The "Ultimate DC Universe" RPG, Season 3.0

[celestial guard]

I stride through the military base with ease. The route I have chosen is free of traffic so I make it to the structure I have been ordered to infiltrate with ease.

Upon entering the building I an sense the security equipment begin it's regimen. I can't allow it to go off. Placing my hand on the access panel I begin the search for the override code. The "upgrades" the boys at Cadmus gave me are really paying off. Within seconds the override command is found and authorized. The door in front of me glides open on a hiss off air and I go in.

"I see I don't have to get your attention," I say as all five occupants of the room look up at the door that has just opened. "I have been authorized by the United States of America to ask you gentlemen to cease and desist in your current activities as they are in breach of international law. I have been authorized by the United Nations to use force if necessary should you resist. I implore you to resist...."

"Superman?" I hear someone say, "Why would we listen you?" I clear my throat. "I am not the man you think I am," I begin while scanning the room with x-rays for hidden threats. "I am something far worse than him." I find that each has a side arm and nothing else, the rest of the room is empty of weapons. The computer banks all around me activate the network of missile silos through out the mountain side a few miles off. I smile while placing my hand next to a terminal letting the up-link make contact.

The screens around them go blank. Typically they react with shock and stupid questions. The room is lost in a frenzy of "What happened?", "The up-link is not responding!" and "We've lost control!" Then they look at me and start to fire.

Just like the imbecile who tried to stop me in the first place I sear their eyes with lasers from my own. They can't see and begin to fire blindly while I enter new destinations for the missiles to detonate. Just for fun I hit each of them with another shot from my eyes turning their gun hands to putty from the heat. After all I can't have them messing up my plans with random gun play now can I?

"I'll see you gentlemen in hell," I say as I leave the facility. They are still yelling ans screaming at the top of their lungs. Now maybe they understand why some buildings shouldn't be sound proofed. "I hope you enjoy what's coming...." I leave through the same door I came through to enter and immediately shot into the sky.

I can hear the missile coming in from a mile off. From my vantage point I have a great view when they hit the facility. Explosions and plumes of fire ride the winds in all directions. The beauty of it gives me goosebumps. I love my job. Just as I begin to relish the last bangs and loud sizzles my communications bead begins to chime.

"Henshaw." "What in the hell was that soldier?" It's my commander and he sounds upset again. "They resisted, so I re-routed all their capabilities to the home site to destroy it. Mission accomplished." "Mission accomplished? Is that what you call this? I getting tired of cleaning up your messes you cybernetic screwup! Get back to base for a full briefing and I mean now! When you get here..."

I take off at twice the speed of sound and push it to the limits. "I want a full..." Eastern seaboard coming up. " report of everything that happened... " The base is below, I use my private entrance from the top. "and you better not leave out one..." I tap Captain Ennis on the shoulder. "You can stop using the secure channel I'm here."

"I want that report smart guy!" he yells spittle flying from his mouth. I motion to his computer and he gives me a blank stare. " I sent it on the flight back. It's in the briefing file. Let me know if you need anything else Captain." I say it with a sneer because I know he hates it. Then as I'm walking out he hits me with that pearl of wisdom he always saves for when he has nothing else to say, "You'll outlive your usefulness, and then there be hell to pay." I piss him off by answering,"Already have a tab started..."

I go to my quarters to get some rest and wait for my next mission. One day I know I'm going to end up meeting the Big Blue. I can't help but wonder what he'll say, but then again what does it matter?

 

[Byrd Man]

"...Right. Two-Face.", I mention, trying to hide my momentary dwelling on love's lost. "There's nothing to report, thus far. I took the time to scour the East End, where he once lived, but none of the drug pushers of that region had noticed any bizarre activity. He's laying lower than ever, and worse, he's keeping the rest of his gang equally as scarce."

"And that scares the hell outta me. When these 'freaks', as they're being called, are quiet. You can bet that when they next show up, they'll make their prescence know."

I throw away my cigarette butt and reach for a fresh one.

"Also, we have The Joker currently sitting in a holding cell at Gotham Central, he' awaiting transfer to Arkham. Doctor Quinzell has been yelling for him to be transfered ASAP. I guess she has a crush on him."

I slip the new cigarette between my lips and light up, inhaling the smoke deeply and slowy exhaling before I speak again.

"Something else I wanted you and I to touch base on. A few days ago, in Robinson Park. In the middle of my confrontation with Officer Merkel, he revealed a photo he had taken. The photo in question was a picture of you and I on a rooftop meeting in secret like we always do. During the fight with Merkel and Joker, I forgot all about the photograph. I went back to the crime scene later that night, but the photo was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn't have happend to have picked it up?"

 

[Batman]

"Also, we have The Joker currently sitting in a holding cell at Gotham Central, he' awaiting transfer to Arkham. Doctor Quinzell has been yelling for him to be transfered ASAP. I guess she has a crush on him."

I try not to react. But inside, it's all but a losing battle.

That's the second time that Harleen Quinzell has appeared in my life today. Privately, on both respective ends, which is a rather unusual turn of events, given Bruce Wayne usually only dates women that hecan stir up the usual tabloid rumors with. But with Harleen, it's... different. In a way I can't exactly explain. For some reason, I feel as if seeing her has to be kept private, for an unsaid amount of personal reasons. And being a therapist, she also knows information about my enemies that even I haven't picked up on.

I tell myself that's the only reason I've thought of it as personal as I have. But somehow... I think, perhaps even know, that I'm lying to myself by believing that.

I slip the new cigarette between my lips and light up, inhaling the smoke deeply and slowy exhaling before I speak again.

"Something else I wanted you and I to touch base on. A few days ago, in Robinson Park. In the middle of my confrontation with Officer Merkel, he revealed a photo he had taken. The photo in question was a picture of you and I on a rooftop meeting in secret like we always do. During the fight with Merkel and Joker, I forgot all about the photograph. I went back to the crime scene later that night, but the photo was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn't have happend to have picked it up?"

What Jim describes is exactly what I feared, when chosing to form an allieance from within the system. If someone as dirty as Merkel was the first to suspect that Gordon has a contact outside the force as extremely vigilant as me, he certainly won't be the last. But Merkel's gone. Murdered by that psychopath sitting in a jailcell right now. Hopefully he'll stay there.

Hopefully that nightmare is over.

"I... wasn't aware of such a photograph,", I admit flatly. "And I wouldn't worry. There were a considerable amount of circumstances that led your men to stay away from that section of the park that night. By the time they went to retrieve Merkel's body, it had probably faded away with the night."

I notice that Detective Grayson is unusually, abiet understandably quiet. He's still not comfortable with this. I haven't been, either, from the moment I arrived.

"What exactly do you know about Anthony Zucco?", I ask, catching him off guard.

 

[Eddie Brock]

I notice that Detective Grayson is unusually, abiet understandably quiet. He's still not comfortable with this. I haven't been, either, from the moment I arrived.

"What exactly do you know about Anthony Zucco?", I ask, catching him off guard.

Being questioned by Batman feels almost like being on trial - with the life sentence hanging in the balance. At least, this is how I imagine that would feel like - since I have never experienced the latter personally. But once you've been through the former, I imagine that the latter seems less difficult.

"He's a carbon copy of all the other scum in this town," I explain sneeringly. I have no respect for men like Zucco.

"Raised in Suicide Slums - where else? - he grew up as part of the Luciano family. When Falcone killed Corrado Luciano, Zucco's father moved up to the next in-line to be the big Capo. After Paulie Zucco was 'rubbed out,' Falcone gave Zucco his father's position. Of course, Falcone met his end too - leaving Zucco in control."

As usual, no emotion can be deciphered from Batman's face. For this reason, it is impossible to tell whether he is satisfied or not.

"But the most important thing to know about Zucco is that his time is at an end," I add confidently. "I've seen how Captain Gordon's group operates. With your help, it's only a matter of time. Zucco will be forced to make his last stand."

 

[SuperBoy-CK]

Freddy Freeman/Captain Marvel Jr
​

I stood there for a second just amaze at myself, no longer Freddy but now Captain Marvel Jr. Was this really happing? I have to be dreaming, there is no way I’m stand here right now the new Earth’s Mightiest Mortal. It was no dream I stood there the new champion for Earth.

Within an instant I took off in super speed. This speed is astonishing, everything I was passing so fast as if it was all standing at a halt. While running I jump into the air and took flight. Soaring through the air is like nothing I have ever encountered before it was the most [FONT=&quot]thrilling moment in my life.[/FONT]

It seems like yesterday I would dream of visiting other countries, seeing the other different types of societies and the means of transportation to reach them. But now the world seems so small and crossing the ocean has become a skip across a pond.

After flying around the world a couple of times my journey had came to a stop in junkyard in Chicago. So far I have tested my stamina and speed now it was time for strength and durability.

I walk up to an old beat up ford truck. I rest my left arm under it and with ease I had lift it up over my head with one arm.

“You got to be kidding me!” I said with excitement.

With one arm I begin to bench press the truck as if it was nothing. Then an idea had hit me. I then throw the truck straight up into the air. I look up and wait for it to come back down on top of me. The truck had hit the top of my head with the hood of the truck getting crush on impact. The truck had hit the ground after striking my head. I had felt nothing at all.

“I think I am going to like this.”

I say right before I took off heading back home.

 

[Catman_prb]

There was an eerie green light in the gigantic cavern. The stalegmites glistened with damp, causing the entire cave to glitter like an emerald. In the very centre of the cave, sat a group of people on mats. All of them were stripped to the waist, their leader a well-built man of perhaps fifty-years, with white streaks in his dark black hair.

"The time of retribution is upon us my brethren. Humanity has sealed it's own demise. Their overconfidence in their abilities,and their faith in their leaders will lead to their downfall. My plans have been layed out over many hundreds of years, deeply woven into the lifestye of the entire planet. You all have your tasks assigned to you in person, and none of you know the others plan. We are as the hydra; strike off one of our heads and we will continue to fight. Mankind is destroying the very place in which we live, and for that they must pay. Go forth, my friends, and wreak my vengeance," the leader said, his eyes closed in meditation. The brotherhood nodded in agreement, then they stood up and left the cave.

***​

"We are pleased to announce that the flight has taken less time than previously caculatede, and we will be arriving on course for Heathrow Airport in around ten minutes," came the voice over the tannoy. There was a cheer from the people on the plane, as they sat in their seats with the sun beating down upon them.

Heather McTavish looked intently at the young man sitting next to her, willing for him to look back. His head turned momentarily, and he flashed her a dazzling smile, then turned back to look out of the window. He was well built, around twenty years old with a small beard around his chin. Heather was mesmerized by him, and the muscles beneath his shirt.

She was building up the courage to talk to him once the plane landed in Heathrow. She looked at her watch; she had been staring at him for five minutes. There was only about five minutes of the flight left. As she looked back up, the man next to her stood up in his seat.

"By the will of Ra's Al Ghul, The Demons Head!" he shouted at the top of his voice, pulling a chord that Heather had not previously seen. There was a great bang, and Heather McTavish died, as did the rest of the passengers on board the plane and many people below, as it crashed down over Central London.​

 

[Feature]

REX TYLER: HOURMAN
Season 3.0 - Part 1


"Excuse me?"

The receptionist stopped typing and look up at Rex, her eyes thick with apathy.

"Yes?"

"I had an appointment with Mr. Widmore at noon. I've been waiting out here over an hour. What's going on?"

The receptionist looked like she was capable of doing only two things: rolling her eyes and yawning.

"I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Widmore is a very busy man. He'll see you as soon as he can."

Her voice sounded far away. Dead. Rex was ready to scream.

"Look, miss... I've got other job interviews to go to today. I don't have time to wait around. If Mr. Widmore isn't interested in seeing me, just say so and I'll walk out the door."

The receptionist regarded him again. Expressionless.

"Mr. Widmore is very busy today, sir. He'll see you as soon as he can."

Just as Rex thought he might explode, a door to his right opened and a formidable looking bald man motioned for him to enter.

"Come in, Mr. Tyler. I'm sorry about the wait."

Though his temper was still fiery, Rex entered Widmore's office and took a seat across from the aging entrepreneur.

"Hello, Mr. Widmore. Thank you for seeing me. It's an honour."

Rex spoke the words without conviction. He was putting on a very thinly veiled act.

"Tell you what, Tyler... let's cut all the small talk and delve into the heart of the matter here. You will not be working for Widmore Industries."

Rex felt like he'd been slapped in the face.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. You're a smart man and you're damn good at what you do... but we can't possibly hire you. Not knowing what we know."

Rex was rendered speechless.

"I kept you waiting out there because I hoped you'd just go away. But my little plan obviously didn't work. That's not the way I usually do things, Tyler. I'm a straight-shooter. I feel bad for doing that to you, so I'm going to make coming here worth your while."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"By telling you not to waste your time going to any more job interviews. Not in this field. No one will hire you. Victor Bannermain has completely destroyed you as a scientist."

A white-hot knot of anger coiled itself tightly in Rex's stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"He's sent information about you to every medical company within five-thousand miles of here. We know about your addiction... your bad habits... and we know about the little girl you--"

"I DIDN'T KILL THAT GIRL!" Rex shouted.

Widmore sat there for a moment, unfazed by Re'x outburst, coolly deciding whether or not he needed to call security.

"Listen, Mr. Tyler... no one will hire you. Not for a long time. Get out of this world for awhile. Or maybe move to a different state. I don't know what happened between you and Bannermain, but he's seen to it that you will not be getting a job around here any time soon."

Rex stormed out of the office, then out of the building, then down the street. He wasn't going home. He was going to Bannermain Pharmaceutical.

 

[SenseiofCheese]

Katar had begun to grow restless and impatient. Incapable of doing anything other than lying in bed, he had simply stared at the clock awaiting Thorne's return, which meant he was well aware that he had been waiting for over 4 hours. Watching the clock tick away second after second, minute after minute and hour after hours made Katar feel as helpless as he ever was. Shayera was somewhere out there, and he couldn't even stand up.

By the time the fifth hour passed, Katar had repeatedly tried to get up from the bed, each time his hands buckling from under his weight and his body falling back down. "Damnit!!" Katar shouted in anger, slamming his fist into the metal post on his bed. It couldn't be very long until he'd be fully recovered, he thought, when he saw the dent his fist had made in the shining post.

All of a sudden the hustle and bustle of the hospital seemed to fade and Katar found the room to grow more peaceful. Quiet.
Always the pessimist, Katar thought to himself this might be a calm before the storm. Holding still, Katar perched his head and listened for the usual sounds that had been so irritating these past hours, but couldn't hear anything. "Hnh..Nah." he commented to himself, before settling in the bed and deciding it would be best to use the time he had to rest.

*BLAM BLAM BLAM*

"I SAID STAY DOWN, *****!"

No such luck.

"GOD DAMNIT! Alright, alright, alright, just let me THINK!"

Katar sat up as soon as he heard the shots, instinctively trying to jump to his feet. "Arrgghh.." Grimacing in pain, he sat still and listened.

"Alright, ****! The cops'll be here soon, so y-you go round up the patients and bring'em here! GO!"

Katar could hear five distinct footsteps running around outside, but there would certainly be more gunmen. Muffled screams and enraged shouts filled the hospital, as Katar's mind raced. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't let these people, whoever they were, kill innocent people.

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

From room to room the gunmen went, rounding up each patient and forcibly removing them from their beds. Most complied. Those who didn't, those who couldn't...they were dispatched of. No use carrying around dead weight, as ringleader Tommy Prescott had repeated time and time again during the planning of the assault. This was Bobby Riley's first job for Tommy, and he had hoped to God it would go well. He didn't want to hurt anybody, let alone kill people, but he knew that if he didn't, Tommy had no use for him. He'd be the dead weight. That was why he forced himself to pull the trigger on a woman who wouldn't get out of her bed. She'd been crying, screaming for her husband, and he'd put five rounds from a rifle into her stomach. The gun weighed down on him like nothing ever had.

"'Ey Bobby, take the room at the end o' the hall! I'mma go help Tommy with the rest of the hostages!"

"Y-Yeah okay!"

Running down the hall, Tommy gripped the handle of his rifle and headed into the last of the patient's rooms, hoping whoever occupied would just come with him without causing trouble. Turning his heels on the sleek floor and rushing into the room, weapon raised toward the bed, Bobby saw it was empty. There was no one in bed, and after checking, he saw that there was no one hiding in the bathroom. Stepping over to the foot of the bed, Bobby grabbed a brown clipboard with the name John Doe written at the top of an almost empty patients chart. Throwing it onto the bed, he relaxed his body and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Looking down, the last thing Bobby saw before blacking out from pain was a man dressed in a hospital gown grabbing his ankle.

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

Katar took great pleasure in crushing the man's ankle. The gunman screamed out in pain and swung his arms wildly. The rifle in his hand went off, multiple bullets flying off into the wall. Katar quickly rolled out from under the bed and twisted the man's body to the floor. Five seconds before the second man arrived, gleaming pistol rasied, Katar had heard his footsteps. It gave him enough time to rush over to the table and grab a shining oval bedpan, which swiftly met the second gunman's face. The moment the bedpan left Katar's hand and flew into the criminal's nose, he rushed the man and launched his full weight onto him. Both men slammed into the wall, leaving a large crack on the wall itself and the same thing on the gunman's ribs.

Katar Hol began to move towards the door when, if just for a second, he paused. He looked back at the two unconscious men, and he looked at their weapons laying beside them. For a moment he thought about how much easier it would be to just --

"No."

Rushing outside, he was almost too slow. The moment he had exited his room, a blur of movement caught his eye and he instinctively threw himself at a slightly ajar door facing him. Multiple bullets whizzed past him, all of them near-misses. The weight of his body forced the door to open completely, and Katar found himself in a small bathroom, hardly big enough for a single person.

"IN THERE! GET HIM!"

Two men rushed in after him, weapons raised. As the first man entered, Katar immediately grabbed him the neck and used the man's momentum against him. Yanking him forward, Katar slammed the man's head into a small mirror. Shards of glass flew in every direction and the man's gun hit the floor, as Katar pulled the man's body around, grabbed his arm and brought his knee up into his elbow. A painful scream followed the wet crack.

"MOTHERF*****!" the second man shouted as he made his way into the small room. Grabbing the barrel of his rifle, Katar pulled the gun upwards as it went off, sending bullets flying past Katar's head. He could feel the blast of heat from the weapon as the bullets seemed to just miss his head and slam into the ceiling. Using the entirety of the strength still in his arm, Katar forced the gun from the shouting man's hand and brought his own down onto the cold, porcelain seat of the toilet beside him. Yanking it right off it's hinges with a crack, Katar swung it down into the gunman's head. As the white seat was smashed into pieces, the murderer's limp body hit the floor.

Deciding it would be best to have a change of outfits, Katar silently rushed back into his hospital room after making sure the halls were empty.

-----------

"WHAT THE **** IS GOING ON!!!" Tommy Prescott shouted as he loaded the shotgun in his hand and turned down the hall he had sent four of his own men, none of which had returned.

When he saw the man facing him, he stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't shoot. He wanted to...but he didn't.
Tommy had heard about these people. From gangmembers who swore the Bat-Man had swooped down onto twelve guys and beat them all. From criminals who ran into the Superman's chest and broke their noses. Yes, Tommy had heard about these people. He had heard that you don't try to kill them...

You just run.



​

 

[Saved]

As far as threats to his physical person went, Alex Trent wasn't very far up the list. This hate monger had long ago assumed the alias of "Bloodsport" and had a surprising cult following in Metropolis. However, it seemed as if Trent's cult and its funding had fallen on hard times, if he was resorting to bank robbery. This was actually the first time that Clark had ever encountered Bloodsport, as the Metropolis Police Department had always managed to put an end to his rampages before.

But this was different.

Yes, in his previous outbursts, Trent had been known for sporting high-tech weaponry, but that had always been the most threatening he had been. Now, however, Bloodsport seemed to have an entire arsenal at his disposal. During his assault on the police, Trent had exhausted numerous energy weapons and rocket launchers; all of which were lying spent at his feet, but he still had guns in his hands, and no expression on his face to indicate that he was worried about running out of ammunition or weapons. The most puzzling element of this situation, though, was Bloodsport's lack of backpack or anything else that he could have been carrying his arsenal with. Where were the guns coming from?"I don't think so, Bloodsport."From the second that Superman arrived on the scene, no more of Trent's bullets found their targets. Appearing in front of Bloodsport, Superman raised his hands and opened them, for Trent to see all of the lead projectiles he had fired and the Man of Steel had caught at superspeed. Turning his hands over to let the bullets rain down onto the steps of the bank, Superman looked angrily at the villain, his eyes glowing red at the thought of the lives that Bloodsport had taken that day. No more.

In a single swift motion, barely perceptible to the human eye, Clark grabbed both guns from Bloodsport and swung one of them at his head, sending Trent into the wall of the building. The blow wasn't hard enough to seriously harm the man, but it should have definitely given him second thoughts about continuing his attacks.

Or maybe not. Staggering back to his feet, Trent tore off the bloody lower part of his full-face mask, and spit out a tooth.

[blackout]"You think you're hot s**t, don't you, alien?"[/blackout] sneered Bloodsport. [blackout]"Coming to our planet, breathing our air, drinking our water. God only knows what kind of alien germs you've been giving us. Well, I've got something to give you!"[/blackout] With that, Trent opened his hand and Superman watched as a high-yield Toastmaster cannon materialized in Bloodsport's grip.

It finally made sense. Bloodsport had been somehow teleporting weapons to his location, from some hidden storage area. Once Trent was dealt with, Clark would have to tell the police about it, and help locate the hidden arsenal. [blackout]"I doubt even you will come out lookin' fresh after thi- GAH!"[/blackout] Not even waiting for the madman's sentence to be finished, Superman crushed the barrel of the gun and hit Bloodsport once more, this time knocking him unconscious.

Seeing that the threat had been taken care of, police officers began pouring onto the steps and cuffing the limp Bloodsport. "Things keep getting stranger and stranger these days," Superman sighed.

As the fallen criminal is handcuffed and taken to a nearby police car, Corben stands up from behind the car. He walks toward Superman with an angry look, his fingers gripping the gun in his hand tightly. Corben steps across the various weapons and empty bullet casings on the ground. Stopping in front of the infamous Man of Steel, Corben points his finger at Superman, waving his arms around in an aggressive fashion.

"What in the hell was that?" He exclaims in rage. "We had this guy! Why did you need to show up and ruin everything, yet again?"

 

[Batman]

"But the most important thing to know about Zucco is that his time is at an end," I add confidently. "I've seen how Captain Gordon's group operates. With your help, it's only a matter of time. Zucco will be forced to make his last stand."

Even as I try to pick up anything on Zucco in question, the clear determination that echoes through Grayson's voice as he speaks about the thug leaves me with all the assurance in the world that he can be trusted to keep quiet after what he's seen tonight. For the moment, anyway.

From the sound of it, Anthony 'Fat Tony' Zucco has been dealt a certain set of priveleges all of his life, like most of the scum lurking within Gotham's mafia class. I once made the mistake of thinking Carmine Falcone's reign was the worst their kind had to offer. But after the Maroni Brothers, Zucco, The Moxon's... even this 'Penguin' arms dealer I keep hearing about in the underground circuit, I've come to realize that these people are not to be taken lightly. Even if they aren't a Two-Face, Scarecrow, or Joker, in the manner of madness.

"Then we're agreed on at least one thing, Detective Grayson.", I oblige, before turning to Jim. "I'll have the results of my investigation into your 'Untouchables' within the week, aswell as anything I can find on Zucco's gang. In the meantime, I suggest the both of you remain quiet and collective. Trust no one, even yourselves."

With a crack of my cape, I turn around, and fade into the darkness of the night. By the time either officer will have looked behind the signal, I'll have completely made my way into the city. But not before I've made one final thing clear.

"And make no mistake, Grayson. While my instincts tell me that you're a man of trust, I am going to be watching you very closely. In a place like Gotham, trust is seldom earned as it is deserved. Make sure I don't find a reason to deem you unworthy of mine. After all,"

"The loss of those we love can drive a person to do great, or potentially terrible things."

 

[Catman_prb]

Gotham Baptist Church, 9 am, Sunday

"Let us bow our heads in prayer," the priest said to his congregation. The rows of people ducked their heads and clasped their hands together. As they sat there, the great oak doors were blown inwards off their hinges. As a group of figures stepped in, the one in the lead looked at the man to his right.

"Monohan, how much explosive did you use?" he asked. The big man looked confused.
"Uh...bout half a pound, boss," he grunted. Black Mask sighed, pulled a pistol out and shot him in the head.
"I really do apologize for this," he announced to the general congregation "I really only wanted to make an entrance. Now for those who don't know me, most of you I'm assuming, I'm Black Mask. Those of you who make it out of this alive, make sure to tell everyone you can that it was me who did it. Just cos I like to be well known. Here's my problem...I'm going to kill a lot of you today. Oh wait, it's not my problem cos to be honest I don't care. I'm going to hell anyway!"

Black Mask made his way up between the rows of people to the head of the church where the priest was. Roman walked over to him and grabbed his collar.
"So, Mr. Holy Man, been sinning lately? Wait...forget that I wont like the answer. Oh to hell with reasons, I'm just going to murder you all now. Mmmkay?" he said. The priest gaped at him. Black Mask sighed and shot him. He fell to the ground, a pool of blood quickly forming around his head. He gestured to one of his men and they threw him a tommy gun. He turned to the congregation.

"I apologize for the short delay, I just like killing priests. It's a problem. I should just kill indescriminately," he said. Then he opened fire on the crowd, mowing them down with machine gun fire. After a few minutes the screaming and the spurts of blood stopped. Black Mask walked between the rows looking for survivors. There was a little girl, her sunday best covered in blood. Black Mask walked over to her.

"Hello sweety, what's your name?" he asked bending down to talk to her.
"Buttercup," she squeaked. Roman almost vomited. What kind of sick bastard calls her child Buttercup?
"Well Buttercup, I'm afraid you're going to have to go run down the street shouting 'Murder! Murder!' okay?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Black Mask, sweety. Now run along and scream. Okay?"
"What are you doing here?" she asked. Roman sighed, stood up and shot the little girl. One of his henchman was staring at him.
"What? She was probably going to be mentally scarred, so think of it as an early release...what monster names their child Buttercup?" he said. It was good to be King.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Rhiannon sits behind her desk and continues shuffling through paper-work.

Could anything else be more tedious than re-cataloging evidence from the last six months. Thanks to the Chief wanting more accountablity I got the short end of the straw (and the fact that I have no family) but on the bright side...I am just about done for the night and...why not I haven't busted anyone in a while...I think The Atom needs to go out and play.
She signs the last form and smiles.

Time to have some fun.

Rhiannon clocks out and leaves the station.

She ducks down an alley and changes into The Atom. She then floats away at 6 inches high.

I have been so busy in the lab lately I forgot how much fun wearing the costume is.

 

[Batman]

From the beginning, little Harvey Dent wanted to change the world.

Every night that he'd stare up at that big, bold, star-filled sky that loomed above his bedroom window, he dreamed of soaring above the clouds and righting wrongs and making everything sensible that plagued those he loved the most. He dreamed of fame and fortune, of course, but it was always that noble wish of peace to all that kept his heart pure, throughout his childhood. Truly, little Harvey, his father's Apollo, was a child to be marvelled at for the extraordinary goodness within him. A goodness that, unfortunately, never seemed to be recognized by his mother.

Oh, but he tried, of course. All that Harvey ever did was try and please her. After all, if you didn't have a mother's love, what did you have? Certainly nothing of significance. Because at that age, a mother's love was all that made sense in the world. So Harvey tried. He'd do chores, tend to her every whim, and generally break his young spine in order to see even the faintest glimmer of satisfaction succumb through that consistently critical exterior. The truth was, Harvey was a victim of abuse. Physical or mental, it didn't matter... little Harvey's attempts to please the woman that took great pleasure out of manipulating her boy were misguided from the start. But ever persistent, and always hopeful, Harvey never gave up. He knew, and had great hope that, one day, she'd finally acknowledge him for the good son that he was.

Until the day she hit him.

Once, twice, three times, and Harvey already drew blood from the force of the seemingly frail woman's slap. His father would continually try to purge into how little Harvey kept recieving such large injuries from seemingly no possible accident. But Harvey simply shrugged, and smiled, as if nothing were there at all. Even when his teeth were knocked out. Because he simply never wanted to hear those words. Those dreaded, dreaded words that his mother was always on the verge of saying, despite his efforts to the contrary.

"You're an evil boy, Harvey. A wicked boy. You'll never change."

Days turned into months. Months turned into years. And Harvey's bruises continued to amass. Even when sacrificing his own free time and will to help his family survive even the harshest of conditions in that dry, old Gotham county, Harvey's mother never looked past a guilt forged exterior that, if she was not at fault for being a horrible mother, than he must've been wicked. He must've been a horrible boy. And he'd never change. No, he'd never change.

But he did. Into the very thing his mother always saw, when she looked at her striving son. A monster of unknown proportions that would sooner kill a man than offer it justice. Even when Harvey became older, wiser... more independent, his mother's words still loomed over him on a day to day basis.

"You're an evil boy, Harvey. A wicked boy. You'll never change."

Until finally, one horrible night, Harvey decided he had suffered enough.

It had been his high school's prom, and Harvey had found the girl of his dreams. He had prepared everything... even worked a day and weekend job to pay for his suit and a boquet of roses. Slicking back his hair, Harvey looked himself over in the mirror. Just shy of sixteen, and Apollo Dent was already said to be quite the ladykiller. That night was supposed to be his night. His one chance to make his own life into something far more better, for once, rather than helping others. As he prepared himself for the evening ahead, he failed to realize that his mother had been watching from outside his bedroom door. Watching. Waiting. Disgusted, with every moment that passed. She truly despised her son. And if she couldn't be happy, neither would he.

By the time Harvey finished getting ready, his suit and roses were missing. Harvey scoured all over the Dent farmhouse for them for a straight hour, stressed at the very notion that he had lost his prized posessions of the evening. But the search was no use. They were gone. And he was too late to go to the prom. Saddened beyond belief, Harvey cried to himself, as he entered his home once more... only to find her. The woman he had tried to please for all of these years. The one that constantly told him the very same thing. He was evil. He was wicked. He'd never change.

In her hand lied the tattered ruins of his suit. Harvey was shocked, as she loitered them over the kitchen sink, waiting for his enivitable reaction. Harvey did nothing. What could he do? Strike his mother? Such an act would only prove her misguided point. And he wouldn't do that anyway, because even with all of the torment... he loved her so. As much as a son could love a mother.

But something changed when the suit went in. Harvey watched as numerous weeks of saving up went down the drain, literally, ripped apart by the garbage disposal, joining the remains of his roses. Harvey didn't know why his mother had chosen to do that. He didn't care. He just wanted his night back. His perfect night. The one she had stolen from him. That was the moment that, in the first time following sixteen years of life, Harvey Dent truly became angry. His fists tightened, his veins clenched, his teeth grinded against one another. And the clearest look of absolute hatred came upon his face, as he stared upon the witch that had made his life a living hell ever since it began. His mother simply laughed. She knew her son was too weak to truly defend himself. Even if he was wicked, he would never harm a hair on her head.

She was wrong.

Grabbing a nearby chair, Harvey lunged it at her, and struck her in the head, knocking his mother onto the kitchen counter and immediately drawing blood. But before his mother could move, Harvey was already ontop of her, smashing, clawing... everything he could to rid himself of the woman. She was a bloodied and broken mess by the time he had finished beating her. And even that hardly made up for the years he had recieved it by her hand. So he decided he would do something to try and give himself the justice he so rightly deserved for his years of peril.

He didn't remember taking out the knife, by the time the police arrived. He didn't remember even the most vivid detail of when he launched it into the air, and drove it into her brain. He didn't remember the twitching... the laughing... the pure anarchist rush he felt when he saw his mother suffer. No, no. Harvey was a good boy. He'd never do that. He wasn't the wicked person his mother had always claimed to be. Even his father, who had seen Harvey with the knife in hand, had clear doubts he could ever do such a thing. That's why the death was ruled an accident. That's why, as Harvey told himself in the years following, that it was nothing more. Just an accident.

But it wasn't the truth. The truth was... Harvey had finally become his mother's son. He had finally become the monster she had constantly drove him to be. He had become an evil, wicked boy, who would never change.

He became Two-Face in that moment. In that short, short moment, where little Harvey Dent no longer dreamed of changing the world. Instead, that Harvey Dent only wanted to burn it. And so he would.

"You're an evil boy, Harvey. A wicked boy. You'll never change."

"You'll never change."

Two-Face stared at himself in the mirror, wondering why Harvey had winced in that instant, staring back at himself. It was the third day since he had been forced to move the operation from the East End to the West End. Reports had been flying in ever since the week began that Two-Face's freedom was drawing to a close... that soon, they'd nab him, and his gang of so-called criminals. Two-Face simply snarled at such a thought. They were the criminals. Every last one of them. They created him. And it would be their mistake.

Quit starin' at yourself, pretty boy. We haven't got all day.
I was only thinking. No need to be angry. Of course, that's all you know how to do.
This comes from the pipsqueak hotshot District Attorney.
Ex-District Attorney. You made sure of that, didn't you?
Oh, cry me a goddamn river. You did this yourself, Dent. You chose this path. We chose this path.

Harvey looked away, annoyed. Not because of any blasphemy on Two-Face's part, but because he was right. Dent had full control, as far as he knew. He made the rules. Two-Face followed them. But lately... he had began to slip. It was as if both sides of his mind were in a silent, private battle of will. And Harvey was losing to the monster.

I... thought of her, again.
Not this again...
No, listen to me. Don't you see? Don't you see what's happened to us? We were fine. We could control this, and we did, until she came along and ruined it.
No, Dent. Let me tell you something. See that city out there? That big bad town that gave us power, and easily took it away in favor of a freak in a mask? That's what drove us to this point. Not some old hag who's been lying in the ground for god knows how long.

Harvey sighed, submissively.

I... I miss her.
No, you don't. Or you're even more pathethic than I realized.
Big words, coming from a scab.
Bigger words, coming from a whimp.

Reaching into his pocket, Harvey produced the scarred silver dollar coin he had made when his psyche collasped. Even after all of this time, he still found himself relying on that damned thing to make all of his decisions. All of their decisions.

Let's make this interesting, shall we?
About time.
You know the rules. Heads, I win. Tails...
You lose.
That's one way of putting it. Now, the wager?
Heads, we dismiss everyone outside and call it a night.
Couldn't have said it better myself. And tails?
We burn the city to the ground in no less than twenty four hours.

Dent smirked, as he tossed the coin into the air, and watched.

Now those are odds I can live with.

"Lady and gentlemen, our time has come."

Two-Face placed his hands behind his back, as his eyes went from person to person in the room before him. Standing to his right was Victor Fries, better known as the cryogenic criminal Mr. Freeze. He had agreed to be in this caper only if he was paid a substantial fee, to help fund the research that could potentially save his wife from a comatose state of no return. To his left stood Pamela Isley, better known as the botanic beauty Poison Ivy. She had agreed to become apart of this plan if Harvey gave her the plans to the city's reservoir, which stored enough water to feed and nourish her plantlife until the next millenium.

And in the center stood a new addition. A murderous thurst for revenge as his guide for agreeing to aid Two-Face's cause, there was also a side of this masked individual that longed to see a Gotham City terrified beyond belief. Like he was, when he had been reduced to a sniveling child at the hands of numerous bullies and pranksters. Now, he was Gotham's worst nightmare come to fruition. Harvey's eyes looked away, as Jonathan Crane, known as the serial psychopathic Scarecrow, stared upon him with piercing eyes gaping forth through the torn holes in his burlap mask.

The truth was, as much as Harvey knew he needed these people... he didn't want to work with them. Who in their right mind would? Even a split one, at that.

"For too long, has Gotham City looked upon us as the outcasts of society. It has turned us into monsters, and subsequently banished us from the lives we once endured.", Harvey explained, with passion in his voice reminiscent of his days in the courtrooms. "But no more. No more will we have to take that kind of abuse. For now, their populance will be reduced to the minority. Now... we are going to be the normal society of this world. While we shun them, the freaks, for the rest of time."

"Intriguing. If Not Redundant,", Freeze interrupted, annoyed. "This Is A Story Often Recited By You, Two-Face, And I Fail To See When Any True Progress Will Reach Fruition."

Harvey smiled, sadistically. "Well, that's the thing, isn't it Victor? Time is of the essence. That's why I've decided that we're all tired of waiting..."

Slamming down a folder onto the table seperating the four costumed criminals, Two-Face stared at them all, hatefully, before Harvey smirked once again.

"What I have here, gentlemen, are the collection of plans I only recently completed from the Gotham City Courthouse. These will be the key to our victory, as they literally tell us everything we need to know to hit our desired targets.", Dent elaborated. "To put it simply? When I said our time has come, I meant it. We begin tommorow night."

All three's eyes widened, but their shock was soon replaced by satisfaction. Finally, Gotham City would pay for ever shunning them like an unworthy class. The day of reckoning was upon the city... and they, like it's protector, would pay for their crimes against these individuals.

"Most impressive, Mister Dent. Most impressive indeed...", The Scarecrow hissed, placing his macabre inspired gloved hand upon the plans. "But a certain sense of curiosity piques my rather unique interest. To what purpose does all of this accomplish, in the long run of things? What sort of terror shall you envoke upon the world, at our benefit?"

Two-Face smiled, sadistically. The answer was already there from the beginning. Going back to a mother's unique love.

"We're going to change the world."

 

[Apprentice]

​

If J'onn was to be honest with himself, he regarded the apartment he currently resided him as being far below his standards of accommodation. Every corner was clogged with grime and dirt, a heavy film of dust coated everything within the cramped spaces that barely constituted rooms, and a musty smell assailed his nostrils upon entry (and often for some time afterwards). And yet he could not help but recall the surprisingly sage Earthly phrase: beggars can't be choosers. The thought of readily identifying himself as a beggar sent a chill down his spine; if the apartment had been properly heated, this would no doubt have been dispelled as he closed the front door behind him, but the inadequate temperatures were just another of his complaints that the landlord had gruffly expressed an indifference to.

With an exasperated sigh, the Martian sunk back into a chair and considered the choices, people, and actions that had led him to this point: Manchester Black, the search for others of his kind, Faith, the truth behind it all, that fateful gunshot...He swallowed hard and shook his head vigorously, as if he hoped to physically derail that particular train of thought. He had mentally stumbled down that dark path dozens of times since the actual event, and once more would not turn back time and allow him to change what he had done. Kneading his temples with long, bulky fingers, he released the tension that had built within him. The human facade slipped away, a dark emerald overcoming the almost pallid white. His eyes pulsed a steady crimson, and his eyelids fluttered closed. Although his day had not been a long one, his month had been - and that night marked its end.

With a new month, he hoped, would come a new outlook and a new luck.

He only wished that he could rid himself of the feeling that it would only get worse.​

 

[SenseiofCheese]

Previously...

​

Spoiler

by Master Bruce

​

It had been three weeks since he had last donned the ring, and Harold "Hal" Jordan was already thinking about the next three without it. Since returning to his post at the Ferris family owned Coast City Airlines, as a mechanic, he had rejoined a life he had been previously unsure he would ever get a taste of again. Being promoted, out of the blue, to the most elite squadron of officers in the galaxy had that effect. But now, Hal was free of it for a change. He hadn't even bothered to recharge his ring's power since the attack by Despero. For once, in a long time, Hal finally felt like he was right back where he belonged.

Throwing a rusted wrench into his toolbox, Hal zipped up the front of his mechanic's jumpsuit, and wiped the oil from his brow. A tanker had just landed on the airstrip, moments earlier, and it was leaking fuel. Even before he was ready to go out and solve the problem, Hal knew what he was going to do, and how to do it. That's how good he felt that he was at his job. There wasn't a thing on this planet he couldn't fly, anymore. Especially since becoming a Green Lantern.

"Copy one to station. This is houston, in tower one. Where's that damn mechanic?!"

Hal smirked, picking up his walkie talkie. The job may have drove other people crazy, but this was music to his ears.

"Keep your whities on, tower. I'm already up and out.", He reassured them, sarcastically, grabbing his toolbox and shutting off the communication before tower could respond.

As approached the exit of the room, without a care in the world, Hal shut his locker closed, and strolled out, ready to face a heated argument with both his superiors and the pilot on that tanker. Again. But he didn't care. Because while everyone on the airline staff were a bunch of a tightassed yutzes who wouldn't last two weeks without him, at least they were a bunch of tightassed yutzes who looked human.

But by the time Hal left, and the room was vacant, no one was around to notice the eerily bright green glow that emitted from within Hal's locker. After a third glow, the locker bursted open, in a blast of energy. In seconds, a tiny object floated out from within, and turned, following the trail of Jordan's leave. As it did, voices came from within it's shell, as it traced it's owners whereabouts with relative easy.

The Green Lantern ring had manually recharged itself.

":WARNING:. :WARNING:. Distress Beacon Activated. Immediate Orders Confirmed. Seek And Alert Ringbearer 2814.", The ring commanded itself, before flying off in a trail of green light.

Hal Jordan had been given a taste of freedom.

But he was about to get a rude awakening.
​

If there was one thing Hal Jordan had learned in his lifetime, it was that things were never as good as they seemed. A lesson he learned the hard way; not from becoming part of an intergalactic police squadron, but rather from an attractive, delightfully giggly blond girl he had met at a bar. Many questions had passed through his mind that night. Whether maybe, unlike the many women before her, he'd actually call her the morning after? How did he manage to find a girl who could hold her liquor almost as well as he could? And, running naked from her apartment, Hal asked himself when the hell transexuals became so convincing?

But right now, Hal had to admit, nothing could get to him. As amazing as it was at first, fighting aliens that have more than 10 appendages and eyes in places where they have no business being on a daily basis became tiresome, so taking a well-deserved vacation from the Corps wasn't exactly something he had to be told twice to do. Going from 'most talented recruit' in a police force that keeps the entire universe safe from alien threats down to common mechanic was just what he needed.

Although, he admitted to himself when he saw his boss walking towards him, shouting his head off, his mind immediately went to the Guardians.

"Jordan! JORDAN! Just what the HELL do you think you're doing?!" Hal's superior, Mr. Ross shouted at the top of his smoke-ridden lungs, face as red as an apple.

Grabbing an already oil-streaked handkerchief from his breast pocket, Hal wiped the oil from his hands and smiled. "And a good morning to you too!"

"Don't you think for one minute that just because the owner's daughter has taken a liking to you, God knows why, that you can play wise-ass and..."

As much as his pride demanded otherwise, Hal knew he'd have to lie down and take this one. He couldn't afford to lose another job because of a tussle with a superior....

"...ill have you on the streets faster than you can say...."

....no matter how much he deserved it.

Will power, Hal....will poweeeer...

Standing there, taking wave after wave of insults, Hal didn't hear it at first. A low buzzing, he dismissed it as a ringing in his ears from listening to a talking piece of...
No, it was definitely something.

"...and you BETTER not..." Mr. Ross stopped mid-sentence, his gaze switching from Jordan to somewhere behind him.

Before he turned around, Hal closed his eyes and silently prayed. He knew what it was. There was nothing else it could be. But damnit, he was enjoying his time off way too much for those damn Guardians to pull him back in this soon.

Finally he shifted his body and caught a glimpse of the ring before it slammed into him. "Oh, GREA-"

The entire grounds were bathed in a blinding light. Hal couldn't see a thing, but over and over he heard that damn voice he was so glad to be rid of repeating the same message over and over again.

":WARNING:. :WARNING:. Distress Beacon Activated. Immediate Orders Confirmed. Seek And Alert Ringbearer 2814."

When questioned, Mr. Ross would tell the police that it had to have been terrorists. All he had seen was something he described as "a green thing" colliding with his newly hired mechanic, before being temporarily blinded by an emerald explosion. When the smoke had cleared, Hal Jordan had vanished.

"Ring! What the hell is going on?!" Hal shouted, flying high above his place of employment, as the ring forcibly dragged him up toward the skies. No response came to him, the only sound the same emergency message on a loop.

Hal tried as hard as he possibly could, summoning forth every ounce of will he had in him, but the ring would not obey. Relaxing the muscles of his body and resigning to let the ring drag him to wherever it wanted him to be, he let out a great sigh.

Mandy & Candy are twins, ring. You ruined that. I hope you're happy.


​

 

[Feature]

REX TYLER: HOURMAN
Season 3.0 - Part 2


Victor Bannermain liked cars. Sleek cars with engines that sounded like apocalypse when the engine was revved. These cars were expensive. He had plenty of them, but he didn't think his collection was complete. Maybe it would never be complete...

But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that Victor had his eye on a beautiful convertible right now. A classic model with a big fat price tag. He wanted it. Hell, he needed it. He sat thinking about its sensuous aerodynamic curves as he looked over a list of his employees.

He was going to have to fire someone. Eliminating a single annual salary would allow Victor to buy the car. It was a trade he was more than willing to make. In fact, he could hardly keep from giggling as he struck a name from the list. A long black scar on the paper...

"YOU CAN'T GO IN THERE!"

The voice came from the other side of the door, which abruptly flew open. Rex Tyler charged into the room, his face crimson with anger. One of Victor's security people followed at his heels.

"You!" Rex shouted accusingly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bannermain! He slipped by me! It won't happen again!"

The security guard grabbed Rex by the arm and attempted to steer him towards the door. Rex shoved him off violently. Just as it looked like the two would come to blows, Victor raised his voice.

"Whoa now! Whoa now! It's alright... everything is alright. This is just an old friend of mine."

The security guard looked baffled.

"But... Mr. Bannermain, I--"

"Thank you for your concern... but I assure you that the man you see before you is absolutely no threat to anyone."

The remark was meant to wound Rex. It succeeded.

"I'll be outside." The guard said, giving Rex a dirty look as he left the room.

The office fell silent. Rex stood there, fuming. Victor sat in his chair, smiling.

"Well, Tyler? What have you got to say for yourself? You stormed in here like you had urgent business. We don't all have luxurious amounts of free time like you. I can't be made to wait."

Rex felt certain that he could breathe fire.

"What the hell is the matter with you? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

Victor purposely tried not to react to this outburst. He would not show weakness. No fear. No anger. He was a rock.

"I know who I am, Rex Tyler. I'm the man on this side of the desk."

A simple statement that meant quite alot. Bannermain was the undisputed winner in this equation. Rich. Powerful. Fearless. He headed an empire while Rex pounded pavement looking for work.

"You have no right to tell people those things about me. NO RIGHT!"

Victor chuckled.

"Are you mad that I told them those things, Rex? Or are you mad that those things are true?"

Rex's fingernails dug red crescents in the soft flesh of his palms.

"I understand that you're upset about me sabotaging your career. But maybe what's really bothering you... is that I didn't even have to tell one little white lie in order to do it."

Rex's vision blurred as tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't make a sound. His face was expressionless... a slack mask of flesh.

"I'm going to kill you."

Rex's voice was tiny. Emotionless. A hollow sounding thing that reflected his desolate soul.

"What did you just say to me, Tyler?"

Rex turned and walked out of the office, as if in a trance. He moved slowly, staring straight ahead, oblivious of his surroundings. Something inside him had broken. There was a cliff within him, and he'd spent years standing on the precipice.

Now... he'd fallen into the abyss.

 

[Spike_x1]

As the fallen criminal is handcuffed and taken to a nearby police car, Corben stands up from behind the car. He walks toward Superman with an angry look, his fingers gripping the gun in his hand tightly. Corben steps across the various weapons and empty bullet casings on the ground. Stopping in front of the infamous Man of Steel, Corben points his finger at Superman, waving his arms around in an aggressive fashion.

"What in the hell was that?" He exclaims in rage. "We had this guy! Why did you need to show up and ruin everything, yet again?"

At the sound of his words, Superman looked at Corben without even trying to hide his annoyance of the man. "I honestly mean this with all due respect, Detective, but it didn't look like you had him to me." With a grim expression washing onto his face, Clark turned to face the two bodies of the innocent bystanders who had been caught in Bloodsport's madness inside of the bank, and then turned back around to the police cruisers in front of the building, one of which had been overturned by an explosion while another car had been reduced to charred metal at this point, with small flames still licking around it. "I've already told your men about Trent's hidden cache' of weapons that he was teleporting into his own hands, and I've volunteered to help your office locate that arsenal, but I'm guessing that you've probably already had your fill of me today."

 

[Batman]

Detective Marcus Driver was having a really bad day.

The field leader of Gotham City PD's rapidly frequented homicide division, Driver's days and nights were constantly filled with tales of the bizarre, pleads of guilt from the sorriest souls the city had to offer, having to deal with the smartasses in forensics, and truthfully, not much else. Last night had been different, however, when he and his partner, Sergeant Romy Chandler, went to investigate a disturbance on Park Blvd. Standard proceedure, the Detective thought, up until he and his partner made it to the scene. Inside, to their horror, laid the bloodied corpses of a family of five... and standing above them were their blood soaked killer.

Driver instantly produced his semi-automatic, verbally commanding the criminal to drop his gun and surrender. He figured that would work, as the gunman was outnumbered two to one. He was wrong. Instead, the killer, proclaiming himself as 'The Tally Man', instantly fired back at point blank range. Driver would have been killed instantly, as the shots were fired straight for his temple... if not for the fact that Chandler, who admittedly, Driver didn't even like, dived in the way of the stray bullets without protection.

Now, more than ten hours later, Chandler was lying in critical condition in Gotham County General. Driver had been there for the past five, to see the man that probably unintentionally saved his life. But even the doctors felt as if Chandler's chances of survival were slim to none.

Needless to say, the subject had been a recurring thought in Driver's mind ever since. And worse, The Tally Man had escaped as Driver chose to call for help. So there was that, and the looming threat of having to hear Commisioner Loeb either chew him out, revoke his badge, or even both, knowing that woman's temper.

"How are you doing?"

Driver turned around, mid-sigh at his desk, as his ex-wife's face greeted him. Normally, he'd ignore her, as the two hadn't exactly been getting along since the divorce was finalized... but given the circumstances, Driver would've gone for anyone to talk to. Even that nutso serial killer in a holding cell that they were keeping.

"How am I looking?", Driver asked, bitterly, only realizing that Renee was sneering at him. "I mean... I... Sorry. Didn't mean for it to come out that way. It's just been hell."

Renee eased, feeling as if her ex-husband had recieved enough punishment and guilt for the last day.

"I understand how it feels.", Renee admitted. "Back when Victor Fries was loose, O'Hara nearly got clipped by his cold gun. If Batman hadn't been there..."

"Yeah.", Driver scoffed, looking away. "Batman..."

"What? What's wrong with him?"

"What isn't, Renee?", Driver shot back. "The guy's a vigilante. And worse, he's one who's making us look like crap. This is our job, not his, and if he were such a damn hero, he could've been there when..."

Renee raised an eyebrow, as Driver hung on his sentence. But his expression said it all. "Marc. What happened to Chandler wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Driver didn't respond. Instead, he simply turned his attention towards his paperwork, hoping Renee would leave. She didn't. Eventually, Driver knew he had to speak up.

"How's little Josh?"

"He's fine. I took him for a playdate with Gordon's son last night. They're getting along real well.", Renee explained, hesistant to say the next part. "He's asked about you alot, lately. You never call."

"Yeah, well...", Driver began, morbidly. "My nights aren't exactly free anymore. Not with all the weird stuff going on in this city..."

"Driver!"

Driver and Montoya turned, startled by Loeb's loud tone. Jillian Loeb approached him, before turning to Montoya, sternly.

"Don't you have a report to file, Montoya?"

Renee wanted to say something. But didn't, seeing the look on Driver's face. After a moment, she quietly walked away, leaving her ex-husband to face the inevitable. Bracing himself, Driver just decided to speak up, and get it out of the way.

"Look, if this is about Clayton, I-"

"Can that crap, Detective.", Loeb ordered. "I have an assignment for you."

Driver's eyebrow stood straight up, surprised, as Loeb elaborated.

"We just got a call in from Arkham. One of their maximum security patients just hung himself, which means they finally have a vacancy opening for that whackjob clown sitting in holding. I want you to go in there and oversee his transportation to the damn place, before he rots up our department any further."

Driver froze.

"Wait... you're talking about The Joker?"

Loeb blinked, once. "No, Driver, I'm talking about Peter Pan. He and his magic dust fairies are disrupting the other officers. Yes, The Joker, goddammit. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Driver had to admit, even with all the crazies in Gotham that had popped up over the last month, The Joker was one of the few psychotics that even he was hesitant to go anywhere near. He knew that was why Loeb wasn't going in there herself, or possibly any other officer she had asked earlier. But the truth was, he needed something to take his mind off of The Tally Man shooting. Anything.

"No, m'aam. That's no problem at all."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?"

District Attorney Rachel Dawes had been dealing with this trial for months, and this verdict was the culmination of all of her hard work. Hopefully, god willing, they'd say guilty.

Looking to her right, Rachel watched as her frantic client looked towards the defendant, who she had accused of assaulting her on various occasions. The defendant in question had strong ties to the Maroni gang, rumored to be Umberto's right hand man, so it was only natural that Rachel felt it was a open and shut case. But she still wasn't for sure, and that's what irritated her. Whenever a mob enforcer goes on the witness stand, they're smart. They're slick. They're everything that a guilty defendant shouldn't be, but is. And it's usually that, and the right circle of people, that get them back on the streets. Rachel refused to let that happen again.

"It's all right, Victoria.", Rachel assured her, grabbing her hand firmly with a clear amount of compassion. "We're going to get through this, no matter what. You hear me?"

Her client nodded, still visibly scared, but a bit confident, as she and Rachel turned back towards the jury.

"We have, your honor. And in the case of Victoria Connelly versus Mario Del' Rizzo, on the count of first degree assault, we find the defendant... not guilty."

Rachel's jaw dropped, as her hands subsequently tightened. Del' Rizzo looked over, with a clear smirk on his face, knowing all of this time that his release had been assured. Rachel shot him an angered look back, just as her client broke into tears. In Gotham City, true justice was becoming a rarity. And Rachel had to admit... with every passing day, she was losing her last remaining thralls of hope.

"I let her down, Janice."

Janice Porter, the young intern at the Gotham City DA's Office, had a hard enough time keeping up with Rachel as it was. But today, the District Attorney was furious. Today, she had lost yet another battle with the city's ever growing mafia influence over Gotham, and if it kept up for very much longer, Rachel didn't exactly feel as if resignation was out of the question. It just wasn't worth it anymore. Still, Janice tried her best to ease her boss' grief, as she followed Rachel, making her way towards the Courthouse elevators.

"Don't... Don't say that, Rachel...", Porter mumbled, trying her best to balance both her and Rachel's jackets, aswell as the case files. "You did your best. And you made it this far, so-"

"If I did my best, I wouldn't have had to suffer through my own client having all but a nervous breakdown in the courtroom.", Rachel responded, annoyed by the situation, as the two women entered the elevator. "Once, Janice, just once, I'd like to nail one of them and make it stick."

"You will.", Janice assured, desperately trying to hang onto the items in her hand. "You've just got to be patient, because--"

"Because all good things come to those who wait. I know.", Rachel cut off, before finally helping Janice by relieving her arms of the jackets. "And honestly, I know what you're trying to do, Jan... but this is insane. Every time I step into a courthouse with these clowns, they usually walk back out without so much as a probation."

"Well... couldn't you call that friend you mentioned?", Janice asked, confused. "The one you never told me about?"

Rachel smiled, fondly thinking of that certain friend. "Believe me, Jan... with everything else going on, he's got enough problems on his hands as it is."

As the elevator doors opened up, on the first floor, Rachel and Janice stopped, noticing a large crowd gathered around the front doors. Confused, the two women quietly strolled up, to see what exactly was going on. While no one mentioned what the spectacle was, everyone was looking directly at it... and before long, Rachel and Janice had spotted it too: On the front windows, there was a thin sheet of ice covering the top, in a bizarre manner. Even more bizarre was the fact that, in light of this, the ice was actually trickling down the windows, freezing off portions of it as it came down. Rachel and Janice turned to eachother, confused.

"Rachel, isn't that...?"

"Strange? Absolutely...", Rachel pondered, looking back up at it. "Especially considering we don't usually get that kind of whether in late October..."

Suddenly, the women's conversation was cut off, abruptly, as the windows suddenly bursted apart. Many of the gathered people screamed, and scattered throughout the corridor, in order to miss the falling shards of sharp glass coming straight for them. Rachel, seeing this, turned and pulled Janice to the ground with her, as the two hit the floor in order to avoid it themselves. Thankfully, though, neither were hurt, as the last of it crashed onto the Courthouse floors.

Rachel looked up, as a strong gust of wind blew her hair back infront of her face, feeling snow come upon her skin aswell. This was more than just a little unusual. This was impossible. But as she got to her feet, to try and inspect what had frozen and broken the windows, she was cut off by the sudden screams of Janice, behind her.

"AIIIEEE!"

Spinning around, Rachel's eyes widened, as Janice, aswell as several other people, were overtaken by thick, growing vines, bursting out of the floors and ceilings. Running after Janice, Rachel tried to pull the vines off of her, but to no avail.

"Hang on!", She yelled, desperately, as she turned, and ran towards a fire extinguisher.

Breaking the glass, Rachel grabbed it, and ran back towards the vines, immediately smashing it against them, to try and break through. But the moment she began, she herself felt something wrap around her arms. Looking up, Rachel could barely scream, as she was pulled into the air by another set, forced to drop the extinguisher. But as soon as she was bound, Rachel knew exactly what was happening... this wasn't nature gone mad. This was a direct attack.

"I'd extend the same courtesy to you aswell, Miss Dawes.", a voice rang out in the corridor, as Rachel turned, only to see her attacker grace them with her prescence. "After all, we sisters have to stick together, don't we?"

Rachel sneered, unafraid, as Poison Ivy floated into view, suspended by her own monstrous plant creations. The redheaded criminal smiled, evilly, as the vines continued to constrict people around her. But her eyes were fixated upon the District Attorney alone, as Rachel struggled to free.

"Isely!", Rachel exclaimed, angrily. "When I get my hands on you, I'll--!"

"The Chances Of You Contributing To Any Sort Of Activity In The Future, District Attorney...", another voice boomed out, as Ivy was joined by an unlikely friend, holding a large weapon towards Rachel. "Is Quite Slim, Even On A Cold Day In Hell."

Rachel was silent, as fear washed over her, seeing the gun that Mr. Freeze was holding pointed directly towards her, without any sign of being directed towards another individual. In that moment, Rachel lost the very thing she had clung too, all of these years, in trying to help the very city that was slowly turning against her...

She was losing hope.

 

[Batman]

"Do you know today's word, officers?"

The guards at Blackgate Prison had almost fell out of their seats, when they noticed the strangely garbed man approaching the front gate. He was wearing a straw hat, and a long, torn, brown overcoat, done up like a Halloween ragdoll. But even when the guards had drawn their weapons to fire, in blantant threat of the madman, he didn't seem to care. As if he were unafraid of them, or anything else.

"Get lost, creep.", One warned, resting his finger on the trigger of his rifle. "No unauthorized entry."

Eerily, the man waved his thin finger, never once showing his face beneath the hat.

"That is not the right word, gentlemen...", He responded, raising up his hands. "The right word, today, is 'phobia'."

Before either guard could possibly shoot, a thin, white cloud of some unknown substance sprayed out at both, blanketing them with something strange that stung their eyes on impact. The guards yelped, in pain, as they dropped their weapons, and doubled over, trying to rub their eyes free of the substance... but by the time they had, the man in question had managed to bypass their security, and make it into the gate, where they were stationed. The guards couldn't move, or they would have attacked their attacker... but soon, they wouldn't be doing much of anything else, as the man held up a small skull, with glowing eyesockets. They wouldn't much, that is... besides screaming.

"And tonight, I want to explore your's, officers!"

Suddenly, each guard's eyes widened, as the world around them became distorted. One was seeing snakes... a fear of which he had dealt with ever since he had been bit by a copperhead at a young age. The other was seeing the purest fear of all... death, as his skin melted away, and his bones crumbled. Both guards began screaming at the top of their lungs, as the man in the straw hat removed it, in delight, staring down at the officers through the eyes of a burlap sack mask.

"That's it. Yes, that's it, gentlemen,", The Scarecrow hissed, as if perversely overjoyed by their agony. "Succumb to your inner most phobias. Release your frightening nightmares upon yourselves. Quiver upon your own fears like scared children... while I relieve you of your duties."

Walking over to the control panel, Scarecrow wasted no time in viewing the controls, and deciephering their individual useages for himself. After a minute, with the guards' screaming still echoing in the background, the criminal grasped a master switch under a panel he had found, and pulled it down. A grin came upon Jonathan Crane's lips, as The Scarecrow heard a loud beep. Followed by the instant release of hundreds of cell doors from within.

The prisoners of Blackgate were free.

"Hickory dickory dock... the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck twelve, and Gotham went to hell..."

Gotham's ultimate nightmare was about to be realized, courtesy of the master of fear himself. And he couldn't have been happier.

"Hickory, dickory dock."

"You wanna go first, Detective Driver?"

Driver looked at Officer Dixon, annoyed, as they approached the cell door with a gourney and handcuffs presented. A good kid, and a respectable officer, but it was obvious that he was as big of a coward as a schoolgirl.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, rookie.", Driver scoffed, before grabbing the keys, and twisting the lock open, revealing the cell's occupant.

As silent as he was chilling to look at, the green hair and ruby red lips upon an unremoveable clown mask that was attached to his face were all but infamous, as Driver looked upon the sociapathic killer that simply sat, quietly, bound up in a straight jacket. The Joker looked at driver, with hateful eyes gleaming past his now lengthened green tinted hair... but surprisingly, had no vile comment to offer the Detective.

"Get up, freak.", Driver ordered, sternly. "We're getting you out of here, and into a nice padded room. That alright with you?"

The Joker was still silent. Still hatefully glaring. Driver turned, annoyed with the clown, as he took the handcuff's from Dixon, and immediately began to remove the straps of his straightjacket, freeing The Joker's arms. But before he undid the back, fully allowing the clown free, Driver stopped, and grabbed Joker by the collar of his shirt.

"You try anything, clown, and I won't hesitate to fill you full of lead.", Driver warned, indicating the pistol that was hooked to his shirt's holster strap. "You got me?"

The Joker simply wavered his eyes. Obviously, the time in jail had done a real number on him. While he had been cheery and taunting, last month, when he was brought in... now, it seemed, the clown was simply carefree and withdrawn. A shell of his former self. And Driver thanked every god he could for that.

Removing the jacket, Driver firmly grasped The Joker's wrists, and cuffed him to the railing on the wall. As soon as he did, Driver turned, and motioned for Dixon to come in with the gourney. The officer did, hesitantly, as the clown was situated, still wearing the blood soaked purple and green garb that he had been arrested in four weeks ago. He smelled of it, and other odors, as Dixon nearly upchucked his lunch upon entry. But Driver was stronger, apparentally, as he grabbed the gourney and prepared to move The Joker to it.

"Driver! Get back in here!"

Driver turned, with a sneer, as Loeb's voice echoed through the halls.

"Christ, that woman won't make up her mind.", He mumbled, before handing the cuff's keys to Dixon. "You can handle things from here, rookie. Just get him on, cuff him, and wheel him out to the white coats up front. Got it?"

Dixon nodded, taking the keys, as Driver promptly exited. Watching Driver go, Dixon sighed to himself, trying not to look at the madman behind him. But only a second later, he heard a spine tingling barritone surprise him, actually going as far to make the officer jump.

"Geez. What a tightass."

Dixon turned, startled, as The Joker was staring right down at him.

"Wouldn't you say?"

Before Dixon could move, The Joker was on him, grabbing the officer fiercely and pinning him to the cell wall, holding him up by the neck. Dixon gasped for air, but The Joker didn't relent, as he pressed upon the Officer's atom's apple, displaying a strength unlikely for his stature.

"Buh... But... the cuffs... the cuffs...!"

"The cuffs?", The Joker questioned, mockingly, before releasing the officer, placing his index finger on his forehead. "Oh, right. The cuffs, the cuffs..."

Spinning, The Joker instantly grabbed the now stray handcuffs, and turned, violently slapping Dixon across the face with them. The officer fell, in severe pain, as The Joker took the cuffs, and pressed them hard against Dixon's throat. Dixon struggled for air, but even then, he knew it was no use, as The Joker held them firmly down, watching as the officer lost more and more oxygen.

"See, there's this old saying. I'm sure you've heard of it. 'Whatever you're looking for is in the place you'd least expect it'...", The madman continued, before producing a lone, rusted cuff key in his hand, showing it proudly to Dixon. The very same he had taken when he had been moved from cell to cell. "Betcha a dollar that your boys in blue didn't think to look on me! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Moments later, Dixon collasped, barely alive. Less than The Joker had hoped for, as he had hoped to drain all of the oxygen from the deluded officer, but at this point, he had no choice but to use the cards that were dealt to him. He had spent far too long behind these cell bars. It was time that he tasted freedom, once more. In the most extravagant way possible, of course.

As The Joker moved for the cell door, he paused, thinking to himself. Who in their right mind would just stroll into Gotham Central unarmed, dressed like him? Of course, he wasn't exactly in his right mind anyway... but there was still the issue of his freedom to consider. Turning, The Joker suddenly stopped, seeing Dixon's police uniform fully on display, clenched to the unconcious officer. The Joker grinned, madly, as an idea formed into his head.

"Time for a comeback, baby."

"What the hell is going on out there?!"

Mayor Oswald Cobblepot was on the verge of an collaspe, hearing the resports that were slowly coming in from different parts of his city. The phonelines for Blackgate Prison were down, The Gotham City Courthouse was the scene of absolute chaos from what witnesses had described, he couldn't get ahold of the Police Department due to the phonecalls pouring into their service lines, and no one was telling him anything remotely concrete.

Grabbing the handles on his office's chair, Oswald waddled up, due to his small and pudgy frame, and grabbed one of his signature umbrellas and his tophat. If no one was going to tell him anything, he was going to find it out for himself. Nothing in Gotham City was beyond his reach.

Making his way towards the twin doors, Oswald suddenly paused, hearing shouts from the other side. Numerous gunshots began sounding off, as Oswald hit the ground, holding the back of his bald head, hoping no bullets would make it through the doors.

"Waugh! What... what the..."

No sooner than that, did the doors burst open, as several of Oswald's personal bodyguards fell through, winded by their numerous shots and bullet wounds. They were already dead by the time they hit the floors of Oswald's office, as he turned, in clear fright of what was happening, trying to deciepher who had been attacking him. Though the halls were filled with smoke from the gunfire, Oswald peered ahead, noticing a figure walking towards him.

"You! You there! What in god's name do you think you're doing, you petulent prankster!? This vacinity is off limits!"

Oswald's eyes widened, as the figure laughed aloud, producing a gun, as he made his way through the smoke and grime. But even before he saw his face... or faces, as it were, Oswald instantly recognised the attacker's voice.

"H-Harvey?"

Two-Face entered the room, almost amused at Oswald's pathetic threats, as he revealed a second gun in his other hand. Harvey had worked with Oswald frequently in his days as District Attorney, even lobbying for Cobblepot to run for Mayor early on. But since they had last seen eachother, alot had changed between the two men. Specifically, a jarring facial scar that coated half of Dent's face, turning him into the murderous criminal Oswald saw now.

"Now, now, Ozzie... is that any way to treat an old friend?", Harvey asked. "Especially one you backstabbed, you misrable bastard?!"

Oswald stood, defiant, only to be grabbed by Harvey's iron grip, and forced against the office table. Oswald began to sweat, as Harvey displayed his disfigurement in full view.

"Meet our better half, Cobblepot.", Two-Face ordered. "And remember this face on your way to hell."

Oswald gasped for air, trying to break free.

"Harvey! What's the meaning of this?! What do you want from me?!"

Two-Face smirked sadistically, once more.

"Nothing I won't already have within the hour, old friend..."

"GOTHAM!"

 

[Andy C.]

ex Luthor​

"Miss Tessmacher?"​

Luthor listened for his receptionist's voice on the other side of the intercom, a look of extreme annoyance on his face.​

"Yes, Mister Luthor?"​

"The caterer's just arrived with the refreshments for this afternoon's interview."​

"Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"​

"They've brought forty cakes."​

"Isn't that what you ordered?"​

Lex let his head drop, and sighed.​

"Four tea cakes is what I ordered. I'm having tea served during the interview and wanted four tea cakes to go along with it. Now I have forty cakes. That's four tens. And that's terrible."​

"I'm so sorry, Mister Luthor. I'll make sure to take care of it. Oh God, I'm such a screw-up," Miss Tessmacher sputtered over the intercom, on the verge of tears.​

Realizing that he was perhaps overreacting, Lex softened the edge in his voice, regaining his composure and assuming the suave, collected, only-vaguely-condescending tone that had won over so many millions of people.​

"It's all right, Kitty. We all make mistakes, and I suppose that was an easy one to make. It's been a fairly busy day, as well, so I'll look the other way if you let L-Soft handle the calls for a while and take an hour or so to catch your breath."​

"Thank you, Mister Luthor."​

"Please. Call me Lex," he said, laying on just the right amount of charm to be engaging without sounding like a come-on.​

"Oh...well, thank you, Lex."​

With that, Kitty Tessmacher turned off the line, and Lex Luthor sat back in his chair as the L-Soft module lit up.​

"With all due respect, I do not understand why you still keep her employed, Mr. Luthor. I can perform her occupation far more efficiently, and it would save LexCorp the cost of an unneeded salary."​

"True, but there's always going to be the need for the human touch in the workplace," he said, taking a jab at the L-Soft AI. "Anyway, this little mix-up with the pastries is hardly a real matter. Things are going perfectly well."​

As a matter of fact, things had been going remarkably well for Lex Luthor, LexCorp, and the Society since announcing his bid for the Presidency. He had easily outclassed both of the major-party candidates, both of whom had gone on a mud-slinging campaign that succeeded only in embarassing themselves. His energetic and hard-stanced speeches had sold millions of copies of his book, and more importantly, recruited over two million Americans into the Society in just the last month, and millions more overseas. This meant more investors in LexCorp, more voters in the fall, and most of all, more people who shared his vision of tomorrow.​

"Mr. Luthor," L-Soft informed him a few moments later, "your afternoon appointment is here. Shall I let her in?"​

"Absolutely."​

It was rare that Luthor was able to engage in an intelligent and stimulating conversation these days, as he was increasingly surrounded by sycophants and company yes-men. However, his exercise for this afternoon was guaranteed to be an interesting one: a 'no-holds-barred' interview with one of his absolute harshest critics.​

His adversary was extremely cunning and a brilliant writer, if a little too much of a bleeding-heart. Time and time again she had blasted his policies and practices, and was a driving factor in keeping the Society's influence from growing in Metropolis, yet Lex always looked forward to squaring off with her. She was quite easily the most capable woman he had ever met. The fact that she was stunningly gorgeous didn't hurt, either.​

The door to his office opened, and he rose to cordially greet her with a smile.​

"Good afternoon. I'm afraid we've had a slight miscommunication about the refreshments, but otherwise..."​

"Let's save the pleasantries until the interview is over, shall we, Mr. Luthor?"​

"All work and no play, as usual, I see. Very well then. Where would you like to begin, Miss Lane?"​

 

[Catman_prb]

The prisoners of Blackgate were free.

"Hickory dickory dock... the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck twelve, and Gotham went to hell..."

Gotham's ultimate nightmare was about to be realized, courtesy of the master of fear himself. And he couldn't have been happier.

"Hickory, dickory dock."

"Mr. Crane, I presume?" Black Mask said, walking out of the shadows, twirling a buck knife around his fingers.

"And who would you be, I wonder?" the Scarecrow muttered, reaching for his canister of gas.

"I'm Black Mask. Dent called me and told me to head over to Blackgate Prison as soon as possible. Something about me helping you free the prisoners," he said mildly, turning around and listening to hundreds of rioting criminals. Music to his ears.

"And why shouldn't I just gas you?" Cran sneered. Black Mask's head whipped back around.

"Because by the time you've activated the gas, I will have thrown this knife into your neck," he said, stepping closer to Crane "Petrifying, isn't it?" he whispered. Crane smiled.

" I like your style, Mask," he croaked.

"Yes, I thought you would. I was just wondering why someone would put an over ride switch in the front guard station. Oh well. I think those guys need some organisation. Don't you think Mr. Crane?" he said, straightening his tie and turning back to face the prison.

"I do Mr.Mask," Johnathan Crane cackled. Black Mask held out his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked. Crane looped his arm in Black Mask's, and the pair walked into the prison, laughing. In their eyes they could only see one thing. Gotham in flames.

 

[Saved]

At the sound of his words, Superman looked at Corben without even trying to hide his annoyance of the man. "I honestly mean this with all due respect, Detective, but it didn't look like you had him to me." With a grim expression washing onto his face, Clark turned to face the two bodies of the innocent bystanders who had been caught in Bloodsport's madness inside of the bank, and then turned back around to the police cruisers in front of the building, one of which had been overturned by an explosion while another car had been reduced to charred metal at this point, with small flames still licking around it. "I've already told your men about Trent's hidden cache' of weapons that he was teleporting into his own hands, and I've volunteered to help your office locate that arsenal, but I'm guessing that you've probably already had your fill of me today."

Corben frowns, his teeth clenched tightly in anger and hatred.

"I had my fill of you when you fell from the damn sky and put that ridiculous "S" on your chest." He retorts. "You think you're better than us, don't you? Better than the people who get paid to do this everyday? You're not! You're a damn disturbance! And let me tell you something. I'm not buying into your act, Superman. So don't try it on me."

 

[SenseiofCheese]

Soaring high above the city, his hand wrapped tightly around his mace, Hawkman surveyed the symphony of lights on the streets below. Cars rolled along the road, people pounding the pavement, hoping that if they just keep their heads down and mind their own business, maybe they'd make it home safe.
If any of them had looked up in the sky, they'd spotted Katar. Quite easily so, as he used his back to softly flap the wings attached to his back. Trying to keep his mind focused on finding the man responsible for the attack on Gotham City Hospital, he couldn't help but feel like he was doing something he shouldn't be. He now knew Shayera was, not only alive, but in the same city as him.

30 minutes earlier

Tommy Prescott dropped his gun without even thinking. These sons of *****es were bulletproof, he thought. He'd seen the man from Metropolis take bullets to the chest like they were candy wrappers.
Without a moment's notice, Tommy ran down the hall and wasting no time, Katar spread his wings and rushed after him. His back ached and screamed in protest as the wings weighed down on his body, but Katar kept himself from falling.
Gaining speed, he was so close to the gunman he could see the sweat on his horror-stricken face. Prescott, in a panic, grabbed whatever he ran by that could be lifted and threw it at Hawkman. Dodging some, but taking most of the flung objects to the chest with no effort, Katar did not relent.

He was so close he could smell him now. Hawkman reached out his hand, planning on grabbing a fistful of hair and slamming the murderer into the nearest wall.

"Hawkm..."

Stopping dead where he was, Katar's body shifted as his eyes found a man lying in a bloody heap on the floor of a patient's room. Looking back to the criminal, who by now was nearing the hospital exit, he gritted his teeth.

"Dr. Thorne!"

Katar burst through the half-open door, immediately landing on the floor and running over to Thorne's body. Kneeling beside the bleeding doctor, he propped his head up.

"You'v-"

"-been shot, yes I know. I'm a doctor." Thorne chuckles softly, but the laughter turns to a series of violent coughs.

"Hawkman, I...I'm going to be okay. Listen to me, I found her."

The doctor coughs again, but Katar hardly notices. His world seems to freeze at the man's words. 'I found her'.
So many things enter Katar's mind at once, he doesn't know where to begin.

"Wh-"

"Her..her name.." the doctor says, speaking obviously becoming much more difficult for him.

"Yes? Dr. Thorne, please tell me. What's her name?" Katar says, his voice filled with hope and panic at the same time.

"Sh...Sha..."

Thorne's breathing raspy, his chest heaving in pain, his eyelids slowly lowering.

"Dr. Thorne?! DR. THORNE!!" Katar shouts, grabbing the sleeve of Thorne's coat. "TELL ME!"

"...sh..Sharon..." the name barely escapes the doctor's lips, as he drifts away.

Now...

Rage boils within him as he soars the sky with animalistic ferocity. His eyes scan over every single person walking the streets below him. None of them have the face of the man who prevented Katar from finding Shayera, with a single bullet. The man who took the life of the man who saved Katar's.
The man who would pay dearly.

Katar searched for over an hour. It was as if the man had vanished into thin air. But things had a habit of coming to you when you weren't looking, Katar thought, as he changed directions and began the fly home, only to see the man walking down a low-lit street. There could be no mistaking the the face, though hooded, as the murdered routinely looked in all directions to assure himself there was nobody following him.
Had he looked up, he would've seen who was.

Hawkman gritted his teeth as he imagined how easy it would be to swoop down and break every bone in his body in one single blow. But no....he wanted this to be face-to-face.
Floating in mid-air, his wings gently flapping, he raised his right hand to the side and released his mace. As it plummeted to the ground, Katar followed.

With a terrifying boom that left a massive crack in the pavement, the weapon crashed down mere inches from Tommy Prescott, who yelped out in fright and fell to the ground.

"YOU!"

"OH! OH JESUS NO! OH NO!"

The man shouted out in horror as he tried to crawl away. His steps so heavy he almost made craters in the street with each step, Katar stalked over to the cowering man and grabbed him by the neck.

"OH PLEASE NO! OH PLEASE NO PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!" the man shouted.

"Why!!!?" Katar growled.

Hawkman could hear the man's terror-stricken heartbeat. "Wh...Why.."

Katar tightened his grip on the man's neck and slammed him into a wall. "Why shouldn't I kill you?" Katar roared, as the man's eyes rolled up in his head.




​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Atom floats through the nightsky over Gotham and is in the process of stopping an attempted mugging. She tells the would-be victim to call 911.

After she ties up the unconscious would-be mugger the victim comes back and tells her that the phone lines to 911 are down along with the service lines to the Police Station.

The Atom tries to remain calm as she tells the victim, "Get home right now. We'll leave this slimeball for later. Just go now."

The victim leaves as The Atom floats to the top of the a trash can and tries to piece together the facts she has.

1) The phone services are screwed up
2) It's been too quiet for too long
3) I haven't seen a single patrol car this evening

Add all that up and it equals big-trouble for Gotham. I better get to City Hall and find out what is going on.

She floats to City Hall and floats through the air-ducts.

Now to figure out which way gets me to Mayor Cobblepot's office.

 

[Batman]

Meditation.

It is a rare moment that I find the solace required to practice such art within the caverns beneath my home. But today is one of those rare days... the kind of which that I feel in complete control. Complete zen, as Alfred has often put it, in stark contrast to what I normally am not. With recent stresses in trying to investigate the underground trades, however, I felt that it may have to become a nessecity. In order to go and fight the war, one has to feel completely dominant and concentrated. And right now, thankfully, that's exactly as I feel.

The sounds of the norweigan brown bats resting in the cavern's ceiling above me fill the echoed silence, as I close my eyes, and allow only my thoughts any activity. The sound is peaceful, if not entirely fitting, or even unhealthy. It allows me to dwell on matters of which need my forefront attention. Because I know that soon, with the sun setting, I'll be out there, in the thick of it all. Deep within the madness plauging my city on a nightly basis. Some have alluded to me being apart of that very madness. I accept such criticism... not because it's entirely accurate, but because I want them to believe as much. If the enemy becomes too comforted... opposition becomes all the more unpredicted. And that is when I can strike down upon them all.

The city's mafia influence is slowly declining, even though it's prescence is still a force strongly felt. But with every attack that I unleash... with every trade that goes wrong, they back down just a little further. If I keep pressing on them without relent, I'm sure that eventually, I'll have rid the city of their filth. But I can't help but wonder if, even after they're gone, I'll have truly made a victory. Because as strong as they once were... a new sort of evil has overshadowed them, in recent times. The insane. The outcasts. The kind of people that mimick my extreme methods instead of going about their evil ways with the indiginity that The Roman and Maroni made a common style. I've tried to stop them... god knows I've made progress, now that The Joker's been off the streets for a month now, but there are others willing to fill his void. It's... difficult. I can't rightly deny that.

However, I have reason to believe that they'll no longer represent a problem that can't be controlled. When Captain Gordon told me of his band of Untouchables, last month, it became the first sign of exactly what I had hoped to inspire the city into doing: they're essentially uniting to fight back against the criminals and the corrupt lot. Though a traitor may still be in their midsts, despite my efforts to find him failing, I've maintained a level of confidence in Gordon in keeping them unified, aswell as resourceful to my own means. With any luck, they won't be the last, making my efforts more unnessecary... eventually granting me the opprotunity of a normal life. A different life, where I can move on from the pain.

But that's still far ahead. There's also the threat that an upscale ascension presents. And I cannot... will not tolerate such madness, in the wake of one of the city's most devastating times.

Outside the mission itself, I've found that the decision to balance both my identities as Bruce Wayne and Batman to be far more of a burden than I could've ever imagined. Though my recent... departure, from Wayne Enterprises, it's far easier to explain my abscences from the public eye. I simply shrug it off and say I'm coming up with a new buisness deal of some kind, or spending my time off on vacation. The radical truth is... I'm losing myself in the war. And that's also a battle of which I have to take seriously. When I began all of this... I knew I would have to function as two people. It took careful skill in order to master my performances as both dismal playboy and creature of the shadows... but it takes a firm balance to not lose the true persona behind each. When you strip away Bruce Wayne's charm and Batman's hostility... you're left with little more than a child still awaiting vengeance. If I'm to finish this war... I must make sure that I come out of it as something far beyond that.

I suddenly realize that, in the first time in over a year, I'm spending my time without a case to work. Usually at this hour, I'd find myself within the cavern's laboratory, or improving my equipment for a specialized case. But recently, the fiasco with the Tobias Whale and Umberto Maroni aside, I've found Gotham's streets to be a rather quiet place. Unusually so. Perhaps I've inspired the nessecary fear to finally force a retreat of the street crime. Or perhaps I'm not looking hard enough. There's also the possibility that...

"Master Bruce! Sir, come quickly!"

...that there's something larger planned, waiting for it's chance to strike when we all least expect it.

Opening my eyes, I push myself off of the ground into a backflip, and land, running towards the stairs reaching to the Manor's entrance. Alfred's tone seemed startled. And for him, that's even more of a rarity than a day of peace for me. Something's wrong. Something serious. It seems my quiet evening of zen will have to wait, after all. Making my way up the stairs, I just reach the elevator lift Alfred and I installed last week. We've both been wary to use it, as it's still untested, but it's now the fastest way to ascend to the Manor. And I can't leave Alfred stranded any longer than I have to. I pull the lever, hoping that the chains hold out, at least for this once.

Whatever's scared Alfred is beginning to scare me.

"Alfred?! ALFRED?!"

It takes a minute of running down the eastern halls, before I finally spot Alfred in the trophy room, gazing at the television. I stop, catching my breath, as I realize that he himself is okay. It's something else that required my attention, apparentally. Alfred turns, with a visibly stricken demeanor. Now I'm just getting worried.

"My deepest apologies for the disruption, but there seems to be an incident that requires your attention.", He explains, as I join him.

"If it's another program about Maximillian Zeus, Alfred, I think it could've-"

"No.", He cuts off, turning up the volume of the news report. "No, I'm afraid it's far more serious than that."

I look over and focus on the screen, as the headline instantly grabs me: Attack On Courthouse Causes Citywide Panic. What in god's name...?

"...if you're just joining us, we've recieved a late breaking development on the ensuing attack on the Gotham City Courthouse that errupted just moments ago. Witnesses describe what can only be said as a force of nature gone terribly wrong to have overtaken the landmark structure, sealing the pedestrians inside. City officials have yet to comment, though it has just been revealed that the Courthouse has been actually overtaken by a combination of thick ice and live plant vines. Though police involvement has been requested by numerous pedestrians in the surrounding neighborhoods, few officers seem to be on hand at this time. There has been no official word on what has caused the attack... however, many believe this to be the work of the recently escaped criminals Victor Fries and Pamlea Isley, better known as the superhuman criminals 'Mr. Freeze' and 'Poison Ivy'. Both convicts were said to have fled care at the Arkham Rehabilitational Institute just two months prior, though again, we have yet to confirm either one's involvement. We go now to Vesper Fairchild, who's live on the scene..."

By the time Alfred turns back around, I'm already running back to the cave to gather my suit and weapons.

"Sir?"

Deep within the caverns, minutes later, I thrust the gloves over my forearms, zipping up the gauntlets in the process. As I begin pulling over the torso armor, while loading my belt with the nessecary amount of gas pellets and Batarangs, I can't help but go back to the situation at hand. From the moment I saw the footage, I knew who was behind it. And contrary to the media's belief, it isn't only Freeze and Ivy showing their hand, by this attack. Even as I pull on the cape and snap the cowl over it, his name is practically stamped onto the forefront of my mind. He's made his move. Harvey's made his move, and if they've resurfaced... somewhere in this city, so has he.

The opprotunity to finally apprehend them aside, I have to get down there before anyone can be hurt.

Putting the bootstraps to a snapping close, I rush out of the costume chamber, just as Alfred finally manages to catch up with me.

"Might I inquire how you manage to handle such a threat? Lord knows, you barely survived encounters with the same criminals on their own."

I ignore Alfred's question, just long enough to make my way towards the recently refurbished Batmobile, sitting at the far west of the caverns. Part of me considers that he may be right. But my better judgement slips out, in place of such acknowledgement.

"When I first faced them, I was inexperienced.", I begin, climbing into the cockpit, and snapping the seatbelts tightly over my waist. It's going to be an interesting ride, to say the least. "But since learning all of their tricks and studying up on their motives and gimmicks, I've taken the nessecary precautions to ensure they won't be as difficult to handle, should this day have ever come."

Alfred's eyebrow arches. "Precautions?"

Grabbing the wheel, I press the button to activate the turbines, in back. The car roars to life, as I shift gears.

"I'll explain later.", I urge. "Keep monitoring the news, and keep the uplink to my cowl active. If they're attacking in waves, I'd rather know about it upfront than allow them any element of surprise."

Alfred nods. "Very well."

Just as the hatch closes up, I hear him say something else.

"And godspeed, sir."

A small smile comes to my face, just as I step on the gas, watching as the Batmobile rockets out of the cavern's tunnels. Hopefully, old friend, I won't need that kind of luck tonight.

But even I have to admit... the situation's already looking grim, as it is.