The "World's Finest" DC RPG

[Bounce]

New York City
New York

“Damian… I…”

In retrospect, taking a claustrophobe to a metal concert might not have been Damian’s best idea. Or, perhaps, in some sadistic part of the young al Ghul’s mind he was anticipating Colin having an anxiety attack and transforming into Abuse in the center of a societal cesspool of thrashers, goths, and the other varied assortment of wannabes.

“…I don’t like this…”

Head back, the dark haired Wayne ignored the pitiful moanings of the orphan boy and allowed himself a moment in which to get lost in the sensation of the resonating bass chord to permeate his entire body. A cover of Don Felder’s Heavy Metal (Taking a Ride). The chaos of the music appealed to the assassin aspirant, playing upon the stirrings of conflict and emotion that sought a violent release.

Eyes shut, the boy had moved through the crowd into the midst of the ‘pit’ at the front of the stage platform – the center of where moshers were performing their ‘rough and tumble’ form of dance. The first body that moved to slam into him was what started everything which followed. The first kneecap shattered, the first wrist broken, the first arm dislocated. It was… beautiful. Each motion timed to the rhythm and beat of the music, a choreography of pain that was like a mirror for everything Damian felt inside. Cutting a swath through the crowd, bodies strewn behind him in a wake of blood and pain…

Grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. Son of the Batman and the Demon’s Head. Born in violence, to violence, for violence. He hoped they saw, and were not proud but afraid for what they had made.

A pair of hands wrapped around his arm, pulling him back from the dark pit into which he had been falling inside his own mind.

“What are you doing!?” Colin demanded, staring at Damian with eyes that seemed on the verge of tears in the orphan boy’s own emotional distress. “You’re hurting people!”

Was he a monster for the fact that, for a split-second, Damian’s mind entertained the thought of breaking both of the arms which now acted as his anchor? “Nothing,” Damian offered finally, the lie coming so naturally that even he may have believed it. “Are you thirsty?” Damian asked, diverting Colin’s attention even as the young Wayne began to guide the orphan out of the crowd… and let the wall of moshers conceal them from the victims now struggling to avoid being trample where Damian had left them on the floor.

Colin was actually shaking with nerves as the two emerged from out of the ‘pit’ area, claustrophobia and his fear of strangers combining in the crowded stadium in which the roar of Downplat’s music blared with such force as to seemingly split the skull.

With the band playing their headline act, the vendor area was more sparsely populated. Damian got two Cokes and then guided the distraught Colin over to an area with some space where both of them could try to relax.

Popping the top and the straw off his drink, Damian took a swig of the syrupy cola. “You all right?”

“Ye… yeah.”

Damian began to nod, when it occurred to him that something was out of place. The music was still going, the fever of the crowd very much alive in the air as he would have expected. The people mulling in and out of the vendor area were all of the normal variety…

There. A shadow in his peripheral vision.

Feigning another swig of his drink, the boy made a calculated glance off to the left. Nothing. Damian found himself looking at the door to the male public restroom. Had he been mistaken?

No, he was sure now. They were being watched.

Father? The League? Richard? Damian was certain none of his ‘dance partners’ or anyone else from the mosh pit had followed them out of the main venue.

“I’m going to the john,” Damian muttered, sliding his cup over toward Colin.

“I’ll go with you!” Colin immediately blurted aloud, clearly desperate not to be left alone.

A look from Damian caused the other boy to shrink back and reconsider that offer.

Alone, the young Wayne made his way to the public bathroom. A few drunken teenagers pissing the night away, filth that mortified the civil mind, and that was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Returning to Colin, Damian again picked up his soda and took a swig of the drink. “If you like Downplat, I’ll get you a copy of their new alb—“ the young Wayne began, before pausing in mid-sentence. His tongue was dry, a bitter aftertaste on the back of his throat. “What happened while I was gone?” the boy demanded suddenly.

Colin just looked confused. “Nothing happened.”

Damian winced as a muscle spasm shot painfully through his right arm. Whatever poison he’d just injested, it was a muscle inhibitor. The blue eyed Wayne could feel himself go into a cold flash as a sweat began to dampen his clothes. “No one came by here?”

“A lady asked if I knew where the bathroom was,” Colin answered with the same confused look on his face. The red-haired boy raised his drink up.

Damian batted the beverage out of the other boy’s hand, sending it spilling over the floor. He was beginning to sweat noticeably now, a tingling like pins and needles trailing up his left side.

He was having trouble breathing.

Very subtle as poisonings went. But at least now Damian knew who it was that was watching them.

“Have you had anything to drink since?”

“Damian, what’s wrong?”

“Have you had anything to drink since she asked for directions,” Damian repeated, grinding his teeth against the feeling of his heart beginning to palpitate. His vision was starting to grow fuzzy.

“No.”

“Good,” Damian uttered simply. “Large public venues are usually required to have an AED. We need to find one.”

“Damian, what’s wrong?”

At least his hearing was still working, a vibration in the air prompting Damian to slam into Colin. The pair went to the ground as a meticulously aimed beer bottle sailed right where Colin’s head had been just a second earlier.

Of course they would pick a fight, Damian thought to himself as he rolled along the floor and jumped back to his feet. The more his heart pumped, the faster the poison metabolized into his system. Staggering slightly as he tried to find his center of gravity, the two boys looked up to see a gang of older teens beginning to stand out from the crowd.

And then the ninjas dropped in around them.

The League had answered Damian’s earlier snub it appeared. How wonderful. Now all he needed was mother and it would practically be a family reunion.

Damian just spit on the ground. “tt”

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Joker and his men make their way into the cabin of the plane and people begin to point and mumble.

He looks at one of the terrified passengers holding a 5 year old boy and says, "Don't worry little one! I'm just out for a little fun! HA HA HA HA HA!"

The Joker then says to the parent, "On the bright side when your kid needs therapy you'll be able to tell the doc the exact moment all his problems started! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

The Joker gets to the front of the plane and holds out two small canisters of venom and says, "Attention ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we are here to show you a good time! When was the last time you could say that about a flight? Anyway, this is somewhat of an audience participation we are going to try and act out the 1980 classic 'Airplane'! And if anyone gets the bright idea of trying to take me or my boys out. I release the canisters and there's enough venom here to do the entire flight! So who here knows how to fly a plane?"

He looks around and says, "Anyone? Anyone? Well then looks like it's time for a volunteer to come forward!"

The Joker squirts his acid on the pilot's door and dissolves the lock. He then pulls out his gun and shoots out the automatic pilot control.

The plane begins to dive and The Joker begins to sing "Free-Fallin'" by Tom Petty. Just then a stewardess runs to the cockpit shoves the pilot out of the way and takes control of the plane.

The Joker says, "You see folks most stewardesses have a lesson or two so they can take control of the plane if things go wrong like now. What's you name sweetheart?"

The Stewardess replies, "Julie."

The Joker says, "Ahh nice to have ya around Julie. Okay back to our play. My friends are sprinkling powdered venom on some of the food. Not enough to kill most of ya but enough to let you know something's not right. However on 3 of them, in honor of the 3 who died in the movie thanks to Ted Striker's stories, 3 lucky souls won't have far to go to get to heaven! HA HA HA HA !"

The men start handing out the food and The Joker says, "Eat up or I not only kill you, but the person on either side as well."

As the passengers start to eat very slowly and cautiously The Joker hears a voice on the radio in the cockpit say, "Flight 784 out of Gotham to BWI please respond this is Gotham International."

The Joker says to Julie, "I'll take this one you got bigger things on your mind."

He grabs the mic and says, "Everything under control situation normal!"

The Air-Traffic Controller says, "Repeat flight 784."

The Joker responds, "Didn't you ever see 'Star Wars'? So much for our witty banter! Guess it's time for me to shoot the radio! I already shot the auto pilot! Until then go with a smile I know I will! HA HA HA HA HA HA! Joker Airlines out!"

The Joker blasts the radio

Within minutes word is all over about the distressed airliner which The Joker is in control of!.

 

[sumowrestler]

After Stewart helped clean up the major heavy debris in San Diego, he recieves a message from fellow Lantern Arisia.

"Stewart, Gardner, the planet Tauron in the Alpha Centauri system needs help. I was tracking an invasion force from my sector and it was heading towards that planet. I"ll meet you there."

"Hey Guy, sounds like our space duty is calling. At least it is Arisia and not Salaak asking for help this time around."

John doesn't wait on Gardner to respond as he flies up and out of the atmosphere.

 

[Bounce]

New York City
New York

Curious how things took on a new perspective when mortality was in motion.

Disoriented, his vision threatening to fail, the young al Ghul Wayne was only too conscious of the faltering beat of his own heart – knowing that any moment now he could succumb to a cardiac arrest from the poison that he’d injested.

The fact that Damian was in the midst of a heart attack was almost a secondary concern for the time being, with both he and Colin surrounded by members of the League of Assassins. Over the roar of Downplat’s music, Damian could make out the sound of cotton fibers ripping apart. Colin Wilkes had activated the Scarecrow Venom resident in his altered physiology, transforming into the hulking form of Abuse.

Colin was all brute strength and good intentions, nothing that was going to present a challenge to a League-trained ninja. At best, Abuse would be a distraction from their primary target.

On a good day, Damian could go head-to-head with Talia al Ghul herself.

He ought to, she’d had him trained by the very same masters who had trained her. He’d been her star pupil. Training that had only been furthered developed by Richard Grayson. Unfortunately, today wasn’t a good day.

A foot slamming into the side of his face knocked a momentary burst of clarity into Damian’s field of vision. Dropping back into a defensive stance, it was all that Damian could do to stop from drooling in the stupor that was starting to eat away at his mental faculties.

His edge was gone. Falling back to training in soft, defensive disciplines Damian found himself reduced to focus meditation techniques as he wrestled with his own reflexes to try and summon the coordination to recall tai chi chuan and aikodo redirectional modes of defense. Even staggering, Damian still managed to deflect several more blows before one slipped past him.

What were a few cracked ribs when your heart was about to stop?

In the back of his mind, Damian was cognizant of one anomaly. His mother would never have sent such low ranking ninjas after him. Even with the poison in his system, their skill level was still far enough beneath his own as to make success a questionable variable. His grandfather had already made such an error before. Damian would have liked to believe his genetic donors intelligent enough as to learn from their mistakes. So if these ninjas weren’t in New York to assassinate him, then why were they here?

A punch sailed through Damian’s attempt at a defensive screen, slamming down against his nose. This was the… fourth? Fifth time he’d broken it?

Two more blurs were on the fringe of the ass kicking crowd. Stadium rent-a-cops. Brandishing stun guns.

Wait…

Sucking in a breath, Damian pushed every ounce of concentration he had left to launch a last assault against the League forces descending upon both he and Colin. He didn’t have to win. He just had to make himself look like the aggressor and get their atten—

A pair of electrodes shot into the boy’s left side, almost simultaneously with the electrodes piercing his chest. Damian had only enough consciousness left to feel his hair stand on end… before the world went black.

It wasn’t an AED.

But it was enough of a shock to keep his heart going.

Coming to on the floor, Damian kicked up to his feet and tried to shake the fog still hanging onto his mind.

This was an ass kicking contest.

And Damian was back in the running.

 

[Byrd Man]

San Diego, CA


I gently lift up and overturned car and place it back upright. All told, the metahuman boom in San Diego lasted all of six hours. In those 360 minutes, over a hundred million dollars worth of property damage was done. I've been helping where I can, but my thoughts have been elsewhere. Specifically, whatever was in that vault under the naval base. Maybe all of this was done to distract us to something going on right under our noses. Sleight of hand, and all that. I make a mental note to tell Bruce about it the next time we talk, I could use his perspective on it.

I spend the next few hours helping out all over the city. I could do more, but I need to go back to Metropolis. Perry's going to want a story on all this. I take to the skies and look down at San Diego one last time before I pick up speed and disappear into the clouds.


IC: Jimmy Olsen
Metropolis, MA


Inside the control room at the Planet, I watch as Lois and the director argue over the stock footage they're going to use for tonight's broadcast.

"Just go with the shot of the people waddling. No faces."

"Why not? They're fatties. Maybe seeing themselves on TV will shame them to lose weight."

"The piece is on how to stave obesity, not to guilt yourself skinny. Now, use that stock footage!"

They continue on for awhile and I leave the control room, passing through the offices. I chat with Steve Lombard for a few minutes about the Metros and their chances of making the playoffs. Steve stops as Cat Grant walks by.

"Hey, Cat," Steve calls out. "When are we going to go on our date?"

"Right about the time you take a shower and wax that carpet you call a back."

I laugh and Steve punches me in the shoulder.
"What? Not my fault you're as hairy as a gorilla."

"Yeah, but I don't need a reminder, jerk. I gotta get to work. How about you do the same?"

I shrug and head towards the water cooler. I look down as my shoe feels loose all of a sudden. My shoestring is untied. Odd, wasn't like that before. I bend down to tie it. As I tie, something whizzes above me. Water begins to leak out of the water cooler. There's a small hole in it.

"That's odd..."

I stand back up, and keep walking towards my desk. I pull up short just as a bullet zips by my face, scratching the bridge of my nose.

"Get down!" A voice barks from behind me. A red headed man tackles me and lands on top of me as a man crashes through the window. The red headed guy pulls out a pistol and aims at the man on the ground, shooting bolts of energy from his gun. The people in the office run off in a panic. The red headed man helps me up.

"We've gotta get out of here, Jimmy. He was the first, but more will be coming."

"Wait! What's going on? Who was that? Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I'll answer your questions soon enough, Mister Olsen. But for now, this is all you need to know:"

"My name is Rip Hunter, and you need to come with me if you want to live."

 

[wiegeabo]

Monday

Antonio Bodega, head of the Metropolis Small Business Consortium flips through the mail that's been delivered. Most of it's the normal letters and whatnot. Bills to pay, wants and complaints from local business owners, and an unusual envelope with no return address...

***

Jon Sturmin, head of the Metropolis dock workers union, Local 62, puts his clubs up on the bench, and gets ready to undress for the showers. It was a beautiful morning for nine holes, and the easiest way to talk business with city politcos. He turns to his locker, and is confused by the sight of an envelope taped to it.

***

James 'Jimmy' Harsfell, President and CEO of the 1st National Metropolis Federal Bank sits at his desk, sipping his morning coffee is he looks through various financial news sources. His secretary walks into the room with his daily correspondence. She sets it on his desk.

"Thank you, Alice. I'll need you in about an hour to take a letter, once I get through all of this."

"Certainly, sir."

She leaves and Harsfell reaches over for the stack of letters. On top is a strange envelope...

***

Morgan Edge owns and runs the WGBS news network in Metropolis. But just because he's a corporate head doesn't mean he still can't see an interesting story when one presents himself. And the invitation with the envelope he just got in today's mail promises to provide just such a story...

***

Tuesday

The easiest way to get people to mingle at a party, and to get people to show up at all, is to have an open bar. This is especially true when those people are business people. And a near absolute necessity if you want those people to actually sit down and listen to what you want to say.

So, on this morning, all the various prominent local business owners were meeting at brunch time, mingling, and having a rather lubricated early day.

That afternoon, the heads of the various unions were swapping stories over a late, and definitely not 'dry' lunch.

And late in the evening, the CEOs of the largest corporations in Metropolis, the wine and scotch flowed free during the dinner.

And when the time was right, which is right when 'just enough' alcohol has been plied, is when pull myself a way from each group during each meeting, and take my place in front of them.

"Thank you all for coming."

I smile at all of them, and get smiles and lifted glasses in my direction. I can't wait to see their expressions once I've finished...

I make my way onto the stage, shaking hands along the way. Many of those I great are happy to say hello. Others just politely do so. Some conveniently keep their distance while they eye me. Mercy makes a special note of their names, as I had instructed. One should always be mindful of their opposition. Mercy also makes note of those too busy at the open bar to come over a see me. One should also be mindful of those easy to manipulate.

I take my place on stage, and signal for everyone to take their seats, or at least give me my time to speak.


Morning - Small Business Association

"I'm glad you could all be here today. I know it's quite unusual for us all to meet together like this. Especially me." There's a small laugh and polite chuckle from the audience as they try to figure out why they are there.

"So...you all have to be wondering why I'm hosting this brunch..."


Afternoon - Union Leadership and Press

"...because we know there's no such thing as a free lunch." Another wave of chuckles. "And, as you can guess, this isn't going to be a free lunch. But, don't worry yourselves too much, I won't be passing the plate around."


Night - Metropolis CEOs

This gets a good number of laughs. And even some lifted glasses. As smart as they claim to be, heads of corporations are almost as easy to manipulate ad politicians.

"We all know why we are in business. To serve our customers. To provide for their needs. Their needs for housing. Their need for food. Their need for clothes, cars, electricity, water, information, and whatever their hearts desire."

"Oh, and to make money. Lots and lots of money."


Afternoon - Union Leadership and Press

This time, everyone laughs. "I know, I know. That's what you think we're all about," I say with a smile. "And I'm not going to lie to you. We 'greedy' businessmen like making money more than most. And your job is to make sure we greedy businessmen pay our employees what they deserve. Especially in this economy, where every job is precious."


Morning - Small Business Association

"Even though my company spans the globe, it doesn't escape the pressures we are all feeling. Pressures which you all certainly feel more than most. In this economic climate, we need to do everything we can to maximize what every dollar we take in can do. And avoid every additional cost we can. Which is why I'm here. So, let me ask you a question..."


"How much money do the superheroes cost you?"

 

[Batman]

"That should do it, Flash. Thanks for the help."

Victor Stone, better known as Cyborg of The Justice League, extends his hand to me just as I return the last of the unconscious former metahumans that were incapacitated in our efforts to the heart of the city. Being partly of scientific creation himself and possessing a genius intellect, Victor was the logical choice among us to get to work on figuring out how to prevent whatever had happened to them (I barely even understand it, at this point) from happening again. I won't lie and say that I'm not glad that something like this didn't happen in Central City, but the scenario certainly paints a grim picture in my mind, as I look over the group that have just been restored to normal by Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman's efforts. If those three hadn't shut down the bomb that activated these genes, I don't know what might have happened...

Shaking Victor's hand, I indicate the people.

"Any time. But what about them? When will they be allowed to return to their loved ones?"

Tapping his cybernetic eye to begin running a scan, Cyborg turns his attention towards the people that really need it.

"Soon as I run a few diagnostics. I know that they're probably eager to put this past them. Coming from experience, it can be a nightmare to just wake up with that kinda power."

My eyes shift, as I try not to acknowledge that. Not many people know it, but Victor's transformation into Cyborg was actually a result of the League's first case. And our first introduction to the legions of parademons working under Apokolips' monstrous dictator nearly cost him his life. In some ways, it still has. He's been holding a chip on his shoulder ever since.

"Well, if anyone can make sure that we're covered for any future metahuman bombs, it's you. Even with all of the damage, these people are lucky."

Victor smirks.

"True that. It's easy to avoid a crisis when you've got Superman on your side."

Going over the data, he looks back towards me. "You gonna stick around, Barry? I'm sure that the others can handle the clean-up from here on out."

I stretch my arms, taking in a bit of energy as I prepare to race off once again.

"I'm sure they can, too. But none of them are The Fastest Man Alive."

"Showoff. I just say that because we don't all have a dayjob. Your work with the Central City PD takes presidence over whatever pieces we've got left to pick up for these folks."

My eyes widen as I suddenly remember what I was trying to do before I came to San Diego.

Ashley Zolomon. My date. I've been away for hours and she's going to be furious. I didn't even call her to say I'd be late, because I figured I'd have all the time in the world. So much for that.

"Oh, damn..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I think I'll take your advice, Victor. There's something I just realized I need to do back in the city."

Giving him a kind salute, I take off towards the open road and floor it, racing across half of the country in the blink of an eye.

I've really got to start figuring out how to balance this stuff with a personal life.

 

[Watchman]

"Horrible, bloody monster!" Dr. Palmer shouted throwing a fish from light years away into a tank containing a giant eel like creature. "Note to self make sure to avoid Time at all cost unless he about to perform intergalactic genocide with something you built." He climbs down the stairs to find Nina staring into the tank.

"Horrible? I find them absolutely beautiful."

"Then we have two different definitions of beautiful. I don't find the giant space snake not so beautiful. Monster seems much more applicable."

"I'm disappointed, Ray. They're pregnant and protecting themselves makes them monsters. Who is the monster? The Wyrum acting out its nature or the mad scientist grooming it for a weapon."

"I've seen King Kong, Nina. Hoping around in a pint sized suit doesn't pay the bills."

"But making super weapons for a man like Time is right?"

"I haven't made one single weapon for him. Teleportation, the shrinking equipment..."

s.H.A.D.E.net alert. Important message coming in. Please divert attention to nearest view screen. It was one of those 24-hour news station. Father Time appeared before the nation ready to address the great tragedy.

"....and I am director of the Super Human Advanced Defense Executive. For years we have been tasked with defending the free world against super powered threats, that was until five years ago where your government let people, like the one who cause the tragedy tonight, wield the power. Tonight a man claiming he was some sort of superhero leveled half this town in a rampage to tear apart a gang and their monstrous minions. Who do answer to when they destroy your car, your home, your family? Nobody. These super power freaks are the law of the land. Not us. We are merely playing to their whims. I say no more. It is time for humans, the American people to take back what is rightfully ours'. S.H.A.D.E is fighting for you." The smiling man stepped forward donned in a red, white, and blue armor suit. I give you the man who took down the monster today, Americommando, a trained and professional S.H.A.D.E agent. He doesn't hide behind a mask and he fights for you. This is the start of something new. The American fighting force for the America people, the Freedom Fighters!"
******
Back on the helicopter Time's avatar was smiling. The Americommando was meeting his public. They were going to eat him up, of course they had to that's what he was designed for. A constructed background- All-American football, small town champion. Excelled in school and the military. Perfect. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them. The Americommando wasn't even human but completely under Time's control.

"Calls from the Security of Defense, the Pentagon, Homeland Security, the President...."

"Hold them all. I'm too busy basking in my success and genius."

"Call from Frankenstein."

"What is it boy?"

"The Americommando?! What is your game, Time?"

"No game. I rescuing S.H.A.D.E and if I have to sacrifice your image then I will. We now have bigger fish to fry than these suburbanites that want to play cult."

"Evidence points in a different direction."

"I'm pulling you off of it. I still need a wetwork team to handle the more unsightly manners. Welcome to the new era of S.H.A.D.E."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Joker looks at his men and asks, "Is everything ready?"

His men nod and he says, "Good Job! Now go onto the luggage area and have a good time."

The passengers look at The Joker and says, "Think of it as payment for your entertainment this evening. I mean face it this kind of road show ain't cheap. Now flight attendants start serving the meal."

One of them says, "No way! We aren't going to knowingly serve a potentially fatal meal to our passengers."

The Joker says, "Oh really!"

He puts the gun to Julie's head and asks, "Would you prefer everyone die? I've got no issues with that one! I love a good improv! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

The flight attendants begin handing out the meal as the Joker spots a teenager holding a flight simulator game. He smiles very broadly and says, "I do believe I found my Ted Striker!"

The Joker pulls the flight simulator game away and points the gun at the teen and says, "To the cockpit!"

The frightened teen moves to the cockpit and The Joker asks, "Name kid?"

The teen answers, "Eddie."

The Joker says, "Close enough. Eddie you're going to fly the real thing it's jsut like your game except a bigger screen. Julie move! Move now or I kill Eddie here and two random passengers in the back. Your call!"

Julie moves quickly and the plane dips. Eddie quickly jumps into the pilot's seat and pulls the plane up and gets it level. The Joker then pushes the wheel down and levels it off at 15,000 feet.

The Joker says, "Wow! That was a close one Eddie, but you seem to be okay for now! You just need to talk to the tower when it comes time to land. Oh yeah no radio my bad. Hmmm Julie be a dear and get a cell-phone. I'm sure you know how to call the airport, and they can patch you through."

Julie gets a cell-phone and starts dialing. The Joker leaves and gets back to the baggage area and grabs 4 parachutes.

The Joker says, "You guys have proved yourselves worthy of a sequel, so here!"

He tosses the parachutes and tosses one between Chico & Zeppo and says, "You two either share or one kills the other your call."

Groucho asks, "Are we bailing out?"

The Joker replies, "I maybe psychotic but I'm not crazy! This plane is being flown by an 18 year old with no working radio! There isn't much chance that this plane lands safely in Baltimore. It more than likely it will land all over Baltimore! Remember count ten and pull the cord!"

Chico & Zeppo strap themselves together while the rest get their chutes on as well.

The Joker lowers the ramp and says, "And away we go!"

He and his men jump off the airliner and he laughs all the way to the ground.

They all land safely in a corn field and he says, "Nice to see you all back in one piece! Come on let's go visit Old McDonald. I bet if we ask him nicely we can have his truck so we can get home."

He and his men walk towards the Farmhouse as he begins singing "Old McDonald". No answers when he knocks and The Joker says, "Well they're country folk they'd probably want us to use it!"

They steal the truck and head back towards Gotham. On the way they hear a report of the Military scrambling jets to help the airliner and a pilot zip-lining on-board.

The Joker says, "They're not gonna let the passenger land! Bah no one respects the classics anymore! Oh well as long as they had fun! HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"

 

[Bounce]

New York City
New York

Strength wasn’t everything.

Try as he might, Colin simply couldn’t get a hand on the teenage ninja that he was trying to fight. Every grab was slipped out of, every punch avoided. Meanwhile, the teen was picking at Colin like a woodpecker taking on a bear. No single blow really hurt him all that much, but the ninja was hammering away at Colin’s head in a flurry of kicks and blows – most of which Colin never even saw coming.

They fought like Damian did. Every move he thought they’d make turned out to be a sleight of hand or feint.

Luckily, Damian noticed it too. “Abuse, take down the rent-a-cops!” the young Wayne ordered smoothly. The boy’s mind was back in the game, even while his body was still reeling from the poison and from the blows he’d suffered while going through a heart attack. They needed to properly divide their skills according to the opponents. That meant Damian on the ninjas and Colin on the more mundane elements.

As League of Assassin agents went, these guys were toward the bottom of the B-list. Low rank-and-file footsoldiers retained largely as security guards at best and fodder at worst. Damian slid between them and Colin like a sword splitting a cantaloupe in two. Re-directing the teen’s kick that had been aimed at Colin’s head, Damian created an opening through which he delivered a kick of his own.

The teen landed hard on the back of his head, unconscious. His tooth landed about twenty-five feet further away. The next two were even more pathetic, as Damian easily wove their two attacked in tandem to where the two ninjas literally slammed into one another.

Abuse was making similarly good time with the rent-a-cops. Which was good. Damian planned to make an exit before the NYPD made its entrance.

The boy was almost caught by surprise when a woman jumped into the fight, cutting Damian off from the gang of ninjas. The pair exchanged the most glancing of blows, each deflecting the attacks of the other. Each playing defense as they re-assessed their bearings and analyzed their opponent. She was possibly at the top of the B-listers…

Her right hand came up to block the boy’s kick toward her head, a feathered tattoo on the wrist momentarily catching Damian’s eye.

And then she was gone. Running off as Damian realized that the ninjas were gone. She distracted him so that she could pull her forces out. “Abuse, concerts over,” Damian snapped, grabbing hold of the hulk’s elbow as the two boys began making an exit of their own.

That tattoo.

Damian had seen it before.

But, if he was right, what was the League after in New York?

 

[Bounce]

The Benjamin
New York City, New York

Damian wondered if this wasn’t a glimpse into what his teenage years were going to be like. Coming back from a metal concert – having gotten into a fight and then not been able to land the girl – and spending the remainder of the evening and early morning puking his guts out. At least Colin got to enjoy the Wayne Foundation-funded room service, it was enough for Damian just to try and keep water and a handful of anti-inflammatories down as his body continued to purge the poison he’d ingested earlier.

A bandage to secure the broken nose and some tape applied to his cracked ribs, Damian was looking forward to passing out for what he hoped would be several hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness. Collapsing on the king sized bed with that very thought in mind, the young Wayne laid upon the sheets devoid of the will to move and wishing for the stillness of the dark to claim him.

“I thought you said this hotel was a League safehouse?”

Gods in hell, Colin wanted to talk now? Recovering from a poisoning, a heart attack, a broken nose, and several cracked ribs was simply not the time to be fostering a bromance. All the time that Damian had been worshipping the porcelain idol, Colin hadn’t wanted to talk. No, Colin wanted to order from the hotel menu and hadn’t said a word to Damian then. But now that Damian was lying in bed, the kid – who didn’t even have more than a ****ing scratch on him – wanted to get chatty? Groaning, Damian didn’t even open his eyes as he tersely answered. “It is.”

****’s sake, he’d said that already.

“Then… aren’t we in danger here?”

Yes. Damian brought them from out of an assassination attempt to yet another trap, where he was willing to lie unconscious and wait for the ninjas to come stab him in the back. “This is the assassins equivalent of ‘holy ground.’ My mother likes this place, she won’t do anything to draw attention to the League’s activities here. Even when our targets have stayed at this hotel we’ve always been careful to dispatch them at other locations.”

“Like attacking us at the concert?”

“Yeah,” Damian muttered, turning his head into the pillow. Great. He was glad that had been established. Conversation over and now…

“I really liked the concert… except the whole ninja thing… No one’s ever taken me to one before.”

Had Damian the will, he could have put Colin in a sleeper hold and silenced him. Instead, Damian just lay there and tried not to gag on the sentimentality of it all. “tt…”

“Should… shouldn’t we get back to Gotham before someone starts to miss us?”

A semblance of practicality at least, a welcomes change of subject from the prior remark. “The League’s probably got the exits or the road back to Gotham pegged for another attack; and, besides, I checked… both of our bikes are rigged,” Damian answered, his voice partially muffled by the pillow. “I didn’t want to risk more than a cursory inspection, but I identified at least a primary and secondary trap. Safe bet is one of those is a false lead designed to trigger a mechanical fault.”

“Oh,” came the reply, followed by silence in which Damian had blissfully begun to fade. “Can you fix it?”

Damian wanted something to throw at him. Preferably bladed. Sadly, the closest thing at hand was a Tiffany lamp and the amount of energy necessary to reach for it was more of an effort than Damian cared to undertake. “Not here,” the boy answered with another sigh. “And the traps were likely designed with my knowledge of the League in mind, making me the wrong person to try and disarm them. No, we’ll need some other way back to Gotham.”

“I don’t think Sister Mary Francis is going to like my being gone.”

The edges of Damian’s mouth twitched in what might have passed for a smile. “You’re worried about Sister Mary Francis? Tell you what, I’ll handle her holiness and you can handle Batman.”

“I think I’ll stick with Sister Mary Francis,” Colin replied glibly. “So do you think the League were here after us?”

Damn it all, he didn’t want to think about any of this. “No, they’re definitely here to assassinate someone else,” Damian answered finally, after a moment of hesitation deciding on the honest truth as opposed to the convenient half-truth that might have ended the line of questioning. What came next was the logical next step.

“You’re going to stop them, right?”

“Right. I’m going to start by investigating the contours of this pillow, then I’ll get back with you on that,” Damian answered, pointedly terminating the conversation. He needed sleep to recover. Not to mention to clear his head as to what to think about this – or that tattoo.

Detective work was Richard and Drake’s area of expertise, not Damian’s. He liked having a well defined target. Get in, terminate, get out.

That was what he’d been taught.

And New York was a large area in which to get in or get out of.

 

[Bounce]

The Benjamin
New York City, New York

Detective work was Richard and Drake’s expertise. Drake’s skills were intuitive, Richard’s were trained – both developed by the mentorship of Bruce Wayne. Were either of them here, they’d have already begun a thorough analysis of the social scene in New York, as well as major financial markets and the geo-political situation in order to deduce the League’s likely target in New York.

Damian disliked detective work. He wasn’t interested in solving a mystery. Unlike Richard or Jason or Drake, Damian was the true son of the Batman… but he’d been raised by his mother.

An assassin.

And that was just what Damian was, a trained killer skilled not in crime analysis but in the arts of death and shadow. When he’d woken up from his rest, the answer to how he stopped the League of Assassins was there.

He didn’t have to solve the question of who the target was, he needed only find the assassin.

And he already knew exactly where to look.

The Veranda, a signature rooftop café atop the Benjamin with a breathtaking view of Manhatten and the George Washington Bridge. She was seated there, her face turned to watch the sunrise above the metropolitan horizon. A croissant and a cup of espresso sitting untouched in front of her. Her arm demurely resting atop the napkin in her lap, it’s feathered tattoo almost hidden from view.

Without a word, Damian crossed the sea of tables to step out from behind her. Circling around the far side of the table, the boy casually pulled out a chair and took a seat there. Yes. She’d had some work done. Elevated cheekbones, different hair, different eyes… but this was exactly who Damian expected to find.

“Your mother will be so happy to hear that you made a friend,” the assassin remarked in a conversational tone, taking a sip of her espresso. Lowering the porcelain cup down to the saucer she added, “And you’ve grown so much from when I last saw you.”

How very civil. Damian restrained the urge to ask whether the woman had any grey poupon. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to know you’ve already put him on a kill list,” the young al Ghul expressed in a languid tone.

His demeanor did not seem to sit well with the lady. “You made yourself an enemy of the League, Master Damian,” the woman stated in a crisp voice, one which softened as she demurely noted, “We’re merely honoring your wishes.”

Leaning back in his chair, Damian inclined his head and allowed the woman a glimpse of a rare smile – a serpent’s grin that didn’t reach his eyes.“I appreciate the gesture, and look forward to returning the favor… at an appropriate time and place,” Damian replied coldly. He had her marked now, just as she had marked him before the concert. They were going to be joined at the hip from this moment on. One big, happy, assassinating family. “Perhaps you might save us both some time and effort and simply tell me now when and where that venue might be?”

The look of feigned shock was hardly cute in Damian’s opinion. “Your attention’s on me?” the woman noted, as though masking a laugh at his expense. “But, Master Damian, my men can always carry out this assignment without me.”

Murmuring quietly, Damian leaned forward with his elbows on the table, looking the woman in the eye with the same cobra smile on his face. “‘The only confirmed kill is the one you make yourself’ sound at all familiar?” the boy posited, his eyes casually gauging the woman for any reaction to her own lessons being wielded against her. Contrary to whatever Pennyworth might believe, Damian did listen. “And besides, I’ve seen what mother gave you to work with. They couldn’t assassinate the CEO of Wal-Mart.”

Silence. The woman picked up the thimble cup of espresso and took another sip. Lowering the cup back to the saucer, a soft voice said, “Careful, little Robin, you don’t have your father with you now.”

The cobra’s grin only widened. He’d gotten under her skin just now. “Keep trying to intimidate me. It’s working, I promise,” Damian remarked coolly.

“Do enjoy the hotel, Master Damian…” the woman remarked, standing from the table. “We’ll be seeing each other the moment you leave.”

“My regards to mother,” Damian offered in parting. It was only after she’d begun to walk away that the boy realized the implications of what she’d just done.

The bill for the espresso and the croissant was still there on the table. She’d just stuck Damian with the tab.

Cheap *****. Pulling out his iPhone, Damian contemplated the airplane icon in the corner of the screen. He kept the antennae disabled, and primarily to keep Father or Pennyworth from doing just what Damian was about to do. Enabling the cellular functions, the boy quickly tapped out an unlisted number and hit the call button on the touch screen. As usual, it was answered on the first ring.

Damian skipped the pleasantries. “Pennyworth, I left some essentials behind in Gotham…”

The boy held the phone away from his head as a familiar lecturing tone could be heard from the other side of the connection. “tt… Let’s just agree that this isn’t the first time we’ve had this talk, and that it won’t be the last time either…” Damian didn’t listen his mother, the Demon’s Head, who would – literally – kill him. What was Batman going to do? Spank him? Lock him away in the Batcave? Take away his trust fund? Seriously, in comparison to the prospect of Talia al Ghul flaying Damian alive over a Lazarus Pit, there wasn’t much that Batman had in the parental discipline bag that was apt to frighten the boy into obedience.

When Damian had finally gotten a word in edgewise, the boy protested some of the factual assertions that had been levied. “Pennyworth, I find it implausible that you didn’t know where I was. The use of that particular debit card was not accidental,” Damian stated firmly. Frankly, given Batman’s apparent belief that Damian was likely to slaughter the world population, Damian was surprised that Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Huntress, and the god damn Justice League International hadn’t descended upon the Benjamin within five minutes of Damian using the credit card in New York. “I just need you to send me the items that I left behind in Gotham.”

Pennyworth had better realize that Damian wasn’t talking about his iPad. However… if Pennyworth thought to include Damian’s iPad that wouldn’t be altogether objectionable either…

Swallowing slightly, Damian found himself hesitating on the next part. If there was one thing that Damian absolutely drew the line on, it was asking for help. “Oh, and do you think it would be possible for Richard or my dad to pick us up later? We’re going to need rides back to Gotham.”

Pennyworth would at least get that message if nothing else.

Damian wasn’t asking for help. He was positive he could take down the League’s assassin without endangering Abuse. Or the New York general population. And maybe save whatever schmuck the assassin was here to eliminate. He didn’t need any help.

But… he really was going to need a lift back to Gotham. And if Batman or Nightwing or someone were coming up this way anyway then Damian supposed that he’d have to tolerate their presence despite the likelihood that they were going to get in his way.

Hanging up the phone, Damian slipped it into his pocket and then quickly scribbled his room number on the bill for the espresso. “Sheesh. It’s so hard to be a trust fund kid these days,” the boy muttered, rising from the table and making his way back inside of the hotel.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

​

San Diego, CA


I gently lift up and overturned car and place it back upright. All told, the metahuman boom in San Diego lasted all of six hours. In those 360 minutes, over a hundred million dollars worth of property damage was done. I've been helping where I can, but my thoughts have been elsewhere. Specifically, whatever was in that vault under the naval base. Maybe all of this was done to distract us to something going on right under our noses. Sleight of hand, and all that. I make a mental note to tell Bruce about it the next time we talk, I could use his perspective on it.

I spend the next few hours helping out all over the city. I could do more, but I need to go back to Metropolis. Perry's going to want a story on all this. I take to the skies and look down at San Diego one last time before I pick up speed and disappear into the clouds.

Metropolis, MA


I step off the train and make my way down the platform to the streets. It's almost ten at night. An odd time for a meeting, but this isn't any normal meeting. Two days ago I got an email from a secure server. If this source can deliver what I think he can deliver, then this should be the story of the year.

I step into a parking garage and head up to the fourth floor of the facility. Even from the other side of the garage, I can hear the fast-paced thump of a nervous heartbeat. My contact is waiting for me in the darkness, only a pair of loafers are visible in the dim lighting of the garage.

"Welcome, Mister Kent," the man says softly. "You're late."

"Sorry," I reply, pulling out my digital recorder.

"No," he says. "No recorders. "Nothing with my voice on it."

"Very well."

I pull out my notepad and a pen from my jacket pocket.

"What do I call you, Mister...?"

"Mister works. Just call me Mister."

"Between you and me, I was hoping for Deep Throat. Seems appropriate."

"Yes, it does. I like Mister more."

"So, Mister, I got your email. What do you want to talk about?"

"The destruction of the Murphy Homes."

For the past thirty years, the Murphy Homes have been a source for low-income families to find affordable housing. Three weeks ago, the city council ordered it to be bulldozed, citing dilapidation and neglect as the reasons why the homes need to be demolished.

"What about the Murphy Homes?"

"Look into the deal. They say that the homes will be replaced with more low-income housing, right? Well, look harder."

"What am I looking for?"

"You'll know when you find it. I've given you the scent, Kent, now do your legwork and find out what there is to know."

"Why'd you come to me?" I ask, scribbling down what he's saying into my notebook. "If this points to corruption, then why not take it to the police of FBI?"

"Because that comes later. For now we need to get the ball rolling. As for why I chose you, well who better to get the ball rolling than Mister Muckraker himself, Clark Kent? You already got the pelt of one Metropolis mayor hung up in your trophy room, what's another one?"

With that, Mister steps back into the shadows and walks away. I hear him open the door to the stairwell and walk down the steps. While he walks away, I write down the rest of our conversation and stuff the notebook back into my jacket.

What was that line Deep Throat said?

Follow the money.

Looks like that what I have to do. Time to take a visit to the Hall of Records.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Joker stares out at the lights of Gotham from his hideout. He shakes his head and pours a glass of champagne

He raises his glass and says, "Have a good one Gotham and rest up because soon your ol' Uncle Joker is gonna be back in action, and this time the jokes are gonna be real killers! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

The Joker tosses back his glass and then shatters it. He then looks at the bottle and shrugs his shoulders.

Why not?

He then begins to chug it.

 

[Bounce]

New York City
New York

Now Damian was breaking his word to Father.

Securing his glove in place, the boy flexed his fingers several times to ensure proper fit before pulling the domino mask out of the box of items that Pennyworth had delivered to him. Batarangs, grapple wire… and his katana.

That was… unexpected and generous of Pennyworth to include.

Equally unexpected was that Pennyworth came himself. Damian had expected Father or Richard to come, but it was no real matter. Father was apt to be around somewhere, and there was no shortage of petty crimes upon meaningless people that could keep Batman occupied in any part of the world. A purse snatching in Des Moines, Iowa perhaps. Regardless, Damian used the opportunity to rid himself of two liabilities at once by having Pennyworth take Colin home.

Colin hadn’t appreciated it, but Damian was certain that at least Pennyworth understood. Where Damian was about to tread, Colin couldn’t follow.

The only thing left to do now was to get rid of the bikes.

The first explosion ripped through the parking garage, the second came from the loading dock. The parking garage fire would keep the fire department and NYPD occupied and distracted from what else was going on in the hotel, while the explosion in the loading dock would keep the League in place for the time being – Damian having managed to move his bike out of the garage and slip it underneath the commercial laundry truck parked in the loading dock. A laundry truck which just happened to have gun racks and thermal imaging equipment in it.

Annabelle – the name of the assassin with the tattoo – would be frustrated. She’d set a pair of ninjas on Damian to watch him in order to prevent this very scenario from happening. And then a pair of ninjas to watch the ninjas watching him.

Not hard to figure out, then, who the four corpses were in the loading dock. The League didn’t tolerate failure, and that would include Annabelle if she didn’t succeed in her task for the Demon’s Head.

It was a shame however. Damian always liked this safehouse. But, as Annabelle had reminded him, Damian was an enemy of the League by his own choice… and so he need no longer respect the rules of the League. That made the hotel not only an acceptable battleground, but also the most strategically sound environment in which to engage them.

Though the fire was in the parking garage and loading dock, well away from the occupied sections of the hotel, standard procedure would be to evacuate the residents and guests – making this a fourteen story private party. Annabelle would have already taken care of the surveillance system before moving their asset truck to the loading dock. Most likely the security guards on shift at the moment were on the payroll or were League plants.

The Veranda bistro, emptied out after lunch and its balcony cleared of tables for evening skylarking, would be the fall-back position. And, indeed, Damian had his target on the run. Even as he observed her from the shadows, the boy couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk.

He might not be the world’s greatest detective. He was, however, a damn good assassin.

The helicopter was circling for its landing approach just as Annabelle got to the Veranda, the woman clad in the familiar white and gray suit that Damian himself had worn. Her hair was blown back as the black helicopter came down over the balcony…

Annabelle was aware of something that had just whipped by her head, a sensation like a bee sting burning her left cheek. Touching a hand up to her face, the woman looked at her fingertips and saw a small amount of blood on them. By the time she’d looked back up to the helicopter, it was too late.

He’d wrapped grappling wire around the batarang, the fine carbon fiber filament spinning out from the projectile as it sailed into the main rotor. With a series of loud clangs, the wire trapped the blades… the helicopter dropping the last fifteen feet to slam down into the hotel.

Annabelle was on the move before the crash, taking a dive off the roof aimed at the fire escape below. Yet another predictable move. Damian’s grapple line snagged her leg, wrapping around her left ankle as the boy jerked her back.

The sound of the woman’s ankle snapping like a twig was a rather satisfying sound.

Arcing back through the air, the assassin landed hard on the balcony and rolled up to her feet… gingerly hopping on the ball of her right as she bounced back and unsheathed her sword. A modernist scimitar.

“I had wanted to arrange for a poisoning to make us even – you know, ‘even steven’? – but you only gave me so much to work with,” Damian’s voice announced, first from behind the woman then off to her right. He had her off-balance. She knew that she was no longer in control of the situation. She was afraid and fear was the greatest weapon of all. “I hope you’ll accept the broken ankle as my sincerest form of thanks for sticking me with the bill this morning.”

Slipping the injured ankle out of the bit of wire that had been wrapped around her leg, the woman did her best to steady herself. “Don’t you want to check and make sure the pilot in the helicopter is okay? You could have killed him, you know,” Annabelle shouted, her eyes searching the shadows for indication of where her former pupil might have gone to ground. “I didn’t think Batman approved of that.”

The hair picked up on the back of her neck when Damian’s voice whispered into her ear, “My father’s not here right now.”

The first rule of the League of Assassins. Fear is a weapon. Fear is a drug. Fear is control.

In his mind, Damian had calculated this moment out precisely. With only her right foot to hold her body’s weight, Annabelle would pivot in that direction. In surprise, she’d swing the scimitar in a low downward arc to compensate for his smaller stature. He would grab her sword arm with his left hand, re-direct the strike overhead (aikido). Bring his right palm up from underneath to shatter the elbow on her sword arm (jeet kune do). Knee to the solar plexus to knock the wind out of her, then follow-up with a blow to the windpipe to cut off her air (Thai kickboxing). Take her right leg out from under her. Time to initial recovery… two to three minutes.

Annabelle spun to the right, the scimitar’s broad edge swinging in a downward arc… before sailing over Damian’s head as his left hand cupped over hers and leveraged the blow upward. Another satisfying snap of bone and cartilage breaking as the woman’s elbow joint was violently dislocated, though any scream she may have had was reduced to a mere wheeze when the boy’s knee planted itself into her gut, pushing the air out of her lungs. Then silenced altogether with a swift chop to her larynx, before he sent her tumbling back to the floor with a leg sweep.

Choking – tears, mucus, and spittle running down her face – the woman attempted to pull herself into a defensive stance as she struggled to catch her breath. But Damian was no where to be found.

She could hear him, or hear of him. League ninjas in the hotel were beginning to catch up, plus Damian still needed to ensure that the helicopter pilots were properly neutralized. That left him less than three minutes in which to get the rooftop in order before Annabelle would have her full mental faculties back.

Spurts of gunfire, the sound of blades crossing, errant figures emerging from out of the shadows to fall unconscious to the ground. A stray line of bullets dug into the balcony’s tile floor nearby, sending small bits of ceramic through the air to pepper her like buckshot. Getting her feet beneath her, the assassin slowly hobbled back onto her one good leg. From out of a sheath on her leg, the woman produced a Marine combat knife, which she flipped around in her left hand even as she cradled her right arm and prepared for another bout of close combat.

Silence swept over the rooftop balcony, Annabelle’s eyes surveying the bodies she could see strewn about the shadows. The helicopter wreckage. The sounds trickling from far below of the fire fighters and other emergency responders still engaged with the parking garage and loading dock fires. “Where are you?” she whispered quietly.

“Here.”

The woman’s knife stuck against the batarang which Damian wielded as though it were a knife of his own. Brushing aside the strike from the woman, Damian flipped the edge of the batarang around to stab the woman in the shoulder, eliciting a yelp of surprise and pain even as the boy vaulted over the woman… holding on to the batarang so that as he came down behind her, the momentum and weight of his own body brought the edge up and out – severing the tendons supporting the arm and rotator cuff in a bloody eruption.

Now that was a scream of a pain.

The sound of tortured souls, the smell of blood… it was intoxicating. This was everything Damian had been raised to enjoy, to nurture in himself and others.

It was also time to end this game - before he let it get away from him. To her credit, Annabelle believed that she was still in the fight. Mad with pain and anxiety, the woman spun and lunged for the boy. Without her shoulder to support the motion of her arm, her remaining weapon hand was too weak to be any threat. In a single motion, Damian disarmed Annabelle and then sheathed the knife for her.

Or, rather, sheathed the knife in her.

He’d been careful to avoid any major organs, but it simply had to hurt like hell. Grasping at him weakly, it was all the woman could do to keep from blacking out. “Who’s the target?” Damian demanded coldly, rooted in place as Annabelle slumped against him.

She didn’t answer him.

The boy shoved the knife further in, a loud scream splitting the air over the rooftop. “Ki… Kilarny Phar… Pharmaceuticals chief… of research,” the woman spat finally.

“What else?”

“Contract work… nobodies…”

“What kind of contracts?”

“Mo… Mob hits.”

“Names.”

“I don’t know.”

Damian applied pressure to the knife, sending a palpable shiver running through the woman that arced her spine before she let loose another scream. “Names.”

“I… I don’t know. Some reporter with… with the Daily Planet,” the woman answered breathlessly, a giggle beginning to slip into her voice as she started to laugh. “Chuck or… Bart Kent or something.”

Damian was beginning to worry when the woman began laughing harder, doing a visual inspection to see whether she had more bleeding or had lost more blood than he’d anticipated.

Grabbing Damian forcefully by the collar, Annabelle drew the boy’s face close to hers. “What are you going to do. You won’t kill me. If you were, you’d have done it by now,” the assassin remarked haughtily.

“You’re right. I won’t kill you,” Damian replied simply, holding his head back as he added, “But I don’t have to save you.”

There was just enough time for the words to register and a look of confusion to cross Annabelle’s face before a bullet whistled past Damian’s head – nicking his ear as it was fired over his shoulder. Damian didn’t even wince as he was showered with blood, his face now inches from what was left of Annabelle’s head.

“-tt-” With a look of disgust, the boy casually tossed the corpse off him, sending Annabelle’s remains off to the street below as he turned around.

The rooftops and Manhattan skyline seemed empty. Damian wasn’t even certain he could triangulate the shooter’s position. Nothing less than what he’d expect from the Demon’s Head.

“Hello, Mother,” the boy stated quietly.

The next shot caught the young Wayne square in the chest, lifting the small Robin off of his feet and sending him flying back off the roof.

Only one body ever struck the ground however.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Joker awakens from his stupor and sees his "associates" asleep on the floor at his hideout.

Oh look at the little angels and by angels I mean angels of death and destruction. Gotta give credit where credit is due they came through for me when I needed them to. Gonna be a real shame that I may have to eventually kill them, but for now they'll do.

The Joker pulls out an over-sized pistol and fires at into the air. His men jump and are startled.

He smiles at them and says, "Oh goody you're awake! Did you boys have a good time last night?"

They all nod or reply "yeah" and the Joker replies, "Excellent! Well your good ol' Uncle Joker is about to show you all how to have a real good time! Get cleaned up, or look decent and let's get moving! First we'll grab something to eat and then kinda play it by ear. I gotta an idea but I'm open to suggestions."

They each one look around and The Joker yells, "MOVE IT!" His men scatter and he says, "So many people to meet and kill! HA HA HA HA HA HA !"

 

[sumowrestler]

John continues to fly through his sector towards Alpha Centauri system. As he goes along, he sees some space garbage that looks like old ships and satellites. He shakes his head thinking back to the trips he had to the outdoors. Everything would be beautiful until the eyes would catch a small section of land, maybe just a few feet, covered in trash or maybe an old tossed vehicle which ruins things. Space may be vast but still having space junk floating isn't good. He then sets about gathering all of the space debris into a green garbage bag.

"Ring, send this to Lantern Stel. He may have a use for it. His body has a tendency to see better days."

The ring shoots the green garbage bag off in a direction. John continues to fly towards his destination wondering what sort of situation that Arisia stumbled upon. If he remembers correctly, Alpha Centauri is pretty close to the border of sectors 2814 and 2813.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

Metropolis, MA


I step off the train and make my way down the platform to the streets. It's almost ten at night. An odd time for a meeting, but this isn't any normal meeting. Two days ago I got an email from a secure server. If this source can deliver what I think he can deliver, then this should be the story of the year.

I step into a parking garage and head up to the fourth floor of the facility. Even from the other side of the garage, I can hear the fast-paced thump of a nervous heartbeat. My contact is waiting for me in the darkness, only a pair of loafers are visible in the dim lighting of the garage.

"Welcome, Mister Kent," the man says softly. "You're late."

"Sorry," I reply, pulling out my digital recorder.

"No," he says. "No recorders. "Nothing with my voice on it."

"Very well."

I pull out my notepad and a pen from my jacket pocket.

"What do I call you, Mister...?"

"Mister works. Just call me Mister."

"Between you and me, I was hoping for Deep Throat. Seems appropriate."

"Yes, it does. I like Mister more."

"So, Mister, I got your email. What do you want to talk about?"

"The destruction of the Murphy Homes."

For the past thirty years, the Murphy Homes have been a source for low-income families to find affordable housing. Three weeks ago, the city council ordered it to be bulldozed, citing dilapidation and neglect as the reasons why the homes need to be demolished.

"What about the Murphy Homes?"

"Look into the deal. They say that the homes will be replaced with more low-income housing, right? Well, look harder."

"What am I looking for?"

"You'll know when you find it. I've given you the scent, Kent, now do your legwork and find out what there is to know."

"Why'd you come to me?" I ask, scribbling down what he's saying into my notebook. "If this points to corruption, then why not take it to the police of FBI?"

"Because that comes later. For now we need to get the ball rolling. As for why I chose you, well who better to get the ball rolling than Mister Muckraker himself, Clark Kent? You already got the pelt of one Metropolis mayor hung up in your trophy room, what's another one?"

With that, Mister steps back into the shadows and walks away. I hear him open the door to the stairwell and walk down the steps. While he walks away, I write down the rest of our conversation and stuff the notebook back into my jacket.

What was that line Deep Throat said?

Follow the money.

Looks like that what I have to do. Time to take a visit to the Hall of Records.

Metropolis Hall of Records
Metropolis, MA

I spend the next six or seven hours sitting at a table, pouring over city council resolutions and contracts pertaining to the Murphy Holmes. Mister was right, it goes incredibly deep. First there's the construction company, Vandelay Construction, that's tied to all the demolishing and rebuilding at the Murphy Homes They're tied to a shell corporation known as United Holdings. That name sounds familiar...

I run the company's name through the record database and get back a few interesting results. United Holdings and one of their subsidiaries are on the paperwork for just about every major property deal in the past few years. They've been buying up land all in the Suicide Slums, most of it surrounding the Murphy Homes Their letting the tenants in the area stay in their homes, rent free. It's amazing, none of this has even showed up in the plans with the Murphy Homes. United Holdings also filed a permit with the zoning board to conduct a geological survey on all the properties they bought.

Suddenly, it seems to click. I leap up and rush to the bathroom, pulling out my phone.

"Chief, it's me."

"Kent? Haven't seen you all day. Where the hell you been?"

"Working on a story and I think it's dynamite."

"I know that voice. The sound of Crusading Clark. That voice seems to come equipped with headaches."

"Headaches, along with a huge boost in sales. I'm at the Hall of Records, getting some papers. I want to look over them with you at the Planet. I think there's a real story somewhere in here."

"Well for God's sake, man, hurry up and get back here!"

I hang up with Perry and go back to get copies of all the papers and contracts. I'm on my way out the hall, papers stuffed in my hands when I hear it.

The sound of a rifle being loaded from nearly a half mile away.

"Team Alpha standing by. Eyes on Kent. Firing now."

I can hear the bullet cutting through the air long before the shot catches up to it. I look up and see a bullet spinning slowly through the air to meet me from a good ways off. An assassin is after me but why?

I can worry about that later. For now...

"Umph!"

I pretend to trip over my feet and fall to the ground. The bullet whizzes overhead and ricochets off the brick building beside me. I could have easily taken that bullet, but my secret identity would go with it. Still holding tightly to the papers, I scramble up on my feet and run down the street, going fast enough to not be a target, but not too fast.

"Alpha Team to Beta Team, Kent is on the move. Unable to get a bead on him."

Whoever these people are, I'm willing to bet these papers in my hand have something to do with this.

 

[wiegeabo]

I make my way onto the stage, shaking hands along the way. Many of those I great are happy to say hello. Others just politely do so. Some conveniently keep their distance while they eye me. Mercy makes a special note of their names, as I had instructed. One should always be mindful of their opposition. Mercy also makes note of those too busy at the open bar to come over a see me. One should also be mindful of those easy to manipulate.

I take my place on stage, and signal for everyone to take their seats, or at least give me my time to speak.


Morning - Small Business Association

"I'm glad you could all be here today. I know it's quite unusual for us all to meet together like this. Especially me." There's a small laugh and polite chuckle from the audience as they try to figure out why they are there.

"So...you all have to be wondering why I'm hosting this brunch..."


Afternoon - Union Leadership and Press

"...because we know there's no such thing as a free lunch." Another wave of chuckles. "And, as you can guess, this isn't going to be a free lunch. But, don't worry yourselves too much, I won't be passing the plate around."


Night - Metropolis CEOs

This gets a good number of laughs. And even some lifted glasses. As smart as they claim to be, heads of corporations are almost as easy to manipulate ad politicians.

"We all know why we are in business. To serve our customers. To provide for their needs. Their needs for housing. Their need for food. Their need for clothes, cars, electricity, water, information, and whatever their hearts desire."

"Oh, and to make money. Lots and lots of money."


Afternoon - Union Leadership and Press

This time, everyone laughs. "I know, I know. That's what you think we're all about," I say with a smile. "And I'm not going to lie to you. We 'greedy' businessmen like making money more than most. And your job is to make sure we greedy businessmen pay our employees what they deserve. Especially in this economy, where every job is precious."


Morning - Small Business Association

"Even though my company spans the globe, it doesn't escape the pressures we are all feeling. Pressures which you all certainly feel more than most. In this economic climate, we need to do everything we can to maximize what every dollar we take in can do. And avoid every additional cost we can. Which is why I'm here. So, let me ask you a question..."


"How much money do the superheroes cost you?"

The reaction from all three crowds is essentially the same. And so is my response.

"I know what you're thinking. Exactly how much have I had to drink, and where can you get some?" The small laughs help break the instant tension my question created.

"I know how I sound. 'How can he say the superheroes have cost us money?' Yes. How could their battles be contributing to our hardships in this economic climate? Their battles that have destroyed buildings, local shops, and corporate branches."

"Yes, yes," I say, making the effort of raising my hands defensively so they know not to worry. Understanding human psychology gives on such power. "Their heroics stop the villains, very true. There's no denying that. I shudder to think what our city would be like without their efforts. The villains would roam free."

Morning
"Superman stopped a serial arsonist trying to burn down my store..."

Afternoon
"The Guardian broke a major drug ring on the docks. A lot of my boys could have been caught up in that without him..."

Night
"My insurance premiums skyrocketed after Wonder Woman decided to have one of her fights in my bank."

I repress a smile at that. In the other two meetings, every one extolled the virtues of the 'saviors' and the protection they provide. But leave it to a CEO to get to the heart of the matter. Money.

"The heroes perform a valuable service. But, unlike anyone else performing a service, present company included, they have no accountability. There is no recompense for damages. So who has to pay for all of that damage? We do. Either directly, or in our exponentially growing premiums."

"So what do we do?" Another company president asks. "Get the heroes to stop? We need them."

"We also need to stay in business. Do you know how many companies, of all sizes, in Metropolis have gone bankrupt in the last year alone? Twelve percent. Do you know home many of those were involved in altercations between Supers? Two-thirds."

I let that thought sink in for a beat.

"You still haven't said how we're going to handle this."

"We're going to make sure that the super-heroing business is run like a business should be run."

"But how?"

"The American way. We're going to sue them."

 

[Bounce]

"Umph!"
I pretend to trip over my feet and fall to the ground. The bullet whizzes overhead and ricochets off the brick building beside me. I could have easily taken that bullet, but my secret identity would go with it. Still holding tightly to the papers, I scramble up on my feet and run down the street, going fast enough to not be a target, but not too fast.

"Alpha Team to Beta Team, Kent is on the move. Unable to get a bead on him."

Whoever these people are, I'm willing to bet these papers in my hand have something to do with this.

Metropolis Hall of Records
Metropolis, MA

"Alpha Team to Beta Team, do you have eyes on target?"

There's only one person listening to the radio chatter. The fact that the assassin team got a shot off at the alien was cause enough for Damian to be cursing silently as he made his way through the shadows - an assassin after the assassins. Since leaving the League, Damian had always worked in a team. Even though he might not have liked it, having Richard around had definitely been beneficial.

Damian had taken out the support team, believing he had time to do so before the active shooter would be in position to attack. A tactical error on his part, but it appeared that the alien had handled itself appropriately.

Part of Damian was disappointed at that fact actually. The son of the Bat was prepared to do what was necessary to protect Superman's identity... so he almost wished that the shooter had found his target.

Almost.

"Beta Team res--"

Damian's boot connected with the man's jaw in mid-sentence. By the way the conversation had been going, the assassins would have ditched their communications and opted for radio silence anyway. At least he was well positioned for the element of surprise; the active shooters had their eyes on the alien and weren't yet aware that their support element had been neutralized.

The team attempted to split up immediately. League training, most likely by Master al-Aziz or Lady Anastasia. Most likely recruited from mercenary groups or military competition shooting teams. On a mundane level, they were good. The first assassin to turn and fight clearly displaying all the attributes of the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, including the use of the distinctive American K-Bar combat knife, but if there was one thing one ought to never do... it was bring a knife to a fist fight with Robin.

A stragic blow to the underside of the rib cage robbed the man of any air with which to scream as the boy drove the knife through the backside of the man's knee - leaving the lower part of his right leg attached only by virtue of his skin. In a year, it was possible that he might walk again. Assuming the multiple surgeries he'd require to reassemble the knee joint and support tendons were successful.

It really didn't matter however. Were Damian to follow through on his instincts and kill them all, it would be doing them a favor. As it was, these B-list footsoldiers were all going to have A-list assassins come after them for the failure to make the kill.

That's what made not killing them all the more satisfying however, because each of them knew now that their own death warrant had been signed.

No wonder, then, when the first opted to pop a cyanide capsule. In short order, Damian was standing atop of roof stacked with corpses - save for the former Marine crawling across the roof and the unconscious Beta Team that the boy had left neatly tied with a pretty bow for the Big Blue Boy Scout to find and take to the police like a good little extraterrestrial errand boy.

If the League was serious about this contract on Clark Kent, the next assassination wouldn't be so easily foiled.

But not a bad start to touring the great city of Metropolis. And, with that thought, the Robin vanished back into the shadows to await the inevitable arrival of his father's so-called friend.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Joker and his men proceed to drive around Gotham and the Joker taps his driver on his shoulder.

He says, "Oh I think I found our stop. Pull it over!"

The Joker points to a restaurant called "The Blue Hen" as his van pulls over.

He says, "A couple of critics have said the Chicken Alfredo is to die for. Let's put that to the test."

The Joker and his men with their guns drawn enter the kitchen and says, "Hello Everyone! We're the Health Department we see any violations trust me you'll be lucky if you only lose your jobs! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

 

[trustyside-kick]

OOC: Previously...

XXX Movies Video Store
Dayton, Ohio

"I should've known. I mean...it only makes sense that one of the magical portals to this bar is by a porn shop. It's so cliched that it's almost funny when it happens to you in real life to be honest."

Lori looks over at Klarion Bleak, and he is as giddy as a schoolboy right now. Of course the initial thought that comes to mind is here is a boy standing outside of an adult store...thus explaining his reaction. Then quickly the fact that he is a magic user like her comes to mind and that he claims that one of the portals to the Oblivion Bar is at this location. He had mentioned in passing how he loves the place.

Lori Zechlin looks over at the pink neon sign that says 'XXX Movies', then looks over at the Witchboy, then back at the flashing sign, and then back at Klarion who continues to wear a giddy smile. She sighs and crosses her arms.

"This isn't going to work. The second we walk in there you're going to get kicked out. Me? I can pass for 18. You? Not even when you're 30."

"Please, dealing with these mundane humans is easy."

The two walk in, and Lori assumes walking in that they would act very nonchalant about it all. Try not to draw attention. Just simply...stroll to where ever the exact portal is, cast it open, and be on their way.

Not even close. Perhaps if she had been with any other...mature...magic user. But not with Klarion Bleak the Witchboy. The very first thing he does he walk up to the pay counter with a stupid grin on his face and approach the store clerk. The clerk's jaw practically drops as Klarion walks up to him.

"May we use your bathroom?"

"Uh...how old are you?"

"There is suddenly an age requirement to use a bathroom?"

"Well uh...hey man, I know what it was like when I was your age but I can't exactly let you walk through the store and to the back and--"

Klarion turns his head, and his face lights up.

"Ah! I found it!"

He walks off and Lori looks at the clerk, embarrassed and shrugs and walks with Klarion and the clerk gets up from his seat behind the counter.

"Dude! I can't let you use the bathroom! If a cop or some other adult walks in and finds that I'm letting little dudes in this store...I'm ruined!"

Chasing Lori and Klarion through the adult entertainment store, the clerk struggles as things 'magically' and suddenly start to tip over in front of him. Courtesy of Klarion of course as he skips through the shop and making small spells with the flick of his wrists.

"I'm real sorry for this! He just really has to go!"

"Hey! You and your little boyfriend, SCRAM!"

"WHAT?!"

Lori stops, turns around, and starts to literally puff smoke from her nose as she starts to transform as she taps into her magical powers. She starts to grow in size and her skin becomes a hue of yellow as she strikes terror into the store clerk's face.

"Let's get one thing straight here, 'dude', and one very important thing..."

"Now unless you want to...help him shake it or something...I advise you to leave. Now."

Fleeing for his life, the clerk takes off his nametag, and sprints throughout the store and exits. Klarion peers out the doorway of the bathroom, looking at Lori in her current state as she had borrowed the powers of Etrigan the Demon, and chuckles.

"See? These humans are so easy to mess with."

Releasing Etrigan's powers, Lori Zechlin transforms back to her regular self, and walks into the bathroom with Klarion. Gesturing her to proceed to the bathroom stall with him, she grunts before accepting it and they manage to fit themselves into the narrow stall. Giving Klarion a dead stare should he try anything, she doesn't need to utter a word to make him finally open the portal.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

Metropolis Hall of Records
Metropolis, MA

I spend the next six or seven hours sitting at a table, pouring over city council resolutions and contracts pertaining to the Murphy Holmes. Mister was right, it goes incredibly deep. First there's the construction company, Vandelay Construction, that's tied to all the demolishing and rebuilding at the Murphy Homes They're tied to a shell corporation known as United Holdings. That name sounds familiar...

I run the company's name through the record database and get back a few interesting results. United Holdings and one of their subsidiaries are on the paperwork for just about every major property deal in the past few years. They've been buying up land all in the Suicide Slums, most of it surrounding the Murphy Homes Their letting the tenants in the area stay in their homes, rent free. It's amazing, none of this has even showed up in the plans with the Murphy Homes. United Holdings also filed a permit with the zoning board to conduct a geological survey on all the properties they bought.

Suddenly, it seems to click. I leap up and rush to the bathroom, pulling out my phone.

"Chief, it's me."

"Kent? Haven't seen you all day. Where the hell you been?"

"Working on a story and I think it's dynamite."

"I know that voice. The sound of Crusading Clark. That voice seems to come equipped with headaches."

"Headaches, along with a huge boost in sales. I'm at the Hall of Records, getting some papers. I want to look over them with you at the Planet. I think there's a real story somewhere in here."

"Well for God's sake, man, hurry up and get back here!"

I hang up with Perry and go back to get copies of all the papers and contracts. I'm on my way out the hall, papers stuffed in my hands when I hear it.

The sound of a rifle being loaded from nearly a half mile away.

"Team Alpha standing by. Eyes on Kent. Firing now."

I can hear the bullet cutting through the air long before the shot catches up to it. I look up and see a bullet spinning slowly through the air to meet me from a good ways off. An assassin is after me but why?

I can worry about that later. For now...

"Umph!"

I pretend to trip over my feet and fall to the ground. The bullet whizzes overhead and ricochets off the brick building beside me. I could have easily taken that bullet, but my secret identity would go with it. Still holding tightly to the papers, I scramble up on my feet and run down the street, going fast enough to not be a target, but not too fast.

"Alpha Team to Beta Team, Kent is on the move. Unable to get a bead on him."

Whoever these people are, I'm willing to bet these papers in my hand have something to do with this.

I duck into a parking garage as the assassins continue their attack. All of a sudden, there's sounds of struggle. Another heartbeat joins the group of killers. Smaller, faster, younger. I stash the files and papers in the garage and remove my glasses...

Taking to the air, I fly towards where the strike team was positioned on the roof. They're all dead, save one. The smell of bitter almonds tells me all I need to know. They all died by their own hands.

"You can come out now," I say over to the hidden figure. Leave it to one of Bruce's to be able to find a shadow in the brightest city in the world. "I can see you."

 

[Bounce]

All things being equal, Damian was surprised Superman hadn't appeared sooner. Must be difficult for him to move at human speeds in order to maintain appearances, particularly when he knows he's being scrutinized through the scope of a gun. What an amusing Achilles heel. By all accounts, a god and yet so concerned about appearing to be just some lame ass mortal.

A man relegated to a societal role somewhere between tabloid salesman and journalist.

"You can come out now," I say over to the hidden figure. Leave it to one of Bruce's to be able to find a shadow in the brightest city in the world. "I can see you."

Oh, how wonderful that the big man was here to tell the little people what to do.

"Don't tell me what to do, alien," the boy fired back readily, the cloak of his black hood drawn up over his face. "Of course you can see me. I just have no desire to be seen with you."

It was a wonder that Father could get along with someone so... blue.

Not just blue, but a very bright assortment of primary colors. Not at all muted.

"Your city seems to have a rat problem. I'll be around to help take care of things," Damian quipped dryly, motioning apathetically to the ex-Marine still clutching at what remained of his lower right leg. "In the meantime, do be a good hero and haul the trash out with you."

 

[Byrd Man]

"Don't tell me what to do, alien," the boy fired back readily, the cloak of his black hood drawn up over his face. "Of course you can see me. I just have no desire to be seen with you."

It was a wonder that Father could get along with someone so... blue.

Not just blue, but a very bright assortment of primary colors. Not at all muted.

"Your city seems to have a rat problem. I'll be around to help take care of things," Damian quipped dryly, motioning apathetically to the ex-Marine still clutching at what remained of his lower right leg. "In the meantime, do be a good hero and haul the trash out with you."

I look down at the injured man and shake my head. Bruce has told me that he sees potential in Damian....but I don't know. He's certainly no Dick Grayson.

"That level of brutality wasn't called for and you know it. Do you know who sent these men?"