DC: Year One-- IC Thread.

[Hound55]

Vic Sage - formerly Charles Szasz - a prodigious young trial attorney, has secured a job at Hub City legal juggernaut Soule, Guggenheim, Liu and Associates.

After 8 months of menial paperwork, his mentor – a highly reputably, yet somewhat unlikeable man named Martin Banks – has allowed him to go through the company “Slush pile” in search of his own work.

In that file he’s found a name from his past. Aristotle Rodor, a renaissance man – thinker, philosopher, scientist, artist – who created the product Psuedoderm, an artificial bandage which has the potential to revolutionize field medicine in the armed forces.

Sage met the conman, Arby Twain, who has been attempting to steal this invention from his old friend and he served him with a dubious writ with the intention of panicking Twain into revealing the whereabouts of the pseudoderm.

After office hours, Vic Sage returned to the office and stole the pseudoderm. However, Twain stumbled upon his attempt and the two fought. In the ensuing struggle Twain fell to his death through the window of the highrise office building. Sage fled the scene.

This is what follows…​

Vic Sage walks to the Spruce Street office of Soule, Guggenheim and Associates through the morning’s frost, hugging himself in the folds of his overcoat. Rounding a corner he sees a pair of black-n-whites, a Hub City PD officer standing by the front door.

Vic continued towards the office before he drew unnecessary attention to himself. He knew exactly why they were here, but he hoped his face didn’t betray that knowledge.

His face needed to convey curiosity. As he rushed up those steps, behind his eyes, there must remain a question.

A Question Of Loyalty – Part 5​

“Martin Banks, you are being placed under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you… Mr Banks, do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Vic Sage entered the office just in time to see the Hub City Police placing Banks under arrest. The officers seemed to have a certain glee behind those words, which was only being contained by their desire to ensure the collar was clean and the Miranda given clear.

A defense attorney collar would put a new spring in their step for a while. But the knowledge that the perp would be smart enough to twist and use any misstep against them kept the officers from getting brash.

Bill Soule stood to the side with his arms folded, watching proceedings in contemplation. Alice behind the front desk sat aghast. If Vic had been early that day, he’d know that she had held that expression for the past ten to fifteen minutes.

“What exactly is going on here?” Vic demanded, but was quickly ushered to the side with Soule, the supervising senior officer and a third man in a suit, as two other officers frogmarched Banks out the front door in handcuffs.

“Mr Banks is the primary suspect in the murder of my client, Arby Twain.” The third man spoke, as the trio watched Banks leave with the two officers.

“He’ll also be facing numerous charges ranging from fraud, to false pretences, to forgery of a judge’s signature.”

Sage had been careful. Taken every measure he could think of to protect himself. He’d delivered the writ late on Friday so Twain would have no way of seeking legal counsel. How could this be?

A page was stuffed into his hands, which immediately clarified the situation.

“This is a copy of the faxed document I received late Friday.”

“Fax. Goddamned fax.” Vic thought to himself as he looked over what was in his hands.

“If you wish to have an attorney go with him back to lock-up—“

“That won’t be an issue.” Soule said. “This firm has no interest in being seen as having any part of what Mr Banks may have allegedly been partaking in.”

This time it was Vic’s turn to look aghast. He was watching Banks getting cut loose. Amputated like a cancerous limb.

Soule answered a few more questions. Officers and Twain’s lawyer left some time later after boxing up much of Martin Banks’ office as evidence.

* * * * *​

It was some time later that Soule walked into the room that Sage was pouring through articles in a file. He closed the door behind him and sat down, staring at the young lawyer who sat opposite as if to try and take his measure.

“A bit of excitement this morning, wasn’t there?”

Sage looked up and nodded in agreement.

“A little bit…”

Vic went back to his file, head down pouring over words, re-reading several as he struggled to actually take in any of what he read.

“Hey!” Soule expostulated, demanding the younger lawyer’s attention.

Sage raised his face up to meet his gaze. Soule looked at him as if to read him. He rubbed a hand across his jaw as he tried to gauge the younger attorney.

“It was an accident, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“He knows!” Sage thought to himself. “How!” his mind raced. All the while trying to keep his face blank; a much more difficult task this morning without the pseudoderm...[/LEFT]

 

[MST3K 4ever]

It was just after midnight in Gotham. Most of the town was sound asleep, and those who were awake we’re not awake by choice. That included Oswald Cobblepot who told his butler Coleman that he wanted to see what progress had been made on the Iceberg Lounge in his absence. Coleman had insisted that Oswald wasn’t well enough to drive a standard with his leg in its compromised state and with the late hour he needed rest. Oswald assured Coleman he would be fine he rested most of the day and he would take his Cadillac.

The Cadillac pulled into an underground garage and Oswald entered the lounge. Even in the dimly lit rooms Oswald could tell that progress had been made. He nodded as he limped along and in most cases Oswald would be overjoyed calling Heather and singing her praises far and wide. However it was The Penguin who was needed this evening and not the affable Oswald Cobblepot. His canister of Synotx nerve gas had been recovered, and put back into the inventory, but there were a larger issues at hand. Dealing with those who stole it, and how did they gain access to his network were issues to be settled.

Oswald entered a secret elevator and descended to the sub-basement where The Penguin conducted his business. Oswald limped down the dimly lit hall dressed in a black Armani overcoat, and black leather shoes that echoed as he approached a door with two sizable gentlemen waiting there. The noticeable gun bulges in their coats could be drawn at a second’s notice.

Oswald looked at one of them and asked, “Status?”

He replied, “Mr. Cheeves has been in there for approximately two hours after we arrived from retrieving the nerve gas. Nothing new to report at this time sir.”

Oswald nodded and looked at the other and asked, “Those involved?”

The other replied, “Three of them sir. Two males and one female. Look to be under 25. The nerve gas was hidden in a basement in a burned out apartment building in the Narrows.”

Oswald nodded and said, looking at each man, “Thank you Gentlemen. Keep your post for the next hour. After that I will call in two others to relieve you two.”

Oswald looked at the door and then nodded at one of the men who opened the door. Oswald entered the room and saw three people tied to chairs with burlap sacks over their heads. The light in the room was given off by a single over hanging lamp, the chairs were in circle, and Mr. Cheeves was dressed in gray slacks, a white oxford cloth shirt, wearing a gray vest and black leather gloves.

Penguin stepped forward just enough that Cheeves was able to see who he was and then Penguin retreated into the shadows. The two men shook hands and Cheeves said, “Evening sir. They’re standing firm together, but I think one is ready to crack. I have my network trying to get specifics on who exactly they are. I should have that information within the hour, and from there we will have more leverage.”

Oswald nodded and said, “Good. Go catch some fresh air for about 10 minutes. I’d like to have some words with these parasites. Get some more of your toys I do so like to watch a master work.”

Cheeves nodded and left the room as Penguin pulled out a portable voice distorter.

He approached the circle allowing the sound of his shoes to echo. Penguin asked, “Now which one of you did I have the pleasure of talking to today?”

One of them let out a gasp as another said, “It can’t be.”

Penguin replied, “Oh yes it can be. Now in a few moments my associate will return and we will have a more in-depth discussion. Rest assured when I am done you my misguided youths will regret dealing with The Penguin.”

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Rhiannon stood in front of her dresser mirror and was studying how she looked in a her blue and white sweat clothes.

Nothing obvious showing that I’m hiding a costume. Now let’s see what happens when I do this.

With that Rhiannon transformed into The Atom and watched as she shrank away from the mirror. Once she was The Atom she floated up and looked at herself in the mirror.

Atom smiled and said, “No matter how many times I’ve done this I still can’t get over it. It’s just so unreal. Bright side though this could help make discreet exits if I ever wanna leave a party early.”

Atom looked at the costume closer and said, “I still need a logo. I mean this area here gotta give ‘em something to look at.”

She looked down at her chest and said, “Well besides the obvious things to look at.”

Atom floated higher and said, “Time to have some fun though.”

Atom floated into the air duct system and sat in what looked to be the central hub.

I can go to an apartment from here. Not to be nosy mind you, but it would give me a chance to brush up on my covert sneaky sneaky skills if nothing else.

Atom began to float and around and then heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh. Which was followed by a child screaming. Atom quickly made her way to the sound.

She stopped and saw a child curled up on a bed whimpering as her door slammed.

Atom’s heart sank as all she could do was look for a moment.

Okay so not all villains are out to take over the world, but I’ll be damned if this one is gonna get away with this.

Atom floated down and landed on the nightstand. Atom said, “Hi there.”

The child looked up with tears stained cheeks and the makings of a black eye. The child said looking around, “Hello”

Atom waved and the child finally noticed the 6 inch tall heroine. The child blinked twice and just stared at Atom who said, “My name is The Atom. What’s yours?”

The child replied, “Kelly. Are you a fairy like Tinker Bell?”

Atom had to fight every impulse to keep from rolling her eyes, but instead said, “Well yeah something like that. I want to help you Kelly. Do you want my help?

Kelly sat up a bit in bed nodded as she said, "Yes please. I don't wanna get hit anymore."

Atom replied, "Okay then. That means sometimes you might have to do things that may make you scared, but if we work together I can help you so you don't get hit anymore."

Kelly nodded and started to move towards Atom. At first Atom was nervous. Seeing a child who was at most 8 years old but was the size of Shaq (to her at least) approaching her and reaching for her was a new experience for Atom, but she allowed Kelly to pick her up.

Kelly placed Atom in the palm of her hand and said smiling and with a voice that still was uncertain of what was going on, “You’re pretty.”

Atom smiled as she sat in the palm of Kelly’s hand and said, “Thank you so are you. You have a pretty smile.”

Kelly smiled a bit wider and Atom returned the smile.

This should help see that what is happening is real. Well real as it can be considering the circumstances.

Atom said. “Now I need you to tell me your story.”

Kelly set Atom on her bed and said, “Well it gets kinda scary.”

Atom replied sitting on top of a pillow, “Oh don’t worry when you’re my size all kinds of things can look scary, but it’s okay I’m want to help, and the only way I can is if I know what's going on.”

 

[Misfit]

The Crane Academy, Gotham City
11:15 PM - MUSIX

"Now boys and girls, you must understand the place that genuine loyalty has in any organization. Without it, the synergy for which any individuals cooperate is not only negated, but reversed. My 'dear' pupils, I speak not from mere speculation, but my own experience. In my youth, I had a distaste for my companions and I was not too keen on holding to my agreements, but my reputation has been appropriately soiled."

The crime school of Gotham, publically known and registered as The Crane Academy, is both among the most prestigious and nefarious schools in Gotham. The students are usually the children or relatives of members of the mobs or otherwise related to a crooked benefactor. When the school is watched, they almost invariably perform with the highest of academic excellence, but in secret they are given the world's most renowned course in one field of study: Breaking the Law. From high caliber burglary to assassinations, the alumni are primed for flawless felony.

"Yo, teach!" barked an unsavory youth. "None of us here are new anymore, not like we really need another lecture." He clapped his hands loudly, "Chop chop!"

"Very well then, Donald," Crane's face twisted into an ugly grimace. "Tonight is your yearly exam. Pass and you are one step closer to graduation. Fail and you'll be kicked to the curb like a child's kickball. There are no exceptions, no excuses, and no retests." He crinkled his nose. "Of the twleve of you, nine may pass at best. The assignment is simple, bring to me one of three pieces of selected pottery from the Mayan exhibit at the museum," he pointed to three photographs hanging in front of the chalkboard. "You'll be working in teams of three, meaning your teammates are the two others in your row of desks. For example, Donald, Linda, and Katrina will be Team One. It doesn't matter which of you or how your team does it, just see to it that it is, indeed, done." He glanced at his watch, shrugged, and said "The test begins now."

Each and every one of them rushed out, escaping like rabid dogs. Despite their zeal, he doubted all of them. In six years, he'd never passed nine students.

*******​

Downtown, Gotham City
11:25 PM

Linda, Donnie, and Kitrina were all jetting towards the museum on motorcycles. Every student enrolled owned a phone with encryption so high that the NSA couldn't come anywhere close to cracking it. Trailing behind his female partners, Donnie reviewed what he was working with. Linda was a teacher's pet with a gift for applied chemistry. And Kitrina was supposed to be some kind of super-spaz stealth specialist. But Donnie pegged himself as the class clown. His ears perked up as Linda's voice broke the radio silence.

"We're going to take a calculated risk here and split up. Team Two is approaching quickly and paced to hit the museum first, but their overambition will blow this sky high for all of us. Donnie, keep them back. Three is greased lightning, we'll be lucky to beat them. Kitrina, you're on them. But we can probably broker a deal with Team 4. I'll handle that one. Let's go!"

Like they heard a starter pistol, they all split like a broken plate, with Donnie lingering behind.

Hanging back on the claustrophobic nighttime roadway, he watched his rear view mirror with a schizophrenic sense of duty, waiting for the other team to appear. When they did, he hit a dip in the road, momentarily losing control because of his divided attention. When he recovered, he had a devious idea. On the next dip, he unloaded a water gun and left a murky puddle for the team tailing him.

Sure enough, they drove through it, all three losing control. One even hit the side of a Hummer in the parallel lane, falling off his bike and rolling on the road. Donnie smiled and chuckled when an upcoming semi-truck charged for the injured student. Perfect.

Then he lost it.

A lightning fast shadow ripped him off the street and carried him to the safety of the sidewalk. Donnie narrowed his eyebrows with confusion before checking back again and again to see what had happened. From the looks of it all of Team Two were bound together on the sidewalk. Whatever put them there was already gone.

"Dude.." he whispered, swallowing every drop of his saliva. Holding in a scream, he checked back again, seeing nothing, unsure if he'd really seen anything. He activated his headset, "Lin-L-Linda! Something is behind me!" His screams were heard by no one. Whinnying loudly, he heard his headset whine slowly until all he could hear was his own thundering heartbeat.

His bike flipped.

Ripped from his mount, Donnie was hoisted in the air at a speed he'd never experienced. Tethered by both ankles, he swung like a pendulum while rocketing upward. He erratically threw his hands, reaching for anything solid to grab, terrified at being drug straight up a brick wall, his fingernails scratching against every single stone. Then it stopped. He felt a bead of sweat slide up his forehead. Drip.

"Lindaaaaaaaaaa!!"

He was staring into the face of evil itself. Piercing white eyes. Wicked pointy ears like horns. And a shell covering that face blacker than the shadows of the night.

"This is your final assignment. You're done at the academy. Tell Crane I'm coming for him. And you need a new major."

Then, he cast Donnie back from where he'd come, reeling him out and listening to his screams grow faint.

CS | Previous​

 

[Andy C.]

​

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the Godfrey Hour, your only source for the truth in this increasingly crazed world! I am, of course, your host, the inestimable G. Gordon Godfrey, and our topic tonight: the "Superman." Just how 'safe' are we with this unkillable interloper from space crowding our skies? Joining me tonight is the world's most powerful private citizen, the CEO of LexCorp, and a regular favorite on the show, the incomparable Lex Luthor."



"Always a pleasure, Gordon. How's the wife?"

"Alive and well, tragically. So Lex, many of our viewers might not know this, but all of the products made by LexCorp-- from your incredible deep-space exploration drones, to the mighty fusion generators that power our fair city and hundreds of others, to basic home appliances-- have some basis in your unique field of science: astrobiology, the search for and study of theoretical extraterrestrial life."

"That's correct. I've spent my life looking to the stars and imagining how things might work out there, and then took my inspirations and applied them to tangible solutions here on Earth."

"But the 'Superman' claims to be an extraterrestrial, doesn't he? If he's telling the truth, then he's probably got a whole arsenal full of fantastical alien technology, things that could propel humanity ahead by centuries, that he isn't sharing with mankind!"

"Well, ha, let's give this being the benefit of the doubt-- not that it's necessarily deserved it. Assuming that the Superman entity came to Earth unaided by technology, or that said technology has since been lost or destroyed, the being's mere biology is the stuff of dreams. It's seemingly impervious to physical harm, unthinkably strong and fast, has senses that seem to defy possibility, and has total control over its gravitational field. Given a few drops of the Superman's blood, a few skin cells, a strand of hair, just imagine what we could do once we unlock the secrets of its DNA. The fact that it has not volunteered itself for even the most superficial examinations is......dubious, if not alarming."

"So you agree with me, then, that the Superman has ulterior motives for his supposed good deeds."

"It obviously wants to cultivate our trust-- it commits random acts of apparent kindness and averts disaster, it wears blue jeans and a T-shirt so it appears to be no different from you or me, it even elects not to wear a mask, unlike the other costumed vigilantes that have cropped up in his wake. The question, then, is to what end is this being working? Why is it so secretive about its origins? Was it sent here as an advance scout for a coming invasion or colonization? Was it sent as a refugee from some devastating war or grand cosmic threat we know nothing about? The fewer questions the Superman answers, the fewer reasons we have to trust it. I don't necessarily recommend outright condemnation or ostracizing until we know the facts, but I strongly recommend the public remain skeptical."

"Maybe he doesn't want to give out his personal information so people don't sue him for the collateral damage he causes. I know that LexCorp lost quite a pretty penny when he destroyed one of your cargo ships during the hurricane."

"Well, I wouldn't be petty enough to press charges since the loss of the Miss Kitty 5 ensured the city's safety, but you do bring up an excellent point. I can afford to be magnanimous about the property I lose when the Superman or its ilk get into a scrape, but the same can't be said for far too many citizens of Metropolis. If a conflict arose between two beings with Superman's powers, how many thousands of people would be left homeless, or have their places of business destroyed? How many would be unable to get to work because the public transportation lines have been wrecked? How many people would lose everything in a wreckless brawl between the alien and some hypothetical threat? The potential for catastrophic damage is simply--"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mister Luthor, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to interrupt you. I've just received breaking news: violence has broken out in the Bakerline district. As we speak, Superman is fighting an unknown assailant, one who appears to be emitting lethal discharges of radioactive plasma. No fatalities have been reported yet, but we'll keep you updated as the situation escalates. Thanks to a generous donation by LexCorp, Galaxy News already has a group of camera drones on the scene......"










"Okay," I say, gritting my teeth as my body tries to recover from my attacker's poisonous radiation blast, "So.....'Neutron.' Gotta admit, you pack a heck of a punch.....at least when you can get in a cheap shot."

Pulling myself to my feet, I'm able to speed out of the way as the man in the armored suit lets loose with another stream of radioactive plasma. The angry red beam whips across the parking garage and cuts through a reinforced concrete support like butter.

"Careful, you idiot!" Mannheim barks, "You'll bring this whole place down around us!"

"Perhaps we can move this outside," Neutron says, a pair of rocket engines in his boots roaring to life. They practically hurl him across the parking garage, lining himself up so that I'm between him and the exit, and lets out a pair of plasma blasts, trying to funnel me outside.

"Nnnngh!"

I'm able to keep the blasts from touching me, but even being near them is withering. Must be something to do with how my body takes in and processes sunlight-- being around ionizing radiation like this gums up the process, like dumping sugar in a car's gas tank.

Flying back, I exit the parking garage and into the lot of the old abandoned shopping center, with Neutron flying after me in hot pursuit.

"Now that we're out in the open," he says, an eager look on his face, "I'll show you what I can really do!"

I crack my knuckles and give him a hard glare.

"Likewise."

Neutron propels himself forward, firing off another plasma blast from his right hand. Now that I've got room to move around, I fly upward and keep clear of his attack, far enough that I can avoid the poisoning radiation sickness.....and far enough that I have a few precious split-seconds to take a better look at what I'm up against.

I expand my vision past the human-visible spectrum, focusing on the outer armor first-- it's a strong, lightweight frame composed mostly of graphene, with plates of a titanium alloy on the larger surfaces of the body. I continue to focus, and the molecules of the graphene layer start to blur as I tune my vision through them and into the knots of carbon-nano-spring 'muscles' underneath. I see the mechanisms that release the radioactive plasma mounted on his wrists, the conduits that travel down his arms from the storage tanks on his back.....but there's no visible power source, no batteries for this thing.

Underneath the nano-spring muscle layers, it goes opaque-- he's got some kind of full-body 'sock' lined with lead. I'd assume this is to shield him from the radiation, but why doesn't he have head protection if....

....wait a minute. When he first jumped me, he referred to his getup as a 'containment suit.' Which means that the Neutron suit doesn't have a battery.....

....because Nathaniel Tryon is the battery. His whole body is some kind of nuclear generator!

"That suit of yours isn't the source of your firepower, is it?" I say, looping around behind Neutron and grabbing underneath his arms, trapping him in a half-Nelson. "You're an actual metahuman! First I've ever encountered."

"An honor, I'm sure," Tryon sneers, before surging the conduits in his suit with a radioactive pulse. The energy permeates my body, another wave of intense sickness that robs me of my strength. It's all I can do to hold back my dinner, before Neutron pulls himself free and swats me away.

"Unlike you, space-man, I wasn't born with this power," he says, firing another blast that sends me to the ground. "This is the product of nano-bio-engineering, centuries ahead of the curve. We theorized that your alien cellular structure was so advanced that every cell in your body was a microscopic fusion generator-- and with a little help, we attempted to recreate what makes you what you are. Step one on the path of transforming man into gods."

"Well," I say, staggering to my feet just in time to avoid a dive-bombing attack from Neutron, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not glowing and radioactive, so I'm guessing it didn't work out."

"Corners were cut when we lost our funding," he says with a hint of disgust. "Instead of achieving godhood, I turned into....this. My own cellular structure is generating more than it can handle, and cellular apoptosis is well underway."

I charge at Neutron, landing a punch to his abdomen-- not enough to injure, but more than enough to rattle him inside his suit, and bring him down to the ground.

"Your powers are killing you?" I say, bracing myself for his next attack. "Then why try to sell your weapons on the black market? Why tell Bruno Mannheim that you can--"

"Mannheim doesn't need to know about my....condition," he says dismissively. "The pop-guns my associates are selling to him will be more than enough to satisfy him, especially once you're dead."

"But why--"

Neutron lets out another blast, a wide swath that I can't quite avoid in time. It knocks me off my feet and sends me tumbling across the pavement. My vision blurs and it feels like there's acid pumping through my veins. I can't take much more of this.



"This much stress is causing my body to go into meltdown," Neutron says, a cold bitterness in his voice, the deadly radiation now pouring off of him. "I'm dying because I wanted to be like you; it's only fitting that I make you deceased, in order to become more like me."

 

[Misfit]

Crane Academy, Gotham City
The Night After The Exam

Jonathan Crane slammed his shotglass against his desk, spun in his chair, capped his bottle of tequila, and tucked it away behind dozens of other bottles, canisters, and capsules in his desk's bottom drawer. It wasn't unheard of for no one to pass the yearly exam, but it was disturbingly close. Team 1 had been the only group to deliver any of the pottery, though not in one piece. Only Kitrina and Linda would be progressing to the next year. Donnie decided to drop out twenty minutes after the exam began, passing some vague threat along. Stupid boy.

Crane's cell buzzed on top of his desk's surface, making a racket like a jackhammer. Crane promptly answered and whipped it up to his ear. No greeting, just the sound of one thousand birds. No, not birds. Bats.

"Listen," Crane growled, "this is your only chance. Identify yourself. No one can call me on the phone to try and scare me." The line went silent. "I will find you, and when I do, you'd better hope for a miracle." It stayed hushed. Then it didn't.

"It's too late," a dark scream roared from behind, "because I've already got you!" Crane's chair rolled over his desk, dropping him on its top. A dark gloved fist threw a crushing blow onto Crane's left hand, which was holding to the desk's corner. The headmaster howled before the desk was overturned, dropping on his digits, fracturing them. His screaming continued until he ripped his hand from under the solid oak desk. Whimpering, he cradled his hand, eyes wide open as he looked at his assailant. He was like a twig on the road compared to the 'Semi-truck' stature of the beastial Bat-Man before him.

"Dr. Crane, if you don't close this school, I will. You won't use children as cannon fodder, I won't let you. There is no escape."

Crane let go of his hand, scoffing. "Escape? Please. Monsters don't exist. This is my school. I've faced all my inner demons. Question is, have you?" The doctor dipped into his pocket before a pulling a capsule out, to the light, and popping it into his mouth. "Intruder alert!

Rather than an alarm or siren, the sprinkler system turned on, leaking a green mist into the air.

"Before you die, you may as well be told the honest to god truth. The fact of the matter is, my school protects the kids. They're not innocent, and that's why they're here. They're better off for having my help, and I'm better off for the tuition. I was the carpet everyone walked on when I was a kid, at least these kids can enjoy some respect and welfare."

As Crane's monologue went on, the scenery seemed to shift. The Bat saw the office melt away, replaced with the paradisical picture of Park Row. "Crane!" he spun around, disoriented. "Crane! Face me!" The evil educator was nowhere in sight. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out and the clouds were strolling through the sky, carried by a gust of wind that he could feel. Then, he saw Crane pounce at him, a burlap mask hanging over his face. The Bat's fist smashed against the mask, throwing the assailant to the asphalt. "Give up. I have you."

'Crane' rolled over, pulling the mask off to reveal a familiar face, albeit bloodied.

"Dad," Bruce said, falling back. He looked over and saw Martha on the ground a few feet away."Mom?" Then a dapper six year old ran up to them, grabbing a hand from each. "Thomas? What is this?" Frozen with terror, he tried to scream to his family, warning them about what was to come. All he could do was watch as a man with a gun came...

and took all he ever wanted.

The shooter turned and Bruce faced Joe Chill's twisted grin. A flash of lightning snatched away the scenery, leaving a dark veil over the sky of Park Row. In the new light, the shooter no longer resembled Joe Chill, but the spitting image of Jeremiah Arkham. Park Row degenerated in front of Bruce's eyes. The brick buildings crumbled, the granite cracking apart like a jigsaw and covered over with spiderweb tar patches. Bruce began to tremble in shock, feeling his chest tighten like a boa was hugging him.

A light hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Thomas, eh?" it was Crane's voice, fixed to the body of his former caretaker, the very woman who mothered his parent's murderer. "Someone close to you, I'd assume. Family? Friend? Not that it matters." He receded his hand, "It's not like you'll ever see them ag-uck-uck-ka!" His threat was interrupted when the Bat's fist snapped around his neck, squeezing like it were Play-Doh. Then he was hurled to the ground, his skull dribbling against the hard floor. Gagging, he forced homself to speak. "No one," he sputtered, "No one can resist it.. what are you?"

"You worst nightmare." With a savage punch he turned the lights out on Crane. <Bat-Man to Base, mission complete. Target is incapacitated and en route to The Roost. Over.>

<Document and confiscate any items of note.> a headset nested under the Bat's cowl chirped. <What's your status?>

<Alive, but under the influence of a gaseous hallucinogenic. Over.>

<Gaseous, you say. Did the target also suffer its affects or was he immune?>

Bruce sneered before coming to the conclusion his brother had clearly beaten him to. <He took a pill before administering the gas.> Getting on his knees, he dug in Crane's pocket before finding several small brown colored pills. He took one himself. <Bat-Man, over and out.>

*******​

The Roost, Gotham City
One Hour Later

"What" Crane asked, waking with some kind of noise dividing his focus. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't. It took him a moment to process that he was restrained. Looking down, he saw his binding. A straightjacket. "Who do you think you are!" Stomping against an immaculate metal floor, he bellowed "You! Can't! Do! This!"

The criminal threw a terrible tantrum, wrestling against his attire to no avail. He was caged in a white cell in complete isolation. Few things were accessable in the room, all of which were welded to the walls and floors. After surrendering with a whimper, hd literally noticed the writing on the wall.

"Welcome to The Roost. You will be here until I've made permanent accommodations for your incarceration." - The Bat-Man

 

[Carnage27]

The fog hung over Star City like a blanket, masking the finer details, especially in the darkness. It's not often the fog of Star covers the city at night. But the mixture of cool ocean air mixing with the unseasonable warmth they had been having gave rise to the shroud that covered the metropolis. It reminded Oliver of his days on the island, which was often covered in a fine mist for the first few hours of the day. It made for optimal hunting of both game and enemies. He scouted and mapped the majority of his temporary home during those times. The island was treacherous, and its animals were hungry and lethal. The men he shared the island with were the real problem. They were the ones he hid from in the fog.

But Star City was a completely different animal. The men were even meaner, and there was nowhere to hide in the city. Each street hid a new dagger to be plunged into his back. Oliver wanted to use the cover of fog to his advantage in the same manner as he once did.

He had gathered, from the scuttlebutt through back channels, that the episode on the docks a few nights before had caused more confusion in the criminal underworld than the fear he was hoping to instill. In order to gain the desired effect he was looking for, Oliver needed a better lay of the land in Star.

"Quiver program, initiate," Green Arrow said into his commlink. The Quiver was to be his comprehensive crime database for Star City. A small camera, GPS, and recording devices were all embedded in his suit, and all of them fed back to his computer system in his loft. The system itself was a Queen Consolidated prototype that had been made to win a government contract. The contract went to LexCorp, but the program worked just fine, as Oliver had learned.

With everything prepared, Green Arrow took off across the rooftops of Star City in a free run. The Quiver recorded everything as he ran through the city, searching for any sign of the crime that gripped it.

In his time since he returned, Oliver had learned the Count had expanded his operations greatly. He owned nearly every square inch of the city, and any other gang answered to him, in the end. The crooked cop Greg Osborne, who had once been Oliver's handler, was now the head of Star City's Major Crimes Unit under the direction of Commissioner Brian Nudocerdo. The foxes were guarding the hen house in Star City.

Running over the city streets was calming to Oliver. He had yet to really re-acclimate to civilian life in the city. Every car horn from the streets below set him on edge, and the mass amounts of people surrounding him mixed with the tall buildings had given him a sense of claustrophobia. His bed was too comfortable, as well. It was an odd complaint, of course. But when you were used to sleeping in the wilderness, being too comfortable messed with your head.

Out here, though, he was at home. Running, hunting, and fighting for his life was Oliver Queen's normal now.

**********

"Oliver!" Mia Dearden Queen yells at her brother, snapping him back to attention. "Sorry, you just seemed to be off in your own little world."

Mia had been Oliver's primary source of support since his return home. She had always been the rock of the family. Mia's caring ways often had her butting heads with her parents. She was a firm believer in helping the less fortunate, something her father had never been much interested in. In the years during Oliver's absence, she had moved out and started school at Star City U. She had been constantly checking up on him. In the past, Ollie would have found it irritating, but now he loved it. It was better than their mother.

"Sorry, It's still..." he started.

"Hard, I get it," she nodded. "Listen, I don't know if you're up for it, but some of my friends are getting together tonight. It won't be your normal night out, but I thought it'd be good for you to hang around some normal, non-****ty people."

She wasn't wrong. Oliver may have had the air of a playboy returning home and enjoying all that came with that, but Mia knew him too well to believe that. She saw through the act that no one else had. Oliver was only doing it to keep up appearances and convince everyone he was who he had always been.

"You know what," he smiled, "that sounds great."
​

 

[Carnage27]

​

My name is Barry Allen, and I am the fastest man alive.

But sometimes being the fastest man alive doesn't mean anything when your entire city is being mind controlled by a madman under the orders of an enigmatic crime boss that fancies himself the king of Central City.

After Joe and Iris had left to find the man I had battled at the gala, he appeared on all of Central City's TVs and radios. Now, the city is virtually under his control, with only one mission: Find and kill The Flash.

Such is a day in the life of The Flash.

Now, I'm standing on top of the Central City police precinct I work at in my costume, looking over the streets surrounding the building. Each one is choked with people in full on zombie mode. I'm a fan of The Walking Dead, but all those discussions of what I would do during a zombie apocalypse were purely hypothetical. Sure, my biggest threat if one of these people bit me is a bruise or a cut, but I can't fight them off. These are innocent people in the hand of someone I'm not sure is completely sane. Speed isn't the only option here.

"Think, Barry, think," I say to myself as I pace back and forth. "He's gotta be located in a media hub in the city. That leaves two locations. Channel 6 or Channel 3."

Both of them have equipment powerful enough to take over the airwaves of the entire city, and they have access to both radio and television. The question now is what's waiting for me when I get there.

"Well, Barry, it's now or never," I take a deep breath before taking off through the streets of Central City. Weaving in and out of thousands of mind controlled pedestrians is not the recommended use of superspeed, by the way. Even though I can move through these people as if they were standing still, I certainly can't run at my full speed while having to constantly keep myself from annihilating some grandma that wanders into my path.

Barry, a grandma has wandered into your path.

I slam on the brakes, so to speak, and stop as quickly as possible before I slam into the old woman. The only problem is I've stopped in the middle of a horde of people under the orders to kill me.

The first punch comes from my blindside, catching me across the jaw. The man who hits me isn't large, but it breaks any concentration I may have had. On top of that, the second guy who hits me is large. I see stars, and immediately drop to one knee, which is a terrible, terrible choice. As I attempt to regain my composure, the mob begins to dog pile on me. Within seconds there are dozens of bodies on top of me, and the sun is blocked from view. The avalanche of human flesh begins to choke me, as the pressure becomes greater and greater. My vision starts to blur, and I realize I need to do something to get out from under the mass of humanity.

So I begin to vibrate my body at high speed. Without the room to begin running, it's basically my only option. The vibrations create heat. Not enough to significantly wound the innocents attacking me, but hot enough to show them I mean business. They begin to yell and run away, leaving me to head towards my end goal.

I make it to Channel 3 in the blink of an eye, but find it devoid of my target, "Channel 6 it is."

When I arrive, I rush to the main broadcast studio, where I find the flute player behind the desk, continually playing. When he sees me, he smiles, and his melodious voice echoes through my head, <Flash...how do you like my handy work? All these people, everyone in the city! All connected to me! It's fantastic.>

I give the man a sideways look. Like the Pied Piper of legend, he's led the proverbial rats to him, and he's giddy about it. To touch all those human lives like he's never been able to before. It's intoxicating for him.

"I don't think you'll be showing up on my iPod any time soon, pal," I sneer as I prepare to rush at him.

<Ah, I wouldn't do that,> he warns, motioning to the catwalk above. There I see Iris and Jay, both of their weapons drawn and pointed at one another. <You may be able to take me out, but can you save them as well? I found them snooping around my lair, and figured you turned them onto my trail. Now their blood will be on your hands.>

"You're sick," I snarl. "Grodd is using you. I don't know why, and I understand why you listen to him. But he is using you. And once he has what he wants, he's going to toss you aside like trash."

<He would never do that!> the musician shot back.

<Yes, Flash,> a new voice fills my head, louder and stronger than the other man's. The voice is one of power and strength, unlike my current opponent's. This person is sure of themselves, whoever it is. <I would never abandon those that help me. Grodd is a generous master. As you will all learn.>

I can't believe what I'm hearing, but there it is. Grodd himself is in my head like he owned it. He doesn't exert his will like the piper does, but he's clearly got more powerful mental abilities. Maybe this is why we've never caught a whiff of what Grodd looks like. Because he commands his men with his mind from behind the scenes.

<Get out of my head!> I command the mob boss.

He merely laughs, <As you wish.>

As his presence leaves my mind, I hear two gunshots and react instantly. In the blink of an eye, I'm on the catwalk with Jay and Iris. I grab the two of them as the bullets they fired travel through the air like its molasses thanks to my speed. They both land hard on the floor below, but neither seems injured.

In another blur, I'm face to face with the Pied Piper. Instantly, his instrument is out of his hands and in mine. I snap the flute in half, and the man begins to weep. It's not done to throw me off guard. It's genuine. This is a man who had never had real contact with another person until recently. He was someone looking for a connection, and Grodd took advantage of that. The crime boss twisted this man's pathological need for connection to make him into a weapon.

"I'm sorry," I shake my head and pat him on the shoulder. "I had to. Maybe...maybe we can get you some help wherever you're going."

I look over my shoulder and realize both Iris and Jay are staring at me with their mouths agape. My eyes go wide realizing my cover's been blown. There's no way to get out of this one, "Crap."

Before any of us can say another word, heavily armed men burst through the door, and I begin to vibrate my face and change my voice as I had done once before to hide my identity.

The men point their weapons in the Piper and I's direction, but do nothing else. From behind them, a stocky, African American woman enters and looks me up and down, "Well, quite a mess we've got here, no?"

"It doesn't need to get messier," I nod towards the men who are currently pointing machine guns at my chest. "The situation's under control."

She looks over her shoulder at her men, "Stand down. We'll take him from here...Flash."

I cross my arms and laugh, "And why should I give him to the men in black? What are you guys gonna do? Cut him open? Hell, as far as I know you're working with Grodd."

"I don't know who Grodd is," she snarls back at me, "but this man is dangerous. He needs to be incarcerated, and we're the only ones with the ability to do that."

"He's just misguided," I defend the man that just put half my city under his control. This is a weird day. "He needs help."

"We can do that," is her only retort.

"Who is 'we' anyway?"

"None of your damn business," the woman threatens as the men put their weapons back up. "Unless you'd like to come with your friend there."

After I simply shake my head, two of the men take the Piper into custody. Before she leaves, the woman turns back to me and gives me a sarcastic smile, "This has been fun, Flash. I'm sure we'll meet again."

"You'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath," I shoot back as she disappears down the hallway. I turn back to Iris and Jay, who are still dumbfounded, "So...surprise?"