand on the side. “Chariot mode,” Alfred bluntly says. The car responds by turning on the afterburners, headlights and opening the cockpit. The sleek, black exterior with red highlights running through it sit there welcoming me into the abyss. I walk over and pull myself in and ready everything. “Iceberg lounge, route four.” The batmobile complies and goes zero to eighty within a second, sending me speeding down the tunnel towards the heart of Gotham.

 

The streets are dark and quiet, almost dead. The car rolls through and parks behind the lounge. I exit the cockpit and step on the cold street. I grapple up to the domed roof of the nightclub. The wind rushes past my face as I go up until I land. A metal air vent peeks out, just big enough for me to fit through. I walk over to it, pull off the metal grate and crawl through into the vent. The abrasive music shakes up the club. The song appears to be “The Bridge Is Over” by Boogie Down Productions. I find the office of Cobblepot and drop down a small burst EMP device. Off go the lights. “What the hell?! Someone go fix the generator!” Cobblepot yells in his thick cockney accent. I drop down silently behind him. After his goons leave and close the door, I toss a locking chip onto the handle of the door locking them out for the time being. I click my gauntlet turning the lights back on. “Hello Cobblepot.” I say bluntly. He screams and goes for a hit. I catch his fist and put his arm in a grappling hold.

“Ah god damn it stop! What do you want?!” He yells at me. I release my grip and shove his face on his desk, breaking his monocle with an audible crack. His arm falls to his side. He grips his wrist, tending the wound as I walk to the other side of his quartz slab of a desk. The goons hang on the door trying to get. “I want a location, the address of Harleen Quinzel,” I ask.

“Oh her? You’re not the first person to come here looking for her.” He chuckles a bit and lights a cigar. Who else would want her?

“Who else came through here?”

“The Valeska brothers, arrested in ‘04 for: assault, battery, attempted murder, murder itself and of course breaking and entering. The smart one, Jeremiah, came through looking for her.” Interesting, they never go anywhere separately.

“The address, now.” He laughs a bit more.

“That’s the funny part. After that she disappeared, no trace.”

“When was this?” I ask,

“About three days ago.” I squint slightly. Why would the Valeska Brothers be looking for her? “Where can I find them? I know you know Cobblepot, don’t play games with me.” I ask with fury,

“They said to find them at 278 Laingholm Drive,” He answers,

“Thanks.” I turn off the lights and exit through the same vent gracefully

 

———-

 

3rd Person

 

Wednesday, December 21st, 2010

 

“Come they told me, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. A new born King to see, pa-rum-pum pum-pum. Our finest gifts we bring, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. To lay before the King, pa-rum pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum,” The Joker sings through the halls of a chemical plant, “I have no gifts to give, pa rum pum pum pum!” A small ginger man by the name of Jeremiah Valeska makes his way towards the mad man at a fast pace. “She’s ready for you sir.” If the clown wasn’t smiling already, he would be now. He makes his way down the halls towards the locker rooms where a woman stands wearing a small leather jacket, red on the left side and black on the right, cheerleading gear under it with blonde pigtails right side sipped in black and the left in red. She lastly has white face makeup with black diamonds around her eyes. This woman is, “Harley Quinn my dear! You look wonderful.” Exclaims the Joker excitedly.

“Thanks Mr. J” She replies with a thick Boston accent. She grins as Joker’s gaze falls to a spot of blood on her jacket. “There’s blood on your jacket dear.” His hand rises and collides with her face sending her to the floor. Her nose begins to bleed. “Clean it up, and wipe your nose”

“Sorry Mr. J, I’ll get right to it.” She strains to get up and runs along. Valeska walks with Joker down the halls the opposite way. “Valeska, status on my old friend James Gordon and his loving daughter?”

“Same routine, date night is this sunday at Chipotle. Also sir, your face.” Valeska of course is referring to how three staples came out.

‘‘Oh sorry about that.” Joker exclaims. He pulls a stapler out of his jacket pocket, holds his face up and staples. Click. One. Click. Two. Click. Three. He clicks his jaw a couple of times and pulls out an eye dropper. He drips a couple of drops in each eye keeping them moist. “What a time to be alive, am I right Valeska!”

 

-----------

 

Jim Gordon’s POV

 

Wednesday, December 21st, 2010

 

Four years, it’s been four years and that mainiac still scares me. The funerals. The dead. Gotham was never the same after him and now he’s back. To think I was once friends with that mad man. No, I wasn’t friends with the Joker. I was friends with Arthur Napier. We met in the Academy. He quit after a couple years. The stress was too much for him. Became a comedian. Not a very good one at that. Then the incident happened. He found his wife cheating on him with my very own brother. That was the last straw. He wasn't always right in the head. Had significant OCD. Borderline personality disorder When he saw this happen he grabbed an Exacto knife and slit both their throats. That’s how it started, I could’ve stopped it. I should’ve stopped it. That wasn’t it. He didn’t stop with my brother and his wife. He went for my nephew. It spiraled out of control and didn’t stop until that fateful christmas day. We actually got him. Then not three days later he wasn’t in his cell anymore and the only thing there was his face. Just a face. How he escaped no one knows.

“Jim? Are you okay?” I snap back into reality as my loving wife, Lee Tompkins, walks into the study. “You’ve been acting strange since the shooting. You took up smoking again, been going to the gun range more. How can I help?”

“I don’t think you can Lee. He was my best friend for years.”

“He wasn’t, Arthur Napier was. The Joker is someone else.”

“He killed my brother. I can’t just brush that off like he just forgot to pay me back for something. I know he’s coming for me next. I just don’t know how he is.“

“Who says he’s even back. What if it’s a copycat? Or another one of the Riddler’s schemes?”

“The Riddler wouldn’t do anything this malicious.” I reply. “But Arthur, he would. He would. All it took was one bad day.”

 

----------

 

Bruce Wayne’s POV

 

Thursday, December 22nd, 2010

 

Harleen Quinzel, the Valeska brothers, the supposed return of the Joker. How are they connected? “Jason!” I call into the darkness of the cave. A woosh goes past me as my gaze pans towards the top of the batcomputer where my ward, Jason Todd, has perched himself. He sits there in his suit. Red base with green highlighting the chest and abdomen black on the other side. Black cape with a small domino mask covering his eyes, securing his identity. “Yeah, boss?”

“I need you to watch a stakeout an address, 278 Laingholm Drive. South side of Gotham. I’ve put the address in the batmobile. It should take you there and then come back. Don’t make contact. Report back if there’s any movement.”

“Will do.” He nods and makes his way to the batmobile and leaves in a flash..

 

------------

 

Jason Todd’s POV

 

Thursday, December 22nd, 2010

 

I arrive at the address being a small suburban house, two levels. Don’t contact my ass. I make my way around the house to a back window and break it open with my elbow. The glass falls on the floor with giant shatters. It’s a small room. Nice, has a chair. A smaller sized bed. Pink wallpapers. Like it was made for a young girl. That’s not the important part. I open the door into the hallway slowly. I peek through to see four men in the main room. All wearing clown masks. Two have bats, one has a machete and one is empty handed. So I do what any one man army would do. I walk into the room, clear my throat, and speak. “Hey ladies, you know where I can find Harleen Quinzel?” They all look at me. One of them speaks. “No, but we can find you an early grave.” I drop a smoke pellet, grab my bo staff and grin.

The goons flail, trying to hit me. I run in and slide on my knees through them, whilst doing this I swing the staff against one of their knees, shattering the patella. I spin back around and throw a birdarang at the hand of the man with the machete. He grabs his hand in pain and falls to the ground. This doesn’t stop him however. He picks it up with his other hand as the smoke clears. He runs at me with it and goes for a slice. He hits the staff as I block the blade and elbow him in the jaw, knocking him down for the count. Two left. One with a bat, the other empty handed. I throw a concussion grenade disorienting them for a tad while take the bat and break it across his head. Last one. “Okay, last chance. Where’s Harleen Quinzel.” I ask. A female voice with a thick, high pitched Boston accent calls out of nowhere.

“Right here toots!” I turn around quickly only to see a woman with a white face and mallet. Then. Black.

 

———-

 

3rd person

 

Sunday, December 24th, 2010

 

“Okay and you have my cell right?” Gordon asks in a worried tone as he and Lee make their way out the door for a Sunday night date. The babysitter inches them out.

“Yes I do, go have fun. Babs and I will be fine.” She says in a reassuring tone closing the door on them. She turns around to face the ten-year-old red haired girl. Her accent changes revealing her true self. Harley Quinn. “Okay Babs, what are we doing today?” The girl, Barbara Gordon smiles cheerfully. “Um, I have dolls!” She answers with glee. Knock knock knock. Harley rises and answers the door. The Joker walks through, smile and all. “So this is the Commissioner's sweet daughter.” His tone changes from gleefully to unimpressed and blunt. “So cute; Harley my dear. Have you gotten the bird?”

“Why yes puddin’ Everything’s ready for our grand entrance!” The Joker’s eyes light up. He’s happy.

 

----------

 

Bruce Wayne’s POV

 

Sunday, December 24th, 2010

 

“Jason, come in. Report back to the cave. Jason?” He hasn’t reported back for two days. Something’s wrong. He may be hot headed and a rule bender but he always reports back. I get up and go down to the batmobile. “Chariot mode.” The car opens and lights up. I input the destination of 278 Laingholm Drive. Where I last sent him. The cockpit closes me in, I flick a switch turning on the internal lights and press the accelerator.

The car pulls up to the suburban home. I exit the car. “Trojan mode.” It deactivates everything and camouflages itself like a chameleon hiding from prey. The door to the house is askew. Strange. I go in and see nothing but a television sitting on a cart in the living room. On the screen is a timer. T-minus 10 minutes. What’s happening in 10 minutes. I send out a small drone to scan the house for a bomb or people. Nothing to be found. What happens in 10 minutes

 

------------

 

Jim Gordon’s POV

 

Sunday, December 24th, 2010

 

Ten minutes till Christmas. Funny. The year went by so fast. From one case to the next. The Riddler, the return of Bane, even the Batman copycat. Boy, that was a strange one. Lee and I exit the restaurant and make our way to the lot. The rain pelts down like bullets. I grab my phone out of my pocket to call the sitter and tell her we’re on our way. I grab the cold phone and dial the number. I can hear its ringing and going through. No answer. I call again. No answer. What’s going on? What the fuck where is the babysitter that I overpay? My body takes over as my mind becomes disengaged. It’s happening. Arthur’s going for Barbara. That sick bastard. Going for my ten-year-old-daughter. I start running. I don’t stop running. I won’t stop running.

 

———-

 

Bruce Wayne’s POV

 

Sunday, December 24th, 2010

 

Three minutes until the timer is done. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. Two minutes. The screen goes black, then a boy holding drums appears. “Today we have a special broadcast of little drummer boy,” a man announces on the small television unit. The boy looks distraught. Then he starts singing. I press my comlink to the cave, “Alfred, is this broadcasting to all of Gotham?”

“Sadly yes.” What’s he planning?

“Can you triangulate his location? Alfred?” No response.

 

Monday, December 25th, 2010

 

Bang. A bullet goes through the child’s head and the Joker goes on stage “Hello Gothamites, Merry Christmas! It is I, your not so friendly clown prince of crime, the Joker! Today we have a very special presentation this fair Christmas. We have your dark knight’s boy wonder, Robin!” The wall falls behind him revealing Jason, tied to a chair. “And of course we have the commissioner’s loving daughter Barbara.” A woman brings the young Barbara onto the stage, hands tied behind her back and gagged. “Look at this ray of sunshine, little cutie pie. Now, both of them will die in five minutes unless James Gordon and the Batman can get here in time. Here is the Channel 6 building by the way. Toodle loo.” The unit shuts off. Then a tick tick tick. A bomb. I pull up my cape to shield me from the blast. Boom. I’m not thrown back. Nothing happened but some confetti. No matter I need to get to them. I make my way to the building as fast as possible. No time to lose.

 

-------------

 

3rd Person

 

Monday, December 25th, 2010

 

“While we wait, boy wonder, I’m just gonna beat you with this crowbar.” The joker picks a gold rusty metal crowbar off the ground and starts hitting Robin senselessly. He laughs for the world to hear. “Let’s try it with my eyes closed.” The mad man puts his left hand over his eyes and swings. The end of the crowbar goes into the boy’s eye. He screams, however he isn’t dead. Upon removing the crowbar a small chunk of brain matter leaves it. Laughs echo throughout the bones of Gotham. Then a crash through the door and a scream from James Gordon himself, “Arthur! Let them go!” He checks his watch.

“Nope, you’re late.’’ He pulls out his gun and shoots Jason in the head.

He turns to shoot Barbara but a shadow breaks through the window tackling her. The Joker still shoots. The bullet flies through the air and makes its home in the stomach of the child. She screams. Gordon puts his gun away and makes his way to his daughter. The Batman rises up and looks to the body of Robin. “What did you do!” He asks furiously with only rage in his heart.

“You were late. I did what I must.” The Batman screams as he goes to tackle the mad man. He places his hands around the Joker’s throat and squeezes. The Joker struggling to breathe presses a button on his wrist. Acid sprays out of the flow on his chest hitting the mask of the Bat, melting away a portion of it by his left eye and making it visible showing a man who lost everything Batman stumbles back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.” The Joker exclaims.

Batman gets back up as the Joker grabs the door handle towards a hallway. He throws a batarang at his hand, impaling it. He doesn’t even flinch and still opens the door, blood dripping from his hand. “You’re not getting away.” Batman mutters under his breath. He runs after him. Gordon calls an ambulance and follows the bat.

They get through to the hallway. Gordon follows close behind. “Arthur! What did you do?!” He yells into the abyss.

“You know James, one thing I’ve always wondered about you is, why so serious?” The Joker chuckles after saying this and pulls the blade out his hand and throws it back at the bat. He catches it upon arrival placing it in his belt. “You need help Arthur!” The Joker’s tone changes.

 

“You don’t know what I need! You never did. When I needed help you just brushed it off. You don’t know anything about me. Arthur is dead. The Joker is all that’s left.” He shoots three times at them. The bullets hurtling through the air all hitting various points upon the floor and wall. Batman pulls out his grapple and fires it at the Joker’s leg. It impales his thigh squirting blood around the wound.

“Harley dear, I could use some help.” The woman Harley Quinn, formerly Harleen Quinzel, comes out of one of the rooms down the hallway and swings a mallet at the Bat. He catches it and punches her in the face twice each with more force the second breaking her nose with a crack. Her grip loosens and he breaks it over his knee. He tosses her to the ground with his face bloodied. “Your lackey can’t stop me Napier.” Batman retracts the grapple pulling him towards them. All sense of morality leaves the dark knight’s body as he punches the mad man’s face. Again and again, and again. He punches to no end. Each one with more anger and furiosity. Anger for Jason. Joker’s face starts coming off as he laughs. Gordon stops Batman.

“You’ve done enough.” He rises up and then begins to leave. “I like you Batman. We’re destined to do this for a long time.” He laughs again. And doesn’t stop. Batman leaves, fists bloodied. Anger in his heart. Anger that won’t leave for a long time. He’s failed his parents. He’s failed Gordon. He’s failed Jason. He’s failed Gotham.

———-

-hero

 

Lego 70912

The Batman Movie

Arkham Asylum

 

The batman: scourge of Blackfire 2/4

 

GCPD

 

Renee Montoya walks into the captains office on a busy Jim Gordon packing away his belongings

 

Renee: Jim. We’ve got a suspect in cell 3. Says he only wants to speak to you. Your the only “pure” soul in this place apparently

 

Jim Gordon: What’s the crime?

 

He says, still half reading some old files and rising from his armchair

 

Renee Montoya: Aha...Well brace yourself...he’s been ordering around Gothams homeless to go after and kill the cities sinners. He’s pretty much just a cultist who somehow got recognised

 

Jim Gordon: hmm....I’ll talk with him now...men like that often have something to hide. Usually some sorta end game.

 

Renee Montoya: I’ll tell em to get the interrogation room ready

 

Montoya leaves the room and Gordon falls into his seat with a sigh and starts clicking his pen

 

Batman: Gordon

 

Jim Gordon: Who I...

 

Batman: Don’t turn

 

Jim Gordon: Okay okay okay...your that bat fella right?

 

Batman: A man came into the precinct today. Name of Blackfire. What have you gathered?

 

Jim Gordon: Not much. He’s a cult leader. Commands the cities homeless. They capture and mutilate sinners. And in a city like this he’s got his work cut out for him. I’ve gotta go chat with him now

 

Batman: I’ll be on the roof. Meet me there when your finished with him

 

Jim Gordon: But he’s been arrested I don’t see why you...oh right...gone

 

———————————————————

 

Jim Gordon walks into the interrogation room, sitting down and facing blackfire

 

Jim Gordon: Deacon..Joseph..Blackfire.

From what we’ve gathered your the man behind Gothams recent cult problem. Several of what your followers have refered to as “sinners” have had their bodies disfigured and set alight on the very same church grounds that you’ve been hosting Gothams homeless. Clothing them, feeding them and sheltering them. Most would call you a saint. But luckily for you I’m not most. Beneath those sacred grounds a couple of my guys stumbled across some sort of...sewer council in which you burnt wooden crosses and riled up a crowd of 100 or so people. Now maybe it’s just me but that’s not exactly...what usually consists of a “help the homeless” scheme. What’ve you got to say about that Joseph. No bullshit

 

Blackfire: hahahaha....i’d almost forgotten about them..

 

Gordon: Who?

 

Blackfire: Those enemies of Christ you mentioned. Disfigured...And burnt.. you know I’ve had their unholy corpses buried beneath the soil for some time now I really must do some...garden work...pull out all those wretched weeds if you will..

 

Gordon: You admit to it?

 

Blackfire: Oh yes of course. I’d agree with most of what you’ve said really. Just one tiny detail which I must admit does bother ones mind. I don’t run a blind or mindless cult Jim! And that’s where we differ you see...commissioner

 

Jim Gordon: how’d you know that? It hasn’t been released yet. I only found out on tues...

 

Blackfire: The same way i know you are the only man I can trust with my holy quest Jim. You see you really can get a lot done with an entire homeless population at your beck and call. They make the perfect spies. Eyes all over yet ignored by all. But that’s completely insignificant. You see I came with a proposal... and only you are fit to accept it...leave this trap Jim...give up fighting for mans flawed laws...fight for what is good. fight for your saviour! An entire army at your will. Do not judge them by what you have been fed for so long. They are no indigents. They are warriors. Protectors of justice willing to follow you into any battle.

 

Gordon: You’re right they aren’t. They’re people. Certainly not your goddamn soldiers

 

He gets to his feet and pushes back his chair

 

Gordon: Guard. We’re fini...

 

The lights go out and the sound of the buildings alarm being pulled alert the perched bat atop the precinct. He immediately makes his way into the building and when the lights are finally switched back on, he arrives at the interrogation room only to find two empty chairs sitting alone on either side of a rusty metal table. He walks to Jim’s notes, sprawled in a pool of concerning red, finding that all is crossed out and replaced with a red crucifix. He carefully places the pages in a small lined protective pouch on his belt and heads towards the cave

It takes a further twenty minutes before I'm able to get Tim and I out of the hospital so we can make our way back to Wayne Manor. That Richard Lyons sure does love to talk, that's putting it politely. But sure enough he's managed to convince me to invite him up to Wayne Manor to have a meeting about possible redevelopments in Gotham. With the funding that the Wayne Foundation can provide, Lyons Infrastructure should be able to do wonders for Gotham. It's just a shame it took so long for him to pitch the idea to me in the first place.

 

By the time we make it back to the house Alfred's started grumbling about all the work he's not been able to do thanks to our trip to the hospital. Despite all his moaning though I know deep down he's simply relieved that Jim's alright all things considered. The Crimson Knight isn't known for being merciful to anyone that crosses his path. But I know the truth of it all.

 

He didn't leave Jim alive out of pity. He did it to send a message to me. No-one is safe from his wrath, and given his knowledge of Bruce Wayne and Batman being one in the same I need to be ready for a possible offensive against me. If there's one thing he'll hope to gain from the copy of the GCPD database he stole it's allies. I need to anticipate his moves and learn who he may have released already. Logically to counter my forces he'll need a sizeable force given the skill level of Tim, Dick and Jason. Then again it's questionable as to whether or not he knows I have Dick and Jason to call upon. Last thing I want is to drag them in to Gotham where they're unneeded. I can only hope the mission I assigned to Jason of retrieving the anti-lazarus will prove to be unnecessary in the long run.

 

As night falls I quickly hear news that the Crimson Knight assaulted the Martha Wayne psychiatric hospital in south Gotham and freed Standler. Strange. What could he hope to gain from releasing Standler of all people? He's hardly a threat to anyone beyond giving them a shock as he sprays them with condiments. There can only be one reason he chose to free Standler. An attack on me. No-one else in Gotham know it aside from myself which makes it the perfect message. To the rest of Gotham the mysterious figure who assaulted the police commissioner just broke into a hospital and freed a crazy patient. But for me it's perfectly clear. It's an attack on me and the legacy of my family. He intends to burn me and bring the Wayne legacy crashing down to the ground. Not if I can help it.

 

Bizarrely for all his talk of facing me one to one he chose to attack the hospital in broad daylight and risk direct confrontation with the GCPD when they're well staffed rather than risk me. Perhaps he's more afraid of me than he dares admit. Or more likely he's boasting, for all of Gotham to see. I'll be sure to punish his arrogance.

 

Tim heads out to hunt down his latest lead on Film Freak he obtained during his stay in Carthage whilst I prep the bat mobile for deployment. I need to stop the Crimson Knight before his plans are allowed to come to fruition. His plans for Standler are a mystery to me but whatever they are, they can't be good. As I leave the systems diagnostics for the bat mobile to run I put the suit on and grab a spare cape from my the vault. Alfred hasn't got round to cleaning my cape from last night so I'll have to make do with this spare one for now.

 

As I walk back down to the vehicle bay I can't help but notice Alfred chasing after a visibly annoyed Barbra. I guess she's still registered in the bat computer as an ally thus why the alarm didn't sound. Odd mind, I could have sworn I removed her security clearance when her and Dick left and went to Bludhaven.

 

"Miss Gordon please he's about to head out on patrol!"

 

"I know Alfred. I shouldn't be long."

 

"Barbra? What brings you back here?"

 

"We both know what Bruce. I want to get my hands on the one who hurt my Dad."

 

I pause for a while. It's good to see Barbra back in the cave after so long. She hasn't stepped back in to the cave ever since Dick left Gotham after our argument. But despite how happy I am to see her finally return to the cave I can't let her go after the Crimson Knight. The Knight has already been trying to target Tim, the last thing I need is for Barbra to become a target as well. One member of the Gordon family has suffered already thanks to me. I won't let another suffer.

 

"No."

 

"What did you just say?"

 

"Your father has already suffered because of me. I won't let someone else suffer because of me."

 

"That's not your call to make Bruce."

 

"I'm afraid it is Barb."

 

As I those words she attempts to her way to display case with her old costume is stored. I know what you're up to Barb and I'm sorry but I can't let you go through with this.

 

"Shadow protocol. Authorisation: Batman-001."

 

With that the display cases seal themselves and lower into the cave floor to avoid them being discovered in the event someone accidentally stumbles upon the cave. The Batcomputer also conceals itself in the cave wall as well as the an artificial wall covering the entrance to the suit vault.

 

"What the hell are you doing?"

 

"What your father would want me to."

 

"Don't you dare use him against me."

 

"He needs you by his side right now Barb. Let me handle the Crimson Knight."

 

"Crimson Knight? That guy that dropped a warehouse on you?"

 

Clearly Dick brought Barbra up to speed on what happened in Gotham whilst he filled in as Batman.

 

"Yes. Him."

 

"Are you sure you're up to this? I mean Dick said he put you out of action for a week, I've never known that to happen."

 

"It was a simple mistake. One I'll be sure to not repeat. But right now Barb I need you safe. He's already been targeting Tim. I won't let you be put in his crosshairs either."

 

"But Bruce I can help."

 

"Yes you can, but right now your father needs you more. Please Barb. Leave this to me."

 

Begrudgingly she agrees.

 

"Fine. But the minute you have him I want to know. He needs to suffer for what he's done to my Dad."

 

"I will Barb. I promise."

 

"Thank you Bruce."

 

"Alfred can you drive Barb back to the hospital."

 

"Of course Master Bruce. I'm sure the dust can wait another hour before I get around to cleaning it."

 

"Thanks Alfred."

 

"Not a problem Miss Gordon."

 

"Don't stay out too late Alfred. Last thing we want is for the Lyons family to think I'm a slob."

 

"Don't worry Master Bruce. Hell will freeze over before I let Wayne Manor become a cess pit."

 

"Good to hear Alfred."

 

I place my cowl over my head and jump into the bat mobile and prepare for departure. As I'm about to shut the canopy I hear Barbra and Alfred call out to me.

 

"Good luck Bruce! Give him what he deserves!"

 

"Good hunting sir!"

 

They can't see it but their words of encouragement bring a smile to my face. With that I slam my foot down on the accelerator and the bat mobile races out of the cave as I make my way towards Gotham.

I arose in the morning to find a mess upon my hands, on the news it said it clearly, Henry Claridge was dead, and a new enemy with a gimmick had showed up, his name was “The Joker” I had been on alert from the broadcasted message, but after hearing the GCPD had it under control I helped Richard with some homework and then headed to bed.

 

“Hey Bruce!” he yelled from upstairs, probably done showering.

 

“Alfred’s done making the eggs so hurry up!” I yell back to him, he promptly charges down. A few minutes into breakfast I tell him the bad news.

 

“You remember that Claridge threat?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The murder was successful, and the diamond’s gone” he looks stunned.

 

“Do we know how this Joker fella did it?”

 

“Nope, now finish you’re eggs, Alfred’s out right now so I’ll be driving you” he nods and precedes to finish them. We head out and arrive at his school, I insisted on him going to a public school when I first adopted, so he could meet the normal kind of kid, and be normal, the same thing my parents had done for me and he agreed since he had been homeschooled before.

 

While Grayson is out I begin my investigation, checking around on any leads, but can’t find anything on this Joker character for a while, then Alfred shows up.

 

“Master Bruce, have you considered matching him with any other criminals from the past, see if it’s a familiar fellow?”

 

Upon realizing I hadn’t though of that I began to search it up.

 

“I was able to get information from the GCPD that gave me their leads, the only thing was that Claridge was poisoned, and we’ve seen the type before.”

 

“Where was that?”

 

“In year one, the Ace Chemicals break in, where the criminals led by someone using a red hood persona poisoned the guard 24 hours earlier, causing him to die when they entered.”

 

“But as we know he fell into that vat of chemicals, but there have been other Red Hood imitators and the Red Hood gang idolizes him.”

 

“So what you’re saying is that it could be a fellow who’s using his tactics to break in and steal at whatever cost.”

“Precisely.”

 

A few hours later Grayson had come home from his friends place, Alfred picked him up and now we’re preparing to talk to Lieutenant Gordon.

“So, what are the details?” he asks excitedly while gearing up.

 

“Fill him in Alfred” I say while getting dressed.

 

“A petty thug who’s using Red Hood tactics to get wealth and carelessly kill whoever.”

 

“Sounds like a really loon!” he yells, as I come out of the changing room.

 

“That’s why we’re going to take care of him, now lets go Robin to the Batmobile!”

 

“See ya Alfred!”

 

"Good luck Master Grayson, and Master Bruce!"

 

Just like that the Dynamic Duo are back, once again going after a foe, but it isn’t a familiar face like Zucco, Hatter, Riddler, or Deathstroke, no It’s a new one, and soon to be a familiar face, the vile and psychotic JOKER!

"Commissioner I'd like to commandeer your subway..."

*CRASH*

"Archer! Just you and me!" Zod screamed as the army of Kryptonians stormed the station.

"Get back Commissioner, I'll see what I can do" the Archer said nocking an arrow and aiming at Zod. Rays of heat caught the man in his shoulder and the Archer dropped his bow.

"Pathetic, now let us fight!"

 

General Zod moves from #45 Condemned apartments to #19 GCPD HQ placing Green Arrow in Peril

"...and he took Bane down by himself. The GCPD came by right after and took him away. He's done."

 

"That boy took that monster on all by himself? W-what's his name again?"

 

"Tim. He defeated bane at his full strength. That's what Tim said, anyway. He told me about how Bane looked all deformed and his skin changed an unnatural color and stuff. Sounded gross."

 

"Tim....that boy's amazing. I'm happy you found him. You deserve someone like him."

 

"Thanks, Daddy."

 

"I'm happy for you too. I've done everything in the book to ruin you and you're a hero. I know last time I asked this and it didn't end well, and I still don't really deserve it, but....can you give your dirtbag of an old man another chance? Can he have something live for?"

 

"Of course. And you have alot to live for, daddy. Mom said she's coming here later tonight."

 

"Crystal....."

 

*CRREEEK*

 

"That wasn't very stealthy..."

 

"I wasn't trying to be."

 

"Oh....B-Bruce, when I flipped out in the cave a few days ago...it was inexcusable. You were right, I was too angry like you said. I-I should have listened to you. I'm sorry... I just--"

 

"Enough. It's all over. I have enough things to worry about. This, werewolves, and now Bane's probably facing the death penalty."

 

"Whoa. Really?"

 

"I just got back from the GCPD. They interrogated Bane and he spilled everything. How he kidnapped Arthur, used him as cover, had his men murder those people at Gotham Liberty, and then nearly got Arthur killed. Apparently the sick bastard was smiling through the whole interrogation... "

 

"But...my dad's clear now, right? Bane confessed, so all charges against him--"

 

"Are dropped as far as I can tell. You're a free man, Arthur."

 

"Thank you....Am I fired, though."

 

"Alfred hates mowing the lawn."

 

"I've got you...don't worry."

 

"Oh Arthur...what have you done this time?"

 

"Crystal?"

 

"Mom! Everyone's here now, even--"

 

....gone. Classic, Bruce. Classic.

CP Air DC10 taxiing to runway 23 at Toronto YYZ

I have Alfred send word to Jim about Klaus being restrained in the Gotham Life Building before taking a perch on a nearby crane that's being used to rebuild the old Gotham clock tower. I pass several 'Wayne Rejuvenation Project' signs as I make my way up the crane. Given how Jason was the one who fired the rocket at the clock tower I do feel rather obligated to repair the tower. The added bonus that I can still continue my parents legacy of trying to help Gotham is merely icing on the cake. As I'm positioned on the highest crane of the building I signal the batwing to run scans for the trace elements in Lazarus. Gotham's a big city and if I'm going to find the Crimson Knight I'm going to need to make it smaller.

 

In the meantime as the batwing scans for Lazarus in the city I receive a transmission from Alfred over the comm system.

 

"Master Bruce?"

 

"Who else?"

 

"Indeed but I've picked up a call to the GCPD claiming to have seen an old friend of yours entering the Wilson condiment factory."

 

"Condiment factory? Oh please tell me it isn't...."

 

"I'm afraid so Master Bruce."

 

"Oh for goodness sake."

 

"I'll prepare the equipment to give your suit a good wash down when you get back Master Bruce."

 

"Thanks Alfred. Your sympathy means a lot...."

 

I leave my perch on top of the crane and make my way over to the Wilson Condiment Factory. I can't believe he's doing this again, and on tonight of all nights. It's moments like this when I would be grateful to have a Robin as I could simply send them to deal with him. Of course he would make a resurgence on the night that Tim is in Carthage with Jason.

 

It takes less than five minutes to make it to the condiment factory and I engage the jammer on my belt to stop any security alarms going off as I walk in through the front door, last thing I want is to give away the element of the surprise.

 

Predictably he's made his way straight to the large vats of various condiments that have already been made, no doubt hoping to sabotage them in some way, I dread to think how, so his aspiring 'company' can make a play for all the condiment business in Gotham. Not if I can help it. Boy it's only when I hear myself say that in my head that I realise just how stupid this all is. I mean come on. Who goes around Gotham using condiments as a weapon? It took five hours to get all the mustard out of my first suit when I first crossed paths with you Standler, you'd better push your luck and try to put up a fight.

 

As you'd expect I manage to track him down in no time but before he's made his way to storage. He isn't too far from it though so rather than give him any opportunity I make my play pulling out my gel gun and dropping down behind.

 

He jumps the moment he hears my voice echo in the corridor.

 

"I'm really not in the mood for this Standler."

Six Years Ago: The East End

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Now:

 

Sionis Warehouse: South Gotham

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Eh. No real loss.”

 

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

 

“You’re dead anyway," Jenna spat.

 

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

 

“When Gar gets here-”

 

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

 

Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“What the fuck was that?!”

 

“Holy crap, he’s dead!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel

 

Lobby: Ground Floor

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

“You’re leaving?” Chuck asked.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“While occupied?” Sionis asked.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Who?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“And?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Nope." Needham’s arms stayed folded.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Joey's eyes widened. "Gar!"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“No.”

 

“Well, I have. Blame Rigger.”

 

“I shall.”

 

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

 

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

 

“And where is he now?”

 

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

 

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

 

Li and Sionis looked at each other.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Then we’ll do it.”

 

Sionis tilted his head back. "Hm?"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"My problem?" Chuck squinted.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"You don’t understand! I love her!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"It's not just mob business."

 

"What?" Chuck stared at Bridget.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks

 

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

 

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

 

“And? What changed?”

 

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

 

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

 

“Incognito,” the red suited man introduced himself.

 

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

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel:

 

Room 792: Floor 25

 

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

 

Six Years Ago: Sionis’ Penthouse. Diamond District

 

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

 

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

 

“Well, he hyped you up plenty.”

 

“That’s just Drury. He exaggerates.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The Gotham Royal Hotel

 

Lobby: Ground Floor

 

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

 

“That settles it.”

 

The Misfits looked at Gar.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“The lizard?”

 

“The lizard.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Like my pop’s old flip flops!”

 

~-~

 

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

 

Li watched from the side, concerned.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

~-~

 

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

 

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

 

...

 

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

 

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

 

"Hypocritical," Kuttler corrected him.

 

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

 

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

 

‘It wasn’t an accident.’

 

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

 

Six Years Ago: The Monarch’s Court

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Drugs kill, who knew?” Ferris whistled.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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