.Dedicated to all of those who've come before - and all who will follow.
The lines have been drawn. Decades following the last known metahuman vigilantes, heroes and villains alike have made their impact upon the modern world. But in the shadow of a brave and bold culminative effort by the world's greatest protectors, not everyone is happy to have a Justice League watching over Earth - because just when hope was beginning to make it's triumphant return, a collective evil has made it's counteractive strike.
While the city of Metropolis recovers from a devastating extraterrestrial attack, the hero known as Superman has been shown the true colors of his worst and most dangerous enemy yet - multi-billionaire Lex Luthor, who possesses both the key to the Man of Steel's downfall and the resources to determine the fate of the world itself. Central City's young scarlet speedster, The Flash, knows nothing of what awaits him as Dr. Roscoe Dillion helps assemble a group of superpowered cons hired to go Rogue against the city's denizens. In Gotham City, the vigilante Batman awaits the rematch of a lifetime as a vengeful presence lurks just beyond the shadows, following the sudden murder of the city's top crimelord and the shooting of it's corrupt Commissioner. And while these events have not yet changed the outlook of Earth's heroes, one event has, as Diana Prince - Wonder Woman, has just found the love of her life violently murdered by what seems to be an enemy from her recent past.
Even in space, things are determined to get worse before they get better. Following an onslaught of the undead that nearly crippled them, the interplanetary peace force established as The Galactic Lantern Corps (GLC) struggle to rebuild their empire of peace and justice across the universe. But while they remain unprepared for the threat of impending dangers, several of their own have shown the capacity to turn renegade - some more obviously than others.
The question still remains. Now that we have our heroes, can they overcome the evil that threatens to overthrow the world?
Batman - Founder, Gamemaster (Our Goat Snuggler) Byrd Man - Co-Gamemaster (Our Whip Cracker) Syn (Mercenary) - Assistant Gamemaster (Our Psycho Wrangler) Andy C. - Assistant Gamemaster (Our Little Richard)
. How To Play .
This RPG is based off of a player-created continuity dealing with a modern revision of the DC Universe, similar to Marvel's Ultimate imprint. Outside of the above, and what the players themselves create, there is no pre-established continuity. As players, it will be your job to take the basic ideas and characters of the DCU, and accordingly reinvent them into however you see fit. Though it is your choice of how drastic the alterations should be, you are free to customize everything from a character's origin to motivations, identity, mannerisms, costume, powers, and world. Let your imagination run wild.
To apply for a character, fill out the application supplied below and post it in the OCC thread. If your application is rejected, do not despair! Simply rework what the Gamemasters tell you is wrong with it, or in the case of multi-applications, choose another character. All players are welcome, regardless of membership status or postcount.
. 12 Rules To Play By .
1. You may choose any character appearing in the DC Universe, or an imprint of DC Comics (IE: Vertigo, Wildstorm), and revamp them for Ultimate continuity. Any character appearing outside of DC, such as Marvel or Image characters, will not be allowed.
2. You are allowed a maximum of two characters. Though it is advised that you stick to one, especially at first, you will be allowed a second if you believe you can handle the responsibility.
3. You must post at least once every two weeks, though it is preferred you post more, or your character will be up-for-grabs. Failure to post after a month will result in removal from the roster.
4. PC's are not to be killed without permission. Nameless NPC's are fine, but PC's or important NPC's will require authorization. Don't do anything random, such as destroying the universe, either. Such behavior is frowned upon.
5. Several storylines can be going on at once, in order to interact with other players. If a player's character does not want to be involved in another's storyline, they do not have to. Consultation and communication are the keys to a good PC-to-PC interaction.
6. Sidekicks and legacy characters will be required to be permitted by the player orchestrating the mentor's role in UDC. For instance, if you want to play Superboy, your acceptance will hinder on the player playing Superman, and his thoughts.
7. You can travel anywhere on Earth or off-planet, provided it is within your character's means. Time-travel is forbidden, unless it is specifically required of your character choice. (IE: Booster Gold, Rip Hunter, The Legion of Super-Heroes)
8. You are your character, so act like them. Create or portray their mannerisms, powers, and ideals to how they have been established in the game. BE the character - do not, under any circumstances, play yourself as the character.
9. Respect the Gamemasters. If they make a request of you regarding the game, listen to them. Failure to adhere to GM, AGM, and Hype! Moderator requests will result in expulsion from the game.
10. Be creative, and do not be afraid to try new and exciting things with old concepts. This is a new continuity - the laws of the regular DC Universe are not set in stone.
11. All regular Hype rules apply.
12. And finally, the most important rule of all: Have fun. Never take the game too seriously, or you will have lost the point. Heated arguments between players can result in probations or infractions - do not ruin it for other players. It is only a game.
“I said STAY AWAY!” Arkham screams one final time. Without warning, he flails his arm and pulls the trigger, sounding a deafening bang that echoes throughout the area. The bullet embeds itself in the wall, leaving a large hole in the aged brick. Before Jason can speak, Arkham fires again, and again – sending pieces of lead randomly through the air. Having no regard for himself, Jason charges Arkham, hoping to tackle him before one of his shots hits Harley only a few feet behind. “NO! NO! NO!” Arkham shouts, firing his sixth and final shot. The stray bullet flies past Jason’s face and penetrates the wall to his left. A loud audible ‘ping’ sounds as the bullet makes contact with a gas line carefully concealed behind the wall. For less than a second the hiss of escaping gas can be heard, only to be drowned out as it quickly catches fire from the bullet’s spark.In the blink of an eye, the area erupts as the pressure of the ignited gas collapses the area. Smoke and rubble fill the air as the floor collapses, and Jason plummets down the hole into a dark abyss.
Jason’s eyes flutter as he slowly regains consciousness. He moans loudly as he pushes himself up from the ground, causing pieces of mangled wood and broken rocks to cascade from his body. As Jason looks up, he sees a small sphere of light emanating from the hole stories above him. “Great,"he says sardonically, spitting a wad of blood from his mouth.
Peering through the darkness, Jason hears the sound of chirping echoing all around him. "What the-“ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening the screen and allowing the faint light to illuminate the expanse of blackness. Suddenly, a swarm of bats surround him – forming a funnel around his figure as they circle around the light. As Jason holds the phone outward, the bats scatter – flying in the opposite direction, away from the glow. He watches the swarm leave, staring intently as the bats disappear down the large tunnel filled with rising and falling spires of sharpened rock. A wide grin comes over Jason’s bloody face as he realizes where he’s fallen. “A cave,” he says with a short cackle, strangely amused. “Asylum beneath the Asylum, haha … how ironic,” he laughs. “And convenient…”
“Good morning, Gotham, it’s September 13th - I’m Mike Engel.” “And I’m Vicki Vale, and this is The Gotham Guardian.”
“Frightening news, this morning, after a freak accident at Arkham Asylum last night. A gas pipe breach causes severe damage at the local asylum, causing thousands of dollars of damage and injuring two of the facilities' employees. Luckily, the incident occurred at the north end of the complex which is comprised of all the staff offices, far removed from inmate housing. All the patients and staff are accounted for, and the two staff members are said to be at Gotham General in stable condition.”
****
“Good morning, you crazed and dazed Gothamite. It’s September 17th, and I’m your host Jack Ryder; this is Let it Ryde. Let’s get the ball rolling with some headlines today. Ah, right – Arkham Asylum’s disaster, Monday, we’ve got an update. Well, it appears the nut house is under new management. Apparently, one of the people involved in the accident was the asylum’s director, Jeremiah Arkham, who is still staying at Gotham General in unresponsive, yet, stable condition. A press release states that one of Arkham’s board members, Doctor Jonathan Crane, will fill in as the asylum’s director until a more permanent decision can be made … aaannnddd the other victim involved in the incident, whose name is still being withheld for privacy, has been released from Gotham General with a clean bill of health. Boy, I’ll tell you, that’s a lucky break, and nooooo pun intended."
"In any event, can you believe it, folks? A doctor of medicine is going to be running a psychological rehabilitation clinic. I mean, this place houses some of Gotham’s most dangerous denizens – some people whose insanity plea are still under heavy scrutiny in court. Keeping this place in top condition is imperative; lest we have these psychos back out on the street. Regardless, it’s an odd decision in my opinion, but hey – I’m not a psychologist nor am I a doctor. Best of luck to this, uh … Doctor, sorry, Director Crane. Let’s just hope the inmates don’t start running the Asylum …”
****
The Gotham Gazette
September 20th
Arkham Asylum Reconstruction Funded By Faceless Benefactor By Victor Sage
Arkham Asylum, the sanest house in Gotham, is negotiating plans to rebuild the damaged wing due to a broken gas pipe early last week. Sources report that a local philanthropist who wishes to remain unknown has donated a generous sum of money to the asylum in order to repair the damages. Arkham’s new director, Doctor Jonathan Crane, stated, “The man wishes to remain anonymous, which I find to be quite respectable. Too often today people do the right thing simply for recognition. It’s encouraging to see someone step up and not only offer their help and support, but also decide to take no credit for their actions.” Director Crane, whose new policies have been secretive so far, went on to state that the unknown donor has contracted a crew, and reconstruction will begin in less than a week’s time.
The familiar veil of secrecy covering Arkham Asylum’s actions and dealings seems to remain in place, even under new management. One must wonder if this decision is beneficial to Gotham and its citizens. Should Arkham Asylum be more public with its policies and ideologies regarding the rehabilitation of some of Gotham’s most dangerous inhabitants? Or, perhaps, is this clandestine outlook the best course of action? With all things, it appears only time will be able to answer these questions.
****
Four Days Later …
Jason Todd and Harleen Quinzel sit in a quiet coffee shop, enjoying a peaceful morning together. The couple sits opposite each other at their table positioned next to the large glass window overlooking the city street. For the first time in months, the sky is free of clouds, giving Gotham a bright fall day despite the biting cold weather. Jason’s arm is wrapped tightly in bandages beneath his long sleeve shirt. On his forehead a white gauze patch rests atop his brow, concealing the injury from the week prior. His lips move charismatically as he talks, telling a witty joke. Harley laughs freely, softly grabbing Jason’s hand as she smiles. “Jason, that’s terrible,” she says insincerely.
“What can I say,” he smirks, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m heartless.” Harley’s laugh continues for a moment before slowly simmering down. “But what could make Arkham breakdown like that?” She asks, this time more serious. “What could cause someone to just, all of a sudden, have a mental catastrophe?”
Jason moves his head thoughtfully, “Not sure,” he begins. “Maybe it’s from being cooped up in his office – completely isolated from everyone and everything – for so long he just lost touch with reality.” Finishing his explanation, he shifts the focus to a more personal topic. “Point is, Harley, I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you in his mania.” Harley smiles, touched by his caring tone. She moves her hand up Jason’s arm a bit, touching the sensitive portion of his wound. He winces quickly, caught off guard by the sudden pang.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harley says, retracting her hand quickly. “No, it’s fine,” he tells her dismissively. “Just tender, that’s all.” Harley falls quiet for a moment as she relives the fateful moment. “You know,” she begins, her voice somber. “When you fell through the floor … I thought you died.” Jason pauses before responding, choosing his words carefully, lest he upset her.
“At this point, you should know I’m near indestructible,” he jokes. “Yeah, haha,” she laughs nervously. “You do have a habit of escaping death. … Strange how it seems to follow you, though.”
“I suppose it’s somewhat my fault. I voluntarily put myself in those situations.” “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she starts – easing into the subject smoothly. “Jason, you told me a while ago you’d be honest with me – tell me what’s been going on, instead of keeping me in the dark.”
“Harley, I-“ “Jason, half our dates seem to be me meeting you in a hospital bed! Every time I get a phone call from you I expect it’s to tell me that you’re in trouble. And, I have no problem helping you – I don’t – but, for all I do for you – all the trust I give you, I’d just like you to reciprocate that.” Jason lets out a heavy sigh, knowing once more that Harley’s right. He tosses the idea around in his head for a moment, thinking deeply about what he wants to do next.
“Harley,” he speaks finally, making up his mind. “You’re right. Truth is, I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you for a while now,” he says honestly. “I mean, I can’t keep putting you through this – it’s not right, it’s not fair.” He takes in a deep breath, and then exhales slowly through his nose as he calms his body. “I guess this is as good a time as any, so here it goes.” He looks into her eyes, staring at her with a brash intensity. His heart beats fast as his mind tries to contemplate the truth of what he’s about to say – what he’s about to admit. “Harley, there’s something you don’t know about me – about what it is I really do.”
“Go on,” she says, her attention completely fixated on Jason’s every word. “What I do, who I am – it’s-“ Suddenly, Jason stops as the sound of his phone vibrating on the table interrupts his admission. His eyes break contact with Harley’s, and he stares at the contact name on the phone’s screen. “Ah, sorry – one second,” he apologies as he grabs the phone. Concealing the screen, he sees the contact name – “Babsy” – and opens the message.
Sender: Babsy +1955******* Sent: 7:45:12 am 11/24/--
Gotham Square, 22 Millar Drive – trouble
A wave of relief comes over Jason as he closes out the message and slips the phone into his back pocket. Woefully, he looks up to Harley, seeing the expression of disillusionment on her face as he rises from his seat.
“Harley, I … I’m really sorry, I’ve gotta go.” “Let me guess,” she says aggressively, her tone changing nearly instantaneously. “ ’Work’ ?”
“No,” he says truthfully. “No, it’s … it’s personal, look – this isn’t over, alright? I promise I’ll explain everything.” “You said that the last time.” “I know, but this time I’m going to follow through with what I said. But right now, I’ve gotta go.”
“Jason, you’re recovering from significant trauma. You were in the hospital not a week ago! What’s so important that you’ve got to go to in such a hurry?” Jason bites his lip, still trying to find the appropriate words to speak.
“It’s related to what I was going to tell you, I’ll say that much.” Harley groans as she folds her arms poutfully over her chest. She stares straight at the wall ahead, refusing to look Jason in the face. “I can’t do this forever, Jason.” “I know,” he says hurriedly. “I promise, your patience will be rewarded.”
He waits for her to respond, but she stays silent. As he attempts to console her, he feels the phone in his back pocket rumble once more – urging him to leave. “I’ll talk to you later.”
With that, Jason rushes out of the coffee shop and hastily runs down the city streets outside, making his way toward Gotham Square.
The Chichen Itza is The most well-preserved archaeological site of pre-Columbian civilization, Chichen Itza was a major Mayan city. In the center is a monument that resembles an ancient pyramid with huge steps along it's side, at the top is where the emperor would sit on a Jaguar Throne carved from sandstone and painted red with jade inlays. Most days it would be swarming with archeologists, the chipping of hammers and sweeping of brushes, trying to find traces of ancient Mayan civilisation, echoing through the site. But this night, a different sound was heard.
Gunshots rang throughout the skies, as hundreds of men, women and children were hunted through through the countryside, having run from their homes they felt like sheep being herded by dogs into a pen. As the Mexicans hid among the monument that their predecessors had created, mothers held their children's mouths shut to prevent their crying, while husbands lied to wife and child that all would be alright, their tears began to soak like the blood of the Mayans'.
The men in armored vans drove to the pyramid structure, before stopping at the foot of the site. These men wore black kevlar and form fitting Special Ops uniform. Their eyes were covered with green night vision goggles. Each was armed with a large rifle, brimming with blue energy. One of these men, made several motions with his hand, and the others all gathered around the site, aiming their weapons at the civilians who huddled closer together, in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the firepower. The signaling man smiled.
To these people we are the demons and monsters from their nightmares. What they fail to realize is we will soon be their gods."Hail Kobra!" He exclaimed. The men gathered around responded in unison, "Hail Kobra!" His grin widened, and in mad exhilaration he grabbed a young girl, only about 17 by the wrist, and began dragging her to the pyramid.
*"No! Adrianna!"* A much younger boy exclaimed, standing up and trying to grab her back, before a soldier kicked him in the stomach and knocked him down, before he and another soldier began to beat the child.
*"No! Stop hurting my brother! Amon!"* The girl cried out, before the man holding her wrist slapped her.
"Quiet ****e!" He dragged her to the top of the pyramid and threw her down on the top. He then turned to face his men and spoke aloud. "In mere moments, Lex Luthor will destroy this worl man has developed to shield himself, allowing a new age to occur. The world will be reborn in fire, and we shall lead the way. We shall be immortalized, as the gods of the new generation. KOBRA, KOBRA, KOBR-" Lightning cracked across the sky, and in a moment the world changed.
As if the lightning was alive, in that moment before the thunder spoke, lives were torn from the soldiers of Kobra, and they were tossed aside like rag dolls. They littered the pyramid. And the man who lead them, found his kneck locked in a vice grip. He choked his last breath, before the divine being tossed him aside.
On the floor staring at this man in wonder, after an eternity of silence Adrianna finally plucked up the courage to ask him a question. *"Who are you?"*
The man turned to look at her, and said in a powerful voice;
*"I am Black Adam."* And the civilians cheered his name.
A week and a half has passed. I'm sober and in AA now. I'm taking my medicine again like I should be and my thoughts are now clearer, less jumbled and clipped.
I'm coming to terms with what I did, slowly but surely. I'm a murderer, bully, and manipulative thug...I've become my father. I've become Jim Gordon. I'm not sure I can live with that, so I have to burn it all.
The fire from the incinerator flares and kicks up with every piece of paper. Each shred of blackmail and evidence adds more fuel to the fire and makes it burn hotter and last longer, I suppose you'd call that a metaphor. This abandoned building is where I lay my sins to rest.
Surveillance photos and transcripts go into the fire. Snapshots of Sal Maroni, Selina Kyle, Vic Sage, Jim Gordon, Harvey Dent and his girlfriend. I've since learned her name is Gilda. Her and Dent were supposed to get married.
Then there's the evidence. Photos of Umberto Maroni's dead and dismembered body staring up at the camera lens with dull and glazed over eyes, the bullets I pulled out of him that belonged to Selina and the ballistics report that proved those bullets came from her gun. The blood spatter report that proved Jim Gordon shot an unarmed Black Mask while he was on the ground. Snapshots of Sage perched on a rooftop in a suit, a bizarre mask making his face appear to be blank. All that evidence and blackmail kept for the sole purpose of leverage.
The ski-mask and gloves I used the night I took Maroni's life and torched Dent's house go in as well. The fire eats them up and begins coughing black smoke out. Maybe the fire knows what I did with them, the black smoke signifying that my corruption extends even to my clothing.
I toss transcripts and tapes in next. Written and recorded conversations of phone calls and me talking with everyone from Maroni and Batman to Selina and Jim Gordon. I have Gordon on tape admitting to the crimes Holiday accused him of, but I'm on tape as well admitting to cover them up. That goes into the fire.
My big box of blackmail and sins is empty save for a few things. I keep Holiday's original confession. The one Sage saw me destroy in the bathroom was a copy. Left is a surveillance recording I made last year. Selina, under deep cover as her Holly Robinson persona, making love to Maroni. Last among the things still are photos of Barbara Gordon. Photos of her going to and from school, hanging out with friends, and sneaking out of the house late at night. It seems Barbara is keeping a secret from daddy. We all have secrets. If she knew who her father really was, her skin would crawl and she'd disown him.
I grab the tape of Selina and Maroni and the photos of Barbara and chuck them into the fire as well. I watch them burn as I hold on to the journal Michael Akins wrote and the recorded conversation of his confession.
I'm turning over a new leaf....but leverage on powerful people is always a good thing to have.
My home. Or, at least, it was for a short while. A little two-story, two-bedroom house on the outskirts of the city limit. Somewhere removed from the madness of the inner city. Somewhere I could raise a family. And then, so quickly, it went up in flames. Literally.
***
"It's perfect!" Gilda gushes as I take my hands away from her eyes. She turns to me with that smile that makes me feel like I can do anything. "How can we afford this?"
I smirk. "Well, I'm no Bruce Wayne, but being DA doesn't hurt the bank account."
Gilda rushes up to the front door, running her hand along the stained wood. "Harvey, this is so amazing! When can we move in?"
"Whenever, I guess. I just assumed we'd move in the spring, after the wedding."
Gilda runs back to me, grabbing my hands. "Let's move now. As soon as possible!"
***
The front door is gone now. The fire consumed it. In its place, the fire department put up some caution tape. I duck under that tape as I step into the house, hearing the wind whistling through the abandoned structure. I look to my left, the dining room. I look to my right, the living room. Both are little more than piles of ash surrounded by crumbling walls.
There's more caution tape around the foot of the stairs. I tear it aside. I ascend the steps slowly, the weakened wood creaking with every move I make. Every breath is labored, as though I'm breathing in the ash which covers the remnants of the house.
The upstairs is even worse than the downstairs. I walk carefully, the wooden floor bending beneath my weight. I turn the corner into the first room on the right, and my heart grows heavy.
***
"You're not peeking, are you?"
Laughing, I reply, "No, I'm not peeking! Can I open my eyes yet?"
"Not yet..." Gilda takes my hand and guides me a little farther. "Okay, now you can look!"
I open my eyes to a flood of bright colors. The left side of the room is blue, the right pink. In the far corner, there's a crib with a mobile dangling over it. The realization hits me like a brick wall. "You're not...?"
Gilda bites her lip, nodding gleefully. "I am. I found out last week." As I pick her up in my arms, she laughs and explains, "I wanted to tell you so badly, but I wanted to surprise you!" I put her down and hold her tightly. "The hardest part was keeping it a secret. I had to wait until you left for work to go back to painting."
"I don't believe it," I say, smiling.
"I figured when we know what it's going to be, we can just paint the other half of the room together."
***
The blue and pink are barely visible now. Everything's just black and gray. The mobile's gone. The flames took it. The crib lays in a pile in the corner, charred and battered. The entire room is a reminder of a life that almost was. Deep down, I know we'll get our chance to try again, but the reality still stings. I close my eyes and walk away from the room before I can think about it any further.
I trudge down the hall, the smell of fire filling my lungs. I come to the room at the far end of the hall. Our bedroom. Images of that fateful night flash through my head. I block them out and keep moving. I stand in the doorway, looking out over the remnants of what once was our life.
Something catches the light, drawing my gaze. I approach it carefully, like a butterfly that might fly away if I get too close. Bending down, I kneel in the ash and soot to get a closer look. It's a coin. Or, more specifically, my grandfather's lucky two-headed coin. I must've taken it out of my pocket before the fire.
I pick it up, holding it in the palm of my hand. When I flip the coin over, I see that the other side is badly burnt. Whereas once before the two faces were the same, now one is untouched while the other is horribly scarred. I try to rub off the black marks on the back side of the coin, but they are permanent.
My grandfather's lucky coin. I guess it's only half as lucky now. Still, I'll take what I can get. Slipping the coin into my pocket, I stand up slowly and make my way out of the bedroom and out of the house. Once I hit the street, I don't look back.
"In fifteen minutes," I answer while putting the finishing touches on a Facebook message to Tara Conners, my best friend still living in Keystone. I smile as I look at her profile picture - a shot of the two of us after Senior Prom.
My roommate, Chloe Sullivan, sits at her desk on her side of the room, typing furiously. She and I have gotten along really well so far. Hailing from central Pennsylvania, Chloe's never lived in a city before. Coming to MetU was something of a culture shock for her, so we've stuck together these first few weeks.
I close my laptop and tuck it away in my backpack. Hopping off my bed, I slip my feet into a pair of flip-flops. "Are you going to the mixer tonight?" I ask while quickly brushing my hair.
"I don't know," Chloe answers. "I might work late at the Torch after class." The Torch is MetU's student-run newspaper, of which Chloe is a passionate contributor. I've read some of her articles, and she's actually pretty good. She hopes to get an internship at The Daily Planet while she's here in Metropolis.
"Alright, well, let me know. See you later."
***
I'm not going to pretend like I enjoy biology class. As an English education major, biology represents nothing more to me than a graduation requirement. On days like today, when I'm running a little late, I'm forced to sit in the back row - which is fine by me, frankly, because it means I can surf the web in peace.
Suddenly, in the middle of Professor Otto Binder's lecture about cellular structure, the doors to the lecture hall burst open.
"Ah, Mr. Stone! Nice of you to join us," Professor Binder calls out sarcastically.
The student in question - something Stone, I presume - makes no response and simply plops down in the seat next to mine. As he takes his computer out of his backpack, I can see a football. He notices me staring and smiles.
"Are you a football player?"
He suddenly gets very offended. "Why? 'Cause I'm black?"
I blush. "No, no! I just saw your--"
He smiles and starts laughing. "Yeah, I'm a football player," he explains. He holds out his hand. "Vic Stone."
"Linda Danvers."
"Linda?" he repeats, arching an eyebrow. "Damn, I didn't know anyone under 50 had that name."
I blush again. Then, without knowing why, I blurt out, "Well, some people call me 'Kara.'" And by "some people," I mean my dead birth parents and an alien parasite that tried to kill me a month ago.
Vic laughs. "Okay, Linda who's also Kara. Whatever you say."
"Mr. Stone, do you mind?" Professor Binder calls out once more, interrupting us and making me jump in my seat. "Thank you. As I was saying..."
Vic looks at me out of the corner of his eye and grins.
"Selina Kyle. Heard she's some kinda trust-fund socialite from Star City. Just moved to Gotham last week. Don't really know anything about her."
"Well, I'm about to find out. Wish me luck."
***
SELINA KYLE
Wearing an $8000 dress, drinking a glass of $700 wine. I haven't lived this well since Maroni used to take me out on the town, back in another life. I must admit, it is nice. With dear old Sal gone, there's no price on Selina Kyle's head. I can enjoy the nightlife once again.
Of course, I'm here for business as well as pleasure. Tonight's an art showing at Sofia Falcone Gigante's penthouse. Sofia, Carmine Falcone's precious little flower. Daddy's up for a retrial soon, but I see the sadness in Sofia's eyes from across the room.
Still thinking about Sal's death, I'm sure. As Maroni's one-time "girlfriend," I'm probably the only person who knew the truth about their relationship. If only Carmine knew, what would he think? And poor Rocco, the bastard stuck with Sofia 'til death do them part. I wonder if he ever suspects that Sofia pretends to be with someone else when they lay down together.
"Excuse me, miss. You seem to be in need of a refill."
I turn and see a light-haired man with a goofy smile.
"I'm Phillip."
"Selina," I reply, holding out my glass for him to fill. In truth, I have zero interest in meeting anyone tonight. But appearances must be maintained, and the $700 wine isn't going to drink itself.
"So what do you think about the art?"
I smile. "I think I'll be taking some of it home."
***
For the daughter of the most powerful crimelord this city has ever seen, Sofia has a lot to learn about security. This is going to be even easier than I anticipated.
The mob seems to have gotten its second wind, the GCPD is acting like an official street gang, Batman is as nutty as squirrel ****. People are downtrodden, all hope seems to be lost.
That's where I can come in.
I'm Gotham's hero, but not the one it needs....or deserves....or even asked for. But I'm still its hero, dammit! So they'll keep on ignoring me, because I can take it. Because I'm not their hero. I'm.....
Wait....what the **** am I?
Guess that's why I call myself the Question.
Tonight's work brings me here to the waterfront. I've noticed a disturbing new trend over the past week or so. Purse-snatchers, armed robbers, and all manner of thugs seem to be jacked up on some kind of weird steroids. They're fast and really, really strong. Believe me, I have the bruises to prove it. A snitch told me about some warehouse out on the docks moving product for these guys. That's why I came here tonight.
I creep on the roof, looking down through the skylight at the crates on the floor below. Gotta get down there some kinda way. I start prying at the skyline and try to pull the window up.
"C'mon....get out...you little!"
The window pops open and I lose my balance, fall forward through the open hole and landing on the wooden crates about fifteen feet below.
".....Owwww"
I pick myself up and take a deep breath, letting the air that was knocked out of my lungs come back. Leaping off the crates, I pull my flashlight out and shine it over the crates and their shipping manifest.
"Hmmm....."
What the hell is Miraclo?
"Coulda sworn I heard something."
I quickly turn my flashlight off and leap behind the crate. Footsteps get closer and beams of light accompany them. Two men, guards who are probably armed.
"Look up there," one of them says as he shines his light up towards the skylight. "Think it fell on its own?"
"Hell if I know. Fan out and see if anybody got in. Bird mighta sat on it and it fell through, or may be a team of commandos in the building.
Something amazing had happened. The child stared in awe at his hands, amazed not at their being but rather the fact that they were no longer transparent. He was physical... flesh... corporeal existance. The sensation of having his feet rooted to the ground by gravity, the weight of his body, the ebb and flow of breath in his lungs, the beating of an organ in his chest were all new experiences for him. There was a place in the Phantom Zone where physical manifestation was possible for a time, but Lor had never been there. At least, not to his knowledge. One of father's soldiers had once made the comment that Lor had been made there, but the child didn't understand his meaning. The soldier was no longer with them either. Father had said that the soldier's loyalty had failed.
Fealty and service were rewarded by father's just rule. Failure only undermined father's authority and that was unacceptable. Father was a great man to give so much and ask so little, and so simple a thing, in return. For his greatness, loyalty was the least of what was owed General Zod.
"Are those... the stars?" he asked breathlessly. It was the only thing they could be. He'd heard of them countless times, but it had seemed no less fantastic than the tales of Krypton or physical life that he'd been told.
Dropping to one knee, the son knelt beside the god-like figure of Zod and bowed his head dutifully. His was a fealty not of subservience but the utter devotion of a young child flawlessly demonstrating the obedience he had been taught to display in respect. "My father, will you conquer them all?" The look of hope that shone in the child's eyes as he turned his face up betrayed the fact that the boy believed he already knew the answer to the question.
The allure of the wonders waiting in the universe beyond the hull of the ship drew the boy's gaze off into the wild places there in the sea of stars. So many wonderous things waiting out there to be seen. So many places unfathomable to him waited to be visited. "I want to see each one kneel before Zod,"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“You know, I don’t think you’ve told us your name.”
The silence resumed as that well-worn, guarded expression revealed itself once again. Eyes moving with precision timing as they took in either man in turn. Always focusing on one or the other. His parents had never told him about a planet called Metropolis, so if mother and father did not know of this place then Lor would assume that Metropolis knew nothing of Zod. But he knew that there was a Kryptonian here. One named Superman.
And Superman was not a Kryptonian name.
Which meant that Lor had no way of knowing what family was represented on this planet Metropolis. And many of the Kryptonians outside the Phantom Zone had been his father’s enemy. For all Lor knew, this Superman could out to be the devil Jor-El himself.
No, this place was not of Krypton. It did not kneel before Zod. And that made Lor’s name too powerful to surrender. Perhaps that was why this other Kryptonian on Metropolis would adopt a nonsensical name such as Superman. It made that a model to follow. Lowering his head, the child crossed his arms across his chest and very plainly announced...
“I’m Superboy.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The seconds ticked by, everyone holding their breath as the tension stifled the room until finally all the monitors lit up with a view of the international space station. It took a moment for anyone to make out the space shuttle, it was flipped over so the black heat shield was showing.
“She’s in a flat spin,” Joe noted sharply, his eyes tracking the roll and yaw. “Let’s hope they still have manual control... Calculate their orbit decay,” he demanded, voice snapping like a whip.
“What’s that?” a voice asked.
That was when Joe saw it. A small white speck. “That’s Micah Flint,” the man commented, his throat suddenly dry. “Freefalling into Earth’s gravity.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sound of a door being thrown open and light suddenly illuminating what had been a darkened room shook the young Kryptonian from out of his deep slumber. Brown eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as the child sat up in the bed and teetered on the edge of consciousness. Beside him, Krypto gave a whine and a snort. “Wha’s wrong?” the boy mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he squinted at the silhouette framed against the doorway.
The only response that came were two articles thrown onto the bed. A pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. The shirt was emblazoned with the black outline of the Kryptonian symbol for hope, the stylized S-shield which had become associated with Superman on this world.
“You said your name is Superboy,” Dabney Donovan commented simply, his eyes never leaving the boy’s. “How would you like the chance to prove it?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A red blur streaked across the curve of the Earth, this time after a solitary white figure. The astronaut that he was supposed to recover. The man looked as though he might still be alive, but he seemed as though he were asleep...
Taking hold of the bulky figure, the child began descending back toward the Earth. Back toward Metropolis.
...and now, the continuation...
The Pentagon U.S. Department of Defense
Arlington, Virginia
Dabney Donovan had a very bad feeling about this.
A week ago, Superboy had been controversial among the various agencies of the United States government. Whether through a lack of interest, other items of greater attention, or lax attitude toward taking on the custody of a superpowered second grader, NASA had managed to hold onto the individual they had named ‘Superboy’ because the name didn’t mean anything. A week ago, that boy had never saved anyone. He was regarded by the public as an internet hoax created by Photoshop and Twitter, while in the shadows arguments over phone conferences had hosted administrative turf battles fought with paper blood-letting in a red-tape war of aggression. A cold war that might forever be a blight on the careers of the two men who’d thought that studying the boy in a non-invasive environment was just the right thing to do.
Particularly if they were the ones getting the credit for those studies.
Then, over the last five days, everything had begun to come apart at the seams as every government agency, Congress, and even the White House Communication Agency had demanded access to the NASA records that had been earmarked as Project Superboy.
First, the child of tomorrow had single-handedly rescued the Space Shuttle Excalibur. Impressions left in the metal and fibrous tile of the orbiter from his hands gave clear and convincing evidence of the sheer physical forces that the boy had been able to wrestle with. It was a feat worthy of Superman, demonstrated by a boy who couldn’t be expected to understand all of the consequences for his actions.
Second, Superboy had recovered the astronaut who had been lost in space and returned him to Earth. As could be expected, a story that sensational couldn’t be kept secret. And the leak of information to the media that an astronaut had been recovered from a disastrous space walk meant that the press was asking questions. If anyone was going to act to make sure that Superboy never saw the light of day, it would have to be now. A shuttle landing after an accident could be explained away. An astronaut rescued after the shuttle was already on the ground in a location all the way on the other side of the United States?
But what had really put it over the edge was when Superboy had taken his heroics into his own hand. As uncomfortable as it was for some to have the shuttle and astronaut stories out there, at least Superboy had acted on instructions from Donovan. But after delivering Micah Flint to the care of Dr. Michaels, the child had vanished. Random media from around Metropolis and NASA’s own orbital satellites had explained his activities. Superboy and the Flash. Superboy and the Atom. A picture taken on a cell phone camera of Centennial Park in the middle of Metropolis that had included Superman, the Bat-Man of Gotham City, and others Donovan didn’t even recognize. Hubble had captured images of heroes battling in the very vacuum of space with a monster of titanic proportions. And Superboy had been in the thick of it, amid clouds of what they believed to be the creature’s blood.
Originally today’s meeting was supposed to be another phone conference between NASA, Metahuman Affairs, and Homeland Security. Overnight it had become a face-to-face with assistant directors well above Dabney’s paygrade, at NASA Headquarters in Washington, D.C. so that a few senators from the Oversight Committee on Metahumans could attend. But there had been no mention of the military being involved.
Twenty minutes ago, that changed. And not for the better.
Outside the darkened window of the car that had picked them up at Washington-Reagan National Airport, the looming structure that was the very embodiment of the Department of Defense loomed from just off the highway. The men who were acting as their escorts had flashed the credentials of federal special agents, which meant that the FBI was now involved. Two of them rode in the back with the pair, stoically watching in silence. These people were afraid of Superman. Give the source of that fear over to a child... and it produced real terror.
This particular terror refused to keep his seatbelt on, not that Dabney really saw a reason to press the issue. First rule of parenting was to pick your battles, and there wasn’t a car wreck in history that was going to do more than maybe put a bruise on the boy. Resting both of his hands protectively on the sandy-haired boy, Donovan found himself feeling oddly protective. When the DMA had elected to pick this fight Dabney had regarded it as nothing more than territorial, now it felt almost personal. Giving Superboy a pat on the back, Donovan tried to keep a poker face as the car turned into the Pentagon parking lot.
As he expected, the area where the car stopped had a security corridor set up to block out any onlookers. The rainbow of uniforms outside represented everything from the Army to the Coast Guard, another bad sign. As the car door was opened and Dabney put a foot down to the curb, the lithe Superboy had slipped out and into the air. Not far, hovering off the concrete so that his head was at about the same eye-level as Dabney. Superboy didn’t like to be looked down upon. That much had been obvious from their very first meeting with him.
Unfortunately, these people didn’t like reminders that the child was capable of superhuman feats. “Feet on the ground, now,” a soldier barked, bursting from behind a crowd of colonels.
Dabney got out of the car and set one hand on Superboy’s shoulder and outstretched the other toward the soldier. “Now just hold on a second...”
“FEET ON THE GROUND, NOW.”
“Why?”
The sheer innocence of the question sent a shiver up Donovan’s spine. Of all of the times for Superboy to ask questions - particularly those questions - this was the absolute worst case scenario. Lowering his voice, Dabney tried to lean his head so that his face blocked Superboy’s view of the soldier. “These people are just a little nervous, Superboy, they don’t mean any...”
A hand lashed out to roughly take the scientist by the shoulder and spin him around so that Donovan found himself looking at a Marine officer. “Sir, we need you to get the child under control immediately.”
“He's perfectly in control. He's levitating. That is all.”
“Sir, he needs to stop levitating. And he needs to do it, now.”
“Or what?” It was two simple words, but the innocence of before had begun to yield to a tone that was both haughty and disdainful. Before Donovan had even blinked, Superboy had interjected himself between the two men. Raising himself up in the air so that he was slightly above the Marine’s eye level, the boy paused as though waiting for a serious answer to his question before he repeated it. “Or you’ll do... what?”
Dabney felt the color drain out of his face as a sweat suddenly drenched his entire body. He knew that tone. And he also knew that this was not the time for Superboy to cop an attitude. Tapping the child on the shoulder, the man leaned in and whispered into the boy’s ear, “Just bring it down to the floor for me. For me.”
To be honest, Donovan had no idea just what was about to happen. For a second, Superboy had merely looked back at Dabney. There had been a moment during that second when, just for a moment, Donovan had almost expected Superboy to ask him ‘or what’ as well. Finally, the child turned his head and just stared at the Marine as he slowly lowered himself down until the soles of his tennis shoes were completely flat on the ground.
Snapping his fingers, the Marine summoned a pair of guards over. “Sir, please instruct the child that he’ll be going with these soldiers. They’ll take him to a place where he can play while we talk. And we expect that he’ll behave.”
“You expect muc...” Superboy began, before Dabney's hand clamped over the child’s mouth.
“Superboy doesn’t need me to explain anything to him. He can hear better than you or I can. And you’d be surprised how far a little common courtesy can get you with kids. Even flying ones,” Donovan stated curtly, before bending down and dropping his voice to as faint a whisper as he could. “I won’t lie kid, I think we might be in some deep ****.”
The comment only caused a puzzled look from the boy. Leaning against the side of Dabney’s head, the child cupped his hands around the man’s ear and asked, “What does ‘****’ mean?”
“Ask me again in eight years. And don’t repeat that word,” Donovan answered cryptically, as he clapped the boy on the shoulder and gently pushed him away. “Just go with the soldiers for now. And try not to break anything, or anyone.”
Whether guilt or fear, Donovan found himself suddenly on the verge of tears as he watched the soldiers lead the child away by the hand.
Superboy had saved the world.
As he was beckoned into a meeting room which looked to contain as many stars as were in the night sky, Dabney wasn’t so sure that he could save the boy.
"Just between you and me, did you really think you'd pull this off?" I chuckle as I step on his gun and and kick it away from his hand.
The man lying in front of me is Bobby....Billy? B-something. I don't remember. I don't really care. What? Hey, screw you, as if you remember the name of everyone you beat the **** out of.
Anyway, he was a bodyguard for some big shot crime boss back in Keystone and he tried to make off with the old man's money. You know, because that always works out.
I was told he was paranoid as all hell, always carries a piece with him. Isn't too shy about using it either. I decided on sticking to blades on this job, you know, make it interesting? I know. Shut the **** up, I know. About as challenging as hunting for bacteria in ****e's mouth.
"Listen.." I continue but he coughs up some blood and keeps clawing at the hunting knife in his stomach. "Listen." I nudge his head with my boot. "Your boss paid me extra to tell you something before you bled out. Something about...betrayal...or...I don't know. Don't care. Consider the message delivered." I reach down and grab the handle of the knife embedded in his gut and yank it out. He screams out but soon goes quiet. Blood cascades down onto the alley floor.
It's a work of art, I'm telling you.
I don't expect you to understand but this is all just so....You know, before we met, this kind of job would have made me giddy like a school girl. To feel the knife sink into his stomach and feel his blood pour down over my hands....but now? I just....
....I don't care. Sticking it to some greedy little punk just doesn't seem all that cool when you've tangled with the big boys. I know. I know you did but I told you already, you caught me off guard.
I reach down into my suit and pull out the sixth disposable cell phone I've bought this week. I text the usual number the usual message and wait for the reply.
I've almost finished my cigarette when my phone starts beeping.
Rhiannon takes a deep breath and composes herself.
I can't believe it Mac is dead. I just can't buy it. Everything lining up just so nicely for me at Star Labs and everything else just falling into line. No it's too perfect for me to buy it.
She fixes her cat TJ a bowl of Meow-Mix and sits down looking out the window.
I checked everything as The Atom the evidence at MPD and the scene and it too was too perfect to be an accident leaving no trace of doubt who was behind all this.
"Waller," she says.
So Mac shook hands with the Devil and he got burned literally. The accident was also served to not only send a message to me that she can take out the ones in love, but also to cut off my support network. I have my Justice League team-mates, but they don 't know about Waller and who knows how they're going to react when they find out.
Rhiannon walks over to the air-vent and transforms into The Atom.
She floats out through the air-vent and into the city.
I can deal with all that later right now I think I need to get out for a while and get a feel for the city.
I give the nurse a nod as I walk into the hallway to Gotham General's Intensive Care Unit. I come to a stop at room 218 and the two patrolmen that are posted outside the door.
"Jack, Vince."
They nod and let me pass through into the room. The steady beat of the EKG heart monitor fills the room. Laying in the bead is the comatose body of James Gordon. A week ago, someone shot Gordon three times. The first bullet tore into his chest and ripped through the other side, causing his right lung to collapse. The second bullet tore into his face, coming to a stop just a half millimeter from his spinal cord. The third shot also tore into his face. This one went upwards towards the brain, ripping his gray matter and finally stopping almost dead center in his brain.
The doctors managed to save his lung and remove the bullet lodged in his back, but the bullet in his brain was too risky. He's breathing on his own without the help fo the machine so that says his basic brain fuctions are still working, but the doctor's don't give him much a chance to come out of this coma.
"Hello, Jim," I say as I pull a chair up to the side of the bed. "It's me, Nygma. I'm here again to check on you. You're still the same as you were last week. No signs of improvement. I think the doctor says that there is at best a 10% chance you'll wake up. That's good news for me. Now, don't take that personal. We've been at odds with each other over the past year. We came to a truce, but it' was a shaky one at best. We were headed on a collision course for each other. Both of us could never make it out of this goddamn city alive. I can't be you, I learned that the hard way. I want out, and you know damn well you wouldn't let me out of our deal. You had me by the balls and I you. This is for the best, Jim. I get a chance to get my humanity back and you get to die like a hero band nobody will ever find out what kind of monster you really are."
I stand up, patting Gordon's arm. "Rest easy, sir. It won't be long and you'll be in a better place....eh, probably not."
I'm heading to the door when it opens, Essen walks in.
"Nygma? What are you doing here?"
"Just checking on Jim. See how he's doing."
"That's kind and considerate....and nothing like you."
"I may seem like a jerk, but I care. Sorry that I don't live up to my rep, commish."
"Acting Commissioner, Nygma. It's just temporary until Jim gets back on his feet."
"I hate to be a realist, Sarah, but it's a good chance your temp job may get permenant."
"How the hell do you know?" Essen snarls. "You kiss enough ass to become a doctor?"
"No," I mumble. "My mother was in a coma a lot like this one. Doctor gave her about the same odds. She lived for about four days before dying."
"Oh...I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's okay. Like you said, you didn't know. It's something I don't want to talk about."
One of the nurses knocks and opens the door. "Excuse me, but visiting hours are over."
"Okay, thanks. Could you two give me a second, I want to say something to him before I go."
I head out of the room behind the nurse and wait around out in the hallway with the patrolmen. Sarah comes out the room a few minutes later wiping tears from her eyes. She heads down the hallway and I follow after her.
"Mind if I walk with you?"
"Free country, Nygma. Do what you want."
"Look, I know how hard it is going through this. Seeing a loved one laying in the hospital bed like that is never easy. If there's anything you or Jim's daughter need, I'm happy to help out."
"You want to help me out? Find out who did this to him and see he gets put away for life."
"Working on that. Fields and Driver managed to canvass the area around the crime scene and found the weapon. It was discarded in a garbage can. No prints, but smudges on it indicate whoever shot Jim was wearing gloves. Serial number was filed down, so we don't have much to go on."
The hospital's front door slides open and we walk out into the cool night.
"So you don't have any leads yet."
"No, ma'am."
"Find some, goddammit!" She cries out. I can see Essen is on the verge of tears again.
"I'll do what I can, Sarah. You know how the game is better than anyone. We've hit a dead end and exhausted most investigative avenues. Lot of things have CID stretched thin. The murder rate has doubled, most of Homicide is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Half of the MCU is working Jim's case and the other half is on the......the, uhh, the Dent thing. These things are a bit of a crap shoot, you know that."
Essen rubs her eyes and shakes her head with a sigh. "I know, I know. It's just, I always thought Jim was untouchable. From the time we first met on the beat, he always had that swagger. He was a good cop who didn't take **** from anyone. It was that swagger that attracted me to him and made me fall in love with him."
"I hope we can catch who did this, Sarah. I really do. If anyone deserves justice, it's Jim."
I do my best not to smile at that last part. I meant it, but not the way it came out. Jim Gordon is getting his justice right now.
"Thank you, Ed. I know we've had our shares of arguments and butted heads more than once while we were working together in the MCU, but you are a good cop and a good man."
Sarah puts her hand on my arm and smiles at me. I reply back with a sheepish grin. I know I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, but I can't help but wonder if somewhere in another plane of existence, Gordon is watching us. I hope he is.
Jim opened his eyes. He was lying flat on his back on the floor of his office. Ethan Bennet was standing above him, gun smoking like they did in the movies. Jim frowned. He made to get up, but couldn't, he was rooted to the ground. He breathed a ragged breath and waited for him to finish the job. He waited. Bennet turned and walked away. Jim breathed out. Closed his eyes. He'd just rest now.
***
"Jim," a voice called "Hey Jim,"
Jim opened his eyes, for a second time. The room was neon white, not quite a hospital, but not quite anything else that he could put his finger on. He was dressed in his formal suit, which he didn't find as odd as he should have done. It was a very important day after all. Eventually the room dimmed slightly and he was able to look at the speaker. He was a well-groomed man with blond hair and spectacles. He had the sort of wide-open, honest face that the best sort of people do.
"Good, you're awake," the man said "We cant be late,"
"You're my lawyer," Jim said, straightening his tie.
"Something like that," the man said.
They hurried out of the white room, and in the manner of dreams, they were immediately in the next destination. It was a grand courtroom, the kind that was going out of fashion these days. The presiding judge wore a wig, like the British did, though there was only blackness where his face should have been. The jury all had a pearly glow to them, and there were faces that he swore he should have recognised. It was starting to hit him then. He'd taken three bullets, two to the head...
"So glad you decided to make it Gabe," the prosecution lawyer said. His face was as thin and hatchet like as Gabe's was wide and honest. He grinned, and it looked as though his teeth had been sharpened.
"Neron, always a pleasure," Gabe said smoothly, though clearly indicating that the opposite was true. The pair hurriedly took their places on the defendant's bench. The judge banged the gavel. Jim almost groaned. He knew what he was about to say next.
"The court calls the case of the Kingdom of Heaven v Jim Gordon,"
That's the first thing I think about when I look at the body.
911 got a call two hours ago about a dead body in a field off Freemont. Patrol showed up, then the two detectives Homicide dispatched, then the rest of the Homicide shift and their CO, a few detectives from the MCU, and finally me. As the head of CID, I'm only called in to supervise on major cases.
This seems to be one of those times.
CSI surrounds the body, flashbulbs go off and cast the body into a eerie glow.
Our victim is a woman, cut in half at the waste. The top half lays approximately three feet away from the lower half. Her genitals have been removed, cuts and slashes are all racked up and down both halves of her body, small burns are all over her torso, particularly the breast, and her face is mangled from repeated blows. All the blood in the victim's body has been drained out, causing her corpse to become dull and gray, all devoid of life. Her pale face is framed by bright red hair. It's all over her face, covering her lifeless eyes.
I squat down next to the body and begin looking the body over.
"What do we have?"
I look over my shoulder at Marcus Driver pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Great, MCU's worse detective is on the job. Bad guys beware indeed.
"Female. Looks to be anywhere from the age of 18 to 30. Approximately 5'3, maybe 5'5 if you put both halves of her body together. I'd say cause of death is repeated blunt force trauma to the head. Doesn't look like the work of fists, so my money is on something like a club or maybe even a bat. The cuts on her body seem to be caused post-mortem, but the burns are pre-mortem. Just looking at the cuts I can tell you it was close. Whoever killed her probably didn't know she was already dead when they started with the cuts. They tortured her, beat her, and then kept torturing her until they cut her in half."
"I....agree?"
I roll my eyes and turn back to the body. "I left something important out, Driver. Tell me what it is."
"Umm...well....she doesn't appear to be bloody. There's no blood in the area, actually."
"Bingo! What does that tell us?"
"....She wasn't killed here?"
"Two for two, he's on fire. I'll make a detective out of you yet. I want this one, Driver. I'll take lead."
"Can you do that?"
"I'm in charge of all criminal investigations, I can do what I want. You'll work as my secondary. You're still on that.......Dent thing, right?"
"Yeah. Charlie and I seem to be coming up short on it. Eyewitness seen a man running away that night, but couldn't see his face."
".....Right. Save it for your reports. Stay on that with Fields and help me out on this. Go ahead and start canvassing for witnesses with the patrolmen. I'll take point at the crime scene."
"Sure thing."
I watch Driver walk off before I turn back around and look down at the girl.
This is it. This is the case that can change it all for me. A real victim murdered and tortured. I solve this, and it can wipe my slate clean. My road to redemption starts here.
I pull out a pen and use the tip of it to brush the hair away from the dead girl's face.
She looks like Sally Mae Jones, the case in Kentucky twelve years back that broke me. She looks like my mother. Mary Nygma: 1956 to 1982. R.I.P.
"Who were you, sweetheart, and why were you killed?"
Following the highly publicized death of boss Salvatore Maroni, word on the streets had travelled fast of an uprising. It seemed that at the time of his death, Maroni had owed considerable debt to the other families following a series of favorable loans that had helped build his criminal empire. While the last few members of the Maroni family's crime racket denied such claims, that hadn't done much to stop the other bosses from trying to collect a posthumous fee that they had all felt entitled to over the years, too intimidated to try and approach Salvatore for while he still had the city in his grip. But the times had changed, and a new era of syndication seemed to be rising across Gotham.
One notable origin of the movement within the city's mobs happened to lie within it's least popular figurehead. Since the announcement of Carmine Falcone's impending retrial, Tony Zucco had been pulling out all the stops to ensure that Falcone didn't have the authority to reassume his place as Gotham's top crimelord. With Maroni gone, Zucco had felt that the honor should rightfully go to him. But it soon became apparent that not everyone in Gotham agreed. Which was why that, while a turf war was slowly brewing between each of the other families in an effort to gain control of the East End territories, Zucco had chosen to set his sights on the one thing everyone had overlooked - Maroni's drug cartels, which had been revealed to be stored away in a warehouse on the waterfront by an embittered snitch whom had also watched Maroni die with a debt to owe.
So while the cops had been handsomely paid off to look the other way, five trucks that had been hired by Zucco pulled up to the abandoned shipyard with the sole purpose of stealing the merchandise for repackaging. With the high risk factor in play and more manpower than anyone else was currently employing, not one boss in Gotham would be able to accuse the Falcone rackets of taking Maroni's exports for themselves, making the job as easy to enact as it was to plan.
From across the city, Zucco smiled to himself proudly, listening in on the job from the moment that it began. Lighting himself a new cigar, the Italian mobster carefully monitored his men's progress to ensure that his prize would be obtained. "See anything yet, boys?"
"Hell yeah. The walls are practically lined with the stuff, just like you told us."
"Good to hear. Guess I won't have to cut our source's fingers off."
"Why let that stop you?"
Zucco smirked. "Hey, this is business, not pleasure. And besides..."
"You already tossed him in the river?"
"I already tossed him in the river."
On the other side of the line, heavily armed hoods began to load the crates into the back of their trucks. Every ounce of product was a popular narcotic that had continually become high in demand from customers living in The Narrows, ranging from cocaine, heroin, meth, and premium marijuana. Before tonight, only the late Maroni had managed to be the dealer with the largest selection. But there was about to be a new face on the streets for the city's users to turn to. Zucco leaned back in his chair and threw his legs over the desk, particularly relaxed at the thought.
"Alright, it's getting late. I'll leave you boys to it. Just make sure that cargo gets back here by sunrise."
"Got it, boss."
Snapping his phone shut, Zucco's current underboss, Angelo Carbone, proceeded to take inventory as the men continued to work. Everything seemed to be going according to schedule, with no missing items that were unaccounted for. He just hoped that that's the way things stayed, because otherwise, Zucco was going down. And taking them all with him. "C'mon, let's pick it up! Zucco wants the merchandise back at the checkpoint within the hour, and I'm not gonna be the one to tell him we got there late!"
Pointing to two of the waiting guards, Carbone indicated the trucks outside.
"The #%@! are you two waiting for? Get out there and keep watch!"
Giving their employer a nod, the guards headed outside and past the trucks, out of sight. But just as Carbone turned back to the crates, one of the men approached him. "Yeah?"
"Sorry to interrupt, Angelo, but we think one of the guys is missing."
"What? Who?"
"The new guy. Malone, or whatever his name is."
Carbone grit his teeth, but eventually shook his head, unaffected by the disappearance. All he wanted was to get the trucks loaded and get out before Sofia Gigante realized what they were doing under Zucco's order. "We got better things to do than send out a search party. Just tell the others to pick up his slack."
"Right."
Seconds later, the peaceful night was interrupted by a barrage of gunfire coming from outside, followed by the distinct sound of horrified screams. Carbone and the others turned towards the trucks, wide-eyed, unsure of what to make of the disturbance as their guards ran towards the source, revealing that it was one of the smugglers being attacked. Grabbing a gun from his pocket, Angelo tossed it over to the man on his right.
"You! Go check it out!"
Complying, the gunman entered the fray just as a cloud of thick smoke blanketed the outside of the shipyard. Angelo peered out at the fog and sneered, seeing the distinct forms of all three men being eclipsed by a fourth shadow. The sounds of bones cracking against one another commenced, with shots firing every so often as the struggle continued. Angelo turned back towards the others, who were frozen in shock at the carnage that was unfolding.
"Stop standing around! Zucco's gonna fry us if we stall any longer, and-..."
"Holy..."
"Don't interrupt me! I said-..."
"Angelo! Behind you!"
"What? What the #$%^'s so..."
By the time Carbone turned around, his jaw nearly hit the floor.
"...Important..."
By the time that the police would arrive on the scene, they would find four of the five trucks missing. But all men present, save for one, would be accounted for along with most of the drug cartel's merchandise that Tony Zucco attempted to steal for La Cosa Nostra's inventory. Zucco would learn of it himself just before sunrise, and naturally, discover in the same moment that his fate as leader of the Falcone family would be sealed. It was just one of several different foils that would end up crippling the crime families that had plagued Gotham's citizens for far too long. But the scene at Maroni's waterfront storage plant, particularly, had sent a clear message to each and every criminal looking to capitalize on the mobster's death.
Crime may have escalated in Gotham City.
But there was still one presence there to fight it.
Six shots, almost brought my life to an end. I lay on the ground face first as my blood soaks the pavement beneath me. Im only in this life threaten position because of the emptiness in my heart from my mother passing. I was just a child when she was taken by one of the most common killers known to man, cancer. After she died even at a young age I knew my life would never be the same. Ive never found anything to fill the black hole that had over come me, till this night.
After leaving a function with some friends I headed home. I would have never imagined that this night could have been my last. Before I could make it home I was interrupted by the screams of a lady in need of help. At the precise moment something then overcame me, I didnt know what it was right away but it was something I had to find out.
Without thinking I ran into the alley from where the cries were sounding from. A man or bet yet a scumbag was trying to force himself on the young woman. I rushed in to save her without a second thought. My effort was a success but not without a price. If only I would have been more alert I would have heard him cock the gun, but I wasnt. I had finally got a feel of what I may have been missing since my moms death. Before I could embrace this feeling six shots brought that to an end.
I awaken from my dream recalling all of these. I sit up from my slouch position in my chair with the computer monitor staring me in the face. Since that night my outlook on life had change. Ive been doing countless research on how I could make this city I call home a better place. No matter what I thought of, giving back to the community or donating to our law enforcement only one thing showed a dramatic increase. That is crime fighting. These masked vigilantes have cleaned up these streets in ways the police has not. Our similarities are we all want to make our home a better place. The difference is they are well trained and I am not. It will take me years to get to their caliber and I dont have that kind of time.
But the more I think about it maybe being a masked hero is not the direction I would like to take. Last time I took the law into my own hands I almost died. There must be something I can do.
While I sit in front of the computer trying to find my path I hear the door behind me creep open. Right away I canceled out of what I was doing.
How are you doing father? I ask knowing he can be the only one entering.
I didnt know you heard me come in.
Even I myself am a bit surprised.
Your friend Tame is downstairs waiting for you. She said something about a dinner date.
I forgot about that. I was so distracted by finding my way in the world the date slipped my mind.
Tell her to give me a moment dad if you dont mind. I reply as I get up from the desk and stroll over to the closet.
You must have forgot, Ill tell her youre coming right down.
He exits slowly closing the door behind him. I cant believe I didnt remember me and Tames date I had been bugging her to have dinner with me and the answer had always been next time, that was till after my accident. Usually I would beat down her door to get a date with her but I guess lately my priorities have change.
10 minutes later I made my way downstairs. As I reach the middle steps Tame walks pass the corner looking more beautiful than i remembered. Shame it took for me to get shot to get on a date with her.
I dont believe there are words to describe how wonderful you look tonight. I inform her with a smirk on my face.
You dont look so bad your self. You almost missed out, I was about to leave. You know you shouldnt keep the girl waiting, thats my job.
And she has a sense of humor.
I apologize my lady, I shall make it up to you.
I then extend my hand for hers and she grabs mine. We both walk towards the door and as we get in front of it I quickly open the door for her. As she exits I look back at my father.
Ill see you in a bit dad.
Have a good night son. He replies as I exit behind my beautiful date.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Lex Luthor said as he stared admiringly at the glowing green jewel on his ring. "It's a radioactive isotope of extraordinary energy, with a signature that is completely harmless to anyone without the same base chemical structure--as in, anyone not from the same planet as the rock itself. Which means, this is a little souvenir from your homeworld, Superman. What was it called, I wonder?"
"...K-.....Krypton...." Superman said, his breath coming in ragged gasps, powerful waves of nausea rising up through him as he withered in the presence of the poisonous rock.
"Krypton....very dramatic sounding name. I suppose it's only fitting that this little gem here bears the same name. Kryptonium? Kryptonogen? Kryptonite? Yes, that sounds perfectly good. This little pebble of Kryptonite reacts with your cellular structure in such a way that it releases all of that stored energy you've got in there and causes the cells to break down. It's going to be a very, very painful death, I'm afraid, but fortunately for you, a relatively short one. I'd say you have maybe ninety seconds left."
Luthor adjusted the timer on his watch, simultaneously linking it with the combined nuclear arsenals of the world's major countries.
"In ninety seconds' time, Superman dies, and the world itself comes crashing down, to be molded back in my image."
He looked over to the horrified Lois Lane, who seemed torn between looking for a way out of the lunar base and finding a sharp object to jam into Lex's throat.
"I do hope you're getting all this, Miss Lane. After all, your words will be the ones that tell the world my story, of what I had to do to create the paradise that's coming. I find that reporters have a better sense of capturing the moment than historians, don't you?"
With that, Luthor walked over to the conference table and sat down at its head, turning his chair towards the window and the Earth below. With the captive Lois Lane at one side and the sickened and dying Superman at the other, Luthor allowed himself a genuine smile.
Twenty seconds to go, and I can't help but get a chill down my spine at the possibilities that are about to open up before me.
A world with no more divisions, with no more needless antagonism between social classes and nations and religions and races. A world with no more clashes of outdated concepts and ideas.
A whole world united under the banner of true Society.
I turn to the broken and dying Superman, who's collapsed on the floor and is barely breathing at this point.
"Ten seconds, Superman. Keep your eyes open as long as you can, because this is something you need to see."
He glares at me hatefully, but that's all he's capable of doing while still being bombarded by the Kryptonite radiation from the jewel on my finger.
It's here. The world of which humanity has always dreamed is upon us, all thanks to me.
I run to the window to see the lights of the world go dark, to see Armageddon unleashed....
......and nothing happens.
".....what?"
The destabilization of the world's power grid should have been instantaneous. Right now every developed nation on the planet should be panicking from a global blackout.
Instead, I still hear the news feeds clamoring on about Superman and I 'mysteriously disappearing' after our confrontation in Centennial Park. There isn't even the slightest change.
".....WHAT?!"
Every muscle in my body is shaking with anger, my mind barely able to think straight, clouded by frustration and rage. My life's work, the culmination of so much time and effort.....and it's just.....not happening?!
This can't be right. My plan was flawless, my trap was perfect. I left nothing to chance. Nothing, nothing about the Manhattan Project could simply go wrong.
"L-Soft, bring me home, NOW."
"Mister Luthor, perhaps you should first--"
"NOW!!!!"
The L-Soft AI activates the long range teleport again, and within an instant I'm back in the LexCorp Tower. Seeing I'm in my penthouse, I activate the private elevator pod behind my desk and step inside, then prompt it to take me down into the first sub-basement: the home of the L-Soft mainframe.
A few seconds later I'm there, stepping out of the elevator and walking into the labyrinth of data banks, power cores, and memory cells that make up the AI's hardware. I storm my way to the monolithic tower in the center of the room: the processor and hard drive of L-Soft itself.
"I believe that I'm owed an explanation," I say, keeping my voice as level as I can to keep myself from exploding.
"Blue Core is still following its instructions, Mister Luthor," the AI answers. "All power grids are still active. Energy has been allocated from Doctor Osterman into creating a time-space fold which has relocated the warheads. Their current location in time and space has yet to be determined." "So Doctor Manhattan....while following his instructions.....teleported the missiles away?!"
"Affirmative, Mister Luthor."
"How can he still be following my instructions if he's just robbed me of my destiny?!?!"
"He is not following your instructions, Mister Luthor. He is following his instructions."
This bit of cryptic answering stops me cold.
"Explain."
"While Doctor Osterman's conscious intelligence is still stored within my databanks, he is unable to refuse any instructions put before him by any member of the Society. I have detected alterations in his command list, entered today under an unknown user account, one with the highest-level clearance."
My blood runs cold. Someone in the Society has gone behind my back. I have not only been robbed of my vision today....I have been betrayed.
"I want access to all security footage, both physical and digital. Backups of every line of code processed for the last week, and I want every piece of input data traced to its source location. I'll find whoever did this, and break them before me, before the sun goes down today!"
"With all due respect, Mister Luthor, perhaps you should first worry about the security breach in the Lunar Watchtower."
"What do you mean? Superman is--..........oh no."
The Kryptonite ring. It's still on my finger. In my surprise and my anger, I'd forgotten to take it off and leave it with them.
"No, no, NO! I had him! I HAD HIM!!!"
"Long-range teleport still requires an additional thirty seconds to recharge," the AI informs me.
"Then in the meantime, scramble the Watchtower security team, code-red conditions! I want everyone on that station armed and converging on his location! Slow him down until I can get back up there and finish him off!"
"Yes sir," L-Soft obeys, and I make my way back to the elevator, my blood boiling. It's all I can do to not simply scream out loud.
To the neighboring dwellers of The Narrows, he was nothing but another nutjob crawled out of the woodwork. But hours after he had first perched himself on the steps of the abandoned ruins of the St. Mary's Gotham City Cathedral, the stranger dressed in black had garnered more than a few curious listeners. Until a crowd had finally built themselves up infront of the scene, chanting and raving along with his every word. Faith had been something of a rarity within the city over the past few years, with only a few small communions forming in the less desirable corners of the East End. Yet this curious looking man, whose features were hidden by a dark hood and tinted glasses, had seemingly caught the fever of religion that had nearly been victim to a staggering crime rate. It was just the sort of preaching that the people of Gotham needed to hear.
"Brothers and sisters, can you feel it? That tightening grip that the wicked have over us? We've all felt it once, at one time or another. We've all seen the perils that this evil city's placed upon our very doors!"
With a glove that was white as snow, he pointed out towards a random member of the crowd. A homeless looking man, stopped to see whatever the commotion was that had drawn these people to his little corner of the slums.
"You, sir! Have you felt it?"
He looked back at the man in black, confused and bewildered by his bizarre getup. But nevertheless nodded, obviously taken hold by his cruel circumstances.
"Of course you have! You've seen all that there is to see, I'd wager. Tasted that bitter pollution that clouds our faith. The weed of crime has extended over our eyes, and ripped us away from God's loving embrace! Gotham City has become a breathing pit of despair, and I am here to tell you all that it is not the work of the wicked men who take from us! It is not the thieves, the liars, or the murders whom wish to inflict misery upon the innocent! No, they are simply the offspring of the true evil that has rooted itself within our fair dwellings!"
Reaching into his coat, the man in black produced a months' old headline from The Gotham Guardian, detailing a two-man vigilante assault on a band of inner-city kidnappers. The pictures to the left of the story were artists renderings of the men responsible, who called themselves The Question and The Red Hood.
"The true threat are the vigilantes! Men and women who see themselves as above the laws of men! I despair, dear brothers, at the thought of having to witness just what evil truly lurks behind their masks and capes. They have integrated themselves into our very way of life, when they should be abolished and outcast!"
Turning the page, he produced another story that detailed a recent arson attempt that had been traced back to a metahuman vigilante working within Gotham. The papers had began to call her Starfire.
"And look, here... the irrefutable proof of their wicked influence! Even our children are drawn to their dangerous ways, inspired to burn the very city itself to the ground in outrage! With every action they make, these oppressors of justice bring about more chaos than the city has ever seen! Do they believe themselves to be the absolute authority? If that is so, they overlook the one true balance of order that they could not possibly overshadow..."
His final book is one of the Holy Bible, which the stranger had tucked away in the front lapel of his cloak. Holding it up for all to see, the man narrows his gaze towards the crowd as they begin to consider his claims.
"The word of the Lord. He shall save us all from these offsprings of Satan himself. He shall provide us with sanctuary when the end has finally come. Gotham City is on a fast track to the fires of hell, and I want to make sure that it's good citizens envision the better world beyond it. A world free of crime. Free of suffering."
He indicates his own face. "Free of masks. But I cannot do it alone, my brothers! No, this great act of mercy requires the strength of us all, as we should seek refuge in the kingdom of Heaven. Tonight, I emplore you to take one of the many copies I have provided of the great book, and ask yourselves the question to end all. The first question that any man of God would ask themselves in these troubling times."
A hand outstretched to the crowd, the man in black's voice nearly trembles as all eyes fall upon him. His platform has reached the masses. And for the first time, he believes that God has finally heard his prayers.
"Who will be saved?"
"Oracle. Launch."
It staggers for a moment, but by the time that I can finally see the logo transfix itself into the database, it's a welcome sight that I haven't seen in quite some time. The virtual face practically smiles as it greets me, giving me a new level of comfort that I've been sorely lacking in recent days.
Oracle version 3.0 is now fully operational
Awaiting further instructions
Took me nearly a month of research to get it going, but it worked - The Waynetech Communications Satellite is finally back online. By the time that I've walked to the other side of the cave, I can already tell that the lights are brimming brighter than before. The program's way of telling me that it's integrated itself into the wiring. Giving it a few basic diagnostics commands from the Batcomputer's terminal, I do something rare by sitting back and relaxing, allowing relief to wash over me. Between the upgrades I've been making to the suit, the cave's structural designs, and now The Oracle's programming, I feel like I can take a break from all of the updates to my methodology and focus my efforts on the real job. Cleansing Gotham of the mafia once and for all.
Several weeks ago, I had began to question myself. But the current crime rate leaves me no room to waste time in patronizing myself any longer. In the days that I've used to improve my current arsenal to it's fullest potential, I've had to hear about alot of deaths that have occurred because of the crime families' reckless greed. It's pushed me forward in a way that I didn't believe possible, while forcing me to accept my own limitations. The result is that doubt has left me entirely, leaving only progression in the war against crime, preparing me for the daunting task that lies ahead of me.
Something more needs to be done. I've grown tired of waiting for the perfect opportunities to strike. The mobs have overstayed their welcome and the city is overdue to outgrow their influence. So tonight, and every other night for the rest of this crusade, I begin to pool my resources towards the ideal that started me on this path. A better Gotham, and a better tomorrow for it's citizens. And I can't protect them if I'm still wallowing in the shadows.
A new dawn is coming. I can feel it creeping up on me.
Just have to hope it's one that I'm willing to accept.
"Brooding again, are we?"
Turning around, I notice that Alfred's standing behind me. How long he's been there, exactly, is a question that I'm not sure I want to even ask.
"I do hate to interrupt that, sir. Please continue if you wish."
"You wanted something, Alfred?"
"Simply to remind you of your commitments to tomorrow evening's demonstration of the company's latest strides in electronic vehicular engineering."
I don't recall making any sort of commitment, but if there's anything I've learned, it's that Alfred usually takes the liberty of making them for me.
"Hh. Reminds me, I need to get a car."
"You own thirty six Lamborghini hybrids. Not withstanding the rarer models from Sweden."
"Doesn't mean I can't have more."
"Yes, well. I assume you were referencing something to aide you in your evening rounds. To which I direct you towards The Bat-Pod."
Confirming the diagnostics' check, I continue the verbal sparring.
"It's not enough anymore. I need something that can keep up with your standard street nitroglycerin. As it stands, the Bat-Pod can barely outrace a squad car."
Alfred nods. "I shall add it to your prioritized schedule."
"Thanks."
"And not, might I mention, above tomorrow's demonstration. Bruce Wayne is making an appearance whether you like it or not."
"Remind me to deduct your pay."
"That, too, shall go onto the list."
Maybe I was wrong. Gotham will see better tomorrow.
I put my head in my hands as Professor Thawne keeps on droning on. My eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. The last few daus are really catching up to me."
"Alright, which of you beer-guzzling youths can tell me about the Brachistochrone Curve? How about you, Mister Allen?"
I look up at Thawne standing in front of the class with a smug look on his face.
"Umm....well, you see.....the Brachistochrone Curveor curve of fastest descent, is the curve between two points that is covered in the least time by a body that starts at the first point with zero speed and is constrained to move along the curve to the second point, under the action of constant gravity and assuming no friction."
The smug look on Thawne's face all but disappears. So, what if I used my powers to read through my book at super speeds? You'd do it too!
"Corrct. There may be hope for you yet, Allen."
************
"....Bart!"
I snap awake and look over at Val, who's driving my car across the bridge into Central City. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just tired. I've been cramming for my chem final lately and sacrificing sleep for it."
It's a little lie, but love means lying every now and then. Does this dress make me look fat? No. Does size matter? No. Were you out all night investigating a string of robberies by a superhuman criminal? Of course not.
"Well, don't forget about our date tonight."
"Double date, actually. Ralph's girlfriend is coming into town. I invited him if that's okay."
"So we finally get a chance to meet this mystery woman he loves to talk about. I'm still convinced she's fake."
"Just because you and Wally couldn't find her on Facebook doesn't mean she isn't real."
"Yeah. She could just be a technophobe.....or fifty years old."
"Oh, God, maybe you're right. I mean, she's named Sue....do you know of anyone under forty named that? I don't."
"I have always found it kinda strange the way he keeps calling her his old lady."
Val pulls up next to her apartment. We say goodbye and kiss before I drive off towards my house.....well, not quite. I park the car at the mall and leap into the backseat. Seriously, I need to figure out a way to keep my suit in an easy to reach place. I'm dressed and out of the car in the blink of an eye...and then back to my car to make sure I didn't lock my keys in them like last time. Okay, they're safe. Now, let's get to it.
There's been a robbery involving metahumans each day this week. On Monday it was Heatwave who broke into a bank and took half the cash in the safe while she torched the other half. Tuesday night a man robbed a jewlery store leaping out of the mirrored surface of a diamond. Wednesday, Captain Cold froze an armored car to the pavement and turned the guards into solid ice before making off with everything in the back of the car. Something's going to happen today, and I'm going to find out. Hopefully I can stop it and actually cram for Professor Desmond's upcoming final.
Before I can continue any more of my awesome and informative narration, the radio in my ear begins going off.
"Dispatch to 21-2. We have a Code 7 at 827 Franklin Way."
Code 7, that's a robbery. 21-2, I recognize that call sign.
"21-2 to dispatch, Captain Garrick and I are 10-2 at the location. Signs seem to indicate Code 7 is atlest twelve hours old"
Yep. My father's there. If he and Jay are on the case, it must be serious.
Still running, I take a left on Slater Avenue and head towards the crime scene.
Sherman Fine. Known in most circles as "The Broker." He's an extremely versatile man who dabbles in a bit of everything - money laundering, black market sales, bookmaking, you name it. The man who gave me his name affectionately referred to Sherman as "the linchpin of Gotham's underground." His little black book of thieves, dealers, muscle, and independent contractors would get most mafiosos hot.
He's of use to me.
Sherman finishes his examination of the paintings I lifted from Sofia Gigante's penthouse. I understand her chief-of-security went missing the next day. Pity. Staring at me from behind those cold, reflective lenses of his, Sherman announces, "Should I even bother to ask how you get your hands on such valuable merchandise?"
I smile coyly. "You know the terms of our arrangement, Sherman. I bring you the goods, you find a buyer. I don't ask how you do your job. I only ask you give me the same courtesy."
"Fair enough." Sherman turns to me, giving the paintings one last little glance. "These are going to be hard to move. We have to wait for the heat to go down. You know how touchy artwork can be."
I nod. "You have the account number. Transfer the money when it's done." Sherman snaps his fingers, and two men dressed in black shirts walk into the empty warehouse and begin carrying the paintings outside. "Tell your men to be careful, Sherman. We wouldn't want them damaging the merchandise."
***
I enter the penthouse, dropping my purse at the door. Something soft and warm begins to rub against my ankles. I smile. "Hello, Isis. Mommy missed you, too." I turn on the lights, and the expanse of the penthouse is lit up brilliantly before me. I bend low and pick up Isis, cradling her in my arms. "Don't worry. I was careful as always."
I carry Isis over to the leather couch, setting her down on the armrest. I take in the reality of my new life, funded by none other than the late Salvatore Maroni. When Maroni died, he left behind a lot of hidden assets. And as someone who worked undercover in Maroni's business for well over a year, I had an extensive knowledge of where Maroni hid his dirty money.
That's where my new hobby came into play. Using the skills I had at my disposal, I came into the possession of a large amount of money and built a new public persona for Selina Kyle. With Maroni dead and Nygma buying me amnesty from Commissioner Gordon, I had no one to fear.
See, that's the thing about cats. We always land on our feet.
I look up at the celing and try to find my words. I've been thinking about that day for almost twenty-eight years, but I've never been able to tell anyone anything but the most basic facts.
"I was ten and it was the last day at school before Christmas break. I came home around three and found her laying on the floor. She was underneath the Christmas tree and there was a bottle of drain cleaner in her hands. Blood and spilled drain clearner was on the floor all around her. I started to panic, cried. I called 911 and they took her to the hospital. I found out all the gory details later when I looked at the case file as a deputy. Doctor's report said the drain cleaner burned her lips and tongue off. It went down into her throat and ate her esophagus and stomach lining. She was in a coma for four days before she finally died. It was Christmas Eve. She was buried the day after Christmas."
"Earlier you said you blamed your father, what did you mean by that?"
"Dad used to abuse her. It was less physically and more mental, always yelling at her and putting her down. Mom would always take it, which baffled me. It took her ten years, but she finally got sick of it and kicked him out. He cried and begged for her to take him back. She wouldn't listen to her and he finally got mad. He tried to break into our hours the night before she died. He was standing on the porch, threatening to kill her. Claiming he'd burn her from the inside out. She called the cops, but he left before they got there and they couldn't find him. The next day she ends up dead. My grandaddy, my father's daddy, was on the city council at the time, so it was quietly pushed under the rug. He didn't want it getting out that his crazy daughter-in-law had committed suicide. It'd be even worse if his crazier ***hole son murdered her."
"Would you say this was the start of it all for you? Your love of mystery, riddles, and murder? The one murder you could never solve that pushed you on?"
"I solved it my own way, doctor. Soon as I turned 18 I had daddy put in a mental asylum. I made sure it was the worst one in Kentucky. I told them about his violent past and they gave him a lobotomy. He died there six years later, an emotionless robot. I'd say he deserved what he got."
"....I think I'll leave it there for this week, Edward. Our time is up."
I sit up on the couch and smile at Doctor Meridian. "That hour flew by, Doc."
"I think we made some real progress, Edward. You should be pleased. Before we leave, how are you looking on your prescription?"
"I have half a bottle left. I'm on my last refill, too."
"That's good enough to make it through to our next session, so I'll wait until next week to write you a new one."
"Okay. I want to thank you, Doctor. I've never had anyone I can confide in."
"Well, I'm more than a confidant. I'm here to help you. No offense, but you're mental state is very delicate. I believe in rehabilitation and you're among those that can be saved."
I thank Doctor Meridian for her time and she thanks me for my money. Feeling a bit better about myself, I head out of the office and pull out my phone once I'm in my car.
The phone rings for a minute before the voice mail switches on.
"Selina....it's, uhh, it's me again. Sergeant Bolton came to see me again. You haven't been in to work for awhile. I've been putting him off, but if you don't show up tomorrow you'll be fired. I know we ended on a bad note, but I said a whole mess of things I didn't mean. I'm done with all that. I'm trying to change. If you don't want to ever see me again, I understand. I don't want your love, just your forgiveness. I think I deserve that much."
I hang up and shake my head. Third message I've left for her, all of them pretty much saying the same thing. I still love her and she still hates me, nothing's changed. I've committed enough crimes to go to death row for her, and she still can't stand me. Accesory to Murder After the Fact for Umberto Maroni, and Murder in the 1st Degree for Sal Maroni. Those are things Doctor Chase Meridian will never know. No amount of psychology can make those things right.
My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. My heart skips a beat as I pull it out. It sinks when I see the number.
"What is it, Driver?"
"You might want to head down to the morgue. We got an ID on the Jane Doe we found last night all cut up and mutilated. You're gonna want to see this."
It appears that our date seems to be going fairly well. Shes smiling and laughing really into our dinner engagement, shame the same cant be said for me. Not saying she is uninteresting or anything its just my attention is still back at home in front of my computer desk. Maybe going on this date wasnt such a brilliant idea on my part. Tame is a wonderful girl and we have a lot in common the only down side is she caught me at a pivotal time in my life. Im still trying to figure out who I really am and until I find the answers I really shouldnt accepted our dinner date.
You know Lucas Im enjoying myself, I feel kind of bad I made you chase me for so long.
I asked you every day I saw you and you always said maybe next time. I figured since you didnt say no I had a chance. But ah why did you finally decide to go on a date with me? Ah damn, I didnt think before asking my question. I know why she finally said yes its because she thought I was going to die. Ive always known she has been into me and she probably thought I wasnt going to make it and she was thinking of what could have been. My instincts were correct from before I shouldnt have agreed to this. Im talking without thinking, anyone would know the answer to my question.
I watch as she lays her fork down beside her plate. Tames face shows me her emotions fairly obviously.
She then takes a deep breath as she begins to explain. After I heard the news about what happened to you I just thought about all the times you tried to get me on a date and I always turned you down, I realize me playing hard to get was childish
The atmosphere at the table has turn for the worse, I now have her thinking of a uncomfortable time.
When I heard the news that you might make it I figured that maybe Ill have a chance with you.
Water begins to build around her eyes but she fights the urge to do so and she should. No tears should fall because of me. There is no need for her to be this troubled.
Tame Im sorry I didnt mean for you to get upset.
No its okay, its not just what happened to you. When I was younger I lost my father and the night before we got into a fight and I was never able to tell him how sorry I was. When the situation with you happened it just reminded me of that is all.
So her tears were not for me after all it was for the lost love of a parent, I know that feeling all to well.
It wasnt my intentions to reopen old wounds I apologize. This will have to go down as worse first date. Dont pay attention to what shes saying, check. Mind wondering off in other places, check. Make her cry, check. Oh yea this is going good.
There is no need for you to apologize its not like you knew. Its in the past Im still trying to move pass it. So lets talk about something else.
By all means.
I have been dying to ask you this. What were you thinking when you saved that woman? You had to know it was dangerous.
Well I guess I wasnt really thinking at all. It wasnt like I was looking for danger you know? I was walking and kind of stumble into it. Which is a lie, I heard the screams and went in knowing full well what could happen. But she doesnt need to know this. Last thing I need for Tame to think is Im an adrenaline junky.
Well what you did was a great thing I know it must have really hurt you when you found out she was killed in her apartment.
WHAT! The whole night I have been forcing myself to pay attention but what she just said grabbed my interest immediately.
Oh my god you didnt know? During the time you was in the hospital someone broke in her house and killed her. Police are saying it was a break in because other apartments in her neighborhood have been robbed.
Im sorry that is just too hard for me to swallow. She is a victim of attempted rape and witness to attempted murder and couple days later she ends up died to a break in? Something doesnt add up at all. There has to been a reason behind this, Its just to much of a coincidence. Maybe if I think back to that night it could be possible I may have missed something that can help me shine some light on the situation.
Within moments I see my self back on the alley face down on the pavement. I have relived this moment time and time again in my head to the point it is almost like watching a video. While lying in my own blood the crock walks slowly past me and in his hand he had something, till now I really never paid it any mind. I cant really make it out because my vision began to get blurry because I was moments away from passing out. Come on Lucas focus, what is it he had in his hand? As he walks away my eyes still fallows him while hes leaving the alley and then at the last moment it comes into focus.
HE HAD HER PURSE!
Her break in wasnt by accident he came back for her so there wouldnt be any witnesses because she is the only one who can identify him, besides me. Im almost certain he must have thought he killed me so he only needed to get rid of one. To be sure I have to get evidence to back my theory up. I have to go to her apartment.
Tame Im really sorry but I just remember I have something very important to do that must have my full attention I then reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I drop 300 down on the table which is more than enough. that should pay for dinner and also your cab ride home. Once again Im sorry about this. Without saying any more I exit myself from the table and head to the parking lot.
Leave your date in the middle of dinner, check.
A good hour or so had pass and Ive found my self in front of some apartments on Skunk ave. Before getting here I had to make a quick stop home to find the womans address. Being here I now see why the police ruled it as a break in. This area may be the cheapest to live in but its also the dangerous. I should hurry and get inside I dont want to bring any unwanted attention to myself.
As I enter the building first thing I do is head to the mail boxes, best way for me to find out what apartment number she is in. Once in front of them I scroll down till I see her last name and first name initials. I skim it some more till I finally come across it, A. Jackson apartment 3D. I immediately head for the stairs.
While walking up the stairs I try to grasp some sense of sanity. What Im doing is insane and even if my theory is correct the police wont believe me. Theres no way they will believe the word from an average citizen over their own police psychiatrist team. That being the case what is it thats driving me to find out the answers I seek?
Once on the apartment floor I make my way to 3D. The door is covered with yellow police tape, I guess they havent gotten around to taking it down. I place my hand on the knob and to my surprise and luck its unlocked. Quickly I enter and close the door behind me.
Right away I begin to observe the room. I know I may not be as good as the best but over the years Ive notice I have a keen power of observation. I think its due to my high intellect and watching shows such as The Menalist, Sanctuary and Psych. First thing I do is examine the door. Its clear to see the hinges were still intact. Who ever it was didnt force themselves in. I kneel down looking at the floor near the door and see some scuff marks. Now this is only a guess but I bet she heard the door and went to open it and then once she realize who it was she tried to close the door but the person stopped her by putting their foot in the way.
To prove my speculation I look over to the right. If what Im guess it true he would then put his force behind the door busting it wide open and by doing so it will hit the wall and the handle will leave a mark.
I move my hand along the wall at even height with the handle and sure enough I can feel the abrasions on the wall.
But still that doesnt really tell me anything. She could have went to the door, opened it and seen a rough looking guy or guys and tried to closed the door and they force their way in. I have to keep looking to find more proof to back my theory.
I work my way from the front door and into the living area. From first glance at looking at all the items in her apartment nothing seems of value. If anything it appears she was just getting by. There is no stand or anything in the living room meaning no TV. Instead of chairs she has beanbags. This wasnt no robbery I can feel it.
After spending 15 minutes in the apartment I didnt come up with any strong evidence to back my clams but I also didnt see any strong evidence to prove that this was really a robbery as the police mapped it out to be. It appears that my coming here was for nothing and I walked out on my date with Tame for a silly game of chance. I then rest my back against the wall and slowly drop down to the floor.
What am I doing? Am I just grasping for straws? I need to get home and think of a good story to tell Tame why I walked out on our I miss something under the cough. I couldnt see it while I was standing but now that Im sitting on the floor I see it.
I then crawl my way towards the cough and once close enough I reach my hand to grab it. When I finally see what it is my eyes widen with shock. Its the purse from that night. How did it get here if he had it? It can only mean one thing, he did return here and killed her. I was right this complete time.
I make my way up from the floor with the purse in hand. Now that I know who it was how am I going to find him? While thinking something had grab sight of my peripheral vision from outside, I directly turn my head and see a man standing in the middle of the street looking in the apartment at me.
[FONT="]Its him. Without hesitating I make a turn for the exit. I swing open the door with no intentions on closing it. I make it to the stairwell in no time. It wasnt aware to me that I ran down 3 flights of stairs within seconds. As I bust outside the mysterious fellow I seen earlier had vanished. He couldnt have gone that fast, I must be missing something. I then look deeper at my surrounding and then it hits me. I cant believe I didnt recognize it, right across the street is the alley he shot me. Its all starting to make sense now. He must be there waiting for me. Guess I shouldnt keep him waiting.
[/FONT] Stupidly I make my entrance into the alley walking with caution as I take steps onward. Im doing exactly what he wants, playing right into his hand. With these types of actions its no wonder why I got shot the first time.
As the alley begins to come to a dead end I stop just a couple of feet before the wall.
No need hiding I see you. I wasnt saying that to throw him off I can really see him trying to mask himself within the shadows. All of a sudden I can see in the dark or either my eyes just adjusted very well.
He slowly steps out of the darkness and as he does so some light reflects off of the blade in his hand.
You know if you would have just minded your business the young lady would still be alive. I would have just raped her and went on my way but no you had to interfere and try to be the hero and now shes died
He cant be serious right now, is he really trying to justify what he did by blaming me?
Now I have to go out my way and kill you for good this time. Something told me I should keep an eye on this place. How stupid can you be? Why would you come back here? Your pride got hurt once you found out I killed the woman who you thought you saved? A smirk fallows after his words.
This guy is the lowest of scum, he doesnt feel any remorse or self-pity. He is nothing more than a coward.
You made a big mistake by showing your face here tonight. What the hell am I saying? This man has a knife and Im unarmed. I must be stupid but for some reason I welcome the challenge.
He breaks out in laughter. Oh really I made a mistake? Youre out here at midnight roaming the streets like your some big vigilante hero trying to find a killer and I made the mistake? Its going to be funny watching you bleed to death.
He then holds his knife in a more aggressive manner. He sways back and forth to try and force me to guess which way he is going to strike. I have little to none experience in fighting. This is by far the most idiotic thing I have done.
I can do nothing but watch him as he acts as if he is about to cut me. It quite obvious he likes to see his pray frightened and by all accounts it working. Even though Im trying to keep my poker face I know he is seeing through it. Im 100% sure he can see my heart beating out through my chest. The smart side of me is telling me to run for it but for some reason my legs doesnt want to listen to that half of me.
Then as I try to figure out what to do he doesnt wait any longer he goes on the attack. He lunges forward and my feet are frozen in place. But before he attacks something unordinary happens. I see myself take a step forward to meet my attacker face on. With my left hand I deliver a chopping blow to his hand holding the weapon making him drop it and then I fallow up with a devastating right hook rendering him unconscious. Right after that another point of view of the situation appears to me. As he approaches I use his momentum to my advantage and flip him over my shoulder slamming him to the ground also rendering him motionless. A hundred more situations ran through my mind like this.
Without warning Im back to reality and I decide to use one of the situation I was shown. As he comes for the attack I grab the blade of the knife with my right hand. This action left him surprise to say the least and also gave me an opening. Before he could come to terms with what just happened I hit him with a straight left punch to his chest that lifts him off his feet sending him soaring through the air coming to a awful stop when his body smack the wall.
What just happened? I look down at my fist and it is hard for me to wrap my head around the accomplishment I just witness. To some what I just did could be classified as super human. That reaction time and accuracy to catch the blade and the strength behind that blow was just unreal. More importantly what was that thing that occurred to me before I even made a move to attack? It was almost as if my mind ran through million of combat situations covering nearly ever result possible before the first punch was thrown. These are truly abilities I didnt have in the past.
I have to get home maybe my father can help me figure this out. This is something I have to get the answers to.
Twenty seconds to go, and I can't help but get a chill down my spine at the possibilities that are about to open up before me.
A world with no more divisions, with no more needless antagonism between social classes and nations and religions and races. A world with no more clashes of outdated concepts and ideas.
A whole world united under the banner of true Society.
I turn to the broken and dying Superman, who's collapsed on the floor and is barely breathing at this point.
"Ten seconds, Superman. Keep your eyes open as long as you can, because this is something you need to see."
He glares at me hatefully, but that's all he's capable of doing while still being bombarded by the Kryptonite radiation from the jewel on my finger.
It's here. The world of which humanity has always dreamed is upon us, all thanks to me.
I run to the window to see the lights of the world go dark, to see Armageddon unleashed....
......and nothing happens.
".....what?"
The destabilization of the world's power grid should have been instantaneous. Right now every developed nation on the planet should be panicking from a global blackout.
Instead, I still hear the news feeds clamoring on about Superman and I 'mysteriously disappearing' after our confrontation in Centennial Park. There isn't even the slightest change.
".....WHAT?!"
Every muscle in my body is shaking with anger, my mind barely able to think straight, clouded by frustration and rage. My life's work, the culmination of so much time and effort.....and it's just.....not happening?!
This can't be right. My plan was flawless, my trap was perfect. I left nothing to chance. Nothing, nothing about the Manhattan Project could simply go wrong.
"L-Soft, bring me home, NOW."
"Mister Luthor, perhaps you should first--"
"NOW!!!!"
The L-Soft AI activates the long range teleport again, and within an instant I'm back in the LexCorp Tower. Seeing I'm in my penthouse, I activate the private elevator pod behind my desk and step inside, then prompt it to take me down into the first sub-basement: the home of the L-Soft mainframe.
A few seconds later I'm there, stepping out of the elevator and walking into the labyrinth of data banks, power cores, and memory cells that make up the AI's hardware. I storm my way to the monolithic tower in the center of the room: the processor and hard drive of L-Soft itself.
"I believe that I'm owed an explanation," I say, keeping my voice as level as I can to keep myself from exploding.
"Blue Core is still following its instructions, Mister Luthor," the AI answers. "All power grids are still active. Energy has been allocated from Doctor Osterman into creating a time-space fold which has relocated the warheads. Their current location in time and space has yet to be determined." "So Doctor Manhattan....while following his instructions.....teleported the missiles away?!"
"Affirmative, Mister Luthor."
"How can he still be following my instructions if he's just robbed me of my destiny?!?!"
"He is not following your instructions, Mister Luthor. He is following his instructions."
This bit of cryptic answering stops me cold.
"Explain."
"While Doctor Osterman's conscious intelligence is still stored within my databanks, he is unable to refuse any instructions put before him by any member of the Society. I have detected alterations in his command list, entered today under an unknown user account, one with the highest-level clearance."
My blood runs cold. Someone in the Society has gone behind my back. I have not only been robbed of my vision today....I have been betrayed.
"I want access to all security footage, both physical and digital. Backups of every line of code processed for the last week, and I want every piece of input data traced to its source location. I'll find whoever did this, and break them before me, before the sun goes down today!"
"With all due respect, Mister Luthor, perhaps you should first worry about the security breach in the Lunar Watchtower."
"What do you mean? Superman is--..........oh no."
The Kryptonite ring. It's still on my finger. In my surprise and my anger, I'd forgotten to take it off and leave it with them.
"No, no, NO! I had him! I HAD HIM!!!"
"Long-range teleport still requires an additional thirty seconds to recharge," the AI informs me.
"Then in the meantime, scramble the Watchtower security team, code-red conditions! I want everyone on that station armed and converging on his location! Slow him down until I can get back up there and finish him off!"
"Yes sir," L-Soft obeys, and I make my way back to the elevator, my blood boiling. It's all I can do to not simply scream out loud.
Not good and since the Boy-Scout is not quite himself he might comeback for Lex. That's not going to happen!
Doris joins Luthor and says, "Security teams are deploying as you ordered. Since L-Soft has been compromised do you wish it to be shut down so a diagnostic scan can be run? With the exeception of primary life-support being left on-line."
Hugo sits in his leather office chair as he listens to Councilman Henshaw lament over his recent affair with the Mayor's secretary.
He is shaking and weeping, "I don't know how I could've been so foolish Dr. Strange this could cost me everything! My family! My job! My whole way of life!"
Dr. Strange crosses over to the couch. He touches his shoulder and says, "There there Elliot. I am here I can help the pain go away and the guilt go away as well, but you must be ready to let it go. Are you ready to let it go Elliot?"
He nods quickly and Strange says, "Excellent. In order to do that you must do the following."
Strange looks at him and says, "You will forget you had this affair. You will carry on as though nothing has happened free from your burden. Understood?"
Elliot smiles and nods and Strange says, "Since you are the city's liaison to Wayne Enterpises you will now tell me everything there is to know about Mr. Wayne and Wayne enterprises."
Elliot begins discussing many of the dealings he has had with Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises.
Hugo listens intently after an hour he says, " Why thank you Elliot. This has been most helpful to me. Be sure to comeback next week for another session."
The two men shake hands and Elliot leaves.
Strange fixes a drink and looks at his notes.
Fascinating information and totally useless! I could get the same information about Wayne from the Gossip rags. Which tells me something. Wayne is hiding something. I don't know what but I wll find out. Although setting up Councilman Henshaw and Miss Jacobs in that affair does provide me with two new pawns in my game
Dr Pamela Isley. Director of Biochemical Research.
Pamela Isley's expression sours as she is slowly drawn in to the latest news story, flashing on to her TV screen. Maxwell Lord speaks openly to the people of America, or perhaps even the world - hacking away at the new band of heroes, the band of heroes that consisted of Batman and Superman. The ones who saved Metropolis, the ones who helped Metropolis, now a target of bitter hate from Mr Lord. Her hand reaches the remote faster than Pamela knows, quickly switching the TV off and relaxing back in her chair. Our saviours...
A loud knocking disrupts Pamela's thoughts, causing her eyes to shift over to her glass office doors. There, stands Rhosyn Forrest, Pamela's secretary. She directs visitors and co-workers towards Pamela's office. Rhosyn's face looks slightly humble and slight sweat drops roll down her forehead. She takes a breath before she opens her mouth, only to have her boss interrupt her. "What is it, Ms Forrest, I was about to go to a meeting," The two women exchange brief eye contact
Pamela collects her files together, stacking them on top of eachother and snatching her Coffee from the corner of her desk. She takes a sip of the now cold beverage, before shutting her slick laptop and swivelling her chair to face her secretary direct. Rhosyn slightly leans in to the office, speaking quietly.
"It's Dr Woodrue, he says it's important..."
The redhead lets out a strong sigh, waving her hand limply, signallig for Rhosyn to go and collect Dr Jason Woodrue from the corridors. Dr Jason Woodrue, former Director of Biochemical Research before Pamela took over. He now works as a Research Botanist, developing different chemicals that have been drawn from plants. Quite charming and quite handsome to say the least. Pamela slides on her glasses and rises from her seat, slowly walking towards Rhosyn. "Send him in."
Rhosyn dashes away from the door, marching down the corridors. She gently pats Dr Jason Woodrue on the back, prompting him to start walking in the direction of Pamela's office. Soon, Jason stands at the doorway, smirking. In his hands, he holds two cups of coffee, held in polyester Starbucks cups."Pam, my dear rose. Coffee?"
Pamela took a step back, muttering under her breath. Jason still stood perfectly still, his white teeth making occasional appearences from his slight grin. "I'm not your rose, Dr Woodrue. Neither do I have time for any more Coffee,"
Jason tuts, waving his finger back and fourth. He sips the coffee he holds in his right hands and paces over to Pamela's desk. He gently sets down the coffee, before turning his attention back to the female behind him.
"What's more important than coffee with a friend?"
"Lots of things, Dr Woodrue, but at the top of the list, I would say a meeting with Dr Alyce Sinner, about importing various soothing plants in the Arkham Asylum. What do you think?"
"Hm...That is important. How about I come with you? I am a Research Botanist, remember?" Jason half-heartedly smiles at Pamela, arching his right eyebrow.
"Lock up on your way out then," Pamela storms over to her desk, grabbing her purse and shoving her files in to them. Jason chuckles slightly and follows the female as the two of them leave the office.
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