The New Ultimate DC RPG

[Saved]

The sight of Gotham's suburban hills become a blur to me as I make my exit from the downtown area. The Batpod's low rumble engine serves as a constant point of focus, allowing me a methodical weave through oncoming traffic by instinct alone. I recognize every control through feel, every turn through sight - I'm becoming more used to it. More used to everything, infact, thanks in part to the new suit. The functionality has almost given me the feeling of a caged animal that's been unleashed. I could have taken that entire club apart, if I felt it would have been of any use to my mission. But I got what I was looking for, and after some choice words with Gotham's underworld "Wire", I've achieved so much more. For the first time, I feel as if I have a true grip to tighten around the throats of the city's lowlives.

And yet, it's still not enough to satisfy me. While I've learned that there are more than a few possible ways for me to exploit weaknesses in the Narrow Island drug trades, take down the smaller gangs, eliminate the East dealers, and corner some of the bigger families into a possible trap, I'm no closer to stopping the one man that's driven me this hard, and this far, towards stepping up my methods. Salvatore Maroni, the current head of the five families and the more ruthless of them all, between the alternatives. He's been cautious, and from what Matthews confessed, particularly paranoid in the weeks since his sons have been murdered. Makes it harder for me to pinpoint when exactly I can make a move on his empire - if that's even an option right now.

The more interesting news to come out of of tonight's siege, however, happens to originate from something I should have kept a closer eye on in the past few months. It seems that while Maroni's been making headway in devouring the Falcone family's divided territories, he and a few others have started to take some substantial heat from the District Attorney's office. Normally rendered ineffectual, their policies quickly changed whenever the city's newest DA was elected in a landslide vote. A recent Harvard graduate named...

Harvey Dent. As the name continues to run through my mind, I realize that this is the first I've truly payed attention to the idea that a Gotham District Attorney, or any of it's politicians, could truly be on the right side of the law. Though my skepticism remains strong that he could make a difference, much less that Dent could somehow remain incorruptible under the scrutiny, what little I've learned about him has left me intrigued. Oracle's been pulling files on him for the past few minutes. His mother died of cancer at an early age. His father, through suicide. Not necessarily the type of man you'd expect to wage a war against the mob. There's got to be something more to Dent than he's letting on.

Could he be an ally? Another thread for me to go out of my way for, certainly not. But just to have an inside contact through multiple channels, with unparalleled jurisdiction in comparison to Nygma...

Stepping down on the gas, causing The Batpod's engine to roar with life, I continue down the path towards the Batcave's southeast entrance. I'm getting way too ahead of myself. Partnerships with a District Attorney? Might aswell be considering Commissioner Gordon. I'm sure he'd make plenty of use out of that spotlight that Nygma painted up and used to nearly blow our cover. If I'm to ever keep myself ahead of the mob, I need to be more cautious. There's no room for any other mistakes in this, and I can't afford to have my trust misplaced. I'll just have to make due with what I have.

The Batpod cruises silently into the tunnel entrance just near the entrance to Waynetech's docking bay. No one's allowed on the premises during these hours, and there are plenty of silent alarms to tell me if there's been an intrusion well in advance of my usual arrival. Darkness consumes the vehicle, as I switch my cowl to the night-vision lenses. Still getting used to having my eyes exposed, for a change, but it keeps me from getting distracted. Too many readouts on the old cowl's digital output - it got tiring just to memorize the data.

Continuing a slower, steadier ride into the main terminal, I pry my fingers off of the ignition and allow the engine to die down. By the time it has, I'm ascending to ground-level, where the familiar sound of fluttering bat wings awaits me. I prepare myself for Alfred's usual sarcastic greeting whenever he's standing outside of the pod's hangar, but to my surprise, I don't find him there. "Alfred?"

No answer. Getting off of the vehicle, I tap the module that begins an inspection process for The Batpod's sensors and make my way into the central Cavern. Strangely empty, aswell. I suppose I shouldn't be too concerned, given there could be a variety of explanations... but it's not like Alfred. If something had happened with Dick, or we had an unexpected visitor show up in the Tower, he would have phoned or texted me while I was out. Unless he had plans of his own...

Deciding to ease myself of the impending worry, I make my way to the Batcomputer's mapping grid to begin some follow-up tests. But I barely make it through the opening logo's animation before I hear a peculiar sound, coming from the Cave's trophy room - a borough of the caverns that I've used to store Phillip Wayne's bizarre art collection. My senses become focused on the area, as I look back and instinctively prepare a batarang. That didn't sound normal. It sounded like the click of...

Instantaneously, I move forward with a certain haste, a million scenarios running through my mind. But I know exactly what that sound was, and it sure as hell concerns me.

A gunshot blast. What...

Alfred slides open the door to the room, just in time for me to narrowly throw the weapon between his eyes. I stop myself, as he shrieks, and raises his weapon, which is still smoking from the earlier shot. "Good heavens! Neither of you know how to bloody knock?!"

Alleviating me of any sense of danger, I place the weapon back into my belt.

"I heard a shot. Are you okay?"

He nods, brushing off the shoulder of his jacket.

"I'm quite alright, sir. Forgive me, I was just given quite a start. It seems that you'll be having a vistor."

My eyebrow rises. "Upstairs, you mean."

"No, I meant in there. Your uninvited guest surprised me in the Trophy Room. Seems that he's acquired your knack for showing up when one least expects. Not to mention your brash-..."

Walking past him, I sneer. Those traits can only describe one other man I know who'd have the appropriate knowledge of this place. "I think I know who you're talking about. Put the gun away, Alfred."

I can hear him sigh as he turns to leave.

"Of course. If you think it's safe, that is..."

Entering the trophy room, I make sure to close the door behind me. Whenever I've come into contact with our current guest, he usually wants me to leave whatever information I've gathered in the strictest confidence imaginable. It's a mutual understanding that we've shared for far too long.

"Alright, we're alone for the moment. What is this about..."

"Jason?"

Jason turns around to face Bruce, grinning beneath his hood as he moves. Thin waves of smoke waft upward from the bullet holes in his shirt, revealing the bullet proof vest beneath his attire. "Crazy butler you've got there, Bruce," he says nonchallantly. "Little jittery too, ****."

 

[Batman]

Jason turns around to face Bruce, grinning beneath his hood as he moves. Thin waves of smoke waft upward from the bullet holes in his shirt, revealing the bullet proof vest beneath his attire. "Crazy butler you've got there, Bruce," he says nonchallantly. "Little jittery too, ****."

I allow the faintest smirk to cross my lips. Jason's one of my closest friends. Perhaps, really, one of my only friends. If anyone's earned the right to compose himself in the manner that I normally would within these dwellings, and still expect to be treated with some respect, it's him. I even allow the comment about Alfred to stand, even if it's inaccurate. I honestly don't know why people keep mistaking him for my butler.

"Is that your professional opinion, or just a general observation?", I muse, before giving him a more serious look.

"You could have called. I'm not used to having guests. Especially not... down here."

 

[Saved]

I allow the faintest smirk to cross my lips. Jason's one of my closest friends. Perhaps, really, one of my only friends. If anyone's earned the right to compose himself in the manner that I normally would within these dwellings, and still expect to be treated with some respect, it's him. I even allow the comment about Alfred to stand, even if it's inaccurate. I honestly don't know why people keep mistaking him for my butler.

"Is that your professional opinion, or just a general observation?", I muse, before giving him a more serious look.

"You could have called. I'm not used to having guests. Especially not... down here."

"Clearly," Jason says, leaning back against a glass case behind him. "The whole, 'lair of dracula' thing isn't very inviting." Jason takes a second to compose himself, still overwhelmed by the vast might and expanse of his ally's dwelling.

"Well, you're a busy man - I'm a busy man, so let's cut to the chase, hmm?" Jason starts, stepping forward, placing his hands tightly at his side. "Why'd you trash my office at Arkham?"

 

[Batman]

"Clearly," Jason says, leaning back against a glass case behind him. "The whole, 'lair of dracula' thing isn't very inviting." Jason takes a second to compose himself, still overwhelmed by the vast might and expanse of his ally's dwelling.

"Well, you're a busy man - I'm a busy man, so let's cut to the chase, hmm?" Jason starts, stepping forward, placing his hands tightly at his side. "Why'd you trash my office at Arkham?"

For a moment, I can't tell if he's serious. Which is an understandable mistake when you're dealing with Jason in any capacity. But I notice his body language - the temperament, not to mention the confusion in his voice. He's seriously expecting an answer out of me. For a moment, I simply stare back at him, letting the accusation sink in. He's always been prone to brash and irrational decisions, but never about something like this. Something's off with him, andthis burglary might have something to do with it.

"I haven't been to Arkham.", I explain, narrowing my eyes through the cowl. "Infact, if it can be helped, I hope to never go there. I've been too busy with things in the city to stop by the island, much less vandalize your office for no apparent reason."

 

[Saved]

For a moment, I can't tell if he's serious. Which is an understandable mistake when you're dealing with Jason in any capacity. But I notice his body language - the temperament, not to mention the confusion in his voice. He's seriously expecting an answer out of me. For a moment, I simply stare back at him, letting the accusation sink in. He's always been prone to brash and irrational decisions, but never about something like this. Something's off with him, andthis burglary might have something to do with it.

"I haven't been to Arkham.", I explain, narrowing my eyes through the cowl. "Infact, if it can be helped, I hope to never go there. I've been too busy with things in the city to stop by the island, much less vandalize your office for no apparent reason."

"Boy, you really can keep a solid poker face going, can't you?" Jason says callously. "Come on, now, you're the only person alive who knows I'm the Red Hood. You're also one of the only guys I know who could break into my office without a trace! Just fess up, alright? Clearly you caught me spying on your little side-kick, and you decided to tell me to 'back off' in your own, subtle, way."

 

[Batman]

"Boy, you really can keep up a solid poker face, can't you?" Jason says callously. "Come on, now, you're the only person alive who knows I'm the Red Hood. You're also one of the only guys I know who could break into my office without a trace! Just fess up, alright? Clearly you caught me spying on your little side-kick, and you decided to tell me to 'back off' in your own, subtle, way."

"Side-kick"? Now I know something's wrong. Jason isn't usually this paranoid unless he's stressed, or worse. And I wish I could tell him that I had any idea as to what he was really talking about, but I honestly don't. We haven't kept in contact since he was put in the hospital last month, and I still haven't forgiven myself for letting the man responsible continue to walk the streets. But this new set of events is completely out of my hands, no matter how much he believes it to be the contrary.

Is he talking about the girl that Maroni was alluding to? The one that had been patrolling the East End, dressed similar to me. He must have seen her, if she's still out there. If that's what this is about...- I didn't think this would continue to remain a problem, but if this is what it's lead to, I was mistaken. Something needs to be done before that girl gets herself killed.

Grabbing him by the shoulder in the middle of his rant, I stop him before he can continue.

"Jason, think about this for a moment. You of all people should know that I'm not looking for a partner - we've been through this. Whoever you've been spying on isn't affiliated with me in any way, shape, or form that I condone."

 

[Saved]

"Side-kick"? Now I know something's wrong. Jason isn't usually this paranoid unless he's stressed, or worse. And I wish I could tell him that I had any idea as to what he was really talking about, but I honestly don't. We haven't kept in contact since he was put in the hospital last month, and I still haven't forgiven myself for letting the man responsible continue to walk the streets. But this new set of events is completely out of my hands, no matter how much he believes it to be the contrary.

Is he talking about the girl that Maroni was alluding to? The one that had been patrolling the East End, dressed similar to me. He must have seen her, if she's still out there. If that's what this is about...- I didn't think this would continue to remain a problem, but if this is what it's lead to, I was mistaken. Something needs to be done before that girl gets herself killed.

Grabbing him by the shoulder in the middle of his rant, I stop him before he can continue.

"Jason, think about this for a moment. You of all people should know that I'm not looking for a partner - we've been through this. Whoever you've been spying on isn't affiliated with me in any way, shape, or form that I condone."

Jason stops, taking a moment to think clearly and process what Bruce has said. After a moment, his eyes widen, and his muscles untighten, causing his shoulders to slouch as he lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah ... yeah, that's true," he says, this time in a softer tone. "I'm sorry, Bruce it's just-" he stops himself, biting his tongue before he can finish the sentence.

Don't tell him about your problems, he tells himself aggressively. You want to show him weakness? Show him that it's all starting to get to you? No, you keep it together. Don't lose it. Jason lets out a heavy breath, calming himself as he regains his normal disposition.

"Ah, nothin'." He says with a grin, his cocky tone returning. I can't believe I almost came unhinged, he thinks, surprised by his actions. Maybe those doses of adrenaline are starting to get to me...

"So, uh... if you're still flyin' solo - why is there a girl running around the south end sporting your mantle?"

 

[Byrd Man]

​

My office. Sage across the desk from me.

"How sure are you that this is our guy?"

"I'm not. It's just a hunch."

Sage's hunch: Alberto "Daddy's Boy" Falcone is Holiday. My odds: 55/1 on that horse crossing the line.

"I think you're wrong."

"You think I'm wrong? Listen, Nygma, this goddamn case has been going on for almost eight months now. If you've got some theories, I've loved to hear 'em. I'm all ears, all fuc-"

"Holiday is a cop."

"What?"

Light smile. "Holiday is a cop. Either the killer is a cop, a former cop, or someone very familiar with police procedures. That's the only way I see someone getting to Flass and Day. Flass was on the way to county lock-up and we had Day under surveillance. Who else could get so close?"

Sage sneers. "A few months ago I thought the same thing, remember? I was pointing a gun at you and you begged your way out of it. I'm still not covinced you're innocent."

"Nobody's innocent, Sage. I'm just not a serial killer. If it'll get this crazy theory out of your mind, follow Alberto Maroni this Sunday. It's Father's Day, you'll see he's not Holiday. He always goes up to Stonegate to see his old man on Father's Day."

"Still doesn't prove he's not Holiday."

"Keep working the case, Vic. You got two months to save my ass."

"What's that mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a hunch of mine. Either I bring in Holiday, or I'm a ****ing dead man."

Run odds in my mind.

5/1: We catch Holiday
4/1: I can wheel and deal to the FBI
2/1: I play ball with Gordon, join his "team"
Even odds: I'm sucking dirt this time next year​

 

[Green Lantern]

It had been several weeks since that first outing he had had as a vigilante, and each time it got more and more exciting. Bruce's influence had gotten him back into school, and despite having no more than four hours of sleep a night due to his extra-curricular activities, he had yet to miss a class since returning to the boarding school. He still hated the preps that were all over the place at that school, namely that first group that he had met, led by that red haired bastard Roy. The only trouble that he had gotten into, he had made sure to be off school grounds.

Following Roy and his gang home, one evening, he called them out. "Hey Roy! Your sister has a nice rack!"

"What did you just say?" The polo player and his three friends turned around to face the smaller kid. "I asked you what you just said, pansy ass!"

"I said your sister has the t**s of a stripper. Gotta hearing problem Red?"

"That's it, mother ****er!"

Roy had been an ass to him since he'd come back, and this was his way of getting revenge as the gang rushed him.

It took a matter of a single minute for Dick to decimate all of them leaving them crumpled on the sidewalk.

"There are third graders in my jujitsu class that fight better than you. Now, take this as a lesson and leave me the **** alone at school okay?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

GREEN ARROW

Boxers, an undershirt, and bare feet do not make for a great pursuit outfit. Unfortunately, when a man tries to kill you in your own bed, discretion is a luxury that you cannot afford. My would-be assassin, however, didn't realize who he was dealing with, and his ignorance cost him a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. The weapon which fired that shot bounces in my hand as I race up a fire escape.

The shadow of night means that I don't have to put on my Green Arrow garb, but my attacker - dressed entirely in black - is hard to follow in the darkness. I rely largely on the sound of his footsteps. Thinking I see something move in the shadows, I fire off a shot across the roof, but it doesn't hit anything.

In the silence of night, I'm left to actually think about what's happening for the first time. This guy tried to kill me. He got into my bedroom, and he nearly finished the job. This wasn't a robbery gone wrong. He came to my penthouse with the expressed purpose of killing me. He clearly didn't know I was Green Arrow, which means that he came to kill Oliver Queen.

"Hawke."

As I mutter the name, I have trouble believing it, but Connor Hawke is the only person with the motive for having me killed. Hawke's the one who framed me, made it look like I was involved deep in the drug trade. I was sent to prison, and Hawke seized control of the company that he believed was rightfully his. Upon getting out of prison, I confessed to Hawke that I knew it was him.

"Hawke."

The soft voice comes from behind me. Spinning, I see something shiny coming towards my chest. Another knife. I drop my crossbow and catch the assailant's thrusting arm. As I wrestle for control of the knife, the assailant kicks away my crossbow. I finally drive my elbow in the general vicinity of his nose, and he releases the knife.

"Who are you?" I ask as I back into a defensive stance. My eyes having adjusted to the darkness, I can just barely see the assailant before me.

"Onomatopoeia."

I jab the knife at Onomatopoeia's shoulder, but he leans back and avoids the attempt. He also lands a kidney punch to my lower ribcage. Before I can recover from that, he twists my wrist and makes me drop the knife. He mutters, "CLANG." before the knife hits the ground. He follows all of this up with a sharp cross against my jaw.

I stumble backwards, a little disoriented from the brief, relentless assault. Onomatopoeia has picked up his knife now and makes a few quick stabs in my direction. I continue to backpedal until I hit a wall. Blocking a stab attempt with both arms, I drive my knee into Onomatopoeia's stomach. Still holding his hand, I slam it against the wall behind me, and with a yelp Onomatopoeia drops the knife. I merely kick it aside.

I can see my crossbow laying on the roof behind Onomatopoeia. Somehow, I need to get over to it. As if reading my mind, Onomatopoeia takes advantage of my slight distraction and connects with a quick left hook. I hunch over, pretending to hold my jaw, before charging Onomatopoeia and grabbing him around the waist. I tackle him to the ground, delivering a hard cross before he can recover.

I scramble for the crossbow, managing to pick it up before Onomatopoeia can do anything. I wheel and fire, clipping a recovering Onomatopoeia in the arm. He continues to charge me, and I fire a bolt directly into his gut. Onomatopoeia falls forward and tackles me, holding the crossbow away from his body. He headbutts me, breaking my nose and making my eyes water. He struggles to wrench the crossbow free of my grip, but I refuse to let go.

"I'm going to let you run away," I grunt, "So that you can show Hawke that I'm not afraid of him or anyone he sends after me."

As I pull the trigger on the crossbow, Onomatopoeia lets out a primal cry of pain. I look down and see a crossbow bolt sticking out of his inner thigh. He's still bleeding from the shots to the shoulder and the gut, too. I spin the weapon around and slam the grip against the side of Onomatopoeia's head. He collapses like a sack of potatoes, and I roll out from under him.

Blood runs down my face from where he broke my nose, but I'm victorious nonetheless. Hawke crossed a line this time. Next time, he won't be so lucky.

***

Onomatopoeia lays down the item on the table, and Connor Hawke stares at it intently. Picking it up, Hawke holds the crossbow bolt up to the light and examines it more closely. "This is very troubling, but very interesting," he observes.

Oliver Queen is the Green Arrow.
​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

After the long car drive we’ve finally made it to my mothers new home. From what I have heard Bludhaven is a nice area to live. To some it would seem like a good thing but for me it is not. In order for me to take down my father I will need a lot of practice against real criminals. The only positive aspect of this is from reading the newspaper in the car it appears that the crime rate has went up by 5%. Seems that this Batman character is running thugs out of GothamCity and they are making their way to Bludhaven to start a new.

“So Connor what do you think?” My mother asks as if she was showing me the house like I was here to buy it.

“Your home is very lovely mother.” I reply.

She walks up to me and places both arms on my shoulders. “This is your home now, our home. We are finally a family again.” She says and hugs me.

Milo closes the trunk as he grabs my suitcase from inside.

“Say Connor what you have in here, an arsenal? Bag is pretty heavy.”

An arsenal indeed. I make me way to him and grab my belongings.

“Thanks sir you didn’t have to get them. I shall take them from here.”

The last thing I would like is for him to accidentally drop this is and everything inside becomes revealed to my mother.

“No problem at all, you young boys should be doing all the heavy lifting anyways. We old guy’s backs aren’t what they used to be.” Milo says jokingly.

With bags in hand they both show me into the house and right away I’m taking away from its magnitude.

“It takes your breath away right? This is the life style you get when you help make weapons for the military. Not bad right?”

From the moment at the airport and the car drive here and now looking at this house it clear Milo is a man who enjoys money.

“Yes this is a very nice home indeed.” But money is not everything. Money is power and power will ruin your life. Oliver Queen is a perfect example of that.

“Come on I’m show you to your room, it’s late and I’m pretty sure your tired and would like to get some rest.”

I knob my head and fallow behind him.

“Well here you go Connor, this is all yours.”

As I enter he closes the door behind me. From what I can tell he appears to be a good man. I’m glad my mother has found happiness but I won’t be able to till I get the honor back for our family name.

I drop my suitcase on top of the nearest dresser top.

They both were exhausted so they shouldn’t be disturbing me any time tonight. Which means I will be finally be able to begin what I have planned for so many years.

I pop the suitcase and remove the clothes that were on top and open the hide department. I take out all of the newspapers articles inside of the Green Arrow.

“Out of all the heroes you are the one that caught my interest. I will bring my father and any other criminals like him to justice in the shadow of your own image.”

I lay the old newspapers articles to the side and take out the uniform out from inside the suitcase.

The uniform resembles the Green Arrow outfit a great deal the only difference is that this outfit has a brown front with a hood to match.

“Tonight, it finally begins!”
​

 

[Batman]

"Ah, nothin'." He says with a grin, his cocky tone returning. I can't believe I almost came unhinged, he thinks, surprised by his actions. Maybe those doses of adrenaline are starting to get to me...

"So, uh... if you're still flyin' solo - why is there a girl running around the south end sporting your mantle?"

For a moment, I remain silent. Part of me feels as if I should press the real issue further, and find out exactly why Jason would have suspected me of this at all. He's smarter than these second guesses - his intellectual potential was once enough to leave me impressed, perhaps even envious. The ransacking of his office must have really left him rattled. That, or there's more going on with him than he's letting on.

Eventually, my tense demeanor withdraws, and I'm left to begin the nightly practice of unloading the weapons out of my belt. Before Jason lies several different pieces of equipment - Batarangs, grappling hooks, sonar emitters, flash grenades, mace, cuffs. Everything I feel necessary to make readily available from the belt's front pouches. Jason pays it all with very little attention as I acknowledge his question.

"I was only made aware of it a few weeks ago. But whoever the girl is, she's in way over her head. Almost bound to die if I don't find her and convince her to stop this."

I narrow my eyes, staring at the shape of one of the Batarangs. "This line of work... it isn't for anyone else. You and I are the only ones that can live with it, and I'll make sure that we're the only ones to die with it."

 

[Saved]

For a moment, I remain silent. Part of me feels as if I should press the real issue further, and find out exactly why Jason would have suspected me of this at all. He's smarter than these second guesses - his intellectual potential was once enough to leave me impressed, perhaps even envious. The ransacking of his office must have really left him rattled. That, or there's more going on with him than he's letting on.

Eventually, my tense demeanor withdraws, and I'm left to begin the nightly practice of unloading the weapons out of my belt. Before Jason lies several different pieces of equipment - Batarangs, grappling hooks, sonar emitters, flash grenades, mace, cuffs. Everything I feel necessary to make readily available from the belt's front pouches. Jason pays it all with very little attention as I acknowledge his question.

"I was only made aware of it a few weeks ago. But whoever the girl is, she's in way over her head. Almost bound to die if I don't find her and convince her to stop this."

I narrow my eyes, staring at the shape of one of the Batarangs. "This line of work... it isn't for anyone else. You and I are the only ones that can live with it, and I'll make sure that we're the only ones to die with it."

A strange expression comes across Jason's face, hidden beneath his mask. "Oh, thanks, Bruce," he starts, shifting his weight to his other leg. "That's encouraging," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"But it's not yours or my place to tell anyone what they can and can't do - not unless they're breaking the law," Jason explains as he takes a few steps closer. "You don't have the power to cast final judgement." He pauses, realizing the tone in his voice and shifting to a more friendly one. "Besides, she's pretty good. I think I might even know who she is," he gloats, grinning wide.

 

[Batman]

"But it's not yours or my place to tell anyone what they can and can't do - not unless they're breaking the law," Jason explains as he takes a few steps closer. "You don't have the power to cast final judgement." He pauses, realizing the tone in his voice and shifting to a more friendly one. "Besides, she's pretty good. I think I might even know who she is," he gloats, grinning wide.

His grin stays, but I remain stone-faced. Jason is free to believe what he wants, but I have different ideas about the guidelines of my mission that make Gotham City's residents safer. And a teenage girl throwing on a costume that uses my symbol and my image to convey a vendetta of their own... is not one of those ideas.

He taunts me with her identity, but he can keep whatever he's learned about her to himself. If Jason's monitoring her actions, then I'm at least somewhat reassured that he'll handle it whenever he deems it necessary. I just hope that the moment doesn't come too late. For Jason's sake.

"Say what you will, but 'pretty good' doesn't cut it. Anyone can take the law into their own hands - it takes skill and sacrifice to avoid becoming nothing more than a statistic.", I argue. "If she inspires even one more follower in our example, I could be held responsible for hundreds - thousands of deaths at the hands of people like Salvatore Maroni. If enforcing the fact that I don't want that girl wearing my symbol means that she can live even a fraction of a second longer, then I'll do it."

Securing the last of the weapons onto a lower rack, I turn back towards him. I'm almost sure that this isn't the end of the discussion, but I'm already done with it. I have enough blood on my hands as it is.

"We're getting off topic. What's happened with your office?"

 

[Saved]

His grin stays, but I remain stone-faced. Jason is free to believe what he wants, but I have different ideas about the guidelines of my mission that make Gotham City's residents safer. And a teenage girl throwing on a costume that uses my symbol and my image to convey a vendetta of their own... is not one of those ideas.

He taunts me with her identity, but he can keep whatever he's learned about her to himself. If Jason's monitoring her actions, then I'm at least somewhat reassured that he'll handle it whenever he deems it necessary. I just hope that the moment doesn't come too late. For Jason's sake.

"Say what you will, but 'pretty good' doesn't cut it. Anyone can take the law into their own hands - it takes skill and sacrifice to avoid becoming nothing more than a statistic.", I argue. "If she inspires even one more follower in our example, I could be held responsible for hundreds - thousands of deaths at the hands of people like Salvatore Maroni. If enforcing the fact that I don't want that girl wearing my symbol means that she can live even a fraction of a second longer, then I'll do it."

Securing the last of the weapons onto a lower rack, I turn back towards him. I'm almost sure that this isn't the end of the discussion, but I'm already done with it. I have enough blood on my hands as it is.

"We're getting off topic. What's happened with your office?"

Good old, Bruce, Jason thinks as he watches Batman putting his armaments away. Incorruptible, uncompromising - as always.

"Well, here's the deal," Jason starts, taking in a deep breath as he prepares to explain. "I was at home reviewing evidence from a few of my cases, and I get a phone call from Harley - one of the doctors at Arkham - and she tells me my office has been broken into. So, naturally, I rush over there to investigate. Surprise, surprise, the place is ransacked. All my files and paperwork scattered about the room. Filing cabinets were damaged, and almost everything on my desk was knocked to the floor." Jason stops for a moment, taking a second to play the events back in his head - trying not to miss any detail.

"Well, I spent a few hours going through everything - collecting a list of anything that might be stolen."
"And?"
"Nothing - every file, every transcript, even some of the petty cash I had in my desk drawers were there. Only one thing was missing ... " hebegins, pointing to his head. "My spare helmet I had hidden under lock and key. It's gone, no trace." Jason approaches Bruce slowly, closing the gap between them.

"That's why I thought of you. Who else would break into my office without a trace, ransack my cabinets and desk, and take the only incriminating item verifying me as the Red Hood? Not to flatter you, but yours was the only name I could think of."

 

[Batman]

"That's why I thought of you. Who else would break into my office without a trace, ransack my cabinets and desk, and take the only incriminating item verifying me as the Red Hood? Not to flatter you, but yours was the only name I could think of."

Curious. That's the only word I can conjure in reaction to what was just described. I've been monitoring The Red Hood's actions for months, taking into account the brief news clippings and scarce sightings that have indicated that he even exists to the public. Unlike me, Jason doesn't have the luxury of equipment that scrambles digital photography - not to mention that I believe, secretly, that he actually seeks some of the attention in his own way. But regardless, there's no reason for anyone to make a personal vendetta against The Red Hood. All of the convicts he's put away have stayed in prison, the mob hasn't retaliated against his actions, and Jason's undoubtedly kept a strict watch over all of the Arkham patients that he's had a hand in capturing.

That leaves only one possibility. The vendetta isn't against The Red Hood. Someone's out to leave Doctor Jason Todd a message. But if it's not someone from the streets, who could he have made an enemy out of? Who would go to the trouble?

"I'm hardly one of a kind. It took years of training to hone those skills, but they're still acquirable. The real question isn't the method, but the means. If the thief didn't steal any money or valuables, he was looking for something more. Something to use against you.", I begin. "Going in, that doesn't require the knowledge of your dual identity. Just someone that'd have a strong enough grudge against you to strike at your personal life. Know anyone like that?"

 

[Catman_prb]

The group of five sped through the black horde, blasting multicoloured holes through the Black Lanterns.

"Do not fear Hand, Earthman," Saint Walker asked Hal Jordan as he flew alongside him "He is a shell of the Lantern he used to be,"

And then he was upon them.

[BLACKOUT]"Saint Walker? I thought I had killed you once already. No matter. Death is too glorious a gift to be wasted on you anyway," [/BLACKOUT]

The black energies wrapped around the body of Kyle Rayner, crushing the life out of his body. The human screamed, but his eyes glowed a brilliant blue as Walker spoke through him.

"I am Hope, Hand, and you cannot think of challenging me,"

 

[Saved]

Curious. That's the only word I can conjure in reaction to what was just described. I've been monitoring The Red Hood's actions for months, taking into account the brief news clippings and scarce sightings that have indicated that he even exists to the public. Unlike me, Jason doesn't have the luxury of equipment that scrambles digital photography - not to mention that I believe, secretly, that he actually seeks some of the attention in his own way. But regardless, there's no reason for anyone to make a personal vendetta against The Red Hood. All of the convicts he's put away have stayed in prison, the mob hasn't retaliated against his actions, and Jason's undoubtedly kept a strict watch over all of the Arkham patients that he's had a hand in capturing.

That leaves only one possibility. The vendetta isn't against The Red Hood. Someone's out to leave Doctor Jason Todd a message. But if it's not someone from the streets, who could he have made an enemy out of? Who would go to the trouble?

"I'm hardly one of a kind. It took years of training to hone those skills, but they're still acquirable. The real question isn't the method, but the means. If the thief didn't steal any money or valuables, he was looking for something more. Something to use against you.", I begin. "Going in, that doesn't require the knowledge of your dual identity. Just someone that'd have a strong enough grudge against you to strike at your personal life. Know anyone like that?"

"...you'd be surprised," Jason scoffs, somewhat disheartened at the revelation. Harley's a suspect, Jason reflects as a new list of suspects forms in his mind. She's had more than enough justification to be suspicious of my behavior. And, of course, there's Crane. He has even more motive than Harley to suspect I have a dirty little secret.

"There's a few people at Arkham who are definently suspicious of me. The only question is, would they act on that suspicion?"

Jason thinks for a moment, pondering the possibility that one of them could be the culprit. After a few moments of silence, he shakes his head and brings himself back from his thoughts. "Yeah ... I'm not sure, Bruce. I guess I'll have to look into this on my own." As he turns to leave, a thought suddenly crosses his mind, causing him to abrubtly turn back.

"OH! I almost forgot," he says proudly. "While I'm here, the night you saved me - anything you want to tell me about that?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

GREEN ARROW

The Full House Bar is the crowning jewel of Star City's nightlife. It's also a hotbed for criminal activity. Mob bosses and assassins are known to frequent this place. All of the illegal gambling in Star City is run out of this nightclub. There have even been rumors about an underground fighting ring that is organized inside these walls. It took my several interrogations and a handful of broken bones, but I finally got a name.

Veronica Sinclair. Better known as Roulette. She's the owner of the Full House Bar, and judging by how hard I needed to work to get just that information, I imagine Roulette's a major player in Star City's underground. Even if she's not directly involved in any criminal activity, she's the person responsible for keeping the Full House a safe haven for criminals, and that implicates her in the shady dealings going on inside those walls.

Unfortunately for me, with Oliver Queen's reputation and criminal record, I can't be seen choosing to spend my time at the Full House - not if I ever want to clear my name, anyway. Also unfortunately, Green Arrow doesn't make the guest list for these kinds of places. But, of course, there are ways around that.

I run up to the bouncer, who's slumped against the wall, holding the arrow protruding from his shoulder. "Don't move it," I say sternly. "You're liable to just do more damage to yourself. The authorities will be here shortly. They can take care of that." I pat him on the opposite shoulder. "Very sorry about that. I know you're just doing your job, but so am I."

I push open the doors and enter the Full House, bow strung over my shoulder. Between the strobe lights and the pounding music, it's almost impossible to focus in here. I don't think my archery skills are going to be much use in these conditions. Looks like I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way.

It takes a few moments before I'm spotted. "Hey, it's the Green Arrow!" someone shouts over the music. It seems like every set of eyes in the nightclub turns to me at that moment. "Let's get him!" I was expecting that reaction. Every criminal in this place stands to benefit from my death, and I can imagine there's probably a bounty on my head.

A man to my left pulls a gun out. Acting quickly, I close the distance between us and smack his hand from underneath. He fires off a shot into the air, and the nightclub is filled with screams and shouts. I punch the man straight in the jaw, and the gun slips out of his hand harmlessly. Grabbing an arrow from my quiver, I jab it into his bicep.

Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind. I jerk my elbow back, getting it into his ribs. His grip on me loosens, and I stomp on his toes. Spinning myself around, I deliver a strong haymaker which takes my attacker to the ground. I kick him once in the ribs to make sure he's going to stay down.

The crowds are closing in on me now. All of the civilian crowd has fled the building, leaving me alone with a bunch of angry criminals. The music and strobe lights continue to go, making it hard for me to judge their numbers. "Hello, boys," I say calmly as I load my bow with three arrows. "Let's not do anything rash."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a charge coming from my right. I turn, holding the bow on its side, and fire the three arrows into the approaching crowd. Three of the silhouettes drop to the ground, and the others slow up as I load my bow again.

"You're gonna run out of arrows eventually," a voice from the crowd threatens. There are a few approving chuckles.

"Now, now, boys. Our friend here has worked hard to get this far," a sultry voice announces from across the room.

Spoiler

Veronica Sinclair. Roulette. "The least we can do is hear him out."
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Father's Day


It was Father's Day and Alberto Falcone had just left from the place he had spent the last four Father's Days, Stonegate Prison. Pulling his car out of the parking lot, Alberto guided the vehicle down the Gotham streets.

He had spent almost three hours talking with his father, Carmine, about the man's life inside and Alberto's life outside. They never talked business, it was impossible with the way the prison guards shadowed his father. Even though the guards were on the take, their alliegence was with the Maroni family and they had been a gift from Maroni as a sign of good will after Carmine's imprisonment, the Roman didn't trust them.

It turned the younger Falcone's stomach that his father, once the most powerful man in all of Gotham, was now reduced to a life behind barbed wire and plexiglass windows. His Padre had become a goddamn zoo animal!

While Alberto loved and cared for his father, Carmine's mistreatment wasn't all that was turning his stomach. Just a block away from the prison his stomach began to cramp. Alberto Falcone was going through withdrawls. He was still in the snorting phase of his heroin addiction, and knew he'd be shooting up if he didn't stop before long, but he didn't care. He had to have it. He would lay off of it for two weeks before visting his father, always hoping and praying the old man wouldn't get wise when he visited. So far, he had managed to keep the wool pulled over the man's eyes for a few years now. And, now that another visit was complete, it was time to celebrate.

Pulling off the street and parking in a back alley, Alberto pulled a small vial out of the car's glove compartment box. The vial was filled with pure, uncut heroin. Screwing off the top of the vial, Alberto dabbled a bit of the powder on the car's dashboard and then stuck his nose into the powder, snorting it all up in one go.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. That was when Holiday struck.

Coming up from the backseat, the hooded killer wrapped a piece of cloth around Alberto's neck, cutting off the man's airsupply. Gagging as the cloth bit into his neck, Falcone struggled and tried his best to escape Holiday's killer grip. Within thirty seconds, he stopped struggling and lost consciousness. Holiday held the cloth in place for another four minutes, making sure the man was dead. Finally letting go, Holiday took the murder weapon and looped it around Falcone's neck.

Exiting the car from the backseat door, Holiday stopped and looked at Alberto Falcone, his dead eyes gazing up at the car ceiling and traces of powder still on his nose. Wrapped around his neck was the murder weapon, a necktie. Alberto Falcone, the apple of his father's eye, was dead.

Holiday's work was almost done.

 

[Mr. Majestic]

Lex Luthor
​

"Stop squirming," I say as I make another incision into Majestrate's frontal lobe. "You're only going to make this worse for yourself."

The alien's brain is positively fascinating, wired so similarly and yet so very differently from our own. I've already come up with about a dozen new ideas for cybernetic neural networks and possibly the cure for Alzheimer's just by inspecting it. Fortunately, enough is put together the same way that I can work without having to worry about doing much unintentional harm.

Majestrate sweats and pants as I nip and tuck at his gray matter, still unable to move from my paralyzing gas. Unfortunately for him, I didn't bother with anesthetic.

"Chemical reactions, that's all so much of it comes down to," I explain to him as I snip at one of his glands. "Emotions, memories, responses to stimuli, all boil down to certain chemical reactions in the brain. Many think of the brain and the mind as two separate entities, but I have no patience for metaphysical nonsense. In the end, even the most advanced of us is still constrained by the limitations of our hardware. So the trick is learning how to work with it.

"Take mind control, for instance. For years, governments and agencies all across the world have attempted to perfect the art of imposing one's will upon the unwilling, via methods like subliminal messages, hallucinogenic drugs, et cetera. The problem with such methods, however, is that you simply cannot control someone who does not want to be controlled. That is why I'm taking the much more direct approach with you."

I take two loose nerve endings with my forceps, then use a molecular bonding tool of my own design to essentially weld them together.

"I could implant a small computer or a swarm of nano-machines into your brain, but eventually you would find a way to remove them. So instead, I'm re-routing the chemical pathways in your brain, just enough that any emotional response you get from knowing that I am controlling you will be a positive one. The idea of rebelling against me will come with nothing but anguish and doubt, until it's too much for you to bear. Simply put, you're going to follow my every command because it's what you'll want to do."

While I'm working, the HUD in my contact lens informs me that Miss Zuell was unsuccessful in subduing Wonder Woman and the Flash. However, the sheer amount of data she was able to obtain regarding their abilities is invaluable, and will prove far more useful than simply beating them up right now. I order a retrieval team to bring her back home, along with a half-hearted congratulation.

I'm also notified of the incident at the museum, one of the displays being stolen by a group of apparently Scottish extremists, transforming one of them into an unknown type of metahuman. However, before much more data could be collected, he arrived and subdued the woman. She was, however, able to stun him for a time with some form of hypersonic attack. Very interesting.

After a few more minutes of work, punctuated by the whine of drills and cutting blades, the wet squish of gray matter as it's trimmed and pruned and moved around, the low hum of the surgical plasma as it fuses Majestrate's skull back together, my work is done.

"There we are, better than ever," I say as I raise the alien up from the operating table. "Now go about your business, Mister Majestic. I'll call you if I need you."

“Yes Sir Mr. Luthor.” I respond as I make my exit out of LexCorp.

As I’m walking the streets of Metropolis I try to think of my purpose for even being at Luthor’s company but my mind draws a blank. It must not hold no importance than, now that I have some free time I should stop by on Ellen and her son. I quickly glance around my surrounding and once I deem it to be safe I run at a speed that the naked eye can not detect.

As I’m approaching Ellen’s house I notice police cars and an ambulance in the front yard. I stop instantly beside an officer.

“Oh sh… you scared me, where you came from?”

“What happened here?” I ask demandingly as I begin to advance towards the house.

He then places his hands on my chest to stop me. “I’m sorry you can’t go any further. The paramedic need there space to do there thing. The lady of the house fell while in her garage and cracked her skull and is now in a coma.”

“What about the boy?”

“Her son is fine he is in the house.” The officer tells me as he takes a moment to look behind himself as he hears an officer says something. I then take this moment of distraction and sped into the house.

As I enter the house I see Elijah sitting down at the kitchen crying around polices and Jessica by his side.

Once Jessica sees me in the house she says. “Jim where have you been, I’ve been calling your phone.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have my phone on me. What happened to Ellen?”

She then lets go of Elijah’s hands and walks to me.

“Elijah wanted his father’s baseball glove so Ellen went in the garage to find it for him. She was on the latter and it broke while she had a box in her hand and some heavy duty tools landed on her head. They are saying it’s not good.”

I walk pass Jessica and make my way to Elijah’s side.

“It’s all my fault mom is hurt. If I didn’t ask for the glove she would be okay.”

“Remove your tears from your face Elijah. What transpired was not your fault so don’t place blame on yourself. You can’t blame your self for things you can’t control.”

“Then what must I do?” He asks as he begins to wipes his tears.

“You must be strong and I’ll be here to help you till your mother gets back. We’ll be strong together.”

 

[Mr. Majestic]

​

While standing on a rooftop I study a map I have acquired while at the airport. If I wish to go through with this new life style I must make sure I know everything about my surroundings. Bluehaven is quite a big place and the last thing I would dislike to happen is getting lost or trap because I don’t know my way around. ​

Now if I’m correct that should be Skunk Ave. I walk over to the edge of the building leading to the street looking for a street sign. The sign reads exactly what I knew it would. ​

This is only the easy part of my journey. Remembering areas is nothing for me but to fight someone in a real battle will be a new test for me. I’ve fought and defeated other students while at the Monastery. But it will not even compare to the people I will soon face.​

“PLEASE DON’T HURT!!” ​

While in thought I hear the sound of a woman cry out for help. I quickly make my way to the other end of the building and I see two fellows grabbing a woman and taking her into the alley just across from the building I stand from. ​

“This woman needs my help.” Wasting no more time I take a couple of steps back and imagine the distance in my head of the rooftop to the other rooftop so I can get a good calculation of the distance. I then take off running to the edge of the building as fast as I can. Once at the edge I use all of my leg muscles and jump off with all my might as I soar through the air. ​

I roll on the top of the rooftop as I make it across and got up to my feet. I look back and feel quite good about what I just accomplished. I quickly get to the corner of the building and kneel down looking at the woman and the two men. ​

“I wonder if this is how the Green Arrow would handle this.” I then reach for an arrow out of my quiver.​

 

[Byrd Man]

The group of five sped through the black horde, blasting multicoloured holes through the Black Lanterns.

"Do not fear Hand, Earthman," Saint Walker asked Hal Jordan as he flew alongside him "He is a shell of the Lantern he used to be,"

And then he was upon them.

[BLACKOUT]"Saint Walker? I thought I had killed you once already. No matter. Death is too glorious a gift to be wasted on you anyway," [/BLACKOUT]

The black energies wrapped around the body of Kyle Rayner, crushing the life out of his body. The human screamed, but his eyes glowed a brilliant blue as Walker spoke through him.

"I am Hope, Hand, and you cannot think of challenging me,"

"And when it comes to challening willpower? Don't even get me started."

Forming an emerald sword, I swing at Hand's head. He creates a black katana that blocks my blow. His concentration breaks from Rayner/Walker, releasing the lantern from Hand's grasp.

[BLACKOUT]"Same old Sinestro. Still swallowing the Guardian's drivel about willpower?"[/BLACKOUT]

Hand and I trade blows, my green sword striking against his black blade.

"It is not drivel. With willpower and control, anything can be overcome!"

I aim high with my blade, Hand's sword comes in low, dissolving my green sword with his black energy.

[BLACKOUT] "Really?"[/BLACKOUT]

 

[Batman]

I aim high with my blade, Hand's sword comes in low, dissolving my green sword with his black energy.

[BLACKOUT] "Really?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Really!"

Hal Jordan struggles, the foreign ring on his finger still uncooperative to his distinct command. But after mere moments, it all pays off. An emerald blanket of light coats the entire area, as Black Hand flinches ever so slightly against the intensity of it's glow. By the time he and the Lanterns can readjust their eyes, they all focus on the gigantic construct being formed infront of them. Like clay being molded to sculpture, Hal Jordan's will to save his fellow soldiers in arms takes life, in the shape of a gigantic and jagged rock boulder. With a powerful hold on the object his ring has created, Jordan flies forth with the combined speed of the F-15's he's mastered, and hurls the staggering object at William Hand's energy sword.

"Sorry to interrupt the banter, Blacky, but we've got a saying on Earth that you might still be familiar with..."

As the sword shatters, Hand screams, as if the object were apart of his dark hands themselves. Hal Jordan only smirks, satisfied with his brief moment of defiance - abiet weakened, by the pure thrust of power required of his will.

"Rock crushes scissors."

Hand growls back, his darkened tendrils already beginning to reform themselves. Without hesitance, they lash out at Jordan in his moment of weakness, grabbing him from every which direction that he can see. Space becomes even darker, as Hal sinks into the abyss. The tendrils have themselves become Black Lanterns, clawing and gripping at the struggling rookie.

[BLACKOUT]"I have watched you, Hal Jordan of Earth. Your ascension to the stars has not gone unnoticed,"[/BLACKOUT]

"ARRGH!"

[BLACKOUT]"But The Guardians once again prove their impotence."[/BLACKOUT]

"ARRRRRGH!"

Hal screams at the top of his lungs, as his body is subjected to painful horrors that are unimaginable. The blackness has pierced into his chest, invading it's cavity and striking directly at the human's heart.

[BLACKOUT]"You are a pitiful replacement for Abin Sur. As such, you shall die for ever attempting to wear his ring!"[/BLACKOUT]

As the pain reaches unbearable proportions, Hal writhes back, trying his best to overcome it and escape. Hand may have killed The Guardians and taken the Corps as his own personal puppets, but he wasn't about to join them in becoming the sick freak's pawn. He had to fight, if he was ever going to escape this twisted nightmare.

"G... Get..."

"-...OFF OF ME!"

The Black Lanterns disintegrate under the strain of Jordan's power, as an emerald bubble wraps around the ring's wearer. The Blue Lantern-infused Kyle Rayner and Sinestro collect themselves from Hand's attack, as Hal falls onto the bubble's floor, just about ready to pass out.

"Get off of me..."

 

[Andy C.]

Lex Luthor

I run the calculations again and again, pencil scratching furiously at my notepad. Considering how complicated the equations are, most would trust a computer to do the number-crunching. Indeed, my own L-Soft AI can run calculations like this several thousand times faster than a human can. However, I prefer doing it by hand, if only because it keeps things in perspective to me.

Scenario 1: The Manhattan Project goes off without a hitch. Zero military retaliation, first strike removes superhuman intervention. Completion time, seven months. Global population decreased by only 15%.

Scenario 2: Zero military retaliation, first strike does not remove superhuman intervention. Completion time, three years. Global population decreased by 47%.

Scenario 3: Pockets of military resistance, first strike removes Priority Target Alpha but not other superhuman threats. Completion time, two years, five months. Global population decreased by 66%.

Scenario 4: First strike removes all superhuman threats except Priority Target Alpha.

Completion time, not applicable.

Global population decreased by 100%.

Given his observed behavior when pressed, coupled with his incredible power, I firmly believe that the near-completion of the Manhattan Project will drive him over the edge. While most see him as a protecting angel, I can already see the potential for him to be an angry and destructive god, one that would in time bring about the end if not removed from the equation. If he is not removed in the first wave, he will almost assuredly destroy the world himself.

The numbers only back up what I have said for months: in order for the world to truly change, Superman has to die.

Having Mr. Majestic under my control will go a long way to seeing that through, but I do not believe for a moment that it will be enough. The recent actions of the Flash has shown me that there is already a loose confederacy forming among the 'super-heroes,' one that is all but guaranteed to come to each other's aid in need.

Perhaps it is time to consider fully utilizing the Society's connections, and begin forming a confederacy of my own.

"Mr. Luthor, sir," L-Soft informs me. "we have just received a call requesting a meeting with you. Two reporters from the Daily Planet wish to hear your opinion on the incident at the museum."
"Which reporters?"

"Lois Lane and Clark Kent."

I smile. I always loved Miss Lane's writing, starry-eyed idealism and atrocious grammar aside. Perhaps going a few rounds with Perry White's bulldogs will keep me entertained for a while.

"Request granted. Have them escorted to me as soon as they arrive. And put in a call for some catering, as well. I feel like some sushi to go along with their interview."
​