She sees no one around and transforms back into Rhiannon Palmer.
From there she enters STAR Labs through the lobby. She waves to those who see her and welcome her. Making polite convsation along the way to her office.
She stands at her door and sees:
Rhiannon Palmer
Director of Molecular Biology Reserarch & Development.
Mac's body is barely cold and they already have me in his place. This place will never be the same without him.
Shaking her head she opens the door and sees a large bouquet of flowers on her desk.
She takes out the card: Welcome Aboard -- Board of Directors.
Rhiannon moves the flowers aside.
Well glad I came in on Saturday and set up my office already. Let's get to it.
She opens the first folder on top of her desk and begins studying it.
A flock of pigeons suddenly take flight, calling aloud in wild banter as they disperse into the bright morning sky. They have been startled – scared away by the thunderous battle taking place below. As they flee, their coos represent a warning to all within earshot– a message to join them and move far from the conflict. But their cries are soon overshadowed by the sound of igniting flame, drowned out by the repetitious pounding of falling rubble. Their forewarnings will do no good – not today.
In the small block of Gotham Square, civilians run wild as they shout in fear – moving in all directions like mice released from a cage. They run from danger – the two masked men, clothed in flamboyant, tight spandex – each with its own theme. One of them men is dressed in white, black stripes wrapping around his figure in the semblance of a wild zebra. A dark belt is looped around his waist, the buckle above his groin glowing with a blue tinge. The other man wears a form fitting white suit as well, his attire spattered with ovals of all sizes and colors.
Not far from the men are brown sacks filled to the brim with stolen valuables. Like a mother bear guarding her cub, they defend the fruits of their larceny – willing to fight to the end to take what they perceive as theirs. Engaging the two men is Batgirl – recently arrived after the piercing alarm at Kirby Jewelers caught her attention on her way to school. She jumps and flips about, evading the two men’s attacks, as she bides her time – waiting for the opportunity to strike.
“Come on, Baker!” The dotted man yells with intensity. “Take her out!”
“You think I haven’t been trying?” The Zebra-Man replies in an irate voice from his perch. Strangely, the man stands horizontally on the side of a building, his feet seemingly stuck to the brick and mortar. Grabbing the buckle of his belt, he adjusts the dial on the outer ring, allowing the blue glow to dim. Instantly he flips from the wall to the ground below, landing almost perfectly on the soles of his feet. “She’s too fast! I can’t magnetize anything to her, she jumps out before it hits her!”
“Are you telling me you’re useless? She’s, like, fifteen! Man up!” “Um, excuse me – I’m way older than that,” Batgirl chimes in as she flips off the hood of a car and onto the asphalt.
“Why don’t you try hitting her?”
“Fine,” the polka dot man grumbles.
He puts his fingers under one of the circles on his suit, gripping the dot and pulling it from his body. As the yellow oval becomes turgid, he winds his arm and quickly releases it – sending the disk toward Batgirl with surprising accuracy. Barbara spins mid leap, moving her weight slightly to her left. As she adjusts her position, the disk moves past her face – gently cutting the fabric of her mask as it passes. As she lands awkwardly on her knees, she turns to see the disk embedded in the brick building behind her –able to cut through the thick material and lodge itself comfortably in place with ease.
“Whoa,” she gasps, disconcerted. “You’ve got game,” she tells the polka dotted man. “Unexpected, considering what you’re wearing.”
The dotted man frowns, “Like you have room to talk, child.” Barbara shrugs as she gets to her feet. “Touche,” she agrees, moving to engage.
Behind the car at the other side of the street, two teenagers watch in awe as Batgirl leaps toward the violent criminals. They smile wide, unbelieving of what they’re witnessing – feeling lucky to get this once in a lifetime opportunity. One of the teens takes out his phone and begins to film – capturing every shot, frame by frame.
In the center of the screen, he watches as the man rips another polka dot from his suit. He throws it to the ground, allowing the crimson disk to crack and erupt in a cloud of red smoke just as Batgirl closes in. Quickly, the two figures disappear within the gas – allowing only the sound of grunts and growls to permeate.
“Dude, how does he do that?” His friend asks in a whisper. “Shhh,” he cautions – fearful of the second criminal only yards away. “Just stay down, alright? This is freakin’ gold.”
Suddenly, the horns atop batgirl’s head pierce the cloud. In the blink of an eye, she rolls out onto the street – recovering from another of her foe’s attacks. Following close behind, the polka dot man emerges – a yellow and blue disk held in his hands.“You think you’re so smart, huh?” He snarls, the muscles in his arms becoming tense. “Well, that’s about to change. The Bat doesn’t own Gotham. Not anymore.”
The two onlookers watch, their mouths agape as they eagerly await what comes next. “Dude, she’s dead,” the one says quietly.
“Yeah, no way she’s gettin’ out of this.”
“Have a little faith,” a voice suddenly speaks, startling the boys. A glove reaches out from behind them – grabbing the teen’s arm and prying the phone from his hand. The two kids turn to see the Red Hood standing behind them, his stoic demeanor both unexpected and daunting. They begin to shake, filled with fear at the sight of the man in broad daylight. Almost ignoring their reaction, the Red Hood quickly fiddles with the phone, navigating about the menu and deleting the recent footage.
Finished, he Raises his head and tosses the phone back to the teenager. The kid fumbles to catch it, still in awe of his encounter with the fabled vigilante.
“Don’t let me find this on the six o’clock news,” he warns his voice intimidating. The two teens nod, complying quickly without quarrel. Red Hood grins as he flexes his legs and jumps high, propelling himself over the onlookers and into the fray.
As the Polka dot man pursues Batgirl, the second criminal begins to close in as well. He smiles evilly, raising his arms to chest level as he balls his hands into fists. Red Hood comes up quickly behind Zebra-Man, raising his leg high and delivering a powerful blow to the thief’s neck - knocking him down with brute force.
“Hey, dotty,” he shouts, catching the man’s attention. The Polka dot man turns to see the vigilante walking toward him, stepping over his partner who now writhes in pain on the pavement. “Tag out.”
“Oh, great,” he says in displeasure, grinding his teeth. “Two of you decided to come out into the daylight, today.” “We’re not all nocturnal,” he smiles.
“Jeez, Hood, what took you?” Barbara asks her voice more confident now. “Some of us have lives,” he scolds. “Shouldn’t you be in school, anyway?” “I was on my way there,” she explains as she and the Red Hood move in, cornering the Polka dot man. “But these two decided to rob a jewelry store and ruin my morning.” “See? Look at what you did,” Jason begins, staring at the man intently. “You ruined her morning – have you no shame?” “Not wearing that get up, he doesn’t.”
The criminal grumbles angrily beneath his breath, furious with the vigilante’s incessant mockery. In his peripheral vision, he sees his partner slowly rise to his feet. The two exchange a nod and Zebra-Man instantly understands what he must do. Stealthily, he tries to sneak up behind the Red Hood, hoping to catch him off guard and take him down.
“Hood – Look out!” Barbara yells in haste. Moving on instinct, Jason ducks and moves to his right, narrowly evading the attack from behind. In a smooth manner, he raises his elbow and turns around fast, striking his arm against Zebra-Man’s chin.
Taking advantage of the diversion, the Polka Dot Man throws one of his disks toward Batgirl – hitting her hard in the center of her chest. Like a deflating tire, she lets out a brief wheeze as the wind is knocked from her body. The disk erupts on contact, bursting into an menagerie of sparks and flame. The blast knocks Barbara backward into the side door of a parked car, causing her to instantaneously black out.
Jason looks over his shoulder to see Batgirl’s body go limp, slouching unnaturally as she falls unconscious. “NO!” He shouts aloud, rage filling his every fiber. His hands slip into the interior of his jacket, disappearing beneath the thick black leather. As he whips his arms outward, he reveals two pistols held tightly within his grasp.
Without thought, Jason unleashes on the Polka Dot Man – unloading a full clip of his rubber bullets into the man’s unprotected neck. As the small pellets make contact with the soft tissue, pain surges through the thief’s body. His agony soon grips his mind, strangling his consciousness as his nerves go numb from the powerful sensation. The Polka Dot Man’s eyes roll back in his head as he drops to the floor, lying lifeless on the street corner.
“ … Abner?” Zebra-Man questions in disbelief, shocked by the vigilante’s uncharacteristic use of force. As his mind tries to comprehend what has just occurred, the Red Hood charges – slamming his forearm into Zebra-Man’s neck and pinning him to the side of the building. “Wha- *hnn* arrg yyyoou doo-ig?” He gurgles, clawing at his throat as he fights to breathe.
“You listen to me,” Jason begins, his voice dark and sinister. “You leave the kid alone, understand? Anyone touches her – ANYONE - they’ll deal with me. And I’m not feeling particularly generous this time of year, so I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you … got it?” The man nods vehemently, fear coursing through his veins.
“Good,” Jason says, his tone falsely jubilant.
Stepping back, he releases his hold on the man – allowing the felon to drop to the ground. Zebra-Man grabs his neck, massaging it gently as he tries to catch his breath. As Jason looks down at him, he quickly becomes disgusted – the sight of the criminal enraging him even more. With a single strike, Jason whips the barrel of his pistol into the side of Zebra-Man’s head, knocking him unconscious without another word.
The city street instantly becomes quiet – the air filled with a strong feeling of unsettling tension. As his anger slowly subsides, Jason looks up to see a crowd of civilians standing idle, their eyes focused – first to him, then to the two men he brutally took down. The Red Hood’s emotionless helmet makes the scene all the more frightening. The image of a single man going wild in a fit of anger, disarming two men with disturbing ease, only to gaze at their motionless bodies with a face of apathy.
Almost on cue, Batgirl leans forward as she awakens. “Oh, my head,” she moans, rubbing the back of her skull thoughtfully. Raising her gaze, she sees that her foes have been defeated - the battle now long over. “Wow, nice work,” she says in praise, unaware of what has transpired. “Guess you didn’t need my help.”
Jason smiles proudly, a wave of calmness coming over him as he realizes his partner is unharmed. “Not this time,” he replies simply, slipping his pistols subtly back into the interior of his jacket, keeping them out of Barbara’s line of sight. “How do you feel?” He asks with care, turning around to face her directly.
“Like I got hit by a truck. Stain-man over there had some crafty tricks.” The onlookers remain quiet – still staring eerily at the two heroes as they converge in the center of the road. Noticing the imbalance in the air around her, Batgirl realizes the civilians’ suspicious behavior. “What’s up with them?”
“Probably speechless after watching a couple of Gotham’s finest go toe to toe with the underworld,” he covers, trying to alleviate the tension. “Come on,” he begins, putting his arm around her shoulder. “We should go.”
Without another word, Jason darts off into the alleyway – disappearing from sight as best he can in the daylight. Batgirl follows suit, trailing behind closely - still confused by both the demeanor of the onlookers, and the secretive behavior of her mentor.
Reporters flock around outside Gotham Central and badger me as I walk up the steps.
"Inspector! Inspector!"
"Any leads to the dead girl?"
"Any comment!"
I wave them off and continue inside Central and down into the morgue in the basement. Driver and Nora Fields, Charlie's wife, are waiting for me when I walk in. The dead girl from the night before is on a slab, sheets covering both halves of her body.
"Well, Nora, who is she?"
"She is Bette Kane, age 21. Youngest daughter in the Kane Family."
Driver lets a low whistle out. I furrow my brow and look at him. "What?"
"The Kane family," Driver says with a bemused smirk. "That's right, you're not from here. The Kane family is Gotham's first family, figuratively and literally. Her father Harold is the descendent of Sir Robert Kane, the founder of Gotham. They're the city's richest and most powerful family. They've had mayors, councilmen, war heros, and US senators all spawn from the same family tree."
"Wow. You stalking them, too?"
"No, I just loved history when I was in school. Nearly half of my Gotham history book was about them. It's a shame they didn't mention anything about Lord William Finger, that dude really got the shaft."
"Right. So, Nora, what can you tell us about the girl?"
"I read your field notes, Inspector. You were right on cause of death. Blunt-force trauma from something like a club or bat. The burns on her body are pre-mortem, seem to be from a cigarette based on the size. Cuts are post-mortem, as was the cut on her waist that chopped her in half. The blood in her body drained out from there and the murderer cleaned her up before dumping the body."
"Any signs of rape?"
"There are vaginal tears and cuts, which seem to indicate penetration of some sort. Same thing in the anus. The only DNA I found as her blood, so the murderer either used a condom to rape her or used an object to penetrate her."
I look down at the two body halves covered in a sheet laying on the metal slab. A rich girl from a highly respected family is found murdered in some vacant lot on the outskirts of town. It appears she was tortured before she died.
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.
I watch the gaurds patrol through the warehouse from my safe and darkened vantage point. All I have to do is wait for a chance to slip out and I'm gone.
Now Im feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now Im feelin so fly like a G6 Like a G6, Like a G6
Now Im feelin so fly like a G6
Son of a *****!
I dig into my pockets to silence my phone, but it's too little too late as the guards run towards my location. The taser sparks to life and I pounce out of the shadows, shocking an armed thug with a few thousand watts.
He falls to the ground and convulses in pain. His friend comes around the corner just in time to meet the apex of my swinging roundhouse kick. My foot connects with his jaw with a solid blow, sending the man to the ground in a heap.
"Holy ****! I actually pulled that off!"
My foot throbs from the kick. Apparently a roundhouse kick is an acquired skill. No wonder Chuck Norris made a living off of it. I quickly limp out the warehouse and reach my car. The call that blew my cover was from Helena Bertinelli. Waynetech's CEO, my first client as a PI, and my current girlfriend. I'll call her back later.
I start up the car and speed away from the docks. I need to do some research on what the hell this Miraclo is and why criminals are stockpiling it by the crate.
The unmarked pick-up truck had only just come to a stop by the time the question was asked. Leonard Snart was still sitting behind the wheel, having just committed the robbery of a lifetime. He still brimmed at the thought of the fruits of his labor, hidden in the bed of the vehicle by a large tarp. Infront of the truck stood his impatient girlfriend of sixteen months, Mickey Rory, a fellow thief who had made no secret that she was just as good - if not better - than Snart was at their respective occupation. And yet before tonight, all that the accomplished fugitive could think of for the last few months was that he wished he could feel something under the icy tips of his fingers.
Snart was a metahuman. For most, that'd be a dream come true - for him, it had mostly been a raw deal. Nevertheless, tonight was the first time that he had truly felt like his old self, a gift that he never wanted to let go of. Clutching the shift into park, Snart opened the truck door and leapt out, with a clear expression of smugness etched across his face.
"How'd it go? How do you think? I nailed it."
Rory smirked, walking over to her overly proud partner-in-crime. Rarely did Leonard ever seem to be in that great of a mood, lately, but it seemed like the reinforcement of his back-to-basics approach in tonight's assignment had done the trick. Snart had always been a fan of simplicity.
"Yeah? Good to hear. Just don't get cocky about it, you're not the only one who got a sweet score this week."
Snart quickly pecked her on the cheek, rushing to the back of the bed to unload it's cargo. "How the hell could I not? You didn't see me out there! Cutting through those rent-a-cops like they were paper. Sidewinding them so hard and fast that I could practically taste the fear in their eyes. It was almost a shame that I had to put them under the ice... I would've liked to mess with their heads some more."
"Good thing you didn't. That kinda thinking ain't gonna look good with our employer."
"Forget him, I don't care about his little squad right now. Tonight was all about me, baby. No one could've seen that heist coming from a mile away, not even the speed freak."
Removing the tarp, Snart stared long and hard at the stacks of hundred dollar bills that lined his filth-covered truck bed. The thought that there was enough of it to buy him and Mick out of any trouble that could feasibly come their way was one that had crossed his mind a couple of times on the ride over. Not that he didn't appreciate their efforts to bust the two out of Iron Heights, but Snart had never felt the urge to trust the mysterious man who called himself The Top. There was something about him that was just too seedy, even for a guy like Leonard.
Mickey whistled, impressed by the haul. "Damn. How much do you figure is in there?"
"Couple a mill', gotta be. At least enough to try and cover with three feet of metal."
"And you just took it all, right then and there? No cop stopped you on the way here?"
"If any cop saw me, they'd have went the other way. I got to turn the front of the bank into a Winter freaking Wonderland."
Mick leaned her head onto Snart's shoulder as he counted the money by glance, rubbing her finger across his chest. "Does this mean you're finally over it? All the superpowers and junk?"
Snart stopped, evidently taken out of his good mood. It didn't help that his next breath was a visible one, as he felt his spine literally go cold from the inside.
"Of course not. I might never get over that."
"It can't be all bad, if it got you this."
Snart lightly pushed her away, unable to bring himself to look at the money any longer. "You wouldn't say that if you were going through this, Mick. I can guarantee you that. A day doesn't go by when I don't wish I could pull the plug on this entire operation and figure out how to get me cured."
"Len, don't say stuff like that. It's starting to get to me."
Closing his eyes, he finally got the chance to look back at her.
"Maybe it should. Maybe this was a mistake."
"No, it wasn't. We've been over this. Between McCullough and those other two, there's no way that The Flash can throw us back in jail ever again. He's finished."
"Yeah, and then what?"
The question gave Mick pause.
"Exactly. It'll be fun at first, after the little twerp's gone, but what happens when we head across state? I heard things on the news, Mick. Those superhero wannabe freaks are starting to band together in teams. It'll only be a matter of time until we're back in prison unless we run away, now."
"We can't do that, Len."
"Why not?!"
Evidently angered, Snart threw his hands to the side as a sudden blast of snow and chilled air hit the wall. He didn't quite understand his new powers yet, but they were definitely triggered by some sort of emotional response. And whenever Leonard got angry, he couldn't control it. It was like a whirlwind of all of his repressed anger from over the years, bottled up into a storm of jagged ice.
"Do you know how easy it would be if we left now? How much simpler our lives would be if we took this money to a place like Mexico, or Italy, where none of these spooks and masks could find us?"
Mick shook her head, angry herself.
"They'd always find us. You said it yourself, they're banding together now and it'll only be a matter of time until they all crack down on all of us. That's why we have to do this. The Flash took us down, and I want to make an example out of him to show the world that we're not gonna be screwed with any more."
Taking her boyfriend's hand, Rory looked into his eyes with hope. He had never seen her so dedicated to something, even if it was just in this moment. "Don't you want that, too?"
He didn't know what to say. Apart of him wanted to tell her no, that killing the little creep wouldn't solve their problems by any stretch, but she had made a convincing enough argument. For three long years, every criminal from Central to Keystone had seen that annoying red blur cross their path before they'd wake up out of unconsciousness in cuffs, wondering what the hell had happened. And it hadn't happened just once to Snart, but twice.
Nothing would please him more than to see the kid's face under a block of ice, just like those cops. A permanent look of horror directed back at the man that had finally put an end to every Central City crook's misery.
"Yeah."
He clasped her other hand in his, preparing to give her a gentle kiss.
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.
I burst through the front door so quick it was as if wild dogs were fallowing right behind me. Its a bit shocking that I got back home within no time and Im not tired as I should be. Maybe my adrenaline is still pumping from that encounter and Im more tired then I appear to be I just dont realize it yet.
Dad!
My loud call for my father went unanswered. As I begin to search the house the first area I head to is the dinning room. To my surprise the room is empty, this is normally the place he occupies. Completing the rest of the search down stairs its clear to me he must be upstairs. I head up there taking two to three steps at a time. Once on the second floor I notice light coming from the computer room. Hes got to be in there.
Opening the door I see him resting in his chair facing me.
Dad we have to talk your not going to believe what happened to me tonight. I cant believe it myself and I was there I pause catching my breath and getting my self together thinking where to begin. okay now before I tell you what happened I need for you to just hear me and dont say anything till Im finished.
I already know that once he hears I went to find the guy who shot me he is going to go crazy but I just need him to hear me out first.
Well while on my date with Tame I found out that the woman I saved was murdered. When she explain to me how it happened I thought it sounded a bit fishy so I went to check it out I break before proceedings knowing full well he is about to say something but instead all he does is look me in the eyes and waits for me to continue. when I got to her place I found evidence that lead me to believe she was killed by the same man who tried to kill me. While explaining I feel as if Im reliving that moment again right before I looked out the window and seen my shooter yet again.
And then I dont know if it was fate or dumb luck but when I looked out the window he was in the street, just standing here watching. Dad at that moment something just overcame me and I ran down there with only one thing in mind, make him pay.
There were a lot of other emotions I was feeling but I believe its best to leave those to myself.
When I caught up with him he brought me back to the same alley he shot me in. Just being back there I relived that tragedy again. I was scared out my mind with thoughts like this may be the last day for me, he even pulled out a knife and even with those circumstances I still didnt want to back down. Just hearing myself tell him this I realize me standing up to a man with a weapon isnt one of my top 5 smartest moments.
Now that I told him what he could assume is the crazy half of the story doesnt even compare to what happens next.
Now dad what Im about to tell you it may be a little hard to take in. I think I may have super powers. Waiting on his response the only reply I got in return is silence. You would think after your child tells you they have super powers you would get some kind of reaction. Instead I get nothing, he must be waiting for me to tell him exactly what makes me believe I have superpowers.
Before he tried to attack me something turned on like a switch in my mind. It ran though any possible action for me to take before any blow was thrown.
Okay his facial expression didnt even change you would think that he already knows. Now that I think about he hasnt gave me any kind of reaction since I told him what I did. None of these seems like any kind of shock. He is holding out on me.
Why do I get the feeling there is something your not telling me? And dont say nothing because no matter how much of an understanding parent a person maybe there is no way someone could keep there calm after someone tells them they confronted their killer, so come out with the truth.
Finally he gives me response, first with his body language that feels like its giving off remorse. He rolls his chair to the left away from the front of the computer monitor revealing a human monitoring system but.
What is that? What Im looking at doesnt make any sense to me.
Son Im so sorry, I wanted to tell you what I did but I didnt know how so I figured Id wait till the day you found out on your own.
Just tell me I would have never of guessed in a 100 years my own father knew what was going on with me. Ive should have known right away something was off since I been back from the hospital he been walking on egg shells around me. I just thought it was because he thought he was going to loose me and still had a hard time adjusting to the fact.
I've practice this so many times in front of the mirror and I still dont know how to tell you so Im just going to come out with it. You are the product of bioengineerined enhancements made by your mother. As you know your mother has done projects for countless organizations. One project she never completed was one were she was trying to give people superhuman powers. Every test subject she used failed so she gave up on the project. She felt that the risk was higher than the reward, so she shelved the project. But I always had a theory to why it wasnt working. Then that night when I thought you were going to die I had the perfect opportunity to try my hypothesis. See the key is you needed for the test subject to die in order for the enhancements to work. Its like trying to install new computer hardware without turning it off. I just need for you to be died then I simply give you a reboot.
He used my mothers old project to save my life. No wonder what I said didnt have affect on him he knew then was going to come. This is a lot to take in at once but I have to know everything.
What superhuman enhancements do I have?
What your mother made was nothing short of astonishing. She designed the implants to give the user an all encompassing advantage in close combat and tactical scenarios, the user would gain enhance strength, speed, reflexes, and senses. She also believes that there could be other enhancements but since she never had a successful test subject those questions were never answered, well not till now.
He stops talking and this time around I dont have a reply to him. Its a bit hard to swallow the fact Im now one of my mothers own projects but what he did also saved my life.
Son please say something, you have to under I couldnt loose you as well. Last thing I want is for you to be mad at me.
How can I be mad at you father, you have just gave me a big piece to a large puzzle. I dont need you to tell me your reason behind your actions I fully understand. He has made me something that would have taken me years.
I understand. Are the last words I say to him as I wall out of the room heading at.
Carmine Falcone. The Roman. At one point, he held the entire city of Gotham in the palm of his hand. Falcone was the most powerful crime boss this city had ever seen. Many believed he was untouchable. Then, Batman arrived. Say what you will about Batman's methods, but his presence was instrumental in Falcone's arrest. The fall of The Roman's empire sent shockwaves through Gotham. Many would rise up to take his place, like Maroni, but none could fill the gap left by The Roman.
Now, all of our progress is threatened. For months, starting long before I became DA, evidence for Falcone's trial has been disappearing. It's clear that even from Stonegate, The Roman continues to operate. The police have been powerless, or otherwise unwilling, to stop it. Falcone is eligible for retrial, and those who once turned their backs on him are running scared.
I am not afraid.
"Harvey. What are you doing here?"
Richard Moll. New York state attorney general. Falcone's impending retrial has drawn his attention, and he has taken a more hands-on approach with this case. He's a good man, but I'm not used to taking orders.
"Just reviewing evidence for the case," I explain.
"You don't need to be here," Richard assures me. "Your fiancee needs you."
"She understands. This is an important case. We need to be ready."
Richard puts his hands on his hips, looking away from me. He's got something to say. "Harvey, I've been meaning to talk to you. I think it would be in everyone's best interest if you step down from this one."
The suggestion hits me like a brick in the chest. "I don't understand."
"With everything that's happened to you, your mind is in a million places right now. I know you're trying, but even you have to admit that you're not 100% yourself right now."
"Richard, I understand your concern, but I promise you my resolve is not shaken."
Richard sighs, leaning against the side of my desk. "I know it's not, Harvey. But you know how it is. Falcone has deep pockets. He's going to hire the best scumbag defense attorney this state has to offer." Richard looks at me. I can see the apprehension in his eyes. "You can't stand up in there and get torn apart. Not in your current condition."
My "current condition." At this, I get offended. "This is the most important trial of the decade. You can't honestly expect me to spectate? Who'll take lead, then?"
"That's the other thing I wanted to talk about," Richard explains. His gaze turns to the doorway, and I see a professional-looking young woman standing there. "Harvey Dent, meet Rachel Dawes. She's your new Assistant DA."
I stand up and lean over my desk to shake Ms. Dawes' hand. "Pleasure."
"Likewise." Her tone is firm and to-the-point. She has a folder tucked under her arm. After shaking my hand, she presents the folder, which contains her résumé. As I flip through it, Ms. Dawes adds, "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Dent."
"Just Harvey."
"Ms. Dawes will take lead on this case, Harvey. You are only to act in an advisory capacity. Your extensive knowledge of Carmine Falcone and his original trial will be invaluable to Ms. Dawes as she makes her preparations."
"With all due respect to Ms. Dawes and her credentials, she is in no way ready to tackle a case like this."
"Mr. Dent--"
"Harvey."
"--I think my case record alone should speak to my competency in the courtroom."
I put down Ms. Dawes' résumé and fold my arms. "I agree. Your track record seems to imply that you will be a valuable asset to this office, but nothing you've handled before even remotely compares to practicing law in Gotham - let alone in a case of this magnitude."
"I respectfully disagree."
Before either of us can get another word in edgewise, Richard announces, "Harvey, she wouldn't have the job if she weren't ready for it. Frankly, being new to the system might be beneficial to Ms. Dawes because her past experiences will not interfere with this trial."
"And mine will?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Harvey."
Feeling myself getting more upset, I fire back, "Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying: go be with your fiancee. There will be other trials. No one wants to see you in that courtroom more than me, but I'm doing what I think is best for everyone. Now, please..."
I look at Richard, then back to Ms. Dawes. "You're right," I admit, a bit defeatedly. "I'm not acting like myself. I apologize." I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. "Ms. Dawes, here's my phone number. If you need any help, don't hesitate to call me."
"Thank you, Harvey."
I pick up my jacket and throw it over my shoulders.
"And Harvey?"
"Yes?"
"Your fiancee's in my prayers. I wish her a speedy recovery."
I skid to a stop on the top floor of 827 Franklin Way, or what's left of it. The roof of the classy ballroom is missing, debris and pools of water cover the carpeted floor.
"Yeah, it was a heck of a storm."
My heart skips a beat at the sound of the voice behind me. I begin vibrating my body at super speeds, causing my face to distort and masking my identity.
"What happened here, Lieutenant Allen?"
"Captain Garrick is talking to security right now," my father begins. "But the eyewitness reports say that a tornado touched down on the roof, causing it to tear apart. The tornado quickly disappeared and a man floated down to the floor and began to rob the place."
My mind goes start to Mark Mardon. Former TV weatherman who killed his scientist brother Clyde and stole his prize invention, a handheld device that can control the weather. He was among the ones who escaped from Iron Heights.
I turn around to face Dad, hoping that the high speeds distort my voice as well.
"I think I know who did this."
"Mark Mardon, right? We thought the same thing when we got to the scene."
"This matches Mardon's MO. What exactly was stolen?"
"This is where the Central City March of Dimes keeps donated jewelry until their annual auction fundraiser. It was supposed to take place tonight."
"They robbed a charity. Now that's low-down even for these thugs."
Jay comes up from behind and pats Dad's shoulder before smiling at me.
"Good to see you again, Flash...most of you, that is."
"Did you get anything from the security cameras, Jay?"
"No. It's strange, all the cameras went out about two minutes before the tornado hit the roof."
"Technology is not one of Mardon's strong suits."
"No, but what about Axel Walker?"
"The kid who escaped out of Iron Heights with Mardon?"
It all clicks together in my brain and hits me light a bolt of lightning. Cold, Heatwave, the jewelry store robbery, Mardon and Walker. All these crimes happening back to back.
"Oh, my God."
"They're all working together."
"Snart, Rory, Mardon, McCullough, and Walker. All of them banding together for a common goal."
"What common goal?"
"Think about it," Jay says with a smirk. "The one thing they all have in common? The guy that put them behind bars."
Uh-oh.
"They're working together, buddy boy. Five on one."
Dad's words make me think about a song by the Doors. "Five to one, one in five. Nobody gets out of here alive."
Bartender taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. I respond by handing him the shotglass over my shoulder, which he takes from me for another fill. But in the entire exchange, my eyes never leave the clock. For my third nightly public appearance in a row, I'm attending the annual "Thanksgiving In Gotham" charity drive, a fundraiser dinner that supports a cause that I can't even recall - though I should, considering I just wrote them a check for five hundred thousand dollars. And while I've met the people behind the event, I can't remember them or the benefactors who are sponsoring it, and I sure as hell don't remember a single name of anyone that I've spoken to since I arrived. In the past few weeks, a realization has began to dawn upon me. Despite some moderate success at pulling off this hollow facade, my days as a trust fund pin-up boy are starting to wear thin.
It's odd. The routine never agitated me this much. But lately, I've began to feel... unhinged, maybe even volatile. Like I've become entirely focused on the work that keeps me driven as Batman, but consistently less concerned with my priorities to Waynetech and my social reputation. Alfred convinced me to do this appearance tonight to keep me out of the cave, but I can't help but feel like I'm more out of place here than there. It's a sensation that knaws at me with every passing second, telling me that I should be out in the city. That trying to be Bruce Wayne isn't trying to be who I really am anymore.
The thoughts pass, as I grab my next shot and nod. Maybe I'm just going through a phase. In all honesty, I've never resented having to make myself into something I'm not. I've spent what feels like half of my life wearing masks, both literal and metaphorical. But lately, devoting any sort of time to this side of me has began to seem contradictory. And I can't explain why, even to myself.
What's bothering me lately?
"Hitting it a little hard tonight, aren't you, Bruce?"
I stop mid-drink and acknowledge a colleague. Dr. Thomas Elliot, a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum and a man who I literally met three weeks ago from today. Considerably inviting with his presence, but dauntingly curious to everyone's affairs, Elliot's become something of a relief to me among the crowds of socialites and debutantes that have grown disinteresting.
Throwing him a grin, I raise my glass.
"The night's still young, Doctor. If you ask me, I'm not hitting it hard enough."
He chuckles, partially in agreement as the bartender brings him his order.
"Suppose you've got me there. Cheers to the evening's earnings?"
Our glasses click, though I can already tell that I'm the only one that's going to leave with an empty glass. Elliot's surprisingly a man of high morale, despite our shared age and wealth. "So what brought you here, Elliot?"
"I've told you a thousand times, call me Tommy. Everyone does."
I smirk. "Right. But I'm not everyone."
"You're the only one that matters. I'm telling you, Bruce, this crowd is getting more dry than the bird they're serving. I had to pull myself away from two lovely young women just to be able to order myself a nice cocktail."
"Wow. What a nightmare."
"Oh, it is. The way they pine after you once you've introduced yourself as 'Doctor' Thomas Elliot can get incredibly unnerving. Thankfully, I still have you to talk me through the insanity."
He laughs, his sarcasm becoming particularly evident.
"No, really, though. I love it. No city breeds them like our's."
"I haven't noticed."
He raises an eyebrow, curious. "Really, now? Starting to get bored with your picks of the litter?"
He doesn't know the half of it.
"Nothing like that, I assure you. Just seems like I've started seeing the same faces over and over again."
"Ah. That old problem. Well, let me fill you in on a little secret."
He leans in closer, indicating a blonde to the left of the room.
"Imported goods. Just arrived from Switzerland last week. I'm treating her father for manic depression, and he tells me she's just ended a very long engagement."
I take another drink and smile, mainly at the sentiment.
"Just what I need. A girl with plenty of baggage."
"Hey, I say it's better than nothing. You ask me, you need to throw yourself out there more. We all know how long you can manage to keep a woman around, it's been all over the papers. A man of your age needs to find someone now and stick with them. At least until you find something better."
I shake my head, amused. "Words to live by, Elliot?"
"Words I'm living by, I'll say that much. Between you and me, I might be making a move for a certain little lady whose been making the rounds. An absolute knockout, and I've heard she's got a fiesty little attitude to match."
"Really? Anyone I'd know?"
"If you don't, it's your loss. Her name's Selina... something. Kyle, I think? I'm not sure."
My eyes widen.
Did he just say who I thought he said?
"Wait, what was that name?"
"Selina Kyle. Some heiress or something, I think. You know her?"
"..."
The last time I saw Selina, she was dodging gunfire at the wedding of Sal Maroni's niece. My inability to try and protect her partly contributed to my lack of focus in the fight against Bane, among other distractions. While we barely know eachother, our paths first crossed in an attempt on Edward Nygma's life by the assassin Deadshot. She then spent three weeks on detail as Bruce Wayne's official bodyguard following an attempt to publicly kill me, under the undercover alias of Andrea Beaumont. As much as I tried to distance myself from her during that time, it was hard to keep someone as constant as that astray.
But this news of Selina's sudden elevated status, even being able to catch the eye of someone as prestigious as Thomas Elliot - it intrigues me. What about this side of society would interest a street level cop like her?
"We've crossed paths. Sort of."
"Sounds like you've bared the scars of being with this girl."
The irony doesn't escape me in the least.
"Something like that. So, she interests you?"
"How could she not? A woman that young, and in a town like this? If not me, someone else will get the chance to snatch her up. And I don't mind saying that I'd gladly take your sloppy seconds."
I raise an eyebrow. "We were never anything like that. Believe me."
"Sure. I believe you."
"I'm serious."
"Right. Of course you are."
Silence hangs in the air, as I pretend to suddenly become interested in the women of the crowd.
"Speaking of scars, how's Arkham treating you?"
He suddenly seems to look somber, taking his first drink since the conversation began.
"Let's not bring our work home with us. The less said about that place, the better."
"I've heard about your recent troubles. Something about a doctor, or a patient causing some demolition?"
"The warden, actually. Jerimiah Arkham."
I can tell he's hesistant to talk about it.
"Oh. Well, forget I asked."
He shakes his head. "No, it's alright. I suppose in the long run, it doesn't affect me to a huge degree. It's just... I knew Jerry. He was one of the most brilliant psychologists I had ever known, and one day, he just went off the deep end. None of us know exactly what happened."
Though not by intention, part of me was asking because of a mutual friend. Jason Todd, another doctor working at the Asylum. Despite all that I've done to try and get a word with him about Belsaraph's Circus sudden closing last month, he hasn't answered any of my messages. Either he's been too busy on the streets, or he knows that I'm bound to ask whether he was responsible. And I seriously hope it's not the latter.
"Well, sometimes these things just happen without reason. You never know when someone's going to snap."
He smirks, a bit lighter in the mood.
"Guess that's true. Try as we might to ignore it, we live in a city of flying rats, psychotics in masks, and gangsters. That's bound to make anyone crazy."
I don't respond directly. If anything, that makes me more eager to get out of here. I'm rather curious to see what awaits me tonight.
Looking at my watch, I take a final drink and slap the glass onto the bar.
"Tommy, I hate leave you dry, but I just remembered a commitment. Until next time?"
He raises his glass. "I'll be here. Good talking to you, Wayne."
I give him a likewise nod and make for the stairs.
Whether it's a sane habit or not, I'm starting to feel it. The stirring beast within.
Moments later, Batgirl and Red Hood converge on the rooftop of a building a few blocks away. Detached, Red Hood stares over the ledge to the city streets below – leaving his visage somewhat exposed to anyone who might gaze up at the skyline. Oddly, he shows no concern – remaining lost within his mind as Batgirl approaches him.
“Um, Hood?” She begins, still trying to uncover the incongruity since her awakening. Deaf to her calls, Jason remains enveloped with his thoughts. The throbbing pain of his forearm keeps him focused as he ponders – residual injuries from his mishap at Arkham. As he recalls that day, Harley’s face comes to the forefront of memory. He remembers how vulnerable she was – how close she came to becoming a casualty of Jeremiah Arkham’s madness. As he hears her scream echo in his head his whole body becomes tense, the sound a haunting recollection he cannot remove.
“Hood!” Barbara shouts, grabbing Jason’s arm and pulling it back forcefully. Instantly, Jason returns to the present – forgoing his thoughts for the moment. He turns over his shoulder to see the young hero standing impatiently, waiting for him to speak from behind his concealing mask.
“Sorry,” he apologies, adjusting his position to face her. As he moves, the hard steel of the pistols under his jacket touch against the side of his chest. The weapons remind him of his time with the Question – how he’d first seen them implemented … and how effect they turned out to be. For a time Jason had been toying with incorporating the weapons in his war against crime – if not for their usefulness but for the sheer purpose of intimidation. He’d never planned on relying on them as a crutch, or using them so carelessly as he had today. But as he reflects on firing the weapons to take the Polka Dot Man down, the feeling of remorse remains mysteriously absent. “What were you saying?” “I was trying to get your attention,” she explains, placing her hands on her hips. “What’s with you?”
“It’s nothing,” he explains, shaking his head. “Just some personal issues.” “The man under the hood, huh?” She says, her voice peculiar. “Don’t think I’ve given up trying to figure out who you are.” “I’d hope not,” he grins, proud of her determination. “It’d be a waste of your talent.”
Flattered, Barbara smiles, looking away to the grout lining the slabs of concrete. But, try as she might, the uneasy feeling within her still remains – goading her to question her partner. “Hey, Hood?” She begins, gaining his attention. “Why were the civies acting so … weird?”
“I told you,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “They’ve never seen vigilantes in broad daylight – no one in Gotham has. It’s not a common occurrence.” “Hood, they weren’t confused or even excited,” she explains, easing into the topic gently. “They were scared – like, legitimately scared of us. Why is that?”
“Not sure,” he replies quickly. “No one can understand the human mind.” “Hood, I saw the bullet shells on the sidewalk,” she reveals finally, her tone blunt and forward. “The smell of burnt gunpowder was pretty prevalent too – mainly around you.” Jason’s eyes widen, surprised by the young detective’s skills. “Is there something you want to tell me?” Jason lets out a heavy sigh, not of discontent, but one of satisfaction. “Apologies,” he begins, grabbing the side of his jacket. “I shouldn’t have underestimated your knack for perception,” he commends. As he pulls back his jacket, he reveals one of his pistols concealed securely within an interior pocket. Barbara’s pupils dilate, the image of the weapon sending a chill down her spine.
“A gun?” She exclaims in surprise. “You shot them?” “Relax,” he tells her calmly. “It’s loaded with rubber pellets – non lethal.” Barbara remains silent, still distressed. “It’s the same issue that the GCPD use.” “It’s still a gun, Hood,” she says, failing to compromise. “A deadly weapon – one that ends lives and ruins others.” Noting the tone in her voice coupled with the expression on her face, Jason realizes an intriguing detail about his companion. Quickly, his mind recalls Barbara’s past – the death of her mother and her brother at the hand of a loaded gun. Making the connection, he recognizes the distrust and minor phobia Barbara has toward firearms – for obvious and understandable reasons.
Impressed with his own analysis, Jason smiles wide beneath his mask. “You’re right,” he begins, dropping his head slightly. “A gun’s a gun – can’t get past it. Tell you what kid, it’s gone.” Barbara looks at him curiously, somewhat unconvinced. “I won’t use it again, alright? I’ll stick to hand to hand combat.”
For now, he thinks deceptively.
Barbara smiles weakly, coming around slowly as she tries to evaluate the sincerity in his voice. “Okay, good,” she says finally. “We’ll count this as a learning curve,” she jests, her cocky attitude returning.
“Alright, it’s nearly nine,” he speaks, quickly checking the clock on his phone before slipping it back into his pocket. “You’re about two hours late for school.” “Not like it’s anything new,” she says indifferently. “I’m late all the time.” “You might want to consider changing that – raises suspicion.” “I’m not the only person who’s late to class,” she whines. “No … but you’re probably one on a small list of young redheaded females with gymnastic and martial arts training.” “ … alright, good point.”
“Your chest still alright?” He inquires, pointing to her sternum. “Yes,” she moans, irritated by his constant questioning. “I told you, I’m fine. I can handle myself.” “I don’t doubt that,” he says truthfully. “Just don’t want you bruising a lung.” “Thanks, ‘dad’,” she teases, her tone sarcastic. “You don’t have to insult me,” he quips.
The Red Hood steps up onto the lip of the building’s edge, preparing to jump down to the rooftop a story or so below. “Alright, I’ll keep in touch. Good work today, kid. You’ve got potential – don’t waste it.” As he turns to leap, a thought suddenly pierces his focus, causing him to turn right back. “Oh, and while I’m thinking about it – avoid the sewers for the time being, alright?” Barbara gives the Red Hood a curious look, confused by his random request. “An ‘acquaintance’ of mine is still at large and he’s pretty dangerous.”
“And he lives in the sewers…?” She asks in her typical tone. “What is he, a crocodile?” She mocks, her voice falsely worried. “ … Something like that.”
With his final words, the Red Hood steps off the ledge and drops to the rooftop below. Without missing a beat, he runs off, leaping from roof to roof as he makes his way down the street before disappearing from sight. As Barbara watches him fade into the distance, she laughs under her breath – amused by her own thoughts. “Yep – he’s definently not Batman.” She smiles, turning about and running off in the opposite direction. “Eh, I’ll take what I can get.”
"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.
This can't be happening! I've known for a long time now that Lex Luthor was an evil man, but I had grossly underestimated him to a degree that frightens me more than I could have ever imagined.
His plans and schemes... they had never been anything to scoff at before; arms dealing, blackmail, the disappearances of many would-be witnesses, and a list of any number of other crimes that had been so heavily buried that even the most thorough research wouldn't produce anything that would hold up in court; but this?
World domination, for God's sake?
And on top of that, I'm powerless to stop the maniac! I've always known that Lex was a danger to other people, but now he's found a way to be a danger to me too.
This "kryptonite;" he says that it came from a long dead world that I'm about to reunite with, as impossible as it sounds. I've experienced pain before, but not like this. Some of the beings I've fought in my career have rivaled me in strength, but I've always managed to walk away from their punches, but this pain goes far beyond that. My body is just grinding to a grueling halt from the inside out.
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.
I'm still... weakened from the kryptonite, but now that Lex is gone... having left in a fit of anger and taken that poisonous rock with him... I'm actually starting to feel much better. I seem to be recovering surprisingly fast, strangely enough. Running over to help me back to my feet, Lois pulls my arm around her shoulder to let me lean on her, but I don't think that I need the help any longer.
Finally having the strength to lift my head again, I look out the window of the Watchtower and see the reason for my fast recovery. Even with filters on the windows blocking the intensity of the light here, outside of Earth's protective atmosphere, the fact remains that the sun is shining down on us and we happen to be about 230,000 miles closer to the sun than we would be back on Earth at this time of day.
That happy little star has never looked more beautiful.
Now standing up straight, I can hear the security forces of the lunar base rushing towards us.
"Take cover, Lois."
Immediately, a team of commandos storms into the conference room with guns blazing. In my current state, their bullets might leave small bruises, but nothing that can't be fixed with a little sunshine. As Lois dives behind a podium, I reach for the large table and lift it high above my head.
"Listen closely," I say, addressing the armed men. "I'm sure that you have safety and evacuation procedures put in place in the case of a breach in this station." They instantly freeze in their tracks, not knowing where I'm going with this.
"I'd suggest that you all get a head start on them right now."
The guards then break into a panic as I throw the table in their direction, scattering them as they realize that now is the time to cut their losses. While the personnel run to the escape pods and an alarm begins blaring from somewhere in the Watchtower, I go to the podium and gently take Lois' hand and quickly guide her to one of the escape pods.
"I think that's your cue to leave, Lois."
"What about you? You're not back to full strength yet! Luthor could show up any second now!"
"Let him try. The first thing I did when I got my powers back was destroy the oxygen supplies and recycling facilities of the station with heat vision." Lois stands bewildered by my words, still hesitating to leave without me. "By now, that insane monster is probably trying to override that "L-Soft" program's safeties as it tries to convince him that this isn't a safe environment to teleport into any longer. I think I still have a few seconds to spare."
Then, without a word, Lois pulls me close and kisses me hard.
She kisses Superman, not Clark Kent. Oh boy.
"Just in case we don't live through this," says Lois as she breaks away and ducks into the small escape pod.
"Hm. Thanks. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some holes to punch in the walls of this place."
A quick X-ray scan shows that all personnel have launched their pods as Lois closes her own and jettisons it back home. Also, a quick look at the Earth as I shatter a thick window with a blast of intense fire tells me that Luthor's nukes still haven't been fired yet.
Hey, I won't argue with success.
I almost hate to see such a scientific achievement as this lunar station rendered inhospitable, but if it sets Luthor back by a small fortune, I'm all for it. As the air now blows past me, flowing out to the surface of the moon, a smile finds its way onto my face.
How can I be mad at you father, you have just gave me a big piece to a large puzzle. I don’t need you to tell me your reason behind your actions I fully understand. He has made me something that would have taken me years.
“I understand.” Are the last words I say to him as I wall out of the room heading at.
After walking out of my father’s home taking a stroll around Bludhaven seems like the best way for me to clear my mind. Only thing is I wish I would have grabbed a sweater or something on the way out it’s a bit cold out here. Finding out the truth really took me for a loop. Knowing what I know there is so much I can achieve but first I need to get me a jacket.
I make my way to a 24 hour corner store just a couple of blocks from Halyard street. The people here must be paying someone for protection because this is not a good area to be late at night and they are open all day. By first glance it appears they don’t seem to care about getting rob. There are no bars on the windows and they are not surrounded in any glass shielding at the register. Granted this is how it should be, they shouldn’t have to worry about getting rob but paying some thugs for security still isn’t right either.
Once I found a jacket good enough to keep me warm I made my way to the counter. I lay the jacket on the counter.
“How is it going tonight?”
He scans the price tag. “Not bad waiting for this shift to end, got to cook for thanksgiving when I get home.”
I look down at my watch and see it’s 2:13am. With everything that went on tonight I forgot it was a holiday.
“Well hopefully time will pick up and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
Reaching for my wallet I grab a 50 dollar bill after seeing the total for $38.57. As he is counting my change I begin to hear some negative chatter. Turning my head slightly to the left I see two thugs passing by a couple of feet away from the store talking about robbing a jewelry store just some blocks down. With this enhanced hearing it's almost as if I'm right beside them.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes man my cousin Lonny said they only have one guard guarding the place and he’s sleep after 1am. It’s going to be easy money.”
I can’t let them do this I have to inform the police. Wait, what am I saying? I don’t need to call them I can handle this myself. I just can’t go and try and stop them with my face exposed though I need something to hide it. I quickly look around my surrounding and see ski masks at the other end of the store.
“How much for the masks over there?”
“They are $3.99”
“Here’s a ten, keep the change.” I hand him the money and grab my jacket and while exiting I get one of the masks.
I fallow the thugs to the entrance of an alley and I stop right at the corner of it. They must be prepared to enter the store from the back. I lean my head over the corner to get a view of there positions. Good thing is they didn’t get in yet they are getting their tools in order. My best bet is to get them before they get inside because last thing I need is for them to use the security guard to their advantage. If I’m going to risk anyone’s life its going to just be mine.
“Okay here goes nothing.”
I slip the mask over my face and zip up my black jacket and turn the corner slowly staying close to the walls. While approaching the crooks, I’ve notice that they already cut the alarm system and were now working on the door’s lock. It’s safe to say this isn’t there first picnic.
“Jim man hurry up. You know I don’t like being outside long man, specially in dark alleys.”
“What scared that Batman going to get you?”
“Man don’t joke about that. You know Earl was one of the guys hired to help at the abandon shipyard gig. Batman busted them.”
“That was in Gotham we are in Bludhaven. The Bats doesn’t leave home, we’re good. Now stop talking to me so I can pick this lock.”
It’s obvious that the short one is frightened of the sheer thought of Batman and the other maybe as well he just believes he has nothing to worry about. I can use this to my benefit. It’s now or never.
“I got it, go head and radio the oth..”
“Stop right there!” I interrupt with my first try at using an intimidating voice. It was deep but not really threatening.
“oh **** I told you man.”
“Shut up…” the larger size thugs says to his partner as he hits him in the stomach not really to hard but enough to try and knock the fear out of him. “…Who’s there?”
“I am the terror that flaps in the night, I am Batman!” I tell them as I step out into what little light there was in the alley.
I didn’t know what kind of reaction I was going to get but the last thing I thought it to be was laughter, once seeing me they began to laugh aloud.
“Wait... wait...wait your trying to tell me...you’re the Batman?” This must be real funny to him he was barley able to get the sentence out.
“So I forgot my suit alright?” This wasn’t a good idea at all, I should have thought this out more.
The thugs both take a moment to catch their breaths.
“Look man, just go home and we won’t beat your ass. I’ll let you pass because this was the hardest I ever laughed in a long time.”
“Obviously you do not understand me. I’m not going any where till I teach you punks some lessons about breaking and entering.” Memo to self, work on hero banter.
“Oh really?” Alright then, if this is what you want? For your sake you better hope your Batman.”
Okay here it is go time. Come on brain do your stuff.
As it began to run through the different scenarios I feel a hard blunt object hit me in the back of the head.
I drop to the ground holding my head in pain. I didn’t realize it but there were more. Only now did my brain process what the guy was telling his partner before I interrupted. He was informing him to call the others. Damn I mess up bad.
They all began to circle me ready to strike at any give moment. The more I try to use my battle precognition the more my head hurts and I lose sight of my vision. That hard strike to the head must have mess with my abilities. It appears I may have to operate solo.
As I begin to get to my feet a strong kick to my ribs prevents me from doing so. I roll over a couple of times before coming to a stop on my stomach. I lift myself up with all fours only to feel a swift kick to the face making collapse back on the ground.
Instead of watching, the rest of the pact decided to jump in and they all began jumping me as if it was a gang initiation. They were relentless with their assault kicking and stomping with every thing they had trying their best to complete one goal, breaking me.
What seemed like forever the beating finally had come to a stop. They were talking amongst themselves I couldn’t make out what was being said I was to busy in pain. But once the talking stop I can feel them lift me up from the ground and start carrying me. Once we can to a halt I could felt them begin to sway me back and forth. After they had enough momentum built up they all let me go and I went soaring through the air. My body hit a glass window shattering it completely. I hit the ground hard and I can easily feel a sharp pain in my lower right side. I try to move but my body doesn’t respond to any action I want to make. The best thing would be for me to try and call my father so he could help me escape before the police arrive. I know a alarm must have now went off and the last thing I need is for them to find me with a ski mask on my face.
I give it my last bit of effort as I try to crawl away from sight but moving doesn’t seem to be part of my bodily functions at the moment. Knowing there is nothing else I can do everything in me just gives up and my sight goes black as I fall unconscious.
Michaels looked up, speechless for the second time as he found himself confronted by a question he hadnt anticipated. And wasnt sure how to answer. His... job? I dont know that he has one, Albert commented, taking hold of the boys arms and lowering him down an inch. Some people think of him like a... a hero I guess. Others see him as a nuisance, and some people see him as a threat because of what all he can do, the man stated, raising the stethoscope toward the childs chest.
Would that make me a threat too?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mister Donovan?
The interruption spun Dabney around, both men finding themselves in the company of a rather severe looking woman in a dark pantsuit. Clearing his throat, Doctor, please. And yes.
Fionna Ross, Metahuman Affairs, the woman stated, flashing a badge. Under jurisdiction established by Executive Order 15307, Im here to assume custody of the metahuman that youre housing.
Stroking his mustache, Dabney seemed as though he were considering what the woman had just offered, then glared down at her. I imagine that would spark all sorts of interesting debate. We may be dealing with an extraterrestrial lifeform. If Im going too fast for you, Miss Ross, that would be what is colloquially known as an E.T. or alien. Are non-humans, particularly those with extraterrestrial origin, within the mandate of Metahuman Affairs? Because last time I checked, NASA was the nations lead agency for all matters related to space, Donovan declared assertively, making a dismissive wave with one hand as though clearly marking that the woman had no business here.
The Pentagon U.S. Department of Defense
Arlington, Virgina
"Ben! Go hero!"
"Gray-Matter!? Ugh, I wanted muscle not miniature!"
A litany of childish laughter bubbled from out of the room, flanked on all sides by soldiers in full riot gear bearing heavy arms. The interior was spartan, save for a television set on Cartoon Network and a coffee table that supported a variety of crayons. Seated in the center of the room, the young Superboy giggled intermittently as he peeked up from his art work to glance at the episode of Ben 10 that was showing.
If there was any one thing that the sandy-haired child did that made those watching him uncomfortable, it was how very at ease he was. Shuffled around, escorted by soldiers, rifles either pointed at him or ready to at all times. And through it all, Superboy showed only a carefree demeanor. Not worried in the least.
He was a Kryptonian. He was a son of Zod. What were these humans going to do to him?
Picking up a blue crayon, the boy began to color in the drawing of Gohan that he had done.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sketch showed up as blur on the monitors that captured him from several different angles, all displayed along the walls of the cabinet room where Donovan sat in a meeting flanked by generals of the Army and Air Force. The more he saw of the child on the monitors and listened to the words coming out of the soldier's mouths, the angrier that the man became. Standing up abruptly, Donovan sent his chair tumbling back to the floor as his hand came down on the table with a loud boom.
"Children have rights, damn it. This country signed a treaty about those rights," Dabney shouted, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Yet here you all are talking about experimenting on a little boy!"
"No, it isn't."
The voice was heavy, jaded and weary as the voice of one who had learned to talk over artillery fire in dark places where angels feared to tread. Dabney turned his attention to the side of the table that had spoken only to find himself facing a civilian official with Homeland Security. "You're not a medical doctor so allow me to give you a little education about that Geneva Convention on the Rights of a Child. Don't feel bad though, Doctor Donovan, our legal folks here at the Pentagon had to educate me," the man went on to say, before turning to give a nod of his head toward one of the Navy lawyers seated just a few chairs down. "Bob, why don't you explain for us."
"Doctor Donovan, strictly speaking, a 'boy' is an under-developed male human. According to your report, Superboy is an extraterrestrial. Now, legally speaking, one is either a human or an animal. The law makes no distinction or allowance for a non-human sentient being. So for the purposes of our discussion, can we agree that Superboy is not human, doctor?"
Donovan's mouth went dry, his face flush at having his own report quoted at him. Let alone out of context. "That's an unfair comparison. Human beings are animals, sir."
"I'm asking you whether your report is accurate, doctor," the Navy officer stated crisply. "Is Superboy human or not?"
Donovan just held the man's gaze for a long moment. "He is not," he said finally.
Clearing his throat, the civilian official from Homeland Security spoke up again. "Superman is the greatest hero known to man. And he has the potential to be the end of the world. Now my job isn't to know what's inside the bastard's head, only to be prepared for a contingency we'd all rather not think about," the man explained nonchalantly, pausing to look over at the monitors before turning his attention back to Donovan. "We need weapons that are effective against Superman, it's as simple as that. So you can call it what you like, but legally speaking this is animal testing."
"You want to kill him."
"I'll settle for developing a method to reliably incapacitate or even inflict pain, doctor. But ultimately we need a way to neutralize Superman," the man acknowledged with a shrug. "Superboy gives us a test bed for the development of such methods with a necessary mitigation in the risks to public relations."
"In other words, you won't attack Superman because he's in the public eye."
"And their good graces, at least for now, which is unfortunate though it buys us time for as long as this 'big blue boy scout' act lasts."
"Why does it have to be an act? Why can't you just be grateful that we have a hero like Superman in this world?" Donovan demanded, banging his fist on the table. Even as he did, the words rang hollow in his own mouth. He'd never believed in Superman. Thought the whole thing was a scam or a charade. And now he was putting his hopes on Superman's virtue.
So it was like staring in the mirror to hear the civilian official say the same thing that Donovan would have said had their places been reversed. "Because, doctor, the thing about people is you can always believe them to be one thing. And that's flawed, doctor. What happens when Superman's flaws begin to show? Who do we turn to then?"
"I'll go to the press. People will make the distinction between an animal and a young boy," Donovan stated quietly.
"No, Doctor, I don't think you will. I've just been informed that the President has signed the executive order handing all matters related to Superboy over to us. What you'll do is take the boy back to Pike's Island tonight, that way we can recover the dog without incident, and then turn them both over to us at White Sands tomorrow," the man rebutted evenly. Allowing a moment for the words to sink in before adding, "That's assuming you're willing to do things the easy way. The hard way begins here, now, and ends with your 'working' with us at Guantanamo Bay, Doctor. So which will it be?"
Donovan was trembling. He'd known when he'd stepped into the room that he'd been outclassed. In the corner, away from the table, sat the NASA Director - who hadn't said a word the entire time. Finally, Dabney hung his head.
"Excellent. I knew we could count on your cooperation, Doctor Donovan," the man remarked in a jovial tone, as people rose from their seats and began to file for the door. Pausing, the man turned back to add, "Oh, and DMA will handle the transportation from now until the turnover, doctor."
Glancing up, Dabney saw the man patting a woman on the shoulder. And he realized he should have recognized her from before.
Hugo's phone starts ringing. He looks and sees that Summer Gleason is calling.
He answers, "Good evening Miss Gleason what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"
She repiles, "Good evening Dr. Strange I was calling to see if you had time to do our sit down interview I called you about last week."
He looks at his calender and says, "I have time tomorrow between 9-11 am. After that I am pretty well booked up for the rest of the month."
Summer says, "All-right then Dr. Strange 9am is it is."
Strange replies, " Excellent I look forward to it. Could you please tell me what topics we might be covering. As you know so many in the media have tried to ambush and I would hate to think that you would be one of those vultures Miss Gleason. I so admire your work."
Summer says, "Now now Dr. Strange if I did that I wouldn't be a good journalist if I told you that. That being said I don't think it will be anything to stress over."
Strange says, "No you wouldn't be, but. you will tell what you plan on asking me about."
Summer replies, "Your upcoming tour, your Strange way program, and your feelings about Bruce Wayne."
Hugo says, "Miss Geason I think you're right I see no reason to stress over this. Why don't you get some rest now and I will be at the studio at 8:30 to get ready."
Summer replies, "Very well Dr. Strange thank you for your time and have a good evening."
Hugo says, "Good night Miss Gleason."
He hangs up and continues to enjoy his drink.
Hugo sees a copy of the Gotham Globe with Bruce Wayne on the front page.
Enjoy your time now Wayne you have a secret. It's only a matter of time before I find out about it.
Rhiannon continues looking over the reports on her desk.
How in the world did Mac ever keep up with all of this junk? I have seen more project purposals that are basically covering the same thing over and over. 1/3 of them I would be laughed out of profession if I tried to green light them, another 1/3 have possibilites but need more preliminary work, and the last 1/3 are throw away projects being conducted to justify people having a job.
She rubs her temples and shakes her head.
Rhiannon turns faces out the window
What was I thinking? Agreeing to come here not to mention most of the people are still grieving over Mac. Just like me only I know the truth and the shame of it all I can never tell anyone. If I had known then what I know now...I still would've come here. Waller has a contact in here no way Mac does this alone. I guess it's time to do some snooping around.
She leaves a sign on the door that says, Out of the office, making rounds.
Rhiannon then transforms into The Atom and begins floating through the Air-System.
Not to mention this will provide me with a great chance to get to know the place from this size in case I have to bolt out of here for an emergency.
What seemed like forever the beating finally had come to a stop. They were talking amongst themselves I couldnt make out what was being said I was to busy in pain. But once the talking stop I can feel them lift me up from the ground and start carrying me. Once we can to a halt I could felt them begin to sway me back and forth. After they had enough momentum built up they all let me go and I went soaring through the air. My body hit a glass window shattering it completely. I hit the ground hard and I can easily feel a sharp pain in my lower right side. I try to move but my body doesnt respond to any action I want to make. The best thing would be for me to try and call my father so he could help me escape before the police arrive. I know a alarm must have now went off and the last thing I need is for them to find me with a ski mask on my face.
I give it my last bit of effort as I try to crawl away from sight but moving doesnt seem to be part of my bodily functions at the moment. Knowing there is nothing else I can do everything in me just gives up and my sight goes black as I fall unconscious.
Light, a bright light is beaming down on me. My vision is a bit foggy, even without seeing clearly I know where I am isnt good for me. The police must have grabbed me and seen how much of a thrashing I was given and brought me to the hospital. It has all came to an end before it has even started. With the mask I was wearing theres no way they will believe that I was the one attempting to stop the robbery. Im surly going to get blamed for this, only thing is I wish I could have made a difference. Ive failed.
Once my sight is better I turn my head to the left and I see a man in front of a table next to a TV. For a hospital this looks more like a bedroom. Observing more I grasp that Im not in a hospital but in a room but not just any room, this is mine. If that is right then the man must be my father. Important question is how did I end up here?
Dad?
He turns around with a smile covering his face.
I was wondering when you were going to finally wake up. He utters as he comes to my bed side.
How did I end up here?
Ive brought you here.
You brought me here? But how did you find me?
Son you seen the computer screen earlier, there was a life sign system on there to observe you just in case the enhancements may have had some kind of negative consequences. It also had a tracking system to trace the implants at a certain frequency, good thing to because the cops almost got there before I did.
I should have known there was a tracking system it makes sense because Im the first successful subject of my mothers work.
My father then places his hand on my chin and turns my head slightly to the left and the right as if he is looking for something.
This is more remarkable than I could imagine, it appears that you heal faster now. The beating you received should have taken you weeks to fully recover from but it only took you 19 hours.
Healing is a new one on the list which Im glad because wait did he say 19 hours?
Are you telling me I been sleep for entire 19 hours?
Yes my son, Ive tried to wake you but nothing worked. So I went to the computer to see if maybe the enhancements malfunctioned maybe preventing me from waking you up and thats when I found out that it was healing you.
My mother was truly a genius, and Ill make sure her work will live on. Im glad my father did find me before the cops now I can continue what I must do but I still dont have all the things I need.
Father this is all great news but its not enough.
So its safe for me to assume you are going to take this crime fighting thing more seriously?
Why wouldnt I? From what I gathered Im a tactical advanced close combat fighting machine now. I wont waste what I have been given on a desk job, I can do more and I will.
But tonight was a rude awakening for me.
Im just not there yet, I have to get a better control of what I can do and more importantly I need a costume. Running around in all black with a ski mask telling criminals your Batman isnt a good idea. I learned that first hand.
My father turns around tried his best to laugh to himself but now that my hearing is better than it has ever been I can hear it clearly.
You know I can hear you giggling?
His laughter comes to an end and he turns back to me.
Im sorry son but even you must admit that what you did was a bit funny was it not?
I take a moment to think about it and if I was on the outside looking in I might of laughed at myself to.
A smirk appears on my face. You know it was kind of silly. Whats even funnier I used a line from 'Darkwing Duck' to introduce myself.
We both break out in laughter together. This is the first time in a longer time me and my father has smiled together, shame it took a ass kicking to bring it out. But on a serious note I have to make some changes so this wont happen again.
All jokes aside dad I have to learn how to use my new gift on demand. Thanks to my ego those thugs were able to get away and its my fault because I didnt take the time to learn how to be in control. I had one good encounter and after my dad told me what he did I thought automatically I was unstoppable. Im glad tonight happened because it knocked me off my high horse.
You really plan on continuing this dont you?
I look him directly in his eyes. I wont let nothing stop me from making a difference father. I now know what I want to do, I just need the means to do so.
The room goes silent. Im sure its not every dads wish to hear his 19 year old son say he will be putting his life in harms way on a daily bases.
He reaches his hand in his back pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to me. I grab it and notice its directions.
What is this?
That my son is the location of your mothers warehouse.
Her warehouse?
As you know your mother has worked with a lot of different organizations and done countless projects. That warehouse is housing all her prototypes of everything she has worked on. I believe that there should be some stuff to help you out.
Giving the paper a quick look I realize that this warehouse isnt in Bludhaven.
Dad this place is in Gotham city. Why would mom have it so far out?
Gotham was her last place of employment, she was there working with an old friend.
I see. Thank you for this dad.
I guess I wont be on this journey alone. Maybe I'll find what i need to take the next step.
Vic laughs. "It's the truth!" he insists. We're sitting across a table at the Holy Grounds, a coffee shop located inside MetU's student center, The Talon. Vic's wearing his letterman jacket.
"Football star by day, mechanical engineer by night?"
Vic shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "I find time. I don't know. It's just always been something that interested me. I like knowing how things work. Taking something apart, putting it back together again."
I smirk. He's serious. "Well, I am impressed, Mr. Stone."
"Okay, so how about you, huh? You got to laugh at me."
"English education major," I announce.
"Oh yeah?" Vic replies with genuine interest. He leans forward. "Any idea what grade you want to teach?"
"Kindergarten. First grade, maybe?" Vic looks at me, listening intently. I suddenly feel self-conscious and look away. I hope I don't blush. "I love working with kids. They're so innocent and carefree."
Vic nods. "Well, that's cool. I don't know that I'd have the patience to deal with a group of kids all day," he laughs. "So what brought you to MetU?"
I look back at Vic. The real answer to that question is an interesting one. Sure, I came here to get closer to Superman. That goes without saying. But I can fly around the world at any time, so there was no need to come here just to meet the man who might be my only remaining family. No, something else drew me here to Metropolis. I feel like I was meant to be here or something.
"I wanted to come to Metropolis," I explain. It's the truth, even if I can't quite explain it. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the school is great. But there's something about this city. It's the center of the action, you know?"
"I hear what you're saying. Never a dull moment around here, huh?" Vic finishes his coffee and leans back in his chair. "So are you coming to our first game this Saturday?"
"Well, I don't know," I answer playfully.
"You're gonna miss my debut? Don't you want to tell people, 'I was there when the best college football player of all time first set foot on the field'?"
I arch an eyebrow. "Who's that? Someone I should know about?"
Vic shakes his head and smiles. "Yeah, yeah. That's funny. Hey, I'm just doing you a favor. I don't want you to miss out."
"Oh, don't worry, hot shot. I wouldn't miss a game for my life," I promise.
"Now, that's more like it." He stands up, adjusting his jacket and taking out his iPod. As he slips in his headphones, he asks, "So I'll see you in the stands?"
The thin man in the three piece suit sits in the chair on the other side of the interrogation room table. His eyes are droopy and red from tears. The way his shoulder stoop seem to indicate genuine sadness.
"I just can't believe Bette is dead."
The man in the chair is Harold Kane, father to murder victim Bette Kane and one of the city's most powerful men.
No facial tics or tells. He said those words the same way he stated his name. He has to be telling the truth.
I may be a good detective when I'm working a crime scene or chasing down leads, but interrogations are my bread and butter. I've always had a way to read people, probe them for their strength and weaknesses. A two-week course at the FBI academy in Quantico, Virginia turned me into an interrogation God. There I studied Kinesics, the science of reading body language. A polygraph can be fooled and manipulated, but even the most calm liar has subtle tells when they lie.
"When was the last time you saw Bette, Mister Kane?"
"Two days ago. It was about ten in the evening. I was getting ready for bed and she was leaving the house."
"Know where she was going?"
"Out to some nightclub. She was always going out on the town with her friends."
"Is it possible you could give me a list of all her friends so we can interview them?"
"Hardly, Inspector. Bette had lots of friends. She was a social butterfly. Her and her friends, the tabloids called them the Club Kids. Going around from nightclub to nightclub. Doing drugs and everything they could get their hands on."
"You sound like you didn't approve of her lifestyle?"
"Don't get me wrong, Inspector. I loved Bette, but I just wish she could have done something more with her life. Now...now, it's too late."
Kane starts to cry. I do my best to mask a sigh and slide him a box of tissues.
"I tell you what, I'll try to find out who she went to clubs with and track them down that way."
I pull a business card out of my jacket and slide it across the table. "If you have any questions or anything else pops into you mind, call me."
"Thank you, Inspector. Please, find out who killed her. I want them brought to justice. I'll be sure to pay you a bonus."
"Thank you for the offer, sir, but it's my job to catch killers. I'm pretty good at it. No bonus needed."
I shake Kane's hand and escort him out the room. I watch him leave down the hallway to the elevator. The door dings open and suddenly my breath is taken away.
A tall, beautiful redhead steps out and greets Kane. She looks just like the victim, Bette, only a bit older. More of a woman than a girl. Her and Kane step into the elevator and the doors close behind it.
Driver comes up from behind me. "Find out anything?"
I shake my head, trying to knock myself out of the stupor. "Uhh, yeah. Bette's father last saw her a few hours before she was murdered. She went out to party with her friends. Say, who was that that just came out of the elevator and talked to Kane?"
"That's his other daughter, Katherine. You think Bette is a party girl, you should see her. She's the Gotham tabloid's darling. They love stalking her."
"You know, Driver, you seem very knowledgeable about the Kane family. Almost too informative."
"I...uhh, I like reading the gossip pages," he replies sheepishly.
"Thought so. Tell you what, check your beloved gossip pages and figure out some of the clubs Bette frequented. Get me a list and we'll start hitting them."
"What about you?"
I start walking towards the elevator, answering Driver halfway there. "I'm going to find out all I can about Katherine Kane."
Four minutes after third period and I'm skulking the halls of my school. As I examine the hallway ahead of me and behind me, I take note of the emptiness. Phew, good. No one to blow my cover. Tactfully, I make my way down the corridor and head for my psychology class.
It's alright, I tell myself as I move. Four minutes isn't bad. I can always explain it as a broken locker or something. Besides, my psych teacher doesn't even know our names yet - I'm not worried about it. Saving people from those two lunatics was more important than whatever I'm gonna learn here, anyway.
Before long I arrive at my destination. As I stand outside the door, I take a deep breath and prepare for anything. The sound of the teacher's lecture disrupts me, momentarily - making me slightly nervous as I prepare to enter.
"Come on, keep it cool, Babs," I say, encouraging myself. I just fought Zebra-Dork and Polka-Bro - I've got this.Gripping the handle, I pull the door open and step inside. As I take a few steps across the front of the room, all eyes move toward me and the room falls silent. Out of habit, I turn to the teacher - staring her directly in the eye as she gives me a puzzling look.
"Ah, Ms. Gordon," she begins, her voice suspiciously calm. "There you are."So, she does know my name. That's unexpected. "Yep, here I am," I reply hastily without thought. Keep it together... "I figured you'd turn up eventually. The principal's been looking for you." My heart sinks as I realize I've been found out. Crap, already? It's only a few weeks into the semester and already I'm getting busted for lateness ... not a good start.
"Should I go there now?" I ask, already knowing her answer. "What doyou think?" She asks me smugly. Uugghhh, psychologists ... always trying to push your buttons.
Without quarrel, I nod and turn about - making my way toward the hallway once more. As I step through the doorway I hear scattered whispers and snickers - the usual treatment for a publically awkward moment in the slums of teenagedom.
I let the door shut tightly behind me, letting a quick rush of air brush against the back of my neck as the door falls into place. Casually, I make my way toward the principal's office - the one room in this building I know better than all the rest.
A few moments later I find myself in the same position as before, standing outside the door, nervously waiting to enter. What's he going to say to me when I walk in? Discuss how disappointed he is in my behavior, or skip straight to the consequences? Either way I'll get to see him go on a power trip - acting as if he's a king controling the destiny of one of his peasants. As if this spiele hasn't gotten old, yet.
Suddenly, I reach out and grab the door handle - throwing the door backward as I breach the entrance without another thought. I'd just like to get this over with, I tell myself as I step inside. No reason to postpone the inevitable. As I enter the room, I look up to see the principal sitting at his desk directly in front of me. As we exchange glances, I notice something peculiar - the expression on his face. I was expecting one of disappointment or frustration, but instead, I see a look of sorrow - a look of empathy. "Hey, what's-" before I can finish my sentence, a familiar voice speaks up from across the room.
"Barbara," it says, calling my name sternly. I turn to see Detective Montoya rise from the chair at the far end of the office. I'd been so distracted I hadn't even noticed her sitting there. As I analyze her expression, I notice a more upsetting facade plastered on her face. Her lips are tight with aggression and betrayal, yet her eyes show a twinkling and disguised panic. "Where have you been?" She snaps, putting her hands on her hips authoritatively.
"Uhhh ... I was out," I start, her presence catching me off guard, causing me to scramble. "Not in class," I blurt out. As bad a response as that was I'll count my losses - at least that was the truth.
"No kidding. I've been waiting for you to show up for two hours now." "Why?" I ask quickly, the subtle waiver in her tone allowing an uneasy feeling to rise within me. She lets out a heavy sigh as her whole body slouches. Her hand goes to her face and she grips her head tightly, rubbing the skin vigorously as she takes in a deep breath.
"It's your father, Barbara," she begins, closing her eyes tightly as she prepares to continue. "Something's happened," she says simply, failing to finish her thought. Instantly, a sensation of panic rises within me. Dad? Something's happened? What's happened? He was staying late at Gotham Central last night like he usually does, what does she mean something's happened?
A rush of thoughts fill my mind, cluttering my focus making me mute. I try to move my lips to let one of the questions through but I cannot. Instead, I remain silent - standing idle with my jaw agape.
"Come on," she begins once more, making her way toward the door. As sh passes me, she grabs hold of my arm and pulls me along - guiding me to follow her as she steps out of the office and into the hall. "We're going to the hospital." "Hospital!?" I shout suddenly, finally able to speak. "Hospital, why? What's happened? What's going on?"
"Your father was shot last night, Barbara," she says bluntly - her words hitting me like a strike to the spine. "He almost died twice in the last few hours. He's in critical condition," she says finally - delivering the last bit of petrifying news. "Your father's dying, Barbara."
Atop the highest skyscapers in Gotham, he can feel the most comfort. Even if the air produces a bitter chill that bites at his bones, and inflicts memories of the nights that he was stationed in the zero temperature deserts of Iraq, it still prepares him in the most unexpected of ways. His blood races and his mind is keen, giving him a brief rush as he watches the city breathe below him. It's inhabitants are going about their daily lives, and for the smallest moment, he considers what it'd be like to be among them on a night like this. Living out a normal existence, worrying himself to death about nothing important. Shopping for gifts, trying to decide on a cafe latte, or taking a stroll in the park to enjoy the sights. As much as he torments himself with countless hours of self deprication, there is one thing that he is able to give himself credit for. His life is certainly not as boring as the alternative.
"Reroute coordinates, financial district."
Targeting sensors...
The Oracle's satellites feed him a constant stream of the city's every corner. With a touch of a button, he is able to switch the cameras from night vision to thermal heat tracking modes, double checking to make sure that he's left nothing unseen. The technology's improvements have come at a considerable cost, he tells himself, but a worthwhile one all the same. Gotham's been quiet in recent nights, and he isn't entirely sure why. The press are saying that the mob might be backing down, but it seems unlikely. After he sabatoged Tony Zucco's attempts to seize the Maroni drug cartels, the mobster may have been scared off, but Zucco has friends that are able to make his job harder. Just have to keep pressing him, he muses. If Zucco can crack under the strain, he has a serious chance at bringing down whole citywide operations within the month...
Warning! Silent alarm compromised. Security breach at 46th and Loeb Avenue.
His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden realization. The address is familiar, mostly because it belongs to an electronics store that carries an abundance of top lined computers manufactured by Waynetech. Hardly surprising that they'd be the target of a robbery, considering the season's offerings. Tapping at the side of his cowl, The Dark Knight steps onto the ledge of the building and and peers down at his trajectory. There's a pause when he realizes that every building in his path hangs lower than his usual vantage points. A perfect opportunity to test the new paracape.
"Resume scan in five minutes. I shouldn't be long."
And with a leap, he descends like a bat out of hell.
"Hurry up with those crates!"
The staff room of the corner retailer practically implodes, bursting off of it's hinges into a heap of metal. The poorly masked thug behind it emerges, carrying four crates at a time with two under each arm. Given their weight, it seems impossible. But for these five boys, nothing has been impossible in the last half hour. Ever since getting their hands on a miracle drug that had been sold to them with no strings attached, problems like strength and endurance had no longer become an issue. They even began to consider waiting for the cops to arrive, just to be amused.
The hood smirks at his annoyed leader, placing the crates full of Waynetouch brand electronic computer pads on a nearby table.
"What's the rush, Mike? We got all night to haul this ****."
"Have you lost your mind? The minute we burst through the front window, some alarm probably got tripped. This merchandise is no good if it's filled full'a holes."
"Hey, I say let them shoot. As strong as I feel right now, I could probably bounce bullets off my chest. It'll be like the movies!"
The hood's older brother approaches him from behind, and slams him upside the back of the head, prompting a dirty look. "Enough screwing around. You know the terms of this. We get in, get out, and head over to Skeevers' place to sell him the wares. Then you can have cops blow your brains out all that you want."
"What your brother said. Now, get the damn crates loaded into the truck."
Murmuring under his breath, the hood grabs the crates once more and pushes past the leader in a huff. Looking back at him, the leader turns to the older brother as they begin trash some of the older models, crushing entire display monitors with their bare hands.
"How long is this stuff supposed to last again?"
"Sixty minutes. Give or take."
"Right. Hopefully it won't wear off before the cops show up."
"Relax, Mikey. If this job goes through, we'll have enough to buy that junk by the truckload."
"Uh, guys..."
The two turn towards the shattered front window, as the hood begins to slowly back away in fright. His older brother approaches him, angrily shoving him across the shoulder. "Didn't you hear what he said? We need those crates loaded up now!"
"Kid? Kid, what's wrong?"
He looks back, mouth agape.
"You're not gonna believe what's out there."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You mean the cops?"
A growl is heard from outside.
"N-No, I meant... that."
Seconds later and the three find themselves penetrated with razors in the face. Screaming out in agony, they drop to their knees as Batman leaps into the store, perched atop a computer's display as they continue to writhe.
"Put them back. NOW."
The leader claws at his bloodied eyes, realizing that there are razors stuck even in them. But he's so hopped up that he can't even feel the pain.
"Jesus! Frank, Desmond, get your asses out here! It's the Batman!"
Preparing himself for the coming thugs, Batman leaps down from the display and produces a handful of batarangs from his belt. But the sight that he witnesses as the two eight foot, almost hulking brutes step into view is enough to even make Bruce, a man normally unintimidated, stop and wonder just what the hell he's gotten himself into. More metahumans?
One of them steps forward, looking particularly menacing as he towers The Dark Knight with ease.
I perk up I see the gang of criminals get out of their truck and approach the the electronics store.
Thank you, Jesus!
After my snitch Walter told me about these guys, I've been shadowing them for days. Walt had heard on the street that these guys were doing burglaries and strong-arm robberies with freakish strength. I mean, these dudes were taking something that was like steroids on steroids. Sounds like they're hopped up on this Miraclo bull****.
Walter managed to find out where these guys hang and I started my surveillance. It's taken about two and a half days, but they finally go to pull a job.
As they begin going into the store, I pull to the side of the street and leap into the backseat of my car, slipping on my suit and applying my mask to my face.
I leap out the car and race down the block towards the robbery. Halfway there I see a shadow fall on the store and fly through the broken window.
Great, not him.
I tip-toe towards the broken window and listen in as Batman takes out a couple of dudes and confronts the burglars.
"What has two thumbs, no face, and packs about 50,000 volts of electricity?!"
I step into view, my thumbs poking up and a taser gun in my hands.
"This guy!"
I pull the trigger and watch as the two connectors hit the large, bulky man in his shoulders. The electricity courses through his body and causes his muscles to lock up and spasm out of control.
The Pasko Lodge was an old hotel, located several miles from any interstate, the lone building on a hilltop at the end of a long and winding road tucked deep within the backwoods of New England. Before the construction of highways, it was something of a resort for local wealth, falling on hard times during the Depression and never quite recovering. It eventually closed its doors in the early 1960s, and while it had stood derelict for decades, anyone who looked closely enough might find an unusual amount of traffic heading up and down that particular one-lane road.
However, the turn onto that road was as far as any curious observer would ever get and come back alive. Built within the hill underneath the skeletal remains of the Pasko Lodge was an underground facility, carefully mined out in secret over the years, a hidden facility of the international terrorist organization known only as Kobra.
Three stories underground in a bunker made of reinforced concrete and steel, a gathering of Nagas--high officers in the cult-like structure of the organization--discussed recent events.
"This is disastrous!" one of them hissed. "The Society promised us the coming of the Kali Yuga was at hand, and now their plans are in shambles!"
"I agree," an older Naga said. "Our financiers may have provided us with better equipment and firepower, but we haven't seen any real action from them! How much longer are we supposed to wait until we strike on our own?"
"We wait until Kobra himself gives his order," answered the King Snake--the high commander of the regional chapters. "He is in direct contact with the other members of the Society now. If he is unsatisfied, we will move ahead with bringing about the New Age ourselves."
"But we are still low in numbers! My own chapter's strike teams are still nearly depleted after--....after she found us out."
"Then perhaps your chapter should be absorbed," the King Snake replied coolly.
"Yes," the other Naga said with a grin. "I'm sure my own forces would be able to bring her down and--"
*BOOOOM!!!!!*
The entire bunker shuddered with the deafening sound. It was as if a missile had slammed straight into the complex's foundation.
"Attention, we have a breach!"came the voice of a panicked low-ranking Lancehead over the intercom. "Everyone to battle stations! I repeat, everyone to--HRK!"
The voice was cut off, as if someone had grabbed him and pulled him away from his speaker. The King Snake and the Nagas listened nervously as they heard the barking chatter of machine-gun fire throughout the bunker, followed by loud BOOMs and CRACKs, the gunfire then replaced by screams.
The door to the conference room was made of six-inch thick solid steel. Not even artillery shells could pierce it. Still, the King Snake drew his pistol and chambered a round.
After the sounds of the battle quieted down, there was another thunderous BOOM at the steel door. Then another, and to their amazement, the massive slab of metal dented inwards.
Finally, with the third tremendous impact, the door came flying inwards, followed by a streak of red and blue that slammed directly into the older Naga, sending him crashing head-first into the concrete wall behind him.
The younger Naga fired a round from his pistol, only to find his arm wrapped in a rope of golden light. He was suddenly pulled off his feet, and the red-and-blue blur came to meet him, the impact punctuated with the sickening CRUNCH of his spine shattering.
The King Snake stood amazed at what had just happened--seemingly out of nowhere, his base had been infiltrated, his men laid to waste, and he couldn't tell if his highest-ranking Nagas were alive or dead.
Finally, the blur became a figure before him, dangling the golden rope in front of his face like a noose.
Gordon's heart continues to beat at a steady pace, the EKG machine's loud and robotic beeps fill the room. I've been sitting in the corner, watching him for hours. I tell the nurses and doctors that come in every hour or so that I'm here to give my boss and friend support. The truth is that I'm watching, waiting, and trying my best to get up the nerve to do what needs to be done.
Maroni deserved to die, Dent is more of a gray area. I'd do anything in the world now to take it all back, I'd try another way to scare him. Something without so much collateral damage. What's done is done, though.
While the last two men who crossed me ended up regretting it, Gordon is different. We've ran afoul of each other a few times in the past year, but our relationship was patched. Shaky and rocky, it's a relationship based on understanding and survival. And one that's been doomed from the start. If he lives, we will end up destroying each other. It's inevitable.
He hasn't died yet, despite what the doctor's keep saying. It's time to help nature along. Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk to the bed. I slip a pillow out from underneath Gordon's head and begin fluffing it up.
The nurse's station is monitoring his heartbeat and progress, but I can cut off his air supply long enough to kill him before they get here.
I place the pillow on Gordon's face and begin pressing down.
Voices come outside the in the hallway and get louder. Someone's coming. I quickly pull the pillow away and slip it back under Gordon's head as the door opens.
I pull the trigger and watch as the two connectors hit the large, bulky man in his shoulders. The electricity courses through his body and causes his muscles to lock up and spasm out of control.
With Question's momentary distraction in place, Batman leapt forward with a calculated roll and sent out a roundhouse kick, catching the behemoth in the jaw. He stumbled, still winded by the taser's output, and fell backwards into a display of video game consoles. The other large, almost inhuman looking man stepped forward and growled, prompting Batman to usher him into an attack.
"You'll pay for that, little man!"
The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes.
"I'm sure."
Like an animal, the attacker rushed forward and leapt directly towards the two vigilantes. But rather than attempt a dodge, Batman stayed focused and kept a fighting stance. Until finally, he tapped the side of his glove's armor plate and struck the beast with an uppercut, sending a blinding surge of electricity directly into his enemy's face. The behemoth fell backwards and smashed into a laptop display, further injuring himself in the process.
Holding his wrist in agony, Batman realized that they were harder to punch than the standard human male. But one thing was more than clear - they weren't metahumans. The dormant metahuman gene typically manifested itself in the early teens, giving their host more than a few years of practice to master their abilities. These men didn't know how to control their own strength, let alone keep a proper balance.
"Keep your distance. They're stronger than they look,"
I reach into my jacket and pull out a telescopic nightstick. I flick it out to full length and hit one of the robbers in the head. A jolt of impact rushes up my arm and the thug stares at me with a blank expression.
"Well.....lovely weather we're having."
He growls and grabs me by the shoulder. I go flying through the air and crash into a nearby shelf filled with Xboxes. I fall to the ground with a thud as the game consoles hit me and fall to the floor.
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