The Ultimate DC RPG - Season III

[Spike_x1]

"So, Natasha says that you apparently have some important information for me regarding the Parasite, Mr. Kent?" Partially suited up in his astonishing armor, Dr. Irons steps forward and shakes my hand as I walk into the room. After waiting outside of his lab for a few minutes and refusing to disclose my information to John Henry's niece, I can imagine that he's pretty eager to see if I have anything of value to say, or if I'm just wasting his time.

"I know that you must have had your fill of journalists trying to get an exclusive with you and your recent induction into the Justice League. After all, you're now the only member whose civilian identity is public knowledge." I can already see the look in his eyes. He thinks I weaseled my way in here for a quote. You're not off to a good start, Clark. "But. That is not what I'm here for, Dr. Irons. Now," I instinctively pause and look around the lab for any eavesdroppers, momentarily forgetting that my eyes and ears aren't quite what they used to be anymore, "I know that I can trust you, but you have to understand that this information does not leave this room."

An understandably skeptic John Henry doesn't reply for a few moments before finally shaking my hand in agreement. "Okay. You have my word."

In what I'm sure must have felt like an eternity to Steel, I take a deep breath and remove my glasses and unbutton my shirt, revealing my uniform beneath.

"I'm Superman and I need your help."

"...Glasses? Well, now I feel like an idiot."

If you are watching this specially recorded broadcast, a superhuman conflict is about to occur, or may already be in progress.
First, seek shelter.​

It takes several hours of testing here in his lab, but Steel eventually comes to the conclusion that my power loss is thankfully temporary. To my surprise, my invulnerability was already back on the rise, but I hadn't realized it because it hadn't been put to the test lately. Needless to say, John Irons had an interesting time trying to draw blood. And my powers seem to be returning faster and faster. At this rate, he's estimating that I'll be back at full strength within a matter of hours. As thankful as I am to hear that the Parasite won't have my powers with which to rampage through Metropolis for too much longer, there is still the question of how to deal with him even when I am fully powered. He beat me before without even a challenge. How can I prevent that from happening in a rematch?

Of course, that's where we're hoping that Steel's ingenuity can save the day.

I'm just lucky that he had a spare suit of armor hanging around his lab.

No matter what happens, stay indoors. Attacks of this nature, although often devastating, tend to be brief.
If possible, try to find eye and ear protection where you are taking shelter.​

Over the past day, I've been digging into the character of Max Jensen, alias: Rudy Jones, and found that he was always a very petty man, a thug with no particular aspirations or ambition before realizing he was in over his head and wanted for murder. Even now that he's had such devastating powers thrust upon him, he remains the same; the raw power to overthrow countries, but he's still in his old frame of mind. I wish that I could say that my research into Rudy Jones' character was helpful in finally tracking him down, but the truth is that all we had to do was keep tabs on which banks he hasn't yet robbed, and then set out to stop him at the scene.

Where would a hulking purple monster spend the money he steals, anyway?

Okay, two men in suits of flight and strength-enhancing armor stepping up to confront a supervillain with the powers of Superman. We can do this. After all, the Parasite's stolen abilities have to be waning as I slowly get them back, right?

If, during the emergency, you come into contact with men and women possessing extra-normal abilities or power, do not attempt to communicate or interact with them in any way.
Even those who have been on the side of the law in the past may be under mind control by dream psychics or space starfish, or they may be evil robot duplicates. It's not a risk that you or your family should take.​

Rubble piles around me as gravity takes hold of the crumbling wall that the Parasite just sent me through. I don't think I'm injured, but I'm obviously still not as strong as Jones yet, and he thankfully hasn't thought to recharge himself by ripping through my suit.

Metal and concrete slides off my back as I begin to force myself back to my feet before I see a woman screaming for help, just out of reach. Before Steel and I made our entrance into the bank, the surrounding police told us that all civilians had freely made for the exit, as the Parasite's "appetite" was apparently still sated thanks to the hearty meal he had taken from me the other day. I guess the police had miscounted.

"Ma'am, stay down." The suit's servos whirr loudly as I finally get to my feet and rush to the woman's side. I just hope that Steel can hold his own against the Parasite until I can safely get this woman out of here."Hold on to me tightly, okay? We're going to be--?" I'm not sure if it's my super hearing returning, or if the fight between Steel and Jones is just that loud, but they're about to make another hole in the wall, and it sounds like it's going to be big.

>WARNING: SUIT INTEGRITY COMPROMISED!<

The blinking warning flashes across my visor, but I override the automated repair protocols. I can't afford to take the necessary time out. As the smoke clears, I see Steel limping badly, but still as determined as ever. His hammer is nowhere to be seen, and large chunks of his armor has been ripped away.

"Steel, get this woman to safety!"

As John Henry looks back to me and nods, the flames behind him disappear as the monstrous figure of Rudy Jones steps through, absorbing the heat.

"I'll handle the Parasite."

Avoid direct eye contact; they may emit X-rays and other damaging forms of radiation.
Some can change size rapidly or reach temperatures equivalent to the surface of the sun in seconds.

Many have no regard for human life.​

 

[Byrd Man]

Previously

Spoiler

Castle Dubrinsky
10:45 PM

The Bronze Tiger lead Nightshade and Count Vertigo through the catacombs below the ancient Romanian castle. They had pistols in one hand, flashlights in the other. Vertigo had a bag slung on his shoulder, inside of it was at least two dozen explosive devices.

"Alright, start placing the charges," Turner said, shining his light over the dusty walls. "You still got the map, Vertigo?"

"Of course," the Valatvian noble turned criminal said. He pulled a handheld device from his pocket. It showed a layout of the catacombs and the weak spots in the castle foundation. "Flag said just a few charges in key spots will be more than enough to bring the castle down."

"Let's use them all," Turner said with a smirk. "Overkill is underrated."

*****

Rick Flag, Deadshot, and Skinner Sweet were pressed against a wall. Sweet was in front, his claws still out. "Why the **** didn't Waller tell us about this?" Lawton asked Flag.

"Because who the hell would believe her if she told you what we were really facing?"

"You and I fought a giant woman in South Africa, and Nighthade is some sort of shadow monster thing. Compared to that, what the hell difference are vampires gonna make?"

"Keep it down," Sweet hissed. "Someone's coming."

Further down the corridor, a lone figure walked in the shadows towards them. "Soon as he see us, he's gonna be on us."

"I got 'em," Lawton said, aiming with his left gauntlet. The gun cracked and sent the sentry down to the ground. A moment later, he rose, his eyes fiery-red. "****..."

The vampire charged towards them. Sweet stood up, baring his fangs and claws. The two vampire collided and rolled across the hallway floor. The two undead creatures fought and struggled against each other. Flag pulled his pistol from the holster and shot point-blank. The wooden bullet struck the vampire attacker in the head, causing a blood-curdling scream to emit from his mouth. Smoke poured out of the open wound as he fell back to the ground. Dead.

"That's why I said use wooden bullets, Lawton."

"Nice shot," Sweet said, standing and wiping the blood from his shirt.

"So, what's your deal, Sweet? Why are you helping us to kill your own kind?"

"They ain't my kind. I'm what a buncha smartass scientist call Homo Abominum Americana. An American Vampire. These ***holes are the ones who turned me into what I am. A monster."

"Revenge? I can admire that."

"Whatever it is, we need to move. The whole damn castle probably heard our shots. They'll be on us in a minute."

Sweet smirked, flashing his claws. "Good. Let me give 'em a taste of what I can do."

*****
​

In the catacombs, Vertigo and Bronze Tiger were attaching C4 charges to spots in the foundation while Nightshade walked around, keeping an eye out for anybody else.

"Try to hurry up, please," she said back towards the two men. "I'm getting an uneasy feeling..."

"Almost done, Eve," Turner called back. He slapped a charge to a wooden support beam and set it to blow.

Nightshade shined her flashlight on a secluded part in the catacomb, away room the rest of the beams and structures. There was a group of nearly a half dozen coffins stacked against the wall, all their doors were swung open.

"No," Eve said under her breath. "Not them..."

In the darkness around her, red eyes blinked into view. First a pair, then two, then four, and then eight.

"Ben," she called back, dropping her flashlight. Her hands lit up with dark energy as eight vampires pounced at her in the darkness. "RUN!"
​

Castle Dubrinsky
Romania

Rick Flag, Skinner Sweet, and Deadshot walked down the hallways of Castle Dubrinsky. Flag and Deadshot walked point, firing their weapons at the attacking vampires that leaped at them from the shadows. The wooden bullets sent the undead abominations to the ground, dead with smoke curling from their wounds.

"We're coming up on our target," Flag said. He dropped his assault rifle to the ground and whipped out his pistol, shooting an encroaching vampire in the head.

The three men burst through the door into the room. It was a large hall filled with guns, explosive ordnance, chemical artillery shells, and biological canisters.

"Goddamn," Deadshot said with a whistle. "Now that's what I call a stockpile."

"Ya hoard money and trade weapons for nearly a thousand years, you'll get a nice stack too. All of this is for sale?"

"Auctioning it off to the highest bidder," Flag said, reloading his pistol. "Terrorists, criminals, whoever has the most cash. Go ahead and place the charges, Lawton. Concentrate the blast on the canisters. Let the fire kill those viruses first."

Without warning, a figure came out the shadows and drove Flag to the ground. A snarling vampire barred its teeth at him and prepared to bite his neck. A large claw came in and knocked the vampire off Flag.

"Wanna try that with me, mother****er?" Sweet hissed, his fangs out and his claws extended. Sweet turned to Flag and nodded before charging the vampire.

"Hurry up with those charges, Lawton," Flag shouted to Deadshot as he crawled on the floor looking for his gun.

*****

Bronze Tiger and Count Vertigo looked at Nightshade with shocked expressions. She was covered in blood, the the headless bodies of eight vampires scattered around her.

"Eve," Turner said. "What the hell are you?"

"A long story," she said, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the blood from her face. "But all you need to know is that there are worst things in the darkness than vampires."

"While she was doing... that," Vertigo said, pointing towards the bodies. "I placed the charges."

"Good. Let's make our way up to the rendezvous point with Flag."

The three members of the Suicide Squad turned and headed up from the catacombs.

*****

Gunfire erupted from Flag and Deadshot's guns as they shot through the door at the advancing horde of vampires. Behind them, Skinner Sweet traded blows with the vampire that had attacked Flag.

"Come back for more, Sweet?" The vampire chided, slamming Sweet into the wall. "Your last visit here was, what, twenty years ago?"

"Twenty-five," Sweet spat. "Figured you're remember since I tore your little buddies' goddamn face off!"

"His name was Vincent," the vampire said, swiping at Sweet. Sweet dodged the strike easily, stabbing his foe in the throat with his claws.

"Yeah, that's right," Sweet chuckled. "I forgot y'all where, uhh... what's the polite word for this? Bumchum?"

The vampire scowled as the blood poured from his throat wound. Sweet just smiled, twitching his wrist and slitting the vampire's jugular. His foe collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from his body.

"Here they come," Deadshot said, pointing further down the corridor. Turner, Vertigo, and Nightshade were battling against a pack of vampires.

"Lay down some covering fire."

Lawton and Flag opened fire, providing cover for the rest of the team as they ran through the corridor. Vertigo activated his eyepiece as he ran, throwing off the attacker's balance with his beam.

The three members of the Suicide Squad came into the room, firing at the encroaching undead.

"Charges are planted," Bronze Tiger said, pulling his gun and striking a vampire with a wooden bullets.

"Eve, we ready?"

"I need some time," Nightshade said, forming a ball of dark energy with her hands.

"Time is something we don't have," Flag said, firing into the hallway. After two rounds, his gun dry-fired. Behind him, Lawton's gauntlets clicked empty. "And ammunition. Time and ammo, we don't have."

"**** it," Sweet said, walking towards the door. "These sons of *****es want me, so I'll give it to 'em."

"No," Flag said, reaching out for Sweet. "Nightshade can do it."

"Just make sure those bombs go off," Sweet said, extending his claws. "As long as these ***holes go up with me, I'll be happy."

The vampire jumped into the fray, taking on the dozen or so bloodsuckers in a mass of bodies.

"We're ready," Nightshade said. In front of her was a portal, shimmering with energy.

"Ben, detonate charges and move out."

Turner nodded and pressed a button on his belt. The ground shook beneath them as they jumped through Nightshade's portal.

The bombs throughout the castle exploded, enveloping the building in a fiery ball. In the middle of the chaos was Skinner Sweet, fire and dying bodies all around him. There was a hint of a smile on Sweet's face as the fire and explosion enveloped him.
​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald prepares to enter one of Central City's finest restaruants The Crouching Lion.

Several papparazzi are snapping his picture as word has travelled fast about his arrival. He smiles and waves to the cameras and even poses for a couple of pictures and signs a few autographs on the way in for people who ask.

Oswald enters and the Matre'd says, "Ahh Mr. Cobbleppot it's an honor and pleasure to have you here this evening."

Oswald replies, "Thank you my good man it's always a pleasure to be here in your fine city."

The Matre'd says, "If you'll follow me sir Mr. Barrett is waiting for you in a private dining area."

Oswald motions and says, "Lead on please."

Oswald follows the Matre'd to the private dining room where high-powered media baron Peter Barrett is waiting for him.

The Matre'd says, "The waitress will be here in a few moments to take your drink orders."

Barrett says, "Thank you Henri."

The two men shake hands and sit down.

Barrett asks, "So Oswald what brings you to our fair city?"

Oswald replies, "Just checking on my investments, and checking on my other ventures as well."

Barrett nods and says, "Understood. I just got word our shipment from here is on it's way to the rebels in San Lunca."

Oswald nods and says, "Excellent I assume your crew knows nothing of it."

Barrett says, "Absolutely they think they're filming a documentary, and our contact will intercept the shipment about 5 miles outside the border. Everything is set and the money will be in the account within a week."

Oswald says, "Well done Peter. Well done indeed."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Atom tries to struggle but can't move. EncantaDora says, "so tell me Atom how does it feel to be in such a vulnerable state. Knowing that at any moment I can end your life or make you do anything I want."

The Atom glares at her and then notices something.

Each time she has used her powers that green shard around her neck is glowed. Not to mention the orb it's just like the one Waller used on me more than once, and this paralysis same exact form and circumstance as when CADMUS caught me the first time. This is all...

The Atom says, "I've been through this before. I made it out alive, and I'm about to do it again."

EncantaDora says, "Don't be so sure. You're hardly in a position to do anything about it."

The Atom says, "Not yet but with the following phrase I'm about to. I don't believe in you. You and your powers they aren't real."

The green shard dims dramatically and EncantaDora stumbles back.

The Atom says, "I'm not sure exactly why you are killing people and so forth, but without that shard around your neck you're nothing."
The shard dims even further and The Atom feels the paralysis fade away.

With the she floats and there is murmuring within the crowd as though they are awakening from a deep sleep.

The Atom then floats quickly behind EncantaDora and removes the necklace.

She throws it down a drain behind the stage and says, "It's over EncantaDora. Your days of ruling these people's minds are over, and your cult is over."

EncantaDora says, "No it can't end like this! No I won't let it!"

She lunges at The Atom who side-floats and punches EncantaDora on the jaw.

The Atom looks at Brother Eli who is starting to come out of his mental fog and says, "Can you get to a phone?"

He nods and the police are called along with Pete Ross. The Atom discovers that EncantaDora was a wanna-be psychic who dabled in the mystic arts. She was employed by a shadowy figure who was promised wealth and power in a new Gang Organization if she kept the police busy. Pete tried to explain more but The Atom asked if she could just go home she was done.

The Atom rode the cell-phone signal back to Kent's apartment.

She transforms back into Rhiannon and she tells Kent everything.

When Rhiannon is done telling him about her mission the two of them lay together on the couch

She says, "Right now I just wanna stay here with you and just be. Not worry about the Legion of Doom, Lex or anything concerning a mask or any of that."

Kent says, "I know what we can do."

Rhiannon says, "I love you but right now I'm really tired."

Kent says, "Not that, altough that is always a good choice. I was thinking of doing something online"

Rhiannon looks at him and he asks, "Care to do some apartment hunting?"

She is stunned and he says, "I figure you're here most of the time anyway, or I'm at your place so why not move in together."

Rhiannon thinks for a moment and says, "All-right let's do this."

 

[Spike_x1]

Spoiler

It takes several hours of testing here in his lab, but Steel eventually comes to the conclusion that my power loss is thankfully temporary. To my surprise, my invulnerability was already back on the rise, but I hadn't realized it because it hadn't been put to the test lately. Needless to say, John Irons had an interesting time trying to draw blood. And my powers seem to be returning faster and faster. At this rate, he's estimating that I'll be back at full strength within a matter of hours. As thankful as I am to hear that the Parasite won't have my powers with which to rampage through Metropolis for too much longer, there is still the question of how to deal with him even when I am fully powered. He beat me before without even a challenge. How can I prevent that from happening in a rematch?

Of course, that's where we're hoping that Steel's ingenuity can save the day.

I'm just lucky that he had a spare suit of armor hanging around his lab.

No matter what happens, stay indoors. Attacks of this nature, although often devastating, tend to be brief.
If possible, try to find eye and ear protection where you are taking shelter.​

Over the past day, I've been digging into the character of Max Jensen, alias: Rudy Jones, and found that he was always a very petty man, a thug with no particular aspirations or ambition before realizing he was in over his head and wanted for murder. Even now that he's had such devastating powers thrust upon him, he remains the same; the raw power to overthrow countries, but he's still in his old frame of mind. I wish that I could say that my research into Rudy Jones' character was helpful in finally tracking him down, but the truth is that all we had to do was keep tabs on which banks he hasn't yet robbed, and then set out to stop him at the scene.

Where would a hulking purple monster spend the money he steals, anyway?

Okay, two men in suits of flight and strength-enhancing armor stepping up to confront a supervillain with the powers of Superman. We can do this. After all, the Parasite's stolen abilities have to be waning as I slowly get them back, right?

If, during the emergency, you come into contact with men and women possessing extra-normal abilities or power, do not attempt to communicate or interact with them in any way.
Even those who have been on the side of the law in the past may be under mind control by dream psychics or space starfish, or they may be evil robot duplicates. It's not a risk that you or your family should take.​

Rubble piles around me as gravity takes hold of the crumbling wall that the Parasite just sent me through. I don't think I'm injured, but I'm obviously still not as strong as Jones yet, and he thankfully hasn't thought to recharge himself by ripping through my suit.

Metal and concrete slides off my back as I begin to force myself back to my feet before I see a woman screaming for help, just out of reach. Before Steel and I made our entrance into the bank, the surrounding police told us that all civilians had freely made for the exit, as the Parasite's "appetite" was apparently still sated thanks to the hearty meal he had taken from me the other day. I guess the police had miscounted.

"Ma'am, stay down." The suit's servos whirr loudly as I finally get to my feet and rush to the woman's side. I just hope that Steel can hold his own against the Parasite until I can safely get this woman out of here."Hold on to me tightly, okay? We're going to be--?" I'm not sure if it's my super hearing returning, or if the fight between Steel and Jones is just that loud, but they're about to make another hole in the wall, and it sounds like it's going to be big.

>WARNING: SUIT INTEGRITY COMPROMISED!<

The blinking warning flashes across my visor, but I override the automated repair protocols. I can't afford to take the necessary time out. As the smoke clears, I see Steel limping badly, but still as determined as ever. His hammer is nowhere to be seen, and large chunks of his armor has been ripped away.

"Steel, get this woman to safety!"

As John Henry looks back to me and nods, the flames behind him disappear as the monstrous figure of Rudy Jones steps through, absorbing the heat.

"I'll handle the Parasite."

Avoid direct eye contact; they may emit X-rays and other damaging forms of radiation.
Some can change size rapidly or reach temperatures equivalent to the surface of the sun in seconds.

Many have no regard for human life.​

I watch as Steel smashes through a crumbling wall, and then picks up the woman and carries her to safety. Now that they're out of harm's way, it's just me and the Parasite.

"Heh. Well, ain't that a surprise. It's not every day that your meal wraps itself. What's with the getup, Kent?"

I can feel the rays of his vision pounding away with both force and fiery heat. Thankfully, Steel was able to incorporate reflective plating into his armors that deflects large portions of the full effect of the blast. The fact that Jones' stolen powers are getting noticeably weaker doesn't hurt, either.

But he still knows who I am.

"I just tore Irons apart like he was covered in tissue paper. And out of the two of you, he's the one who's experienced at piloting one of those tin cans. You really think you can beat the odds and take me in a rematch?"

He's still stronger than I am, but I can't let him run loose, with or without my powers. Combined with my own returning speed and strength, I surprise both the Parasite and myself with how quickly I take off and slam into the monster, sending us both smashing through piles of debris and into the street. When we hit the pavement, the force of the impact dislodges me from my opponent and we both skid apart.

"Alright. Still got juice left in the batteries after all, huh?"

He tries to act tough, but I can hear it in his voice. He's frustrated. Not so sure of himself anymore. Not far from acting out of desperation.

I need to end this now, before lives are lost.

I described to Steel how the Parasite stole knowledge from me as well as my powers, and he wondered if that might be the cause of so little loss of life at Rudy Jones' hands. The villain doesn't care one bit about the fragility and sanctity of human lives, but he hasn't killed anyone except for Hellgrammite since gaining my abilities. Maybe my... essence, for lack of a better term, has been making him pull his punches around those who can't take it. And then there's the question of whether or not he's even aware of that influence, and if it will fade away as my powers slowly return to me. Either way, I'm not taking that risk.

I take flight again with a familiar whoosh of air, forgetting to even activate the suit's jetboots. I can tell that Rudy's reflexes are getting slower as his my stolen invulnerability absorbs the punches that I'm throwing and forces him to involuntarily expend more and more of the energy that he took from me. And then I finally see bruising begin to form beneath his eye, and I stop. Have my powers returned? Does that matter? He's still a towering monstrosity and a danger to everything around him. But can I even punch him again without taking his head off?

"C'mon, I'll give ya one more for free." I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. Whatever mutated organ that used to be his human heart beats loudly in his chest with anxiety. He's shaking, but on the verge of a rage. "Gimme your best shot." I'm taking this window of opportunity while it's still open.

As soon as I throw my fist, I know I've made a mistake. I'm still moving at high speed, but it feels like my arm is moving through molasses. That's when his smile catches my eye, the fanged grin telling me that I just did exactly what he wanted me to, even before his giant purple clawed hand flashes up and catches my fist.

"You got me, Blue. I don't have enough left of your powers to melt you down and sell you and your suit for scrap. But, without your invulnerability shielding my body from attacks, I can soak up a great big load of kinetic energy instead." He plants his foot firmly in my chest and sends me reeling back into a parked police squad car, caving in the passenger side. I'm going to take the fact that the impact didn't hurt me at all as a good sign.

"Everyone hold your fire!" I yell as the SWAT teams take aim now that the Parasite has separated himself from everyone else. "You'll only make him stronger!"

~Now that's usin' the old noggin!~

It's that voice again! The one that told me earlier that I would eventually get my powers back, right before I visited Steel.

~I mean, sure, it won't help you right now. You're sure not fully recharged, and that ugly brute still has enough fight left in him that there'll be an awful lot of collateral damage before we're all through here. And nobody wants any o' that.~

After my work alongside J'onn J'onzz, I recognize the 'sound' of telepathy. ~Who are you? What do you have to do with any of this?~

~Just call me Black. And boyo, I'm your lucky charm.~

As the Parasite and I charge toward each other, a sudden flash of light ignites behind Rudy's eyes and I can see his body go limp and slump to the ground while I jog to a halt by his unconscious body.

"That was... odd."

Lieutenant Inspector Dan Turpin lights a cigar and cautiously emerges from the ranks of his fellow officers and steps to my side. "Whatcha do to 'im?"

 

[Batman]

"You know, for someone who's big on talk... you leave a lot to be desired in action."

I don't even listen to what he says. Ears are still ringing like a snare drum, ambience all around me. Distorting the environment. Could be the amount of blood loss from the gaping shoulder wound that continues to puddle drops on the ground. Might be the kick to the head I had to suffer in order to land a roundhouse to his chest. Or, hell. Maybe it's just pride that's not letting me listen. But I can certainly hear him from up there, casually walking between the crates, watching me try and limp through the shadows. The massive steel plates imbedded on the soles of his boots crunching on tired old wood. Shouldn't complain. His general lack of anything resembling subtlety is probably all that's keeping me alive.

"Still hiding, huh? Playing into the tired old tactics of this town? Shame. Now you're just beginning to bore me."

Used to think this guy was a complete joke. And I think it's because he was. Whenever we first met, whenever he attacked Gar, he seemed a hell of alot more conflicted. Torn between a bizarre form of psychosis, barely able to register in the fight, let alone probably know his own name. He was laughably easy to get the drop on with the combination of Gar's metahuman abilities and my knowledge of every cornerstone of this city. And even then, laughably easy was pushing it. The man still held the skills of a world-class master assassin. He'd have killed us then if it weren't for two very high strokes of luck. The fact that he was outmanned, and the fact that he couldn't tell which personality he wanted to go with for the fight.

"But I've got all night, boy. And I earned this, after the way you left me to rot. So let's try and have ourselves a little bit of fun."

I can't rely on luck anymore. Somehow he's cured himself, or at least subdued that other side of him long enough to gain a sharper sense of direction. And for the forseeable future, I'm very much on my own. Definitely not the winning combination I was hoping for, going into my plan for the evening. Which was all but scrapped the moment that he showed up on the scene. What's he doing here, anyway? Don't buy the revenge angle. Too convienient. He's had months...

And even I'll admit, to someone like him? I'm not usually considered worth that amount of time.

It's always been my home field advantage. It's what I used to respect about my position in Gotham. I was never one of the big fish. Sure, I put out a few fires. But to put it in terms my father would have used, I was always seen as the underdog champion. If I could ever command an ounce of respect from the filth of this city, it was never enough.

I used to believe I liked that about myself. But too much has changed in my life. Too many hardships, not enough victories. And in moments like this, when I'm lying down, bleeding in the corner, I begin to realize...

I want more.

"I'll show you my idea of fun..."

As he strolls ever closer from above, I pull out one of my 9.mms and weakly begin to stand, fighting off the pain that shoots through my arm. Damn shoulder's gonna be a liability. That blade he's anchoring, it's made for precision. Cut directly through the armor, all three layers of it and the jacket combined. And he's very adept with it's use, could barely avoid it whenever he struck out. Shouldn't have been my shoulder, should've been my head.

C'mon. This is the pain talking, Jason.

This isn't you. You're the underdog.

What do underdogs do, huh?

They get the hell up.

"Found you at last."

I stare up at the crevaces of the night's sky above and see him, holding the bloodied sword in both hands, ready to reign down hell itself upon me. But he's smart about it, evidenced by the lack of an immediate attack. He silently gauges my reaction, slowly turning the blade around his fingers so that the moonlight shifts off of the reflection. He's studying me. Looking for new ways to make me hurt. To make me suffer.

"What do you say, protector?"

"Up for round two?"

I aim the gun at him, jamming back the safety with my thumb. Won't be able to hit him with that much protection to block the impact. He expects me to do it anyway. Practically begs me, the way he leaves himself wide open. But I don't give in. Only a fool would take that chance. And to be honest, after all the pain, all the blood... I'm beginning to have a different sort of tactic in mind.

"Always,"

I lift the gun high and begin to pull the trigger. But right before the bullet is sent flying out of it's barrel, I twist the chamber towards a nearby propane tank lying on the edge of the docks. Noticed it whenever I made my way in here. Figured it'd play a part in my siege on the drug runners. Never would've imagined I could use it this way.

*BLAM!*

Naturally, the tank doesn't react well to having a compressed flammable liquid suddenly be hit by friction and force, throwing us both off with a small explosion. But whereas he didn't expect the sudden change of plans at all, I have a headstart, picking myself up off of the ground and shuffling through the shadows once again - heading towards the city.

"But it's gonna be on my terms! You want me?! Come and find me!"

I take a glance back as I steadily stumble into a run. For a moment, he seems amused. I could swear he's even laughing in the distance. But sooner or later, he starts to give chase, yelling about how I'm much more of a coward than he remembered, or something equally as trivial.

Just gotta focus on where I'm leading him. If this assine plan manages to work, I won't have to worry about this walking variable for the rest of my life.

That's it, big guy.

Follow the money.

 

[Eddie Brock]

It's hard to tell how much time I spent waiting, but maybe that's only because I'm aware that every second I waste is just a little bit further that I am from Star City and rescue. Either way, I know that Hackett's plan is to keep me alive, which means someone has to come and feed me eventually. With that in mind, I find the exit door to this compartment and simply wait. I try to come up with a plan, something to give me some direction, but I still don't know what I'm facing out there.

I've damn near dozed off to sleep when the handle creaks. I chastise myself for being so careless while clambering back into position behind the door. As the thick slab of steel swings open, I hold my breath. An Asian man - Taiwanese, from the look of him - with a stringy beard and a gut enters the compartment. I don't give him the opportunity to realize something's amiss. Jumping onto his back, I pull the chain on my handcuffs across his neck and hold. After fifteen seconds of struggle, the crewman drops like a sack of potatoes.

Not bad, but he was alone and unarmed. And I had the element of surprise.

I search his body and am pleased to find that serendipity has seen fit to smile upon me. Attached to his belt are a set of keys, and I'd bet half my fortune that one of them unlocks my handcuffs. Sure enough, I find the proper key and free my hands. After cuffing the crewman to a nearby railing, I tuck the keys away in my pocket.

Okay, Ollie... what's your play?

The plan hasn't changed. Get to the bridge, no matter the cost. Find a way to subdue this ship's captain. Use the ship's radio to call for help and bide my time until said help arrives.

I'm suddenly missing my bow.

With the first phase of my escape completed, I let myself out of the dark compartment. Unfortunately, it's not much better outside, as night has fallen while I waited. Still, this works to my advantage. I can move undetected, with any luck. Unfortunately, I still don't know what I'm up against. As footsteps approach, I duck behind a shadowy staircase.

An armed guard wanders by, no doubt doing rounds on the ship. I decide to wait. Some time later, the same guard passes by. This next time, I count Mississippi's until he returns. Once I've learned the timing of his rounds, I'm ready to act. As he passes the fourth time, I step out from my hiding spot and begin heading in the opposite direction.

As a feared, the dark Pacific Ocean stretches out beyond the horizon in every direction. It's impossible to tell just how far I might be from the nearest landmass. Allowing myself to get lost in thought, I almost don't hear the guard approaching in time. I quickly dive behind a shipping container and wait some more.

When the coast is clear, I orient myself on the ship. To my dismay, the bridge is located on the tower at the far end of the vessel. It seems like miles of stacked shipping containers separate me from there. Even worse, crew members are patrolling the labyrinth of shipping containers. Even if I knew my way around, I'm not sure I could slip past unnoticed. Of course, I've prepared myself for this.

You knew it wasn't going to be that easy, Ollie.

Staying low to the ground, I begin tiptoeing towards the ship's stern - and the salvation it promises...
​

 

[Batman]

"It's coming soon. The metamorphisis. Try not to resist."

There were very few things Selina Kyle would admit to being afraid of. Coming from a troubled home, suffering a troubled existence, her experiences had hardened her outlook of most of the world's given nastiness. There was alot of Gotham that made her outraged. More of it that provoked her passion. Substantially less that brought forth any of her affection. But none of it truly struck a keen, raw, and primal fear so strong that it would cause her to relapse and turn back on everything she had ever learned wearing one her many masks - whether it was as a beat cop on the GCPD, an heiress to a vast fortune, a skilled cat-burgular with an axe to grind, the bodyguard of a billionaire playboy, a con-woman looking for a cheap thrill, or even the newest one that she'd yet to fully accept. Vigilante.

All Selina felt right now, as the inside of her own body was invaded by the foreign plant, was an overwhelming sense of panic. And worse yet, defeat. Tears streamed down her face as her life flashed before her eyes, bringing about images ranging from her late mother's caring eyes to her father's hateful glare, all the way down to the face of the child that she was convinced would never get to see the better life that Selina had promised. It was in that moment that Catwoman, the face of the mask that she wore and the strength of a woman scorned, seemed to disappate from above the surface - leaving poor and broken Selina in it's place.

She didn't know what was worse. Realizing that had happened, or knowing that it'd be one the last realizations to ever cross her mind.

"Once the toxins rest into your blood stream, your cellular code will begin to evolve. I wouldn't fight it, because it's actually helping you become better. Stronger, more beautiful than you could ever be. It's the miraculous work of an artist I wish I could begin to know."

Selina tried to move, foolishly hoping that she had somehow regained partial control over herself from those horrible plants. But all she felt were her bones wrigling inside of muscles and skin, like they were trapped in a prison. The toxin, she thought, was the culprit. It must have done something to her body to make it resist her mind's desperate commands.

She focused on what was ahead, trying to see if she could take hold of the situation through meditation. Of course, all that she could see were vines, covering the faint outline of the woman loitering over her, controlling the plants that were doing this. Selina couldn't see Poison Ivy entirely, but she heard the serene wickedness echoed through her voice.

"I occassionally hear it's voice. Calling out to me, through the seams of the Earth. Whispering tales of the plants' suffering. That was how I knew that they were the great victims."

"Mff! Mff-uhnff!"

Selina's eyes widened, surprised to learn that she could still utilize her voice, despite every other nerve being rendered unusable. Poison Ivy only seemed to pause, momentarily curious, before continuing on with her attempts to 'reason' with her captive.

"---And that's what ultimately allowed me to accept the transformation. Once you feel the tranquility of the rebirth take effect on your entire being, to take it's hold and mend you into an ideal form, then you'll wish you had never been born a mammal. And you'll thank me. You'll thank them."

A flower blossomed in Ivy's hand, stemming forth from having rooted within her blood. She could control the plants at absolute will. But Catwoman wasn't paying attention any of that. Holding onto the faintest glimpse of hope whenever her vocal chords reacted, she focused all of her mental capacity towards her jaw, trying to move it with a high strain. Sweat beaded down her forehead, replacing the horrified tears from before, as she made herself a promise.

Even if she failed, Selina refused to go like she had been threatened to before. Scared out of her mind, unable to cope with the reality of her situation. She would die with the strength earned from every memory that's haunted her. She would die with dignity.

That lone moment of willpower distracted her from noticing what happened next.

Her jaw began to move.

"Not so talkative now, are you?!"

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I mean, yeah - I've got the plan pretty much down in my head already, just need to make the run for a couple more blocks. But it's the taunting that takes me by surprise. People call me cocky, and they underestimate me because I like to deal in the verbal blows almost as much as the physical. But when it comes to a real threat, or at least, when it comes to someone I don't know that I can beat? I've always known when to shut up. So what does that say about the maniac chasing after me, other than the fact that he's taking his sweet time, idly strolling the rooftops behind me --- and somehow getting closer with every step, even as I feel the strain in my ankles from running like wild.

It says he's not all that he's cracked up to be. Somewhere, there's gotta be apart of me that still sees him as the schitzophrenic-wannabe idiot that Gar and I dispatched. I just gotta find which part of me thinks that, because every other part is envisioning a scenerio where I get gutted like a trout and strung up, in sections, over the Plaza.

"No, but you sure are..."

My eyes widen as I practically feel his breath on the back of my neck. First instinct is to lunge forward, and I thankfully take it, narrowly avoiding a swing of that massive blade he's hauling around. I barely have enough time to roll and spin before he's reached for his sidearm, effortlessly exchanging weapons in a fluid motion of his hand. This guy has gotta have some serious ****ing training to be able to pull off half of the stuff he's done in the last second alone. How the hell did he sneak up on me so fast?!

"Let me guess. This part wasn't in your plan. Let me save you the grief, it wasn't much of a plan. You ran like a coward and I tracked you down like a wild turkey."

I lock eyes with directly with the barrel of the piece. 36 caliber. Easy to dodge.

With plenty of range.

"Well, darn. You just plain figured me out."

"Cutesy isn't gonna save you this time. I promised to bring back your head. And I keep my promises."

I'm not exactly sure if I had a smirk on my face whenever he pulled the trigger. But I sure as hell do now, as I toss a throwing star from the sleeve of my jacket directly into his piece. It doesn't knock it out of his hands - he's wearing too much armor for that - but it does cause enough of a spark for him to hesitate just enough to misfire. I run directly at him while he's distracted, leap, kick into his chest with both boots, and launch myself into a backflip. The distance I gain is minimal, but it's enough. By the time he aims for another shot, I've turned and regained my footing, running back onto the trail.

He gives chase, and it lasts a whole three minutes before he starts to get pissed.

"Oh, you think I'm playing with you, boy?! You're just digging the grave! It's gonna happen sooner or later, you hear me?!"

Perfect timing. We just reached our destination. I leap off of the last rooftop and dive directly for the skylight adjacent. Unless my luck's run out and the guy behind me's suddenly gained half a brain, he should soon follow. And then the real fun can begin.

"SOONER OR LATER!"

 

[Eddie Brock]

"In the latter part of their reign, when rebels have become completely wicked, a fierce-looking king, a master of intrigue, will arise. He will become very strong, but not by his own power. He will cause astounding devastation and will succeed in whatever he does. He will destroy those who are mighty, the holy people. He will cause deceit to prosper, and he will consider himself superior. When they feel secure, he will destroy many and take his stand against the Prince of princes."
Daniel 8:23-25

Oberon Sexton rose with the sun, as he always did on days of worship. As those first few golden rays of sunlight came through the window, he got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He glanced briefly at himself in the mirror, his hideous scars bearing witness to a tragedy long past. The good Lord had seen fit to spare Oberon, and so his life must have purpose. He sought to live that purpose with his every action.

His shower was short and warm. After scrubbing the dirt and grime from his body, leaving his skin pink and fresh, Oberon carefully washed his face. The scars had stopped burning long ago, but the warm water against them stung all the same. He relished the discomfort, in a way. It was a form of self-sacrifice. When the shower had ended, he dried his face first - patting the disfigured skin lightly with a soft towel.

Oberon dressed himself next. He had laid out his clothes the night before, so as to save time. A black button-up shirt, navy pinstriped pants and a matching blazer. The gloves went on next, white and pure. Lastly, the mask. He hid his scars not out of shame but out of respect for others. The glasses, a pinkish-red tint, served to protect his damaged eyes from too much direct light. Grabbing his top hat, Oberon slunk out the door.

Saint Abel's cathedral was a short, three-block walk from Oberon's apartment. The building had long been abandoned before the Saints of Gotham. When Oberon inherited it, it was a hangout for drug addicts and destitute alike. The altar was desecrated, the pipe organ removed. It stank of human suffering. With the help of the church's devotees, the cathedral had been restored to its former glory. Fresh paint inside and out, reconstructed pews, a brand new organ. It became a house of worship again - a place worthy of the Lord's presence.

Oberon knelt at the altar and prayed. The service would begin soon, and his people would look to him for guidance out of the darkness. He prayed that he might show them the path to righteousness. When his prayers were done, he began making preparations for the mass. Before long, the bells in the belltower - long silent from years of disuse - began to toll. Oberon thanked the Lord for another day of worship as the mass began.

"Brothers and sisters," Reverend Sexton began, with a voice which filled the cathedral, "let us begin, as always, by acknowledging and thanking the Lord for the new faces all around us." The Reverend smiled as he looked out across his congregation. He had come so far. The church was full, so much so that the faithful had taken to standing against the walls once all the seats were taken.

"Let us also pray for those who have not yet seen the light," the Reverend continued, "for the Lord says in the Gospel of John, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.' If we do not accept the Lord, and if we do not accept his teachings, then we condemn ourselves to eternal damnation!"

The Reverend paused, his final declaration still echoing in the vaulted ceiling above all their heads. As he rested his glove hands on the pulpit, the Reverend spoke again. "Truly, I say to you, it is not easy to find the path of salvation. For there are false prophets all around us! Evil men who twist our minds with their lies and their treachery! You know of whom I speak!"

The congregation roared up in agreement.

"The Gospel of Matthew warns us of these wolves in sheep's clothing! How easy it is to fall victim to their masquerade, but I say to you that these men do not serve our Lord!" The Reverend's voice trembled with great foreboding. "They are hellspawn! Demons, come to seduce the weak and weary! Will you allow yourselves to be seduced?"

The congregation thundered back a reply.

"For we have the power of faith on our side," the Reverend reminded them, his voice booming like a drum, "and the righteous shall never be oppressed by Satan or his evil agents!" The Reverend threw his hands into the air and shouted to the heavens, "Rise up! Rise up, and let the world hear your strength! Let all those who would prey on the fearful know that our power is the Lord, and He shall never be destroyed!"

Across the Narrows, the earth-shaking cries of the devout rang out into the early morning like a great voice which would never be silenced. And at the heart of it all, Reverend Oberon Sexton felt their combined power and knew that the Lord smiled upon them all.
​

 

[Batman]

"ARRRGH!"

Clutching at her chest, Poison Ivy dropped to her knees as an overwhelming pain consumed her body. Even in agony, she cursed herself for being so oblivious of her captive's method of defense, feeling the numbing lack of a stem wreathe back in anguish as it was split in half at it's core. But that was nothing compared to the anger that seethed through her eyes, as she weakly glanced up and saw Catwoman begin to rip and tear at the weakening vines that constricted her. Contrary to what she should have been feeling, Selina was in no such mood, focusing only on her attempts for freedom. Part of a plant was still stuck inside of her body, the dead remains of what she had violently bitten off that laid in the inside of her stomach, through the throat and up into the mouth, but she could still breathe through her nose. Fluids gushed forth from the stem of it and freely slid down her chin, but she ignored the sting of them, managing to free one of her hands by biting through the thick vines. She could feel her body regaining some of it's movement, despite the paralysis agent that had nearly rendered her defenseless.

"You... you hurt... hurt my..."

Nevertheless, she was far from out of the woods. It took a substantial amount of concentration for her to even force her left arm to reach towards the right, relying solely on the claws in her gloves to slice through the parallel vines. Fighting off panic due to the lack of oxygen from her throat, Selina managed to free the upper half of her body from restraint in a space of seconds - a feat that was particularly impressive, Ivy realized, given that the toxin she had subjected the woman to usually managed to nullify the entire body, rather than simply the neck down. What on earth had allowed her to regain movement so quickly, right before the toxin was about to reach it's secondary stages? Was it simply luck? Ivy didn't think so. The determined expression on her prey's face as she weakly climbed out of the cacoon made from hardened vines said it all.

She was far too stubborn to accept the change. And that meant that there was nothing to be gained by leaving her alive any longer.

"...CHILDREN..."

By the time that Catwoman fell onto the floor, dazed and overcome by a residual numbness in her joints, Poison Ivy was already forming a series of deadly plants from the pores of her body, joining together and combining into something of a jagged, spiked tendril. Gritting her teeth as the creation of such a large and living weapon became a strain on her abilities, she pushed aside the physical stress and raised her hands, causing the tendril to vault forth and rise into the air like an angered cobra.

"I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOUR PATHETIC, HATEFUL RACE! WE ARE NOT TO BE BROKEN DOWN BY THE LIKES OF YOU! NOT ANYMORE!"

With a glimpse of satisfaction behind her hatred, Ivy sent the tendril into an attack that rocketed directly for Catwoman, just as she forced herself to stand on wobbling knees. Her agility had been severely compromised for the moment, so she knew exactly what was going to happen before it even reached her. Simply grimacing and allowing it to come, Selina felt the full force of the spiked plant barge into her with the force of a train, slicing apart the mid-section of her armor and sending her body flying back, hard into the wall.

"Ggk!"

"I'll kill you all..."

Walking over to the damaged plant that had been bitten apart, Ivy caressed the dying stem and consoled it in her hands the way that a grieving loved one would comfort someone they were about to lose. A deep, dark green ooze streamed out of her eyes in place of tears, heightening the fact that the woman that may have once been Paula Irving was long since dead, replaced by something that only physically resembled a woman. Her wrath was that of a monster's, unrelenting and cold. And as the severed plant twitched, sending signals back to her of pain, Ivy could only turn to the barely alive form of the woman that had done it with malicious intent.

"I gave you a chance. If you value anything at all, then I'd advise you to remember that in the moments to come. You chose this by interfering. This is your fault. I won't be responsible for what happens next..."

Catwoman wasn't listening. Despite the fact that she could feel herself blacking out, having endured too much physical harm to continue on as she was, there was a voice screaming out from the back of her mind. And as much as she tried to resist hearing it, it only became louder as the seconds became more dire.

GET UP! GET UP AND FIGHT!

YOU'RE STRONGER THAN THIS! YOU'RE BETTER!

SHE'S NOTHING COMPARED TO YOU, AND YOU'RE STILL GONNA LET HER WIN?!

WHAT WOULD MOM SAY IF SHE SAW YOU LIKE THIS?!

Her eyes glanced down at the man before her. Nathan Gambol, staring back up with a blank expression, his body completely stilled and unmoving. Without her concentration on controlling him, he was nothing more than a shell of his former self. He had been practically just as killed by the raving, psychotic woman as Mario Falcone had been just days earlier. But the realization of that miserable idiot's death wasn't what had caught her attention the most.

It was what he had still firmly gripped in his hands, seeing the black of it's metal glistening off of the glare of the overhead light. Despite the mess from the fight, it was as clear as day, noticeable amongst the rubble from the walls and floors. Selina stared right at it for the longest time before she accepted what she'd have to do.

WHAT WOULD HE SAY IF HE SAW YOU LIKE THIS?!

For the smallest moment in time, the image of Bruce Wayne - or rather, Batman - flashed across Selina's mind. Ever since he had been dispatched and rendered comatose, the city that he had once so nobly sworn to protect had been overtaken by relentless chaos. He was once her inspiration, and his example had secretly been the guiding force behind the path that she eventually took for herself. Wayne may have been taken down in action, but the magnitude of his crusade had taught Selina a valueable lesson.

Even when the chips are stacked against you, fight until the very last breath. She had always suspected that it was how he had gone out before left to his current fate, so even if she followed him, she was determined to do so with the knowledge that she was just as strong. Not out of loyalty to any man, but out of thanks to one man's idea of a city with hope. Selina finally felt as if she could admit it freely: Without that, she may have never worked up the strength to embrace everything she really was.

A fighter.

"Oh, don't even try to pull yourself up. You'd only be making it worse than it's already going to be. Because trust me, if your body isn't broken..."

Selina weakly reached towards the glimmering object in Gambol's hand. Determined. Unafraid.

"...then I'm going to destroy everything else. By night's end, when the city is mine, we're going to bathe the Earth in your blood. Then reap the spoils of this piece of hell itself for everything that it's worth."

Ivy brought up several more tendrils from deep beneath the Earth's soil, all quite willing to follow her every physical and mental command. But even as they came closer towards that side of the room, prophecising the horrors that were sure to follow, Catwoman managed to grab the hilt of the weapon that Gambol had been made to use to shoot someone waiting for him in cold blood. Digging her fingers into the metal, she slid the gun over to her, grabbed it and adjusted it to her fingers, and raised it high into the air, aiming directly for Poison Ivy's chest.

At first, Ivy didn't seem to react to this direct threat. But then, she laughed.

Infact, she continued to laugh, making it clear that she took no seriousness in the situation.

"Wait. You have got to be joking. You're going to shoot me? Are you truly that idiotic of a creature? Do you honestly think you stand a chance against me with that pitiful thing?"

Hoarsely, despite the plant jammed down her throat, Selina sneered and gave her attacker a reply, as Ivy's question forced itself across her mind.

Did she think she stood a chance?

"...Yes..."

BLAM!

 

[Batman]

"Gonna hide all night like this, boy?"

Even as he taunts, I can hear something in his voice that I wasn't sure that I'd ever hear from a world class assassin like him. Uncertainty in the kill. It tells me that my plan is working, despite the overwhelming odds that would lead me to believe the contrary. I've lead him straight into the darkness of a warehouse that lies on the most isolated side of town. I'm quite familiar with the place, because I was just here a few hours ago, putting together the arsenal that I'd need to distract Falcone's men and seriously cripple their drug cartel for another few weeks. An effort which, well, Trigger-Happy Pete here managed to completely put to waste. But I'm not complaining about the fact that he's after me. I'm actually pretty relieved that he's been sent back. Better to know where he's fencing around now than to find out later, when it's too late.

"Hh. Fine. I was never one for hide and seek, but the reward's plenty worth it..."

That infared visor on his helmet is gonna make things difficult, but not too difficult. At least, not enough to greatly hinder my plans in any way, given that I can put everything together fast enough to still keep him on his toes. It's funny, but when Burke told me to watch my back a couple of weeks ago, when I visited him in the hospital during a recon, I never thought I'd be hearing those words bite me in the ass the way that they are now. Someone sent an assassin after me. Why, I don't know, but I doubt it was in their best interest to send someone with a personal vendetta to try and get the job done. If I wasn't so busy trying to cover my own mistakes and sticking my neck out for a hapless thief, maybe I would have seen it coming sooner. There are channels. There are ways to put your ear to the ground.

None of that matters. If they want me dead, they're gonna have to try a little harder than this.

I unfasten the crates gently, silently. Then advance through the darkness like a church mouse. He doesn't even glance in my direction, much less fire wildly into the shadows. He's not as dumb as he looks. Then again, that's mostly because he looks pretty goddamn dumb. I've got my work cut out for me, so this had better go off without a hitch.

"This is embarassing."

Glancing back, I hear him tear into a crate of supplies. None of my crates, but something full of very expensive equipment. He decimates the cache with one swipe of his sword, hoping that I'm hiding inside. Wish I could see the disappointment on his face.

"Honestly. If it were anyone else, I might have understood the cowardice, but you're the top of the food chain around this place. No one's managed to take you out, not the mob and not the cops, and you go running at the sight of me? I should've stuck to trying to off the Bat. Even if he is dead, he'd make better sport."

I pause at the mention of Bruce. Don't know why it does, but hearing him brought up in the midst of all this makes my blood run cold. The way that he said it, too. It just strikes a nerve in a way that I've never felt before. Was he actually sent here to kill me, or am I just the sloppy seconds now? Everyone wants a piece of the big Bat, but I'm seen as nothing but a second rate amatuer by comparison. Riding the coattails of a man who couldn't even defend himself against a...

My fists clench together tightly. This anger, I'm guiding it in the wrong direction. I've done alot of that lately. This idiot's the enemy, not Bruce. Not the man I once called my friend. If anything, he's the reason I should fight harder than ever before. Because he can't do it himself, and I'm still here.

Throwing my voice to the other side of the room, I put an old parlor trick to good use and kneel against the back of a weapons' rack.

"So that's what you're after, huh? Better sport?"

I can practically feel him turn towards the opposite wall, reaching for the automatic attached to his side.

"And here I was, thinking that you'd changed after our last little encounter. Sure, you've got some fancy new toys and some bigger teeth to grind, but it's really about the exact same thing, isn't it? Killing for the money, like a down-and-out hasbeen who's reached the apex of his prime."

The gun isn't silently lifted out of it's holster. It's all but tossed out with a flick of his wrist, an audiable sign of the surge in anger that courses through him.

"Hold still. This'll hurt."

BRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKA!

By the time that the smoke rises and the wooden crates in that corner are all splintered away, he waves off at the air and allows it to disappate, hoping to see my bloodied and silent corpse lying in the debris of his little tirade. Which, of course, he doesn't get to see at all. I hear him kick something over in complete frustration, angrily turning back towards the other side of the room. Which I'm now stalking away from, just so that this doesn't end quite so early.

"Nope. I could swear that I didn't feel a thing, actually."

"Laugh it up! You think this is accomplishing anything? Don't think you're gonna rile me up for long with a few schoolyard taunts. I've dealt with bigger fish than you'll ever be. And the money?"

He trains the laser sighted scope of his weapon through the dark, hoping to spot me. I almost want to give him a hint, but this is too priceless.

"The money was a perk, jackass. They wanted me to kill Batman. They're after all of his buddies now, and he was just the last one left to assimilate. No one had to take the job for much. But I leapt at the opprotunity, and it wasn't for him."

I sneak behind him and keep going, knowing that he's too trained on the dark to ever stop and think he should turn around.

"I'm touched. Feeling a little nostalgic?"

"Nostalgic? Heh. You honestly think you're worth that? When I told them about you, they didn't even know who the hell you were. As far as they were concerned, Gotham was his town. Nobody else was left to catch their interest, but I knew who they'd overlooked, and when I got the go-ahead to proceed with a secondary target... I knew exactly where to set my sights."

He talks a big talk, but I'm just trying to keep focused on the task at hand. Just a few more crates to unbox, and I'll be ready to show him what I've been working on. Let him keep talking at shadows, I don't care anymore. He came here to settle an old score, but if he wanted it so bad, I'd already be dead. Instead, he drifts into here like a lamb to slaughter and all but whines about being forced out of Gotham with his tail between his legs.

And I'm pathetic?

"You want to go on thinking that what you're doing matters, and I'm the hasbeen? Go ahead. I won't stop your naivety. But you've got to listen to reason for once. This war you and your pointy-eared friend have been fighting? All for nothing. I've done my research, crime in this town is at an all-time high. The police have all been bought. You've got nobody on your side, and you're dumb enough to keep fighting against armies. If I hadn't come along, someone else would have eventually done the deed. You're a relic. A shortended fad that faded away the moment that the crooks in this town wisened up and realized you were nothing but a punch-pulling, weak minded fool who hid himself away behind a glorified biker helmet."

I get into position, as he trails the center of the room, removing the sword from the back of his armor. Either he's about to take another potshot at the crates, or he's starting to realize what I'm about to do. This fight hasn't even begun, and I've been spending the entire night warming up for it. Running? Fleeing? All to give myself the nessecary edge and the time to put together something that he can't even hope to possibly escape from. As far as he's concerned, I'm just another fool that'd run in half-cocked and ready to trade blows.

That was his mistake. And it just cost him pretty much everything.

"Oh, what's the matter? Suddenly got nothing to say? Did I hit a little too close to home?"

"Actually..."

To his surprise, evidenced by the way that he looks up at the room around him, all of the lights immediately turn themselves on in a simultaneous command. He glances around, still disoriented, until he realizes who's standing a few feet directly infront of him. I simply stare back at him, completely visible, as he raises the automatic and immediately aims squarely for my heart.

"I was just thinking about how much we're gonna laugh about what you just said, in a couple of minutes."

The gun clicks, as he prepares to squeeze the trigger. I'd be a dead man right now.

If he weren't a few seconds too slow.

"I'm gonna laugh about it, all right."

I narrow my head and indicate my palm, holding a wireless frequency trigger. Dialing the remote as his eyes rest on it aswell, he looks around the room as the crates that he didn't destroy - the ones that I intentionally directed his attention off of - suddenly spring to life all around him and reveal several active military-grade turrets. Apart of a discarded application courtesy of the Waynetech R&D Department. Behind the helmet, I give him a slight smile, raising the trigger into the air, thumb on the button.

"Not as hard as me."

TOOP! TOOP! TOOP! TOOP! TOOP!

Every single turrent fires a high-impact round directly on him at once. That was another thing that I had to get out of the way, sneaking around to avoid his direct line of fire. Had to redirect all of the focus sensors towards the center of the room, which predictably, he waltzed straight towards in the middle of his grand proclaimation.

I only stand and watch, as he's hit in every direction, complete with sparks flying off of his armor and his limbs flailing in every direction. He drops both the gun and the sword simultaneously, only opening himself up for further attack as he stumbles into a crate, nursing massive, smoking dents in his armor. Weakly, he tries to pull himself up, but I press the button again.

DEET!

This time, the ceiling props itself open and lets a panel fall, revealing a minigun turret automatically spins and aims, locking itself onto his heat signature. I can swear that for a moment, he holds his hand up at it as if to say 'stop, no more', but it's far too late.

CRACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK!

The bullets crater into him at blinding speed, creating large cracks into the thick armor plates and blasting away what little holds together at the seams. He cries out in pain as a few bullets finally knick him across the leg and pass right through his left arm, spraying droplets of blood against the lower half of the wall.

The minigun stops. He drops to his good knee. Then weakly looks over at me, as I take a step back. He only stares, stunned, as I raise the button once again. The turrets that surround me have an activation light. When it's red, it's on standby. All of them flash from red to green by the time that I press the button. If I could see his face, I'm sure that the color would have easily drained from it.

"What's the matter? Suddenly got nothing to say?"

TOOP! TOOP! TOOP!

TOOP! TOOP! TOOP! TOOP! TOOP!

Now entire sections of the armor start getting hacked away by the rounds. What was once an orange and blue ensemble becomes nothing more than a blue playsuit, soaking with bloodstains and knocking him back a few good feet, forcing him to stumble the entire way into a wall. Beyond a doubt, this is the worst thing I've ever done to a piece of filth like him. This is beyond torture.

And if I'm to be honest with myself. I love every minute of it.

Finally, the rounds cease and his spine hits the wall, leaving him with groaned pains and nothing but half of a ballistics helmet to show for his new suit. His eyes - well, one of them, anyway - only roll back into his head for a moment, before he catches himself.

He's not dead. Not yet.

But that's about to change, because just as he begins to slide towards the ground, I run over and scoop up the heavy blade from the ground that he dropped. With a precisive manuever, I let it all go - all of the anger, the frustration, the general hell that my life's been for the last few months - and focus it all into one swift stab into his shoulder. The blade exits the other side as he screams out, and embeds itself deep into the wall. I clutch tightly to the handle of the blade and twist, watching the blood seep out as he only bites his lip, fighting back pained tears of agony.

"Bet that hurt."

"****! ****! ****! ****! YOU SON OF A *****! YOU FREAKING PSYCHOPATH!"

"Really? We've moved up a tad on the name-calling ratio, haven't we? Bit of a stretch to go from 'punch-pulling, weak minded fool' to... that."

"****! IT'S STILL TRUE! IT'S STILL TRUE, DAMMIT!"

Letting go of the blade, but keeping it stuck in the wound, I reach over and rip away what's left of his helmet to reveal a broken down old man in an eyepatch. Blood coating the tips of his charcoal goatee, eyes burning with hatred at me. I wore him down physically, but mentally, he's still as much of a fighter as he ever was.

"You think this... nngh... this changes anything?! You're still a joke! People see what you... nggh... what you did here, all they're gonna see is an impressive lightshow! You and your kind are nothing but a... nggh... but a bunch of showmen! You think this scares me?! I know all about you! You like to put on a big display, but when it comes down to the real work, none of you have the balls! That's why you're a... nggh... you're a fad! Capes and masks alone don't cut it in a world like this! You want to make a difference?! A real difference?! Then pick up that gun, put it at my face, and pull the..."

Pressing the button a final time, I turn around as the minigun turret detatches from the ceiling, revealing straps that make it ideal for a handheld assault. Suddenly, he starts to look confused, as I pick up the large weapon, throw the straps around my shoulder, grab the handle, and haul it back over to him, aiming the canon barrell directly at his face.

"Let me guess. Like this?"

He stares at it for a moment, but remains relatively unconvinced.

"You wouldn't."

Just as soon as he finishes his sentence, I grab the trigger and prepare to fire. The barrel spins around in 360 degrees, but nothing comes out of it. The weapon only clicks, signaling the fact that it's ran out of ammo. I glance down at it, checking to make sure, as he catches his breath and silently begins to laugh.

"I... I... I knew it! I knew you didn't have the stones! It was all a trick!"

"Actually..."

I hold the gun up, still as if I'm about to fire, even though there's nothing to fire with.

I could have blown his brains out right then and there. I removed his head protection. He should be nothing but a puddle on the floor. But I ran out of ammo before it could do the job.

Yet, that didn't stop me. I was still going to do it. I was still going to fire this gun, giving no thought to a lack of rounds, and blow him all the way to kingdom come. I didn't count the bullets. For all I knew, it still had plenty. Which means...

I was fully prepared to take a life tonight. I wanted to kill him.

And I'll be damned. I don't feel nearly as bad about it as I thought I'd be.

"I didn't know whether this thing was still loaded or not. Sure, you could say I counted, but I think you and I both know that I didn't. Not for a damn second. As far as I was concerned, you were right. You were absolutely right, and I realized it. I am a relic for playing it the easy way. The simple way, using the methods that I was taught to bring the dirt of this world down, but not put it down. And you know what? I was a weak minded fool for that. I let myself think it was enough..."

I click the gun again. The barrel spins.

He isn't laughing anymore.

Infact, that look I imagined he gave earlier? He's giving it now. He's white as a sheet.

"No more. After today, I'm done screwing around with you people. We tried it our way, and you threw it back in our faces. One of the best men I ever knew is fighting for his life because he held onto the belief that there was a better way than your way. But you know what? There isn't. For all of your simple minded cowardice, you figured out what needed to be done with people like you before we ever did. And you're right. We did look like fools for it."

I remove the straps and let the minigun fall. Turning back, I see his automatic lying on the floor, discarded. Walking over, I check the clips inside, and see a full supply of ammo waiting to be used. He's right there, right where I want him. And it'd be so ridiculously, obviously easy to do what I'm about to do next.

So I turn around, prepared to do it. Aiming at the wall.

Only to find that he's gone.

The son of a ***** must've taken the opportunity to make a run for it while he still had the chance. I didn't peg him for much of a coward, but something about what I said definitely set him off. And I can tell that he's gone. He's not waiting for another attack or anything, he's gone. Ran off, terrified of what was going to become his fate.

He's not coming back, either. That whole vendetta? I think I just ended it. He'll think twice before ever coming to Gotham's shores again.

I drop the automatic, remove my helmet, and look around the room.

My God.

I've been wasting so much time, when I could have just...

No. Never again. Tonight, it all changes.

The rules are out the window. And it's time to take the city back their way. The real way.

Dammit, Bruce, I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry.

But you weren't enough for them. You tried, and you failed them.

They need me now.

 

[Batman]

Epilogue​

Dammit. What's going on?

After the way things went tonight, I don't think I'm gonna have a good night's sleep for another few weeks. Once the situation cleared up with my 'assassin' problem, the first thing on my mind was to try and salvage the wreck of a plan that I had constructed. The main focal point of tonight's little show, the one that got sidetracked by a series of distractions, was to keep the mob entertained while Catwoman searched for the person who murdered Mario Falcone. Problem was, the minute that I reopened my communications link with my partner-in-crime, all I got from the other end of the line was a bunch of static. Something was wrong, and given that she was on the trail of a presumed murderer the last time that we had spoken, I had to act fast. So after rerouting the GPS on the line open between me and the signal coming from the tech in the thief's cowl, I managed to scrape together a last known location. And wouldn't you know it, it's the first building that I lay eyes on by the time I make it to the corner of 7th. A travelling agency firm, operated under the name of Falcone.

Streets are practically deserted as I land infront of the main entrance. There's a not-terribly-subtle sign of forced entry upon approach, given that half of the door's caved in, forcing me to realize that something major's happened in the heat of tonight's chaos. Doesn't help that when I try to look past the doors, all I see are the distant signs of open flames, smoke, and malfunctioning lights. Trying to jimmy the doors open is proven useless. So with a heave, I push as hard as I can against what's left and force my way in through solid, though broken rubble.

Jesus. Nothing short of an explosion ripped through this place. Though it had to be a concentrated blast, given the windows were still intact and none of the other floors seemed visibly affected. Carefully treading through the fragments of concrete and metal, I take a glance at the fire, wondering if there's a chance of it spreading. Doesn't look like it. Flames are practically dying down already. Whatever happened, it was minutes ago. A quick burst, then nothing. Explains why nobody's outside. Fire department's probably too busy cleaning up my mess at the shipyards to bother with this place.

Wait. What the hell was that?

I look down at my feet, realizing that I've hit something completely solid that isn't a piece of the rubble. What greets me is a singed trunk of some giant plant, it's leaves still sizzling as it withers into a brown husk. My eyes widen as I kneel down to inspect it, digging my index finger into some of it's leaking fluids. Plants. Unnaturally grown, of no origin to Gotham. Rapidly expansive. The exact method that was used to strangle Mario Falcone from the inside. If my theory was right, then Catwoman must've found her target. Paula Irving was here.

Question is, where are either of them now?

"Hello? Is anybody in here?"

No response. I tread further into the lobby, beginning to pull away some pieces of the debris in a vain attempt to search. By the time I reach the third chunk of plaster, I spot the evidence of at least a third person that was here tonight. His hand jetting out from underneath a section of concrete, resting atop the floor. African-American male. Hurriedly, I grab both ends of the section of wall and force myself to lift it, despite it's massive weight. Let it drop on it's other side, then take a glance of who was underneath. And almost immediately, I recognize the face.

Nathan Gambol. One member of Falcone's newest elite. He'd be surrounding himself with a rotating cast of characters ever since his release from prison - something I'm still trying not to use as an excuse to strangle that idiot DA for allowing to happen. Pushing those thoughts aside, I place two fingers on his neck to check the pulse. Retract them once I begin to feel the cold temperature of the body and nothing else. He's dead.

Good riddance.

Even before my enlightening encounter this evening with Deathstroke, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to feel remorse over the loss of this piece of human filth. Gambol was scum. A two-bit glorified drug dealer that broke his way into The Syndicate after the noose tightened around their necks. He was the walking personification of someone riding Falcone's coattails, and with him gone, they're only going to get more desperate once they realize another link has been axed from the chain.

I can feel it happening already. The closing of the gap, the sense that the mob's day is done. All I have to do is remember what I told myself earlier. The rules have changed. I'm not weighed down by the shackles of a misguided sense of morality - these people have tortured Gotham long enough. It's way past time that they were all dragged out into the streets like the animals they are, forced to look at the fruits of their labor, and put down with the knowledge that their way of life is over. The city will prevail. I'll make sure of it.

"...rdhd..."

My head turns at the faint sound of a voice. One all too familiar to me. It's her. Rushing over to the other side of the room, I nearly trip as my foot once again stumbles onto something that it wasn't meant to. A pair of female's legs, covered in thick vines. Black coating. Grabbing the ankles, I pull the body out from underneath the collapsed rubble, hoping that I'm not going to find another corpse.

A woman I don't recognize. Red hair, pale complexion. Second degree burns running up the entirety of her back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the vines that are covering her were acting as some sort of a...

Protection.

My eyes narrow as I roll her over, getting a good look at the face.

Paula Irving. Gotta be, I recognize her face from the Gotham University files.

But where's...

"...rhd... hd..."

Well. Ask a stupid question. Following the sound of the voice to a hole in the wall, I step over some debris and splintered wood to finally find what I'm looking for. Sprawled out across the floor and covered in soot, her costume damaged beyond repair, lays Catwoman. She turns her head to me and closes her eyes, giving me a light cough as a greeting.

"What... took you..."

Still alive. All things considered.

"Can you move?"

"...s'what... I was wondering..."

Kneeling by her side, I feel the vital points and check for any immediate broken bones. Doesn't seem like she's in terrible shape, physically, just incredibly disoriented. I notice something sticking out of her mouth as she tries to breathe. Reach in and grab it, realizing that it's farther down in there than I thought.

"Hold still. This isn't going to be pleasant."

"Ack!"

Nearly a minute later, and I've retrieved at least a good half a foot of plantlife that was stuck inside of her body. She coughs up a wad of blood and spits it out, lying her head back down in the rubble. I take a final look at the plant and toss it away, rather content enough with it's existence to not keep holding onto it.

"You were right. It wasn't."

"C'mon..."

Scooping her up into my arms, I carry her out of the room and past Irving's unconscious form. She looks over at it and sneers. I'm guessing something happened back there that didn't exactly leave the two on the most civilized of terms. Which means that I was right. The Reservoir indicent, the physical transformation. Irving was our metahuman all along.

"What happened here?"

She lifts one of her hands, revealing a pistol that I hadn't seen before.

"Gasline. Grazed it as she approached."

"And took her out with the explosion? Smart thinking."

Dropping the pistol, she grits her teeth, doing little to hide the venom behind her tone.

"Wasn't what I meant. Aimed for the head..."

Looking back at Irving's unconcious body, I carry on and lead us both out of the building.

"Doesn't matter. I think you made your point."

"What about you? Make your's?"

I stop midway through the street, briefly thinking it over...

The look of frozen terror in Deathstroke's eyes. The firm grip I held on the minigun, silencing the laughter he had used to underestimate me. The obliviousness to the fact that the weapon was out of ammo. The realization that nothing, not Bruce's ethics or anyone else's, could stand in my way of attaining true justice - real justice, not the kind that we've all been delluding ourselves into believing would be Gotham's salvation.

Yeah. I think I did more than a good job of making a point tonight.

"We'll talk about that later. For now, let's get you to a hospital..."

Carrying her into an alley, we both slip away into the darkness, leaving Irving to the police and Gambol's body to the morgue. Once I explain the situation to Burke and Procjnow, one of them can have the cops press her for a full confession to the murder of Mario Falcone. And if that doesn't work, well...

I've got some newfound means of dealing with Falcone's men.

They won't try to come after anyone else.

"Home sweet home..."

By the time sunrise hits and I make it back to my apartment, I'm completely spent. Dropped Catwoman off at a local clinc after I removed all incriminating evidence of any sort of vigilante activity between the two of us. Didn't leave my name, didn't ask for her's. I figure after everything she's been through, I could at least give her the discretion. Shame, though. Underneath that mask, she's actually kind of a looker. I just need to keep hoping she didn't recognize me from somewhere, even if she was drifting in and out of consciousness. I'd like to think I'm entitled to some of that discretion aswell.

Letting my bag of belongings fall to the floor, spilling out a half-torn leather jacket, the helmet, some of the armor pieces, and other paraphenilia, I give a yawn as I cross into the hallway, determined to head straight for bed. I still haven't forgotten the real reason that I went out in the first place. A patient of mine's still out there. Still a danger to everyone around him. But in my current condition, I'd be a bit useless at tracking him down. Just gonna have to continue the search tomorrow after my shift at the Asylum. If Crane hasn't already had me detained for not showing up to work in twenty-four hours.

Hearing the beep of my answering machine coming from the bedroom, I inwardly groan, thinking that maybe I spoke a little too soon. Looking down at the number only confirms it. I've got a new message. Hesitantly, I hit the button and peel off my shirt, hitting the matress a little harder than nessecary as the message begins to play.

First Unheard Message
Jarvis, Alfred

Huh.

At first, it doesn't even really register that Bruce's lapdog gave me a call. I should be surprised, but I'm too tired to actually give it that much thought to begin with. Then the message plays.

And it doesn't take me long to realize... this isn't just an ordinary house call.

"Mr. Todd? Alfred Jarvis. And before you jump to any wild conclusions, sir, I'm quite aware that you and I have hardly ever spoken in the past. But after what I have to tell you, I believe you and I will be doing quite a bit of that in the future. Provided you're willing to listen to what I have to say."

My head slowly rises from the pillows, intrigued. I force myself to sit up.

"As you're no doubt aware, given his condition, Mister Wayne's private assets are undergoing a bit of legal scrutiny as they continue to remain unused. While it is primarily my duty to ensure that none of his assets fall out of his estate's reach, there are some items that he had personally named to be given away to those he deemed trustworthy, in the event of something like this one day occuring. As I was reading over this written will, as luck would have it, your name was actually quite high on the list. But what he left for you is quite... difficult to explain over the phone, so perhaps I'll just put in terms that only you and I may understand."

"He's left you everything. Not the money, or the penthouse, but everything down below, so to speak. Items that that I'm sure you're quite familiar with. Certain military applications never quite properly filed with the Applied Sciences division. Vehicular designs that would be quite a shame to see go to waste. Schematics for a technologically advanced software that he found much use in, as I'm sure you would aswell. And a certain outfit, sir, that he came to wear quite often. According to his will, Bruce entrusted such an outfit, and the responsibility that comes with it, entirely to you. And I believe that despite your past disagreements, he still considered you the only person fit to inherit it at the time of his incapacitation. I trust that you'll give serious consideration to accepting that inheritance, because it is something that he and I both take very seriously. Part of me hopes that you do, aswell."

I stare ahead, unmoving. A blank expression etched across my face.

The shock of what I just heard only beginning to creep in.

Did he just offer me what I think he's offering me?

"For now, though, I must take a leave of abscence. There's a rather private matter that I must attend to overseas, regarding another of Mr. Wayne's most entrusted. But do not allow that to discourage you from coming by the penthouse anyway. I'm sure that you'll want to give your new assets a careful exploration before you make the decision on whether or not to claim them. There is a keycard that I've left with the tenant that lives across the hall from us, her name is Harriet Cooper. She knows nothing of it's use, only that it is to be left in your care when prompted for it. It will grant you access to everything. Both the penthouse... and what lies beneath."

I place my hands together, leaning forward. Stunned.

And completely lost in the thoughts of what this could possibly mean for the days ahead.

"Until we may speak again, Mr. Todd, I wish you well. And for the city's sake... I hope you accept."

End Of Messages

​

. . .

 

[Eddie Brock]

"May I help you, miss?"

The young girl looks up from the display case. Her eyes are a deep, endless green, her hair a silken curtain of ebony. She is no more than fourteen, maybe fifteen, but she carries an air of maturity far beyond her years. As she smiles shyly, nervously, at the salesperson, her eyes are drawn back to the glass display case before her. Inside are jewels and gems of all shapes and sizes: necklaces, bracelets, rings. Every girl's fantasy.

"Miss?"

The girl looks again, her trance broken by the saleswoman's persistence. "I'm looking for a gift," she explains softly as her eyes wander back to the display case. "For my mother," she adds. The girl looks up at the saleswoman. "It'll be her birthday next week."

The saleswoman - a middle-aged woman with slim, rectangular glasses and a tight bun of maple-colored hair - smiles. "Oh, isn't that nice," the woman says in a sweet voice. She glides past the girl and stands behind the display case. With a showy wave of her arm, she says, "As you can see, we have a wide selection of choices."

"What about that one?" the young girl asks. She presses a finger against the glass and immediately retracts it when it leaves a smudge against the otherwise pristine surface. She looks up at the saleswoman apologetically, but the woman's smile doesn't fade. Clearing her throat, the girl puts her hands behind her back. "The necklace with the blue diamond," she explains.

"It's a beautiful piece, isn't it?" the saleswoman asks with a knowing smile. Retrieving a key from her pocket, the woman unlocks the display case and slides open the glass door. As she reaches for the necklace, she handles it with all the care that one might handle a live explosive. "Fourteen karat white gold, inlaid with a blue topaz diamond cut in a distinctive heart shape." She holds the glimmering necklace up to the light before turning her attention back to the girl. "Two-hundred and fifty dollars."

"That much?" the girl asks in disbelief. The corners of her mouth curl into a frown. She knows she can never come up with that kind of money. Shyly, she asks, "Would you mind if I... tried it on?" She looks up expectantly.

The saleswoman nods. "Of course." She leans across the display case and slowly hands the necklace to the young girl. "Let me grab you a mirror."

The girl first notices how unexpectedly heavy the necklace is. It must be the topaz diamond. She slips the necklace over her head, lifting her raven locks over the chain. When the saleswoman placed a mirror in front of her, the girl couldn't help but admire her reflection. Her fingers absent-mindedly traced the length of the chain before wrapping themselves around the diamond at the bottom. "Beautiful."

"Shall I get a box?"

The girl frowns. "I don't have the money for it," she replies. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, the girl disappointedly lifts the necklace over her head. She looks down at the necklace in her hands, unwilling to give back such a beautiful thing. As she passes the necklace to the saleswoman's expecting hands, the girl's elbow knocks over a display case of earrings. "Sorry!"

"That's okay, dear. Accidents happen," the saleswoman assures her, hiding her annoyance behind a thin veil of pleasantness. She then bends down and begins picking up the fallen earrings. When she stands once more, the girl - and the necklace - are gone. Her eyes narrow as she realizes what has happened. "Thief!"

The young girl races for the door, necklace bouncing in her pocket, as she hears the saleswoman's cries. Other customers are staring at her now, but she knows that she cannot stop. Wheeling around the corner of another display case, the young girl sees the glass door which represents freedom. She's a mere two strides away when a burly man in a black "SECURITY" shirt obstructs her path. The girl collides head-first with the guard, and the necklace falls out of her pocket. She looks up in terror as the guard scowls.

"... sorry?"

* * *

"... sorry?"

"I asked if you'd like to dance, beautiful."

It takes me a moment to remember where I am. It's some charity ball for whatever the cause of the week is. This one is more notable than most because of its host, Lincoln March. A relative newcomer to Gotham, March is the chief operating officer of March Ventures. Word among social circles is that March has political aspirations in Gotham and plans to put together a campaign for the mayoral seat in the next election. I caught a glimpse of him earlier tonight, and I'll concede that he looks like a politician: broad-shouldered, square-jawed, clean-cut.

"Well?"

I turn my attention back to my would-be suitor. He's not unattractive. Tall with long legs, dressed in what I can only imagine is a nine-thousand dollar suit. He wears a high school class ring on one hand - some preppy boarding academy - and a college ring on the other. My eyes are drawn to his watch, though. White gold, diamond-encrusted face. Child's play.

"Sure," I reply, "I think I can manage one song." I hold out my hand for him to take, rings on three of my fingers - all prizes from previous events. As he leads me to the dance floor, my mind goes to Red Hood, interestingly enough. A few nights ago, I was battling for my life against a homicidal maniac, and Hood helped me patch up when it was done. I wonder how he spends his free time... or what he'd think of seeing me like this.

My gentleman caller drones on and on about his many accomplishments, his thoughts about Lincoln March, and any number of other topics. No doubt he's hoping to get laid, but I won't be the poor sap to fulfill his wish. But, like a good little socialite, I smile and nod to keep him interested while my fingers subtly loosen his watchband. Thinking of Hood has brought my thoughts to another person who once helped me out of a scrape. In fact, I can't help but notice the absence of Bruce Wayne every time I attend one of these things. I find myself hoping he pulls through, for really no other reason than the fact that I feel like he's the only person who truly understands me - sad as that is to say.

As the song comes to an end, I thank my partner and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. He reluctantly lets me go, accepting that I won't be going home with him after all. In a few moments, his disappointment will surely be replaced with outrage as he realizes that his watch is missing, but by then I'll be long gone. As I tuck the stolen watch away in my purse, I smile and head for the door, satisfied that I've probably ruined his night. For a brief moment, I swear I see Bruce as I'm leaving, but I realize that it was only Lincoln March and that my mind was playing tricks on me. I smile politely as we make eye contact before he vanishes into the crowd once more.
​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald walks through the refurbished Iceberg Lounge. Smiling and waving as he passes by his managers and the other employees who are going through dry-runs of re-orientation and other logistical matters.

He stops on the stage and says, "May I have your attention please."

Everyone looks at him and he continues once every eye in the room is on him, "I am certainly grateful that you all decided to stay on after our recent tragedy. It's refreshing to see such loyalty in today's business world. Thank you all so much. I am glad to see you all back here and to all of our new crew members welcome to the family and we hope you think of this as your home for many years to come. Thank you all again."

Everyone says thank you and so fort as Oswald lights a cigar and continues on his inspection.

Ahhh just few short weeks ago this place was a burned out charred husk of what it once was. Now thanks to a lot of hardwork by the crews, and several well placed incentives to the local labor unions, it's only a matter of days before it reopens.

Miss Blake his secretary approaches him and says, "There's a Mr. William Earle in your office from Wayne Enterprises who wishes to speak with you. He doesn't have an appointment but he was very insistant that he speak with you."

Oswald nods and says, "Very well thank you Chelsea. Tell Mr. Earle I'll be there in a moment make him comfortable and extend to him every courtesy."

She nods and leaves. Oswald finishes his walk through and heads to his office.

He says, "Chelsea no phone calls and no interuptions at this time. If a manager has an issue or question tell them to go with their instincts and trust their gut they have my blessing and faith in their decision making process."

She replies, "Yes sir Mr. Cobblepot."

Oswald enters his office and closes the door and sees Earle sitting in an easy chair with a scotch in his hand.

Oswald approaches and extends his hand and says, "Mr. Earle from Wayne Enterprises. what can I do you for you sir?"

Earle shakes his hand replies, "No Mr. Cobblepot it's what I can do for you."

Oswald walks over to the bar and makes a drink and says, "Mr. Earle I'm seeing you without an appointment, which is very rare, so please don't toy around with me. We are both business men and time is a our most valued asset please get to your business."

Earle nods and says, "Very well sir. first off thank you for seeing me without an appointment. Secondly I'm currently the acting C-E-O of Wayne Enterprises and it's my duty to inform you that someone suggested bringing you on as an advisor to the board in Mr. Wayne's absence. That suggestion was defeated by a single vote. My vote to be percise."

Oswald takes a drink and says, "Fair enough. Now that you have told me that you are responsible for keeping out me of the board room of Wayne Enterprises and possibly extinguishing the one shining light this city has left to it. Why shouldn't I throw you out with a sign around your neck saying, 'I've signed this city's death warrant' and let the people of Gotham string you up."

Earle smirks and says, "Because I've got a better solution and one that puts you in the board room permanently."

Oswald raises an eyebrow slightly and says, "You've got my attention and you've bought yourself another moment of life. Continue."

Earle replies, "You see sir. Ever since Mr. Wayne was hospitalzied the company's earnings are falling off badly. They're pretty much in a state of free-fall now because of Mr. Wayne's hospitalization, what happened here, the recent violence, and Mayor Thorne resigning people are starting to leave so are the businesses. Yet you stayed here and in record time are getting ready to reopen when most would leave."

Oswald says, "Good business is where you find it Mr. Earle. I believe in Gotham City and it's people."

Earle says, "I sir believe that Wayne Enterprises can lead Gotham into a renaissance, and with the right person leading it that belief will be a reality."

Earle crosses to the bar and sets his drink down and says, "The board is going to recommending that Wayne Enterprises goes public to infuse a new cash flow into it. It goes public by the end of the month. If the right person were to buy up enough shares they could take over."

Oswald nods once and says, "Interesting theory. However what of his man-servant Alfred his current executor? I'm certain he would have something to say about it."

Earle replies, "He has some pull and he could buy some of the shares if not all on behalf of Mr. Wayne, but in terms of finances you can match him dollar for dollar and then some. If it comes down to a presentation and a board vote Pennyworth is smart and loyal, but he doesn't have the business acumen that you do sir. You rebuilt the Iceberg Lounge in a matter of weeks when it should've taken months or maybe even years, and you have many contacts in the city and beyond. Without steady leadership from a reliable owner this company will be under in less than 6 months."

Oswald studies Earle for a moment and says, "And what is the price for your generous offering of this information Mr. Earle."

Earle says, "Simple I get to keep my current position within the company on a permanent basis."

Oswald studies Earle again and without looking away pours him another drink and pushes it towards him.

He says, "Well looks like you've made a new friend today. William."

Earle takes the drink and Oswald says, "Be warned though William. If this plan of yours fails Gotham's death will be the least of your concerns."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Rhiannon is sitting with several forms around a table in the new deluxe duplex apartment in Metropolis' upper-east side that she now shares with Kent Nelson who is in San Francisco at a conference.

Gimme Waller & CADMUS, The Legion Of Doom, Dwarf Star, Dr. Destiny, or STAR'RO anything is preferable to having to fill out change of address forms and paperwork concerning our apartment. Why can't I just yell out the window, "I'm Here!' and let them find me from that? I've done enough paperwork for a while time to remind Metropolis that I'm around.

Rhiannon transforms into The Atom.

She stands on the table and sees the paperwork.

Later. Right now. I need to do this!

With that she takes flight out of the airvents and into the city.

Now let's see what kinds of trouble I can get into this time.

The Atom floats through the night sky and sees a jewel robbery in progress.

Ahhh yes a nice easy one to get my feet wet.

Within moments the police arrive on the scene and apprehend three would be robbers.

Atom watches the arrest and rubs her hands together and says, "Okay who's next?"

 

[Andy C.]

PREVIOUSLY:

Spoiler

"And so I told Icicle, 'don't you know? Polar bears love ice!" Changeling said, barely holding in his laughter.

"Uh-huh," said Cyborg, testily, as he calibrated the metacarpal actuators on his right hand.

"C'mon, that was funny, you've gotta laugh," the grin-skinned boy said. "Or do you just not have a sense of humor?"

"Well, one of us doesn't, that's for sure," Cyborg said, opening and closing his hand to get used to the adjustments.

"Heyyy!" said Changeling. "I thought you couldn't--"

*BOOOOOM!*

Changeling quickly shifted to a fly and zipped to the far side of the room as the ceiling came crashing down on them. Cyborg, for his part, stood steady as a rock and swatted away the debris that fell on him.

As sirens began to sound, a figure floated down from the hole in the ceiling. She was a slim but muscular blonde-haired girl, her arms crossed and a look of determined anger on her face.

"The name's Donna," she said to Cyborg and Changeling. "Tell me where they're keeping Artemis, or I'm going to start hurting people."

"Anyone know what's going on?" I say as I run down the hallway, still zipping up my armored vest as Raven and Starfire fly alongside me. The whole facility is blaring with sirens and warning lights-- something's gone wrong.

"No more than you do," Starfire says, already charging glowing green Star-bolts in her hands. "There is some sort of emergency in the rec room. Cyborg and Changeling are already there, and requesting assistance."

"This better not be another prank," Raven says, already annoyed. "I'm not in the mood for 'Surprise Monster-Movie Night' again."

Down the hallway, there's a loud BOOM from behind the rec room door.

"Okay, well that pretty much rules out a false alarm," I say, pulling a handful of whirly-birds from my utility belt. "Raven, when I breach the door, put up a protective field around us until we can assess the situation. Starfire, if there's an intruder, get up high and try to flank them. If something's happened to Cyborg and Changeling, our priority is to get them to safety first."

Kori and Rachel nod in agreement, and I fling the whirly-birds into the door. Operating on a synchronized timer, each one has a shaped explosive charge that will punch right through the reinforced steel. We all line up to the side of the door, and plug our ears.

*KA-BOOOM!*

The explosives blast the doors right out of the frame, and immediately Raven throws up a bubble of dark energy around us. The colors from inside the bubble are washed out and blackened, like looking at the world through sunglasses with the lights off. There's a smoky quality to everything too, though I'm not sure how much of that is Raven's force field and how much is actual smoke.

Though what really matters is what we see inside, or rather, whom.

A girl, roughly our age by the looks of her, is kicking the crap out of Cyborg. Vic is immensely strong, but she's able to avoid all of his blows almost no effort, swatting punches aside with a pair of silver bracelets on her forearms almost as an afterthought. And when she does go on the offensive, she's already well within his guard, leaping into a backwards somersault kick that sends Cyborg reeling.

As Cyborg staggers, Changeling is up next, crawling along the ceiling as a gecko to get above her, then dropping down in the form of an octopus, trying to grapple the blonde girl with his tentacles. Even as he latches on with the tentacles' suckers, she drives an elbow into the octopus' central bulk, and Changeling drops to the floor.

"Stop where you are!" I call out to the girl, pulling a collapsible baton from my belt. "Let's not let this get any uglier than it already is."

"Tell me where Artemis is," she demands, not giving an inch, "And it won't have to get any uglier."

I want to talk this out. I want to know who this girl is and why she's looking for the heavy-hitter from Cerberus Squad. I want to resolve this whole thing without a big fight breaking out.

But something compels me to act. For just a second, I feel some kind of push from the back of my head, forcing me to advance. Realizing there's no turning back now, I just raise my baton and commit to the attack.

I swing low with the baton, attempting to hit her legs to immobilize her. She leaps over the blow like it's nothing, grabbing me by the lapels as she cartwheels through the air, and using the momentum to twist me off of my feet and send me flying. I go crashing into one of the rec room's couches, knocking it over and sprawling across the floor.

"Robin!" Raven calls out, dropping her protective force field to unleash some kind of attack. When she does, though, the girl flings something towards her--a golden rope of some sort-- that wraps around Raven's waist. The girl yanks her into the air and sends her crashing into Starfire, disrupting the planned flanking maneuver.

Whoever this girl is, she's good. Extremely good. I've never seen anyone fight like her.....except for Artemis....

"One more time," she says, unwrapping the lasso from Raven and instead lashing it around me. "Where. Is. Artemis?!"

Before I can put up any resistance, the truth spills out of me.

"She's.....standing....in the doorway."

Sure enough, the warrior girl from Cerberus Squad is standing at the entrance of the rec room, a scowl on her face. Right behind her is Arsenal, an arrow already nocked in his bow. I see Bumblebee flitting through the air over his shoulder, and Skitter crawling along the ceiling.

"My turn to ask questions," Artemis says curtly. "Namely who are you, what are you doing here, and why are you looking for me?"

"My name's Donna Troy," the blonde girl introduces herself. "Codenamed Wonder Girl. I came here looking for you, Artemis, because you're like me. You're someone who's got the innate gifts and powers of Wonder Woman. I was sent to find the other women out there like us, the other 'Amazons' I'm calling them....but then when I found out that you were kidnapped and brought here and brainwashed..."

"Wait a minute," Arsenal interrupts. "Brainwashed?! If that was really what was going on, we'd know about...."

His words trail off, and he looks around the room. Starfire looks away. Raven bites her lip, trying to force down what must be a well of anger. Even I don't want to admit it.

But all of us know it's true.

"This place, the HIVE. I don't know who they're working for," Donna continues, "But I know what they're doing. They're taking people like you, pumping them full of propaganda, telepathically tampering with your minds, and making you into--"

[BLACKOUT]"That's quite enough,"[/BLACKOUT] says Queen Bee as she strides into the room, her face a mask of righteous indignation. She's flanked by her students. Jinx and Shimmer ready their powers, eager to wreak destruction on the intruder. Mammoth cracks his knuckles. Gizmo sprouts large mechanical spider legs from his backpack device. Psimon just grins at her.

[BLACKOUT]"Titan Squad, Cerberus Squad, return to your quarters,"[/BLACKOUT] she orders. [BLACKOUT]"I will personally see that our newest recruit is brought into the fold."[/BLACKOUT]

"No," I say. "Not until you explain what's--"

Queen Bee turns and glares at me, her eyes piercing through my mask and reaching directly into my mind. Suddenly, the very idea of disobeying orders seems completely unreasonable.

"Let's go, Titans," I say, defeated, as we turn and start to walk out of the rec room.

"You can't give in like that!" Donna yells after us. "You've got to fight it! She's going to use you to--"

Her pleads are cut off by the chaotic sounds of battle as the HIVE squad overwhelms her all at once.

Moving against our will to our quarters, I glance over at Rachel. She's seething with anger. Starfire, Cyborg, and Changeling aren't in much better moods.

As soon as we round the corner, I can feel the mental push starting to slacken. Queen Bee must be using too much of her psychic energy in the fight with Donna Troy to keep extending it over us.

"She was right," Starfire says sadly. "I've only recently become aware of it, but they have been tampering with our thoughts, making us susceptible to her suggestions, and to Psimon's mind control."

"Jinx has been blocking off my powers," Raven says, her voice a growl. "To keep me weakened so I can't fight against her or the others."

"I've been running system diagnostics on my OS," Cyborg speaks up. "That little jerk Gizmo has implanted my CPU with all sorts of backdoor programs to assume control of my hardware and suppress my biological mind. They're trying to remote-control me."

"They lied to us," Changeling says in bewildered astonishment. "They said this place would be safe. That they'd never try to make a weapon out of me."

"They lied to us all," I say. "But now that we know it, we can do something about it."

"So what are we waiting for?" Arsenal says, brandishing his bow. "Let's turn around and take them on now!"

"As soon as Queen Bee sees us, we're back under her control," I say. "So we need a plan, a way to take them all down one by one, then to neutralize Queen Bee herself."

"Got any ideas?" Artemis asks.

"Already working on it," I lie. "We meet back here at 0400 hours, and we'll go over the plan from there, okay?"

The truth is, I have no idea how I'm going to pull this off. Queen Bee is immensely powerful, and with Psimon and his cronies backing her, it's going to be next to impossible to take them all on. Whatever we do, it's going to have to be fast, and it's going to have to work on the very first try, or chances are we're all dead.

It's already past 2200 hours right now. Which means I've only got about six hours to come up with something really good.

Batman would have already had this scenario planned out well in advance. He'd have contingencies and backups already in place, he'd have the situation completely in hand.

Batman would know what to do.

But Batman isn't here. So Robin is going to have to step up.

"Get some sleep, make your preparations, do whatever it is you have to do tonight," I say to everyone. "By dawn, we're going to be leaving."

Everyone nods somberly, and they start to disperse. Arsenal is already checking the arrows in his quiver. Cyborg's cybernetic arm changes shape again and again as he scrolls through the list of on-board weapons at his disposal. Changeling morphs back and forth from a lion to a gorilla.

Eventually, it's just me, Rachel, and Kori, standing in the hallway in front of our rooms, unsure of what to say to each other.

"My friends," Kori says uneasily. "If we do not succeed tomorrow......"

"We will," Raven says, before looking over at me. "We'll tear this whole operation down."

"Yes, I know," Starfire agrees. "Still, I feel it is important to say this now. I did not know what sort of things I would encounter on this world, what sort of people. It is not at all like I had hoped. But even so, I do not regret coming here, because I have met you. I have come to love both of you deeply, and will be honored to fight at your side."

"I....um.....thank you...." I stammer for a minute, my whole presence of leadership shattering as soon as she says the "L" word. "The, um.....the feeling's mutual. For both of you, I mean."

Starfire smiles, and pulls the both of us in to a hug that lasts just a little too long to be merely friendly. As she floats away to her room, Rachel gives me a sideways glance.

"'The feeling's mutual?'" she says.

"Well, I mean," I say, feeling my face go red as she steps towards me. "I meant the 'honored to fight at your side' part."

"Right," she says, a brief flash of disappointment on her face.

"I mean, the first part of what she said," I hear myself go on, unable to shut up. "That's just.....yikes."

"Of course."

"I mean, you're both good friends, and I care about you a lot, but....that's a big word, y'know?"

"I know."

"And I mean, with everything else we've got to worry about, to even think about....about that....is just--"

"Dick," she cuts me off, cupping a hand to my cheek, "Are we going to stand here the rest of the night, or are you going to kiss me?"

That shuts me up.

I've honestly never kissed a girl before, and I have no idea what I'm doing, if there's any technique involved that I need to know, what sets a good kisser apart from a bad kisser. So I just close my eyes, part my lips, lean forward, and hope for the best.

When Rachel's lips meet mine, it's not the way they play it up in the movies, where fireworks go off in your head and lightning shoots down your spine and you realize this was meant to be, now and forever. But it does feel really, really good.

When we finally release from the kiss, I realize I'm sweating, and that Rachel's pale skin is blushing brightly. For a moment, all we can do is stare into each other's eyes, until Rachel finally looks away.

"Anyway," she says, almost embarrassed about what just happened, "I'll let you get to your planning. See you in the morning,"

"....yeah...." I say as I watch her head to her room, then stumble towards mine.

I close the door behind me, meticulously checking my room for any sort of bugs or traps, then pace back and forth as I start whipping up my plan to take out the HIVE.

It's not easy keeping focused, even on something as important as this.

One thing's for sure: if we make it out of this alive, Rachel and I are going to have to have a long talk about a few things.

 

[Eddie Brock]

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."
Ephesians 6:12

In the quiet of his own home, Oberon Sexton reclined in an old armchair and studied Scripture, familiarizing himself with the good Lord's word. Beside him, he kept a cup of freshly brewed tea as well as a glass of water. It was simple ritual which helped keep him focused. He read each passage slowly and carefully, taking time to consider each word and every sentence. The devil, as they say, was in the details, and Oberon had often found that calculated introspection was the key to unlocking a deeper meaning. It was in those quiet moments of thought that the Lord's presence was most felt.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

And so easily lost. Oberon glanced at the clock above his dormant television. It was unusual for someone to come calling at this hour. Closing the Good Book, Oberon went searching for his face mask. It would not do to greet someone with his true face. That was sight for Oberon and the Lord, no one else. Finding the mask, he slipped it over his head and went to the door.

The man knocking was tall and large, and he towered over Oberon. His face was tattooed - a black serpent curled around his left eye and slunk down his cheek. When the man spoke, it was more of a grunt than a true voice. "Boss wants to see you."

Oberon nodded, immediately understanding. "One moment, if you would." Closing the door, Oberon went back into the recesses of the apartment looking for his glasses and his hat. Once they were found, Oberon returned to the door and the waiting brute. "After you," the Reverend offered politely.

The man spoke not a word during their walk downstairs - a fact for which Oberon was secretly grateful. Despite his performances on days of worship, the Reverend was actually a man of few words off the pulpit. He much preferred listening to speaking, and idle conversation bored him greatly. A car was waiting for the both of them. The man took the front seat, leaving the back for Oberon.

Little more than a moment later, they arrived at Saint Abel's cathedral. Hardly worth the drive, Oberon mused, but he kept his thoughts to himself. They went inside, and Oberon followed the large man up the stairs towards the belltower. The second floor opened onto a landing. Straight ahead was the balcony which overlooked the church. To the right was a door. Oberon proceeded to the door.

"Come in! Come in!"

"Have a seat."

The Reverend stepped forward and pulled out one of the chairs facing the clown's desk. As Oberon sat, The Joker's eyes never left him. The clown had a habit of doing that. It made the Reverend more than a little uncomfortable. Still, he adjusted his pant leg and faced his employer.

"I trust Chuckles wasn't too rough with you," The Joker remarked as he took his own seat. Whispering, he said, "Carnies. You never can teach them any manners." With a shake of his head and a laugh, the mad clown folded his hands. "Now! I bet you're wondering why I've asked you here."

Oberon cleared his throat. "Well, I assume--"

"Waitaminute!" The Joker held up his hands. His face contorted for a moment, and he closed his eyes. "Aah! Aaah! CHOO!" The clown shook his head as his eyes began to water. "Sorry about that. All this damn dust in the air! Heh." Sniffling, he reached for a copy of the Bible on his desk. Opening to a random spot, The Joker ripped out the page and used it as a makeshift tissue.

Ignoring his disgust - and slight outrage at seeing the Good Book abused - Oberon continued, "I assume you're looking for a status report, but I have nothing to add since last we spoke."

Crumpling up the mucus-stained piece of paper, The Joker tossed it aside and turned his never-fading grin on Oberon. "Well, I'm not going to pretend like I'm not disappointed, Obie." He paused. "Is Obie okay? Or would you prefer Sexy? Hahaha!" Gathering himself, he continued, "I assumed the terms of our agreement were fairly clear, but you've yet to deliver! When I said I wanted Gotham on their knees, I meant in front of me - not some hippie nailed to a stick!"

The Reverend's face tightened at the slight to the Son of Man. He knew going into this arrangement that his employer did not share the faith, but it did not help his callousness go over any easier. Still, he contained his anger. The differences in belief between himself and the clown were immaterial to the mission. "And I told you that I needed more time."

The Joker's beaming smile faltered, if only for a second. Yet Oberon Sexton had known the man long enough to be concerned. "More time, more time," he repeated, "you're beginning to sound like Tetch, who keeps running off to do God knows what... but I digress." Composing himself once more, the clown continued, "I would say that I've been more than generous with time, have I not?"

"You asked me to do a job, and I'm doing it," the Reverend answered, his voice betraying his growing annoyance. He would not stand for being questioned - least of all by a madman. "More and more congregants gather each week! The church is filled to the rafters, and you ask more of me?!"

The Joker arched an eyebrow. "My, my, dear Reverend. It sounds like you're becoming a true believer yourself." He clicked his tongue disappointedly. "I had hoped you might maintain some perspective, but you've fallen for your own bluff." Sneering, he said, "You will do what I asked, or I will expose you for the charlatan that you are! What then, holy man? Where will your faithful be when they learn their leader is a fraud?!"

Oberon could contain his outrage no longer. "You presume to tell me what to do?! Who do you think built this church up from the ground?! Who do you think is responsible for what this movement has become?! Thanks to me, one in every two residents of the Narrows has attended a mass of the Saints of Gotham! Without me, you would be nothing, clown!"

The Joker's smile transformed into a scowl. "You raise your voice at me?"

Suddenly, Oberon's left hand began moving of its own accord. Panic set in as the Reverend realized he was no longer in control of his body. It felt as though some dark force was constricting his mind like a strangling vine. The Reverend laid his pinky against the flat surface of the desk. Then, with his other hand, he picked up a paperweight from the clown's desk. Oberon watched in horror as he raised the paperweight and brought it slamming down on his pinky.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The pain was excruciating. The finger had already turned red and began to swell, and the bone was broken for sure. As Oberon regained control of his body, he doubled over in pain, forehead resting on the dented surface of the desk.

The Joker reached over and patted Oberon on the head. "There, there," he said softly, "sometimes Daddy has to use tough love to get his point across." Leaning in closer, the clown whispered over the sounds of Oberon's sobbing. "But if you ever speak to me like that again, I'll have you cut the finger off. Do we understand each other?"

Oberon whimpered something resembling a "yes."

"Good." The Joker leaned back in his chair. "Then this meeting is ended. Go in peace to love and serve your lord."
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana



"Everybody settled in?" Waller asked from the head of the conference room. After hearing no response for a few seconds, she looked down at her notes. "Alright, we got a hot one."

"Oh really?" Deadshot asked with a cocked eyebrow. "No goddamn Frankensteins or zombies for us to kill?"

"Actually," Fiddler said. "Uhh the monster in Frankenstein was just 'the Creature' Frankenstein was the name of the doctor."

"I don't give a damn if the monster was named John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt--."

"That's my name, too," Bronze Tiger said.

"Alright," Waller said pulling a snubnose revolver from her jacket. "Next one that opens their mouth gets two in the head. Test me. Please."

"Moving on," she said, putting her gun back in its shoulder holster. "Last year, Task Force X stopped the terrorist organization Jundallah, aslo known as Jihad, from assassinating an Egyptian presidential candidate. Although it was a win for us, the Jihad members got away. They've been quiet since, but now they're coming out their snake hole."

Waller passed around copies of a surveillance photo. The grainy black and white photo was of a man in a jacket, his head down low and a baseball cap obscuring his face. He was standing outside a shoddy looking building.

"A Company asset took this photo a week ago in Jakarta, capital city of Indonesia. We believe he's Peter Blaine, former Delta Force Operator and now operating as a member of Jihad's primary cell."

Waller glanced slightly up at Flag, as did a few other members of the team. Before Blaine followed Jihad's orders, he followed Flag's He was with Flag in Syria a year and a half ago when their mission went bad. It was Flag who had left him for dead back then.

"The NSA got as many bugs as humanly possible into that building. It's a hotel and the room Blaine was visiting belonged to a man named Salim Husan, a Saudi Nation with a rap sheet the size of my waistline. He flew into the US three days ago and is currently in Sacramento. In 48 hours, the Commander in Chief is visiting Sacramento. FBI and CIA arrested Husan. He confessed right away to being a Jihad suicide bomber that was going to blow the President up. He also gave us a number that he was supposed to call in case something went wrong. That number traced back to a safehouse in Abu Dhabi. That's where we're headed. They tried to kill our leader, we're going to one up them. Our mission is to wipe Jihad off the face of the Earth."

Waller looked down at her watch and then back up at the group.

"Every minute we waste is a minute they can get away. We're wheels up in ten minutes. Dismissed."​

 

[Batman]

JASON TODD​

The next day is kind of a blur. Understandably so, I guess. I try to keep my mind focused on the work, telling myself that I still have my own life to attend to. Making the rounds at Arkham, paying the rent, keeping my eyes levelled on the road infront of me, that sort of thing. The sort of pesky little everyday nuiscances that I've understood to be part of the equation for awhile now. But I've got to be honest with myself. Despite every attempt to keep it off my mind, there wasn't one moment where I wasn't thinking about that phonecall. About the possibilities for what could lie ahead, and the questions that came to me the first time that it all really clicked. Several whys. Hundreds of hows. Like how I could even begin to entertain the idea of accepting what I had just been offered. Or how I could fit this into a life that I at least thought, for awhile, that I was living for myself. Maybe even apart me asked how this man, the one decent man in the entire world, could have honestly come to the decision to put me through this.

Alright. Bottom line? I can't accept his offer. And I know that his lapdog told me it was important. Bruce wanted me to accept something bigger than myself in the event that something happened to him, and it did. I get all of that. But when you boil it down to basics, I'm just not the same guy that he is. I lost the people I cared about at a very young age, too, but I didn't react to that by leaving the whole freaking country, and I certainly didn't go and seek out a way to make myself the best at everything. I've never even crossed the border on vacation, let alone the years he spent honing himself. Training his mind and his body. A level of intricacy that I can't even begin to understand, despite what I've told myself. I didn't even decide that I needed to go and dress up like a bat to frighten criminals. I've never needed to make them fear me. I got along just fine on my own.

Well, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. I got along decently.

It just doesn't make any sense. We didn't exactly part on good terms. I wasn't even answering his calls. And he made alot of them, I was fully aware of that. I just didn't feel the need. Some part of me still held some kind of a resentment after everything that happened with Belsaraph. And after what I did to him, I guess there's also apart of me that just didn't want to face down the disapproval of someone that I might actually consider taking seriously for a change. Hell, now that I think about it, even if we had continued on as if nothing happened, somehow putting aside our differences and trying to move on - I'd still be the first to tell him that he was making a mistake by doing this.

Why me, Bruce?

What in god's name made you so desperate that you'd turn to me to carry the torch?

And at a time like this, of all...

"Jason?"

Without warning, all of my thoughts bring themselves to a complete halt as I look up from the patient file I was buried in, trying to make it at least seem like I was still focused on, only to see the last person that I could've expected staring back at me from the other end of the hall. It's been two months since we've said a word to eachother. And now that she's finally looking at me, instead of just shooting a glare or ignoring that I even exist, I've gotta admit. I've got nothing to give back.

"Harleen?"

The quietest acknowledgement slips out of my throat, as she quickly darts past the hall entrance after quietly speaking to another one of the orderlies that passes, indicating something beyond. As she advances towards me, I catch a glimpse at what she was so occupied with - a group of kids. Teenagers, no older than seventeen, being told to quiet down by the orderly that she put in charge of the group in her place. Suddenly it all starts making sense.

Crap. I just walked into a mess. Today was supposed to be the Gotham High field trip, wasn't it? And one of the particulars of this trip was that all non-essential staff - even someone with as high of a clearance level as me - were supposed to stay away from the assigned sectors that the tour was supposed to consist of. And one of the focal points of the tour is the hall that I'm standing in right now. The old Amadeus Arkham Library, just a few halls away from my office.

Harleen shoots daggers and grabs me by the arm, forcibly turning me the other way.

"Damn it, Jason, now of all times? You're really gonna do this? I'm on a schedule! Crane wants these kids on a tight leash while they're roaming the grounds, and you have no idea how difficult it is to make sure that a class of this size doesn't scatter off and go into the unauthorized---"

"Whoah, hold on, wait a second..."

She points directly at me, removing her glasses as we stop.

"I don't want to hear it. You made it clear that it was over, so here I am, accepting that it's over. I'm trying to move on, so don't try to sabatoge my life just because you can't apparently do the same."

I sneer back at her, forcefully removing my arm from her grip. A move that surprises even myself.

"Are you out of your mind? You actually thought that I was trying to..."

Then she gets into my face, losing what little composure she has left as the orderly tries to move the kids back, preventing them from being able to see what'll become of her next little outburst.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. And you were!"

Even as I try to take the high road about it, I end up all but laughing in her face, as I try to reason with this. After everything that's been going on lately, this is the last thing that I want to deal with. Yet here it is, front and center.

"Well, aren't you entitled. No, actually, I was in the middle of my usual rounds. You know, the ones that I've been on every night for the last, what, six and half years? Forgive me for slipping up the one time that you're parading a bunch of pre-teens around the---"

"Don't you dare condescend to me about this! You're the one that screwed up, and you know it!"

"Yeah, I'm the one that screwed up, Harley. That's some logic. Because I'm the one that just went and blew up infront of the entire..."

"Hey! Hey, what the hell's going on here?"

We both turn, red in the face from yelling, to the approaching Aaron Cash as he rushes over to us. He's been the head of security around here since before I even got my degree. A pretty decent guy, all things considered. And both of us have been on pretty good terms with him ever since coming here. So for him to have to see this, let alone break it up before it gets even more heated, just makes me hate the situation all the more.

"Cash, would you get him out of here? I'm in the middle of a tour, and this idiot just decided to waltz in right as we were..."

"This idiot forgot, okay?! I'm sorry that your position is so precious to you that you'd chew down a colleague just to make him feel like..."

Cash has to physically part us, at this point. Situation's getting out of hand.

"Whoah, whoah, calm down, both of you! What's gotten into you two?! You're causing a scene!"

I throw my hands into the air. I've already had enough of this.

"Good question! Why don't you ask her?! She's the one that started this!"

Harleen is silent, looking away. Angry beyond words. Cash looks at the both of us as we walk over the opposite sides of the hall, trying to collect ourselves. I lean against a desk, and Harleen stares up at the ceiling, arms crossed. Both of us breathing heavily enough to notice.

"Jesus Christ, if you two weren't doctors, I'd have already thrown you outta this sector. Take a minute to cool off. Both of you. Ain't no reason to go and tear eachother apart infront of a bunch of kids. Just stay here and don't make another scene. I'm gonna go see if I can't keep them occupied for a minute."

He directs his attention towards me and gives a stern look.

"And you lay off of her, man. Seriously, she's had a rough week ever since the demotion. Don't go and start making it worse."

With that, he turns and walks away, muttering a few unpleasantries along the way as he rushes to catch up with the group. I turn to Harleen, confused about what he just said, staring at her for the longest time.

"You were demoted?"

She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Last Tuesday. Figured you already knew."

I shake my head. "No. Not at all, I didn't authorize anything like that."

"Wait. You mean you didn't..."

She stops and thinks it over. Then leers over at the other end of the hall, biting the bottom of her lip.

"God. Of course you didn't. Crane. It was Crane. Why didn't I see it before now..."

Crane? That doesn't make any sense. Why the hell would he demote the best psychiatrist that he has on staff, and go above me and the rest of the administration to do it?

"Jesus, Harley, that's why you nearly tore my head off? Why'd Crane demote you?"

She looks back at me, unsure of what to say.

"I'd rather not say. But now that I think about it, I guess I should've seen it coming sooner or later."

"What happened?"

She remains silent. Even after a few minutes, we haven't said anything. What's gotten into her? It's like she suddenly became an entirely different person. I've never seen her so much as raise her voice before today.

"I just... I don't want to talk about it."

I'm really starting to wonder what the hell's going on. I don't like how this sounds. Crane going to drastic measures just to get her down on a level of clearance. Doesn't seem like a move he'd make, especially the way they were acting around eachother. Unless that's got something to do with it.

"Did he do something?"

"No."

She places her glasses back on, trying to brush back the strands of her that've fallen out of place from the outburst.

"No, I did. And I shouldn't have."

It becomes increasingly obvious that she's not going to tell me what's happened. Eventually I just decide to let it go, walking over to her and trying to keep my tone as civil as possible. Even though it's hard. This is definitely not how I pictured the first time we'd speak again after everything went south. I thought we could at least try to be friends. But I guess she's got some issues to work on before that can happen.

"Look, I'm sorry about the demotion, but you've gotta get it together. We're supposed to be professionals, remember? If Crane pulls anything like this again, just come to me about it. He can't just go above the board of directors to do whatever he wants."

She doesn't look me in the eye.

"Apparently he can..."

"You okay?"

Finally managing to let her anger go, she looks back at me.

"Fine. Really, I'm fine. I... I shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm sorry."

Rubbing the back of my neck, I give a slight smirk, trying to play off the harshness of the situation.

"Forget it. Honestly, I probably deserved all that, anyway."

She raises her eyebrow.

"Why do you say that?"

I look away, trying not to say too much.

"Number of reasons. Look, you need to get back to your tour, so... I'll just head in the other direction. My shift ended at six, anyway."

Turning around, I begin to head towards the other end of the hall, leading out into the administration offices. Crane isn't suppposed to be here at this hour, so I doubt I'll be able to get ahold of him and ask what the hell he's been doing behind closed doors with his staff. But I'm tempted to give it a try.

"Jason?"

I stop and turn, as she stands up straight.

"Can we talk? Later, I mean. About a few things?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I didn't think you wanted to."

"I do. I mean, I did. But honestly, with everything that's happened, and now this, it's just been hard to..."

I smile, a little. Much as I haven't been able to admit it to myself, I've missed this. Us talking.

"Yeah. I understand. We can talk whenever you want."

"What about tonight? I can come by drop by your place after work, unless you're..."

My face immediately tenses up, answering that question before I can.

"I can't. I'm sorry, I made other plans. Friend of mine wants me to meet him downtown."

She tries to hide her disappointment. I just try to play off the fact that I'm suddenly making a spur of the moment decision just to push myself even further back then I already was.

"But I can call you. Or you can come by my office. Crane doesn't have to know."

I can tell that she's not fond of the idea, given that my 'plans' is exactly what lead to us splitting up in the first place. But she's either just so distracted by whatever lead to her demotion or she's regretting the way she blew up at me, because eventually, she gives me an accepting nod.

"Yeah. That'd be fine."

"Alright. Okay."

I take a few steps back before turning around and finally making an exit. As I leave, I hear her address the waiting audience.

"Sorry about the interruption, class, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. But everything's fine now. Now, if you'll all follow me..."

Composed herself faster than I thought she would. I guess I just didn't realize how rough she's had it lately. Maybe I was a little harsh back there. Even if she was the one blowing up in my face, I could've handled it a little better. Though I guess, in the long run, everything's been a little rough lately. Even on my end of the spectrum. The city, the streets, the people...

Damn. Now that I think about it, maybe being offered what Bruce offered me isn't exactly the worst position to be put in after all. Whatever that was, I think it's just made me realize that I need all the distraction that I can get. I still don't think he was right for putting it in my hands, but hell. After seeing what my life as Jason Todd has to offer me, maybe entertaining the idea of a life as someone else - something else - isn't such a bad idea.

Alright, Bruce. You win.

Guess I'll go see what you've got to offer me after all.

 

[Batman]

"People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy..."​

Beneath Gotham City, there is a conscience. An unsaid and unknowable force that has lay dormant - unacknowledged, even by it's most generous spectators - for a period of nearly twenty-six weeks. It has no true name, nor does it have a mind of it's own. It is virtually unliving to those who would try and understand it, and more importantly, try and understand what it truly means. It has the mind of a colony. Divisive, scattered and manic. Energetic and yet dead. Supernatural to some, scientific to others. A being that has lived as a force of absolute terror and fear. A nightmare whose wrath has terrorized it's victims. Yet it also acts as a means to an end. A terrible, unforgiving cloud that moves fueled by desires of nobility. Contrary to it's own nature, it is - perhaps absurdly - also considered to be a force for good. A shroud of hope. An embodiment of willpower. A being that exists as the wearer of a terrifying mask, used to hide the nature of it's noble purpose.

It is known as many things. Names that have been given to it by hundreds, millions of people, all of which were desperate to try and make sense of something that cannot be understood. Only one man came the closest, and even with his unparalleled drive to channel it into something purposeful, he was unable to fully grasp the weight of it's existence. Names such as "justice" and "vengeance". "Criminality" and "vigilantism". "Blight" and "madness". "Heroism" and "idealism". It has even been referred to as the one name that Gotham City accepts wholeheartedly as it's general term - "The Batman". But it exists as none of those things. Such words are an unworthy definition of what truly lies in the darkness, waiting to be championed once again.

What it truly is... is an idea. The only force on earth capable of achieving true creation.

Bruce Wayne once told himself, at a crucial period in his life, that this idea would lead him to create something better than himself. More important than his lone existence could ever be. It would create symbolism, a rallying point for the fearful to freely cower behind, to use as a strength to fight back against the terrible corruption that has left their world ravaged. But what Bruce Wayne didn't realize was that this idea also had the potential to corrupt. To distort and even control his fate, beyond his incredible capacity for will. He allowed himself to become so swept up in the darkness that it blinded him, allowing for the possibility - and eventual realization - of his failure.

But the idea had never failed. And now, when the fearful cries of Gotham's innocent go largely unheard in the waning night, the idea is cast aside in the minds of those who have suffered in it's abscence. Only Jason Todd, someone who had convinced himself long ago that he'd adopted an idea of his own to carry him forward, is left to ask the question of whether such an idea can be brought out of it's slumber in the dark. He at first doubts it, as his mind reels upon entering the caverns beneath Wayne Tower. He likens these caverns to entering a different world. A world more indicative of the outside's truer nature.

Such cynicism is not without it's burdens. But to Jason, it is a faction of his own strength. Unlike Bruce Wayne, who came to these caverns for the first time with eyes of wonder and awe, inspired to use the images that filled his head as the blueprint of what would become his mission, Jason only sees the fading glimpses of what failure has brought his oldest friend. Pain, torment, a weight on the soul. Even moments of mental imbalance - something he would recognize, being a facilitator of mental health.

The idea exists as both a terrible curse and wonderous tool. For Wayne, it may very well have been the latter. But to Jason, it's potential remains untapped, as he looks upon all of the unused technology that has been discarded in reaction to the prescence of a void. State-of-the-art computer systems that merely blink with light, never utilized to their purposes. The waiting frames of military vehicles that have not been properly assembled. Tools that were crafted by machines, and improved by hand, to be transformed into weapons in the war against crime. Relics of a past that have been stored away, to remind it's previous occupant of the life that spurned his decision to become the very thing that would enitivably inspire followers of his example.

All apart of an idea, Jason thinks, that can be of use again. To do what he could never do on his own. To inspire fear in the guilty, and give the slightest recognition of hope to those who had lost faith in Gotham's saviors.

Like Bruce Wayne, he stands alone in the dark. Similarly realizing that this is much bigger than himself. History only further repeats itself as he moves towards a large object in the corner, having been used as nothing more than a collector of dust. Hesitantly, Jason moves toward it, hearing the faintest sounds of something above him. He momentarily glances up at the source.

Bats. They stare all down at him, giving off an assault of echolocation. But as he ignores them and continues forward, the assault becomes more akin to something of a chant. A rallying battlecry that only serves to fill him with strength, as Jason reaches for the tarp covering the object and swiftly removes it with a strong grip, staring quite intently at what lies beneath.

And there, sitting in the darkness, basking in the glow of it's natural surroundings...

Something stares back.

"As a man, I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed..."​

Michael Lane didn't expect to have to take the monorail back home. Yet here he was, at three o'clock in the morning, fighting back sleep and hunger as he stared across at grafitti covering the empty seats ahead. Shaking his head, knowing that some idiot hoodlum wanting nothing but attention put it there to make himself feel big, Lane pulled down his hat and leaned into his seat as the train continued on. During the week, he worked as a part-time security guard at the newly rebuilt Ace Chemicals production plant that had been set up in the middle of The Narrows. The old factory itself was still in the midst of completion, and as soon as it'd open, he'd be transferring there for his nightly shifts. Until then, he figured he'd have to start carrying alot of spare change to make the nightly fare. Even it was built as a cheap public transportation system, it'd still cost him an arm and a leg when it came to monthly expenses. And given that his car had just broken down with no concievable way to pay for repairs, he was more than ready to call it a night on a day that had brought him nothing but misery.

Hell, he thought. Maybe this was just another sign that he needed to take a second job. With a heavy sigh at the thought, Lane was abruptly awoken by the sudden halt of the train, followed by the barely audiable announcement of a faulty intercom. He lifted his hat and took a glance outside. It was his stop. With a relieved stretch after sitting so for long, Lane picked up his bag of belongings and threw them over his shoulder, promptly exiting the car and heading down the walkway outside. His apartment was only a couple of blocks, so he figured that he had nothing to worry about, even at this time of night.

What Lane couldn't have counted on were the three men hanging out on the end of the walkway, sharing a lit joint and obnoxiously calling out to a woman on the other side of the street. As they continued to act like idiots while the woman ignored their advances, Lane ignored them aswell, keeping his bag close to himself as he politely tried to cross onto the street and turn towards the first block. He took three steps onto the street before he realized that the three men fell silent. Taking a look back, he noticed that they were all staring at him. Or more importantly, at his bag. He gave them a nod, trying desperately not to assume the worst.

"Evenin'."

Hoping that'd be the end of it, he continued on. But of course, as it was prone to happen in Gotham, assuming the worst was probably the single wisest thing that anyone hoping to walk the streets at night could do. Because just as he nearly made it to the sidewalk leading to the next block, he heard the rustling of footsteps behind him. His fist tightened as he realized what was about to happen, Lane casually reached into his bag for the nightstick that he used on the job. He didn't want this to get to ugly, but he didn't exactly have control over that. What'd happen next would have to be up to them.

Then he felt the hard glass bottle of emptied liquor smash across the back of his head, preventing him from reaching the nightstick in time. Lane doubled over and stumbled to his feet, hitting the wall of a nearby building with his back as the three immediately rushed him. He tried to fight back as they attacked, kicking him hard in the stomach and smashing him across the jaw, but the blow to the head had been too damaging for him to muster up the strength. By the time one of the thugs even thought to grab at his bag, he was far too winded to stop them.

"What've you got, man, some goodies?! What'd you bring us?!"

"Please, don't do this, I just..."

"Shut the **** up and sit there!"

Lane tried to stand up, but another one kicked him down and stomped on his arm, causing him to cry out in momentary pain. The first of the three reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade, physically threatening Lane with it as the second emptied the belongings of his bag onto the street. What scattered across the pavement was barely anything worth mentioning - used wrappers from lunch, some change, a couple of tax papers that he had filed at work, and other odds and ends. Lane weakly looked up only to see the second and third thug rummaging through it, growing frustrated at the lack of cash.

"No goodies, man. Just a bunch of useless ****."

"S'all I got..."

The three looked at him as he stared back, becoming increasingly fearful for his life.

"Damn, that's a shame..."

The switchblade thug stepped closer, with a malicious grin on his face.

"Guess we're gonna have to take your wallet instead."

Lane closed his eyes, knowing what would happen next if he didn't comply. There was no way out of this. Nobody was going to report this if they saw it, and even if they did, what were the cops gonna do? They'd be more likely to help the attackers than the victim. But he didn't have any real money to give. His wallet was full of a few ones, a ten, and a five. He sure as hell knew better than to carry real money around a neighborhood like this. So instead of fighting, Lane accepted his miserable fate and waited for the cold blade to stab into his body.

Then there was a noise. Something from above, so loud that it forced him to open his eyes again. When he looked at all three thugs, he noticed that were staring into the sky, each stricken with a sudden wide-eyed expression. The noise grew louder, first resembling a flag freely flowing in the wind, then resembling something far less describable. It'd come to Lane later on, while filing his report to the police, that it was more akin to a fluttering of wings. But at the moment, all he could see were the terrified hoodlums that had overpowered him with ease, jaws dropping as their attention was simultaneously focused upwards.

"What the hell is..."

"Nah, nah it can't be. No ****in' way is that..."

Out of nowhere, the first one dropped. Lane hadn't seen how, and apparently neither had the other two, because they were so scared out of their mind by what had happened that they didn't even bother to check and see what was wrong. The first one ran for his life, dropping the switchblade where he was and paying no attention to his friend, who backed away, producing a gun from his jacket and aiming it at the skies.

"YEAH?! YOU WANT SOME?! COME AND GET ME, MAN! COME AND---"

Instantly, a large shadow descended from the skies, dropping infront of Lane and completely enveloping the now silent thug. Though he had never been one to believe the hype or the rumors, Lane silently glanced back as the individual blanketed in shadows shifted and moved, unnaturally rising from the ground to reveal the two incapacitated attackers on the ground. He looked down at them, then looked up to get a better look at the person that had saved his life.

Except that by the time he did, the sillouette was gone, effortlessly heading back into the sky.

For the longest time, Michael Lane sat on the edge of the curb, dumbstruck by what had just happened. Before he finally looked back up into the clouds, wondering if he'd catch another glimpse at what he had just thought he'd seen.

"Damn..."

And he smiled, realizing that the streets were about to become alot safer.

"Thought they said he was dead."

"But as a symbol? As a symbol, I can be incorruptible..."​

The first attacker cut through an alley, his heart already pounding into his chest. His mind was racing nearly as fast as his body, pushing himself far beyond his own limitations just to be able to get away from whatever the hell had happened back there. He didn't know whether or not it was real, or that he had just been hallucinating from the weed, but what he did know was that he was alone. Neither of his buddies had ever caught up to him, and taking a momentary glance back, he couldn't see either of them trying to. That thing had gotten them. Had to be.

As his mind thought of numerous possibilities, the most obvious one was one that he didn't understand. Gotham had been quiet for months. There had been an uprising in street crime for the longest time, and even the cops weren't doing much of anything to put a stop to it. Hell, he'd overheard one of his usual suppliers mention that as far as the city was concerned, it was all fair game. Nothing and no one was off limits, and you were free to do as you pleased. So whenever he saw that mall cop or whatever strolling down the walkway - their turf, he told himself - carrying around something that should've held valuables or at least some cash, he didn't give it a second's thought to tell the other two to follow him and make quick work of the guy.

It was supposed to be simple. And now he was running, scared out of his mind.

What the hell was happening?

Finally cutting to the sixth or seventh block since bolting away from the scene, he leaned against a traffic light and stopped to catch his breath. Sweat was running down his forehead, he was coughing from the combination of adrenalene and smoke in his lungs, and his legs were very nearly ready to give out from the physical stress. But nothing was happening. Even as he looked around, seeing a couple of people walking in the opposite direction, he saw nothing in the skies above.

Then he grinned, chuckling to himself. A chuckle that soon turned into an all-out laugh.

Thank god, he told himself. It was the weed. Nothing had actually happened back there, he had just been tripping out. His friends were probably wondering where the hell he had went, as he foolishly started bolting down the streets for no apparent reason. Screaming something about demons, about monsters, about...

*ZZPP*

The world immediately started going crazy again, as he felt something immediately tug hard at his left thigh. Encasing him in an inescapable grip, he was forced to watch as his legs were thrown out from under him and he was pulled into the air at a rapid speed, seeing everything turn upside down. His scream was immediate, but silent, as he felt himself drift farther and higher into the skies above...

Then come to a stop.

"OH, JESUS! OH, JESUS! WHAT THE... WHAT..."

That was when he realized that he had never hallucinated at all. Because what stared back at him as he spun around was enough to cause the man's heart to start racing once again. He refused to believe his own eyes, even as the shadow of a beast eclipsed his field of vision, revealing a head of horns, leather wings as widespread as a car, and a pair of cold, white eyes, glowing from the darkness. A sight unbelievable to behold, but nevertheless all too familar.

"No..."

Even suspended in mid-air, the would-be thief and potential murderer tried to reason with the logic of what was happening in his head. And each subsequent time, he failed.

"No, you're not... you're not real. They... they said. They said you were..."

"Obviously,"

"They were mistaken."

And all at once, the guilty of Gotham City began to feel a cold chill run down their collective spines.

Or at least... the idea of one.

"I can be everlasting."​

- Bruce Wayne​

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Selina!"

I'm in the middle of my late morning workout when Arizona calls my name. Landing one last jab on the punching bag, I remain perfectly still for a moment as my body cools down. Sweat is dripping, it seems, from every pore, and my hair is tied back in a soggy ponytail. I take deep breaths as my heart rate slows back to normal. After a moment of gathering myself, I begin removing the wrist wraps from my hands.

"Someone's at the door!"

"Be right there," I assure her. I pick up the towel that's draped over the treadmill's handrail. As I wander into the main hallway, I wipe down my face and neck with the towel. My muscles ache with every step. I need to get stronger, need to build some endurance. Turning the corner, I see Arizona standing shyly at the open door. "Thanks, Ari."

I turn my attention to the woman standing in the doorway. Gwen Altamont, former thief turned fence. Sherman Fine - better known as The Broker - put me in touch with her. Apparently, she used to be quite the cat burglar. It all came crashing down for her when she busted up her knee following a museum job gone wrong. After that, she was never the same, so she took to fencing. We have a good working relationship: I collect the goods, and she cuts me a pretty decent deal on them.

"Selina," Gwen says politely. She's taller than me - though not by much. Her eyes are a deep forest green. She's quite beautiful, really. I don't know how she ever got wrapped in this world, but then I suppose you could say the same about me. "How are you?"

"Can't complain," I shrug. "Please, come in."

Gwen follows me into the penthouse, her eyes searching every corner of the room. I know that look all too well. It's a thief's habit: scanning the room for security, valuables, exits, etc. I know that deep down, she probably misses that life. Fencing pays well - especially when you work for The Broker - but nothing beats the thrill of the steal. It's an adrenaline rush unlike any other.

Arizona flops down on the couch and continues watching cartoons. Meanwhile, I lead Gwen to the master bedroom. Isis looks up lazily from the bed before curling back into a ball. There's a button behind the headboard. I press it, and a nearby compartment responds with a click. I slide the nightstand away from my bed, revealing a hidden panel on the wall. Inside, I keep my stolen valuables. I open the compartment and slide out the metal drawers for Gwen to examine.

"Admittedly, it's been a slow week," I say as Gwen kneels down to look at the goods. That business with Red Hood and Poison Ivy certainly didn't help me get a lot of work done. Not to mention that the injuries I sustained kept Catwoman off the streets for a few nights. Pickpocketing is easy, but it doesn't provide the rush that Catwoman does.

Gwen stands up, putting the last of the stolen jewels and jewelry in her purse. "Still... not bad, Selina," she remarks. She turns to me. "You've got a real gift, you know that?"

I smile devilishly. "What can I say? A girl's gotta eat."

"From the looks of this place, you're eating just fine," Gwen says with a laugh. "I've gotta ask, though. What are you gonna do about the kid?"

I furrow my brow. Arizona? What about her? "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, she can't sit around here all day, watching cartoons," Gwen explains. "Shouldn't she be in school or something? Or at least out meeting kids her own age?"

I frown. I hadn't considered that. When I first found Arizona, all I cared about was getting her out of that awful situation. Her childhood had already been destroyed, her innocence lost. I was just looking to give her somewhere safe to stay. I wanted to protect her... the way that no one ever protected me. But now, as Gwen confronts me about my long-term plans, I realize that I haven't made any. And she's right, Ari can't spend her whole life in this penthouse. As much as I want to protect her from the world, I can't do it at the expense of keeping her from making a life of her own.

Seeing the confusion on my face, Gwen puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't panic, Selina. It was just an observation," she assures me. As we make eye contact, she says, "I'll talk to Fine. Maybe he knows someone who can come up with some paperwork that says that you're the girl's legal guardian. If we can do that, then you can register her for school."

I nod. It's as good a plan as any. I can't help but wonder, though: am I fit to be a child's legal guardian? Not too long ago, I could barely take care of myself. And make no mistake, what I do as Catwoman is exceptionally dangerous. What if I were to get caught? Or even worse, killed? What happens to Arizona then? Will somebody come and scoop her up, throw her into the system like I was? No, I won't let that happen. Ari deserves a better life than I had - or at least a more stable one.

"Thanks, Gwen. See you next week?"

She nods. I slide the metal drawers back into place and close the wooden panel. It locks with a click, and I push the nightstand back in front of it. I follow Gwen to the door, my thoughts flooded with worries about Arizona. After Gwen leaves, I turn and stare at Arizona sitting on the couch. I have to do the right thing this time.
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

"I in turn will laugh when disaster strikes you; I will mock when calamity overtakes you — when calamity overtakes you like a storm, when disaster sweeps over you like a whirlwind, when distress and trouble overwhelm you. Then they will call to me but I will not answer; they will look for me but will not find me, since they hated knowledge and did not choose to fear the Lord. Since they would not accept my advice and spurned my rebuke, they will eat the fruit of their ways and be filled with the fruit of their schemes."
Proverbs 1:26-31

Reverend Oberon Sexton arrived at Saint Abel's cathedral under the orange glow of the sunrise. It was not a day of worship, but the congregants would come nevertheless. They would come to pray in the silence, to reflect on the Reverend's homilies and teachings, and to seek forgiveness for their sins. The Reverend would hear their confessions and give them council in the name of the Lord, and so he came to the church to prepare himself mentally. To empty his heart of worldly thoughts and feelings, so that the counsel of the Lord might flow through him.

The Reverend was more than a little perturbed to see the large man - the one the clown had called 'Chuckles' - standing in the atrium when he arrived at the cathedral. It would not do to have the faithful see one of the clown's brutes hanging around the church! Why would he be so careless? Still, the Reverend gathered himself and said simply, "He sent you."

The large man nodded. "He's inside."

At this, the Reverend's eyes went wide. Inside?! Surely, none had ever accused the mad jester of possessing a sane mind, but what had driven him to this madness? If a member of the church were to arrive early, to spot The Joker speaking to the Reverend, it would be the end for both their plans! With renewed vigor, the Reverend burst into the cathedral.

As the lieutenant had said, The Joker was standing by the altar. Next to him was a short, wiry man. The Reverend had seen him around the church before. Jervis Tetch, he believed, was the man's name. He was the jester's engineer: the one who had created the device. Truthfully, the Reverend had little contact with the man, but he had seen him hanging around the church many a Sunday.

"Reverend! You made it!" The Joker announced, his showman's voice filling the rafters. He smiled - as was his way - from ear-to-ear, showcasing a mouth full of yellowish teeth. "I believe you've met Mr. Tetch."

"What is the meaning of this, Joker?" the Reverend asked sternly. The mere thought of this godless man so close to the altar made Sexton's skin crawl. This was a holy place. It was no place for a clown.

"It's time for a dry run," The Joker explained. "Mr. Tetch has informed me that the device is in working condition. Just do what you always do, and I will handle the rest, Obie." The Joker spun on his heels, gave Tetch a pat on the back, and then waltzed down the center aisle, whistling as he went.

The Reverend's hand throbbed in pain as the jester passed. He had gone to the hospital to have the bone set, but his pinky was in agony nonetheless. Ignoring the discomfort, the Reverend turned his attention to The Joker's lackey. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing," Tetch answered as he pressed a button on the device. A light began to blink, and Tetch returned the device to its usual spot behind the pulpit. "The device will amplify The Joker's brainwaves. All you need to do attend to your congregation. He will handle the rest."

The Reverend didn't care for the sound of that, but he knew he had no choice in the matter. This day had been coming for a while now. The Joker recruited Sexton to raise an army. All the work the good Reverend had done was merely a ploy to keep the congregation coming. Sexton had a change of heart: he truly wanted to help these people, but The Joker saw them only as sheep. And now, with the device ready, it was time for the slaughter.

Trying his best to ignore his misgivings about the plan, Oberon Sexton went about his day as normally as he could manage. About an hour later, the faithful began rolling in. The Reverend moved to the confessional and waited for the repentant. It was only fifteen minutes or so before the first one arrived.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," the man began behind the confessional screen. "It has been two months since my last confession."

"Go on, my son."

"I... I struck my child," the man explained sorrowfully.

"And what prompted this?"

The man cleared his throat. "He had disobeyed his mother," he began, "He was told not to run in the house, but he did it anyway. When he knocked over a lamp, I... lost control, and I hit him."

"Do not despair," the Reverend said softly, "for you have done nothing wrong. A child must learn to obey his father and mother. It is said in Proverbs, 'Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.'"

The man was silent for a moment as he processed the Reverend's words. "Thank you, Father."

* * *

John had seen a lot of terrible things in his short time as a cop in Gotham. He had grown up on the outskirts of Bludhaven and moved to Gotham after college. He was an idealist - or, at least, he had been. Before Gotham drove that youthful spirit out of him. He had seen heinous crimes, crimes without any reason or explanation, but this one, perhaps, took the cake out of all them.

He had responded to a domestic disturbance call. Some mother dialed 9-1-1 in a panic, saying something about her husband and her son. Right away, John knew what he was dealing with. Domestic abuse. When he arrived on the scene, he found the mother in tears. Her son had been beaten within an inch of his life. The kid was breathing, but only barely. John found the father in the kitchen. He was wearing the blood-stained belt that he had used to beat his kid, and he was as calm about it as could be.

"He needed to learn to be obedient," the father reasoned.

* * *

"What are your sins, my daughter?" Reverend Oberon Sexton asked as his next penitent entered the confessional.

The woman breathed a heavy sigh. "Well, Father, I come not to confess my own sins, but to ask for advice for another," she explained. "It's my daughter. I came home early from work last week, and I found her alone in my house with her boyfriend. They were... fooling around."

"And these two are not betrothed?"

"No, Father."

"Few things bring more shame to a house than a woman who is not a maid on her wedding day," the Reverend replied. "In Deuteronomy, it is said, 'They shall bring out the damsel to the door of her father's house, and the men of her city shall stone her with stones that she die.'"

"I understand, Reverend."

* * *

Alicia was sitting in her room, listening to music, and waiting for her mother to get home. Tension had been running high in the house ever since her mother had caught Alicia and Brad messing around one day. Alicia didn't even understand why her mom had been so upset. It's not like they had even done anything yet. And they were going to be totally safe about it, anyway. Instead, she had been forbidden to see Brad again and grounded for the week.

Over the sound of her music, Alicia heard the sound of the front door opening. Her mother must have gotten home. Turning off her music, Alicia spun in her chair and waited for the inevitable lecture. She had gotten one every day this week. As the doorknob to her room turned, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, Mom, whatever. Let's just get this over with."

Alicia's mother entered the room slowly, holding a rock in her hand. Before Alicia could perplexedly ask about the rock, her mother lifted it over her head. Terror filled Alicia's mind as she realized what was happening. The first strike didn't knock Alicia unconscious, though she fell to the floor. As Alicia felt the warm sensation of blood rushing from her head, her mother brought the rock crashing down a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And though Alicia had gone limp by then, her mother continued lifting the rock and bringing it down on her daughter's crushed head.

* * *

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," the third repentant sinner began, "It has been two weeks since my last confession."

The Reverend nodded. "And what sins have you come to confess, my son?"

"I have been unfaithful to my wife," the young man admitted.

"A grave sin," the Reverend replied. "Adultery is one of the Lord's most prohibited acts. It is even among his Ten Commandments!"

"What can I do, Reverend?"

"Heed the prophet Matthew's advice: 'And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.'"

"Yes, Reverend."

* * *

It was Mark's first night in the emergency room, and he was having a hard time keeping up. Fresh out of medical school, he always knew that he wanted to help people. He just didn't imagine that there would be so many in need of help. As new patients were wheeled in every minute - with ambulance on top of ambulance rolling in - Mark's head was spinning. He took a deep breath and tried to gather himself.

A gurney was rolled into the emergency room. "What do we have?" he asked the medical technicians.

"Self-mutilation," one of them replied.

Mark walked up to the gurney. The victim was pale and motionless, no doubt from the blood loss. He had been covered in a sheet, but the blood was seeping through anyway. Mark's face contorted in revulsion as he lifted the sheet. "You say this was self inflicted?"

The technician nodded.

Mark looked down at the bloody stump between the young man's legs. He found it hard to believe that someone could do this to themselves. "Prep him for surgery now," he ordered.
​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald feeds Titan while watching the sun rise over the city.

He says, "Well my beloved friend today is the day I have long waited for. The day I begin my true rise to power in this city."

Titan makes an almost purring sound and leans and Oswald says, "Oh don't worry Titan I will not be forgetting you. You've and your avian family have been more than loyal to me I woudln't dream of turning my back on you."

He sets down the rest of the meat scraps in Titan's bowl, and crosses into the bathroom and washes his hands.

Oswald sits at his desk and cuts on his plasma TV and is watching Gotham's Financial Report on "Good Day Gotham." Jennifer Meade, broadcasting from the Gotham Exchange, tells the people of Gotham that this is the day so many investors have been waiting for; The day Wayne Enterprises goes public.

She says, "With about 10 minutes before opening bell here at the exchange you can already feel the excitement in the air. The fact that the company is currently in a fluid state doesn't seem to be discouraging to many investors and the stock is expected open at around $35.00 a share. Microsoft opened at 32.90 so this tells many of us the value of Bruce Wayne to this city and the global community. Inspite of the recent financial hardtimes here in Gotham and the city recovering from a long drawn out mob-war."

Oswald mutes the TV and gets his stock broker Tempus Fuget on the phone.

Tempus says, "Good morning Oswald been a while since I've heard from you."

Oswald replies, "Been trying to get the Iceberg Lounge ready to reopen. We reopen at 7 sharp tomorrow evening you and your lovely wife Elaine are invited to the grand reopening. You two will be in the V-I-P section with me and certain other guests of course. I will contact the manager once we are off the phone to make it happen."

Tempus replies, "Thank you Oswald of course we'll be there looking forward to it already."

Oswald says, "Excellent now for the business at hand. The minute the bell sounds buy every share of Wayne Enterprises. The market say $35.00 a share you are to pay 5 times that for each share."

Tempus says, "Oswald are you certain about this? The opening price is just because of the name and reputation of the company. The prices will fall below 30.00 before the end of the week, and you'll be able to get it for about 20-25 dollars next week. This public selling is the last desperate act of a dying company."

Oswald replies, "I don't care if it's the first act of Henry the 5th. I told you what I wanted done and I expect it to be done to the letter."

Oswald lights a cigar and says, "I am setting the tone for this day. If anyone else wants those shares they're going to have to go through me and over my dead body. I've got the money for it and I've got even bigger plans for Wayne Enterprises, but more importantly I'm going to do what those costumed freaks try so desperately in vain to do; I will save Gotham City."

Tempus replies, "All-right Oswald I'll take care of it. I'll be in touch."

Oswald says, "Thank you Tempus my friend. I look forward to your call, and don't forget about tomorrow night."

He hangs up the phone and leans back in his chair. Oswald blows a ring of smoke and watches it float through the air.

Ahh Oswald you're saving a city, but more importantly you're showing one and all who the true King of Gotham is.

 

[Eddie Brock]

I wake up early in the morning, tend to Arizona's breakfast, and then get ready in my Sunday best. For months, I've been hearing of this Saints of Gotham church and their anti-vigilante agenda. And as their enigmatic leader, Oberon Sexton, makes guest appearances on television and radio, I decide that I've heard enough. I need to see this place for myself. I don't pretend to be a strong supporter of what Bruce tries - or tried - to accomplish as Batman, but I certainly don't think he's the spawn of Satan - or whatever hyper-religious drivel this place is manufacturing.

Arizona asks to come, but I don't even consider it. First and foremost, the church is located in the heart of The Narrows. That's no place for a kid. Second of all, I don't want her hearing all the lies and exaggerations that this Reverend Sexton is spewing out. When the time comes, Arizona can make her own opinions about Batman and the vigilantes. She doesn't need anyone - not even me - telling her what to believe. I feel bad about leaving her alone, but she's grown accustomed to it, I suppose. For all my attempts to take care of her, I don't do a great job of actually being around for her.

It's funny how I'm more at home in The Narrows than I am among Gotham's air-headed elite and powerful. Maybe it's because the people in The Narrows are honest. They're ugly and broken, but they don't try to hide behind false smiles and insincerity. They present themselves exactly as they are, with no fear of judgment because they have more important things to worry about than other people's opinions. I respect that. In many ways, I try to emulate that, but I'm not as successful as I'd like.

As I wander towards the church, I realize that I'm being followed. Of course. Even on a Sunday morning, The Narrows isn't a safe place for a woman to walk alone. At least my decision to leave Arizona behind has been validated. I maintain my composure. Nothing to get worked up about. However, the streets are nearly empty at this time of day, so I don't have crowd cover. Looks like I might have to get my hands dirty, and just before church no less.

I keep my pace, despite the footsteps behind me growing closer. I can practically feel my would-be attacker's breath on my neck. I hear the telltale click of a switchblade being opened. A purse-snatcher, one of the lowest forms of thievery. Sneak up behind a woman, cut the strap to her bag, and run. Threaten violence if she resists. Well, this pathetic idiot has bitten off more than he can chew with this 'mark.'

A hand grabs the strap of my pocketbook and tugs sharply. The momentum spins me in a half-circle, and I drive my elbow into the man's chin. As he recovers, I spread my feet at shoulder width, adopting a defensive stance. The man lunges forward with the knife. I slap away his hand at the wrist, following it up with a sharp right cross. As my attacker falls to a knee, I kick the knife out of his hand. He looks up at me in a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment.

"Get out of here," I growl, "and don't let me catching you trying to snatch purses in this neighborhood again."

He seizes the opportunity and scrambles to his feet, running off without even a second thought of retrieving his switchblade. He'll be back to purse-snatching within the week, no doubt, but at least I've scared him off for now. I could've finished him, but he frankly wasn't worth the effort. Also, I can't afford to waste much more time if I don't want to be late.

I'm amazed at how many people are gathered outside Saint Abel's cathedral. As the bells toll, signaling everyone to mass, the crowd funnels slowly through the double-doors at the front of the church. I slide in amongst them, trying my best not to get trampled. I didn't realize Gotham was so full of the devout. I've always found it to be a godless city myself. But I suppose that the promise of paradise is appealing to people living in such filth and despair.

As the mass gets underway, I experience an odd sensation. In one way, it's almost a calming feeling. Like the sensation you get after a long nap or right before you drift off to sleep. On the other hand, it feels almost like a haze. As Reverend Sexton booms on and on about the threat of vigilantism, I feel the "spell" breaking. And as I see the cracks in it, I realize that the euphoric feeling isn't coming from within. It's almost as though someone is projecting what I'm supposed to feel onto me. Occasionally, reality will break through the barrier and shatter the illusion. When the mass ends, I'm thankful for it. I don't even remember the Reverend's homily. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on in my head.

"Selina?"

The sound of my name catches me off-guard. Puzzled, I turn to see a familiar face standing amongst the rows of pews. Maven, I realize as the girl's name comes rushing back to me. She's one of the girls I encountered during my time undercover with Vice. She was only sixteen, maybe seventeen, then. A poor thing who got wrapped up with the wrong people and started turning tricks as a result. I helped her get out of that lifestyle, for which she was very grateful.

"Oh my God, imagine seeing you here!" Maven announces as she approaches me. She still looks exactly as I remember her: short, lithe, blonde hair down to her waist. She must be, what, nineteen or so now? She looks much healthier than she did when I first met her, though. As she throws her arms around me for a hug, I note that she smells a bit like lavender.

As we hug, I smile. I am genuinely glad to see her. I made a lot of personal connections during my time with Vice, but I never get to see these girls again. It's nice when I occasionally run into them on the street. I always like to know how they're doing. "Maven! You're looking gorgeous!"

"Me?" Maven replies as we break the hug, "Look at you! Wow!" Her voice still has that sweetness to it, and she's as bubbly as ever. I always used to tell Maven that her smile was infectious, and I feel its power again now. "I didn't know you were a Saint!"

A Saint? Is that what the congregation calls themselves? How shameless. "Actually, it's my first time," I admit. "I've been seeing this Reverend Sexton all over TV, and I had a free Sunday, so I thought I might come down. See what all the hype is about."

"Isn't Reverend Sexton amazing?" Maven asks with beaming sincerity.

"He's... something alright," I reply obliquely. In truth, I wasn't paying much attention to the Reverend or his sermon. I was too busy trying to get to the bottom of that strange calming sensation. I begin to wonder if I was the only one feeling it, but I decide not to ask Maven. I don't want to sound crazy. Maybe it was just excess hormones from the encounter with the purse-snatcher.

Maven looks at her phone and frowns. Looking up at me, she says apologetically, "Listen, I have to run, but it was great seeing you! Let's catch up this week!" Diving into her purse, Maven pulls out a pen and a piece of scrap paper. She quickly scribbles down her phone number and address. "Call me tomorrow, and we'll go get coffee, okay?" Immediately after handing me the paper, Maven hugs me tightly once more before running off.

I look down at the phone number and address with a smile. Well, at least some good came of this trip. Some girl time is exactly what I need, and I'm dying to hear all about how Maven's been doing since I saw her last. As I'm tucking the scrap paper away in my pocketbook, I notice that I'm one of the last people still in the church. Another holdout - a short, unattractive man in a top hat - is staring right at me, but he looks away when our gazes meet. Perv, I think to myself as I sling my pocketbook over my shoulder and exit the church.
​

 

[Batman]

"10-32 in progress, available units respond to Franklin and Miller."

"Guess break's over, huh?"

Switching on the siren in the middle of their mid-morning breakfast of 5th avenue pastries, patrolling GCPD officers Alvarez and Davis wasted no time in responding to the dispatch. Alvarez was the only real seasoned cop on the beat between the two, close to making rank as Sergeant. Davis was the rookie, silently wondering just why the hell they hadn't seen action any sooner. He'd been on this shift since early evening, and it was nearing four in the morning without so much as a domestic assault thrown their way. Not that he hadn't noticed the fact that every few minutes, their radio would crackle with life, directing other units to crimes in progress across town. For everyone else on the force, it had seemed to be a productive night. For the two of them? Hardly the case. Frustrated at the thought, he leaned his head against the seat while picking up the reciever, halfway expecting someone else to intercept their current stop along the way.

"Dispatch, this is Unit 12. We're en route."

Watching his partner half-heartedly place the reciever back in place, Alvarez smirked.

"You look tired, rook. Or bothered. Beat's not exactly what you expected?"

Davis furrowed his brow. "Hardly. It's been a week since Bullock assigned us the East End, and we've barely seen so much as a stray dog. I thought this part of town was supposed to be the worst?"

"Yeah, well, it was. Up until the Tower came crashing down. After most of the people living on this side got evacuated, not many stuck around to get mugged or report having their homes broken into. We've just gotta keep a watchful eye for that kinda stuff."

"I guess. But why assign us here in the first place?"

Alvarez turned the wheel, pulling onto the road that would ultimately lead them to their destination.

"Kid, trust me. Doesn't matter how many blockades you put into place or businesses you close down. In Gotham, all you need is a punk with a swiss army knife and he'll find a way to raise hell. This part of town may seem deserted, but it ain't. Just because the rats are in hiding doesn't mean they're gone."

Davis raised an eyebrow.

"How long you been doing this, again?"

"Longer than you. That's all that matters."

Rolling his eyes as they finally approached the curb, Davis stared ahead, not expecting to see anything to fully grab his attention. But the closer that they came to the scene of the supposed assault in progess, the more that he began to realize that something was wrong. There was a sizeable crowd gathered around the scene, staring straight up at something that wasn't visible from the officers' point of view. Hardly the sight that'd be indicative of two idiots locked in a fistfight, or some hapless thug hoping to score the contents of an old man's wallet. Alvarez seemed to notice it too, as they pulled up to the scene and killed the siren.

"What're they lookin' at? I can't see anything from here."

"Guess we're about to find out. Come on..."

Both exited the vehicle and immediately cut through the crowd, flashing their badges along the way whenever the anyone that was part of the gathering didn't seem to get the message. Some stared back at them with an apparent disgust, which - to be honest - was the standard civillian reaction to a pair of oncoming Gotham Police, but the others were simply too transfixed by what they were looking at to fully comply with the requests. Eventually, Alvarez forced a path by shoving a few people aside, knowing that the only way they'd be able to get through and do their jobs was to show a little bit of force. Davis simply followed, trying to get a look at the scene himself, unable to see past the miriad of people.

"Alright, alright, nothin' to see here! Go on, move it!"

Finally, Alvarez made it to the front of the line, still too focused on the people to take a proper look.

"Christ alive, you people look like you've never seen a..."

And immediately, his words tripped over eachother, catching sight of what they were all staring at. His eyes widened and his mouth remained opened, his body unwilling to move for the first few seconds that it all clicked into place. His mind was literally too slow to process what exactly he was looking at, but part of him knew what it was immediately. Given the circumstances, it was made incredibly apparent.

Turning in the opposite direction, Alvarez grabbed Davis by the shoulder as he approached, intently staring him down as he spoke.

"Listen to me. Keep these people back, I'm gonna call this in."

Davis looked back at his partner, confused.

"Wait, what? Why? What's happened up there?"

"Just table the questions, alright? Stay focused on what I told you to do. I gotta call this in right now. Christ, Gordon himself is gonna want to see this..."

Noticing that his partner was obviously shaken as he headed back towards the car, Davis walked ahead, cutting infront of the crowd and taking a curious look at what had gotten everyone so spooked. And seconds later, his expression took on a similar sense of shock that the rows of gathering people behind him shared. Because what he saw was just about one of the strangest things he'd ever seen in his life - three men, all visibly bloodied and bruised to absolute hell, strung up by some kind of a tight metallic coil. But that wasn't the reason that he or anyone else were so taken aback.

It was the way they were aligned. Propped up against a high brick wall on the side of the ajacent building, two of the men were placed on both sides of the third, bent at an angle by the method in which their legs were bound. The third had his hands attached to the wall, by a similar coil, stuck into the brick. The sight of his outstretched arms gave the illusion of two horns, sticking straight up. The two to his side? Wings. All culminating into an obviously intentional, but immistakable shape.

A Bat.

"Jesus..."

Davis had finally gotten his earlier wish. Tonight wasn't going to turn out to be a bore after all. Removing his hat, he simply stared at the men and looked down, realizing exactly what this meant. Not just for the force, but for the city as a whole.

"He's alive?"