The New Ultimate DC RPG

[Catman_prb]

This is how I came to be here...

****​

<"Ambassador J'onn J'onnz of Hive Theta, for the crimes of treason, sponsoring terrorism against the state, conspiracy to commit terror, construction of nuclear grade explosives, murder of the first degree, and conspiracy to commit murder, you are hereby sentenced unto exile. Your actions against the state bring disgrace upon your hive, and upon the memories of your family. I can only hope that the long, cold time in space will allow you time to reflect upon your attrocities. May the Gods have mercy upon your soul. Take the prisoner from the dock,">

****​

"You John Jones?" the dark figure asked. J'onn kept his eyes down, focusing on the glass tumbler with the amber liquid in. The stranger thumped his black gloved hand on the table.


"Ah said, are you John Jones?" the man asked. He was not heavy set, but he had the air of a man who was used to a fight. His hat was pulled down over his face.


"I am," J'onn said evenly, keeping his eyes on the drink.


"Huh. You don't look like much to me," the man said, eying him appraisingly. Anger flared within J'onn and he broke into the man's mind. The stranger winced and pulled back, clasping his hand to his head in a futile attempt to stop the pain.


"What is it that you want, Jonah Hex," J'onn said, retracting the mind probe.


"Ah've got an offer to make you," Hex snarled, gasping through the pain.


"From who?"​

****​

"Our name is CADMUS," the man in the black suit said "We're a relatively new organisation, designated to control metahuman activity,"


"Indeed?" J'onn said, pouring himself some milk to drink with his packet of oreos.


"Yes, and we've been tasked to recruit you. You've been on our records for quite some time Mr. Jones. Or perhaps you'd prefer the Martian Manhunter," the agent said, laughing at the little joke.


J'onn had knocked over the chair and the table, spilling milk over the floor, before the agent could even blink. The agent was pinned against the wall, a strong hand holding him by the throat.


"Don't you ever call me that. You have not earned that right," J'onn hissed, his eyes flashing read and revealing his rage.


"I've been told you use any means necessary Mr. Jones. I could order you - it is a time of war after all. You've had an easy ride so far. Don't force us to change that,"​

****​

...sometimes, alone in my cell, I can hear the screams of all those I've left behind...it is very lonely in my cell​

 

[Byrd Man]

4th of July

Assistant District Attorney Janice Porter rubbed her neck as she entered her house. Even though the DA's office had the 4th off, she had spent almost all day in her office, reviewing briefs.

The popping noise of fireworks filled her living room. The next door neighbors were putting on a show for their annual 4th of July barbecue party.

Porter frowned and flipped on the TV, turning up the volume to drown out the fireworks. The talking heads on the news were discussing the 4th of July holiday and the fact that the Holiday Killer was expected to strike yet again. This would make the killer's ninth victim if he, or she, did indeed strike tonight.

Porter flopped on to her living room couch, kicking off her high heels and leaning back with her eyes closed. It was the 4th, she was tired and overworked. In Porter's honest opinion, she needed a stiff drink and a man who had an even stiffer-


BOOM!


A fiery explosion ripped through the house, blasting out the windows and engulfing the home in flames. From across the street, Holiday watched the fire for a few seconds before crossing the street. On the sidewalk, the killer placed a bottle-rocket and an American flag.

Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Holiday walked back across the street and started up the car.

As the sirens of fire trucks and police cars joined in with the fireworks of the night, an unmarked GCPD car left the scene of the crime and drove as far away from the fire as possible.

 

[Eddie Brock]

GREEN ARROW

Orchid Bay is the heart of Star City. This downtown area is defined by towering skyscrapers, including City Hall. It's probably the cleanest, safest part of the city. My penthouse is situated in the center of the neighborhood. For all these reasons, I have set up Bonnie in an apartment here. The real estate can get a bit pricey, but it's not like I can't afford it.

I'm still setting everything up when Bonnie comes in. Looking over my shoulder, I say, "Good. You're back. I got you something." I turn to face her as I point to the bedroom. "It's in there."

Looking at me strangely, Bonnie goes into the bedroom. I pick up the bag of flour - complete with crudely painted smiley face - and carry it across the hardwood floor to the far end of the room. From end to end, this apartment is quite expansive. With a grunt, I situate the bag of flour on top of the piano bench.

Bonnie walks back into the main room, holding a yumi - the traditional Japanese bow. At over six and a half feet tall, the weapon looks almost comically over-sized. But in the right hands, there's nothing comical about it.

"Show me what you can do," I say, gesturing to a spot across the room from me. The selection of this particular apartment wasn't entirely random. The main room is much longer than it is wide, making for a decent makeshift firing range.

I've studied kyudo a bit. Though I've never practiced it, I'm familiar with the steps. First, the ashibumi. Bonnie sets her feet, then turns so that her left shoulder is facing the target. Once her feet are in line with the target, she angles them to help create equal balance.

Next, dozukuri. Bonnie arches her back, and her body just seems to fall into place. She has done this before. Looking downright professional, Bonnie's shoulders and pelvis fall into line with the target.

This is followed by the yugamae. With her right hand, Bonnie grips the bowstring delicately. Each move in kyudo is slow and deliberate. When done correctly, it's a sight to see. A skilled archer becomes the epitome of poise. Bonnie moves her left hand into the shooting position, while turning her head and staring down the target.

Uchiokoshi is the next step. With her hands in place on the bow and bowstring, Bonnie lifts the bow over her head slowly. The top of the bow nearly touches the ceiling.

Now, the hikiwake. Gracefully, Bonnie lowers the bow while spreading her arms. As her left hand pushes the bow outward, her right hand pulls back on the string. The movement is fluid, as if she's done this a thousand times. And who knows? She may have.

Finally, Bonnie achieves kai. With the arrow just below her cheekbone, Bonnie's right hand holds steady behind her ear. The yumi is displayed in all its glory now.

Hanare. Without making a sound, the arrow flies across the room in a straight line, piercing the bag of flour. The arrow went right through where my smiley face's nose would have been. An impressive shot, through and through.

Bonnie finishes with the zanshin. Her body is practically motionless for many moments after taking the shot. This is the time when an archer is supposed to bring his - or her - mind back to a peaceful calm. Bonnie's face shows no emotion, which indicates to me that she's achieved it.

"Very impressive," I remark, gently touching the arrow. It's lodged in there pretty good. "But if you want to show me something, you're going to have to do a lot better than just one good shot under ideal conditions."

Bonnie finally turns her head to look at me.

"If you're serious about this, we're going to train for everything," I explain. "Shooting, sparring, parkour. You will hone your mind and body to a point where you can make a shot like that on a moment's notice. When I'm done with you, you'll be able to engage a room full of armed men without getting so much as a scratch."

Bonnie nods solemnly. "I'm ready."
​

 

[sabetoonth]

Victor walked down the street to the warehouse, he had been let out of White’s car just a block away from the weapons storage. It wasn’t his freezing weapons, but it was advanced weapons from Waynetech.

“You tell the crews to load the weapons, then we’ll take care of the rest.” White had told Victor. He nodded before getting out and starting his walk.

Reaching the warehouse Victor used his access code to enter, soon after White’s men stormed the whole building.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Victor panicked and dropped to the floor hiding under a table.

“I did kinda warn you Doctor.” White entered in a light grey suit, with black buttons, a white shirt and vest.

“You said your goons would get it off the trucks!”

“And they will, they are also loading it.” Warren walked by Victor as he coward under the table.

“What have I done?” he muttered to himself as he watched the criminals take all the weapons they wanted. He was an emplyee of the man they where stealing from, how was he goin explain this? Was he going to be fired? What would he do for money? What would happen to Nora? These all raced through Victor’s mind simultanesously. Nora’s apparition appearing before him.

 

[Batman]

"Anyway, I've got officers getting witness statements right now, searching the ground for the shooter. Hopefully, we'll be able to nab him before he gets too far away from the scene."

Digging in my pockets. Notepad and pen.

"Okay, for starters: Do you have any enemies, Mister Wayne?"

"Seriously? You'd be surprised. Off the record, but there probably isn't a woman in this town that I haven't f***ed, and there're just as many exes that have threatened me with bodily harm."

I grin boastfully, and mostly to hide the lie. Could've come up with something alot more tangible, but I guess that's one of the few merits of playing the spoiled brat - you're given plenty of ways to explain away your nights. And the less the Lieutenant knows how I spent my time, the better I can keep an eye on him during the day. Because I am still not completely confident that I can place my trust in Nygma, following the last time we met. Using a back-up drive of The Oracle to warn me of Selina Kyle's impending danger...

Tucking the carton back into my jacket, I pretend as if I'm struggling to think - all the while considering the true number of enemies that I've acquired out of costume. The number is surprisingly low, for as many close calls as I've experienced. "Beyond that, I guess anyone with a patton on the next big thing after the iPhone has it out for me. But I haven't screwed over anyone on a personal basis. I have lawyers and agents for that."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Seriously? You'd be surprised. Off the record, but there probably isn't a woman in this town that I haven't f***ed, and there're just as many exes that have threatened me with bodily harm."

I grin boastfully, and mostly to hide the lie. Could've come up with something alot more tangible, but I guess that's one of the few merits of playing the spoiled brat - you're given plenty of ways to explain away your nights. And the less the Lieutenant knows how I spent my time, the better I can keep an eye on him during the day. Because I am still not completely confident that I can place my trust in Nygma, following the last time we met. Using a back-up drive of The Oracle to warn me of Selina Kyle's impending danger...

Tucking the carton back into my jacket, I pretend as if I'm struggling to think - all the while considering the true number of enemies that I've acquired out of costume. The number is surprisingly low, for as many close calls as I've experienced. "Beyond that, I guess anyone with a patton on the next big thing after the iPhone has it out for me. But I haven't screwed over anyone on a personal basis. I have lawyers and agents for that."

"Okay."

Nodding. Writing it down. Bored to tears. Mind racing: Holiday, Holiday, Holiday.

"I'd like to set up some security for you. Since whoever took a shot at you missed, chances are they might try to take another run at you. I know you can afford bodyguards, but what do you think about setting up some sort of police protection for you? It'd be temporary, until this whole thing blows over."

 

[Batman]

"I'd like to set up some security for you. Since whoever took a shot at you missed, chances are they might try to take another run at you. I know you can afford bodyguards, but what do you think about setting up some sort of police protection for you? It'd be temporary, until this whole thing blows over."

I immediately freeze, realizing that I hadn't anticipated the question. I was so wrapped up in trying to deduce the killer's motive that I didn't consider the idea that I'd need to plan ahead, and start mentally rehearsing my statements to the police. But considering what I know about Gotham's police, and their agendas when it comes to bribery and theft, the idea of allowing one into my home to follow me around during the day seems less than appealing.

The answer comes simply, but it's the explaination that requires thought. After all, I'm not supposed to be as knowlegable about Gotham's criminal circuit when I'm not working the field. "Police protection? Like, a dude following me around all day? Yeah, because that's what all the women are into these days - big, scary chaparones following their date around. Thanks for the offer, Lieutenant, but no thanks. I'm sure I can handle myself."

 

[Byrd Man]

The answer comes simply, but it's the explaination that requires thought. After all, I'm not supposed to be as knowlegable about Gotham's criminal circuit when I'm not working the field. "Police protection? Like, a dude following me around all day? Yeah, because that's what all the women are into these days - big, scary chaparones following their date around. Thanks for the offer, Lieutenant, but no thanks. I'm sure I can handle myself."

Wayne tries to kibosh bodyguard. Why? Something to hide? Or is he just an airhead? Call it 80/20 in favor of the latter.

"With all due respect, Mister Wayne. Our cops may be total cock-blockers, but they're also assassin and bullet-blockers. Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon? Do you know any sort of self-defense? What about Mister French over here?"

"My name is Mister Jarvis."

"Whatever. Face facts, Mister Wayne. You're worth a billion dollars, but that doesn't mean jack **** when you're looking down the barrel of a gun. So either get wise, or get dead."

 

[Batman]

"Face facts, Mister Wayne. You're worth a billion dollars, but that doesn't mean jack **** when you're looking down the barrel of a gun. So either get wise, or get dead."

Outwardly, I shrug. I don't know whether he's suspicious or not at this point, but I start to feel that whatever I say next will all but determine it. For me to operate effieciently, without any sort of distractions, Bruce Wayne can't afford to be on the police's files as a potential suspect towards anything. Because if they're given even the slightest reason to start digging into my past, they're liable to find that alot of what the public percieves of me doesn't add up to the image itself. I'm barely passing myself off of those online biographies that were largely ficticious, spectulatory attempts to unveil elements of my past by journalists with nothing better to do.

Which is why internally, I'm fighting what I'm about to say next. Despite every piece of logic that's screaming out inside my mind, I can't help but wonder the benefits of having my daily actions monitored by one of their officers for a few days. If I could pull it off, they'd be easily bored of spending their time with me, and report back to their superiors that I'm not worth the effort. It could clear me of any potential future evidence indicating my identity, leaving me largely free to go about Gotham at my own leisure. While in the meantime, bringing me closer to the investigation than usual.

"Hmm. Kinda makes sense. Alfred, what do you think? Does the Lieutenant raise a good point?"

Alfred raises his eyebrow. "You cannot be serious. You have far too many appointments to warrant such distraction."

"Work is work, and only for the poor. Plus, I mean... I don't know a damn thing about martial arts. Most I ever took was fencing, and that was when I was twelve. Maybe if, you know, we just leave it to the cops to handle this, the bastard that tried to shoot me won't get far after all."

Subtely elbowing Alfred in the arm, he immediately latches onto the fabrication.

"I see. Well, then, I suppose your safety is our absolute highest priority. Shall we leave the decision in the Lieutenant's hands, sir?"

I grin, looking back at Nygma. All the while, hoping this drastic deception is well worth the effort. "Sounds good to me. I think I'll take that escort, after all. Especially if you have any women availible - I just cannot seem to entertain anyone but members of the opposite sex. It's like a curse, or something."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Hmm. Kinda makes sense. Alfred, what do you think? Does the Lieutenant raise a good point?"

Alfred raises his eyebrow. "You cannot be serious. You have far too many appointments to warrant such distraction."

"Work is work, and only for the poor. Plus, I mean... I don't know a damn thing about martial arts. Most I ever took was fencing, and that was when I was twelve. Maybe if, you know, we just leave it to the cops to handle this, the bastard that tried to shoot me won't get far after all."

Subtely elbowing Alfred in the arm, he immediately latches onto the fabrication.

"I see. Well, then, I suppose your safety is our absolute highest priority. Shall we leave the decision in the Lieutenant's hands, sir?"

I grin, looking back at Nygma. All the while, hoping this drastic deception is well worth the effort. "Sounds good to me. I think I'll take that escort, after all. Especially if you have any women availible - I just cannot seem to entertain anyone but members of the opposite sex. It's like a curse, or something."

Something hinky about this guy. Trying too hard. Possible homosexual? Lay odds down at 2-1. He wants a woman, I'll give him one. Pull out my radio.

"10-A-13 to dispatch."

"Go ahead, 10-A-13."

"Need you to send Sergeant Beaumont from the Protection Unit down to the observatory. I'll brief her once she's here."

"Sorry, 10-A-13, I don't see a Beaumont on the duty roster."

"She's there. Just get in touch with the bodyguard squad and send her down here."

"10-4."

Selina's first job as Andrea Beaumont. Easy work, babysit a rich stiff for a few days. Overtime work: watch Wayne like a hawk. Funny feeling about him, can't explain right off the bat.

 

[Catman_prb]

Many years ago, when the universe was still new, there was a race older than time itself. The race conquered thevery sky itself. Then they created a weapon. A weapon so powerful that it wiped all traces of the race from the galaxy in the second of its birth. And it was born, not created, because it could think...and it could plot...and it could hate...My race called it Sta'rro, the Harbinger, for its presence foretold the end of all things...And one night we saw it in the sky...So we created a weapon...

***​

"The Deliverance has a target, sir," the aide announced from his comms station.

"Open a line," the president of the free colonies announced, hands clasped behind his back.

The screen in the information centre jumped from the map of the planet, highlighting the various security parameters in orbit. Largest of all was Deliverance the Martian Superdreadnaught, armed with the cutting edge of weapon technology. The Marshal, first commander of the Deliverance, appeared on the screen, the red light from the ship causing strange reflections in his eyes.

"Can you confirm the target, marshal?" President B'rett asked crisply.

"I can sir," the marshal said quickly.

"Take the shot," B'rett said quietly.

"Very good sir," the marshal said, his picture disappearing from the screen.

"May the Gods have mercy upon my soul," B'rett whispered.

The entire command centre was bathed in a brilliant green glow, as the weapon from the Deliverance cast its sickly shadow over the planet below. Then there was the shriek. Sta'rro was in pain; not fatal, but enough to cause him to fall back into the darkness for some time - and he wanted the whole civilisation to know it. The radiation from the weapon would be severe enough to damage the planet's surface irrevocably...but perhaps it would allow the Martian civilisation more time.

"Sir, there are reports coming in of rioting in Hive Theta," the aide reported again.

B'rett set his teeth. The damned Green Martians; those who would have let the civilisation die its final death rather than resort to any act of violence. And that blasted J'onnz - the man who would be president of the colonies. Actions had to be taken.​

 

[Eddie Brock]

SELINA KYLE

My new apartment is less than ideal. Located in the heart of the Narrows, the building looks like it's one more leaky ceiling tile away from being condemned. My new landlady has red bumps and sores on her arms from where she's been shooting up her drugs. The hallways reek of prostitution, drugs, and general uncleanliness.

But it's cheap, and it forces me to stay on my guard.

I step out of my shower - which has trouble reaching any temperature above "freezing" - just in time to hear my cell phone ringing. Quickly throwing my wet hair under a towel, I walk over to the phone and pick it up. "Hello?"

"Officer Beaumont?"

Sergeant Lyle Bolton, my new boss.

"Yes?"

"We just got a call from dispatch asking for you," Bolton explains. "You're needed down at the observatory."

The observatory? "Okay, I can be down there in fifteen minutes," I respond.

"Good. You just got your first case, officer."

***

When I arrive at the observatory, I see two familiar faces. One is Nygma. That's not particularly surprising. Other than Sergeant Bolton, he's probably the only person who knows that "Andrea Beaumont" exists. When dispatch was calling for me, I sorta figured that Nygma was behind it.

The other face is one that I don't know personally but rather have read about in newspapers. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's spoiled first son. From what I've heard, both his parents were killed when he was just a kid. Ever since then, he's been on a path of self-destruction and recklessness that has landed him on the cover of the tabloids more times than anyone can count. The rest of Gotham sees him as a rich airhead, but I've had my suspicions about Wayne's associates for some time now. Very few people in Gotham prosper legally.

"Officer Nygma," I announce, giving off a tone of cold detachment. Nygma and I never discussed the details, but I just assume that he and Officer Beaumont are supposed to know each other professionally. "You called for me?"
​

 

[Byrd Man]

"Officer Nygma," I announce, giving off a tone of cold detachment. Nygma and I never discussed the details, but I just assume that he and Officer Beaumont are supposed to know each other professionally. "You called for me?"
​

"Yes, I called for you...and it's Lieutenant Nygma." Cast a glance to Wayne, selling my best embarrassed shrug. "She's new."

No ties between Edward Fred Nygma and Andrea NMI Beaumont. First official meeting. Play it that way.

"Alright, Beaumont. To give you the cliff's notes: Mister Wayne was shot at by an unknown person this evening. That person is still at large as we speak. Seeing as how there is a danger to Mister Wayne's life, I'm putting him under your supervision him while MCU investigates the case and tries to figure out why anyone would want to take potshots at our esteemed billionaire. Got it?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Yes, I called for you...and it's Lieutenant Nygma." Cast a glance to Wayne, selling my best embarrassed shrug. "She's new."

No ties between Edward Fred Nygma and Andrea NMI Beaumont. First official meeting. Play it that way.

"Alright, Beaumont. To give you the cliff's notes: Mister Wayne was shot at by an unknown person this evening. That person is still at large as we speak. Seeing as how there is a danger to Mister Wayne's life, I'm putting him under your supervision him while MCU investigates the case and tries to figure out why anyone would want to take potshots at our esteemed billionaire. Got it?"

"Forgive me, Lieutenant," I reply, barely hiding my annoyance at being treated like an inferior. I have to remind myself that it's just a cover - that it helps sell this false identity - but deep down, there's a part of me that's tired of being second fiddle all the time. Gathering myself, I continue, "I can keep an eye on Mr. Wayne."

I glance at Wayne, who hasn't yet said a word. Someone tried to kill him? This seems to confirm my suspicions that Wayne runs in the wrong circles. I voiced my opinion on this to Gordon in the past, but he shot me down. Protecting Wayne gives me an opportunity to get close, and maybe to get a better idea of what his story really is.

"Mr. Wayne, I have the highest esteem for the men and women of the Gotham City Police Department," I lie through my teeth. Seems like that's all I do nowadays. "They'll find your would-be assassin. In the meantime, if there's anything I should know that will help me keep you safe..."

 

[Spike_x1]

Lex Luthor
​

"Miss Lane, how nice to see you again," I say with a smile, playing the gracious host as well as I can to someone whom I know for a fact can't stand me. A fact that makes this so much more enjoyable. "I loved your piece on Senator Hastings' connections with Bruno Manheim. Very powerful stuff. Shame the Pulitzer committee passed you over, though."

The man in the glasses clears his throat awkwardly, as if cueing me to acknowledge his presence.

"Ah, and you must be Mister....Kent, isn't it?" I say, nodding but intentionally not extending my hand. Handshakes are only for making deals, not introductions. "I've read a few of your articles since you signed on with the Planet, and I've been quite impressed with your writing. Very vivid, and quite bold in your assertions. I would dare say Miss Lane may have an unexpected rival in you when it comes to the Daily Planet's best reporter."

I lean back in my desk chair, and gesture for them to sit down.

"Now then, I believe you had a few questions for me?"

"Yes, Mr. Luthor, I--"

"What do you know about the McDougals' alleged ancestral claim to certain artifacts that were residing in museums around the country; the most recent and prominent one being a stone tablet that was located in the Luthor Museum of Civilization until this morning?

I'm about to try to say something else, but Lois cuts me off once again. Yep, she's definitely mad at me.

"And, as "one of the greatest minds of our time," what is your scientific opinion on the transformation of Siobhan McDougal into the creature calling itself the Silver Banshee? With the event having taken place in your museum, you must have taken an interest in it. Do you or your people have any idea on how such a metamorphosis occurred, and if there is any way to reverse it?"

 

[Byrd Man]

IC: Vic Sage

I feel numb all over as I help the firefighters kick through the rubbble of the explosion. Holiday struck again. For what could be the last time, a notable Gothamite bites the dust. This time, Assistant District Attorney Janice Porter is the unlucky victim.

"We found it," Fire Marshal Garfield Lynns announces. In his gloved hands is the remains of a bomb.

"We found about a half dozen of these underneath the house. It's simple bomb stuff. Looks well made. Guy had some serious skills with bombs."

A wrinkle in the Holiday is a cop theory: GCPD doesn't have a bomb squad. If Holiday is a cop, he learned to handle explosive ordnance elsewhere.

"Anything else you can tell me, Marshal?"

"Yeah. Based on the damage of the house and yard, the killer used low-powered bombs and counted on the combine power of the bombs to kill the vic."

"So, Holiday only wanted to kill Miss Porter? The bombs kept shrapnel and collateral damage to a minimum?"

"Makes sense. I'll have my arson report to you this afternoon."

"Looking forward to it."

Lynns leaves the scene, leaving me along with my thoughts. I can hear the clock in my head ticking. Holiday's made it clear that he planned on continuing his killing spree for two more months. But it doesn't jive. He's building up to something, and blowing up Janice Porter doesn't seem like a good finale.

No, August has to be his end game. Nine months down, one more to go. But I'm struck by one thought: What holidays are in August?

Twenty-six days and counting until the calender changes to August.

Twenty-six days to find a serial killer before it all ends.

 

[Batman]

"Forgive me, Lieutenant," I reply, barely hiding my annoyance at being treated like an inferior. I have to remind myself that it's just a cover - that it helps sell this false identity - but deep down, there's a part of me that's tired of being second fiddle all the time. Gathering myself, I continue, "I can keep an eye on Mr. Wayne."

I glance at Wayne, who hasn't yet said a word. Someone tried to kill him? This seems to confirm my suspicions that Wayne runs in the wrong circles. I voiced my opinion on this to Gordon in the past, but he shot me down. Protecting Wayne gives me an opportunity to get close, and maybe to get a better idea of what his story really is.

"Mr. Wayne, I have the highest esteem for the men and women of the Gotham City Police Department," I lie through my teeth. Seems like that's all I do nowadays. "They'll find your would-be assassin. In the meantime, if there's anything I should know that will help me keep you safe..."

After minutes of waiting, the situation elevates with another twist I couldn't have seen coming.

Even before she approaches us, I instantly recognize the female officer's face - no surprise, as I was particularly close to her on a night that she almost died. Despite the drastic hairstyle change, it's definitely Selina Kyle. And knowing as such takes me off guard for more than a few moments, as she and Nygma briefly converse, playing into her 'act' as an undercover field agent. Apart of me immediately regrets my decision already - we've met before, and it's going to be difficult to hide that previous connection. And yet there's another part of me that can't help but be slightly amused. I guess I should just be glad that her shoulder injury didn't slow her down.

Extending my hand as she begrudgingly shakes it, I play it off with a simple smile.

"Miss... Beaumont, is it? Or is it Officer Beaumont?"

I chuckle lightly, doing everything in my power to keep from seeming overly sarcastic. Not that I don't need to lace it in my words, but I'm afraid that my sarcasm would be too sincere. After all, I'm not supposed to know the fact that the woman is living two lives. Ironically, right in the prescence of my own two lives.

"Nah, I can't think of much else that you need to know. I've never seen the guy before in my life, and my life itself is pretty much an open book - what you see is what you get."

 

[Spike_x1]

This is not how I intended my evening to unfold. Hoisting this drunken buffoon above my head while his malicious comrades grab any sort of weapons that they can find in the bar is, contrary to popular belief, not how I enjoy spending my time. I did not venture out tonight on a quest to get this man to clumsily lunge at me with a broken bottle.

I'm not adverse to defending myself, however.

Of course, the girl who I was originally intending to defend has grabbed a pool cue with the obvious intention of harming her would-be attackers.

Allow me to elaborate. Less than a minute ago, I was atop the rooftops of this territory doing reconnaissance on this neighborhood that borders on Yakuza holdings. I was going to observe their leader and his female bodyguard that my people have told me about. Tonight was not supposed to be a night of action.

Then I heard the fighting in a local bar below me. The innocent people of this neighborhood have learned not to get themselves involved in matters of violence around here, and while I would otherwise have the discipline to ignore the violence and move on, the sounds of a young woman cursing and crying amongst the noise of the destruction pulled me in.

Upon my smashing through the door, entering the dimly lit bar, and breaking one man's leg and another one's neck, I had succeeded in getting the men to stop trying to violate the girl. However, on seeing how the woman begins to handle the pool cue--as if it were a b&#333;--I wonder how much of my help was actually required here.

"Hm. Perhaps this evening will prove more interesting that I originally thought."

 

[Andy C.]

Lex Luthor
​

"Yes, Mr. Luthor, I--"

"What do you know about the McDougals' alleged ancestral claim to certain artifacts that were residing in museums around the country; the most recent and prominent one being a stone tablet that was located in the Luthor Museum of Civilization until this morning?

I'm about to try to say something else, but Lois cuts me off once again. Yep, she's definitely mad at me.

"And, as "one of the greatest minds of our time," what is your scientific opinion on the transformation of Siobhan McDougal into the creature calling itself the Silver Banshee? With the event having taken place in your museum, you must have taken an interest in it. Do you or your people have any idea on how such a metamorphosis occurred, and if there is any way to reverse it?"

"First of all, Miss Lane," I say with as measured and deliberate a tone I can manage, "an 'alleged ancestral claim' hardly holds up in any court of law when it comes to the matter of ownership. I paid quite handsomely for every one of those artifacts, most for far more than their estimated value. The McDougals could have outbid me or approached me by any other legal means, but they instead decided to opt for violence and thievery."

That much can be explained away, but there is another matter on Miss Lane's initial questioning that needs to be pressed. Anyone can simply deflect an insinuation, but in order to truly win the argument, one must then press on the attack.

"And while we're on that particular subject, I'll remind you that, rather than make a public plea or start a petition or even picket, the McDougals instead chose an act of terrorism. They intended to destroy property, as well as injure and possibly kill innocent bystanders, just to get their 'ancestral claim' back. And here you are, Miss Lane, attempting to make me the villain of this story by trying to justify their violent behavior. It's common knowledge that you are no fan of mine, for reasons that I frankly still don't fathom, but if you are so bent on discrediting LexCorp that you're willing to side with terrorists in order to make a loose accusation against me....then I think perhaps your priorities as a supposedly-objective journalist have become somewhat skewed."

I stare Lane and Kent down, daring either of them to counter me. In this area, however, they know I'm right. They came here under the pretenses of simply gathering information to report on the attack, but Miss Lane had come into this meeting with a pre-determined angle: Lex Luthor is evil and must always be made to look evil, no matter what. So much so that, rather than even attempt to investigate the McDougals or their motivations, the very first thing she did was come after me just because the attack happened in one of my buildings.

What's truly amusing about it is that there are easily a few hundred different things in this building alone that she should be using to warn the general public about me. In the one particular story on which she chooses to build her case against me, my hands are more or less completely clean--rather astounding, considering that I had just performed open brain surgery on an alien against his will not five minutes ago.

"As for your second line of questioning, however, that is where this discussion gets truly interesting. Miss Siobhan McDougal's transformation was most definitely triggered by her coming into contact with the tablet, but the real question is whether the secret of the transformation lies in the tablet, or in Siobhan herself. It is entirely possible that she has always been a metahuman, and that her abilities had simply laid dormant until coming into contact with an object that she had always believed to be one of great power, and that subconsciously allowed herself to 'unlock' her dormant abilities."

To that end, I intend to investigate on a very detailed level, especially once certain officials in the Metropolis correctional facilities overlook a few minutes of surveillance footage, and Miss McDougal comes into my possession. That tablet was LexCorp property, and as far as I am concerned, so is Siobhan McDougal now.

"On the other hand, the tablet itself does present some very fascinating possibilities. It is possible that perhaps the tablet did store some potential energies, that would not have been detectable or even considered 'real' given most conventional views of science. Of course, as most of the planet is already well aware, I am not and have never been a 'conventional' scientist."

I give Lane and Kent a moment to get their notepads ready.

"Human beings perceive the physical universe along four dimensions. We are able to move about freely along the first three axises of existence--the length, width, and depth that make up 'space.' We move in a straight, inevitable path along a fourth axis, the cycle of growth and decay we know as 'time.' And for all practical purposes, that is all there is to it. However, when discussing the more abstract elements of reality, many theoretical physicists believe that there are upwards ot ten different dimensions, most of which are imperceptible to us. Along these lines, it is not difficult to imagine that objects like the tablet that turned Siobhan McDougal into the 'Silver Banshee' could contain some remnants of extradimensional flotsam and jetsam, particularly along the dimension of Probability."

I realize that I may be speaking above most readers' heads, so I attempt to break it down a little more plainly.

"As I said, we can perceive the first four dimensions because we are able to move through them. We can understand the laws of probability, but they are only 'laws' to us because our universe remains in a fixed point along that axis. What is, is, and what is not, is not. However, if Probability is in fact fluid in nature, then this 'Fifth Dimension' could very well open up a whole perception of reality as a whole. Given the chaotic and often cataclysmic nature of objects moving freely in space, it is not terribly difficult to perceive that objects moving freely in probability would be equally chaotic. A collision along the Fifth Dimension could cause reverberations back into the first four, creating 'debris' of improbability that would allow certain objects, certain people, even certain words to tweak the rules of what is or is not possible, when put in the correct configuration."

To think, that with the right object or the right person, in the right place and the right time, with the right words and the right possessions, one might very well alter the very face of reality itself.

"As you can probably guess, I find this notion very interesting. However, much further study would be necessary to see if this hypothesis is actually true."

 

[Eddie Brock]

After minutes of waiting, the situation elevates with another twist I couldn't have seen coming.

Even before she approaches us, I instantly recognize the female officer's face - no surprise, as I was particularly close to her on a night that she almost died. Despite the drastic hairstyle change, it's definitely Selina Kyle. And knowing as such takes me off guard for more than a few moments, as she and Nygma briefly converse, playing into her 'act' as an undercover field agent. Apart of me immediately regrets my decision already - we've met before, and it's going to be difficult to hide that previous connection. And yet there's another part of me that can't help but be slightly amused. I guess I should just be glad that her shoulder injury didn't slow her down.

Extending my hand as she begrudgingly shakes it, I play it off with a simple smile.

"Miss... Beaumont, is it? Or is it Officer Beaumont?"

I chuckle lightly, doing everything in my power to keep from seeming overly sarcastic. Not that I don't need to lace it in my words, but I'm afraid that my sarcasm would be too sincere. After all, I'm not supposed to know the fact that the woman is living two lives. Ironically, right in the prescence of my own two lives.

"Nah, I can't think of much else that you need to know. I've never seen the guy before in my life, and my life itself is pretty much an open book - what you see is what you get."

I nod. I expected him to say something like that, so there's no surprise. Wayne's still not off-the-hook as far as I'm concerned, though. "Fair enough. But I'm going to need your full cooperation in the future," I say as casually as possible while still getting my point across.

Turning to Nygma, I say, "Well, Lieutenant, I can handle things for now."

 

[Saved]

(BATGIRL)​

5th and Adams - my current location. Not that anyone else knows or cares, of course. I'm on my own here.​

About fifteen minutes ago, the police radio the GCPD so generously "donated" to my cause alerted me to a suspicious vehicle at this location. Naturally, I came to investigate. Of course, upon arriving here, I found that the police car that made the call is now vacant - while the suspicious vehicle still has occupants inside. Now, this all probably seems pretty boring and mundane. I mean, who cares about a vehicle parked outside a warehouse in the middle of the night, right? Well, what if I said the vehicle was reported stolen? Yeah - little more interesting. That's why I'm going to investigate this a little more closely...​

As I step out from my position, I steathly move through the shadows - making my way toward the vehicle and the adjacent warehouse. I press myself up against the outside wall of the warehouse and hold my breath, trying to stay as silent as possible. At this range, I can now hear muffled banter between the two men in the truck. I try to make out what they're saying, but I'm still too far away. "Gotta get closer," I whisper.​

As I tiptoe toward the truck, I keep my ears open - desperately trying to get some part of their conversation. As I reach the corner of the warehouse, I finally begin to make our words between the two men - understanding their speech now as it becomes more discernable.​

"I don't know, Rick, I mean ... why's we here again?" One man says in a deep voice.
"We're here because the boss is beginnin' shipments to Gotham. He wanted us to set up a couple storage locations so he can start bringin' in the goods."
"Why Gotham? Ain't we makin' enough in Star City as is?" The man's confession piques my interest - their from Star City ... but that's hundreds of miles away.
"Gotham's the biggest cesspool in the country. We start sellin' here, we're gonna make twice what we're pullin' in back home."
"But I heard this place is... well, that it's..."
"That it's what, Barry?" His companion asks with a leering growl.
"You know - haunted. I heard Gotham's teemin' with vampires and other supranatural terrors."​

"Man, Barry, you're an idiot."
"It's true! I heard there's a creature like a bat who terrorizes the streets! Ain't that bad for buisness?"
"All you heard is rumors. It's just legends and BS the locals conjured up to make this place more interesting. Besides, you've got a problem comin' here? You take it up with Mr. Brickwell. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear your complaints." A sudden pause arises, splitting the conversation by a bar of silence. For a moment, I think that I'm out of range again - missing the conversation as it continues at a decible I can't hear. But after a few seconds, the second man replies.​

"N-No," he stammers, a slight tinge of fear in his voice. "I'm not tellin' the boss this - I'm fine, yep - I'm cool with comin' here, no problem." The sudden change in the man's demeanor startles me. His tone changed from one of confidence to one of paranoia almost instantly - could the threat of his employer really be so great that he would fear speaking his mind? Odd - at least, to me anyway. Normally only Gotham thugs are this cruel...disheartening to realize it's no different, even in a place such as Star City.​

Still, as I muse over the exchange between the two men, a name they mentioned quickly comes to the forefront of my thoughts. Brickwell - the man refferred to him as their boss. Strange, it's a name I've never heard before - not in the news, from Gotham's underworld, or even on any GCPD records. Why would one of Star City's chief Kingpin's be so obscure?​

"Brickwell," I say aloud as I continue to think. As my mind begins to wander, it it quickly snapped back into reality as I feel the sharp sensation of a hand on my shoulder. I leap forward and turn in one motion, preparing to face the man.​

"Well, well, well... A little girl," the man says in a disconcerting voice. I eye him up, from head to shoe - he's dressed in dark clothing, a gray cap over his head and an automatic weapon strung about his shoulder. "Ain't it past your bedtime?"
"You're new here," I tell him confidently. "So I'll let you in on how things work here," quickly I raise my leg, kicking him directly in the jaw and knocking him to the ground. "Gotham never sleeps." Oh, man ... that was corny.​

The man leans forward, still conscious despite my attack. He wipes a stream of blood from his nose and lets out an angry growl as he grabs the weapon strung about his body. "Barry! RICK! We got a visitor!" Suddenly the engine of the truck a few feet away roars to life, and I feel my stomach sink. "What'samattah? Get lost on the way to a costume party?" He asks as he takes aim.
"No," I say nervously, allowing my cape to cover my arms as I reach for my collaspable asp on my belt. "But I think you're lost. Star City's due west." The man's expression goes from angry to furious as he slips the saftey off the weapon.
"So, you been evesdroppin', huh? Heh - you gonna regret that!" His finger pulls back on the gun and I leap forward into a front flip, evading the barrage of bullets just barely. As I land behind him, I pull the asp from my belt and swing the end into his head. He lets out a cry in pain as he drops the gun, bringing his hands to his head instinctively for protection. Reaching forward, I grab the strap his gun is held on and rip it from his body, tossing it behind me haphazzardly. As it hits the ground, I hear it let out a few loud bangs, discharging from the impact.​

"Oops..." I say - embarassed. "Should've thought that one through..." Suddenly a blinding light shines on me. I turn forward to see the headlights of the truck now facing me. "Holy crap, Rick!" One of the men screams in terror. "It's that vampire I was talkin' bout! KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT!" ​

The driver revvs the engine loudly, letting the tires squeel and screech. Before I can even blink, the truck begins to barrel toward me - coming at me at a tremendous speed. Without thinking, I grab the thug and roll out of the way, allowing the truck to drive right past me.​

Rising to my feet, I turn to face the truck - preparing to evade a second assault - only to see it's red tail lights fadding into the darkness as it disappears down the road. Catching my breath, I collapse the asp and reattach it to my belt. "Wow," I say with batted breath. "I almost died ... awesome." ​

Grabbing the plastic restraints from my arsenal, I carefully subdue my attacker - disabling him as I cuff his hand to his leg behind his back. "Alright, Dillinger," I mock as I lean down to his face. "Where are the cops?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about," he lies - wheezing as he too tries to catch his breath. I let out a disappointed groan as I realize this guy's going to be more uncooperative than I expected.​

"Look, your buddies left you - okay? They drove off in a hurry after they tried to run you and me over. Now, you want to tell me where they are?"
"I don't recall," he says defiantly.
"Fine," I say sternly. I pull my cape aside to reveal the array of weapons strung about my waist. Slowly, I grab the taser - detaching it and holding it visably in front of his face.
"Hah - you think you can scare me?" He asks, spitting on my boots in disgust. "My boss's way scarier than a little girl tryin' to play dress up. You're nothin'!"
"That's fine," I say emotionlessly as I arm the taser. Carefully I turn on the laser sight, sending a red beam of light through the air. "You know this is, right?" He doesn't respond - sticking to his tough demeanor. "It's a taser. This fires two small barbs that resemble fishhooks into an adversary's body. After those hooks pierce the skin and embed themselves, I pull this trigger here and 50,000 volts of electricity suddenly surge through the opponent's body as if he were struck by lightening. Now," I start as I line up the laser sight on his body. As I move the small red dot down his torso, I finally come to a halt right over his groin. "I'll ask again - where are the two police who came to find you?" ​

Sweat begins to surface on his skin, and his eyes quiver within their sockets. "Hah," he scoffs, forcing a strong and unfearing demeanor. "You don't have the guts." He's calling my bluff - thinking I'll buy his act and just leave. But he's underestimating me - something I'm sure he'll come to regret.
"Just remember," I tell him with a sadistic grin. "I warned you." I pull the trigger and send the two cables into his body, allowing them to pierce the thick clothing and penetrate his skin. Instantaneously, a surge of electricity follows - moving through his body with amazing speed, putting him in what I can only imagine is the worst pain in his life.​

As he screams in agony for the next thirty seconds, his body convulses - a movement that no man can withstand from the shock. He soon calms down as his body recovers, and his lips twitch as the sweat on his face now begins to drip into a large puddle beneath his head. "The cables are still in you - I can fire another jolt if I want. So, I'll ask again; where are the cops?"
"I-Inside-" he stutters as saliva drips from the corner of his mouth.
"Inside where?" I growl, trying to keep up my threatening persona.
"The warehouse! The warehouse!" He exclaims honestly.​

"Thank you," I smile as I detach the wires from the taser - holstering the device back on my belt.​

Quickly, I rush inside the building - walking into the large vacant space. In the middle of the room I see the two police officers, tied and blindfolded as they kneel on the floor. Looking to the wall beside me, I see a panel full of switches to the lights above. Covertly, I flip them, filling the room with darkness before I run over to the bound officers.​

"Who's there!?" One of them shouts in worry.
"Officers, relax," I begin - disguising myself, albeit poorly, with a forced deep voice. "The criminals are taken care of." I grab hold of their hands and begin loosening the ropes coiled about their wrists.
"Right, and just who the **** are you?"
"Yeah, why should we believe you? How do we know you're not one of them?" ​

"Well, for one, I'm pretty sure I still sound like a girl." I reply as the ropes begin to unwind. "The two in the truck got away but there's one just outside. He's subdued, don't worry." As the rope becomes loose enough for them to break free themselves, I turn back and run deeper into the warehouse, taking cover behind a stack of boxes. As I focus intently, I can make out the shadowy image of the two officers freeing themselves and removing the blindfolds in haste. As they look around the darkness, they try to find me - luckily, to no avail.​

"What the-"
"Hey, who are you?" I try to resist a smile, but I can't. I just let it happen as I reply.
"A friend," I say ominously - Man that was awesome. "Oh, and I'd look into Star City's crime trade, if I were you. Specifically a mister Brickwell."​

With my final words, I move to the door and kick it open - allowing a faint light into the warehouse as I rush outside in a hurry. "HEY!" One of the officers shouts out, trying to follow; but as the door shuts, he is once again enveloped in darkness - too disoriented to chase after me. The two officers are safe now - that's all I care about. They'll figure things out eventually.​

As I run down the street and head for cover, I can't help but wonder if this is how Batman does it. Hiding in the shadows, disguising his voice and playing a glorified hide and seek with everyone he encounters. It's thrilling, to say the least. The adrenaline I feel is intoxicating.​

After a few blocks I find a safe place to stop and relax. As I lean up against the wall, I pull out the earphones from the scanner at my waist and put them in my ears as I turn the device on. Suddenly, a call comes through, and I listen closely to the exchange.​

"Dispatch, this is unit 50."
"What's your situation?"
"Um ... I can't really explain it, dispatch," he says, his voice conveying his confusion. "It'll all be in the report, dispatch ... just ... send some back up."
"Roger, Unit 50."
"Yeah ... thanks."​

****​

 

[Saved]

Red Hood ​

Hunted Prey Part IV

Gotham City Harbor

The dark skies loom over the waterfront, casting a long shadow over the grounds below. The water splashes against the city’s border as the current moves through the bay. As a small breeze passes by, the sound of a buoy’s bell can be heard in the distance. All is peaceful and quiet –for the moment.

Jason Todd stands in the middle of a pier, his hands held firmly about his waist. He breathes easily, his demeanor calm as he patiently waits for his expected guest to arrive. No more than a few moments later, his patience pays off as a second figure suddenly appears at the edge of the dock. The figure approaches Jason slowly as he carries a large sword clutched tightly in his hand.

“Hello there,” Jason says, turning to face his foe. “Deathstroke, right?"
“Sometimes,” he replies in an effeminate tone as his female identity speaks. “But right now you can call me Ravager.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Where’s your friend?” He asks, stepping closer.
“Him? Oh, he’s here. He’s just looming, you know, waiting for the right moment. Like a magician.” Jason banters, continuing to stall as the mercenary closes the gap between them.

“What a coward,” the assassin replies, stopping a foot or so in front of the Red Hood. He stares at Todd without fear, confidently showing his superiority. “Leaving his friend to take the fall.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t leave me here. I chose to wait for you.”
“And why is that?” The mercenary asks with a curious grin.

“Because I’m wearing the helmet.”
“What-“
“NOW!” Jason shouts as he drops his head down. Suddenly, a rat crawls up one of the wooden boards holding the pier above water. In a split second, the rat transforms into a large lion, lunging toward Ravager. Before the mercenary has time to respond, Garfield pushes Ravager forward as Jason raises his head, knocking the back of his helmet into Ravager’s face with all his might.

“IIIEEEE!” He screams, dropping the sword and instinctively bringing his hands to his face. “By dig du du dat?” He says in broken voice as his mask fills with blood.
“Wow, still awake?” Jason says in surprise. “Tough cookie.” Speedily, he raises his knee forward, directing it for the mercenary’s face.
“NO!” He yells, releasing his face and grabbing Jason’s knee before he can deliver the strike. “Du’ll die for dat,” he threatens, pulling Jason to the ground.


“Unlikely!” Garfield shouts, swiping his claws across the unarmored section of his enemy’s back. The mercenary growls in anger as blood begins to trickle down his back. With astonishing speed Ravager pulls the mask from his face, spilling a thick puddle of blood to the floor as the collected pool inside leaks out. In one motion he spins around, delivering a powerful kick to the side of Garfield’s face and knocking him into the water.
“There,” he says, his voice now more comprehensible. He grabs the sword next to him and holds it high, preparing to plunge the blade into the Hood’s chest. “This is going to hurt!”

“As much as looking at your face?” Jason mocks. “Cause that pimple on your forehead is ridiculous.”
“AAAAAHHHH!!!” He shrieks in a shrill voice, his female personality filled with rage. “You little PRICK!”

“Don’t blame me, blame your facial cleanser.” Ravager drops his arms down, sending the blade directly for Jason’s chest. With tactful precision, he rolls over just enough to narrowly avoid being stabbed, causing the sword to break through the wooden board beneath him. As Ravager pulls up on the blade, Jason forces his elbow forward, hitting his adversary in the temple and knocking him backward. As his body hits the ground, the mercenary blacks out – falling into unconsciousness as the Ravager fades back into the man’s twisted psyche.

“One down,” Jason says as he rises to his feet. In an unexpected twist, Deathstroke sits upright, pulling a pistol from his belt in the blink of an eye.

“Guess who?” He smiles as he pulls the trigger. Eleven bullets hit Jason’s chest, knocking him backward. As the vest about his torso protects him from death, the force of the blows is enough to paralyze him for a few seconds - a window of time the mercenary intends to take advantage.
“Clever,” he says as he lines up the barrel once more. “But not clever enough.”

“Wait,” Jason groans, his body still in shock. As Jason looks to the vast expanse of water to his right, something strange suddenly catches his eye. “Haha…no way,” he chuckles, wincing slightly. With a loud bang Deathstroke unloads two more bullets, this time sending them into Jason’s shoulder – abruptly ending his laugh.
“You dare laugh at a time like this?!” He snarls in rage. “Tell me, smart***, what is so funny?”

“Well,” he moans, turning to face his opponent. “You ever seen ‘Jaws’?” With a furious splash, a large great white suddenly breaches the water’s surface. The powerful momentum fuels the beast, propelling it through the air and sending it directly for Deathstroke.

Like a torpedo, the fish hits its target, hitting the assassin and knocking him into the bay. Garfield changes quickly in the air, reverting back to his human form and dropping down beside the Red Hood.

“Jason!” He shouts, helping his friend to his feet. “You alright?”
“Not really,” Jason admits, stumbling as he tries to find balance. “I just discovered there’s man killers swimming around in the harbor. That’s a bit disheartening.” Garfield smiles – happy to see his friend’s sense of humor, despite his condition. “Here,” Jason says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of earplugs. “Put these in – now.”
“You think he’s still conscious?” He asks, stuffing the small foam bits into his ears.

“You knocked the wind out of him, that’s for sure.” Jason begins, recovering from the gunshots remarkably fast. “But he’s awake. Take this,” he starts, grabbing a flash bang from inside his jacket. Jason rips a plastic strip from the side revealing the sticky adhesive. “That’s the glue,” he explains. “This pin is to arm it - the handle here is pressure sensitive. When you let up the pressure, it goes. Turn into a falcon, take this, and get out of sight. When I give the signal, swoop in and strap it to the side of his face – then get out of there, otherwise the flash may disorient you too.”
“If this detonates so close to his face, won’t it kill him?”
“He survived the one in the apartment, didn’t he?”
“Well, yeah, but-“

"THEN GO!” Garfield takes the weapon in his hand and quickly morphs into the falcon, taking flight and flying high above the area.

"Okay," Jason says, inhaling deeply as he prepares himself. "Now the fun begins..."

 

[Byrd Man]

I nod. I expected him to say something like that, so there's no surprise. Wayne's still not off-the-hook as far as I'm concerned, though. "Fair enough. But I'm going to need your full cooperation in the future," I say as casually as possible while still getting my point across.

Turning to Nygma, I say, "Well, Lieutenant, I can handle things for now."

"I'm sure you can."

Check my notebook. "I'm going to interview some witnesses, walk the crime scene and see if I can recover the bullets and shell casings. You're free to go, Mister Wayne. If I have any questions, I'll be in touch. Beaumont, you know to get in touch with me if you need me."

Nod to Selina, Wayne. Walking away.

Idea: Bruce Wayne. All that money has to come from somewhere. Mob connections? Behind every great American fortune is a crime. Call Selina tonight. Plan: watch Wayne like a hawk. Find out where golden boy got his stash. If need be, arrest his ass.

 

[Spike_x1]

Lex Luthor
​

"First of all, Miss Lane," I say with as measured and deliberate a tone I can manage, "an 'alleged ancestral claim' hardly holds up in any court of law when it comes to the matter of ownership. I paid quite handsomely for every one of those artifacts, most for far more than their estimated value. The McDougals could have outbid me or approached me by any other legal means, but they instead decided to opt for violence and thievery."

That much can be explained away, but there is another matter on Miss Lane's initial questioning that needs to be pressed. Anyone can simply deflect an insinuation, but in order to truly win the argument, one must then press on the attack.

"And while we're on that particular subject, I'll remind you that, rather than make a public plea or start a petition or even picket, the McDougals instead chose an act of terrorism. They intended to destroy property, as well as injure and possibly kill innocent bystanders, just to get their 'ancestral claim' back."

Both Lois and I rapidly jot down our notes as Luthor's voice is recorded by the WayneBerry that Lois had rather prominently placed on the desk. I have no doubt that she did that just to show some small act of defiance in front of Lex by obviously not using one of those popular L-Pads to record the conversation.

"And here you are, Miss Lane, attempting to make me the villain of this story by trying to justify their violent behavior. It's common knowledge that you are no fan of mine, for reasons that I frankly still don't fathom, but if you are so bent on discrediting LexCorp that you're willing to side with terrorists in order to make a loose accusation against me....then I think perhaps your priorities as a supposedly-objective journalist have become somewhat skewed."

I stare Lane and Kent down, daring either of them to counter me. In this area, however, they know I'm right. They came here under the pretenses of simply gathering information to report on the attack, but Miss Lane had come into this meeting with a pre-determined angle: Lex Luthor is evil and must always be made to look evil, no matter what. So much so that, rather than even attempt to investigate the McDougals or their motivations, the very first thing she did was come after me just because the attack happened in one of my buildings.

What's truly amusing about it is that there are easily a few hundred different things in this building alone that she should be using to warn the general public about me. In the one particular story on which she chooses to build her case against me, my hands are more or less completely clean--rather astounding, considering that I had just performed open brain surgery on an alien against his will not five minutes ago.

I'm kind of taken aback by what Lex says, but I can't argue that there had been an accusatory undercurrent in the way that Lois voiced her first question, even if the way that she phrased it would sound innocent enough on paper.

"I never made any such attempt to justify the McDougals' actions, or vilify you, Lex. And I would certainly never take their side (as you said: they're terrorists), but I have to wonder what you saw in my original question to make you think that I would. Fact: the McDougals have made it publicly known that they believe themselves to have an ancestral claim on the artifacts that they're after. Fact: their most recent attack was on your museum this morning. Why shouldn't I ask for your opinion on those matters? Surely there's nothing sinister in my asking about that, is there? Not to worry, I'll leave your paranoia out of the final article," she smugly replies with a light and happy tone, the polite smile remaining on her face. I just push my glasses back up and try to discretely clear my throat.

You could hear a pin drop during the following moments of silence. Neither Luthor or Lois bat an eye. Just let it go and move on to the second question, please. Finding out how to stop Siobhan McDougal is a higher priority right now.

"As for your second line of questioning, however, that is where this discussion gets truly interesting. Miss Siobhan McDougal's transformation was most definitely triggered by her coming into contact with the tablet, but the real question is whether the secret of the transformation lies in the tablet, or in Siobhan herself. It is entirely possible that she has always been a metahuman, and that her abilities had simply laid dormant until coming into contact with an object that she had always believed to be one of great power, and that subconsciously allowed herself to 'unlock' her dormant abilities."

To that end, I intend to investigate on a very detailed level, especially once certain officials in the Metropolis correctional facilities overlook a few minutes of surveillance footage, and Miss McDougal comes into my possession. That tablet was LexCorp property, and as far as I am concerned, so is Siobhan McDougal now.

"On the other hand, the tablet itself does present some very fascinating possibilities. It is possible that perhaps the tablet did store some potential energies, that would not have been detectable or even considered 'real' given most conventional views of science. Of course, as most of the planet is already well aware, I am not and have never been a 'conventional' scientist."

I give Lane and Kent a moment to get their notepads ready.

"Human beings perceive the physical universe along four dimensions. We are able to move about freely along the first three axises of existence--the length, width, and depth that make up 'space.' We move in a straight, inevitable path along a fourth axis, the cycle of growth and decay we know as 'time.' And for all practical purposes, that is all there is to it. However, when discussing the more abstract elements of reality, many theoretical physicists believe that there are upwards ot ten different dimensions, most of which are imperceptible to us. Along these lines, it is not difficult to imagine that objects like the tablet that turned Siobhan McDougal into the 'Silver Banshee' could contain some remnants of extradimensional flotsam and jetsam, particularly along the dimension of Probability."

I realize that I may be speaking above most readers' heads, so I attempt to break it down a little more plainly.

"As I said, we can perceive the first four dimensions because we are able to move through them. We can understand the laws of probability, but they are only 'laws' to us because our universe remains in a fixed point along that axis. What is, is, and what is not, is not. However, if Probability is in fact fluid in nature, then this 'Fifth Dimension' could very well open up a whole perception of reality as a whole. Given the chaotic and often cataclysmic nature of objects moving freely in space, it is not terribly difficult to perceive that objects moving freely in probability would be equally chaotic. A collision along the Fifth Dimension could cause reverberations back into the first four, creating 'debris' of improbability that would allow certain objects, certain people, even certain words to tweak the rules of what is or is not possible, when put in the correct configuration."

To think, that with the right object or the right person, in the right place and the right time, with the right words and the right possessions, one might very well alter the very face of reality itself.

"As you can probably guess, I find this notion very interesting. However, much further study would be necessary to see if this hypothesis is actually true."

"So, for all intents and purposes, this... er... super-science doesn't necessarily have to adhere to the laws of physics as we know them. Prior to this morning, the only person that we know of who showed himself able to injure Superman was Doctor Peter Silverstone, aka Blackrock, when he gave the hero a bloody lip. But that was only through raw brute force that rivaled Superman's own strength. Siobhan McDougal, on the other hand, never gave any indication of having such high levels of physical strength, yet she managed to draw blood from Superman with both her claws and screaming powers." I seem to have taken Lois by surprise as I engage Lex in the discussion. I've looked over many of my Kryptonian father's notes regarding their advanced technology and discoveries, but I'm no scientist. Any theories that Luthor has on this matter could be a huge help if I'm going to confront the Banshee again.

"This "debris of improbability" as you called it, whether that applies to the tablet, Siobhan herself, or a possible combination of the two that created the Silver Banshee; do you believe that that could account for how she was apparently able to circumvent Superman's invulnerability?"

 

[Bounce]

The universe was full of amazing mysteries, mundane miracles that the boy had never even before contemplated. Until today, Lor had never existed as a corporeal being. He had been a wraith playing amid a dimension cut off from the physical reality, little more than a ghost. Now he found himself brought alive into a world of physical, material concepts that had previously existed only in fairy tales. The young boy couldn't understand how he'd come to travel out of the Phantom Zone on board his father's ship, let alone how he had traveled from that ship to being down on this world called Metropolis, so - in typical child fashion - he didn't even bother to try. He was here, now, and that simple fact opened the door to a whole host of distractions that kept his young mind occupied. His hands, Krypto's fur, the warmth of the sun shining from out of a blue sky, the sensation of breathing, the drone of traffic below, and the myriad of shapes and colors that were the diverse people mulling about... the list could go on ad infinitum. It seemed that this Metropolis was a wonderous place indeed.

Burying his hands into the canine's thick fur, the boy idly scratched and patted the animal as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He wished that his parents could see this place for themselves, the thought idly taking the boy back to the comment Mxzyptlk had made that this world was 'nine galaxies' apart from where his father's ship had been located. The size of a galaxy being incomprehensible to the boy, the child had no idea how to interpret that as a means of distance. Given the speed at which the imp had brought them to this Metropolis, Lor was left with the impression that it couldn't be that much of distance.

Lor faced this Metropolis without fear however despite being on his own, which wasn't precisely how he saw it. He had Krypto after all, the pair often having wandered off into the wilds of the Phantom Zone to go adventuring or exploring. And sometimes, particularly at first, he had been afraid but one thing that his father had stressed above all was that a son of Krypton showed no fear. So, when Lor looked out over this strange and unfamiliar landscape, he saw only an adventure and promised that he would not be afraid.

Pushing off of the building, the child sailed up into the air. Closing his eyes, the boy leaned his head back and felt the wind rush through his sandy hair. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in the Phantom Zone, almost as if freedom were a tangible thing you could almost reach out and grasp from out of the air. Or maybe that reached out and grabbed you, in that same moment in which you realized you could fly. Yapping, on the rooftop below the canine companion spun in circles as it looked up in confusion at the boy's flight. Finally, Krypto made a leap to try and catch up with his master... one that fell considerably short and then down for quite some distance.

Falling from the top of the multi-story skyscraper, the dog slammed into the top of a parked taxi with enough force to dent the roof and shatter the windshield. As alarms and horns began blaring, the animal simply rolled off the car as though completely unharmed by the fall. Shaking its body, the canine gave a snort before it made a second leap into the air. Bobbing awkwardly, the animal suddenly shot up into the sky, much to the amazement of the people on the sidewalk who had been witness first to the damage dealt to the cab and then to a flying dog. If that were not enough, as onlookers craned their heads back to follow the animal's ascent, a second flying object was made apparent... this one arguably more shocking than the first.

Marveling at his reflection in the windows of a modern highrise, Lor skimmed down the length of a skyscraper before cutting a ninety-degree turn that brought him parallel to the street that was now only about fifteen feet below. The canine was close on his heels, as the pair spiraled in the air around one another in a freewheeling flight over the streets of Metropolis. At least one man among the denizens now shocked at the sight - a young red-haired photographer - pulled a camera and began snapping away even before he'd begun adjusting the lens focus. A minute later, the boy pulled up until he was above the city, drifting amid swaths of white fluff. "Do you think those are 'clouds', Krypto?" the child mused aloud, pondering the nature of the cotton-like beds in the sky. Giving a loud squeal, the boy went freefalling down into one of the clouds, with his companion howling and not far behind.

Emerging from out of the other side of the cloud, the now drenched Lor-Zod just looked over at the similarly soaked Krypto and offered the dog a large grin. "Turns out clouds are mostly water," the boy commented brightly. In response, the dog just gave a snort and then began to shake violently, shedding water out of its fur in a wash of spray which only tossed more water on Lor. As the two laughed, a loud roar split the air overhead. Glancing up, the pair were dwarfed by a large shadow as it passed through the cloud above them. Curious, Lor trailed along the path of the mysterious darkness, until at last a magnificent white object flew from out of the cloud. The object was best described as a pointed cylinder, with swept back wings and a tall tail erected at the back. Flying closer to the object, the boy was presented by the strange appearance of small round windows through which he could see rows of people seated within. Most of whom appeared more disturbed at the sight of him than he was at them sitting inside of a giant white bird. Pausing in midair, Lor watched, confused, as the bird drifted down to the ground where it rolled to a stop amid a complex that was black, like the streets, only cris-crossed with lines and markings that were seemingly bizarre.


Meanwhile, at Metropolis International Airport...

"There it is again," the air traffic controller commented blandly, the man hunched over and squinting at a radar screen as though mystified by something contained therein.

"Johnson, what in the hell are you babbling about?" came a barking command across the busy terminal, from a middle-aged man bearing a well-stained cup of coffee and a pocket from which a half smoked pack of cigarettes protruded. Throwing down the stack of reports he'd been thumbing through, the senior transportation official stomped his way over to where the man named Johnson sat.

"The same two blips on the radar. They're in and out again. Whatever they are, they have extremely low radar return. And the profiles don't match anything," the air traffic controller complained, obviously frustrated as he thrust his hands out toward the screen. "One second, they're tracking and then the next they just.. stop."

The man tapped Johnson on the top of his head with his coffee mug as he scoffed, "Airplanes do not just 'stop' in mid-air, Johnson."

"Uh, Chief," a timid voice announced from one of the radio terminals. "I've got the pilot of Tango Charlie 115 on the horn and... those might not be airplanes," the communications tech stated, extending out a spare set of headphones toward the aging man.

The senior just gave a huff as he snatched the headphones out of the man's hands. "Christ, first we have a guy in ****ing tights confusing our radar and now what? Damn city bureaucrats let NASA move in on Pike Island so its probably one of their damn UFO-wannabes. And could they pick up the phone to give us a head's up? **** no," the man complained bitterly, shrugging on the headset. He listened for a minute, his facial expressions varying from angry to confused to faintly amused as he pushed the headphones down finally.

"Johnson, get me NASA on the phone."