As far as large-scale operations go, you can't have a better friend than the one you do in service routes and entrances. I've told my new henchmen not to use anything else, and they've done an exemplary job. In the past four days, they've gotten parking passes, city business licenses, the whole routine. Still, this is the first thing they've done that's been on a scale this big.
"I don't like this." One of the thugs says.
I roll my eyes. There's
always one.
"You don't?"I growl angrily.
"What part of it is it that you don't like, exactly? The van? Our outfits? I can always get a new tailor."I conclude with a giggle.
"Hey, I ain't kidding." His tone is indignant. He'd've been wiser to keep his damn trap shut, but,
no. Now I have to get my hands dirty, and there's the issue of hiring another gun, not to mention the fact this one took my seat in the van. People these days.
"If you're not kidding, then you picked the wrong boy to do business with, lemme tell you that."
"Look, buddy." He reasons,
"Just let me out in the parking lot of the stadium, and I'll pretend that none of this ever happened. I'll go about my business. I'll forget about the concert, the guns, hell, even my old boy you shot back in the warehouse."
I stare at him for a moment. He wants out? Fine! Better a goon on the outside than a rat on the inside.
"Stop the van!"A declaration.
"We've got a deserter."The brakes scream to a halt and the car lurches forward, then rocks backward. I slide the door open and gesture outwards.
"Get."The goon obeys, and sprints off into the parking lot.
"Oh, dammit, almost forgot." I mutter under my breath, pulling a wad of cash out from my coat.
"Goony-poo!" I cry as I heave myself out of the cloth-appointed van and onto the cold pavement.
"Don't forget your severance package!" He steps slowly towards me and snatches the money from out of my grasp.
"I trust I can count on your silence and cooperation?" I mutter, waving my eyebrow. Surely, after I've given him ten grand in cash, he won't betray me, right?
Right?
...He won't will he?
"O...of course." He affirms.
"Well, good!"I say patting his shoulder.
"If I had drinks, I'd cry for them to be handed around. But I don't. So I won't."
In an offering of peace, I extend a gloved hand his way.
"It was a pleasure working with you. Put 'er there!"
BZZZZZZT!
His fried and electrocuted carcass falls to the ground, still clutching the singed cash.
"There's the punchline."It's a short drive to the maintenance entrance for the stadium, and the music is still blaring.
Bags of guns in hand, my crew and I pile our way out of the van and towards the service entrance, just behind the stage.
We try to barge past the security guard, but he brushes us off with ease.
"Nobody in or out." He snaps.
"I'm part of the goddamned act, you fool!"I shout, pointing to my face.
"We missed soundchecks because of the f**king traffic. Get us in there so we can set up."He looks down at me and quietly moves aside. Even if I
am a derranged fan, what harm could I do, right? Right.
"Good thinking, boss." A goon says. I don't much care about his name.
"If it can work for Christian Bale, it can work for me!" I respond, alluding to the film
The Prestige.
We soon make our way to the backstage area, and start unloading guns. I take a small revolver, the only firearm I find comfortable in my grasp.
"You three, go secure the exits."I tell the remaining goons. They nod, forcing clips into guns and bullets into chambers.
"Take out any security you find along the way. Make sure the gates to the stadium are locked down tight. I don't want anyone getting out."
"What about in?"
I sigh angrily.
"Did I say 'in?' No, r-tard. I said 'out'. This place oughta be like a womb the second after fertilization. Locked down, a vault. Hell, make it goddamned Arkham for all I care. Just shut the gates!"
"What then?"
"Go to the announcement booth. It's by the main offices. Tell the man manning the spotlight that people suck."
"Just that? Just 'people suck?'"
I stare at the goon sternly for a moment.
"Is that what I said?"
"Yeah."
What is it with these guys? Did I go to the bar for the mentally disenfranchised? My word. Note to self: go to hangouts with
fully illuminated neon signs next time.
"Then that's what I meant. It's his signal to start streaming the video feed from the cameras to all live-broadcast news stations. Now, go."
"For some reason I can't explain,
I know Saint Peter won't call my name!
Never an honest word.
But that was when I ruled the world."
The lead singer of the band finishes singing as I check my revolver backstage. Go time.
"Thanks, everybody! Okay." He declares into the microphone as the crowd roars.
The band takes a bow and, from the side of the stage, I quietly emerge, clapping my hands slowly.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
"My word."I say, snatching a microphone mounted on the drumset. The audience boos and hisses as I walk cavortedly about the stage. "You boys..."I brandish my gun at the lead singer, a man who, apparently, thinks it's a good thing to dress like a homeless man."You boys really are something. Congratulations for, well, uh..." I point the gun at the audience. "All of this. They really seem to like you."At this the crowd roars, of course. They don't seem to realize just how real this situation is. The band gets it, though. They're all terrified.
"How would one of you lucky folks like to meet this guy!" I cry, sprinting over to the singer and burying my gun on the side of his face. The audience eats it up. "Well ain't this just your lucky day, then?!"I grab the singer and drag him down to the floor-level, brushing past security. They either realize that I'll blow his head off if they come near us, or they think I'm just a jester in their court.
"You."I say, nodding at a cameraman."Follow us! We're about to make a dream come true."
"Let me go." The singer commands. Too bad I'm not a roadie. That would've been like a directive from God if I were.
One screaming young teenage girl in the front row (quite jailbait-y) screams her head off as I drag the band member towards her.
"Pick me, pick me!" She cries.
See, this is why people often find themselves in over their heads. They never know just what they're signing up for.
"We have a winner!"I say into the microphone, glaring at the camera. "Go on, singer, go shake her hand. Give her a hug!"I hold the barrel of the gun to the back of his skull as he hugs her. They start having a brief and intimate conversation about his music's personal meaning to her. It's really quite a touching moment.
BLAM
Halfway through their little talk, I pull the trigger, covering her in her favorite artist's blood, bone, and brain matter. That's what I've never gotten about other criminals. Why kill someone when you just scar them for life?
"I've always been more of a Stones fan, anyway." My voice echoes throughout the stadium. Nobody knows what just happened. "Here's the deal, ladies and gentlemen:"I begin, sitting on the edge of the stage. "Reach down and feel the bottom of your chair. Oh, uh, can we get the house lights please?"Electricity courses through the venue as the lights warm up. "Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh. Your seats. Reach down and feel the bottoms of your chairs. You'll find a little slip of paper under each and every one of them."I ease my pocket watch out of my coat and hold it up to the camera.
"There are two colors of paper, and they have to do with a little game we're about to play. The object of the game is to survive. Unfortunately, you're not really playing. You're just the pieces. The other player is a little man in a cape and a cowl I like to call Batman. We've been playing for quite a while, but, tonight, it comes to an end. The pieces of paper you have will either be green or purple. In three hours and fifty-five minutes, if Batman hasn't made contact with us and shown us his face on that big ol' monitor behind me, I'll let anyone with a green slip of paper rush for the exits. After that, I'll leave and release a chemical toxin into the air. The lungs of anyone inside the building will slowly dissolve and you'll drown in your own fluids. If Batman does show his face, I'll still let the people with the green slips leave, but I'll stay... and I'll blow up the stadium."I stare straight into the camera.
"What'll it be, Batman? Condemn all these people to a painful death, and let me get away, all for the sake of saving face? Or, will you put me to my grave, and spare these folks some misery."I cackle again and address the audience. "By the way, folks. I didn't mention any rules. If you want a green slip and have a purple one, nothing is stopping you from taking it."
Every agreement is all about wording. That's why people get anihillated by giant interest rates. They don't think, they don't use their brains. I told the people with green slips they could run for the exits. Unfortunately for them, the exits are locked. Sealed shut and electrified. No, no. Nobody is getting out of here. This war I've waged? The only combatants are me and the bat. Nobody else.
"Game on, Batman."I say to the camera, holding my pocketwatch.
