The "Why So Serious? Gotham City Noir" RPG

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[Byrd Man]

​

"Mister Scott."

Alan Scott turns on his heels and shakes my hand. He's a gray-haired gentlemen dressed in an emerald tinted tuxedo. Accompined with him are two dark-haired women in violet dresses, they're obviously mother and daughter, and a stocky man with salt and pepper hair.

"Bruce Wayne. I was wondering if you'd manage to come my way."

"I did want to talk to you. I've been thinking of broadening my horizons. Getting into the media game."

Alan Scott is the media mogul of Gotham. He owns the Gotham Gazette, WYFF Channel Four Gotham News, and four radio stations.

"Trying to step on my toes, huh?"

"I'm just looking for some advice. You'd be the man to talk to."

"Call my secretary, Laura. We'll set up some kind of sit down to talk about it."

"That's fine. Who are your friends?"

He laughs as he remembers his companions.

"Sorry, how rude of me. These two lovely women are Dinah Drake Lance and Dinah Laurel Lance, respectively."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Wayne."

I shake the younger of the Dinah Lance's hand and the stocky man coughs loudly.

"No offense, money bags, but I don't wanna see ya drooling over Little Dinah like that. She's only 18."

"You'll have to excuse Ted. He's a bit protective of Dinah. I think we all are."

"Bet your sweet ass I am. Name's Ted Grant. Yeah, The Ted Grant."

"I remember seeing you take down Hector Ramirez at the Gotham Garden. Man, that was a fight."

"God, that was twenty years ago. I still haven't gotten those two teeth he knocked out replaced."

"Yes. I was sitting on the front row when you splattered me with your blood."

There's a brief moment's silence as Ted Grant starts to heard towards the bar.

"I'm getting some booze. Anyone want some?"

"Let me have a scotch."

"Fat chance You're still three years away fom that."

"Come on, Mom. Hey, where's Jay? I thought he said he was going to come."

"He said he couldn't make it, he has business else where."

The two Lances follow Grant towards the bar and Alan Scott and myself are alone.

"How do the four of you know each other?"

Alan scratches his face as he smiles. That's the first time I notice he's wearing some sort of ring on his right hand.

"Ted, Dinah, and I have been friends for many years. We've known her daughter since she was born."

"I hate to sound like I'm prying, but that ring of yours. Where is it from?"

"Oh, this old thing?"

He holds up his right hand and I get a good look at the ring. It's a class ring of some sort, but the jewel is an unaturally bright emerald.

"Something I got from a fratenity. The GLC. Gamma Lamda Cappa."

I arch my eyebrow slightly as he finishes his sentence.

"I thought 'Cappa' stated with a 'K'?"

He pats my shoulder and nods.

"Well, Bruce. You know frat boys, we're not always the brightest bulbs in the box."

"Very true. Well, enjoy the party and I'll make sure to set up a time."

"It was a pleasure, Bruce."

I can't help shake this strange feeling as I walk away from Alan Scott.
​

*******
​

Ted Grant and the two Dinah's approach Alan Scott as Bruce walks away.

"Well, Alan?"

"He puts up a good front. But it's him. "

"How sure are you?"

"What I've seen under the house confirms it. He may be a heck of an actor, but the ring...."

Alan holds up his hand and the emerald in the ring shines green light for a moment before it fades.

"The ring never lies. And in all my years with it on my hand, I'm not going to start doubting it now."​

 

[Rain Dog]

"THE SCARECROW

The Narrows. Home of Gotham’s worst. One of its newest residents was a Dr. Jonathan Crane. After a humiliating defeat at the hands (or rather the taser) of Rachel Dawes, Crane had retreated into these slums to avoid apprehension by the police...or the Batman. And now, he has become just another one of "Gotham’s Most Wanted."

Crane sat in the dimly lit abandoned warehouse in Gotham’s east end. This is where he spent his days and nights now. Alone, in the dark, in some grimy, roach-infested warehouse. And how did he spend his days and nights? Preparing. After getting so close last time, Crane was now determined to do what he’s dreamt of doing for so long. He would spread panic and horror throughout Gotham and watch the city tear itself apart. And now he toiled day and night making more and more batches of his
precious fear toxin.

Crane poured some chemicals into a beaker. This was his newest batch. Much more potent than previous samples. He began stirring the liquid with a glass rod.

"The cock doth crow, to let you know, if you be wise..." he sang to himself in a hushed voice. He turned his attention to a homeless man lying on the ground nearby. Crane found him incapacitated on the streets earlier and brought him into the warehouse. He poured the chemicals in the beaker into a special dispenser that would release the liquid as a gas. He pulled his burlap mask over his face and approached the man.

"...’Tis time to rise!" he shouted. The man began to stir. As he slowly rose, Crane blasted him in the face with a dose of the fear toxin. The vagrant looked baffled but his look of confusion slowly turned into a look of sheer horror. Crane grinned underneath his mask.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald reads the reviews in The Gotham Globe about the Iceberg Lounge.

He crumbles the paper and throws it in the trash can. He then presses a button on his phone and in walks two of his bodyguards.

Oswald says, "Gentlemen it appears the Daniel Peters the food critic of the Gotham Globe did not think to highly of our establishment. He gave us three and a half stars out of five. I find that offensive and I cannot just start killing my competition out right. Sooner or later that do-gooder Dent would get suspicous, so for now would please visit Mr. Peters establishment and communicate our displeasure."

The two bodyguards nod and leave.

 

[Gallagher]

Harvey Dent

Invitation to a Party, Part VII

I moved through the crowd, half-dodging well wishers and admires with a simple smile and nod, the occasional 'Thank You' thrown in for good measure. Weaving through the huddles masses was no easy task but I got through in one piece. Sipping my champagne I surveyed the room once more. Seems things were well underway. 'Time for a speech' I thought, smiling to myself.

Gesturing toward the musicians, who immediately stop playing, I tap the side of my glass. "Ladies and Gentlemen?" The noise dims down. "Ladies and Gentlemen?" Silence enveloped the room. "Alright. Most of you know who I am, but allow me to introduce myself: My name is Harvey Dent. Welcome to my party." I pause for a slight cheer from the more drunken of the guests. "I have a few thank yous before I get down to why we are here tonight.

"Thank you to Wayne Manor staff, headed by Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, for putting on this marvelous feast and festivities. Second thank you to Bruce Wayne himself for allowing us to use his home for our little shindig. It's not like were going to be cramped anytime soon in here is it?" I paused to let the chuckling die down. I took a deep breath and pressed on.

"And most of all, Thank you to my guests this evening. Some of you I know, some of you I don't, ALL of you, I am grateful too. The money gained tonight through donations and ticket sales will go... well right into my back pocket." I used my playful voice to emphasize the joke, always good to have a lighthearted atmosphere, especially in a town like Gotham. "In all seriousness. I thank you all for your generosity and support, without which I would be lost." A take a small bow toward my audience, letting the clapping and, again, cheering from the more drunken of guests, die down. Time to deliver the knock-out. I thought to myself, reaching into my jacket pocket for the earlier prepared speech. My hand fumbled with something much bigger. I pulled out the contraption with a quizzical look. A gas mask... my heart stopped. The note read 'PUT ME ON NOW!'. I turned back to the crowd with a visibly shaken look. "Everybody get out! NOW!" I yell putting on the mask...

 

[Eddie Brock]

As the room erupted in chaos, several guests eerily stood still. Little did the guests know, but these men were The Joker's hired hands. They were fully aware of what was about to happen. And thus, they were entirely unafraid.

The pair from outside is standing at one of the far reaches of the room. "What now?" the younger asks. His hands are clutching the clown mask in his pocket.

"We wait for the Boss's official signal," the older one replies. His hands are folded casually behind his back. He appears much less anxious than his counterpart.

Suddenly, a chilling noise echoes throughout the halls of Wayne Manor. Many recognize it instantly.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"That's it!" the second man yells over the commotion. "Put on your mask! Hit the trigger!"

The Joker's men all put their clown masks on and draw small devices from their pockets. Simultaneously, each presses the small red button - activating the explosion of the gas canisters hidden throughout the room. Within seconds, a purple gas begins to fill the air.

The guests run in fear, covering their noses and mouths. But those who are not fast enough collapse on the ground in fits of laughter. It takes only moments for them to die of suffocation.

"My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail!" The Joker announces as he makes his grand entrance, pushing innocent guests into the path of the expanding gas. "I must say that I'm hurt, Harv - after our little conversation and everything! Lucky for you, I'm not one to hold a grudge."
​

 

[SenseiofCheese]

Mr. Zsasz

"You are free, now. No longer restrained by the chains of this life, you can finally be at peace." Victor Zsasz's voice cracked in delight as a constant stream of blood cascaded down his chest. Above him, suspended in the air by thick strands of rope, hung the lifeless body of yet another victim. The old wooden floor of his decrepit cabin, situated in the woodlands a few miles outside of Gotham City, creaked as he shifted his weight. A small pool of blood began to amass beneath him as the stream of dark red slowed to a trickle. Still he savored every drop.

It had been eight weeks since Victor began his mission to rescue the poor souls of the city, and still he eluded the police. He knew from the start that he would be pursued for his actions; that most would resist salvation. But no great thing, Victor reminded himself, was done without opposition.
Although he had separated himself from most aspects of everyday life, something he had become increasingly repulsed by, he could not resist in peering through the Gotham Gazette from time to time. Scanning page to page, he looked for any coverage of his work. None of the bodies had been uncovered so far, if the papers were to be believed. He knew all too well, however, that it was only a matter of time.

"If the citizens of Gotham are to be introduced to my work...my plans for them...it would need to be on my own terms." he had said to himself, his words nothing more than a fading echo in the darkness of his small wooden fortress.

Because yes, he knew that his work would be uncovered in time. And although this realization made him feel great pride, he could not get over the feeling that the power was being forcibly taken from him. He would not have his life's mission be made into some media circus, for people to talk about for a week and then forget.
No, he would need to present himself to the world at large in a proper fashion.

Those few nights prior, Victor dropped the newspaper to the ground and stood up, his dry, calloused lips creeping into a smile. He knew just what he would need to do.

In his former life, he had met many like him. Lost, desperate people trying to drown their pain in alcohol, drugs, sex. But none seemed quite as sunken as the man Victor had spent the last days planning to free. In fact, he seemed to feel an unusually large sense of duty towards this man. As if they shared a kind of kinship. They were the same, Victor believed.

Victor's head tilted down as he stared at the black and white picture of the man he would next set free from this life.

"I shall set you free, Bruce Wayne. Relieve your suffering."




​

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Panic ensues as The Joker turns my home, no my father's home, into his personal playground. Nedless to say, I cannot stand for this.

"Sir!"

Alfred manages to slip away from the gas and follows me as I quickly move towards the study.

"Alfred. Call the police, call Dr. Thompkins and haver her get to the mansion ASAP."

"And what will you do?"

I play two keys on the keyboard of the piano's study. A hidden door opens and reveals the elevator to the cave. I undo my tuxedo tie and pull a small device out of my breast pocket. Since rebuilding the mansion, I've upgraded the security. I speak into the device as I throw off my tux coat.

"I'm getting backup. Manor voice activation, User BW1 Password: Thomas."

"Welcome, Bruce Wayne."

The device speaks back to me and I continue barking orders into it.

"House override, Activate fans."

The strategically placed fans all through the house start to blow, in a few seconds Joker's gas will float harmlessly into the night sky.

"Impressive, what do you need from me?"

Alfred's like a father to me, but he's no good to me now.

I step into the elevator and activate the button that takes me down to the cave.

"Stay safe."​

 

[Gallagher]

As the room erupted in chaos, several guests eerily stood still. Little did the guests know, but these men were The Joker's hired hands. They were fully aware of what was about to happen. And thus, they were entirely unafraid.

The pair from outside is standing at one of the far reaches of the room. "What now?" the younger asks. His hands are clutching the clown mask in his pocket.

"We wait for the Boss's official signal," the older one replies. His hands are folded casually behind his back. He appears much less anxious than his counterpart.

Suddenly, a chilling noise echoes throughout the halls of Wayne Manor. Many recognize it instantly.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"That's it!" the second man yells over the commotion. "Put on your mask! Hit the trigger!"

The Joker's men all put their clown masks on and draw small devices from their pockets. Simultaneously, each presses the small red button - activating the explosion of the gas canisters hidden throughout the room. Within seconds, a purple gas begins to fill the air.

The guests run in fear, covering their noses and mouths. But those who are not fast enough collapse on the ground in fits of laughter. It takes only moments for them to die of suffocation.

"My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail!" The Joker announces as he makes his grand entrance, pushing innocent guests into the path of the expanding gas. "I must say that I'm hurt, Harv - after our little conversation and everything! Lucky for you, I'm not one to hold a grudge."
​

Harvey Dent

Invitation to a Party, Part VIII

I stared, panic stricken at the dozens of smiling corpses literring the floor. I felt something inside me snap, something wrong, something hidden. I was no longer shaken or scared, I stood bolt upright and walked through the malevolent mist, gas mask still wrapped firmly around my nose and mouth. Harvey Dent was gonna sit this one out.

"Hey. Laughing boy. Whats your deal? Sure the speech wasn't grade A material, no reason to make... such a mess." It was like someone was using my body as a vessel, someone strangely familiar, I realized as I walked up to the madman, face to face, that it wasn't someone else, it was who I was all along, my 'better' half.

"You got 2 minutes clown."

 

[Eddie Brock]

HarveyDent

Invitation to a Party, Part VIII

I stared, panic stricken at the dozens of smiling corpses literring the floor. I felt something inside me snap, something wrong, something hidden. I was no longer shaken or scared, I stood bolt upright and walked through the malevolent mist, gas mask still wrapped firmly around my nose and mouth. Harvey Dent was gonna sit this one out.

"Hey. Laughing boy. Whats your deal? Sure the speech wasn't grade A material, no reason to make... such a mess." It was like someone was using my body as a vessel, someone strangely familiar, I realized as I walked up to the madman, face to face, that it wasn't someone else, it was who I was all along, my 'better' half.

"You got 2 minutes clown."

It would be foolish to try and predict The Joker's actions. The Gotham City Police have tried time and time again - only to be foiled constantly by the madman. For this reason, one must always be on edge around the Clown Prince of Crime. It is damn near impossible to tell when he's going to stop laughing. And if there's one thing worse than when he is laughing, it's when he's not.

The Joker was pleased with Harvey's process. After all, he didn't expect Dent to snap so quickly. Nonetheless, Joker was actually enjoying Harvey's descent into darkness. The Joker wasn't, however, enjoying Harvey's new attitude.

"I want to keep you alive, Harv. I really do," The Joker states sincerely. His smile fades instantly. Suddenly, with such quickness that Harvey can't match, The Joker draws a switchblade and plunges the metal into Dent's ribs. "But you're making it very difficult for me."

The Joker withdraws his knife and pushes the injured DA aside. While delivering his next speech, The Joker playfully runs the bloody blade across his tongue. "Now, because I'm a caring guy, I'm going to give you one last chance to repent. I'm all for fun and games, Harv, but cross me - and you'll find that there's a side of me that you won't like."

The Joker's menacing seriousness stands in sharp contrast to his usual overly-jovial nature. However, as with any time that The Joker gets serious, he instantly returns to his regular self as he puts the switchblade away.

"So! Shall we get the real party started now?"

Without warning, house fans begin to circulate the Joker Venom - keeping it away from the fleeing guests. For the second time in the night, The Joker's smile dissipates. Someone has ruined half of the fun. However, as The Joker scans the floor for his victims, he realizes that he has made significant impact. Many people have died in The Joker's brilliant premiere of his new weapon - a weapon which will make his name known across Gotham.

As The Joker ponders his next move, a bullet grazes his shoulder. Turning in the direction of the shot, The Joker sees Lieutenant Gordon holding a smoking gun.

"You made a mistake coming here."

 

[Cyrusbales]

[?]THE RIDDLER[?]


It’s all about scale. There’s a time and place for small things, little tricks and puzzles, but then there’s a time for something big. Something really big. A man is the sum total of the misery which he causes, for misery towards others promotes an intellectual response, for the sacrifice of happiness is the birth of intelligence.

Pools of light collected beneath the grubby streetlamps that sprung up periodically throughout Gotham. Away from the luminescence, a man clung to the shadows. Not an ordinary man, but something far worse, a serial killer. One who’s mind had been twelve steps ahead of every detective in the PD.

He was waiting, mist swirled into the air as his warm breath made contact with the cold bracing air. Patience was a virtue, one of the few that could be described to this murderer. Hours had gone by, the shadows growing thicker, further stealing away what little light could remain.

Men and women would pass by without even acknowledging his presence, his shroud of darkness more than ample to conceal his form. Soon the person whom he waited for would arrive, and then the game would truly have a chance to get underway.

 

[Harlekin]

“A man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
~ The Godfather (1972)

“You want go see Rigger now?” Detective Joely Bartlett asks with a hint of enthusiasm, but her partner, Vincent Del Arrazio, can hear the tiredness in her voice. In fact, he can hear it in his own.
“No. You, we, need to get some sleep.”
“I’m not that tired.”

Del Arrazio smiles.

“You’ve been working non-stop since we started this case. Our shift was over six hours ago, Joe.”
“I know, Vince, but we can’t let this bastard go now.”
“I’ll get Hartley to track Rigger down. We’ll take a four hour nap.”

Joely sighs.

“I could use some sleep,” she says, rubbing at her eyes.
“I know, me too.” Del Arrazio hands his partner her coat.
“Thanks.”
“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Outside, Del Arrazio takes out his keys.

“You want a lift to the docks?”
“No, I think I’ll walk. Get some fresh air.”
“I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll knock on Rigger’s door then.”
“See you then, Sarge.”
“Sleep tight, Joe.”
“Good night, partner.”

Del Arrazio waits a few seconds before he steps into car. As his partner disappears into the dark of Gotham City, Del Arrazio’s stomach can’t help but turn. Should he pick her up or let her walk? After a moment’s hesitation, he thinks to himself to let her walk. The clean air will do her good, and she can handle herself.

Finally, Del Arrazio steps into his car and drives off.

Meanwhile, Detective Joely Bartlett makes her way through the streets of Gotham. It’s dark and misty, fitting the midnight hour. About every third streetlight is broken, forcing her to walk through the occasional patch of darkness. Joely Bartlett is not afraid though. She’s seen the best and worst of this city. No, all she can think about is getting home before her toes freeze off.

 

[Climperoonie]

ORIGIN OF A MONSTER
PART I
​

"Well, well, well, Batman certainly has been busy over these few months." I say as I look through my newspaper clippings of the Bat. He's so fascinating. What sort of a man would dress as a Bat? I knew it was the same kind as me. And I'll prove that to Gotham soon. I sit in my small lab at Wayne Industries. I tinker with my pride and joy, well, the torso of it, anyway. I'm developing a costume to show Bats how you're meant to use fear. You're not meant to use it for good, fear is a bad emotion, to be used for bad things. Not arresting criminals. I finish it, and place it down with the rest of the suit. I fit it onto a chair, and then connect the legs to it. I place the arms on, too. I then pull torn pants over the legs, for added effect.

"Time to test you out, my little beauty." I smile, admiring my handiwork. I should have been an inventor. I check the arms and legs are properly connected before stepping into the suit through a hatch in the back. I get my fingers and feet into the suit properly, then close the hatch. I walk over to a table, where the mask for the suit sits. Freaky little bastard. I pick it up and pull it over my head, making sure to lock that onto the rest of the suit. I smash the window and then leap onto the ledge. I built in a device so I just need to thrust my arms back while in mid-air for the Jet-pack in my suit to activate, and then it will atomaticly turn off when my feet touch the ground. An interactive suit. Told you I should have been an inventor.

I leap off of the ledge, and thrust my arms back. My pack activates. I fly along, and land on a building top. But it doesn't turn off. Instead, it just heats up and heats up and heats up. I feel the plastic melding with my skin. It's so hot. I try to remove my helmet. I can't. I'm stuck. I'm stuck as this bat-thing. I'm stuck as this Man-Bat.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

It doesn't take me long to slip my suit on. In a few minutes, I've used one of the cave's many alternate escape routes and I prowl through the darkness up to the door. That's when I hear a gun shot accompined by James Gordon's steely voice.​

"You made a mistake coming here."

The Joker won't hesitate to slit his throat. I need to do something.

"House Override, kill the lights."

The lights all through the house dim and then finally shut off, a few people yell in surprise.

I dig into my belt and find a few smoke pellets. I toss them through a nearby window to add the confusion to the darkness. People cough and scream as I crash through the window.

"He's right. You made a mistake coming here."

 

[Gallagher]

It would be foolish to try and predict The Joker's actions. The Gotham City Police have tried time and time again - only to be foiled constantly by the madman. For this reason, one must always be on edge around the Clown Prince of Crime. It is damn near impossible to tell when he's going to stop laughing. And if there's one thing worse than when he is laughing, it's when he's not.

The Joker was pleased with Harvey's process. After all, he didn't expect Dent to snap so quickly. Nonetheless, Joker was actually enjoying Harvey's descent into darkness. The Joker wasn't, however, enjoying Harvey's new attitude.

"I want to keep you alive, Harv. I really do," The Joker states sincerely. His smile fades instantly. Suddenly, with such quickness that Harvey can't match, The Joker draws a switchblade and plunges the metal into Dent's ribs. "But you're making it very difficult for me."

The Joker withdraws his knife and pushes the injured DA aside. While delivering his next speech, The Joker playfully runs the bloody blade across his tongue. "Now, because I'm a caring guy, I'm going to give you one last chance to repent. I'm all for fun and games, Harv, but cross me - and you'll find that there's a side of me that you won't like."

The Joker's menacing seriousness stands in sharp contrast to his usual overly-jovial nature. However, as with any time that The Joker gets serious, he instantly returns to his regular self as he puts the switchblade away.

"So! Shall we get the real party started now?"

Without warning, house fans begin to circulate the Joker Venom - keeping it away from the fleeing guests. For the second time in the night, The Joker's smile dissipates. Someone has ruined half of the fun. However, as The Joker scans the floor for his victims, he realizes that he has made significant impact. Many people have died in The Joker's brilliant premiere of his new weapon - a weapon which will make his name known across Gotham.

As The Joker ponders his next move, a bullet grazes his shoulder. Turning in the direction of the shot, The Joker sees Lieutenant Gordon holding a smoking gun.

"You made a mistake coming here."

Harvey Dent

Invitation to a Party, Part VIII

As soon as the cold steel scraped my ribs the other man was gone, leaving only Harvey Dent behind in searing agony. I felt as though I would pass out from shock at any minute. But something inside me screamed 'You cant let this beat you Dent, your stronger than this. We're stronger than this.' Whatever it was was futile, I managed to pull myself up to a sitting position against a wall but that was it, I couldn't do any more. The voice was right, Harvey Dent was going to sit this one out. I took one last look at the blood seeping through my shirt and jacket and closed my eyes.



NO... not yet. Wake up Dent, no time to die, no way to die. I thrust my eyes back open again to see Jim Gordon and The Batman closing in on the Joker. Anger swelled. Half of me wanted blood, the other half just wanted to sleep forever.

A look to my left revealed a lifeless, smiling corpse. In his jacket was a gun, 'Must've been a cop' I thought to myself. I reached into my pocket, with an immense amount of pain and pulled out the coin I had found days before. One side new, clean, good. The other was defaced, scratched, bad. With a stab of pain i flipped it up into the air. But I didn't catch it... Someone else did. Someone with the will to do what Harvey Dent couldn't.

"Rest easy Harvey." The new voice said again. I didn't understand, I was going crazy, must be. The new man using my blood stained and punctured body reached out with one hand for the gun under the dead policeman's jacket. Brining it up to his face he growled.

"Hey!... Jokes on you, Clown." 'NO!' I remember screaming inside my head, that wasn't the way to settle this. I could do nothing but sit and watch myself commit murder. The gun fired, a loud 'BLAM' echoing through the halls...

 

[Climperoonie]

ORIGIN OF A MONSTER
PART I​

"Well, well, well, Batman certainly has been busy over these few months." I say as I look through my newspaper clippings of the Bat. He's so fascinating. What sort of a man would dress as a Bat? I knew it was the same kind as me. And I'll prove that to Gotham soon. I sit in my small lab at Wayne Industries. I tinker with my pride and joy, well, the torso of it, anyway. I'm developing a costume to show Bats how you're meant to use fear. You're not meant to use it for good, fear is a bad emotion, to be used for bad things. Not arresting criminals. I finish it, and place it down with the rest of the suit. I fit it onto a chair, and then connect the legs to it. I place the arms on, too. I then pull torn pants over the legs, for added effect.

"Time to test you out, my little beauty." I smile, admiring my handiwork. I should have been an inventor. I check the arms and legs are properly connected before stepping into the suit through a hatch in the back. I get my fingers and feet into the suit properly, then close the hatch. I walk over to a table, where the mask for the suit sits. Freaky little bastard. I pick it up and pull it over my head, making sure to lock that onto the rest of the suit. I smash the window and then leap onto the ledge. I built in a device so I just need to thrust my arms back while in mid-air for the Jet-pack in my suit to activate, and then it will atomaticly turn off when my feet touch the ground. An interactive suit. Told you I should have been an inventor.

I leap off of the ledge, and thrust my arms back. My pack activates. I fly along, and land on a building top. But it doesn't turn off. Instead, it just heats up and heats up and heats up. I feel the plastic melding with my skin. It's so hot. I try to remove my helmet. I can't. I'm stuck. I'm stuck as this bat-thing. I'm stuck as this Man-Bat.

ORIGIN OF A MONSTER
PART II​

I look at my hands, my clawed hands. This is impossible! How could it have failed! I reach round and manage to pull out the pack from the slot. I look at it. Then I see the error. A plug is loose. I fumble at it with my clumsy gloved hands. I plug it into the socket, and slot it back onto my back. I walk to the edge. I tell myself that there's no need for puny Langstrom now. I'm Man-Bat. I let myself fall. I throw my arms back, and my pack ignites. I fly through the streets. Onlookers point up in wonder. I swoop down and land outside a bank. Lock, just like I though. I run up to the door and knock it in with my elbow. This suit is metal re-enforced, so I more strength. The alarms blare.

Security guards stream around me. I put my hands up in mock surrender. Then in a second throw them down and leap at one of the guards. I hit him square in the jaw. I scratch at his face, and as I plunge my clawed hand into his face, I hear a sickening crack. He's dead. I've killed. I flip upward and kick another guard, and scratch his face with my feet. The chaos continues, and I enjoy it. Inspired by that clown person, I leave trademarks on my victims, they will all have two sets of scratchs running parallel on their faces. I'm the Man-Bat.

 

[Saved]

Birth of a Monster

The sewers of Gotham. A place more feared to tread than the streets above. Many rumors come about from the odd occurrences in the earth beneath the city. Some say ghosts haunt the endless pipes, the souls of those long killed. Others say the rats in the sewers have become so aggressive; they would eat you alive upon entrance. But the most believed and popular reason is that monsters live there. Monsters of all kind that are hideous, ghastly, and ruthless.

Deep within the endless miles of pipes and pathways, the rats crawl on the narrow concrete edges of the pipes. The water splashes against the walls of the track, the small waves crashing on each other as they make their way through the large pipes.

On one of the narrow ledges, a rat holds a piece of rotten food in its hands. It devours the scrap hastily, its beady eyes appearing to stare blankly at nothing. Suddenly, a small wave hits the side of the wall, splashing water onto the small mammal. The wave catches the rodent off guard, and knocks it into the water.

As the rat struggles to surface against the rough current, it lets out small shrieks and cries. Its arms and legs kick as hard as they can, the creature trying as hard as it can to surface. The other vermin in the sewer stare at their brother as he desperately tries to swim. Their dark red eyes blankly glance at him as his body is tossed and turned in the unforgiving river.

Suddenly, something begins to stir in the water ahead. A dark shadow begins to surface, as bubbles begin to come up from the depths. A scaly hand grabs the rat, and lifts its body above the water. The strange creature breaches the water, and stands up above the sewer water. It holds the rat carefully in its hand, staring at the creature with compassion.

“I’ve got you.” It says in a deep voice. “Relax. It’s all over now.” The creature lifts the rat closer to its face, his façade still covered in the shadows. The creature stares face to face with the rodent, its orange eyes piercing through the darkness. The rat squeaks as it sniffs the air, and the creature continues to stare at the small mammal. “I’ve got you.” It repeats, his mouth hanging open. The creature grabs the rat by its tail, and violently dangles it in the air.

“I’ve got you.” It reitterates, its mouth opening wide revealing sharp white teeth. The creature drops the rat into its mouth. In an instant, the creature closes his mouth shut like a trap, the tail of the rat hanging out from his lips. The strange being begins to chew, and swallows. The tail of the rat falls from his mouth into the water, and drifts off down the stream until it disappears.

“Delicious.” The creature laughs. It makes its way against the current into a large square room. Within the room pours several drainage pipes. The water falls from them into the pool below, spewing large drops of sewer water into the air. Small beams of light shine in from the ceiling above. The creature steps into the light, revealing its true form.

The creature has a humanoid form, but it has been perverted too far to be called human anymore. Instead of light gentle skin, it is replaced by a dark green pigment, its texture resembling that of a reptile. The creature’s eyes are a light red, changing in the darkness to give off an orange glow. The creature’s mouth has large sharpened teeth, the points as jagged as a knife. At the end of its fingers are not nails but inch long talons or claws. They are hard and stiff, formidable weapons that usually belong to a lizard caiman.

As the creature stays still under the light, it stares at itself. It quickly fills with rage and anger, and it violently hits the water in anger.

“Agh!” It yells in rage. “Look at me! I’m a monster! A freak!” It jumps into the air, and lands by one of the thick concrete walls. In a fit of rage, the creature begins to slash and claw at the concrete blocks, leaving large scrapes. “Look at this! Normal people can’t do this! It’s impossible! But me? No! No, I can do it. Like some ****ing freak of nature! A hybrid of species! Why me? Why!”

After a few minutes, the creature’s rage begins to dissipate, and it calms down. It drops to the ground and sits in the deep water. “Why me?” It asks in confusion. “I was Waylon Jones. I had a happy life until I was five. I was going to be a biologist! I had a future! Until I started to change into…this. Of course, Mom was always behind me. Trying to raise my self esteem. ‘You’re not a freak, Waylon. You’re just different.’ Different.” He scoffs. “Yeah…I’m different alright.” He sighs, and leans back against the wall. It stares up at the ceiling, hundreds of feet above him, a look of depression and anger on his face.

“Oh, and as if dad’s constant, ‘what the hell is wrong with him?’ wasn’t helpful enough, the kids at school were. Everyday I’d walk through the halls having to endure their damn laughs and snide comments. ‘What’s a matter, Way? You miss the zoo?’” Waylon gets to his feet quickly, and turns around to face the wall. He angrily punches the wall as he visualizes the faces of the kids from his past who mocked him. Waylon yells as loud as he can, his voice turning into a growl. He continues to pound the wall, each punch coming after a yell of anger.

“Why! Couldn’t! You! Just! Under! Stand!” Waylon’s breathing becomes heavy, his body moving up and down as he slowly calms himself down. Waylon drops back into the water, holding his head in his hands.

“Why couldn’t I just be normal?” After a few moments of silence, he raises his head. “Four years I’ve lived here. Four years I’ve lived in the filthy underworld. People above think they know hell? Ha. They don’t know hell.” Waylon stares at his hands, examining them closely. He sees no wounds on his knuckles from his assault on the wall. “I know hell.” Waylon’s mind drifts back to his past, back to his memories of school. He remembers the voices of the children who mocked him. He remembers the looks on their faces, the evil grins and smiles. They haunt him, causing each moment of his existence to be a constant reminder of what he is. Different.

“I know hell. And those damn doctors. The media claims we are at the peak of medical advancement? Bull****! We have cures for the most deadly viruses on the planet, but a simple unknown skin disease can’t be cured let alone treated? No cure. No cure? No cure!” Waylon’s voice echoes through the emptiness of the tunnels. The echoes come back at him, like a haunting memory. His mind drifts back to his past once again, and he remembers all the appointments he had with the doctors and physicians. He remembers what they told him. He remembers their lies, their false truths, and the memories only bring back the rage.

“People aren’t good. People aren’t caring. They are liars! They are evil! They forced me into hiding! They forced me into exile! Only here can I find peace!” He looks around the room and releases a heavy sigh. “What kind of peace is this?”

“I am better then them. I am stronger! I am superior! It shouldn’t be them who mock me! No, it should be I who mock them! If only I could show them the pain they’ve shown me. If only I could make them suffer the way I’ve had to suffer.” All goes silent in the sewers. All that can be heard is the faint squeaks and hisses of the rats and the sound of water dripping into the water. Suddenly, Waylon looks up, his eyes opened wide. An evil smile comes across his face, his lips curling backward to reveal his pointed teeth.

“That’s it…” He says in a whisper. “That’s it! I will show them! This disease…this sickness, it has plagued me for too long. I’ve thought it to be a curse but, I haven’t looked at it from a different angle. One way, it makes me a freak, and outcast. But…the other…it makes me powerful…it makes me unstoppable.” Waylon laughs, the echo resonating throughout the area. He gets to his feet and holds his arms in front of him, his hands balling into fists.

“I can’t be stopped. I’m a monster! I’m what they fear now!” Waylon smirks, his eyes closing. “Freak…monster…or god…either way, I’m different.” A rat scurries across the ledge behind Waylon. In a quick motion, he turns around and snatches the rat in his hand. He holds the furry rodent tightly in his hand, staring into its eyes. “And you know what?” He asks the small vermin. “I think it’s time for some payback!”

 

[Eddie Brock]

"NO!" screamed The Joker's youngest henchmen. He thrust himself into the path of the bullet - absorbing its entire force to save his boss's life.

The Joker ceased to smile and looked down upon the dead body of the goon. "Compassion? For me? You deserved your fate."

"You're sick, Joker!" Gordon cries out, his gun still trained on the madman. The Batman inched closer to his target. Dent leaned helplessly against a far wall - the smoking gun still in his hand.

"Sick?" The Joker repeats sinisterly. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps I should operate!"

The Joker draws his switchblade again. Moving with surprising speed, he barrels down upon the trained gun of Lieutenant Gordon. Gordon fires once, but The Joker has already twisted Gordon's arm - causing the bullet to ricochete throughout the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor.

"Batman! I was hoping to run into you again!" The Joker announces gleefully, still grasping tightly on Gordon. "Now you can see my mission progress right before your eyes!"

 

[Cyrusbales]

[?]THE RIDDLER[?]


Weary eyes parted, only dim half-light filtering in, yet even this made Joely squint. As she tried to move, she discovered her wrists were bound by shackles and her feet immovable, likely via the same method of restraint.

The smell that crept into her nasal cavity was one of dank dark mildew, the poor level of illumination made seeing anything past a few feet difficult, but the sound of footsteps certainly drew her attention.

“Who’s there?”

“The question of who? But is it the question you wish to be answered? What greater insight does this knowledge bestow upon you? Will it make your situation more comfortable? I think not.”

“What do you want?”

“Ah, another question, we are the inquisitive little one aren’t we? What do I want…….I know what you’re thinking, but I obviously don’t want you dead, at least not yet.”

In her gut she knew exactly who it was, the serial killer with a penchant for toying with people and playing games. It would seem he’d stepped up his act, but as per usual, what was the motive? What was the puzzle here?

Meanwhile, across Gotham, the PD was up in arms as a new note found it’s way to Del Arrazio’s desk…

 

[Harlekin]

“A man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
~ The Godfather (1972)

“What the --?” Detective Sergeant Vincent Del Arrazio exclaims as he walks into the squad room. Running up to him is his partner, Detective Joely Bartlett, rattling off something to him, but he can’t make out the words.
“What are you saying, Joe?”
“¡El me ha conseguido! ¡El me ha conseguido!”
“Joe? I’m… I’m not getting what you’re saying.”
“¡El me ha conseguido! Adivinanzas!”
“Joe, slow down. What’s going on?!”
“Don’t you get it, Vince?” Det. Azeveda says, appearing beside the two.
“Get what Josh? She isn’t making any sense!”
“Vince! Vince! Wake up!”
“What’s that?”
“¡El me ha conseguido!”
“It’s nothing to, Vince, listen to me.”
“Vince! Vince! Wake up!”
“Don’t you guys hear that? What is that?” Del Arrazio asks as he walks around the squad room, trying to detect where the sound is coming from.
“Vince, listen to me!”
“What?!”
“He’s got her.”
“Vince! Vince! Wake up!”

Detective Vincent Del Arrazio suddenly wakes up and sits up right, his bed soaked in sweat. He sighs. Now, he can clearly hear the pounding on the door. Groggily, he puts on a robe and makes his way to the door.

“Who the hell is it?”
“Open the door, Vince!”
“Azeveda?” Del Arrazio asks as he opens the door and finds Det. Josh Azeveda standing outside his house, shaking.
“He got her, Vince! He’s got Joely!”

* * *​

Del Arrazio runs into the squad room at neck-break speed, his colleagues looking at him with a mixture of pity and sadness. Racing to his desk, Del Arrazio finds the green envelope. The green envelope he’d feared for the last few nights now. Ever since this whole Riddler case had gotten started, the case he’d gotten Joely in too!

“Vince?” Det. Romy Chandler asks as she approaches him.
“Goddamn. Lousy &*^%ing bastard,” he curses as he reads the letter inside the envelope. Another riddle. Another life at stake. The life of his partner this time. Del Arrazio was burning in rage, almost choking in it.
“Vince?” Chandler asks again.

He ignores her as he walks into the middle of the room.

“Listen up people,” he starts. “This bastard has gone too far. He’s taken Bartlett, one of our own. I want this guy to pay. I want this guy found and I want him hurt. Anything that you’re doing that you can drop, drop it right now. I want you out on the streets. Talk to everybody you know.” Del Arrazio stops for a moment, and he rubs his face. “We’re looking for a serial killer here, people. We don’t know what kind of sick game he’s playing at, but I’m sure as hell ain’t going to let him get to my partner.”

Furious, Del Arrazio turns around and heads to the large board at the end of the squad room. There, he pins down the letter he received from the Riddler: Question: All of Gotham City knows them, but they do not know all of Gotham City. Who are they? Answer: The Gotham police.

He could practically hear the bastard laughing.

 

[Harlekin]

“A man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
~ The Godfather (1972)

“You need a partner.”
“I… what?!”
“You need yourself a partner. You can’t go out alone, Vincent,” the Captain repeated.
“I don’t need a partner. I have a partner.”
“This isn’t up for debate, Sergeant.”

“What’s his name?”
“Her name is Josephine MacDonald. She’s waiting for you at your desk.”

Detective Sergeant Vincent Del Arrazio and Captain David King glare at one another.

“I believe you have a partner to save, don’t you, Del Arrazio?”

Del Arrazio grumbles and turns away to the door.

“Vince? Bring her home safe,” the Captain says just before Vincent leaves the office.
“I will, Cap.”

Back in the squad room, Detective MacDonald sits at Del Arrazio’s chair, reading the Riddler case file.

“Let’s go MacDonald,” Del Arrazio says as he walks past her and out of the squad room. She quickly follows.
“You can call me ‘Josie Mac’, y’know. All of my friends do,” she says as she catches up to him.
“Yeah?” he responds as he turns to her. “Well, I’m not your friend, Detective, so as far as I’m concerned, your name is MacDonald. If you’re smart, you’ll call me Del Arrazio or Sergeant.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“I like that too.”

* * *​

“Why are we visiting this guy again?” Josie asks as she and Del Arrazio stop in front of the Gotham Royal Hotel.
“He’s a bomb expert, the Riddler’s used a bomb, the Riddler’s got Joely.”
“What makes this guy so special out of all the other bomb specialists?”
“He was the best,” Del Arrazio responds as they walk into the five-star hotel.
“How do you want to go about it?”
“Cautiously, but we don’t want to waste any time. Who knows what happens to Joely in the mean time.”
“Don’t worry, Sarge, we’ll get her back,” Josie Mac replies, sincerely. Del Arrazio nods, appreciating it.

The two walk to the main desk, where a young, blonde woman is greeting all visitors with a smile.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks.

MacDonald and Del Arrazio flash their badges.

“Detectives MacDonald and Del Arrazio. We’re here to see Mr. Rigger.”
“Uhm…” she stutters, a little taken aback. “Does he know what this is about? Should I phone ahead?”
“I’d prefer it you don’t. Just tell us in which room he’s staying.”

The receptionist complies and turns to her computer screen.

“He, ah, he’s staying in the penthouse.”
“That a problem?”
“There’s a… a private lift for that suite.”
“Damn it.”
“What’s the matter, Sarge?” Josie asks with a smile. “It’s only fifty floors up.”
“Very funny, MacDonald,” Del Arrazio responds. “Thanks for the help, Miss. I guess we’ll take the stairs.”

* * *​

By the tenth floor, Del Arrazio is puffing and huffing.

“God… God damn it.”

Josie Mac just keeps smiling, far from being winded.

“I guess you need to lay off the cigarettes, huh, Sarge?”
“Shut up, MacDonald.”

* * *​

Finally, the two Detectives reach the fiftieth floor. With their hands close to their guns, MacDonald and Del Arrazio cautiously approach the door. Del Arrazio gives a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” a voice comes from inside. The two Detectives exchange glances, and when Del Arrazio nods, the two slowly walk into the penthouse’s hall.
“Mr. Rigger? This is the Gotham P.D.”
“I know, please, come in, help yourself to something to drink,” Rigger responds, and as the two Detectives round a corner to the living room, they can see him sitting on the couch in a robe, smoking a big cigar.
“You know, I really missed these in the service,” Rigger says with a smile as he shows the cigar and the glass of whiskey he’s drinking. “Please, sit down, take a load off.”

Naturally, the two Detectives are shocked.

“Do you know why we’re here, sir?”
“Yes, of course. C’mon now, sit down. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“You will?” Josie responds, flabbergasted.
“Yes, yes, just sit down.”

Cautiously, MacDonald and Del Arrazio sit on two stools across from Rigger.

“We need to talk, Rigger.”
“I’m sure we do,” Rigger responds as he gets up and walks over to the bar in the room’s corner. The two Detectives never let him out of their sights.
“One drink won’t hurt, will it?” Rigger asks, the smile still on his face as he pours two glasses of whiskey. Adding a little ice to it, he turns back to the Detectives, who look at him incredulously.
“Oh, these? No, they’re not for you,” he says, seeing their confusion, and then quickly gulps down the contents of both glasses. “These will be.” He pours another two glasses full.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re on duty. Now, we need to ask you some questions.”

Rigger sighs, but remains standing with the two glasses in his hands.

“Well, get on with it, then.”
“Where were you--”
“I can’t tell you that,” he cuts her off.
“What do you mean you can’t tell us?!” Del Arrazio hisses, rising from his seat. “We’re on a clock here, Rigger. Tell us what you know about the bomb.”
“I can’t.”
“You will,” Del Arrazio replies as he lunges for Rigger.
“Sarge, don’t!”

Smiling, Joe Rigger takes the glass in his right hand and smashes it against Del Arrazio as he reaches for him. The glass cuts through the Detective’s coat, while other parts cut through the hand that reflexively shields the face. Del Arrazio cries out in pain and the momentum of the blow forces him to the ground. MacDonald is about to rise, when Rigger yells: “Don’t!”

The call comes too late, and MacDonald can hear something click in the seat. Reacting instinctively, she jumps forward, over the couch, rolling over to Del Arrazio. Rigger has already jumped over the bar when the bomb explodes, rocking the room and ripping through the couch and television set.

* * *​

When Del Arrazio comes too, the police and medics have already arrived. He’s lying on a stretcher in the penthouse hall, his hand bandaged. Scratched, but still smiling, MacDonald approaches him.

“What… what happened?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Pressure-sensitive mine. Bomb squad found loads of them in the penthouse.”
“Rigger?”
“Escaped.”
“And this?” Del Arrazio asks as he lifts his bandaged hand.
“You’re lucky on that one,” MacDonald replies. One of the medics comes up to them.
“You really are, Detective,” the medic says. “The glass didn’t cut through any tendons and you’ve only got a few shallow cuts. You might end up with a scar or two extra.”
“You’ll also need to buy a new coat,” MacDonald remarks with a laugh.
“Yep. You’ve got a good partner here, Detective…”

Del Arrazio is about to interrupt, but the medic continues talking: “…the couch shielded you from the explosion, but, well, she shielded you from the couch.” The medic smiles a bit. “I need to go now. You’ll be okay,” he says as he walks away again.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Yeah, thanks Doc,” Del Arrazio replies, after which turns to MacDonald “And thank you…”

“…Josie Mac.”

 

[Rain Dog]

THE SCARECROW​

Crane gave the vagrant a slight kick in the ribs. No movement. He knelt and checked the man’s pulse. Nothing. This batch was a success, though it did not act as quickly and he had hoped. A faster-acting toxin left less time for an antidote to be administered. Crane glanced at his stacks of fear toxin canisters.

He now had a dilemma on his hands. Funding for his "research" was running low. He pulled off his mask stared at it. It was risky, but he knew what he had to do. It would soon be time for Gotham’s nightmares to be brought to life once more and burn the city to the ground. It would soon be time for The Scarecrow to rise again.

 

[Eddie Brock]

The Joker has a good grip on me. My gun is aimed helplessly at the ceiling, and I can feel The Joker breathing behind me. The cool metal of his blade draws closer to my skin.

"Batman, Gordon, and Dent - all here in one place. It's like Christmas for me!" The Joker squeals.

I struggle to get loose, but he's surprisingly strong - for a clown.

"Gordon protects Gotham through the police. Dent protects Gotham through the courts. And Batman - he's just a nutjob," The Joker continues. "But I suppose the pot should not be one to speak about the kettle's color, eh?"

Batman continues to inch closer. I just need The Joker to get caught off-guard, even if just for a fleeting moment. Once his guard is down, I can break loose.

"If I finish all three of you tonight, Gotham will unravel. I will turn Gotham into a beautiful canvas - upon which I can paint with chaos and anarchy!"

C'mon, Batman...make your move...

 

[Byrd Man]

Joker starts to break out into mad laughter, I don't give him the satisfaction.

WHAM!

One of my bat-shurikens slaps hard against his forehead.

"Shut up."

Joker lets Gordon slip out of his graps and I charge, tackling him to the ground and pin him.

 

[Eddie Brock]

Joker starts to break out into mad laughter, I don't give him the satisfaction.

WHAM!

One of my bat-shurikens slaps hard against his forehead.

"Shut up."

Joker lets Gordon slip out of his graps and I charge, tackling him to the ground and pin him.

"A little fight in you?" The Joker asks while being pinned by his opponent.

The Joker grins evilly. "I like that."

The Joker jerks his knee into Batman's crotch. Sure, Batman's armor would absorb the brunt force of the blow - but a majority of the impact would suffice. It was a low blow, but The Joker never was one to play by the rules.

As Batman doubles over, The Joker rolls out from underneath him. Batman is still recoiling from the cheap shot when The Joker gets to his feet. Drawing a concealed handgun, The Joker aims it at his foe.

"Are you faster than a speeding bullet?"

Gordon and Dent look away as The Joker pulls the trigger. Both are surprised and confused when they don't heard the distinctive sound of a gun firing. When the look back, they see that The Joker was using a gag-gun - a small flag reads 'BANG!' as it extends from the barrel.

Batman stares in confusion at his foe. Why would he waste a shot? Just feet away, Lieutenant Gordon can see The Joker's finger applying pressure to the trigger again.

***

Oh no...it was merely a distraction!

"Batman! Look out!" I cry. But it's already too late for him to respond. Using all the strength I have in me, I lunge at The Joker. My body deflects his arm as he pulls the trigger again. This time, there is a real bang as the bullet ricochetes wildly.

My momentum carries me forward, but The Joker leans out of my path. As I fall to the ground, The Joker regains his center of gravity and takes aim again.

I can only hope that Batman has time to respond.
​