The "Ultimate DC Universe" RPG: Season 2.0

[twylight]

Gotham City Police Department, was busy, especially the ‘special’ division. I think ‘special’ with little fingers on either side of my head because it isn’t actually real. But during the last few months, the Detectives in Homicide have been wearing two hats, (when did they not). I could see Jason’s back as he leaned over his desk a phone in his hand jotting down notes. Slam was no where to be seen, but that gave me more leeway being with Jason. Quietly weaving through the room, tossing a wave and a finger over my mouth as I went, I waited till he’d hung up before I hopped onto his desk next to him and crossed my legs. Placing the large brown grocery bag I was holding on the floor.

“You look hungry.”

He smiles up and me.
“Ms. Lance you are quite a detective.”

I waggle the brown paper bag before putting it down in front of him.
“Bagel sandwich from Lenny’s.”

“Preferential treatment?” I look up as Harv walks by. As much as I think he’s a brown noser, he is a good cop, and while not a good friends, it’s nice to know he’s on my side. Besides, anyone that hates Batman with Harvey’s passion is someone worth knowing.

“Nope, I didn’t forget you either.” I lean over and pull another paper bag from the grocery bag and I plop it on his desk.

He raises his eyebrows before practically pouncing on the bag. Interesting, not that Harv was hungry, when was he not? But, his trash can was only full of paperwork. No doughnut paper, fast food wrappings, nothing.

“Look.” I lean over and pull out two drinks and raise my eyebrows, with a smile.
“I even brought drinks.”

Jason’s smile was worth anything and I wanted to kiss him right there, the slight tension in his arms cued me that he was thinking the same thing.

“Working you that hard?” I ask as Harv dives into his food and Jason leans back taking a bit.

“Yeah, some nut built a ‘Bat-Signal’ and then this arsonist. Twice, in two nights.”

“You have a lead?”

Jason shook his head.
“Not much of one.” He casually leaned forward to grab a potato chip, his hand grazing a file folder and flipping it open. I raise my eyebrow at him as he lesuirely leans back, if he was willin’…

I lean my weight on my arm and glance down.
Woman was killed in the first one and had been out the night before with a man. He’d come home with her and that was it. The rest was nothing the paper hadn’t told me. What interested me was the second one. It was brutal and seemed, almost random compared to the other one, no romantic relations. I glance at the description of the man and the artist sketch.

“Name?”

“Cash,” Harvey said watching Jason and mines elaborate play.
“They heard her call him John or Johnathan”

A man like that, it had to have been fake. Jason crumpled up his sandwich paper and tossed it in the trashcan before leaning forward for a drink, crossing his arm on the desk he slipped out the picture and slid it towards me and I quickly pocketed it.

I didn’t even need to ask why, as they’d told me before:
“You’re a fresh set of eyes and a great deal more trustworthy.”

I glance at the time, I’d told Milly I’d be in around 3, and dinner was at 5, that only gave me a few hours to track things down.
I tap the bag at my feet, with my toe.
“There’s an extra sandwich, drink and bag of chips in here for Slam. Make sure he get’s them.”
I glance around the room quickly before leaning over and kissing Jason’s forehead.

“See you tonight.”

Jason nodded as I hopped off and he caught my wrist.
I turned and met his eyes.
“Dinah, be careful.” I nod.

“I always am” I say lightly.

Jason nodded and released my wrist.
“And find him.”

- - -




I lean back in the chair and gaze at my scribbles and swirls on my notepad, intertwined with names.

I got a name, and that was it. Mick Rory.
He’d turned up in Keystone City a while ago, three months ago? Question was, what was he doing in Gotham, and why? He was obviously a psycho, so why was I even bothering applying logic to him?

I leaned forward and dialed GCPD, Jason had left, and Harv was out but Slam was available.

“Got a name.”

“So fast?”

I smirk
“Better than you could do. ‘Old man.’”

“I just take credit for the training.”

I smile fondly, yeah he kinda does. I would have never passed my test for my license if not for him.

“Mick Rory.”

There was silence on the other end.
“You sure?”

Odd for him to ask me that.

“Yesss…I faxed the photo to all my contacts, double checked them all and even hit the street a little. What’s wrong?”

“Just want to make sure you’re right. It adds a little bit to this. Thanks Dinah.” I tilted my head. He sounded tired, very tired.

“Slam, you sound tired, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“No, you’ve got that passing of review for Jason tonight.”

“So? I’m sure Ted would love to have a partner in crime.”

A worn laugh came from the other end.
“No, let him shine on his own. Thanks for the food, by the way.”

“Any time.” I say smiling. A warm feeling comes over me as I think about Slam’s tutoring, and friendship. Sure Uncle Ted was the one mom had sit me down when I was sent home from school, and the one I’d go crying to, but Slam was the one who was there all the time no matter what. I told Uncle Ted I loved him all the time, but did I ever do it for Slam?

“Bye.” the phone clicked and I stared at it for a moment before hanging it up. I glance at the clock, Jason would be more on time than me.

 

[trustyside-kick]

"So, about the re-audition--"

"There won't be a re-audition, Matt."

"What?"

The doctor slides over Matt's glass of Scotch, and Matt firmly grips it, almost as if he was going to crush it with his bare hands. He places his other hand firmly into his coat pocket.

"May I ask why?"

OOC: The first few posts will be a set up for a future arc so are based about 2 months ago (basically when Season I just ended).
​

​

Clayface- 'Everything's gone downhill'
---------------------------------------------
Matt almost begins to lose it even before the doctor begins to explain everything to Matt. All he keeps thinking about is how his last 3 years have been ever since that Owlman role; causing him to now be branded "type-casted". The idea began to fill Matt's heart with hatred; he drew a conclusion of what happened; why he won't get a re-audition for the aging cream commercial. Matt snaps on the doctor as he pulls out his gun.

"Let me guess, ALREADY CASTED SOMEONE ELSE, HUH?"

"Matt! What's wrong with you. Put that gun down!"

Matt brings the gun up to the doctors face, and then shoves it right up against his forehead.

"I'M JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOUR ****TY COMMERICIAL, ISN'T THAT IT? HUH? I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH?"

"Matt, please! Listen to me! You don't know what--"

"PUSHING ME ASIDE LIKE ALL THE OTHERS! TREATING ME LIKE SOME TWO-BIT HACK! I'M MATT HAGEN! YOU HEAR ME? MATT ****ING HAGEN!"

Matt pushes the doctor back, causing the doctor to flip backwards over his desk, falling onto the floor. The doctor gets back up in pain, and sits down into his chair, almost looking like he was about to beg for his life. It doesn't do him any good, however. Matt still continues to point the gun at him.

"MATT! You don't understand! The entire audition went underwater! See, the--"

The doctor tries to open his drawer to get something out, but Matt acts like he is about to pull the trigger so the doctor stops.

"Look, listen to me, Matt! Recent test results showed a deformation in the..."

The doctor rants on and on about recently found errors in the chemical solution of the aging cream. As he goes on to the extended amount of side-effects it caused, Matt gets frustrated. He's tired. He's tired and feels worthless. Everything that has happened to him over the past 3 years has ruined him; he's withering away. As the doctor continues to talk, Matt believes he's being spoon-fed bull****, thinking the doctor is just trying to stop or prolong his very near death. Matt decides he won't listen to this any longer.




*BAM*


Matt walks over to the doctor's fireplace, unloads the gun, throws the bullets into the fire, and tosses the gun in as well. For a few moments, Matt stares into the fireplace as the metal begins to melt.

He turns to the doctor's dead body, which lays in the chair behind the desk. Matt then looks over and spots the glass of Scotch the doctor poured for him. He walks over to the desk, picks up the glass of Scotch, and gulps it.

"Thanks for the Scotch, Doc."

Matt turns off the lights as he exits the doctor's mansion. He slowly walks down the stone-stairway and into his car. He starts the engine, and starts heading towards the direction to the nearest bar.

 

[Apprentice]

Before The Batman: "Circus Freak, Conclusion"

"Man, those are some mo-oves you got there!"

Dick grinned, reclining into the chair with a weary exhale. The group of teens were scattered about the hotel's recreation room, each consumed by their own activity - be it the arcade games that were situated in the corner, the television set on the far wall, or even the bookcase by the entrance. Beside him, Vic and another boy were smirking widely, chuckling heartily.

"Definitely! I thought you said you were bad at basketball!" Vic explained. "You an' your folks ever wanna settle down, please do it here!"

"Settle down? Why would we wanna do that?" Dick responded, an air of mock offence edging his tone. "Listen, guys, it's been great, but I'd better be gettin' back to my room. My parents should be back by now, and I wanan see how the trial went..."

"Sure. We're gone." Vic rose to his feet and called out to his companions, motioning for them to follow him as he moved towards the hotel's lobby. "Nice meetin' ya, Dick. Next time you're in Metropolis, gimme a buzz, huh?"

Dick nodded, and swallowed hard as he felt a strange lump rise into his throat. He had known Vic and 'the gang' for less than three hours - yet they were the closest friends he had ever had. Somehow, he envied them, being able to converse every day, being able to wake up knowing that they'd be seeing their friends that day. How different circus life was to that of 'normal' people. Different, and somewhat frightening. He slunk after the group at a distance, turning away to ascend the stairs as they emerged onto the street. And, as he did so, two distinctive words assaulted his eardrums.

"...circus freak..."

He swivelled swiftly enough to see Vic shoot a reprimanding glare at one of the youths, and then they were gone.

~~~

When Dick returned to the room he shared with his parents, they excitedly questioned him about his new friends. His only reply was "Let's get out of here. Soon." They immediately fell silent - silent enough to perceive the soft noise as he sobbed, unrestrained, on his bed.

 

[Andy C.]

(" < >" = translated from Japanese)

Tokyo, Japan

<"Phenomenal....absolutely phenomenal.">

The Japanese teenager in the blue jeans and T-shirt stared in amazement at the blueprints that he had received from Milton Fine. He was initially skeptical, which was only natural; after all, the claims that Fine had made about his proposed device bordered on the fantastical. After nearly an hour of scrupulous study, Ichiro Okamura could find absolutely nothing wrong with the design. It was air-tight, it was all scientifically sound....but it was still nearly a century ahead of its time.

<"So I, ummm....I take it that you like it?">

Fine sat in a chair across the table from him, squirming and apparently uncomfortable in Mr. Okamura's board room. Ichiro was only a child, barely sixteen years old, but he was recognized as one of the world's most brilliant inventors, a prodigy that rivaled Kord or Luthor in America. If there was anyone who would endorse this device, it would be the Tokyo wunderkind who called himself the 'Toyman.'

Fine wiped his forehead, waiting for the boy's response.

<"Like it? This is the most incredible thing I've ever seen! It makes the iPod look like an abacus! Mr. Fine, we have GOT to get this thing into production!">

That was precisely the reaction he had wanted. There was a slight shift in Fine's voice, an edge of confidence where, seconds earlier, there had only been trepidation.

<"Well, I don't quite know about that just yet, sir. And please, don't take that as an insult; believe me, I mean no disrespect. I wouldn't have come all the way from Metropolis to Tokyo if I didn't respect your opinion. But I've got potential buyers in America as well, and I want to make sure I can get the best offer.">

Ichiro frowned. His father's company had never been able to take a foothold in America, especially now that LexCorp had such a strong presence there. With this sort of device, though, he may be able to turn things around.

<"What are their offers? I'll double it. I'll triple it!">

Fine stood up, and took a deep breath.

<"We'll see, Mr. Okamura. It was a true pleasure finally getting to see 'the Toyman' in person, and I do hope we can do business.">

With that, he bowed deeply, and walked out the door.

*****

As he stood in the elevator, he could not help but grin widely. Having so recently merged with an organic being, he was still not used to experiencing emotion, but the one he was feeling now he recognized as amusement.

The boy, Ichiro Okamura, was quite intelligent for his species, one of less than half a dozen humans to possess a Level 9 Intelligence; he would prove useful in the times to come. However, he had no intention of selling the device to 'the Toyman;' what he truly intended here was to start a bidding competition that would inevitably and invariably catch the attention of Lex Luthor. With LexCorp's production facilities at his disposal, there would be no stopping the phases of his global upgrade.

As the elevator reached ground floor, Brainiac was smiling from ear to ear. He would soon return to America, and continue to attract rival bidders.

His destination: Wayne Enterprises.

 

[Byrd Man]

"I'll be sure and count the days Guy. The sparring session is really your losses. You know how long I've actually been "activated"? It's been a week. You guys could probably kick my ass, so I guess I'm going to count my blessings you didn't take me up on the offer."

"A week? Well yeah, those fancy powers to amount to **** if you don't know how to use them....Later."

I head out the cafeteria and catch a hovercab out of the HQ and towards the edge of Oa city. My tiny little **** hole on an apartment filled with a small black and white T.V. and a stack of comic books. I pick up one of the bottles of beer and look inside of it. That's when my commlink rings.

"Hello?"

"Gardner."

It's Sinestro, and I can tell he doesn't seem too happy.

"As much as I hate it, I need you again. Something's came up."

"What do I have to do."

"Undercover work...deep undercover."

 

[Byrd Man]

Hub City, Illinois

I've got a clear view of him from my vantage point under the lights of Ditko Park. Johnny Finger was one of Boss Paul's best thugs, then Boss Paul thought he'd do good in the political scene and made him head of Hub City's union. A twig snaps as I get closer to him.

"Huh? Is that you boss?"

His voice sounds a little too high, like he's jumpy and on edge. I stay silent while I move through the shadows.

"B-boss...It's me Johnny.....you said you wanted to meet me here tonight."

I finally emerge from the shadows and into the light. The look of terror on his face worsens and he sees what I'm holding in my hands.

"Oh damn."

He starts to pull his pistol out of his jacket, but a well placed shot from my .45s make his hands retreat from his shoulder holster.

"Play it cool. I just want to talk."

I keep on of my guns trained on his as I holster the other one and pull out a small tape recorder. I press play.

"State you full name and job title."

He's breathing heavily as he licks his lips and starts to talk.

"John Joseph Finger. I'm head of the Hub City branch of the Teamsters Union."

"And how did you get the job?"

He hesitates and I turn off the tape recorder. I pull the trigger on the .45 and it roars as a bullet flys out and buries itself into Johnny boy's leg.

"Ahh. Oh god. Oh god."

"Just answer my questions and I'll let you go."

I turn the tape recorder back on and he starts to open up to me like Barbra Walters.

"I was put in their by Boss Paul. He rigged the Teamster's election so I could be in charge and follow his orders. I got paid off to accept certain contracts."

"What happened to Detective McCarthy who was investigating the Teamsters?"

"He's in the bottom of Lake Michigan. Me and a few guys put a bullet in his brain."

He's on the verge of tears now as I stop the tape recorder.

"That's all I've got. You did good Johnny Boy."

He's delirious now.

"Can I go?"

I level the gun and aim for his head.

"Sure."

Of the six shots I fire, three catch him in the head while the other three hit him somewhere near the right lung. I'm off into the shadows by the time he hits the ground.

 

[Byrd Man]

Hub City, Illinois

I've got a clear view of him from my vantage point under the lights of Ditko Park. Johnny Finger was one of Boss Paul's best thugs, then Boss Paul thought he'd do good in the political scene and made him head of Hub City's union. A twig snaps as I get closer to him.

"Huh? Is that you boss?"

His voice sounds a little too high, like he's jumpy and on edge. I stay silent while I move through the shadows.

"B-boss...It's me Johnny.....you said you wanted to meet me here tonight."

I finally emerge from the shadows and into the light. The look of terror on his face worsens and he sees what I'm holding in my hands.

"Oh damn."

He starts to pull his pistol out of his jacket, but a well placed shot from my .45s make his hands retreat from his shoulder holster.

"Play it cool. I just want to talk."

I keep on of my guns trained on his as I holster the other one and pull out a small tape recorder. I press play.

"State you full name and job title."

He's breathing heavily as he licks his lips and starts to talk.

"John Joseph Finger. I'm head of the Hub City branch of the Teamsters Union."

"And how did you get the job?"

He hesitates and I turn off the tape recorder. I pull the trigger on the .45 and it roars as a bullet flys out and buries itself into Johnny boy's leg.

"Ahh. Oh god. Oh god."

"Just answer my questions and I'll let you go."

I turn the tape recorder back on and he starts to open up to me like Barbra Walters.

"I was put in their by Boss Paul. He rigged the Teamster's election so I could be in charge and follow his orders. I got paid off to accept certain contracts."

"What happened to Detective McCarthy who was investigating the Teamsters?"

"He's in the bottom of Lake Michigan. Me and a few guys put a bullet in his brain."

He's on the verge of tears now as I stop the tape recorder.

"That's all I've got. You did good Johnny Boy."

He's delirious now.

"Can I go?"

I level the gun and aim for his head.

"Sure."

Of the six shots I fire, three catch him in the head while the other three hit him somewhere near the right lung. I'm off into the shadows by the time he hits the ground.

Two hours later and Johnny's corpse still lays on the cold hard ground. Hub City, what a hell of a town. The only way the cops would ever come out here this time of night was if supermodels were givin away free punanny, but I digress. I drag Johnny's fat, bloated body a half mile to the nearest police station. I check the street for any signs of life and pull out my box cutters....

The next morning I manage to stumble out of my bed and chase off the cockroach sitting on my peice of Domino's Pizza. It's not half bad, a little moldy, but otherwise good. The paper boy has made his rounds by now and I find the newspaper sitting at my front door.

Union boss slain, confesses to murder of Hub City police officer

It's amazing what you can do these days with a computer and someone's voice. I walk over to my laptop and click the audio file on the desktop. Johnny Finger's voice comes in over the speakers, he's as cool as a cucumber."

"My name is John Joseph Finger. I'm the head of the Hub City branch of the Teamster's Union.... I was put in there by Boss Paul. He rigged the Teamster's election so I could be in charge and follow his orders. I got paid off to accept certain contracts.....As for Detecive McCarthy, he's in the bottom of Lake Michigan. Me and a few guys put a bullet in his brain.""

"Well it's a start for Hub City, but I've got to explore why in Pringles Once you pop, you just can't stop."

 

[Batman]

I run full speed after Deathstroke, jumping over tables and chairs. By the time I get close to Deathstroke, he's close to turning Thorne into a human pez dispenser.

"T-Spheres, intercept hostile."

The small amti-grav orbs fly from Throne and Monjoni and start to pummel Deathstroke. He's swinging his sword at them in a vain attempt to detroy the spheres. While he's distracted, I fly in and hit him hard in the face. I hear a crunch as his nose breaks.

"You son of a *****!"


He swings his katana at me while I dodge the blade, grab him by his wrist and flip him onto the ground. His sword falls to the ground and makes a clatter on the floor.

"Give it up."

"**** you."

He kicks my legs out from under me and I fall to the ground.

​

The assassin is persistant. Relentless. Unforgiving. Whether his motive is money or the purse sastisfaction of the kill he's prepared to make is unclear, at this point. All I know is that I can't allow him to succeed.

As Terrific engages him, I turn, seeing Thorne and Monjoni both simultaneously trying to exit. Damn it. They should've stayed down. They're practically drawing the targets on themselves. I turn back to the assassin as he takes down Terrific and aims for both with a colt he produces from his belt.

No time to reach for Batarangs. Have to find another weapon, fast. Grabbing to my left, I take the object and throw, only to realise I just hit him in the face with.

...

A frozen lobster. But it works, as he clutches his eye in pain, dropping his weapon. Better distract him before he can get to Thorne, even if I have to let Thorne go tonight. Running, I slide over a table and leap, before kicking Deathstroke across the jaw. He goes flying back, but not down, as he lands.

"...A fish. A f***ing fish. You've got to be kidding me.", He states, rubbing his jaw as he takes out switchblade and swings.

I grab his arm, and swing it over to my left elbow, striking it hard. A little move I owe to Ted Grant. He grunts, dropping the switchblade before I spin, and backhand him across the side of his face. Unfortunatley, it doesn't do much good, as he's quick to counter it with a fierce jab to my abdomen.

I clutch the area, taking in the pain, before he kicks me in the chest, knocking me back into a chair. Which breaks, much to my increasing discomfort as I fall to the ground.

"I've got to admit, Bats. From the stuff I've heard about you, I was expecting somewhat of a fight.", He states, taking out a gun. "And oh, how I do hate disappointment."

I grit my teeth, grabbing a part of the broken chair, leaping up, and stabbing him in the leg. A bit more brutal than anything I've ever done, but it's clear I'm not dealing with an ordinary enemy. As he stumbles backwards, dropping the gun, I-

...

Wait a minute. "I was expecting somewhat of a fight." "And oh, how I do hate disappointment". I've heard both of those statements before. Not just in the wording, but in the tone...

Before I'm given time to piece whatever I was picking up on together, Deathstroke catches me across the face with a palm attack. I grab him by the neck, slam my forehead into him, and throw him into one of the machines in the factory.

His voice. I've heard it before. I know it. But I can't place the name.

It doesn't take even a moment for him to get back on his feet and charge me with a bo-staff. I reach into my belt, taking out two batarangs, and hold them up as he strikes. The weapons clash, making a slight spark as we try to push the other off balance. But we're too evenly matched.

"You're going to pay.", I growl, indicating the dead guards around us as I keep pushing.

"Right. Like I haven't heard that sentimental slogan before.", He states, pushing even harder than before. "Want a tip, long ears? Drop the boyscout routine and show me what you're really made of."

My eyes widen. My god, I do know who he is...

Slade Wilson. One of Henri Ducard's top students. It's been years, but I recognise the arrogance and determination in his voice well enough to know who I'm dealing with. And what doesn't nessacarily comfort me is the fact that he was well above me in terms of skill, even when I left my place under Ducard's guideance.

I bend my knees, dropping my batarangs as Slade pushes forward, right where I want him. Without a second's hesitation, I roll back, and push my legs up, connecting both heels to his jaw and knocking him back.

He may have been better than Bruce Wayne, once. But I've picked up a few tricks since then.

I rise, throwing my weapons to the ground as I glare at him, raising my fists.

"Maybe I'll take that under advisement.", I respond. "Get to know the real me."

He gets back on his feet, visibly angry. A prime mistake in this form of combat. Though he never was one to listen to what he was taught, as I recall...

He lunges forward, yelling in anger. I leap forward, grabbing him by the shoulder and sending a hard punch to his already broken nose. Before we can land, I grab him again and spin, throwing him to the ground faster than my own descent. By the time I land, my boot's crushed his larnyx, and he gasps for breath. Alright. He's had enough. Better not to overdo it.

I step off of his throat, as he coughs, rolling over on his chest. I stand above him, ready to apprehend.

"It's over, Deathstroke. Your targets are miles away by now. And I'm bringing you in."

He looks up, weakly, grasping his throat. Eventually, he nods.

"T... Take me... away..."

I reach down, grabbing him by the back of his shirt, and pull him up. That was easy enough, even though I'm going to be suffering inevitable bruising. Just as I turn back toward Terrific, I hear somewhat of a chuckle.

"What is it these kids say, today? Ah, yes..."

I raise an eyebrow. But that expression is turned to widened eyes, as I realise that immense pain just shot through my leg.

"PSYCHE!"

I drop Slade, looking down at it. A dagger of some sort. Damn it. Stabbed me in the leg.

As I slowly slip it from my skin, I look up, seeing him backflip. He seems... better. Much better, actually, given what I just put him through. Almost as if he didn't suffer injury at all. But that's impossible. He would've had to have healed at an alarming rate in order to pull that off...

"Hate to leave the party early, but you're not on my paycheck. I'll waste you when the time comes.", He states, before running towards the exit.

I try to run after him in pursuit, but the stab wound does more damage than I thought it would. Can't let him get away... especially now that I know the monster that he really is... But it's becoming increasingly clear that I may have no choice.

 

[Byrd Man]

The assassin is persistant. Relentless. Unforgiving. Whether his motive is money or the purse sastisfaction of the kill he's prepared to make is unclear, at this point. All I know is that I can't allow him to succeed.

As Terrific engages him, I turn, seeing Thorne and Monjoni both simultaneously trying to exit. Damn it. They should've stayed down. They're practically drawing the targets on themselves. I turn back to the assassin as he takes down Terrific and aims for both with a colt he produces from his belt.

No time to reach for Batarangs. Have to find another weapon, fast. Grabbing to my left, I take the object and throw, only to realise I just hit him in the face with.

...

A frozen lobster. But it works, as he clutches his eye in pain, dropping his weapon. Better distract him before he can get to Thorne, even if I have to let Thorne go tonight. Running, I slide over a table and leap, before kicking Deathstroke across the jaw. He goes flying back, but not down, as he lands.

"...A fish. A f***ing fish. You've got to be kidding me.", He states, rubbing his jaw as he takes out switchblade and swings.

I grab his arm, and swing it over to my left elbow, striking it hard. A little move I owe to Ted Grant. He grunts, dropping the switchblade before I spin, and backhand him across the side of his face. Unfortunatley, it doesn't do much good, as he's quick to counter it with a fierce jab to my abdomen.

I clutch the area, taking in the pain, before he kicks me in the chest, knocking me back into a chair. Which breaks, much to my increasing discomfort as I fall to the ground.

"I've got to admit, Bats. From the stuff I've heard about you, I was expecting somewhat of a fight.", He states, taking out a gun. "And oh, how I do hate disappointment."

I grit my teeth, grabbing a part of the broken chair, leaping up, and stabbing him in the leg. A bit more brutal than anything I've ever done, but it's clear I'm not dealing with an ordinary enemy. As he stumbles backwards, dropping the gun, I-

...

Wait a minute. "I was expecting somewhat of a fight." "And oh, how I do hate disappointment". I've heard both of those statements before. Not just in the wording, but in the tone...

Before I'm given time to piece whatever I was picking up on together, Deathstroke catches me across the face with a palm attack. I grab him by the neck, slam my forehead into him, and throw him into one of the machines in the factory.

His voice. I've heard it before. I know it. But I can't place the name.

It doesn't take even a moment for him to get back on his feet and charge me with a bo-staff. I reach into my belt, taking out two batarangs, and hold them up as he strikes. The weapons clash, making a slight spark as we try to push the other off balance. But we're too evenly matched.

"You're going to pay.", I growl, indicating the dead guards around us as I keep pushing.

"Right. Like I haven't heard that sentimental slogan before.", He states, pushing even harder than before. "Want a tip, long ears? Drop the boyscout routine and show me what you're really made of."

My eyes widen. My god, I do know who he is...

Slade Wilson. One of Henri Ducard's top students. It's been years, but I recognise the arrogance and determination in his voice well enough to know who I'm dealing with. And what doesn't nessacarily comfort me is the fact that he was well above me in terms of skill, even when I left my place under Ducard's guideance.

I bend my knees, dropping my batarangs as Slade pushes forward, right where I want him. Without a second's hesitation, I roll back, and push my legs up, connecting both heels to his jaw and knocking him back.

He may have been better than Bruce Wayne, once. But I've picked up a few tricks since then.

I rise, throwing my weapons to the ground as I glare at him, raising my fists.

"Maybe I'll take that under advisement.", I respond. "Get to know the real me."

He gets back on his feet, visibly angry. A prime mistake in this form of combat. Though he never was one to listen to what he was taught, as I recall...

He lunges forward, yelling in anger. I leap forward, grabbing him by the shoulder and sending a hard punch to his already broken nose. Before we can land, I grab him again and spin, throwing him to the ground faster than my own descent. By the time I land, my boot's crushed his larnyx, and he gasps for breath. Alright. He's had enough. Better not to overdo it.

I step off of his throat, as he coughs, rolling over on his chest. I stand above him, ready to apprehend.

"It's over, Deathstroke. Your targets are miles away by now. And I'm bringing you in."

He looks up, weakly, grasping his throat. Eventually, he nods.

"T... Take me... away..."

I reach down, grabbing him by the back of his shirt, and pull him up. That was easy enough, even though I'm going to be suffering inevitable bruising. Just as I turn back toward Terrific, I hear somewhat of a chuckle.

"What is it these kids say, today? Ah, yes..."

I raise an eyebrow. But that expression is turned to widened eyes, as I realise that immense pain just shot through my leg.

[FONT="Impact]"PSYCHE!"[/font][/COLOR]

I drop Slade, looking down at it. A dagger of some sort. Damn it. Stabbed me in the leg.

As I slowly slip it from my skin, I look up, seeing him backflip. He seems... better. Much better, actually, given what I just put him through. Almost as if he didn't suffer injury at all. But that's impossible. He would've had to have healed at an alarming rate in order to pull that off...

[COLOR=darkorange][FONT=Impact]"Hate to leave the party early, but you're not on my paycheck. I'll waste you when the time comes."[/FONT][/COLOR], He states, before running towards the exit.

I try to run after him in pursuit, but the stab wound does more damage than I thought it would. Can't let him get away... especially now that I know the monster that he really is... But it's becoming increasingly clear that I may have no choice.[/quote]

There's something about Batman's fighting stlye I can't quite place. I've seen his moves before. I watch as him and Deathstroke trade blows and then a dagger peirces his skin.It close to one of his Pulmonary arteries, if it didn't breach the artery.

[FONT=Comic Sans MS]"Stay still. There could be serious damage to the Artery. You need to slow your heart rate down and I'll gentley pull the knife out. If blood starts to gush out, then it's an the Pulmonary Artery and I may need to preform emergency surgery."[/FONT]
[FONT=Comic Sans MS][/FONT]
I know there's an armed maniac on the loose right now and I'm wasting prescious time by helping him, but I'm a doctor first and I won't let him die on my watch. I slowly work the knife out and see blood start to gush out.

[FONT="Comic Sans MS"]"Damn...Okay, here comes the painful part."[/FONT]

I search in my pockets and pull out a lighter. I search the floor and find a steel rod. I click the lighter on and put the flame to the rod's tip until it glows red hot.

I'm going to have to Cauterize the wound to stop the bledding...Bite down on something. On the count of three....One.....Three!"

I push the hot metal into his skin. The smell of burning flesh hangs heavy in the air.

 

[Batman]

There's something about Batman's fighting stlye I can't quite place. I've seen his moves before. I watch as him and Deathstroke trade blows and then a dagger peirces his skin.It close to one of his Pulmonary arteries, if it didn't breach the artery.

"Stay still. There could be serious damage to the Artery. You need to slow your heart rate down and I'll gentley pull the knife out. If blood starts to gush out, then it's an the Pulmonary Artery and I may need to preform emergency surgery."

I know there's an armed maniac on the loose right now and I'm wasting prescious time by helping him, but I'm a doctor first and I won't let him die on my watch. I slowly work the knife out and see blood start to gush out.

Damn...Okay, here comes the painful part."

I search in my pockets and pull out a lighter. I search the floor and find a steel rod. I click the lighter on and put the flame to the rod's tip until it glows red hot.

I'm going to have to Cauterize the wound to stop the bledding...Bite down on something. On the count of three....One.....Three!"

I push the hot metal into his skin. The smell of burning flesh hangs heavy in the air.

Balance weakening... losing blood... head spinning... can't think straight...

I can't percieve much, in this state, the moment the knife is pulled from me. All I know is that my breath is shortening. But then I hear a word that makes me all the more uneasy: cauterize. I've seen it performed before, given my father was a surgeon... but I've never actually required it myself. The moment my vision clears, all I see is Terrific.

Oh, this is going to hurt. Alot.

"ARGH!", I scream, falling to the ground and clutching my wound, lightly. Burns worse than I imagined. That's the only reason I was caught off guard. But otherwise, I'll live with the pain. It's only excrusiatingly, mind numbingly cringe inducing for a few seconds.

I look to the exit, seeing that Deathstroke made his way out. Damn it. First one I've lost since The Joker. But I doubt I won't get a second chance at either anytime soon... Gotham seems to attract more and more of their kind with each passing day.

I slowly stand, looking at Terrific.

"...Don't. Ever do that again.", I growl in between breaths of exhaustion, as the stench of my own flesh begins to fade.

The man probably saved my life, I admit. So I'm sure obscure my anger when I speak again. And... well, the seething pain I'm still experiencing.

"Looks like we lost them both. And the assassin.", I state. "They won't get far. But I doubt Monjoni's staying in town after tonight."

 

[Byrd Man]

Balance weakening... losing blood... head spinning... can't think straight...

I can't percieve much, in this state, the moment the knife is pulled from me. All I know is that my breath is shortening. But then I hear a word that makes me all the more uneasy: cauterize. I've seen it performed before, given my father was a surgeon... but I've never actually required it myself. The moment my vision clears, all I see is Terrific.

Oh, this is going to hurt. Alot.

"ARGH!", I scream, falling to the ground and clutching my wound, lightly. Burns worse than I imagined. That's the only reason I was caught off guard. But otherwise, I'll live with the pain. It's only excrusiatingly, mind numbingly cringe inducing for a few seconds.

I look to the exit, seeing that Deathstroke made his way out. Damn it. First one I've lost since The Joker. But I doubt I won't get a second chance at either anytime soon... Gotham seems to attract more and more of their kind with each passing day.

I slowly stand, looking at Terrific.

"...Don't. Ever do that again.", I growl in between breaths of exhaustion, as the stench of my own flesh begins to fade.

The man probably saved my life, I admit. So I'm sure obscure my anger when I speak again. And... well, the seething pain I'm still experiencing.

"Looks like we lost them both. And the assassin.", I state. "They won't get far. But I doubt Monjoni's staying in town after tonight."

"Your right...I should head back to NY. Your leg's going to blister in about half an hour, get some ointment and some bandages for it. It'll be gone in about a week."

I press the pressure point in my glove and a wire and a micro grappling hook shoot out and latch onto the factory's sky light.

"If you ever make it across the bridge to the Big Apple, look me up sometime. Oh...and your welcome."

The small wench in my glove raises me off the ground and shoots me into the Gotham night.

 

[Batman]

Henry Claridge had begun his venture into a good night's sleep. A bachelor and socialite, he had no one to come home to. No one to share his overpriced bed and velvet sheets with.

No one to miss him.

It was 11:58, and Claridge had only been asleep for a little under an hour. Barely dreaming, yet past the point of conciousness, it took a few moments before his eyes forced his awakening at the sight of a brightness coming from the wall ahead of him. Waking up in a grumble, Claridge rubbed his eyes as he realised his television was on.

"Wha... the hell...?", He muttered to himself, yawning as he removed his bedsheets from him and stood, walking over to the plasma TV that only further proved his apparent wealth. Of course, being the president of the First National Bank of a city like Gotham would achieve such wealth with ease.

Walking up to the television, assuming he had merely accidentally hit the remote in his sleep, Claridge pressed the power button and immediatley turned to head back to his bed. His trip back was halted, however, when he realised something.

The television was still on.

Turning around, Claridge raised an eyebrow, and walked back to it, pressing the power button again. Nothing happened. The television was still playing the same static it had played the entire time, and despite Claridge's efforts, it couldn't be shut off.

"What's the deal?", Claridge whispered to himself.

"The deal is this."

Claridge's eyes widened, hearing a voice answer him. Turning around, Claridge frantically looked into the darkness, expecting an intruder within his home.

"Who's there?!"

"No, no. Not there.", The television yet again answered, as the static faded, revealing a clearer, darkened picture that sent a chill down Claridge's spine. "Here."

Claridge squinted, trying to make out the shadowed figure on the screen. But the only thing he could truly see was the image of a black, tailored suit and what appeared to be a purple tie. Upon further inspection, Claridge could see two overlapped hands clasped onto a table. The hands were covered by gloves in the same color as the tie. But the face was what baffled Claridge. An unseen enigma of a shape that was attached to the visible body.

He didn't know who he was looking at. But he knew that deep down, he feared what he saw.

"Y-You can hear me?", Claridge asked, astonished.

"Oh, no. Everything I'm saying is purely coiencidental.", The figure responded. "Of course I can hear you, you whimsical nimwit."

Claridge couldn't believe what was happening. Was he dreaming?

"Who... are you?", He asked, curiously.

"Now why is it that everytime I make an entrance, that's the first question asked? I really should start wearing a nametag or something.", The figure responded, placing his fingertips together as he spoke. "The city will know my name soon enough, Claridge, don't you worry. But for now, I'd prefer to think of myself as somewhat of a... Joker. So why don't you, too?"

Claridge stared, for a moment, dumbfounded.

"I... I don't understand. What is this? How do you know my name? How am I talking to you?", Claridge asked, confused.

"Ask yourself something. Who honestly doesn't know your name? You're one of Gotham's top citizens, of course!", The Joker exclaimed, chillingly gleeful. "But names aside, I don't really care for formalities, so let's just skip to the game itself. I am on a tight schedule, you know."

Claridge suddenly grew from angered to annoyed, eventually turning to angered.

"This is insanity. I'm calling the police...", Claridge stated, turning to walk towards the door.

But for a second time that evening, Claridge was stopped in his tracks as he watched his own door slam shut right infront of him. With no human aide, from what he could tell. Rushing forward to the door, Claridge tried to open it, but was quickly shocked to learn that it was locked.

"Insanity? Oh, believe me. I'm not the person to be lectured on that little subject.", The Joker responded, placing his hands behind his head in a relaxed fashion. "And I'd rather our little game be kept between you and me, thank you very much."

"WHAT GAME?!", Claridge demanded, turning around to look at the screen once more.

"Why, 'Beat The Clock' of course.", The Joker answered. "And just in case you're unaware of the rules, let me put it in simplistic terms. In one minute, the clock strikes midnight, Henry boy. And between now and then, you're to give me a reason to let you live your pathetic, misrable life. Otherwise, ask not for whom the bell tolls, because it's definately tolling for thee!"

Claridge gasped, as the madman began a small chuckle behind his relaxed demeanor. Turning to the nearest window, Claridge knew that if he didn't use it to escape, something would happen. He didn't know how, but then again, nothing about what this madman had brought upon him had any reasonable explanation that he could think of.

Rushing to the window, Claridge stopped as soon as he witnessed two large steel plates close infront of it, blocking his only means of escape. Before he could even be bothered to turn to the others, he heard the next set of metal clanks, realising the same thing had happened to them. He was trapped. And The Joker was no doubtedly the reason.

"Oh, don't back out so early, Claridge. The fun's just about to begin. Well.. for me, anyway., The Joker responded.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THIS?!", Claridge demanded.

"Because, dear boy...", The Joker stated, before leaning forward and revealing his snow white, ruby lipped, fearsomely masked face accompanied by souless black eyes. It would prove to be the last sight Henry Claridge would witness. "The world needs to be funnier."

Claridge stared, slowly shaking his head at the horrifying face that now leered upon him.

"No... No, you... you can't..."

"Oh, by the way. You're time is up. Ta-ta."

Claridge's eyes widened even further as a thick, green gas suddenly made it's way into the room through the ventalation system. Claridge tried to run from it, but considering there was no way out of the room, that would prove to be a waste of time. Choking on the chemical that entered his lungs, Claridge dropped to his knees, as The Joker silently watched.

"No... *cough* ...No, can't... can't... *cough*... Don't want to... to... *cough*... diiiie...."

And then, all at once, The Joker stood, watching a curious phenomina transpire: Claridge's choking was turning into blatant, uncontrolable laughter. The Joker grinned under his mask as it began, knowing he had succeeded.

"Hehe... heh heh... heh... hahaha... HAHA... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Claridge rolled on the floor, banging it with his fist in effort to make it stop, but he couldn't. He was laughing too hard. Tears flowed from his eyes as veins began to protrude from his neck, his face turning a pale color. It was music to The Joker's ears, and theater to The Joker's eyes.

Finally, in a combination of laughter and screaming, Claridge ceased movement, and ceased breathing. But the grin he had aqquired from the forced laughter remained, as The Joker silently looked down upon the deceased Claridge for a few moments.

Then, without hesitation, he bowed.

"Thank you, you're much too kind."

In a flash of light, The Joker's image blacked out as the television lost power. Claridge's killer was gone, without a trace. And what he had to show for it was more than enough. But little did anyone know at this point... Claridge would only be the first of many, he'd make sure of that. The show had to go on.

By the time the police would be able to pry the doors and windows open, all they would find is a day's old corpse. And, on Claridge's bedroom window, a lone paper playing card that would both confuse the citizens of Gotham, and send them into a panic, all at the same time...

Even if it be a gleeful panic.

 

[Green Lantern]

IC: Zoom

I've been festering in this godforsaken cell for two months. At least they learned their lesson and stopped giving me cell mates after what happened to Rathaway. Teach him to try and stick his pipe where it doesn't belong. I wonder if they ever found all of him. At least what I didn't feed to his precious rats that is.

"Ya hear that Barry's back? His girlfriend's death really shook him up. I don't blame him for takin a couple months off."

Zoom's ears perked at the mention of what got him thrown in his cell in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Month's Earlier:

Zoom watched Barry step out of Iris's car. He could hear that she was going to her own house, and he grinned evilly. Finally, I can exact my revenge on him.

As she pulled away, Zoom followed her in a yellow blur. He followed her up the stairs and knocked softly on her door. The door opened as much as it could with the chain on. "Who's th" A look of terror overtook Iris's face as she recognized the hatred in her assailants eyes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!"

He kicked in the door, with enough speed to tear it from its hinges. Her legs broken from the impact of the door, Zoom stands over Iris, vibrating so he appears to be five of himself.

"...Du yu no how lng it took me to slo dwn my spch enff to be undrstndble? It's all yur stpd bytoy's fault. I'll kll yu to teach him a lssn. Wht are you waiting fur? Call him. Hve him "ZOOM" to your rescu He'll be too late. Zoom. Isn't that such an intense word? I think I'll cll myslf that."

She frantically dialed the number, and started sobbing into the phone. "Barry! Please help..."

Stupid C**t.

Zoom swung his open palm at her face, and grinned madly as it connected with her cheekbone. There was a satisfying crunch as the jaw shattered, and an invigorating spray of blood splattered across Zoom's face. He looked at her and grinned as the tears mixed with the blood on her face. His foot jetted out and connected below her breast. Zoom laughed as he heard the ribs snap and saw her land sprawled on the other side of the room.Zoom looked up as heard a sonic boom.

Barry. Its about f**king time.

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU SADISTIC BASTARD! IF YOU LAY ANOTHER GODDAMNED FINGER ON HER I'LL..."

"Du wht Alln? Kll me? Doubtful."

Zoom got a glint of psychotic glee in his red eyes as he picked up Iris and hurled her across the room. More sickening crunches brought chills to his spine as she slammed the wall.

"NO! GOD DAMN YOU!"

The rest was inaudible as Zoom's goal was accomplished.

One less thing for him to rub in my nose. No more pretty girlfriend for you Barry. Just a mangled bloody, ugly corpse.

"YOU SICK MURDERING BASTARD! I WAS NEVER ANYTHING BUT NICE TO YOU! WHAT THE HELL DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS YOU MONSTER?"

"Trted me like the dirt on your shoes. And now she's dead because of it. Who's nxt Alln? Mom? Dad? Brother? Crtnly not you. You nd to sffer for making me a frk!"

"NO! You'll hurt noone else!"

With that Barry hurtled himself at Zoom, and as they circled the globe, Zoom wailed both fists against Barry's head. It was nothing compared to Barry's rage and when they stopped in Arizona, Zoom just had time enough to see Barry spin around and enough cognition to feel the near light speed impact of his fist as he flew backwards through the air.

"Pick your slimey ass up you spineless pathetic worm. I want the satisfaction of beating your face into jello fairly."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barry had left him crippled and broken in the back of a cop car. Now he was back. Soon... Zoom would be back too.

 

[Green Lantern]

IC: Barry Allen:

Another fire in Gotham, and no leads as to why Heatwave is suddenly breaking his pattern. Goddamnit.

Barry was sitting at his desk rubbing his eyes. Piled on the desk were folders of several known felons in the Keystone/Central area. Hartley Rathaway Deceased. Edward Thawne Incarcerated. James Jesse Paroled. Heatwave Identity Unknown, wanted. Leonard Snart Incarcerated. Weather Wizard Identity Unknown, wanted.

I know there's a link to Cold and Heatwave. I just have to find it. They both attacked research facilities. The fires in the ones started in their hypervelocity research centers. The first hostage Cold was about to kill was... Tina. Head of Hyper velocities. God damn it. Zoom. But he's locked up! I check on him every f**king day.

In less than a minute Barry was looking at Zoom, sitting in his cell.

"Swrong Bry? Se a gst? Lk Irs? Hahahahahaha!"

It was all Barry could do to keep himself going through the bars to throttle the slimey bastard. But as he sped up his body to understand Zoom, he noticed something. It appeared the back of his cell was vibrating.

Barry's eyes went wide in realization as Zoom said one more thing and then disappeared.

"Oh dear, it appears my ruse has been discovered. Have fun trying to find me and my gang Allen."

"Guards! There's been a jailbreak!"

"Yeah, howd you know bout Snart already, Allen?"

"Goddamnit! Snart too? Zoom just broke out, vibrated through his cell wall."

 

[Byrd Man]

Two hours later and Johnny's corpse still lays on the cold hard ground. Hub City, what a hell of a town. The only way the cops would ever come out here this time of night was if supermodels were givin away free punanny, but I digress. I drag Johnny's fat, bloated body a half mile to the nearest police station. I check the street for any signs of life and pull out my box cutters....

The next morning I manage to stumble out of my bed and chase off the cockroach sitting on my peice of Domino's Pizza. It's not half bad, a little moldy, but otherwise good. The paper boy has made his rounds by now and I find the newspaper sitting at my front door.

Union boss slain, confesses to murder of Hub City police officer

It's amazing what you can do these days with a computer and someone's voice. I walk over to my laptop and click the audio file on the desktop. Johnny Finger's voice comes in over the speakers, he's as cool as a cucumber."

"My name is John Joseph Finger. I'm the head of the Hub City branch of the Teamster's Union.... I was put in there by Boss Paul. He rigged the Teamster's election so I could be in charge and follow his orders. I got paid off to accept certain contracts.....As for Detecive McCarthy, he's in the bottom of Lake Michigan. Me and a few guys put a bullet in his brain.""

"Well it's a start for Hub City, but I've got to explore why in Pringles Once you pop, you just can't stop."

It's just after midnight and I'm strolling down the elegant halls of Boss Paul's mansion. He had some armed guards and a security system. The system was easy to crack and once I got a hold of one of the guards' silenced pistols, well that's all she wrote...I'm inspecting his nice paintings while I hum a song.

"Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco. They want my treasure so they get their pleasures from my photo, You could see you, you can't squeeze me I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy I got reasons why I tease 'em Boys just come and go like seasons...I'm Fergalicious"

Alright, I've screwed around enough, time to get to work.....

Boss Paul's sleeping comfortably under his silk sheets. Misses Paul isn't there, she must be out of town with the latino gardener. I root around the room and find a glass of water. I pour the water all over Boss Paul's head and watch as the fat man snaps awake.

"What the ****?"

"Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and Bakey."

He looks at me with furious bewilderment.

"Get the hell out of here."

He reaches towards the phone, like a flash I pull out one of the silence pistols and bury two bullets into the phone.

"I'm sorry, but all lines are currently down."

"JACKIE!"

"Don't bother calling for your goons. You'll find that there quiet dead."


"Let me ask you something, you a hit man? Monjoni trying to take Hub as well as Gotham?"

"No I'm not a hit man. Nor am I a cop. I'm something diffrent all together."

He shifts his weight on the bed and eyes his nightstand drawer.

"By the way, you revolver doesn't have any rounds in it."

He puts his head in his hands and breathes heavily.

"Why don't you just do it already? Kill me and get it over with."

"Now what fun would that be? No, were gonna play a little game. Kinda like 21 questions. I ask you a question about your illegal buisness and you answer, if I don't like the answer I get then I shoot off a part of your body starting with the genitals."

"And whenl you kill me, will that give you joy?"

"The actual killing? No, but everything up to that point will be a gas......."

 

[trustyside-kick]

OOC: Now, my next few posts will be a month before Season II starts. I will announce with another OOC tag when my present day posts begin.
​

Clayface- 'Last Chance'
----------------------------
Matt considers himself lucky. He got away with 2 murders, with the same gun, and got away with it; both on the same day. After he killed Dr. Erickson and went to a bar to drink his butt off, he went back to his apartment, bagged up his ex-agent Doug, and dropped him off in a dumpster 10 miles away.

Matt never went to Doug's funeral. Once his agent and close friend, and yet he still hated him. Some would think that Matt is crazy, but he would beg to differ. He wasn't crazy; he was just trying to survive; to get by. It's a hell of a world out there, and Matt's got only a few last chances left; he's gotta make em count.

He didn't pay his respects to the doctor at his funeral either. He did, however, stock up on some more of the aging cream from his house. He snuck behind the doctor's mansion one night, past the caution tape, and broke in through the back window.

A few days later, Matt finally started to rub on the aging cream onto his face. He would put on a layer or 2 on, let it sit for 30 minutes, and then wash it off. The tube claimed that he would see results in about 3-4 days, so he waited. He figured that maybe the problem wasn't just him being type-casted; Matt was aging; you don't stay young forever.

So on the 6th day, Matt finally started looking through newspaper ads and called up telephone agencies and companies and everything little thing possible in order to re-start his road to success in his acting career. As he did this, he still continued to use the aging cream; 2 layers, let it sit for 30 minutes, and then wash it off. Matt saw no negative symptoms, abnormal side-effects, or anything from using the cream however, recalling what the doctor said to him right before he killed; Matt was now convinced that the doctor was indeed bluffing.

After a month's long struggle, Matt has finally obtained a few auditions to help re-jumpstart his career. He applies the aging cream, let's it sit for 30 minutes, washes it off, and puts on his coat and hat and walks out the front door.

"Show time."

 

[guitarsingerguy]

"I need to get back to the battery anyway. Gentlemen, it was a pleasure, and Hal, it was nice to meet you."

Kyle turns and walks away from the group of Green Lanterns. Upon his return to the battery, Alan was waiting on him.

"Don't get too comfortable kid. The Guardians have a job for you."

"What kind of job?"

"Afraid they didn't say. Just contact Ganthet. He'll let you know."

"Ganthet, this is Ion. You have a job for me?"

"Yes. A Christian man has died on your planet Earth. God has asked that we offer him an escort to Heaven."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Mephistopholes is a very real being Ion. Apparently this man is to be a great asset to God's cause."

"Does this mean that we got it right on Earth? God is real? Heaven and Hell really do exist?"

"After all that you have seen since you've been here, can you truly believe that? How many different races of beings have you witnessed here on Oa? Hundreds? Thousands? Can you honestly think that there is a single deity for them all? That one is right and the rest are not? A deity is created and given power when a group begins to believe and worship them. Their power resides in only what their followers have given them. Now go, and if there are any complications, then you have our blessing to use whatever force necessary to complete your mission."

 

[Batman]

Edit

 

[Batman]

Gotham City was quick to put itself into a panic. The first corpse with a deathly grin frozen onto it's face in nearly two months had finally been found by the police, and it was already making headlines. But of course, he could only see it as review of his work. And from their reactions... He had done spectacularly.

Admist a dark room of an abandoned funhouse, filled with trinkets and antiques that represented the most unharmful forms of innocence, sat a man that was ready and willing to contradict that. The Joker, as he had named himself, was growing impatient in waiting for his next venture out into the city of saints and heathens. He lived for the spotlight.

But of course, he always had his achievements to look back on in order to pass the time. It began with Chuckie Sol. Oh, what a prize. What a snatch. What a kill it was. It was that very killing that had put The Joker on the map. And yet it seemed so... overlooked. Headlines gracing Gotham's gossip told tales of frozen freaks and fishnetted femme fatales before they would give him more than a passing mention. So of course, in order to make his way to the top, he needed something new. Something fresh. Something of which would entertain his audience, and keep them coming back for more.

It was at that point that he had adopted the clown disguise. A touch of makeup and prosthetics, mixed with a recitement of blatant and maniacal insanity, and he had reinvented himself for his best performance yet. The Joker would soon be the attraction of the ages. Or so he thought. Killing two doctors in the parking lot of their own hospital seemed like the best place to start. He commended himself for the 'it didn't fit' gag, as he recalled that magical night of wonder. But The Joker soon found himself craving an even larger spectacle. After all, any good show needed a finale. That, of course, is where he sparked up the idea of the Gotham Highschool massacre.

He found himself in glee, remembering that. The pinnacle achievement of his blossoming career. Oh, he had doubted it would work. He had told himself that he was insane for even thinking that he could pull off an event of that scale. But then again... he was insane irregardless. So he did it. One by one, the kiddie party was turned into a glorious, glorious bloodbath. And best of all? In the end, there was no one to steal the spotlight. No one to capitalise upon The Joker's brilliant performance.

That is, until he emerged from the shadows.

The Joker recalled a sense of amusement from his prescence. A grown man, other than himself, dressed in a garish costume and blatant, obvious gimmick. He had heard about this fellow. A myth, as they called him. What a riot that would turn out to be! Because it was clear that he was very real. But he had made a mistake in underestimating this pretender. This... do-gooder. Because before The Joker knew it, his curtain call had come to it's end. And what an abrupt end it was. He didn't even get the chance to go out on anything more than a mere marble gag.

All because of the one that they called "The Batman". Oh, yes. The Joker had finally found a true rival for the spotlight in this one horse town. But he felt, admist the Bat's attempt to steal his thunder, he had struck a nerve. Made his mark, as it were, affecting the Batman's gimmick as a whole. And that in itself proved to be a victory The Joker found even more satisfying than the recognition he had sought after. Of course, that didn't ease his angst when he realised that in turn, his greatest achievement was yet again overlooked.

Those neanderthals had praised him. Not The Joker, but the caped criminal that stole his limelight. The reinvention had failed... And so did The Joker's second act. But there was still hope. He knew there was a way to get to the top. So he abandoned the clown role... ditching the prosthetics, the makeup, and the flamboyant suit. But he knew that he could've never freed himself of the draw from the gags. They were essential to any act and any role he played. They were his keys to the top.

So now, he was making a comeback. No clown, no zaniness... Just his original gags. And with them, he would become Gotham's main attraction yet.

"Uh... boss?"

The Joker turned in his seat, viewing one of his many followers. Bob, something. The oaf wore a 1930's style gangster zoot suit, fedora, and gloves, aswell as a painted face of childish theatrics. Simply marvelous company to keep.

"I would hope you have something meaningful to say, Bobbo. Because you know that I do hate interruption oh, so very much.", The Joker chillingly responded, his annoyance present in his voice though hidden by his mask.

"N-No, Boss. I know. It's news. I assure ya."

"Excellent,", The Joker stated, placing his hands together on the table infront of him. "Well? Go on, Bobbins. Spill."

The goon known simply as 'Bob' produced a rolled up piece of unidentifiable, handing it to The Joker. Immediatley taking it, he observed what was on the paper. It was a map. Though more importantly, it was a map of the ventaliation system to the Gotham Chemical Works. As The Joker had called for.

"Oh, this is most credible.", The Joker answered, looking up from the map to Bob. "You've done well, Bobby. Give yourself a pat on the back on the way out."

The Joker waited a moment. Bob did nothing.

"...Is there a reason you're still in my prescence, Bobininski?", The Joker questioned.

"Well, I was wonderin' somethin... You know, on account'a how we're gonna pull this job off tommora'.", Bob began, nervously. "What exactly... er... is the plan, boss?"

The Joker was silent, for a moment. Then, slowly, he rose.

"Now, Sir Bobsalot... Did I give you permission to question my brilliance?", The Joker asked, as Bob began backing away in fear.

"N-No, boss! You didn't! I'm sorry!", He yelled.

"'Sorry'. What a cliche excuse for mercy.", The Joker stated, walking around his desk, reaching into his jacket pocket. "And I'm afraid, Bobsy... Mercy is just not on tonight's list of scheduled events."

Bob flinched, as The Joker produced an object from his jacket. He expected a gun. But to his surprise, it was something else entirely.

"Cigar?", The Joker asked, holding one up.

Bob stared, blankly, before nodding and taking it.

"T...Thanks, boss."

"My pleasure.", The Joker stated, before offering Bob a seat infront of his desk. Bob took it, as The Joker paced the room.

"And I suppose since you did ask with an admirable amount of patience, that I can grant your request.", The Joker continued. "After all, what is genius if it remains locked within us?"

Bob nodded, nervously complying with his leader's words, no matter how insane or twisted they'd turn out to be.

"You see, Bobcat... the reason I pulled off the late Henry Claridge's demise is quite simple. One would think that his murder would imply theft as a motive. After all, why murder the president of the first national bank, of all people?", The Joker asked. "To lead them off the trail, actually. You see, I have no intention of robbing the first national at all. I even stole Claridge's keys to the building. But nope. No intention at all. But the police? Theeey dooon't haaave tooo knooow thaaat..."

Bob felt a chill go up his spine at The Joker's whispered taunt, as he lit his cigar.

"While the respective boys in blue stake out Claridge's claim to fame, foolishly thinking his murderer will follow their lead and attempt a rather predictable robbery, I'll be all the way on the other side of town, paying a rather convieniant stop to the Gotham Chemical Works. Why convieniant, you may ask? No police, no man, woman, child, bird, or bat to stop me.", The Joker states, gleefully raising his hand. "It'll be ripe for the picking."

"Gee, boss. That's a pretty sharp plan."

"Of course it is. I thought it up!", The Joker gleefully exclaims. "Now stay here. I have something to give you."

Bob nodded, relaxing in his seat as The Joker exited the room, shutting the door. But to his surprise, a second later, the door reopened as The Joker stuck his head in.

"Oh, and Bobbaloo? That something I wanted to give you? Well, it's a tip. A tip of advice,", The Joker continued. "Do try not to lose your head over this."

Bob's eyebrow raised, as The Joker shut the door. Keeping his grin hidden, The Joker walked away from his office as a loud explosion followed.

"The old cigar gag. And here I thought no one on earth could still fall for that one!", The Joker stated, slapping his knee in a giggle.

Within The Joker's office, brain matter was splattered all over the walls. Blood covered both seats, with bits of muscle mass scattered across the desk. And all that was left of The Joker's former follower was too grotesque for words. The only indentifiable piece in the room, now, was a lone Joker Card that sat within Bob's burning coat pocket.

Truly, The Joker's comeback was going to be a smashing hit. Or it was clear that he'd literally smash everyone else into oblivion until it was.

 

[Venom160]

Harvey Dent

Justice.

I used to believe in the meaning of that word. That was until a bomb that was meant to kill me killed my wife, disfigured my face, and released something that I thought I got rid of a long time ago. Now Iv been condemned to be a prisoner in my own body, forced to watch as a monster named Two Face mercilessly murders people in the name of Justice. Tonight started out no different, Two Face was discussing his plan for the Gotham Natural History Museum to his gang of thugs. His thugs thought this was all about the valuable artifacts but only I knew what this was really about. Two Face could care less about the artifacts, all he cared about was getting his hands on the Batman and he knew that something big like this would draw Batman's attention. But he underestimated me, during one of the times I had control of my body I contacted the new DA and my friend Rachel Dawes and told her what Two Face was planning. Everything was set, Rachel was going to tip off James Gordon and Two Face and his band of slackjawed creeps were going to be put away for the rest of their lifes!

-----------------------------------

Two Face

"So anyone have any questions?"

Silence.

"Good, the heist will go down tomorrow night."

As soon as the words leave my mouth Im greeted with the sound of wood splintering and a fully armed SWAT team come swarming into the cramped abandoned tavern.

"Everybody freeze!"

 

[Byrd Man]

It's just after midnight and I'm strolling down the elegant halls of Boss Paul's mansion. He had some armed guards and a security system. The system was easy to crack and once I got a hold of one of the guards' silenced pistols, well that's all she wrote...I'm inspecting his nice paintings while I hum a song.

"Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco. They want my treasure so they get their pleasures from my photo, You could see you, you can't squeeze me I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy I got reasons why I tease 'em Boys just come and go like seasons...I'm Fergalicious"

Alright, I've screwed around enough, time to get to work.....

Boss Paul's sleeping comfortably under his silk sheets. Misses Paul isn't there, she must be out of town with the latino gardener. I root around the room and find a glass of water. I pour the water all over Boss Paul's head and watch as the fat man snaps awake.

"What the ****?"

"Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and Bakey."

He looks at me with furious bewilderment.

"Get the hell out of here."

He reaches towards the phone, like a flash I pull out one of the silence pistols and bury two bullets into the phone.

"I'm sorry, but all lines are currently down."

"JACKIE!"

"Don't bother calling for your goons. You'll find that there quiet dead."


"Let me ask you something, you a hit man? Monjoni trying to take Hub as well as Gotham?"

"No I'm not a hit man. Nor am I a cop. I'm something diffrent all together."

He shifts his weight on the bed and eyes his nightstand drawer.

"By the way, you revolver doesn't have any rounds in it."

He puts his head in his hands and breathes heavily.

"Why don't you just do it already? Kill me and get it over with."

"Now what fun would that be? No, were gonna play a little game. Kinda like 21 questions. I ask you a question about your illegal buisness and you answer, if I don't like the answer I get then I shoot off a part of your body starting with the genitals."

"And whenl you kill me, will that give you joy?"

"The actual killing? No, but everything up to that point will be a gas......."

Two hours later and I've worked up a decent sweat.The beads of sweat are rolling down my face and I can feel my mask start to slide over my face. The Silly Putty I use must have absorbed too much of my sweat and now it's starting to break down. I look down at Boss Paul's lifeless body, he gave me some good stuff. I take all the clips out of all the silenced pistols I collected and throw them around Boss Paul's corpse. While making my getaway, I think about my plans. I took out Hub City's biggest crime boss and his eventual succesor, thus crippiling the Costra Nostra for the coming months. Now I have to shift over to the other gang that's hurting Hub City: The Cops, while not as dirty as Gotham, the police force is still a joke. While cutting across Ditko park I hear a twig snap and turn around quickly, my guns drawn.

"Alright, pooch. Just head on home and I won't have to put you to sleep."

I turn around and head towards home when a sharp voice with a New England accent echoes through the park.

"Hey, a$$hole. Were do you think yar going?"

I slowly turn around and see the bulldog, now with a cigarette in his mouth.

"The name's Boston Brand and yes I'm a talking dog. I'm gonna be ya spiritual guide."

Note to self: Switch to decaf.

 

[Batman]

It's usually said that a true warrior endures even the most damaging injuries without even the smallest signs of discomfort. I'm beginning to question just how much of a warrior I truly am, when I flinch at the feeling of my cauterized stab wound.

It's been put on ice and bandaged over since I came home last night by Alfred. But I still feel it. And I don't think it's because of the pain that came with the stabbing... I think it hurts worse because I knew who inflicted it.

Slade Wilson. Now, revealed to be an assassin under the codename of 'Deathstroke'. But I knew the man long before, and I can tell that little has changed. He's still a ruthless. Still as skilled. And with probably twice the lethal arms.

I find myself wishing I could take back that part of my life. But without it, I admit, I would've never been able to become what I am today. I remember it vividly: Eighteen years old. At what I believed to be the prime of my life. Under the teachings of a man who made me forcibly deduce his first name under a period of three months. Henri Ducard, a mercenary and detective.

While I did take in his many lessons in what he reffered to as a 'betterment', I made sure to stay clear of any and all acts of violence that resulted in murder. Even back then, at my age... I knew I was destined for something greater than that. But my fellow students under Ducard's pupil didn't exactly share my morality.

Slade was one of them. There were others... Sandra Woosan, David Cain, Floyd Lawton, and others. But without a doubt, Slade was the worst of them. While the others were only gradually learning acceptance of Ducard's apparent lack of mercy, Slade revelled in it, admired it, and imitated it almost immediately. The day I left Ducard's teachings, I barely made it out of France alive. And Slade Wilson was the reason for that.

Kicking me down, yelling about how he was expecting more of a fight out of me... He taught me firsthand how ruthless criminals can be. It may have been what partially drove me to use fear as my weapon of choice against my enemies... because as much as I hated to admit it to anyone, even myself... I was afraid of him.

Now, I see him as the rest of his kind: Lawless, godless, morally lacked cowards. And that's probably the only reason I survived my encounter with Deathstroke last night. But it's not going to be as close next time... I can promise that much.

"When are you going to learn, Master Bruce...", I hear, coming from the cavern's eastern corridor. "That rest means rest?"

I look up, seeing Alfred, with my newly cleaned costume wrapped around his lifted forearm. He looks unamused, as I finish my three hundred and forty seventh pushup on the training mat, just to spite him.

"When criminals like Slade Wilson stop inflicting head injuries on me.", I respond, slowly standing, despite my still aching wound.

"Well, that would explain alot, actually...", He answers, with a raised eyebrow.

I shoot him a look, wiping the sweat from my brow with the towel I brought down.

"The oh so amusing banter aside, Alfred...", I begin, letting him know in my tone that I don't exactly have the time for this, before taking the costume from his arm as he hands it to me. "I assume the bloodstains came out thoroughly enough?"

"Nothing a bit of club soda couldn't handle, Sir.", He states, before revealing that he also has a newspaper under his arm, aswell. "But given this morning's news, I question how long that's going to last."

I take the newspaper, reading off the headline. At first, I don't pay much attention to it, given that it's a report of another Batman sighting. Then, I scroll down to the bottom of the first page...

BANK PRESIDENT SLAIN
Gruesome Death Of Henry Claridge IV Discovered By Maid, Police Begin Investigation​

I read further on into the article, never taking my eyes off of it once I discover the manner of which Claridge was found: Face up, sporting sickly pale skin and a 'grotesque' outstretched grin across his face. And I don't even have to finish the article to know who's responsible. That bastard. That sick bastard is at it again...

"Joker...", I growl, catching myself crumpling up the article.

"Beg your pardon?"

I turn around, as we walk into the remodeled computer "lab" section of the cave.

"The clown that was responsible for the Prom massacre, two months ago.", I respond, absently, trying to shake past my returning guilt of that night. Oddly, I'm doing better at it than before.

"Clown? Joker? And here I was, beginning to believe you were the fruitiest this city had to offer...", Alfred responds, much to my dismay. "I hope you know that I'm only trying to relieve you of your obvious guilt on the matter."

"...It's not working."

"I can tell, believe it or not.", He answers. "So I assume you have a full evening ahead of you?"

I look up at the monitor's screen, backtracking and looking up past headlines involving any murders involving or related to a Joker Card. The last one was from the massacre. So either he's been working discreetly, or he's remained inactive since. And if it's the latter, the newest murder indicates that he's had time to plan. Which, if that's the case... I have to stop him immediatley.

But Slade's still out there. And he may not remain in Gotham for long...


"More than I'd enjoy, but yes.", I answer, looking at more of the headlines on the screen.

There's still something I don't get. Why Claridge? Why the victims at the Prom? Why the doctors, Why Sol? They couldn't possibly have any sort of distinct connection. Joker's crimes are proving to be more randomised than I originally thought. Which means that anyone could be his next target. Damn it.

There's only one lead I can possibly salvage from this...

"Alfred, call Lucius Fox. Have him patch me through to Wayne Enterprises' formula division.", I say, walking back towards the eastern corridor, to the entrance that leads back to The Manor. "I need to find out what this madman is poisoning us with, and fast. And I'm going to need all the help I can get..."

"Certainly, Sir.", Alfred responds.

At this point, I can only hope that nothing else arises...

 

[Apprentice]

Metropolis. A haven of activity – in more than one way. Despite the mind filtration system, of sorts, that J’onn had established some time ago, thoughts scattered around the streets constantly ate away at his concentration, scrambling the out boundaries of his telepathic senses. Little more than a minor inconvenience, but definitely something the Manhunter from Mars would be working on in amidst the hectic schedule of the coming months. In all honesty, his schedule was not his to decide; that was up to Black, and whichever errands came to his attention.

Casting out a wide scanning net, J’onn slipped into an alleyway and propped himself up against the wall, allowing his orbs to pulse with a crimson energy. He was disguised as a somewhat frail middle-aged man, a receding hairline marking his forehead and a dress sense not exactly promoting a sense of modern styles. At least, that was what the twenty-one year old woman across the road considered him as. Thoughts and ponderings flittered in and out of his mind, phrases that slotted into his search criteria enhancing in volume to inform him of their relevance. From the small range of data that had been presented to him, it appeared that Clark Kent was a reporter for the Daily Planet.

Intriguing. J’onn , as a detective, had always despised journalists; yet this one was obviously different. Despite initially being labelled a “Nazi” by the press, he seemingly had a compulsion to help people, and that was a quality that J’onn could not help but admire. He was anticipating his first meeting with this Superman.

~There!~ he thought. A woman named Lois Lane, the name he had been looking for prominent in her thoughts. He lessened his density, allowing intangibility to grasp his form, and he slid down through the concrete. Seconds later, he emerged on a rooftop several blocks away. He gazed down upon Lois, also a reporter, striding with an air of confidence. A telepathic nudge would be all that was required, here; he focused slightly, his brow knitting together. In Lois’ mind, her mobile phone rang. She scrabbled through her handbag and pulled the communication device free of its lodging, then pressed it to her ear.

Such a deceitful use of his power displeased him, but it was necessary to achieve his objective.

~Lois, it’s Perry.~ He transferred the message to her mind, retrieving the name from her mind and tricking her perceptions into believing it was emanating from her phone.

“What is it, Perry? I’m on a tight schedule, here!”she shot back, irritably.

~I need to know where Kent is.~

"How should I know? I'm not his mother!"


~I see you are in a pleasant mood, as always. Very well. I shall search elsewhere.~ A moment later, all memories of the encounter had vanished from Lois’ mind. Regrettable, yet, again, necessary.

”I shall search elsewhere…”

BLAM!

A gunshot. Instantly, J'onn was alert, his human facade being overtaken by a familiar layer of forest-green skin, his garments replaced by the Martian armour that had earned him the name "Manhunter" on this globe. He felt almost refreshed to feel his natural appearance returning to him; a human face still felt strange to imitate. He ascended in a blur of turquoise, his telepathy locating the source of the trouble within seconds: three miscellaneous armed thugs, fleeing from the authorities with a horde of drugs in the rear of their vehicle. J'onn soared through the skies, weaving through the concrete canyons and dropping down before their battered automobile.

"I suggest you decelerate, and allow yourselves to be imprisoned." His tone was firm and laced with menace.

"Dude, he's green!" one of the criminals exclaimed.

The driver pressed his booted foot downwards. "I don't care what colour he is, we'll still go straight through him!"

J'onn nodded, a grim smile touching his lips. "Indeed you will." Allowing himself to fall into his incorporeal state, the alien plunged forward. The inhabitants of the car cried out as he dove through them...and then the engine was gone, clutched in J'onn's hand as he emerged from the other side.

"Holy %$*^!"

"Do you intend to surrender?"

In response, a bullet hurtled towards him. He calmly battered it aside, and stepped forward, repeating the enquiry. Only the driver attempted to escape, tossing his firearm aside and breaking out into a fierce sprint. J'onn's eyes narrowed, and the human dove to the floor. "I'm sorry for my crimes!" he barked, tears flowing down his cheeks. "Please, put me in prison, punish me for what I have done! I'm sorry! I repent!"

A satisfied smirk grazed J'onn's exprssion. Several dumbfounded police officers stared on. "I believe they will be of no more trouble, officers. Excuse me..."

He rose, breaking through the light speckles of cloud and softly closing his eyes, revelling in the light breeze as it whistled around him. He froze for a few moments, tranquility clouding his thoughts, until...

"Mr J'onnzz," a familair voice blared, "would you care to come aboard?"

 

[Byrd Man]

Two hours later and I've worked up a decent sweat.The beads of sweat are rolling down my face and I can feel my mask start to slide over my face. The Silly Putty I use must have absorbed too much of my sweat and now it's starting to break down. I look down at Boss Paul's lifeless body, he gave me some good stuff. I take all the clips out of all the silenced pistols I collected and throw them around Boss Paul's corpse. While making my getaway, I think about my plans. I took out Hub City's biggest crime boss and his eventual succesor, thus crippiling the Costra Nostra for the coming months. Now I have to shift over to the other gang that's hurting Hub City: The Cops, while not as dirty as Gotham, the police force is still a joke. While cutting across Ditko park I hear a twig snap and turn around quickly, my guns drawn.

"Alright, pooch. Just head on home and I won't have to put you to sleep."

I turn around and head towards home when a sharp voice with a New England accent echoes through the park.

"Hey, a$$hole. Were do you think yar going?"

I slowly turn around and see the bulldog, now with a cigarette in his mouth.

"The name's Boston Brand and yes I'm a talking dog. I'm gonna be ya spiritual guide."

Note to self: Switch to decaf.

I close the door to my apartment, lock it, deadbolt it, and put on the chain. I slip my mask off my face and put my trenchcoat and fedora on the coat rack.

"Jesus, kid. You take home security serious."

"You bet your ass."

I turn around and see the dog sitting on my couch, the cigarette still in his mouth.

"Ya got any beers around here?"

"Yeah sure let me go look in the...Hey wait a minute! Your a talking dog."

"There's no fooling you, is there."

He hops off the couch and waddles towards the fridge.

"So what are you? A dog, a robot, an alien? All of the above?"

"None of the above. Ya see, I use to be a human. I was name Boston Brand. I was a guitar player and I was good, damn good. My band was called The Deadmen. We started to play right about the time Judass Priest came out, we played metal and hard rock came close to getting a record deal. One night, after a show this club promoter cheated us outta some money so me and Billy go to get out money when that bastard hauled off and shot me. Died on the spot. But that wasn't the end for me. While on my way to the great gig in the sky, I was stopped and told I was to serve a higher power. I became a spirit of vengence, I was to write the wrongs of premature death. Your my new assignment."

"And how did you do that?"

"God, you ask alot of questions....If you must know. I act like a ghost, I can influence people and move invisible to the human eye. I can also posses people and animals. Hence my caninical apperance."

"But why as a dog? Why not a human?"

"Because you wouldn't have taken me serious if I came to you as a human. But a talking dog will scare you into believing me."

"And what are you suppose to do as my...Guide was it?"

"I've seen the future and great challanges lie ahead. Not just for you, but the whole of humanity. It's my job to make sure you come out unscathed. Believe it or not, your pretty important. So how about those beers?"

He shakes his head and the ashes on his cigarette fall off.

"Sure. I might have to get me one while I'm at it."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Your right...I should head back to NY. Your leg's going to blister in about half an hour, get some ointment and some bandages for it. It'll be gone in about a week."

I press the pressure point in my glove and a wire and a micro grappling hook shoot out and latch onto the factory's sky light.

"If you ever make it across the bridge to the Big Apple, look me up sometime. Oh...and your welcome."

The small wench in my glove raises me off the ground and shoots me into the Gotham night.

"Welcome to Holt Electronics, Fair Play for the Future."

I look down at the receptionist and smile.

"Yes mam. I'd like to see my grandfather."

She smiles a little wider as she recognizes me.

"Ahh yes, Terry. Go on up."

After a short elevator ride, my grandad's personal secretary greets me.

"Good morning Terry, you can go on in. You Grandfather's with an old friend."

I open the door and catch the tail end of a converstaion.

"That's what I was trying to tell him."

He's sitting behind his desk while another man sits in one of the chairs and laughs.

"Terry? Your early. I'd like for you to meet a friend of mine. Lucius Fox, meet my grandson Terry Holt."

Lucius stands up to greet me, he's a few inches taller than myself and his hair's starting to go gray.

"So this is the grandson? Good to meet you, I've known Micheal along time. You work here or are you semi-independent."

"No sir, I work over at Sacred Heart. I'm a surgeon."

"A damn good one to, tell Lucius about that brain tumor you removed."

I don't have time to tell him. As Lucius phone rings and he reaches for his jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry I have to take this. I've got to get back to Gotham anyway. It was good seeing you, Mike."

He hurries out the door and I catch a little of his phone conversation.

"Hello? Alfred...."

"Sit down Terry. I wanted to talk to you about something."

I sit down as he swivels his chair around and looks out over the New York skyline.

"You did good last night. Apart from not catching Deathstroke, it was perfect. You worked well with Batman."

"Yeah I know. I saved his life. Maybe we could start some kind of superhero team. Like the JSA you were on."

"No."

"Aww come on. We've got Batman over in Gotham as well as Dinah. Last time you talked to Ted he said she's got in the family buisness. Aswell as the Superman down in Metropolis. What about that robin hood guy out in the West."

"No....take it from me. Those teams are trouble."

"What's wrong with you? Why don't you ever want to talk about what happend back in the 40's?"

He whips around and looks at me.

"You want to know? Fine, I'll tell you..........."