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Old 09-04-2012, 09:54 PM   #57
Carnage27
No one's puppet
 
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Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 4,462
Default Re: Ultimate One Universe RPG: IC Thread



I stand on the roof of my building, fiddling with the radio earpiece I've rigged to tap into police scanners, attempting to shove it into my makeshift mask. From my feet to my neck I'm covered in high-performance compression material. It's light, and breathable, allowing me to move in the way I need. My mask is a simple mesh one, with an open oval where my eyes are.

On my hands and feet are parkour shoes and gloves, which will allow me to move along the rooftops and rung along the city streets with ease. I've lined the outside of the gloves with MMA-like fighting gloves to protect my hands from punches.

A simple repelling harness wraps around my waist, with the rope I've purchased as well as a few special supplies I've put together on my own.

It's not bulletproof, or knife-proof. It's not black ops. But it'll have to get the job done. It's all I could afford, and I couldn't wait any longer. I have a mission to take care off, protective equipment or not.

It's time to send a message.

The radio crackles to life in my ear, and I adjust the scanner on my belt to try and get a police feed.

"Base, this is DC-27," a voice comes over the radio. I smile, knowing this is the exact man I'm looking for. "Just passed by Eddie Skeevers on the corner of Walnut and 50th."

"And?" the dispatcher responds, annoyed.

Eddie Skeevers. The man who runs Carmine Falcone's drug shipments into the city, and takes care of hiding any contraband that Falcone needs to disappear. Everyone knows it, but no one will touch him, lest they run afoul of Falcone.

But this detective is sure as hell going to try, "And the guy is suspected-"

"Suspected. No outstanding warrants. Nothing. Leave him alone, Gordon."

He might have to leave him alone, but I sure as hell don't. I take off in the direction the detective indicated on the scanner, knowing it's not far from my location.

This is the kind of opening I need. This is the kind of guy that has information. Real information on the mob's comings and goings. Getting some out of him could give me the opportunity I need to announce my presence in Gotham, and to begin to make the mob sweat a little.

I glide easily over the rooftops, my equipment feeling like an extension of my body rather than a hindrance. I leap over an alley, swiftly clearing the gap easily, and landing softly on the parkour shoes.

It only takes me a few minutes to reach the intersection where Gordon saw the mobster, and luckily I see him exiting a bar down the street, probably a shakedown for protection money. Skeevers is noted as enjoying shaking down the innocent. They say he gets a thrill off of it.

Disgusting.

I move over towards the alley closest to where Skeevers entered, and smile as he turns into it, heading towards the car parked below me. I quickly locate a drain pipe near me, and silently slide down it, hunkering in the darkness as he clicks the unlock button on his keys, causing a flash from his taillights.

It's enough light to semi-illuminate me, and draw his attention for a second. But it's too late. I toss the end of the rope I fashioned into a bolo whip at his feet, tying them up.

With a quick jerk, I yank his feet out from under him. He attempts to claw his way away from me, but I reel him in quickly. Picking him up and tossing him against the back wall of the alley, I snarl at him, "Eddie Skeevers. You run drugs into the city for Carmine Falcone?"

He sputters and coughs, trying to regain oxygen into his lungs that I just knocked out by slamming him against the wall. He goes for a knife, but I easily take it from him, tossing it at the lone flickering light in the alleyway, cloaking it in complete darkness.

"Answer my question, Skeevers," I demand impatiently.

"Y-y-y-yes," he stutters. "Oh god don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you," I respond, the anger in my voice palpable. I can feel the fear radiating off of him. And Alfred said they don't get scared. "Give me the information I want, and I'll let you go."

"Yea...yea...of course. Whatever you want buddy," he responds. Criminals are cowards. They'd sell their mother out if it meant they could get ahead a little bit.

"When's his next shipment coming in?"

"Thursday night!"

"Where?"

"Dock 7-C. Southeast port! You got what you want man! Lemme go!"

"I don't think so," I narrow my eyes at him.

"Who are you!?" he asks, obviously terrified.

"I'm Batman," I respond with a headbutt that knocks him out.

I don't even know where the name came from. I had never thought about what I would call myself when the time came to start my crusade against the corrupt and evil of Gotham.

But as he asked me the question, my mind flashed back to the day I visited my parent's mausoleum. The flock of bats that exited from the caves below, swarming me and filling me with dread are the perfect symbol to strike fear into the heart of criminality.

I am the Batman. And I am Gotham's salvation.

**********

While this is happening, Detective James Gordon sits in his car with his partner, watching the alley which Skeevers just entered intently.

"I dunno why you're bothering, Jim," Harvey Bullock grunts as he reads the paper. "You know you're not gonna arrest him."

"Maybe I can catch him with something," Jim responds wearily. He's been in this town, in this job for too long without any results. He's tired of coming home a defeated man in a city that has no respect for the law. But he was born and raised here, and he'll be damned if he's going to sacrifice it to the scum of this city.

"Yea, so then he'll get bailed out and never brought up on charges?"

"Well, it'd be something," Jim says, realizing Skeevers has been in the alley for minutes without exiting in his car or on foot. And then the detective hears glass shatter from that direction. "You hear that?"

"Yea, why?"

"Come on, let's check it out," Gordon says, jumping out of the car, his hand on his gun.

**********

Heavy footfalls draw my attention to the entrance of the alley. I turn, Skeevers slumping in my hands to find Gordon and his partner standing there. The detectives pull their guns as I toss Skeevers towards them, and he lands at their feet, groaning in pain.

They take a step forward, but stop as I growl, "Don't come any closer."

"Why, are you armed?" Jim Gordon asks cautiously.

"No."

"Yea, well we are," Harvey Bullock chuckles and takes another step forward.

"It wouldn't matter," I respond calmly.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," I say. "What matters is you need me as much as I need you. You're two of the good cops in this city. Two of the few. But you've been beaten down and demoralized by the corruption of this city. So you've turned to drink and isolation to hide your shame. But I need cops like you to help clean up the system."

"This is ridicul-" Bullock starts, but is cut off by Gordon.

"And why do we need you?"

"Because I can work outside the known channels. I can live in the shadows. Get my hands dirty. Hit these guys where they live without a warrant or a reason. Get them sweating a bit. When that happens, they start to make mistakes. When they start to make mistakes, their empire crumbles."

"And how are we going to start? How will we know how to find you?"

He's interested. Good. The man is honorable. He knows what he's doing here. He's going against everything normal cops would stand for, but he wants to save this city as much as I do.

I toss a pellet from my belt onto the ground, causing a small smoke explosion, and climb up the drainpipe form where I came. Once the cops have finished coughing, they hear my voice come from above them.

"Look for my sign."

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