The New Ultimate DC RPG

[Eddie Brock]

GREEN ARROW

I shift my weight, still trying to size up Roulette. Naturally, she's not exactly what I expected. "I suppose I should thank you for that," I announce finally as the growing mob moves away. Two armed men stand on either side of Roulette, watching me closely.

"I don't approve of violence in my nightclub," Roulette replies casually before slipping into a more serious tone. "And seeing as how you were the one who started it, I should have let them finish you." She leans back in her chair, and I can tell she's eyeing me up, too. "You almost certainly hospitalized my best bouncer."

I arch an eyebrow. That was only minutes ago. Word travels fast around here. I have a feeling very little goes on that Roulette doesn't know about. Good. That's what I came for.

"Now, before you explain very clearly why you are here, I might offer a little advice." Roulette leans forward. "The Star City Police Department has tried to shut me down many times, and each time they have been unwilling or unable. So if you're here on some noble quest, bear that in mind." She speaks with all the confidence and calmness of a woman completely in control.

I won't lie. It's kinda hot.

"Don't worry, Ms. Sinclair. Or is it Roulette?" A lame attempt to show how much I know, which is very little. Still, I continue. "I'm not here to intentionally disrupt your business. I'm sure a woman in your position understands and appreciates the importance of information."

For a moment, I swear she smirks. But it quickly vanishes. "Why on Earth would I lift a finger to help you?" she asks. "As you can clearly see, my paying customers aren't too fond of your antics."

My bow starts to slip, and I catch it. This causes Roulette's bodyguards to reach for their guns. When I simply put my bow back on my shoulder and let it go, they seem to relax. "Despite your little warning, you and I both know that I am not with the police. I can easily come back here with enough arrows to take out much more than six men."

Roulette stares at me from behind her sunglasses, saying nothing. I take that as a cue to continue. How helpful she'll actually be, I can't tell.

"I want to know about a planned assassination attempt," I explain.

Roulette raises a hand to stop me. "Please, let me save you some time. I don't eavesdrop on my customers. One, it's rude, and two, I understand the importance of keeping my nose out of others' business." I can tell by her tone of voice that she's making an implication about me.

"Alright, then. Maybe you can at least tell me if you've seen this man in here recently." I reach into my vest pocket and pull out a picture of Connor Hawke. One of Roulette's bodyguards steps forward and takes the picture to Roulette.

"A lot of men come through here, Green Arrow. I couldn't recognize them all if I tried."

"Try anyway," I urge. "You just saw me in action, and I think you know that I could drop both of your boys here before they could get a shot off." Both bodyguards tense up. I'm bluffing a bit, but it probably isn't outside the realm of possibility. "You keep a tight lid on this place. I'm sure you'd know if someone came here or not."

Roulette stares at me, considering the bluff. "Last Wednesday. He came in, sat at a booth by himself, had a few drinks, and met some guy in the evening." I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. "I don't know what the other man looked like. He kept his face hidden. That's it."

I nod. So Hawke was here, and it's pretty clear now that he was planning this attempt on my life. It's also probably a safe bet that he knows about me being Green Arrow now, but at least he found out on my terms. One thing's for sure: because Onomatopoeia failed, I can probably expect another attempt in the near future.

"Sorry about your bouncer," I admit before nodding to the bodyguards. And with that, I leave before Roulette changes her mind.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Central City, Missouri

After dealing with that crap in Star City, I gotta tell you....

It's good to be back home. Classes ended a bit early today, all the professors getting things ready for final exams. Val and I are going out after work, and since I got a few hours before I have to show up I decide to kill some time by going out on patrol.

It's pretty ho-hum as I go through Central City and expand out to Keystone. Nothing there, so I go out farther and hit up some of the bigger cities. Metropolis, Coast City, Hub City. I dont' go to Gotham. Mostly because I hear that Bat-Man guy lives there, and he scares the crap outta me.

I'm on the way to Tokyo when my cellphone buzzes inside my costume. Skidding to a stop on Okinawa, I tap the bluetooth device in my ear.

"Dude," Ralph says breathlessly into my ear. "Where are you?"

I look out at the Pacific Ocean, nodding towards a Japanese boat as it passes by the coast.

"Uhh...just on the outskirts of town. What's up?"

"Meet me at your house in five minutes. Remember that hit and run murder from the other week? I think I've figured out who did it."

"On my way."

I hit Mach 3 as I glide across the water of the ocean.​

 

[Saved]

Arkham Asylum
Inmate housing

"Evening, Doctor Quinzel," the guard says pleasantly as he rises from his chair. "Conducting another interview?" He asks as he slowly approaches me.
"Yes," I begin. I reach into the pocket in my jacket and pull out my ID card attached to a long lanyard. I hand it to the guard, allowing him to verify my clearance. It's a tedious task, but it keeps order and maintains security.

"Alright," he says after a few moments, handing the card back to me. "You're cleared." The guard grabs the set of keys attached to his belt and detaches them as he walks toward the large metal door at his back. Behind the barrier lies a long series of halls, each lined with the living quarters of the facilities inmates.

The guard fidgets with the keys for a moment until he finds the correct one. Carefully, he inserts the key into the lock, turning it and unraveling the tumblers with a loud clack. A buzzer sounds in a low and broken tone as the door opens, sliding backward into the wall. "Give it a knock when you're finished, Doctor," the guard says as he steps to the side.

"Thank you," I tell him, walking past him and entering into the next area. As I make my way down the hall, I hear the door slam shut behind me. The sound of the metal gears turning and falling into place is unsettling, even for someone such as myself. Very few individuals can become complacent to that noise. The realization that there is no hope of escape by your own power incites unpleasant feelings and thoughts - instigating the same mentality that one has now entered into a prison. But this place is not a prison; the people housed here are in desperate need of help and rehabilitation.

I've tried to speak with Jerimiah Arkham about adressing this matter before, but, unfortunately, to no avail. Apparently, the ideas of a new staff member are irrelevant to the future of the asylum. Unlike some of the other members of the administration here, I understand how those minor details can be so damaging to a person's psyche. If we are to truly help those administered here, we must spare no expense to ensure the enviroment is mentally calming and unthreatening.

As I make my way toward my current patient, I pass by the large glass walls of each "cell". Like a theater stage, the transparent walls act as a "fourth wall", allowing the audience to view the world of the characters within. Sadly, every room is not unique to the patient within; instead they are each the same, only minor details such as the placement of a chair or a bed differentiating one from the next. Again, Arkham fails to remind me of a sanitarium. Were it not for the plain white interior of the cells, I might mistake the building for blackgate prison.

After several minutes of walking, I finally arrive at my current patient's room. "Inmate 00125," I say aloud as I stop in front of the large glass wall. I peer inside to see him facing the back wall, staring intently at the drawings randomly inscribed all across the sheetrock. "Hello, Mr. Cobb," I say with a smile. Slowly he turns to face me, a weary expression of glee coming over him.
"Please, Doctor Quinzel, call me Phillip."
"Alright, Phillip," I begin, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a tape recorder. "I'll be taping today's session - is that alright?"
"Fine by me." I press the large red button on the device, initiating the recording.

"Patient interview four; Arkham inmate 00125, Phillip Cobb. Patient suffers from a severe case of obsessive compulsive disorder - infatuated with the use and implication of symbolic writings and characters. Now, Phillip, I would ask you how you're mental exercises are going to remove your impulsive urges, but I see you have drawn symbols all over the interior of your room once again. Weren't your writing instruments confiscated?"
"Yes, but I was able to get another."
"Who gave it to you?"
"One of the other inmates."

"And you won't reveal his or her name?" He shakes his head. "Alright," I say with a long sigh. "Phillip, I'm more concerned that you willing gave into your impulses then anything else. Have you practiced any of the exercises I gave you during our last session?"
"No," he answers, a look of shame on his face.
"May I ask you 'why'?"
"I tried, Doctor Quinzel, I really did, and I was fine at first, but - after the first day or so the urges came back. I started to get shaky and it felt like my stomach was filled with air. I thought ... if I didn't write the symbols soon, I might go crazy - maybe even die! I've heard about those people who get the heart attacks, doctor - too much stress! I don't want to die in here!"

"Neither does any of the staff, Phillip," I tell him compassionately. "But you'll never overcome your obsession if you give into it."
"But what about-"
"You won't die, Phillip," I reassure him. "It's just an impulse. It can't kill you."
"Are you sure?" He asks, his lip quivering slightly.
"Yes," I smile. "You'll be fine. Remember, you're stronger than these impulses. You control them, they don't control you. You're life isn't subject to writing these symbols - you won't die if you don't write them."
"Okay," he smiles, a subtle look of confidence in his eyes.
"You remember the exercises I taught you last time, right?"
"Yes."

"Okay, just remember to use those when you feel the urges coming on. Now, I'll have to tell the guards about the pen. When the security guard comes by in a little while, be sure to give him any writing instruments you have, okay? Right now we just need to remove the temptation from you that would cause you to feed your obsession. Once you've shown signs of improvement, we can give them back to you."

"Okay," he says compliantly.
"Good, Phillip. This ends patient interview four with inmate 00125, Phillip Cobb." I slide my thumb across the recorder and press the stop button, ending the session. "I'll see you again in two days, Phillip. Just practice those exercises and you'll be fine. You're in control - just remember that."
"Thank you," he says with a nod. "Good night, Doctor Quinzel."
"Good night, Phillip." I slip the recorder into my pocket and make my way back down the hallway toward the door.

It pains me to see him like that; a victim to his own mind - controlled by his urges and impulses, thinking that without them, dangerous ramnifications will follow. I remember a time where I was like that - a time where my desires and impulses controlled me. Through hard work and effort, I was able to be cured. It wasn't easy - my whole world had to be reformatted. What I once thought was black then became white, and up was now down - it was so strange, yet... so enlightening. If Phillip Cobb can perservere and stay disciplined with the treatment, he too can be freed. I can only hope he does what's best for himself. Hope ... and wait.

 

[Batman]

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 abruptly 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?"

I pause, finding myself caught off guard by the question. Which at first seems impossible, given that I've been dreading this specific moment from when I spotted Jason lurking in the shadows of the caverns - it was the immediate thought that came to mind. About how I haven't yet told him the truth, and about what I discovered at Belsaraph's Circus. Part of me wants to say it was out of the concern for his overall protection, but I know better than that.

It was my shame. For letting my overconfidence against the attacker - that demented clown, masquerading as a ringmaster - beat me within an inch of my life infront of his underlings and leave me with no other option than to run like a coward into the night. I suppose another part of it was hoping I'd get the chance to confront him again, to atone for that mistake, but no such luck has come my way. Briefly, I look back at Jason with silence, trying to find the words. But there's no way to express the feeling, with the knowledge that I let him down, aswell as the city itself for letting that maniac roam free.

Finally, to break the tension, I turn towards the door. Mere words can't do what I'm about to tell him the justice it deserves. "Follow me."

Reluctant, he complies out of curiosity. I don't - I can't look at him during the entire walk to the computer terminal. I shouldn't blame myself, but it really does defy comprehension. How many innocents have I endangered by allowing a proven killer to operate in Gotham City? It should be a simple question to answer, but with this one, I find myself realizing that it's different. It was his lack of evident fear that threw me off.

As I assume the platform of the terminal, I leave my thoughts behind me. Plenty of time to dwell on the consequences of my mistakes at a more appropriate time. Jason deserves the truth.

"Oracle, activate."

The entire cave illuminates with a faint green light, just as holographic data begins to circle around me. Jason's forced to step back, probably surprised by the sheer magnitude of my latest addition to the computer's technology. After a moment of loading, The Oracle itself takes a new face before me. A hologram logo design that just happens to speak with artificial intelligence.

Welcome To The Oracle, Mr. Wayne. How May I Assist You?

"Open casefile 940. Belsaraph's Circus."

Retrieving Recorded Information. Loading...

The opened files flood the terminal instantly, showing multiple digitized copies of newspaper clippings from across the country and photographs with seemingly no pattern. A couple of related murders that I suspect the police haven't been able to trace back to the Circus' current incarnation, and finally, a picture of the suspect himself - "Belsaraph". Identity currently unknown.

"This is your attacker. The ringmaster of the Gotham Circus. Wanted across multiple states for questioning, in relation to several different charges. Real name unknown, with no conclusive matches made through dental records or fingerprint analysis. Changes his appearance to coincide with the Circus' act every few months."

I look back at Jason, serious. "He's working towards something involving a multitude of stolen chemical agents. It's why he was at Gotham University, the night that you caught him off guard. That was only the first in a series of robberies across Gotham that I've been trying to link to the case."

 

[Saved]

Jason Todd stares at the holographic constructs in awe; completely dumbfounded by the sheer magnitude of the technology. So many thoughts begin to rush through his mind as he watches the computer program's A.I. speak, bringing up countless articles from all forms of media relevant to Belseraph's circus. Wow, Jason ponders in bewilderment. Everything I've read about this kind of technology said it was still years away. Looks like money can buy you anything ...

As Bruce begins his monologue, Jason fades in and out; hearing bits and pieces as he focuses on the facts - the cold hard evidence provided before him in a translucent green glow.

"This is your attacker. The ringmaster of the Gotham Circus. Wanted across multiple states for questioning, in relation to several different charges. Real name unknown, with no conclusive matches made through dental records or fingerprint analysis. Changes his appearance to coincide with the Circus' act every few months."

As Bruce brings the image to the forefront of the holograms, Jason stares at the visage of his attacker for the first time.

"He's working towards something involving a multitude of stolen chemical agents. It's why he was at Gotham University, the night that you caught him off guard. That was only the first in a series of robberies across Gotham that I've been trying to link to the case."

That face, he thinks in shock - unable to look away or even blink. As he scrutinizes every detail of the man's face, the voice of his nightmare returns - speaking the only words he remembers from that night.

Burn it all ...​

His eyes ... that grin.

Burn it all ...​

That ... monster ...

Hehaheahahahaha!​

Jason stands still, enveloped in his mind as his memory ignites. The neurons in his brain fire rapidly, and the image of the man suddenly brings back all of that which Jason thought he forgot. In mere seconds his mind is flooded with the missing thoughts and memories of that night - the fight with the madman's henchmen, the battle at Gotham University, and the blaze that nearly took his life.
He's a deadman.

Jason suddenly pulls himself back from the depths of his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. As he clears his throat, beads of swear begin to drip down his neck - stress seething from within him. "So he left me to die at Gotham U," he finally speaks. "That matches the list my police informant gave me a few weeks ago of buildings that burned down. Funny how it all fits together now."

Jason adjusts his posture, shifting his stance as he struggles to keep himself restrained. As relieved as he is to finally know the truth, it is the truth that has incited so much anger and rage within him. A double edged sword; closing one door but opening so many more. The agonizing ordeal of the memories suddenly returning to him, coupled with the discovery of his would be killer, has finally reached its boiling point - removing any hope of finding peace. To Jason, the case has been solved, but the battle has just begun.

"So, Bruce," Jason starts taking in long and deep breaths. "How long have you known all of this?"

 

[Batman]

Jason adjusts his posture, shifting his stance as he struggles to keep himself restrained. As relieved as he is to finally know the truth, it is the truth that has incited so much anger and rage within him. A double edged sword; closing one door but opening so many more. The agonizing ordeal of the memories suddenly returning to him, coupled with the discovery of his would be killer, has finally reached its boiling point - removing any hope of finding peace. To Jason, the case has been solved, but the mission has just begun.

"So, Bruce," Jason starts taking in long and deep breaths. "How long have you known all of this?"

This is the moment I've been dreading ever since that night. Owning up to everything that's happened. My reaction, or lack of, effortlessly comes to me as I form an answer to my clearly traumatized friend. A man who deserved the truth far sooner than I was willing to provide it.

"Before I tried to take him down myself, or after?"

Jason looks at me, defeaningly silent. My fists tighten, trying to fight against the strain of the confession I'm about to make. And all I can think of is the fact that whatever happens, however he reacts, it is one that I probably deserve.

"Months."

 

[Saved]

This is the moment I've been dreading ever since that night. Owning up to everything that's happened. My reaction, or lack of, effortlessly comes to me as I form an answer to my clearly traumatized friend. A man who deserved the truth far sooner than I was willing to provide it.

"Before I tried to take him down myself, or after?"

Jason looks at me, defeaningly silent. My fists tighten, trying to fight against the strain of the confession I'm about to make. And all I can think of is the fact that whatever happens, however he reacts, it is one that I probably deserve.

"Months."

Jason's fists tighten, tugging the fabric of his gloves as his fingers dig into his palm. An unsettling silence rises within the cave as Jason stands still; motionless as if he were a statue. All Jason can do is wonder to himself how a friend could with hold information such as this.

After a moment or two, the silence is suddenly broken by the sound of Jason taking in a deep breath beneath his 'hood'. "Well, Bruce," Jason begins, his tone bitting and harsh. "I'd like to say I'm surprised, but, to tell you the truth? I'm not in the slightest." Jason's fists slowly unravel, revealing the mildly torn fabric of the palm of his gloves. "You've always had your secrets," he says, venom stinging on his words. "I guess it's you who knows best." He scoffs, ambivalence to his friend's deception taking hold.

 

[Batman]

After a moment or two, the silence is suddenly broken by the sound of Jason taking in a deep breath beneath his 'hood'. "Well, Bruce," Jason begins, his tone bitting and harsh. "I'd like to say I'm surprised, but, to tell you the truth? I'm not in the slightest." Jason's fists slowly unravel, revealing the mildly torn fabric of the palm of his gloves. "You've always had your secrets," he says, venom stinging on his words. "I guess it's you who knows best." He scoffs, ambivalence to his friend's deception taking hold.

Letting the tone of his voice make the necessary sting, I merely set the Batcomputer on standby and step off of the terminal, facing him directly in a tense silence. To be honest, he took it better than I imagined he would. I expected... well, to be honest, I had no expectations. I didn't imagine it would ever come to this moment, when I would have to explain my actions to someone with such a clear understanding of my methods. But I guess I can't hide the truth anymore. There are no lies to be had between the two of us - we're both soldiers of an unforgiving war. And we've both had to pay the price at the hands of this homicidal madman.

"I deserve that,"

"Infact, I honestly believe I deserve more than that. You have every right to be angry with me for this. I've spent countless hours trying to figure out how I could even begin to tell you, or if I even wanted to in the first place. But the truth is, you always deserved to know."

Walking past him, into the deeper sanction of the cave, I look through the barriers of countless pieces of machinery and relics of my past, only to see the solid stone walls beneath. There's a small sense of regret in the idea that every hour that I've spent down here in the weeks since the attack, every moment that I kept to myself, either perfecting one of my tools or working a case, I could have simply picked up a phone and called him, told him what happened and who was responsible, and tried to make amends for not consulting him sooner.

A small sense, because of the fact that I didn't want to. And if it were my choice, he would have never learned the truth. Jason was attacked and put on the hospital with fractures and enough internal bleeding to put his life in serious risk. When I saw him in that hospital bed, unconscious and fighting to push through the pain, there was no alternative - I had to pursue whoever was responsible, repay the favor by beating him within an inch of his life, and hope that he and Jason would never cross paths again.

And for that rage, I nearly died myself. The honest truth is, I have no regret in the fact that I've prevented Jason from ever knowing his attacker's face up until now. Because every moment he doesn't spend relentlessly trying to bring this man in, risking his life to do so in the process, is every moment that I can grab the bastard myself - and keep Jason alive.

"It's not easy for me to admit, but apart of me wanted to keep you in the dark. Whenever I tried to take him on, he overcame me with ease and left me with injuries that kept Batman off the streets for weeks. If I knew that you were still out there, still hunting for revenge, I also knew that I couldn't be there to give you aid. He's a dangerous psychotic, and we can't afford to underestimate him again."

I look back once more, glaring over my shoulder.

"Don't go after him alone. Let me come with you."

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Another holiday, another victim. This time, Alberto "Daddy's Boy" Falcone found dead in his car. A half vial of H up his nose, a neck tie wrapped around his bruised throat. A little over a week and a half until the next holiday: 4th of July.

After that? August and Holiday is done. So am I. Gordon wants me playing for his team. To quote my 2nd grade teacher: "Eddie doesn't play well with others."

Sage, the best homicide detective in a generation, stumped clueless.

Holiday is a pyscho, but a pyscho with a plan. This is about revenge. But revenge on who? Could he be a cop, or a former cop? Gut tells me he is.

Either way, find out soon enough. And then, Eddie Nygma joins Umberto Maroni in Slaughter Swamp to sleep the big sleep.​

 

[Byrd Man]

​

"Wait a minute...run that by me again..."

"I said I figured out who killed that scientist. Clyde Mardon."

I flop down on my couch and look up at Ralph. "Yeah, dude, I got that much. But who did it?"

"His brother, Mark."

I shake my head. "The TV weatherman? Where is the proof?"

"Well, for starters the car seen fleeing the scene after Clyde was run over was a black sedan. Mardon owns a red SUV, but he rented a black Ford Taurus a week before Clyde was killed. What's more, Mark returned it to the rental place two days after Clyde's murder with a dent on the bumper. He claimed he had hit a dog on the highway."

"Alright. What else?"

"I looked up Mark Mardon. Apparently, he had quite the record as a child. Numerous assault charges, a couple of juvie visits. Some of the attacks were on his brother."

"If he was a minor, wouldn't those records be expunged?"

Ralph smiles and shakes his head. "I got my sources. That's the most important part of becoming a PI."

"Okay, so this TV weatherman may have killed his super-smart scientist brother, but why?"

"He wanted Clyde's top-secret project."

"You mean the weather wand?"

"Yep."

"And you know this for sure?"

"Nope."

"So how do you plan on finding out if he did steal this weather wand thingy?"

"Simple. We're going to break into his house."​

 

[Saved]

Letting the tone of his voice make the necessary sting, I merely set the Batcomputer on standby and step off of the terminal, facing him directly in a tense silence. To be honest, he took it better than I imagined he would. I expected... well, to be honest, I had no expectations. I didn't imagine it would ever come to this moment, when I would have to explain my actions to someone with such a clear understanding of my methods. But I guess I can't hide the truth anymore. There are no lies to be had between the two of us - we're both soldiers of an unforgiving war. And we've both had to pay the price at the hands of this homicidal madman.

"I deserve that,"

"Infact, I honestly believe I deserve more than that. You have every right to be angry with me for this. I've spent countless hours trying to figure out how I could even begin to tell you, or if I even wanted to in the first place. But the truth is, you always deserved to know."

Walking past him, into the deeper sanction of the cave, I look through the barriers of countless pieces of machinery and relics of my past, only to see the solid stone walls beneath. There's a small sense of regret in the idea that every hour that I've spent down here in the weeks since the attack, every moment that I kept to myself, either perfecting one of my tools or working a case, I could have simply picked up a phone and called him, told him what happened and who was responsible, and tried to make amends for not consulting him sooner.

A small sense, because of the fact that I didn't want to. And if it were my choice, he would have never learned the truth. Jason was attacked and put on the hospital with fractures and enough internal bleeding to put his life in serious risk. When I saw him in that hospital bed, unconscious and fighting to push through the pain, there was no alternative - I had to pursue whoever was responsible, repay the favor by beating him within an inch of his life, and hope that he and Jason would never cross paths again.

And for that rage, I nearly died myself. The honest truth is, I have no regret in the fact that I've prevented Jason from ever knowing his attacker's face up until now. Because every moment he doesn't spend relentlessly trying to bring this man in, risking his life to do so in the process, is every moment that I can grab the bastard myself - and keep Jason alive.

"It's not easy for me to admit, but apart of me wanted to keep you in the dark. Whenever I tried to take him on, he overcame me with ease and left me with injuries that kept Batman off the streets for weeks. If I knew that you were still out there, still hunting for revenge, I also knew that I couldn't be there to give you aid. He's a dangerous psychotic, and we can't afford to underestimate him again."

I look back once more, glaring over my shoulder.

"Don't go after him alone. Let me come with you."

Jason stares directly into Bruce's face, noticing the sincerity in his expression. For as long as he's known him, Jason has never seen Bruce express emotion; even now, it's easy to miss. It's the small things like the twinge in his neck, the muscles around the eyes tightening while the muscles about his mouth droop slightly. These are the subtleties that would go unnoticed by the untrained eye.

As Bruce awaits an answer to his proposition, Jason carefully reviews his friend's words letter by letter. Seconds continue to pass, and as time goes by, Jason's dissapointment continues to rise. He forgoes empathy, ignoring the honesty of his friend's admission - distracted by something else entirely.

"So," Jason starts as he slowly walks in between the many cases and display stands of Bruce's arsenal. "Not only have you known this for months ... but I see you've given this a lot of thought as well. And now - months later, after being cornered, you finally fess up and tell the truth. But then - and this is my favorite part - you play it all off by asking for my help." Jason turns around swiftly, sending a quick rush of wind from his motion. "As if I would be too incompetant to handle things on my own." Jason pauses for a moment, still struggling with the revelations he's learned tonight.

"What happened to you, Bruce? You used to be driven by your desire - your passion. But now? Now you're so paranoid of everyone and everything you've completely isolated yourself. I mean, *******, you live in a cave! You spend your time planning and preparing for battles you'll never fight - designing technology and equipment you'll never need, all in an effort to quell that lingering doubt that haunts your every thought."

"Are you so afraid of failure that the only way you can go on is by encasing yourself within a tomb of your own fear and suspiscion - worried that, if you allow anyone in, they'll be the hole in your armor that tears you down?"

 

[sabetoonth]

​

Victor knew what he was doing was wrong, but he really didn’t care as long as he wasn’t caught. He knew this Mr. White was a criminal; he was there when Nora was shot. One of his goons probably pulled the trigger of the gun that shot Nora. He was going to supply this man with weapons. He would rather use them on him, but he needed the money. Money, that’s all that has ever mattered in this city. The criminals have it, they wealthy have it, and the important people have it. Victor had to become important sp he could keep Nora alive.

He had caught a cab after work, stopped by the hospital, and then arrived at the place he knew he could find one of White’s men; it was a bar on an unfriendly side of town. Not that that description pointed anywhere but pretty much everywhere. He walked up to the man, he recognized him as someone from the Lounge.

“You’re one of Warren White’s employees correct?” Victor asked. The goon looked away from his drink.

“Yea, and what’s it to ya?” he went back to his drink and raised it to his lips.

“I have access to things Mr. White may want.” Freis said nervously as he eyed the man next to him. He took notice, was this little guy trying to make a deal?

“What kind of stuff you got?” he put down the drink.

“The right kind.”Victor only wanted to talk to White about it.

 

[Batman]

"What happened to you, Bruce? You used to be driven by your desire - your passion. But now? Now you're so paranoid of everyone and everything you've completely isolated yourself. I mean, *******, you live in a cave! You spend your time planning and preparing for battles you'll never fight - designing technology and equipment you'll never need, all in an effort to quell that lingering doubt that haunts your every thought."

"Are you so afraid of failure that the only way you can go on is by encasing yourself within a tomb of your own fear and suspicion - worried that, if you allow anyone in, they'll be the hole in your armor that tears you down?"

Despite all of the guilt I've carried through this, all of the sleepless nights... I still tense up at Jason's accusations. Where sorrow and pleas for forgiveness might have been, I only find rage and a deepening wound that his words are piercing. I admit failure, I try to make amends for my mistake, even going as far to offer him my time and efforts towards apprehending his attacker, and he manages to spin it against me. Twisting my actions into some sort of sign that I've went off the path and betrayed my original intentions. All the while masking it with the overconfidence that I've long since feared would get him killed.

"No. For god's sakes, no. You're not listening."

This is exactly why we never worked well together. Too many things about our methods would clash, and the worst part of our personalities would get in the way of our friendship and the pursuit of the mission. As much as I value our friendship, and though Jason has the skill of a solider, it's definitely clear to me now - he's never had the discipline of one.

"It's never been about that. I don't have the ego to put into this that you do, Jason. This is absolutely above us. What I did by withholding that information - what I thought I should regret, was only out of the desire to protect you from a man that nearly robbed you of your life. Incompetence, as you put it, is never a factor in this line of work. We're all prone make mistakes. I'm not blinded to that."

I come closer, staring him down through that thick barrier of a helmet that he wears. He accuses me of shutting people out, but he still has to nerve to wear that thing? At least I leave a window to prove my humanity. Red Hood might aswell be his shell in every sense.

"What I do is purely and simply designed to limit the amount of mistakes we make. But I'm not infallible, and neither are you! That's why I went after him. Because if you had faced him again and died, I..."

My words grow colder, but begin to climax into somberness, as I remove my cowl.

"I just don't want to lose anyone else."

 

[Saved]

Despite all of the guilt I've carried through this, all of the sleepless nights... I still tense up at Jason's accusations. Where sorrow and pleas for forgiveness might have been, I only find rage and a deepening wound that his words are piercing. I admit failure, I try to make amends for my mistake, even going as far to offer him my time and efforts towards apprehending his attacker, and he manages to spin it against me. Twisting my actions into some sort of sign that I've went off the path and betrayed my original intentions. All the while masking it with the overconfidence that I've long since feared would get him killed.

"No. For god's sakes, no. You're not listening."

This is exactly why we never worked well together. Too many things about our methods would clash, and the worst part of our personalities would get in the way of our friendship and the pursuit of the mission. As much as I value our friendship, and though Jason has the skill of a solider, it's definitely clear to me now - he's never had the discipline of one.

"It's never been about that. I don't have the ego to put into this that you do, Jason. This is absolutely above us. What I did by withholding that information - what I thought I should regret, was only out of the desire to protect you from a man that nearly robbed you of your life. Incompetence, as you put it, is never a factor in this line of work. We're all prone make mistakes. I'm not blinded to that."

I come closer, staring him down through that thick barrier of a helmet that he wears. He accuses me of shutting people out, but he still has to nerve to wear that thing? At least I leave a window to prove my humanity. Red Hood might aswell be his shell in every sense.

"What I do is purely and simply designed to limit the amount of mistakes we make. But I'm not infallible, and neither are you! That's why I went after him. Because if you had faced him again and died, I..."

My words grow colder, but begin to climax into somberness, as I remove my cowl.

"I just don't want to lose anyone else."

Interesting, Jason thinks to himself as he watches Bruce remove his cowl. Push a little harder, a little longer - and look at what you get.

Subconsciously, Jason's internal nature takes control. Ever the psychologist, his mind can't help but psychoanalyze his friend's actions - matching them against his words in order to find a hazy medium where some form of the truth can be found.

Even after my remarks - my pokes and jabs - he still manages to reach out to me and seek reparation. Maybe his paranoia isn't the root of this issue. Perhaps his cold feet does stem from a different motive - a more ... noble one.

As Jason plays it all back once more in his mind, he stares off into the distance, lost in thought. Externally, he resembles a suit of armor - cold, still, and empty. The helmet over his head obstructs his expressions; the emotions and feelings written all over his face hidden beneath a bright ruby red barrier. While he accused Bruce of isolating himself from the world through his gadgets and equipment, he failed to see the hypocracy in his own words. He too isolates himself - putting on a literal facade to cover the intimate details that his face reveals.

"Heh," he speaks suddenly, letting out a small laugh under his breath. Jason is too proud to admit his rash behavior - too haughty to reveal the emotions he feels inside. Instead of apologizing for his accusations, or admitting that perhaps now he understands Bruce's questionable, yet benevolent actions, he simply replies in a way that is all his own. "You know, I never thanked you for saving me," Jason tells him as his voice returns to its normal tone.

 

[Eddie Brock]

SELINA KYLE

My finger trembles on the trigger. Get a hold of yourself, Selina. I take a deep breath and stare down the barrel of the gun at the shooting range dummy at the back wall. I needed to find a release for all this stress, but this is the first time I've touched a gun since being shot.

I don't feel like myself today. Truthfully, I haven't felt like myself in a long time. I just don't think I realized it until now. Officially, Selina Kyle is dead, but unofficially? I think I've been avoiding that realization for a while.

I steady my hands and rattle off a shot. Dead center of the dummy.

"Andrea Beaumont?"

I fire another round. Headshot.

"Officer Beaumont?"

I fire a third round. Headshot.

"Officer?"

Right. Andrea Beaumont. That's me now. Placing my gun down in front of me, I turn to face the person who was trying to get my attention. He has gray hair, trimmed and kept in a military-style buzzcut. In fact, everything about him screams military. His clothes are meticulously cleaned and pressed, and his boots are shined.

Smiling, he explains, "I thought I recognized you from your file." Noticing my confusion, he continues, "I'm Sergeant Lyle Bolton with the GCPD bodyguard division." He holds out his hand for me. "And, technically, I'm your new boss."

I hesitate for a moment before shaking his hand. "Oh. Well, what a surprise running into you here, then," I say in an attempt to sound casual. I don't think I even remember what casual is.

"I come down here to practice every week. You've gotta stay quick on the trigger, you know?" Better than you might think. "Well, let me welcome you to Gotham, then. I assume you're settled in okay?"

"Oh, yeah. No problems," I lie. In reality, Nygma and I are still staying in the Ritz. We've divvied up the money Batman left for us, and I'm currently in the process of trying to find a place to stay long-term. It doesn't need to be anything fancy. I just can't afford to be exposed again.

"That's good. That's good," Sergeant Bolton nods. Folding his arms, he says, "I don't think I need to tell you that we run things a little differently here than they do back in Metropolis." He looks over at my target dummy. "But it looks like you'll do just fine."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Sergeant Bolton begins loading his pistol when he stops and turns. "Hey, I've been wondering something ever since I got your file and saw you were transferring from Metropolis," he begins. "Have you ever seen Superman?"
​

 

[Batman]

"Heh," he speaks suddenly, letting out a small laugh under his breath. Jason is too proud to admit his rash behavior - too haughty to reveal the emotions he feels inside. Instead of apologizing for his accusations, or admitting that perhaps now he understands Bruce's questionable, yet benevolent actions, he simply replies in a way that is all his own. "You know, I never thanked you for saving me," Jason tells him, his voice returning to his normal tone.

For a moment, I don't know what to make of the reaction. It seems like we've been building up to an argument all night, but I never expected to see Jason be the one to back down first. I honestly don't even know what to say to him. And after everything that's been said already... perhaps that's the best thing I could have. Nothing at all. With a small smirk, I allow myself to remember who I'm talking to. Jason Todd, the one man alive that truly understands me. Shaking my head, I slump my shoulders to ease the tension while simultaneously dismissing his gesture. "Forget it. You'll never have to."

It feels reassuring to know that whatever comes between us, we'll always share one thing in common - we're both too damn stubborn for our own good.

 

[Saved]

For a moment, I don't know what to make of the reaction. It seems like we've been building up to an argument all night, but I never expected to see Jason be the one to back down first. I honestly don't even know what to say to him. And after everything that's been said already... perhaps that's the best thing I could have. Nothing at all. With a small smirk, I allow myself to remember who I'm talking to. Jason Todd, the one man alive that truly understands me. Shaking my head, I slump my shoulders to ease the tension while simultaneously dismissing his gesture. "Forget it. You'll never have to."

It feels reassuring to know that whatever comes between us, we'll always share one thing in common - we're both too damn stubborn for our own good.

Jason smiles, glad to finally have so many questions now answered. Both he and Bruce have their shades of grey in which they operate; each method different, yet oddly similar. Neither refuses to compromise - neither refuses to back down. Instead, they both have accepted their differences; realizing that it's useless to expect the other to change. Before he came to the cave tonight, Jason had forgotten this - the things that make both of them different, yet so effective in their own right. He remembers now, and he hopes to never forget it again.

Without a word he turns around and makes his way toward the exit down the long and dark tunnel before him. "I'll let myself out," he calls back, his voice echoing loudly throughout the cave.

As he goes, he passes a metal table litered with various pieces of technology to his left. As he examines them more closely, he sees the intricate design - noticing the shape the objects resemble - that of a bat - Bruce's avatar. Casually turning his head, he checks to see if Bruce is still watching. As he sees Bruce turn away for a moment, his acts quickly, flailing his arm out and grabbing hold of one of the devices. Secretively he stows the 'bat' themed weapon into one of his jacket's interior pockets, tucking it safely away.

Without missing a beat, he continues walking, his body language indicating no suspicious twitches or movements. As a wide grin comes over his face, he heads down the long cavern toward the way he had entered, making his stoic exit - just as he'd planned. As his figure disappears into the shadows, the sound of his footsteps on the damp rock ground soon pitter out, and the cave is once again filled with the sound of silence.

****​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

“Please just let me go I won’t tell a soul what I seen.”

The young woman was slowly walking backwards scared for her life. When she spoke it displayed her fear and even now her body does the same.

“Look at her man, her body won’t stop shaking.” One of the thugs said as he watches his partner moving in closer to the frighten female.

“I know you’re not going to tell anyone, because you won’t have a beating heart once I’m finish with you.”

Her attacker reaches in behind his back and pulls out a decent size knife. The man then closes the distance between his self and the woman. He places his free hand around the woman’s neck. He then pulls back his arm that’s holding the blade and then goes in to strike the ladies throat. At the last moment before the knife impact the woman’s throat an unsuspected arrow went into the man’s hand forcing him to drop the blade.

“AHHH ****!” The man screams in pain as he holds his hand.

“****’s that man? An arrow? How the hell an arrow got in your hand?”

The other fellow goes to his partner and snaps the arrow before pulling it out. He screams as it exits his hand. Afterwards the uninjured hooligan pulls out a gun aiming it fanatically in the air.

“Who’s there? Show yourself.”

These ruffians must not be serious. To reveal myself would be unintelligent I have the element of surprise. A well good advantage to have when you are faced up with two well arm men.

While both of the men are wasting there time looking up at the rooftops they were unaware that the new archer vigilante is now on the ground with them.

“Leave now.” A voice said from the shadows.

After hearing an unknown voice not knowing where or who it was one of the men acted by fear and aims his gun at the young woman.

“If you don’t show your self I will shoot the woman right here.”

After hearing the thug’s threat the new green archer pulls an arrow out of his quiver while in the shadows and aims it at the man holding the gun. The archer stood there engulf in darkness the only thing revealed by the light was the tip of the arrow shinning due to the one light beaming in the alley.

“Hey man what’s that over there?” The guy asks as he sees something reflects some light in the distance.

Before they could realize what it is, it was too late, the arrow soars through the air and finds it mark right between the gunmen knuckles. He drops the gun as he looks at his hand with the arrow resting in between his fingers.

Now that both of the ladies attacker’s stand wounded Connor steps out of the shadows but not as himself but as Arsenal.

“This is the time you run.” Arsenal tells the thugs as they both look at each and run for their lives.

As the men ran Arsenal made his way to the lady.

“Do not fear they will not do you any harm.” He tells her trying to comfort her.

“You don’t know what you done. They were not alone.”

“If that is the case you should run off as well before they bring reinforcements.”

She wastes no time from getting up and then making her way out of the alley. Connor then walks over to his broken arrow and bends down and picks it up.

“It’s a good thing their wasn’t more I only have three arrows left. Today was only post to be a day for learning.”

As Arsenal stands up to his feet the young woman makes her way back to him.

“Why have you returned?” Arsenal asks with haste.

“They’re coming back.” She shouts as she runs to Arsenal’s side.

“Stay behind me.” He orders.

Arsenal slowly begins walking backwards as he could sense more violent criminals making there way near his location.

Couple of seconds pass and the two thugs Arsenal just stopped earlier arrivals with eight more guys.

“This is the guy who did this to you?” One of the men asks.

“That’s the guy.” The one gentleman with the arrow still in between his fingers replies.

Arsenal quickly calculated the situation to prepare himself for what’s to come.

“Guys no guns, remember this isn’tGotham the cops will show up here in no time."

Arsenal looks back at the woman. “Stay behind me and no matter what happens stay there.”

 

[Batman]

After Jason leaves, I finish my nightly routine and change wardrobe, locking the suit away. The cave's systems shut themselves down for the night as I casually enter the elevator lift leading to the penthouse study. Check my watch, out of habit, only to realize it's already close to nine in the morning. He and I must have been talking longer than I realized - I could have sworn that I had hours to spare whenever I returned. Trying to fight off the lingering fatigue, I practically seize a cigarette from my desk the minute that the elevator reaches the top floor. Been trying to quit for months, health risks and all, but it is impossible. Gotham's kept me far too on edge to permit it. Sometimes you need an escape.

Yet just as the lighter reaches the stick of nicotine and the flame burns into it, I begin to hear a voice from outside that isn't Alfred's. Nor Harriet's or Dick's. It seems that no matter what I'm doing, I won't be short of any uninvited guests today. Inhaling enough of the smoke to keep me awake, I put the cigarette out and calmly exit the study - to find Alfred, walking directly towards me. I give him an annoyed look.

"What now?"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I was caught off guard by his arrival myself, but if I had managed to sneak into to the study, I would have warned you much sooner than-..."

And then I see him. Giving me a smile from the dining room, his overly-tailored suit is all but indistinguishable against the morning light. William Earle, a primary member of the Waynetech board of directors. I try all that I can to hide my disdain, as I look back at Alfred and silently instruct him to stay close by. All the while, thinking of only one negative thought to outweigh a million others - that the last thing that I want to discuss right now is business.

Putting on a practiced smile, I walk out of the hallway with a welcoming, energetic demeanor."Mr. Earle! Oh my god, it's been ages! If I had known you were coming, I'd have had my chef prepare us a breakfast."

He shakes my hand and tries to come across as anything but unnervingly droll. It isn't working. "I appreciate the sentiment, Bruce, but I really can't stay too long. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to check up on you."

I raise my eyebrow and chuckle.

"And why would you need to do that? I've never felt better in my life."

"I can tell. Physically, you're in top form, but it isn't your health that I'm concerned about. Can I speak to you in private?"

Slightly annoyed inside, I push those thoughts away and solemnly nod, showing him to the living room before turning to Alfred. "Alfred, get us a couple of drinks. Whatever we've got, make mine strong. I'm sure it's still a little early for Mr. Earle."

He rolls his eyes, doing nothing to mask his disapproval of my request. It's moments like this that add credence to the idea that Jason kept referring to him as my butler.

"Yes, well, I'm quite sure it's a little early for most."

As he begins pouring the drinks, I join Earle on the outside balcony that's overlooking Gotham. For a moment, seeing it like this almost makes me forget the true nature of the city's ways. It almost seems - dare I say it - livable, during the daylight hours. A period of which I rarely get to experience anymore.

"Gorgeous view, isn't it?"

"I hardly notice anymore. But yeah, seeing it like this reminds me of why I haven't moved into the suburbs. There's alot of real estate to invest on in this city."

Earle smirks. "Well, you certainly have the money for it."

I chuckle, even though he's right. For a man who rents out warehouses to stock away hundreds of military prototypes to assemble a personal arsenal, I've still got enough money to spare me any foreclosures. It almost sickens me to know that I'm still living a privileged life, while others have to starve and suffer through the city's crimewave. Pooling my efforts to quell it is the only way I still stay sane, though that's becoming far more questionable as of late.

"So why did you want to speak to me? I assume Helena's office isn't barricaded from her employees, much less the board of directors."

"Hardly. She's become a rather model CEO, despite her lack of experience in the field. You should be proud of her."

"I am. Believe me,"

"But one CEO, however capable, can only do so much to please the board's expectations. Especially these days."

I narrow my gaze, looking back at him after briefly admiring the skyline.

"Surely you can help solve whatever problems they're having with the current leadership."

"That's what I'm trying to do now, Bruce. I wasn't actually in the neighborhood, the board sent me here to find out just what you're really doing with your daytime hours. They want to see just where you fit into the company's future."

And just like that, I find nothing to say. The truth seems the most obvious path, but how can I possibly explain away the fact that I spend most of my days sleeping, only to prepare for a night of self-sufficient vigilantism? I've been content to use the excuse of side projects in the past, but I doubt Earle's going to walk away with that one.

"I see. Well, I'm sorry to say that there's not much to explain, other than what I've told the board myself. But I'm only the company's benefactor now. I stopped being CEO the minute that I realized that I wasn't qualified for the job."

"I understand that, Bruce. Believe me, if it were up to me, there'd be no subject to be had. But the board wants you to take a more active role within the company if they expect to keep the Wayne name on the building. And your reputation certainly isn't doing much to help that."

My eyebrows arch themselves up. "Reputation?"

"On the town. You know what I'm talking about, Bruce. Your face is everything. Those girls you're always with, it's on so many of those gossip magazines that they're selling down at the Globe offices. They talk about you like you're a damn movie star on CNN. Surely you're not oblivious to all this."

I shrug, trying to play off the simple fact that I actually haven't been keeping up. Being Bruce Wayne sometimes means yielding to the call of celebrity, but I've been so wrapped up in other things that it's occasionally slipped my mind. Hard to attract paparazzi while parading around on the rooftops.

"I don't know what to tell them. I didn't ask for all of this, it just slipped into my hands."

"Then why hold onto the company? You don't need the money."

"It's not about money. The company could be my legacy, I just need to make sure that it's still mine."

It's a lie, but believable enough. I need the resources more than anything, but it doesn't hurt to know that I'm keeping my uncle's spirit alive by making sure the world still knows the family name.

Earle places his hands on his hips, and sighs. "I'm trying to appeal to them, Bruce. But it's just not going to convince them that you're the right man to lead the brand. Waynetech's got enough product lined up to fire up the consumer market for the next decade, and it's all getting closer to launch every waking moment. That's why I came to you now, rather than later."

Alfred brings the drinks, and hands me mine, as Earle politely nods to take his. "The Wayne-com satellite demonstration. That's this week, isn't it?"

"Friday night. A big press event at the Gotham Observatory, so it's going to be packed. And the entire board is going to personally oversee the presentation. That's why I think this is the perfect chance for you to show them that you're ready to lead. Helena and I are going to be presenting, and she thought it'd be a good idea for you to give an opening statement."

I smirk, taking a drink out of the glass. Helena's always been smarter than she lets on, and a more than capable business strategist. It's why I handpicked her to succeed me and run the company in my absence, even despite our personal history together. If she thinks it's a good idea, then I trust her judgment.

"An opening statement? I don't know, I'm not the best speaker in the world."

"The speech doesn't matter. As long as the board knows that you're making a real effort to show the press that the company's taking itself seriously, they'll be happy to let you keep working on your side projects. Or whatever you're doing, cooped up in this place."

I look back out at Gotham, then back to Earle, eager to hear my response. I guess it couldn't hurt for me to make a public appearance at the benefit of the company, much less my personal reputation. Batman's taken such a hold over my life lately that it'd be a welcome change of pace to have to spend a night as Bruce Wayne, for once.

"Guess I better find a tux."

 

[sabetoonth]

​

Victor knew what he was doing was wrong, but he really didn’t care as long as he wasn’t caught. He knew this Mr. White was a criminal; he was there when Nora was shot. One of his goons probably pulled the trigger of the gun that shot Nora. He was going to supply this man with weapons. He would rather use them on him, but he needed the money. Money, that’s all that has ever mattered in this city. The criminals have it, they wealthy have it, and the important people have it. Victor had to become important sp he could keep Nora alive.

He had caught a cab after work, stopped by the hospital, and then arrived at the place he knew he could find one of White’s men; it was a bar on an unfriendly side of town. Not that that description pointed anywhere but pretty much everywhere. He walked up to the man, he recognized him as someone from the Lounge.

“You’re one of Warren White’s employees correct?” Victor asked. The goon looked away from his drink.

“Yea, and what’s it to ya?” he went back to his drink and raised it to his lips.

“I have access to things Mr. White may want.” Freis said nervously as he eyed the man next to him. He took notice, was this little guy trying to make a deal?

“What kind of stuff you got?” he put down the drink.

“The right kind.”Victor only wanted to talk to White about it.

Victor walked up the steps of the large house, Mr. Warren White, the businessman, and the criminal, and invited Victor Freis, scientist at Waynetech, to his home outside the city for a “business meeting”. A meeting about rather illegal business.

Reaching what Victor assumed was a study of some kind turned out to be a large mostly empty room with a single desk. At the windows, windows that reached up to the ceiling and all the way to the floor stood Mr. Warren “The Great White Shark” White. He motioned for Victor to sit as he himself sat behind the desk.

“Leo tells me you have an offer for me?” he put his arms on the table, interlocking his fingers. Victor nodded his head, unsure if he should speak. “What do you have?” Victor fidgeted in his seat on the other side of the desk from this business man and criminal.

“Waynetech,” Freis started, “I am working on a set of weapons for their military contracts….” He gulped nervously. “I would be…willing to sell you these weapons...Mr White.” He loosened his tie as a nervous mannerism.

“What kind of weapons?” The Shark asked.

“Liquid nitrogen based,” he started again. “Mostly grenades, but I am working on a gun, the first is almost finished, when it is mass produced, and I might be able to acquisition some for you and your men.” Victor was going to arm this man and his goons with his freeze weapons. “But all for a price.” White snorted out a laugh under his breath.

“I like you Freis, you know how business works.” He put one hand under the table. “But you’re not smart to tell me exactly what you have.” Pulled a gun from under the table, aiming it at Victor’s forehead. “Now I could just wait for you to finish it and take the trucks myself, paying off the workers, killing the truck drivers, and of course you when it’s all said and done.” Victor was frozen in fear, he made the biggest mistake, he had tried to help Nora but he was only going to get them both killed. “BANG!” White pulled the trigger on the gun. It was empty. “How much you want?”

 

[Catman_prb]

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..."

[BLACKOUT]"So we dance the dance again, Walker,"[/BLACKOUT] Black Hand said, as the body of Kyle Rayner flew towards him.

"Things are different now William," the living Saint said "Your forces are divided, and they will soon fall. You have surrendered any chance for forgiveness, and have confined yourself to a defeat,"

[BLACKOUT]"You always did like the sound of your own voice,"[/BLACKOUT] Hand said to his former master.

"Only so as that you could learn," he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice "It would appear that I failed quite considerably,"

[BLACKOUT]"Die!" [/BLACKOUT]

The two spectral beings traded blows, beams of colour and anti-colour blasting through the blankness between them. Blades, guns, sheer force was traded, the like of which the galaxy had never seen before, and would never see again. And when the madness cleared, the living corpse of William Hand stood victorious over the crippled body of Kyle Rayner. With a hideous grin, Black Hand plucked the blue ring from Rayner's hand and crushed it into dust.

[BLACKOUT]"I win," [/BLACKOUT]he said quietly.

Rayner's eyes flared blue.

"Not yet," he whispered, and thrust a bright blue blade up into the creature's shoulder.

 

[Bounce]

​

"Beware Darkseid," Zod said, spitting blood out onto the cavern floor "Under the might of Krypton, even a God may bleed,"

Then came the blinding, agonising pain of matter transporting.

He sat in his chair on the bridge of the Dominance, watching as Non and Ursa played the weapons console of the ship like a well tuned violin. Hundreds of small Apokaliptan fighters hurled themselves at the ship, but none made the perilous journey.

"Orders sir?" Ursa asked.

"Set course for Krypton," Zod said, setting back in his chair and closing his eyes.

”Krypton?” The word brought a smile instantly to the boy’s face, as visions born from stories told time and time again by his parents danced behind his eyes. The fabled city of their birth. The place that had made his father great. The place that his father would, in turn, bring greatness to. Lor could not imagine what it would be like to finally see this legendary world for himself. A world which had been promised to kneel before Zod, when the bad people had been punished. Those like Jor-El, the cowardly devil whose name permeated the stories that the boy had been told. It was the name of the enemy, the one who would be crushed underfoot when they arrived back at the home of his parents. “Are we going there now?” the child asked eagerly, looking up at his mother.

Ursa merely nodded as she continued her work at the weapons console. Glancing up, the Kryptonian amazon looked at her general on his dais for a moment, then down to their son. “Get your father a cup of water,” the woman said firmly, her gaze returning to her work.

Lor-Zod just smiled eagerly in acknowledgment, whistling for Krypto to follow as the pair went bolting out of the command center and through the corridors of the ship to the food stores and galley in the rear of the craft. Pouring the glass of water, the child was just about to begin the trek back to the bridge when Krypto barked. More than barked, growled. The hair bristled along the animal’s back, nose furiously testing the air before the dog bolted off around a corner, barking and snapping loudly. “Krypto!” the young Lor began, starting after the animal when the barking just suddenly stopped.

“Krypto?” the boy posed aloud, coming around the corner where he had lost sight of his pet. What waited to be seen was a sight most confusing to say the least. A marble pedestal identical to Krypto in most respects stood in the center of the hall, an ashtray balanced on the nose of the hound. Stubby fingers knocked a bit of ash from the tip of a cigar into the dish, as an impish figure who appeared to sit cross-legged in mid-air idly smoked. The imp spoke as Lor-Zod peeked around the corner, but the words uttered were not any language that Lor had heard before. Curious and unafraid, the child began walking toward the stranger. “Who are you? What happened to my dog?” the boy demanded loudly in Kryptonian. For his part, the imp appeared as confused by the words that the child spoke as Lor was with his.

Finally, the imp put this cigar to his lips and inhaled deeply. Leaning forward, the figure blew a cloud of smoke at the child’s face, who unfortunately caught a breath full of it. Coughing, the boy angrily snapped, “What was that for!?” And then he paused. The words he’d just spoken had not been Kryptonian. They had sounded instead like the language which the imp had used earlier. Holding a hand to his throat, the boy stared at the mysterious figure’s form as the smoke began to clear.

​

“See? Makes communication so much simpler, doesn’t it kid?” the imp boasted with a deep chuckle. Taking another draw off the cigar, the man puffed a series of smoke rings into the air above the boy’s head before gazing down at the youth and stating, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate an apology for knocking me out of the planar phase when you took your space-jalopy here dimension hopping like that.”

In place of an apology, what the imp received was a depressingly blank stare that told him everything he’d just said had sailed right over the boy’s head. Bristling as the thought struck him, the imp angrily demanded, “Do you even have a license for dimensional transference?” The child merely blinked, mouth agape in a clear indication that, while someone was home, the light was obviously not on. The imp put his face down into his palm. “Ah... Why is it always the uninsured dimensionalists who collide with me?”

A tumbler glass partially filled with an amber liquid suddenly appeared in the air beside the imp’s knee. Lowering his hand, the imp stretched out his arm and took a swig of the drink. Savoring it for a moment, the glass disappeared as quickly as it had first appeared, the figure pausing to taste his cigar again before speaking, “Okay, kid, so what are you doing bouncing around the planes of space-time like that then?”

Lor could only blink as he tried to decode whatever the man was telling him. Or asking him. He understood the words that were coming out of the imp’s mouth now... but understanding and comprehension were apparently two separate matters. “Uh,” the boy began, grabbing the material of his tunic with both hands in a gesture of apprehension as he stared up at the figure and spoke. “Uh, we’re... going to see Kryptonians?” the boy stated finally, not sure that the statement really answered the question being that he had no idea just what the question had been about.

The last word seemed to resonate immediately with the imp. “Kryptonian?” the man echoed loudly, his expression taking on a look of confusion all its own. “Is this that dimension? I didn’t think I was due back there for fortnight still...”

“A what?” Lor’s voice piped up from the floor, the imp seemingly having forgotten about the child just now.

“A fortnight. Fourteen days, kid,” the imp answered, sticking his cigar in the corner of his mouth and idly chewing on the end. “See there was this rule that I had to leave if I said my name backwards...”

“That’s silly,” Lor stated, interrupting the imp before the child could really process the statement. Come to think of it, the imp hadn’t identified himself yet. “What’s your name?”

“Mxyzptlk,” the imp stated, as though proud of the name.

Hearing it, the boy was clearly not impressed and instead gave the imp a look of arrogant dismissal. “No one’s named... Miss-pithle-kik,” Lor asserted, struggling to even repeat the given name.

Taking the cigar from his mouth, the imp blew a second cloud of smoke down at the child. “It’s Mister Mxyzptlk, thank you,” the imp declared, as the child coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. “Anyway, kid, you’re about nine galaxies in the wrong place if you want to see a Kryptonian.”

As the smoke cleared in front of Lor’s face, the child’s eyes opened wide to grasp the shocking reality that he was no longer on his father’s ship. A blue sky hung overhead, dotted with white clouds. Tall, rectangular spires rose from the ground, where hundreds of small objects and people darted about below. “See, this is the place you want to be if you want to see a Kryptonian, kid,” Mxyzptlk stated beside the boy, taking the cigar and tapping more of the ash into the tray balanced on the Krypto statue’s nose. “I’ll warn you... he’s a bit of a disappointment in person though. The myth is so much larger than the man.”

 

[Byrd Man]

[BLACKOUT]"So we dance the dance again, Walker,"[/BLACKOUT] Black Hand said, as the body of Kyle Rayner flew towards him.

"Things are different now William," the living Saint said "Your forces are divided, and they will soon fall. You have surrendered any chance for forgiveness, and have confined yourself to a defeat,"

[BLACKOUT]"You always did like the sound of your own voice,"[/BLACKOUT] Hand said to his former master.

"Only so as that you could learn," he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice "It would appear that I failed quite considerably,"

[BLACKOUT]"Die!" [/BLACKOUT]

The two spectral beings traded blows, beams of colour and anti-colour blasting through the blankness between them. Blades, guns, sheer force was traded, the like of which the galaxy had never seen before, and would never see again. And when the madness cleared, the living corpse of William Hand stood victorious over the crippled body of Kyle Rayner. With a hideous grin, Black Hand plucked the blue ring from Rayner's hand and crushed it into dust.

[BLACKOUT]"I win," [/BLACKOUT]he said quietly.

Rayner's eyes flared blue.

"Not yet," he whispered, and thrust a bright blue blade up into the creature's shoulder.

Hand screams in pain as Rayner/Walker attack him.

"That's it. Pour it on, all of you!"

Jordan, Katma, and I join in with the possessed Rayner and attack Hand with everything we've got. Green, blue, and violet energy beats back his black force and pummel the former Green Lantern.

 

[Eddie Brock]

SELINA KYLE

Felicia, Ebony, and Ivory shift uncomfortably in the cardboard box, making it hard to carry. Looking down at them apologetically, I explain, "Sorry, girls, but I just can't take care of you anymore." Frankly, I'm still not convinced I can take care of myself. "But I'm leaving you in good hands."

When I reach the apartment door, I put the box down gently. Ebony starts to climb out, but I nudge her back down. I lift up the welcome mat and find a key. Rolling my eyes, I open the door before picking up the box again.

"Irena, what have I told you about leaving a key under the doormat?" I call out into the darkened apartment. I feel something rubbing my leg, and I look down to a fattened cat named Cheshire.

"Selina, is that you?" a labored voice responds from another room. After a short coughing fit, Irena continues, "Come in here! Let me see you!"

I turn the corner - after nearly stepping on Sylvester's tail - and see the woman who raised me, Irena Dubrovna. The years have not been kind. A withered form of the spry woman she once was - and, really, needed to be to keep up with me in my younger years - she now spends most of her time lying on a cot in the middle of her living room, watching TV. It's a depressing sight, and the lack of sunlight in the room certainly doesn't help.

"Oh, my God. Look at you!" she remarks with a weak smile. "Your hair!"

Reaching up to touch a lock of my newly-dyed hair, I explain, "Yeah, it's for a case I'm working on." Irena knows that I work undercover, but I've never had the heart to tell her what exactly my cases are. I don't know what's worse - pretending to be a prostitute or sleeping with a mobster. No need to burden her with any of that.

Noticing the box I'm holding, Irena asks, "What's this about?"

Felicia looks up expectantly. "Oh, right. Well, work has become my life, and I just don't have time for these girls. They deserve better." I put down the box, and the three cats immediately jump out. Garfield approaches cautiously and begins sniffing Ivory. "You always take such good care of the cats, and I assumed they'd be welcome here."

"Of course, of course! You know how I feel about cats."

That I do. When I first went to live with Irena, I was a little put off by all her cats. Her house was always filled with them. 'Cats are truly amazing animals,' Irena would insist. 'It takes a while to earn their trust, but once you do, they'll show you love and affection like you wouldn't believe.' Personally, I always respected a cat's sense of independence. They don't need to cling to people like dogs do. I always tried to emulate that kind of solitary attitude.

After all, I learned from an early age that people just let you down, anyway.

"I'm sorry that I don't visit more, Irena."

Irena waves a wrinkled hand. "Pish, posh. You have your own life to lead. You always did." She moves a pile of newspapers from the armchair next to her bed. "Now, come and sit. Tell me how your life's been going."

Inwardly, I smirk. It would take me nine lives to tell that story.
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

GREEN ARROW

I'm alone on a desert island. With no barbers around for hundreds - maybe thousands - of miles, my blond hair has grown past my shoulders. My chin is buried underneath a thick beard, and I'm only wearing a loincloth made out of a dirty t-shirt. I stand at the edge of the jungle, leaning up against a palm tree.

The blue waves crash against the shore, and off to the distance, there's a rocky cove. That's where I'm going now. Picking up the bow and arrows I fashioned out of materials from the island, I set off down the beach. The hot sand feels good against my bare feet, and there's a salty breeze coming off the ocean.

At the cove, the water is much shallower. Pristine and clear, I can see right through to the bottom. Small fish dart around under the water, unaware of me. Taking a sharpened stick as an arrow and loading it into the bow, I hover over a particularly bright orange fish. It's all about timing. The fish hesitates, and I strike. The arrow pierces the fish almost silently.

I have dinner for the night.

Opening my eyes, I can see the sun setting behind the Star City skyscrapers. Dreamscaping is another relaxation technique I've adopted. By imagining myself in a more relaxing environment, I'm able to forget the worries of the one I actually live in. Or, in this case, it prepares me mentally before another night of work.

Taking a sip of the green tea on my desk, I open the hidden compartment that leads to my equipment.

***

Twenty minutes ago, a black sedan pulled up in the alleyway behind this bar. Three men stepped out, forcefully escorting a fourth person with a sack over her head. Five minutes ago, a van showed up, and five men stepped out of that. All of these people entered through the back entrance of the bar. I think I'll follow their lead.

Kicking in the door, I'm almost instantly swarmed by one of the men. He's wearing brass knuckles. With little room to maneuver in the entryway, I simply drop to the ground and sweep his leg. Once he's down, I stomp on his stomach for emphasis.

The second man comes at me quickly. I narrowly avoid taking a hook to the chin, but I'm unable to stop the uppercut. Stumbling back, I reach into my quiver and pull out an arrow. Holding it just below the arrowhead, I jab the arrow at the man, forcing him to go on the defensive. While he's distracted with my first arrow, I draw another from my quiver and stick it in his thigh when he's not looking. I land a strong uppercut, returning the favor from earlier.

I haven't yet turned the corner into the next room when the bullets start flying. Hugging the wall, I take my bow off my shoulder. There are six men left. I can't dodge six guns' worth of bullets. I reach into my quiver and pick out another specialty arrow: the smoke arrow. I launch the arrow into the adjoining room and wait for the smoke to spread.

With the smoke as cover, I'm able to navigate the room safely. Coming up behind one man, I put him into a sleeper hold. He's unconscious in ten seconds. Spotting the silhouette of another man, I take aim with a blunted arrow and shoot him between the shoulder blades. Four men remaining.

The smoke is thinning out, so I need to move quicker. Approaching another man from behind, I hold my gloved hand over his mouth and kick at the back of his knee. He collapses in a heap, and I knock his head against the ground hard enough to knock him out. Shapes are beginning to materialize in the smoke now.

One of the three remaining men opens fire, and I'm forced to take cover behind a table. Aiming an arrow in the direction of the shooter, I'm delighted to hear that it met its target. The man shouts, and I hear his gun clatter to the floor. Staying low, I dash across the room and take him out while he's unarmed.

A bullet sails past my head, and I roll out of danger. That was too close. Loading my bow with two arrows - to be safe - I stand on one knee and fire at the attacker. The first arrow clips him, but the second arrow finds a home in the vicinity of his kidney. The man hunches over and falls to the ground.

The last man bull-rushes me from behind. Guess he ran out of bullets. He manages to knock me to the ground, but I recover quickly. Slamming the bottom of my boot across his face, I load my bow. The man raises his hand to deliver a crushing blow, and I simply fire the arrow into his bicep. Squealing in pain, the man rolls over. I kick him in the face again, this time knocking him out.

Not so bad.

The hostage is still tied to a chair in the middle of the room, burlap sack still covering her head. I remove the sack, and I'm clearly not what she expected to see. Nor is she what I expected to see, really. A beautiful Asian woman, she bears a few marks from her apparent scuffle with these guys. "You're safe now, miss."

"You're the Green Arrow?" she asks as I untie her. "My name is Bonnie King, and I think you might be able to help me."
​