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[Byrd Man]

"I don't know. All that can be said is that Dent has had some effect on the police department's dealings. He could be refusing to play ball."

Batman stares back at Nygma, who's still fuming at the accusation that Day is innocent. He's almost counting on Maroni's information to be wrong. But the vigilante knows that in this city, skepticism becomes a necessity whenever the police are involved. "But it's hard to say. In Gotham, almost nothing is as it seems."

"We're lost in the wilderness of mirrors. Nothing is what it seems, and everything has two meanings. 'There's some enemy after, her no doubt,' the King said. 'The wood's are full of them.'"

Alice in Wonderland. Mother read it to me every night before her breakdown.

"I don't care what you say, Holiday is related to Gordon. Day is the killer. He has to be!"

KRAK!

Bullet whizzes by my head.

"Sniper!"

Hit the ground, tugging for the gun on my belt.

 

[Batman]

"I don't care what you say, Holiday is related to Gordon. Day is the killer. He has to be!"

KRAK!

Bullet whizzes by my head.

"Sniper!"

Hit the ground, tugging for the gun on my belt.

A second before Nygma reacts, Batman hears the bullet approaching through the hypersonic earpiece embedded into his cowl microphone. It was only luck that Nygma was in the middle of a heated proclamation whenever it was fired, otherwise the Lieutenant would have been dead. The shot was more than accurate enough. Spreading out his cape so he can move, The Dark Knight spins around and scans the rooftops above them to locate the shooter before he can fire again. The Oracle goes to work immediately, automatically tracking the bullet's trail until it finally settles on a lone figure in the distance.

Hostile Detected. Seven Yards.

Tapping the side of his cowl, Batman zooms in on the indicated area. But before he can fully render a shot of the shooter himself, the vigilante notices that he's readying another shot. With urgency, Batman turns towards Nygma, but the Lieutenant is out of range. He then looks at Officer Kyle, just as a subtle red dot of a laser scope illuminates directly in the middle of her forehead. Eyes widening, Batman leaps forward and tackles Kyle to the ground, just as she produces a handgun.

"DOWN!"

The bullet fires, grazing a nearby crate in place of where Selina once stood. The officer looks up at her savior, a little annoyed at his manner until she sees what exactly would have happened if he hadn't pushed her out of the way. "Oh my god. The sniper, he's-..."

"Targeting the both of you. Get to cover!"

Before either can react, The Dark Knight produces a grapnel gun from his utility belt, and fires towards the direction of the shooter. Tugging at the line, the vigilante immediately takes to the skies and swings towards the rooftops, leaving Nygma and Kyle to fend for themselves before he can intercept the shooter. Even so, Batman knows that his armor will protect him until he gets into close range. But when that happens...

Focus on that later. Can't let him kill Nygma.

As he inches ever closer to the shooter, Batman produces three batarangs and tosses them at his trigger hand. The shooter reacts with a stunning amount of accuracy, managing to shoot all three projectiles before they can reach him. Mounting his sniper once more, the shooter is too late to fire, as Batman leaps off of his cable and slams into the masked assailant with the heels of his boots. The shooter falls back, hard, but protected enough to scramble to his feet without injury.

"Who are you?!"

"Me? Just a no-name looking to get his pay. But if you want something to put to the face, you can call me..."

"DEADSHOT."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Who are you?!"

"Me? Just a no-name looking to get his pay. But if you want something to put to the face, you can call me..."

"DEADSHOT."

Assassin talks with Batman, level my gun and squeeze the trigger.

KRAK! KRAK! KRAK!

Three bullets. All miss WIDE.

"What are you doing? You'll hit Batman!"

"He's a big man and can fend for himself. I'll be goddamned if I ain't going down without a fight."

KRAK! KRAK! KRAK!

 

[TrueMastermind]

Another interview. I've actually started to somewhat enjoy these little conversations with the psychopathic residents of Arkham. Hardly any of them are alike each other, leaving me to discover all the different elements of crazy. But then there are those who don't show a lick of insanity, the ones who fooled the idiotic, gullible judges that sent them to this loony bin.

Its been 3 days since I learned that Garfield Lynns was in Gotham and I haven't received any more valuable information. Maybe my patient could supply me with something useful.

The door burst open, revealing two well built guards dragging a somewhat normal looking man into the room. As typical procedure with the more demented patients, they strapped the man into the chair, not allowing any form of escape to be possible.

"HE MADE ME DO IT! HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO SLAUGHTER MY FAMILY IF I DIDN'T! BUT HE STILL DID! THE EVIL BASTARD!" Obviously fueled with rage, the screamer tried to break out of his restraints, shaking violently in the iron chair.

"Good luck Dr. Elliot, you'll need it," Both guards gave me a slight nod before rushing out of the room.

"If I may ask, Mr.Rayne, what was this man's name?"

"WARREN MUTHA****** WHITE OF THE MUTHA****** RIPTIDES! THE MOST BASTARD FILLED GANG IN GOTHAM!" This man was insane in the slightest. Ok, maybe a little bit. But he commited murder to protect his family. Took a life to save a life.

"Do you happen to know where this man might be located?" I had completely strayed from trying to get into his head. There was no use, he showed no evidence of being crazy.

"The b**** hangs in the East End, don't know where he hides out. Why the hell do you need to know this?" Without another word, I exit the interviewing room, leaving Rayne confused.

"Yo Doc, why ya leaving so early?" The security guard on duty asks me, evidently suprised that it only took about 5 minutes in there.

"Throw him in Blackgate. He's just a screamer."

 

[Spike_x1]

As the cretinous thugs open fire on the towering monstrous form of what used to be Umberto Maroni, Bane stowed his binoculars back in his utility belt and stealthily descended from the tree where he had been hidden. Neither the pale zombie, nor Grissom or his men had spotted Bane in the darkness yet, and he was going to use this once in a lifetime opportunity to his advantage.

The Maroni creature barely even seemed fazed by the gunfire that pelted him. The bullets had broken his wet decomposing skin, but he hardly appeared to be injured by the gunshots beyond mere fleshwounds. Instead, he was simply enraged. Roaring with anger, the beast stormed toward Girssom's thugs and hit one of them with colossal strength, snapping the man's spine in half and sending his corpse flying into the swamp. Umberto was a lumbering brute and not very fast, but its strength was unquestionable. As the thing busied itself with Grissom's enforcers, Bane quietly approached Grissom himself from behind. Without a word, the old man was dead at Bane's hand and the bloody remains of Grissom's neck stained his killer's boots.

Watching the men fire stupidly at the pale monster, unaware that there had just been a change in management for the Valestra mob, Bane studied the Maroni creature's movements for almost a minute before calling their futile assault to an end.

"ENOUGH!"

Both Maroni and the remaining thugs who hadn't already been beaten to death by the monster looked up at Bane, startled by his audible intrusion on their fight. It took a moment for the hired muscle to even notice Grissom's body lying at Bane's feet. "I control the Valestra Family now," he declared.

Not sure what to make of this statement made during the middle of a fight with a hulking white zombie, the gang members all appeared quite confused and frustrated, not sure whether to fire on Bane or continue wasting their ammunition on Umberto Maroni. "Izzat Bane?" whispered one of them. "He's the guy who killed Kite-Man and took over Black Mask's old crew. Ol' Grissom didn't think he wuz even real!"

Easily overhearing their frightened whispers, Bane responded, "I am quite real, and you can all either follow my rule or die like the old man."

"Buddy, if you can kill this pale freak," said one of the gunmen as he jerked his thumb at the former Umberto Maroni, "...(and you pay us good)... I got no problem with taking orders from you."

"So be it."

Like a cornered feral animal whose attackers have inexplicably taken a rest, Maroni growls in anger, unsure of what to do while the small people in front of him talk. Finally, they all run away as the bigger one in a mask slowly approaches him.

Watching and whispering amongst themselves, the hired muscle of the Valestra crime family didn't know what to expect from the man who had just declared himself their new boss. Each of them had heard the rumors of this Bane guy, singlehandedly carving himself a huge slice of Gotham's pie while destabilizing the foundations of rival organizations. They didn't even want to think about what they had heard happened to that costumed freak, Kite-Man, that the Falcones had paid to take Bane out. The only part of his body that was even found was the idiot's head, still strapped into his green helmet, which was dropped off by a Black Masker at the front door of a backroom Falcone casino.

Needless to say, the thugs of Gotham City did not want to be on Bane's bad side, despite their bosses' efforts to remain defiant.

Bane himself cautiously approached the monster that Umberto Maroni had somehow become, scanning the creature for any visible weakness and ready to dodge it's deadly blows. He had seen what even a single punch from Maroni was capable of doing to a man, and Bane had no intention whatsoever of being struck by its pale fists. He had seen how ineffective guns were against Umberto, so Bane made no effort to rely on such crudeness. Pulling a blade from his belt and stepping into a prone position, Bane was as prepared as he was going to get for this fight. The white monster's limbs were obviously its weak points; they looked like they had been severed and then hastily reattached, so they were Bane's target for the blade in his hand.

The monster's horrific growl signaled his impending attack, which Bane gracefully flipped over, soaring over Maroni's deadly punch and jabbing at one of the pressure points on his sickly pale neck. This seemed to cause severe pain to the zombie as it stumbled forward, then spun around to look at Bane again and roar.

As the thing bellowed in rage, it charged at Bane again and swung for another punch. This time, Bane sidestepped the attack and sliced hard and skillfully with his knife at the weakened parts of Maroni's left arm and leg. Falling to his injured knee from the attack, the creature nursed his arm that now threatened to actually fall off.

"Begone, aberration, before I do the same to your neck."

With a snarl of frustration, the monster staggered to its feet and begrudgingly turned around and began walking back into the swamp.

He'll live to fight another day. With that, Bane also turn around and faced his newest recruits. "Now, go back and tell the rest of the Family that they work for me now. If anyone argues over the issue, tell them of what I did right in front of you this evening, and then ask if they want to make an enemy of me."

Murmuring to themselves, the crowd of thugs slowly dispersed and left Bane alone at the swamp with his thoughts on this lovely Monday night.

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on a stark and stormy Tuesday,
Married on gray and grisly Wednesday,
Took ill on a mild and mellow Thursday,
Grew worse on a bright and breezy Friday,
Died on a gay and glorious Saturday,
Buried on a baking, blistering Sunday.

Staring into the fog as he mused over the poem, Bane almost smiled as he saw what he thought was a hulking shadow in the misty distance on the other side of the swamp. "Enjoy your new lease of life, Mr. Maroni."

 

[Batman]

Gunfire echoes out into the skies of Gotham, only briefly precluding the moment that two highly-trained combatants come to blows. But whenever he should have complete control of the situation, The Dark Knight's focus is compromised when he just barely manages to sidestep his opponent's wrist-mounted firearm. The man that calls himself "Deadshot" only laughs, leaping to his feet with ease, amused by the vigilante's struggle to comprehend what he is - a marksman, and a killer with a clear combination of stealth and theatrics. Batman jumps back, creating the necessary distance to avoid any counter. His shots weren't executed by an amateur. They were timed... precise. And more than lethal enough to kill, if I hadn't intervened.

But Deadshot wastes no time with a retaliation. Like a wild dog, he leaps at Batman with ferocity and strikes him across the face with a swift jab. He goes in for another, but the vigilante counters, grabbing his arm and kneeing the assassin hard in the midsection. Deadshot stumbles, but doesn't appear to suffer, raising his armed gauntlet directly at Batman's head. Both costumed men pause, unsure of what action to take next.

"Well, isn't this something? I get hired to off a couple of cops, but I managed to bag an outlawed vigilante aswell. Bettin' that could rake in twice the fee. With a hell of alot of interest."

But Batman remains unintimidated, staring down the barrel of the gun with ease. "You won't get paid for an unfinished hit."

Deadshot cocks the weapon.

"Not a smart thing to say when you're about to get your brains blown out. Unless you've got a better offer to give me, there's no one that's gonna stop this. The Lieutenant's days are numbered."

"I can offer you one thing."

"Oh?"

The vigilante narrows his eyes. "Tell me who hired you, and you won't leave this area in a neck brace."

The assassin laughs once more, just as Batman slips his fingers into a pouch of his belt. "Oh, you're a card! I like that. I'm just not sure I like it enough to spare your-..."

Seizing the opportunity, Batman lunges forward and tosses out several flash grenades, the weapons each exploding on impact. Deadshot screams out and shields his eyes, allowing his assailant to leap over his head and slam his heel into the criminal's skull. He slams into a brick ledge, allowing Batman to grab him by the back of the neck and slam him into it again, effectively pinning Deadshot to it.

"Second chance. Who hired you?"

"Agh... sorry. Don't like to... kiss and tell."

Unexpectedly, Deadshot violently swings his head back, striking Batman in the jaw and forcing him to release the pin. With that momentary distraction in place, the assassin leaps for the sniper rifle that's still mounted on the building, aimed directly for the waterfront. Grabbing the scope, Deadshot readies a knife from his boot, hearing Batman regain himself and run towards him. With an effective sweep of his arm, the knife plunges itself into the side of Batman's leg.

"ARRGH!"

"Bye bye, Batty."

With another vicious kick, Batman's knocked onto his back. Turning towards the sniper's scope, Deadshot adjusts it and looks in. After a momentary period of focus, he gets a clear enough shot of the docks to spot Lieutenant Nygma and Officer Kyle. A wide smirk under his mask, the assassin places his finger on the trigger. "Two hundred grand, here I am."

But another shot rings out, grazing Deadshot in the shoulder and causing him to miss. Lieutenant Nygma's blind shooting in the distance proves successful, as Deadshot is knocked off of his feet with ease. Sliding across the rooftop, he hits his head across something sturdy and drops. But as he looks up to see what it is, all he sees is an angered Batman standing above him. The knife that was stuck in his leg drops to the ground, cleaned of any blood and bent in half at the blade.

The Dark Knight sneers.

"Third chance. Better take it."

 

[Byrd Man]

Seizing the opportunity, Batman lunges forward and tosses out several flash grenades, the weapons each exploding on impact. Deadshot screams out and shields his eyes, allowing his assailant to leap over his head and slam his heel into the criminal's skull. He slams into a brick ledge, allowing Batman to grab him by the back of the neck and slam him into it again, effectively pinning Deadshot to it.

"Second chance. Who hired you?"

"Agh... sorry. Don't like to... kiss and tell."

Unexpectedly, Deadshot violently swings his head back, striking Batman in the jaw and forcing him to release the pin. With that momentary distraction in place, the assassin leaps for the sniper rifle that's still mounted on the building, aimed directly for the waterfront. Grabbing the scope, Deadshot readies a knife from his boot, hearing Batman regain himself and run towards him. With an effective sweep of his arm, the knife plunges itself into the side of Batman's leg.

"ARRGH!"

"Bye bye, Batty."

With another vicious kick, Batman's knocked onto his back. Turning towards the sniper's scope, Deadshot adjusts it and looks in. After a momentary period of focus, he gets a clear enough shot of the docks to spot Lieutenant Nygma and Officer Kyle. A wide smirk under his mask, the assassin places his finger on the trigger. "Two hundred grand, here I am."

But another shot rings out, grazing Deadshot in the shoulder and causing him to miss. Lieutenant Nygma's blind shooting in the distance proves successful, as Deadshot is knocked off of his feet with ease. Sliding across the rooftop, he hits his head across something sturdy and drops. But as he looks up to see what it is, all he sees is an angered Batman standing above him. The knife that was stuck in his leg drops to the ground, cleaned of any blood and bent in half at the blade.

The Dark Knight sneers.

"Third chance. Better take it."

Ali vs. Frazier, Tyson vs. Douglas, Ali vs. Forman....none hold a candle to Batman vs. Deadshot.

"Nygma!"

KRAK! KRAK! KRAK!

Last three shots miss wiiide again.
"Eddie! We gotta go."

"No, not yet. I want to know who hired him."

"Batman can figure that out."

"I don't trust him to tell me."

"The longer we stay here, the more of a chance that assassin hits us."

"I need to know!"

Selina grabs my necktie, tosses me into car's backseat. Cranks it up and hits the gas. Tires squeal, rubber burns.

Batman vs. Deadshot continues on the rooftop.

"Who hired him?! I gotta know!"

 

[Batman]

Somewhere between the blind whirlwind of punches, kicks, blocks, counters, jabs, blood and broken bones, The Dark Knight realized that he wasn't facing an opponent that he could outmatch in skill level. Deadshot had been well trained in at least seven different types of combat used in guerrilla warfare, three different martial arts, and a vicious style that could only be learned in the underground cage fighting leagues in Metropolis, a regular hangout of the latest drug dealers to arrive in The Narrows. As Batman took a punch to the nose, allowing his cowl's protective materials to absorb most of the damage, he began to put the pieces of Deadshot's unintentional giveaways together. Guerrilla warfare. Martial arts. Metropolis...

And like gears in a clock, the vigilante pieced it together. Deadshot was a former member of a secretive rogue group of mercenaries from The Gulf War. They called themselves "The Suicide Squad" at first, but the group had gone through a period of reinvention ever since their formative years. Had he not served with the US Military in active duty, Bruce Wayne would have never heard the name. Because officially, they had never existed. The Squad's members were branded as the ultimate soldiers of fortune, with each graduating from a prestigious academy in Metropolis before becoming a member. But the reason they had remained a secret for all of these years was because their members weren't just killers... they were hunters. Gamesmen, using human bounties as excuses to commit a number of mass genocides. They were disbanded because of their ruthlessness.

And now, it seemed that one of their own was trying to keep the Squad's tradition alive. But Batman wasn't about to allow it... not in Gotham, and not anywhere else. There were many reasons he had left the military in search of a better way to fight corruption, and Deadshot single-handedly personified every one of them. Dodging another one of the assassin's wild haymakers, Batman understuck his jaw and sent a hard elbow into his chest, sending Deadshot headfirst into the concrete roof. Pinning him to the ground with a sturdy boot, Batman stared him down.

"You're a mercenary for hire."

Deadshot mock clapped, struggling to push himself from Batman's grip. "Gee, well done. What gave me away, oh great detective? The big gun? The scope? The fact that I freaking told you I was hired to kill the cops?!"

Batman sneered, ignoring the taunts. "But unlike most, you're a good one. Good enough to impress The Suicide Squad. The Government contracts didn't cut it for you?"

The assassin froze, realizing that he had been figured out. "How the hell did-... you're not supposed to know that!"

"Then you shouldn't have gave it away. Was it pressure from the CIA that put you into the mercenary field? Or did you just need to satisfy the bloodlust?"

Deadshot grabbed at Batman's heel, almost as if he were trying to claw his way out. "This is too much... h-he never said you'd be here with the cop..."

"Like it or not, your past is catching up with you. And if you think The Squad's missions were rough, you haven't been in Gotham for very long. This entire city is a warzone."

The supposed 'fearless assassin' began to visibly shake at the thought, becoming more desperate to get away from the vigilante. He knew more about him than anyone should have. This wasn't what he signed up for... he didn't expect in a million years to be facing down his past again. And that was exactly what Batman was depending on.

"Jesus... get away from me! Get away from me, you goddamn freak!"

"Something happened to you there. Something that forced you out of The Squad by your own merit, but you couldn't escape your own need to kill."

"STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! F*** YOU!"

"I'll stop as soon as you give me a name! Who hired you?!"

The pressure was too much. Deadshot stopped struggling, and eventually collapsed under the pressure to his neck and the stress of emotions coming back to him from years of post-war trauma. Batman removed his heel, allowing the assassin to fall fully limp onto the roof. Kneeling down to check his vitals, the vigilante realized that he was wearing too much armor to tell for sure. And his mask wasn't coming off without a toolkit. Standing back up, Batman tapped the side of his cowl and waited for The Oracle to resume standby.

"Oracle. Scan for vitals."

Request Acknowledged. Scanning...

Out of the corner of his eye, however, Batman noticed a slight twitch in Deadshot's left hand middle finger. The assassin was flipping him off by intention. Batman's eyes widened under his cowl, as he realized Deadshot had never been unconscious at all. Son of a...

With a hard kick, Deadshot sent Batman off of his feet and straight into a metal railing. Leaping off of his back, the assassin rolled and flipped, leaping off of the rooftop itself to escape. With a slam of his fist onto the roof for not being able to see it coming, Batman angrily got to his feet aswell, and leaped off of the rooftop after him. Deadshot was already several rooftops away, leaping over each of them with considerable agility. Even from afar, The Dark Knight knew that he wouldn't be able to catch him on foot alone. He needed something more. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out a grapnel gun and fired directly ahead, aiming for a stone gargoyle in the distance.

Can't let him get away, he thought to himself. If there was a chance of escape for the assassin, Batman would never learn who he really was, or who hired him to kill Lieutenant Nygma and Officer Kyle. Not to mention the risk of that person learning of Nygma's alliance with Batman himself, something that the vigilante had feared greatly ever since John Grayson's untimely murder at the hands of Tony Zucco. No matter the cost, he wouldn't allow another person to die because of the burden of his war against crime.

Arching into a swing, Batman's cape billowed with the wind behind him as he inched even closer to the still-running Deadshot. The mercenary was heading away from the waterfront and hoping to lose his assailant in the Gotham City Civic Center district. But that wasn't about to stop the vigilante from the chase, proven when Batman finally let go of his line and kicked Deadshot directly in the back, sending both men flying into a frenzy of desperate attacks on one another. Deadshot backhanded Batman across the face, just as Batman punched him in the shoulder, effectively wounded by Lieutenant Nygma's blind gunshot.

"You're not leaving!"

Rendered unable to attack by the pain of the wound, Deadshot looked back as both men flew through the air, suddenly becoming panicked just before Batman could grab him again.

"What the hell're you doing?! We're heading right for the-...!"

Before he could properly warn him, the glass skylight of the Gotham City Mall came crashing apart, followed by what appeared to be two crazed costumed individuals. The crowd below them gasped in astonishment, as the two continued to fall through the air, heading right for the ground floor.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Arching into a swing, Batman's cape billowed with the wind behind him as he inched even closer to the still-running Deadshot. The mercenary was heading away from the waterfront and hoping to lose his assailant in the Gotham City Civic Center district. But that wasn't about to stop the vigilante from the chase, proven when Batman finally let go of his line and kicked Deadshot directly in the back, sending both men flying into a frenzy of desperate attacks on one another. Deadshot backhanded Batman across the face, just as Batman punched him in the shoulder, effectively wounded by Lieutenant Nygma's blind gunshot.

"You're not leaving!"

Rendered unable to attack by the pain of the wound, Deadshot looked back as both men flew through the air, suddenly becoming panicked just before Batman could grab him again.

"What the hell're you doing?! We're heading right for the-...!"

Before he could properly warn him, the glass skylight of the Gotham City Mall came crashing apart, followed by what appeared to be two crazed costumed individuals. The crowd below them gasped in astonishment, as the two continued to fall through the air, heading right for the ground floor.

Selina hits the gas. Glass shatters and metal snaps.

"What'd we just hit?"

"The mall."

Pop up from my seat.

"The mall? The whole goddamn mall?!"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna have a hard time explaining that to the boys in motorpool."

"Look on the bright side, there's a sale at JC Penny's."

Car skids to a stop. Batman and killer crumpled on the floor. Selina and I pop out, guns out.

"Freeze!"

Gun on killer's temple.

"You ****ing move, I ventilate your goddamn skull."

 

[Andy C.]

When Captain Nazi and the Dark Angel regain consciousness, they find themselves bound by my Lasso. Forged from instruments of the gods, it can divine the truth from the souls of any mortal. These two intended to carry out great evil today, but bound as they are, they will hopefully accomplish some good in giving me the answers I need.

"What is Kobra? What do they want?"

The Nazi rolls his head like a drunkard, and answers.

"You already know that, emissary of the old gods. Our order wishes to see the old pantheon struck down, this world brought to its end in the maelstrom of the Kali Yuga, and the creation of the New World Order in its wake. Because we are many, and because we are secret, we are powerful. Soon, Kobra will step out of the shadows and reveal itself to the world."

"Who is your leader? Whom do you obey?"

"The great Kobra himself has hidden his true name for all time. No one knows who he really is, or how to find him. He comes to us when he requires our use."

So far, this is proving to be nothing more than an exercise in frustration. They follow his word blindly, yet they do not even know the truth of him.

"Where are the other Kobra operatives? You must know where the rest of your organization goes to ground."


"We are many...but we are secret...even from each other. There is one I know..."

"Then tell me."

"She was meant to hunt you if we failed...as we have. To prepare for the hunt, she now stalks another....a hero faster than the eye can see. She is only brought in to bring down the most dangerous prey, namely you and your kind. Central City...that's where you'll find her. The Cheetah craves your blood, and in preparation...she hunts the Flash."

I steel my nerves: I am no longer Kobra's sole target. Another hero is in danger, one that may not even know what he faces.

"Then I'll go to Central City, and bring down the Cheetah just as I've done to you."

The Dark Angel laughs weakly.

"You have...no idea...what you're in for. The enemies of the gods move quickly...and we grow in ranks by the day. Your time will come, Wonder Woman...trust me."

The witch's taunting is cut short when I course righteous energy through the Lasso, Zeus's lightning channeled to smite her back into unconsciousness.

All around me, dozens of police cars and special units from the federal government approach to take the villains into custody. Once the authorities have them restrained, I take to the skies once more.

The Nazi and the witch have only given me a glimpse into the nature of the enemy, but it's given me enough that I will soon be able to expose them for what they are, and bring them to justice.

I now go to Central City, and hope that the Flash is ready for the dangers he will face.

But first, I need to get back to the Interstate and make sure Trevor is still okay.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

The whole investigation into the Mardon murder has hit a brick wall. Ralph and I are unable to find any leads, no matter how many rocks we over turn.

I need to blow off some steam. I need to get away from it all to think. Nothing is quite soothing as a nice little jog...​

​

Around the world a couple of dozen times.

Continents, oceans, and landmarks all fade away into one continuous gray blur. I've never really tested how fast I can go, always too afraid of the power that lurks beneath my skin. I don't know if I can get up to light speed, but I'm pretty sure I get awfully close.

Alongside the murder investigation, tonight's date with Val is on my mind. Tonight will make it three months of going steady (Yes, I realize I sound like my parents or Jay when I use words like 'going steady').

Tonight might very well be the night Bartholomew Henry Allen leaves the world of boyhood and becomes a member of the land of men.

.........

I'm talking about doing it with Val.

I make a quick pit stop in France to assist a motorist with a flat tire and to "drain the lizard" as Ralph likes to say. After that, I'm back in Central City patroling the streets.

Coming to a stop at the corner of 3rd and Dalton, I get a strange feeling...it's like I'm being watched. Although, the fact that the Flash is on the street corner in the middle of the day means that many people are watching me...but the feeling I get is something else. Someone is lurking in the shadows, watching me for sinister reasons.

I shake the feelings off and run, weaving through the traffic on Dalton, going just slow enough to make sure I'm not being followed.​

 

[Batman]

Car skids to a stop. Batman and killer crumpled on the floor. Selina and I pop out, guns out.

"Freeze!"

Gun on killer's temple.

Several gasps echoed throughout the crowd, as each onlooker to the scene looked to the four individuals each, not immediately knowing what to make of any of them. It was one thing to see two grown men dressed in tactical costumes crash land through a glass skylight, but to have one of them be The Batman was something no one had been prepared for. As far as the public had been concerned, up until this moment, he was either an urban myth that didn't exist, or a named accomplice implicated in the murder of a Gotham City detective. Yet right infront of them, as several backed away from the scene, the vigilante was sprawled out on his back atop a marble floor, barely conscious but still trying to move. The evidence was overwhelming, to say the least.

Batman was real. And if the GCPD were to be believed, he was dangerous.

"Oh my god! It's The Batman!"

"He's real! Holy..."

"Everybody run! He's dangerous!"

"He's a cop killer!"

Voices. This can't be good.

Grunting in pain, The Dark Knight managed to push himself onto his forearm. More onlookers were gathering, but making sure to keep their distance whenever they caught a look at Lieutenant Nygma's service pistol. Many parents immediately shielded their children, as teenagers pointed to the scene, evidently excited and frantically searching for their camera phones. Tapping a button on the side of his belt, Batman watched as every electronic device near him short-circuited and died, thanks to a short-range pulse developed by WAYNETECH's engineer's.

"You ****ing move, I ventilate your goddamn skull."

Batman's head turned, as just a few feet away, Lieutenant Nygma and Officer Kyle were getting the assassin Deadshot off of the ground, attempting an arrest. But as Selina placed his hands behind his back, searching for her cuffs, Deadshot paused and smiled towards the vigilante through a rip in his mask. Batman's eyes widened, sensing the immediate danger, and leaped to his feet.

"Stop! Get away from him!"

Before Officer Kyle could react, Deadshot slammed his head backwards and nearly broke Selina's nose, knocking her onto the ground. Despite his range, Nygma was too distracted by his partner's fall to fire his weapon, allowing Deadshot to knock it out of his hands with ease and kick him back with a sharp accuracy. Nygma went flying, hitting a nearby cosmetics' display. The assassin turned around, just as Batman ran directly for him to desperately end the conflict before a civilian could be hurt.

Stepping on one of the pieces of skylight glass, Deadshot kicked it upwards and grabbed it mid-air, slicing across the emblem on Batman's chest. The Dark Knight stumbled back in momentary shock, losing the advantage in the struggle as Deadshot punched him hard across the face, knocking him onto the floor. Removing his wrist firearm, realizing that it had been damaged in the fall, the assassin grabbed Nygma's fallen firearm and aimed for Batman's head. But he stopped, looking up to realize that several people were watching him in horror. The looks on their faces were only adding to his frustration.

Raising the pistol in the air, Deadshot fired three rounds, causing the crowd to panic and run into the opposite direction. "GET THE $&%# OUT OF HERE! THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND THEM!"

Still suffering from the last punch, Batman was powerless to stop Deadshot as he grabbed the vigilante by the neck, lifted him over his head and tossed him into a nearby glass window of a shop with ease. Not allowing his enemy time to recuperate, Deadshot dived into the window himself, relentlessly punching and jabbing at Batman's head with wild intensity. Batman only took the punches in stride, allowing Deadshot to keep doing it as long as he wanted. What the assassin didn't know was what the vigilante was edging out of the side pouch of his belt.

Between each punch, Deadshot was screaming in rage.

"WHY! WON'T! YOU! DIE?!"

"Because..."

Placing a large grapnel gun onto Deadshot's chest, Batman spit blood off of his lip and sneered at the criminal, right when his finger squeezed the trigger. "You're not worth it."

Now it seemed as if Deadshot was screaming for a different reason, as he smashed through the other side of the display window and shot across the mall, landing with a splash into the lobby's decorative fountain. Batman grabbed at the edges of the window and pulled himself out of a now ruined clothing display, rolling onto the ground and walking slowly towards the area that the assassin had fallen in. Behind him, Officer Kyle stood up and grabbed her pistol from it's holster, seeing Batman limp his way towards the killer. She ran up behind him and followed closely.

"Are you okay?"

"Stay behind me."

Selina raised an eyebrow. "Right, well... I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And I don't follow orders from people I don't know."

Batman indicated Deadshot. "He's more dangerous than he looks. And he was hired to kill the both of you at every cost."

With a sneer, the vigilante looked back.

"So stay behind me."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Are you okay?"

"Stay behind me."

Selina raised an eyebrow. "Right, well... I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And I don't follow orders from people I don't know."

Batman indicated Deadshot. "He's more dangerous than he looks. And he was hired to kill the both of you at every cost."

With a sneer, the vigilante looked back.

"So stay behind me."

Rush by Batman, picking my gun off the floor.

"We have a few minutes until the cops show up. I wanna find out what this son of a ***** knows."

Deadshot in the pool, half out of it. Pull him up and on to the floor.

"Who hired you?"

 

[Batman]

Rush by Batman, picking my gun off the floor.

"We have a few minutes until the cops show up. I wanna find out what this son of a ***** knows."

Deadshot in the pool, half out of it. Pull him up and on to the floor.

"Who hired you?"

Batman places his hand on the batarang compartment of his belt, ready to disperse them in the event of anything that the assassin tries. But surprisingly, Deadshot only laughs, looking past the barrel of the gun and straight at the Lieutenant with a wild gleam. "Dunno. Why don't you just shoot me?"

Nygma obliges and pulls the trigger. To the vigilante's relief, however, he shows a small amount of restraint by aiming towards the kneecap at the very last second. But instead of a shot ringing out, only the click of the weapons' hammer can be heard.

Deadshot laughs even harder. "Classic! I emptied your last few rounds when you were taking a dive in the makeup department, you pompous jackass! And you weren't even going to use it!"

The laughter is cut short when Batman slams his knee into Deadshot's face, knocking him down and breaking the scope of his mask in two. Both Nygma and Selina look towards the Dark Knight with hesitance, but approval, as he moves in to grab the assassin.

"Enough games. Who hired you?"

"F*** yo-..."

Without warning, Batman seizes Deadshot's hand and yanks his thumb back. The sickening crack that follows can be heard by all in the immediate area, nearly drowning out the scream of pain that echoes from the assassin's mouth. He then twists it backwards, cracking it even further and causing Deadshot to gasp in absolute horror after seeing what's being done to him. The vigilante looks upon the assassin, remorseless, as he wraps a closed fist around that same hand's index finger.

"We can do this a number of ways. And all of them reach the same conclusion. You'll either tell us who hired you..."

"Or I'll make you beg them to shoot you."

 

[Byrd Man]

"We can do this a number of ways. And all of them reach the same conclusion. You'll either tell us who hired you..."

"Or I'll make you beg them to shoot you."

"Go **** yourself, man. I tell you, I'm already dead!"

Sirens getting louder. Deadshot getting more nervous. Small click.

"Was it the cops?"

"What?"

"Your employer. Was it the mob or the cops?"

"I ain't talking."

Eyes meet with Batman.

"Do your worst."

 

[Byrd Man]

IC: Vic Sage

Ten days since Julian Day was killed at Holiday's hands. The case I thought was all but won has now slipped out of my hands.

No suspects. No witnesses. No valuable evidence. Nothing...except a wild theory I may have, but it's something that it too unbelievable.

"Come on, Vic," Cris says right before he leaves to go home. "You need to take a break."

"I'm fine, man."

"Don't give me that crap. Take a break, you look like ****."

"Better to look like **** than smell like it."

"I took a shower this morning, jerk."

"Sure you did. I'm almost done here, Cris. I'll wrap it up and call it a night."

"See that you do."

Eight Hours Later

"You Sage?"A voice snaps me out of my sleep. I jerk up from my desk and see Colonel Flass standing in front of me.

"That's me, Colonel."

"Come with me."

I stretch and follow Flass down the hallways, heading into the interrogation room. He pulls out a key and locks it.

"Take a seat."

I sit down at the table and he follows suit. After a few seconds of silence Flass clears his throat.

"I have something I want to tell you."

"What is that, Colonel?"

"I'm Holiday."

"Yeah, right."

I lock eyes with Flass and don't see an ounce of humor in them.

"I'm Holiday."

Holy ****.

 

[Batman]

"Go **** yourself, man. I tell you, I'm already dead!"

Sirens getting louder. Deadshot getting more nervous. Small click.

"Was it the cops?"

"What?"

"Your employer. Was it the mob or the cops?"

"I ain't talking."

Eyes meet with Batman.

"Do your worst."

Whenever the inspiration first struck Bruce Wayne to become a crusader for justice and the good of Gotham City, he knew in his mind that there would need to be a level of restraint. A set of rules for him to follow to the most strict detail, vowing that if he ever broke even one of them while on the journey to this path, he would hang it up and retire to what he could consider to be a normal life. These guidelines would help define and differentiate him from the enemies he would wage nightly war against, and they would be the sole determining factor for the people of Gotham to consider when they needed to rally behind his symbol the most.

But whenever he heard those words, a metaphorical change occurred. It was as if the beast inside of Bruce Wayne's heart blackened out his strict moral edict to a mere few limitations to hold back the rage within him. For this moment, and this moment alone, Wayne was going to allow the darker side of his imagination to take over. And in essence, to allow The Batman gain complete control, for the sake of striking fear into those who appear to be fearless.

Deadshot just happened to be one of the unlucky few who would experience this side of The Dark Knight's wrath. Stepping forth, refusing to even acknowledge Nygma with a glance, he only uttered a simple word. Just before surrendering his mind to the darkness.

"Gladly."

At his feet, a hired killer was crumpled onto the floor, bleeding and broken and physically torn apart. But he was still smiling, and still chuckling at every attempt to intimidate him, instantly mocking the easy-to-recognize law enforcement techniques that the Lieutenant had employed. Deadshot could read it on Nygma's face, every time he glanced back at his partner. He had considered at least several different tactics to get the assassin to talk, and none of them wouldn't have worked. Deadshot was a professional, and he was more than trained to recognize the signs.

But Batman's face wasn't so easy to read. Partly because of the mask, but there was something else that struck Deadshot as irregular. It was the fact that the vigilante hadn't displayed a clear identifiable emotion through the exposed portions of the cowl he wore, other than rage in the face of combat, and desperation in the face of civilian danger. The vigilante took two steps forward and stood above him, looking out to no one in particular and lost in deep concentration. And it was in that moment that Deadshot realized something about Batman - he was just as skilled, if not moreso, than he himself was. His enemy had just been holding himself back during this entire conflict... but for god know's what reason, he had decided not to anymore.

And that, above everything else, was what finally made Deadshot afraid of him.

"Hey. Hey, wait! I don't like this. I don't like how he's-...!"

Without any particular effort, Batman had suddenly reappeared at Deadshot's side, locking both his forearm and shoulder into a tight grip. The assassin struggled, but absolutely could not move despite any attempt to free himself. Through his mask, Deadshot's eyes widened as he looked up at his aggressor, who had now become nothing more than a shadow of himself. He was more like a black ghost with no features, save for the horns and glowing eyes that pierced themselves through the criminal's startled gaze.

"Wha... what're you gonna do?"

Batman was silent. His only real response was to tighten the grip slowly, and carefully. The sweat from Deadshot's brow began to roll out of his mask, feeling the pressure build from the beginning of his shoulder to the tips of his fingers, with the flow of blood almost coming to a complete stop. Deadshot was now beating Batman's locked grip with his other hand, even though it still agonized him from the broken thumb. He didn't want to see where this was going, but he was damned if he wasn't going to try and stop it.

"Listen to me. I... I give up, alright? I surrender myself to the cops. No harm, no foul, right? I get arrested, they get to live, and everything's sweet as..."

Deadshot began to tremble, as Batman ignored his obvious lie.

"Jesus. Sweet Jesus. I'm sorry, alright?! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have taken on the hit. It was wrong, and I see that now! Please! Please, for the love of god... don't do this. I'm begging you!"

He was scared, alright. Perhaps even petrified. But not nearly enough to relinquish the name of the man who hired him to kill Edward Nygma and Selina Kyle. And for that, his words and claims, no matter how true they were becoming, were nothing short of meaningless to Batman. Deadshot was convinced that no matter how tonight turned out, he had every reason in the world to fear the man that hired him. Because as an outsider, he didn't understand what real power in Gotham City was.

This was real power.

"Oh, god... somebody stop hi-..."

The amount of agonizing pain that followed was more than Deadshot could possibly comprehend. Batman shot both of his arms in opposite directions, still maintaining the grip on Deadshot's shoulder and forearm. The end result, often used for fatal strikes in field combat, broke the shoulder off of it's bone and bent the elbow completely back into the opposite direction, flexing the skin and exposing an imprint of where the broken bone had been split. The assassin, a grown man who had seen many devastating injuries in his time, was on the verge of tears as he continued to moan like a whimpered child. Batman stepped back, enraged, allowing the arm to fall limp. Deadshot grabbed at it, but was in too much pain to hold on. He repeatedly slammed his fist onto the floor to help him ignore what he was experiencing.

But it wasn't over. Grabbing him by the broken shoulder bone and savoring the accompanied scream, Batman lifted him up by it and squeezed. Deadshot shook his head back and forth violently, trying to tell him he had suffered enough. But all the vigilante wanted to hear was a name. Taking him by the other shoulder, Batman spun and tossed him across the floor, letting him hit a nearby metal pretzel stand. Deadshot lied motionless, but clearly still very much conscious, as the soles of Batman's boots pressed hard against the ground with each step. Before he knew it, Deadshot was grabbed again, pressed against the metal, and left at the mercy of what the Dark Knight was planning. Punching him across the face, hard, Batman continued off of the left hook with a right. Then another left. Then another right, followed by a series of roundhouse punches and brutal jabs across the jaw, continuing even past the point of a fracture. The jaw was completely broken entirely, mashed into even more damage with each merciless blow.

Officer Kyle turned to Nygma in shock, unsure of whether or not she wanted to allow this to happen. The more that he continued, the more violent that Batman became, treating Deadshot more like an inanimate toy than a living man. But Nygma only glared at the killer every step of the way, seeming just as determined to hear the bastard talk as Batman was. Watching the vigilante grab Deadshot by the heel, and drag him across the floor behind him, Selina kept her grip firm on the service pistol she was holding. Batman wasn't just angry... he was furious, and Selina wasn't sure if he was even fully aware of what he was doing.

"Nygm-... Eddie. This is too much. If he keeps on like this, he's going to kill him."

Nygma didn't react. Selina looked at him, offended. "Come on, Eddie! You have to agree with that! He's crossing the line!"

No reaction. Angrily, Selina pushed past him and drew her weapon, beginning to aim at close range, directly towards the back of Batman's head. She didn't quite intend to fire it, but if she had to...

"Okay, that's enough! He's done!"

Batman ignored her, slamming his boot onto Deadshot's chest and digging it deeper, as if he were squashing a bug. Selina's eyes widened as she lifted the gun even higher, into a full-fledged aim, becoming increasingly unsure if she was going to have to shoot this man dead in order to make him stop.

"Dammit, I said that's enough!"

Finally, the vigilante stopped what he was doing, breathing hard as sweat slipped down the bottom half off his face. Shadows masked his eyes, as he looked down upon the broken heap of a man that was once a formidable assassin. Deadshot grunted, coughing up blood and spitting up a few teeth. Realizing just how far he had taken this, Batman looked down at the front of his costume, realizing that blood had stained the entire front portion of it. His mouth opened, but he had nothing to say. My god. What have I done?

"G... G..."

Batman looked back at Deadshot, who was still hanging onto his awareness. He was trying to say something. Calmly leaning in, Batman gently lifted the back of his head, so that he could speak clearly.

"Gordon."

And finally, after moments of absolute torture, Deadshot slipped into unconsciousness. He was lucky to be alive, and less likely not to be crippled for life after tonight. And it was all because of Batman, as the vigilante realized it. Because he had allowed himself to lose control. Closing his eyes, Batman lowered his head as Selina approached him, still aiming the gun without a hint of hesitation.

"What did just he say?"

"Gordon."

Batman looked down at his blood soaked hands.

"He said Gordon."

 

[Byrd Man]

"What did just he say?"

"Gordon."

Batman looked down at his blood soaked hands.

"He said Gordon."

"Drop the gun, Officer Kyle."

Mind racing mile a minute. Gordon, Flass, Essen, White Christmas, Day....Holiday.

Touch Selina's hand, pushing the gun away from Batman.

"This is the second time Gordon's tried to kill me. He sent his attack dog Driver after me the first time. Looks like he went with a private contractor this time...didn't know the city made bids on employees."

Joke falls flat. Sires closer now.

"We need to get out of here now. If Gordon hired this guy, then the last thing we need is a couple of uniforms seeing us leave."

 

[Batman]

"This is the second time Gordon's tried to kill me. He sent his attack dog Driver after me the first time. Looks like he went with a private contractor this time...didn't know the city made bids on employees."

Joke falls flat. Sires closer now.

"We need to get out of here now. If Gordon hired this guy, then the last thing we need is a couple of uniforms seeing us leave."

Batman only stares at his gloves. The crimson that can't seem to wash itself off. He had never experienced it firsthand himself, because he had never imagined himself losing as much control over his actions as just had. But the mess that was Deadshot was all the evidence that The Dark Knight needed - there some part of him was far too steeped in darkness. And if he didn't confront it soon, he feared it'd only become harder to control.

Managing to bring himself out of his momentary loss of place, the vigilante heard the squad cars coming even closer. The readouts that The Oracle was providing him indicated that they'd arrive in less than two minutes.

"Better hurry. They're coming in fast."

Nygma and Selina turned towards Batman, as he wrapped himself in his darkened cloak. "Deadshot's too incapacitated to cause you any harm in the immediate future. Gordon's your real problem, and one I intend to further investigate. I'll let you know if I find anything."

The two nodded, with Nygma leading the way back to the squad car. But as Batman stood still, he stared at Selina as she followed her partner.

"Officer Kyle."

She paused, and looked back, curious to the masked stranger's need for her attention. He only looked off, giving her an approving nod. "...Thank you."

"For what?"

Without answering, Batman shot a grapnel line at the ceiling, and swung into the night. Leaving Selina to ponder just what the vigilante had meant by that, as she rejoined Nygma in the squad car. But as Batman watched them leave the area from the sanctity of the rooftops above, he crossed his arms, still buried deep within his own thoughts. For reminding me that there's a line.

 

[Byrd Man]

Two weeks since run in with Deadshot and Batman, two major news items.

Julian Day, murdered by Holiday. Arnold Flass, head of IA, confesses to being Holiday.

Down to Homicide in the 6th floor.

"Nice call on the Day angle." Sage. Sarcastic.

"Where's Flass?"

"He's inside the interrogation room with Lieutenant Akins. Akins is something with the police union, and he's talking about Flass' rights as a union member."

Glance around. Odds on Holiday case written on a board.

2:1 - Holiday is never caught

3:1 - Holiday gets the chair

5:1 - Holiday is a cop

10:1 - Gordon is Holiday

1:1 - Sage is Holiday

"Looks like you Homicide boys are having some fun."

"Need to get in on it. I got twenty on Holiday frying."

Interrogation room opens, Akins steps out.

"What are you doing here, Nygma?"

"Major Crimes has taken an interest in this case."

"You boys upstairs only handle mob cases."

"And at this time, it's looking like these killings are related to organized crime."

"You can stand outside and take notes while Vic talks to Flass."

"No. I want in. I'm going in there."

"You do realize that, while we share the same rank, I am your superior?"

"You do realize that, while you're technically my superior, I couldn't give a flying ****? Let me in there, or I go to my Captain."

Essen hates my guts. Bullock, Driver, Montoya, and all of the MCU: ditto. Akins doesn't know. Call it a bluff.

"Fine. You go in there...but I'm watching you."

Nod to Sage.

"Lead the way, Detective."
​

 

[TrueMastermind]

Damn traffic! My intitial plan was to arrive at my destination by 3 o'clock, but that looked like that idea was going to have to be scrapped. My destination? After hours of research, I managed to figure out that the Riptide commonly visit a roughneck bar on the east side of town named Mike's. Knowing that no sane man was going to give me the exact location of Warren White for nothing, I brung a few persuasive items to assist me. And if I can't squeeze White's location out of one of these bums, I might have to settle for one of the Riptide's numerous little crews. If I can't either, some serious **** is going down.

Parking across the street from the raggedy-loking bar, I quickly see that very few civilians are roaming these streets. Exactly what I needed incase I need to make a quick getaway. Also, it looked like many alleyways littered the area, which would be good if I couldn't make it to the car. Luck seemed to be falling my way, especially since I hadn't really done any sufficient planning before racing to this side of town.

Crossing the street, some hideous hobo is giving me the stink eye. I don't like it. But with no pause, I stroll into the smoke-filled bar. The repulsive-looking thugs sipping their little Shiner Bochs turn their attention towards me and my expensive Armani suit.

Or maybe they're looking at the set of bandages wrapped around my face.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Oa


"Green Lantern in sector 218 reports multiple assailants-"

"Sector 1976 reports overrun of numer-"

<Ring Status Report, Green Lantern 2345 Deceased. Scanning Sector 2345 for replacement>

Chaos buzzes all around me. For the first time in a very long time, the corps is at war. I fly through the citadel, heading towards the command center.

"Sinestro to Salaak."

"We are in the left command center."

I push through the doors.

"Who is 'we?'"

"Us, Poozer."

All the Honor Lanterns - Kilowog, Salaak, Larfleeze, and Atrocitus- are bunched around a holographic display of the galaxy. I used to be an Honor Lantern with them...but that is something I don't talk about much.

"Where are we at?"

"We're losing," Larfleeze hisses.

"Hand and his forces appear to be massing in Sector 666," Salaak says. We all trade uneasy glances, knowing full well what took place there.

"Let me take the troops out and we can push them back." Atrocitus growls.

"We have to wait for the Guardians' approval before we act."

"Why? We know what needs to be done. We are Honor Lanterns for a reason."

"Correction, Sinestro. We are Honor Lanterns...you are not."

I fume at Larfleeze. There's never been much of a friendship between us.

"Whatever the Guardians say, we need to mass the troops. We have to protect the galaxy."

Kilowog's ring flickers slightly, a trace of Indigo light flashing.

"You're the Guardians' administrator, Salaak, There must be something you can do."

"We have to wait, Thaal Sinetro. For that is the rules."

"And a good soldier always knows when to avoid orders."

"He's right about that."

"For once, I believe Sinestro is correct."

"Let's just go already."

Salaak glances down at his pad then back up at us. He hits a few buttons on the pad.

"Very well. I have sent a recall code to all members of the corps, recruits, and trainees. Theyw ill all mass to Oa and then, we will travel to Sector 666 and end this once and for all."

Kilowog nods.

"Souds good. We'll rally around the big lantern in a half hour. May the gods go with us."

 

[Batman]

"So, uh. The entire ride gonna be this awkward?"

Hal Jordan had been in alot of tight spots in his relatively short life. And while it never helped him at all, he could never quit resorting to running his mouth to try and fix the situation. It didn't work when he was sent to the principal's office in school for fighting bullies, usually leading to the wrath of his mother, who would yell at him and patronize him for not being more like his brother and sister. Not did it work when he got discharged for reckless behavior in the Air Force, after he refused to follow orders just to pull a couple of stunt maneuvers while at the controls of a multi-million dollar F-22 Raptor. But all of that, in Hal's mind, was kid's stuff. Nothing more than childish fun, interrupted by a few hotheads posing as symbols of authority over him.

Those incidents were nothing like this. Strapped to the passenger's seat of a car doing 70 miles per hour in a 55 mile lane, Hal glanced over at the embittered driver of the vehicle, who just happened to be his ex-wife: Carol Ferris-Jordan, the current manager of operations at her father's Coast City-based airport, Ferris Airlines. The stress of that job, added to the fact that the airline name was a chain brand, with multiple ports around the country, and Carol was right to be a little bit moody. But today, she was more than that. She couldn't even describe the ways that she was enraged, driven to the near point of insanity whenever she tried to wrap her head around it. And all because of the man who was sitting right next to her, the same man that had broken her heart and betrayed her trust.

Hal didn't even realize how much trouble he was in. But he could tell, just by her look, that Carol wasn't in the mood for joking around. He had just been jailed on the charges of theft and trespassing on private property, after a robbery in Ferris Airlines' supply hangar had been staged the previous night. But Hal was innocent, despite how bad it looked. He actually was set up to look like the thief by the influential 'businessman' Hector Hammond, who just happened to be a man that Hal owed money to. Hammond wasn't known as a particularly patient man, so when Jordan couldn't meet his demands, he had him framed. That was one thing, but Hal couldn't even fathom how much Hammond screwed him over by involving his ex-wife in this.

An ex-wife who, in her rage, was now doing 80 and climbing on the speedometer. Hal sunk into the leather of the seat, trying to think of something to say that would calm her down. But nothing came to mind. When Carol was like this, as he knew fully well, she had to reach a level head on her own. And until then... nothing short of hell and high water would be wise to stand in her way.

Defeated, Hal looked back over, as Carol continued to ignore him. "Look, maybe it's too late for this, but I should thank you for posting my bail. Though god knows, you didn't have any reason to."

Finally deciding to say something to a man she wanted to strangle, Carol looked over with the angriest stare that Hal had ever seen in his life.

"You're damn right, I didn't."

"But you did, and I'm grateful for that. If I could repay you somehow, I would."

Carol looked over, eyebrow arched. Her tone off of the richter's scale of bitter.

"You want to repay me? Repay me? For what, Hal? For paving your way back into a miserable little existence?"

Surprised, Hal tried to speak, but Carol cut him off. "Or how about the three years of my life that I spent without a single phone call, or a single word from you? Do you want to 'repay me' for the fact that when you came back, it took everything I had to not to kick you off of the highest cliff in the city?"

"Look, I know you're mad, but-..."

"No, you don't know! You never did! And I honestly don't think that you would've even cared! I spent the best years of my life with you, Hal. And instead of showing me the love and affection I tried to provide for you every day of our marriage, you turned around and left me without so much as a reason. And now?"

Carol sneered. "Now, you're trying to hurt me through my father. When you couldn't find a way to destroy me any more than you had, you just had to go after him."

Hal looked at her again, taken aback. "What are you talking about? You don't actually think I'd steal that fuel from your base, do you?"

"Why not? You obviously never had any sense of honor or integrity, so I can't think of any conceivable reason that you wouldn't of."

"What the hell, Carol? That's not fair! I'm telling you right now, I didn't steal anything! And I definitely didn't go out of my way to hurt your precious ego!"

"They found the tanks in your apartment, Hal! What else is there to say?"

"How about 'I believe you, Hal'? What's so hard about saying that? There used to be a time when you could take me for my word."

Carol kept driving, slowing her speed down just enough to avoid the attention of a nearby traffic officer. "You're right. There 'used to be'. But that time is long since gone. There isn't a single reason I should trust you anymore."

"Look, Hector Hammond planted those tanks in my apartment, alright? I owed him some money from my last job, and I couldn't pay up in time."

She rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Carol. You're not going to get on my ass about that too, are you? I need to make a living for myself, so I took on a few jobs. I didn't think they'd get me into this much trouble."

"Working for Hector Hammond? Oh, sure, that's perfectly legitimate. The man's only been running this city dry for years, avoiding dozens of court hearings and making his competition disappear along the way. You're not that naive, Hal. You knew perfectly well what you were getting into. You just didn't care."

Hal tried to think of an argument against that, but he didn't have one. She was absolutely right. He knew damn well what kind of a monster Hammond was, but he had gone through so much in the last few years that there was nothing to stop him from getting involved with the man's business. And now he was paying the price, in a very big way.

"You're right. I should've seen it coming... I just wasn't thinking."

Carol narrowed her eyes. "When do you ever?"

The car pulled into the side lane, and drove up onto a hill. Hal looked around, noticing that he recognized the neighborhood they were approaching. It was theirs. Or her's, rather, since she had kicked him out of the house they used to own before the divorce papers were filed.

"What are we doing here?"

"You're coming by the house."

"What for?"

"To get the rest of your stuff. I haven't had any room for it in the past few months, so I'm giving it back to you. I tried calling you before, but you never answered."

Hal tried to smirk, but couldn't. "Phone bills. Couldn't keep up with them."

Carol was unamused.

"We're going to get your stuff, then I'm driving you back to your apartment. Then you can work on repaying me for everything you've done."

"Really? How?"

"By getting the hell out of my life. And staying out of it."

Hal frowned, and looked off. Of all the things that she had ever said to him, which was a pretty colorful amount... that had to hurt the worst. But who could blame her? He had treated her pretty bad over the past few years, and he didn't even know why anymore. All that he knew was that it was just at the top of a very long list of mistakes that he had made in his life. He didn't mean to hurt her, and he wished with all of his heart that he could take it back, and go back to the way things were. Before all the fighting and the tears and the heartbreak and lies.

Before the Corps.

I was too late.

Several planets beyond Hal Jordan's marital struggles, a fallen warrior was breathing what would become his final breaths. Abin Sur, Green Lantern of the designated Sector 2814, barely felt his own body as he propped himself against a large rock on the deserted sixty-third moon of Jupiter. He had successfully managed to intersect the path of several orbiting black rings, sent by the corrupt William Hand to claim hosts of Earth's dead, for the pure reason of hatred for the planet that spawned him. Hand knew it had been filled with life, and looked to begin a plague of the living dead at Abin Sur's expense. But the Green Lantern had refused to give up easily, and followed the rings for several millions of miles, through hundreds of sectors to stop them. But such a brave action may have very well have cost him his life.

When the rings had passed the planet of Rao, several parted from the swarm and took on hosts from the dead of that race's populace. The Black Lantern-infused Roans attacked Lantern Sur mercilessly and without hesitation, opening several wounds that Hand's onslaught had started. And even though Abin Sur fought them with great determination, and eventually avoided them altogether, the damage had been done. Sur was bleeding to death, unable to move or gather the strength to fight on. The threat of the black rings were contained, but only for the moment. Undoubtedly, Black Hand would learn of his own failure and seek retribution by traveling to Earth himself and unleashing an army of the undead to bring the human race into extinction, as a final horrifying act of mass genocide. And there would be no one to stop him, as the Corps' light began to dim from this onslaught.

There was only one hope left. Abin Sur looked down towards his hand, and the ring he had proudly worn for many years of service. There was another, once, that he had helped train to become a Corpsman. An Earth man who had shown great promise. He abandoned the oath in favor of his own virtues, but perhaps it was not too late to change his mind. Perhaps now, in the face of the Blackest Night, a warrior could rise in place of he himself to take on a fight he could no longer win.

Removing the ring from his finger, Abin weakly looked towards it with a great amount of sorrow, pleading it to heed his final commands.

"I-... I cannot do this any longer. The Blackest Night was too strong for any of us to overcome. I have failed my Guardians, and failed to bring light back into the universe."

Abin closed his eyes. "But where my failure ends, there is another who can redeem us. Someone who can aide the fight to restore order and justice to the cosmos."

Holding out his hand, with the ring in his palm, Abin mentally commanded the ring to encase itself in it's own power battery. The battery appeared in place of the ring, clasped in Lantern Sur's weakened hand. He looked at it with eyes of dread, but behind them, there lingered the faintest sign of hope.

"Find him. Give him my message. Make him one of us... before it is too late."

Without pause, the Lantern glowed with life, and rocketed into space itself. Abin Sur watched it head towards Earth, and laid his head against what would become his final resting place. He spent the remainder of his time in reflection of a life well lived, with loved ones of the past and present flowing through his mind. The Corps, long live them, would endure. He was sure of it. The Lanterns that remained would somehow be able to overcome the prophecy, and William Hand would be left without a shred of darkness to hide behind.

The rest was up to his replacement.

 

[Byrd Man]

"For the record, state your full name."

"Arnold John Flass."

"Date of birth?"

"November 15th, 1972."

"Current employer."

"You know this."

"For the record..."

"I'm a Colonel in the Gotham Police Department, commander of the Internal Affairs division."

"And you're the serial killer known as Holiday?"

"Yes."

"What was your motive?"

"...My motive? Didn't really have one. I just did it for ****s and giggles."

"I don't buy that. I've studied the case files, been to every crime scene. Holiday is out for more than ****s and giggles. This is personal for him. These are crimes of revenge."

"...So I'm a jaded employee of the city, so what? It happens all the time. Postmen snap and gun down civilians...why can't I snap and murder a few people."

"It's your pattern. O'Hara, Sol, Hill, Maroni, and Day...all of them prominent people in the city, almost all of them have had shady dealings."

"So the **** what. I'm...Holiday."

"Notice a bit of emotion in your voice...what's wrong, Flass?"

"I'm Holiday! Lock me up, throw away the goddamn key! Take me to Arkham, just take me away!"

"Why?"

"Please! You gotta lock me up."

"What are you scared of, Flass?"

"It's him! Holiday! He's coming for me...Oh, God...I'm next, I just know it."

"You're confessing to be Holiday just so you can get away from the killer?"

"Please...If you can keep me safe, then I'll spill my guts out about it all. O'Hara, the other Holiday victims, White Christmas."

"Tell us now."

"It's not safe here. Transfer me to county, and then I'll talk."

"The next holiday is what, Easter? If we can keep you safe until Easter, will you talk?"

"Yes! I'll tell it all to you, just let me live!"

"Give us something to go on! Anything!"

"...Look through the Admin Narco unit's paperwork the year White Christmas happened. That gets the ball rolling, but please keep me safe!"

"Do you know who Holiday is?"

"I'm not 100% sure, but I have a real good idea. I won't talk until I'm at county."

"We'll keep you safe, Flass. I promise."
​

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Lanterns rush around me inside the Citadel, all preparing for the upcoming battle. Even now, as we prepare what could be our final stand, moral crippling news comes from Sector 2814. Abin Sur, one of the corps' greatest warriors, has been defeated by Hand himself.

It's with Abin Sur's death on my mind that I decide to send one last message. Holding my ring close to my mouth, I begin.

"Begin recording....My Dearest Arin. It has been many weeks since my last transmission, and for that I am sorry. Events on Oa have taken a turn for the worse, as it looks like the corps and all we stand for will be smothered by the approaching darkness. Even I have felt fear. Fear of the coming Blackest Night we will face. Even now, as we prepare to make a stand, fear can be felt throughout the whole corps. Feeling fear is only natural, it is the ability to overcome fear that makes us special. I will not sugarcoat it for you, my love, there is a good chance I may never return home. If that is the case, I want you to live your life to the fullest and make sure Soranik grows up to be the lovely woman I know she is one day destined to be. Remind her that, even though her father is gone, he still watches her from high above. Also inform Ranik Tui that his daughter, Katama Tui, will be under my protection. I shall make sure nothing happens to his daughter as long as I can draw a breath. I have to go now. Regardless if I make it back or not, know that I love you and Soranik more than I have ever loved anything. Be safe. All of my love...Thaal."

I send the transmission out into the reaches of space, bound for home. That out of the way, I turn my attention back to the Citadel and the upcoming battle.​