The Ultimate DC RPG: IC Thread

[Byrd Man]

Seven decades after the emergence of superhumans, the world - as we know it - became a grim and increasingly paranoid place to live in. It was 2012, and with threats of nuclear war between rival countries brewing, fascism and corruption slowly making it's way back into the modern era, and crime at an all time high around the world, many people cried out for salvation from their then everyday perils. The days of The Justice Society were gone, and a new era of superheroes was needed more than ever.

The call was answered. The world reacted.

In the bright and millennial Metropolis, people now speak of the man who defies gravity. The figure who, donning a crimson cloak, patrols the skies of The City Of Tomorrow with a watchful eye. Some, such as the optimistic, believe he's friend. Others, such as the powerful and profiteers, believe he's foe. But the world can only think of one word to describe him: Superman.

Within the grim and festering towers of Gotham City, it could not be more opposite. Citizens, both guilty and innocent, now live in fear for an entirely different reasons than the mob. They live in the shadow of a fearsome protector, a seemingly inhuman vigilante who's wanted by both law enforcement and the criminal underworld. Criminals, superstitious and cowardly, are his primary prey. They call him The Bat-Man.

The bolstering whirlwind of streets belonging to Missouri's Central City are not immune to this sudden trend, either. Though he can only be spotted through a blur, or the occasional gust of wind, a force of nature has arrived and made it's presence known in a big way. The scourge of criminals and champion of innocents, the young crimefighter has christened himself after the moniker of a former hero - now returned to glory. He is The Flash.

And even still, in the present day of 2012, there are heroes to be found in the unlikliest of forms. A woman dressed in ancient battle armor, protecting her 'sisters' from the wrath of pariah's world. An alien warrior that has taken the form of man, using the memory of his distant homeworld to begin anew. A member of an intergalactic peace force, designated by his rank to protect Earth at all costs. These are the myths of Earth's heroes.

But what sinister figures will their exploits inspire? Will it be enough for good to ultimately triumph over evil? And what will the world at large demand of hero and villain alike... if each truly can find a place within this brave and bold society?

This is the Ultimate DC Universe. And the answers to these questions lie with you.

This RPG is based off of a player-created continuity, similar to Marvel's Ultimate imprint. Outside of the above, and what the players themselves create, there is no pre-established continuity.

As players, it will be your job to take the basic ideas and characters of the DCU, and accordingly, reinvent them into however you see fit. Though it is your choice of how drastic the alterations should be, you are free to customize everything from a character's origin to motivations, identity, mannerisms, costume, powers, and world. Let your imagination run wild.

To apply for a character, fill out the application supplied below. If your application is rejected, do not despair! Simply rework what the Gamemasters tell you is wrong with it, or in the case of multi-applications, choose another character. All players are welcome, regardless of membership status or postcount.



RULES:

1. You may choose any character appearing in the DC Universe, or an imprint of DC Comics (IE: Vertigo, Wildstorm), and revamp them for Ultimate continuity. Any character appearing outside of DC, such as Marvel or Image characters, will not be allowed.

2. You are allowed a maximum of two characters. Though it is advised that you stick to one, especially at first, you will be allowed a second if you believe you can handle the responsibility.

3. You must post at least once every week, though it is preferred you post more, or your character will be up-for-grabs. Failure to post after a month will result in removal from the roster.

4. PC's are not to be killed without permission. Nameless NPC's are fine, but PC's or important NPC's will require authorization. Don't do anything random, such as destroying the universe, either. Such behavior is frowned upon.

5. Several storylines can be going on at once, in order to interact with other players. If a player's character does not want to be involved in another's storyline, they do not have to. Consultation and communication are the keys to a good PC-to-PC interaction.

6. Sidekicks and legacy characters will be required to be permitted by the player orchestrating the mentor's role in UDC. For instance, if you want to play Superboy or Robin, your acceptance will hinder on the player playing Superman and Batman, and their thoughts.

7. You can travel anywhere on Earth or off-planet, provided it is within your character's means. Time-travel is forbidden, unless it is specifically required of your character choice. (IE: Booster Gold, Rip Hunter, The Legion of Super-Heroes)

8. You are your character, so act like them. Create or portray their mannerisms, powers, and ideals to how they have been established in the game. BE the character - do not, under any circumstances, play yourself as the character.

9. Respect the Gamemasters. If they make a request of you regarding the game, listen to them. Failure to adhere to GM or moderator requests will result in expulsion from the game.

10. Be creative, and do not be afraid to try new and exciting things with old concepts. This is a new continuity - the laws of the regular DC Universe are not set in stone.

11. All regular forum rules apply.

12. And finally, the most important rule of all: Have fun. Never take the game too seriously, or you will have lost the point. Heated arguments between players can result in probation or infractions - do not ruin it for other players. It is only a game.

To Join the Game, Please Apply in the OOC Thread Here:

http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...-up-OOC-Thread

[Byrd Man]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

The jeep bounced up and down the dirt road, carrying the driver and the passenger up on the hill towards the prison. The hill the facility sat on is the highest point for miles. Swampland and bayous stretched out all around as far as the eye can see.

"We don't need no electric fence with that there swamp," the driver said in a twangy Louisiana accent. "As many of them gone in there, ain't none of them ever come out."

The driver parked at the front of the prison and lead his escorts past the checkpoints to the warden's office. Inside the office, an elderly white man and a middle aged black woman sat.

"Lieutenant Colonel Flag," the man said with a smile. "I'm Warden Jasper."

Flag shook the warden's hand and turned to the woman.

"Amanda Waller," she said, not offering hand to shake. "I'm with the DoD."

"Good," Flag said. "Maybe you can finally tell me what the hell is going on. The hell is the DoD doing at a prison? Why the hell am I here?"

"Belle Reve prison is home to the DoD's Humanitarian Outreach Division, Task Force X-Ray."

"....Right, so...what do we do here?"

Waller flashed a smirk and leaned back in her chair.

"We work with the most dangerous and deadly prisoners here. Outreach to the metahuman criminals here and work with them on how to readjust to society."

"Huh," said Flag. "I was under the impression that I was going to be a military adviser... umm, where does that come into play?"

"That's right, I forgot one slight detail...we help these violent prisoners readjust by making them work for the government, offering them a chance at freedom by doing black operations where the casualty estimates are sixty percent or higher."

Flag stared at Waller impassively, unsure if the woman was serious.

"That's right," Waller said, anticipating the questions Flag had. "That's what we do here. Welcome to Task Force X-Ray....better known as the Suicide Squad."

*****

Flag followed Waller down the halls of the prison's lower levels. They walked through the dimly lit and dank corridors as she laid it all out to him.

"Task Force X was created by the Department of Defense in 2002. The original group was made up of elite special forces from the US armed forces. It's original targets were members of Islamic terrorist organizations and any other threats to the safety of the country and world. It lasted for one mission, a disaster in Iraq that ended with the whole team being executed by pro Saddam forces. The Joint Chiefs shut it down soon after."

"So what happened?" Flag asked as they turned a corner. "If it was a flop, why am I here?"

"Right. Fast forward to 2008. A high ranking official in the CIA -- who shall remain unnamed," she added. "She used her political clout to have Task Force X restarted with a bold new strategy. With the rising number of metahumans and metahuman crime, the new Task Force X would be staffed with the most dangerous metahumans on the planet and sent on missions intended for special forces."

"Why waste a highly trained soldier when you can send out a scumbag nobody's going to miss?" asked Flag.

"Exactly. So Task Force X was brought in under the CIA's authority. We give intel and supervise the missions while the field leader takes charge in the field."

"And you find a criminal you trust enough to actually lead them?"

"Not exactly, Colonel," she said with a wry smile. "We usually pick the field leader from the military. A highly trained special forces operative who knows how to handle themselves in the field... Colonel."

Flag stopped walking and closed his eyes.

"Son of a bitch! I'm not going to be a military adviser, am I?"

"Sorry for keeping my cards close, Colonel," said Waller with shrug. "But do you honestly think you would have went with me this far if you knew you were leading them from the start?"

"You said these people are dangerous criminals with powers. They're offered early release, but that isn't enough to keep them completely behaved. What's to stop them from killing me and running amok?"

Waller shook her head and motioned for Flag to follow.

"That's the beauty of the Suicide Squad, Colonel. While we employ the carrot, we are also very much in favor of the stick. Walk with me, you'll see."

A few minutes later, they arrived in the Belle Reve prison.

"This is you."

Flag looked around at his surroundings. The basement was damp and poorly lit. There were a few computer monitors and a desk, but that was it.

"So when do I see the rest of the team?"

"Right now, you are the team. The last mission....it...uhh, it didn't pan out like we hoped. We had a few casualties."

"How many?"

"Of the five members?" asked Waller, scratching the back of her neck. "Well, three died on the mission. Two of them were wounded. One of the two tried to escape the prison and we had to give her the stick. Turner is the only one still alive. Let's go see him shall we?"

Waller and Flag headed down into another corridor and made their way to the infirmary. A black man in a hospital bed was the only patient inside the infirmary, the rest of the beds empty. Off to the side, an orderly scrubbed blood off the wall...a lot of blood.

"See that right there?" Waller asked as she pointed towards the blood. "That is what's left of Livewire. She tried to electrocute the guards. We had no option to but to activate countermeasures."

"What did you do, beat her to death?"

"No, God no," Waller said with a scowl. "That's barbaric... No, each criminal member of the squad has a small device drilled into their head. If they try to escape, try to harm their field leader, or disobey orders we activate the device and it sends a sonic pulse through their cranium until their head explodes."

"Oh, well that's much more humane," Flag quipped.

"Told her not to," the black man said as he sat upright in the bed. "She wouldn't listen. Thought she could short circuit the bomb with electricity. Her goddamn head looked like a melon exploding. Remember that guy from the 80's? Gallagher? Looked like he took a mallet to her head."

"Told you all from the beginning," said Waller. "There's no way to tamper with the bombs and any attempts to tamper with it will cause it to self-destruct. Turner, this is your new field leader, US Army Lieutenant Colonel Rick Flag. Flag, this is Ben Turner, aka Bronze Tiger. One of the few members of Suicide Squad that's actually had any common sense."

Flag held his hand out for Turner to shake. Turner blinked at the open hand before he turned to Waller.

"Listen, I'm pissing blood. That shrapnel tore a hole in one of my kidneys. I had it removed. This can't get my number up?"

"I'm sorry, Turner," Waller said with a shake of her head. "You know the rules. You still got six more jobs to pull before you're done."

Turner shook his head and muttered under his breath. Waller touched Flag's shoulder and guided him out of the room.

"Get better soon, Turner."

Waller and Flag walked back down to the basement office where Waller pulled out a stack of folders from the desk. The folders landed on the desktop with a thump.

"I've been going through these names the past week and a half. Going over criminal histories, psych evaluations, seeing who would work and who won't. I want you to go through the names and compile a list. No more than ten names."

"This if for the new team?"

"Exactly. Read up and have a report ready for me by tomorrow afternoon. Day after tomorrow, we go recruiting."

[Pagliacci95]

Vic glared at his computer monitor, the only source of light in his dark apartment at the time, his fingers typing frantically at the well dulled keys.

“Dearest readers,
I am starting to sound like a one trick pony, Mayor office this and corrupt police that, so I implore you dear readers to look to the South, there's a prison down the Louisiana, called Belle Reve, you've probably never heard of it, only CIA, FBI and military officials know about it and lucky for you my readers I stalk some very important people. Now there we have “Metahuman” Criminals – that's Supervillains to you and me, packed up in there once they're arrested from all over the country, of course not Gotham, we're the self sustaining city the mayor will tell you.

Now this is where it gets interesting, dear readers, five prisoners have been checked out of Belle Reve and have not checked back in, including Miss Willis, you'd probably know her better as Livewire, the supervillanesse who held metropolis hostage by threatening to blow every fuse in the city, causing a citywide blackout and untold chaos and destruction. Her plans we're of course immediately eradicated by the big boy in blue (a person for another article) and she was sent to Belle Reve. She was one of the five checked out, and reports all the way from Shreveport to New Orleans claim significant surges in electricity between the hours of 14:00 to 15:00.

“But!”, I can hear you asking, “What does this have to do with anything, Vic?” That I'm not sure yet , dear reader, I can only speculate but there is definitely something rotten in the state of Denmark, and our old “buddy” the Question may have to do some investigative work.

Until next time, readers, remember the truth is out there, and kiss your 'I WANT TO BELIEVE' posters every night, the government may be watching.”

Vic grinned to himself, he loved playing fast and loose with his identity, he admitted he enjoyed the minimal fame he got with it, no doubt the bigwigs at City Hall nor the crime bosses read his column so there really was nothing to worry about.
But a trip to Louisiana, that was an interesting thought, the Question better start making friends if he wanted to get to the bottom of this

[AkiBlue]

Los Angeles, California

Another carefree day with the sun shining and people were relaxed. Nothing chaotic. Everyone's favorite green-haired, green-skinned, and green-eyed teen was ravenously stuffing his face with food- vegetarian food of course. He ignored the stares of civilians as he ate. It was something he expected, nothing out of the ordinary.

A day spent walking and the occasional flying around, had soon gotten pretty boring. The sites had gotten the same and repetitive. It was time for a change in scenery.

"Let's see...I've been throughout the west coast. I'll just head east until I get tired." Beast Boy's life hadn't really consisted of being a full fledged superhero. He was more of a 'help here, help there' kind of kid. As he was still seen as a kid. With a map in hand, he routed through each state.

Around an hour later, a hawk, a green one, was soaring to the east. With no plan, and no destination. That would be classified as an immature, childish move, but who cared?

Now was a start of a new adventure. One that had no destination, but many goals, the main being to stay alive and of course find food. In under three hours, Beast Boy had made it to Colorado. A foreign state. "Cool." He breathed heavily, changing into his human form, and collapsed on a rooftop, exhausted. He pushed his limit, and now he needed to...sleep. And like that, he was out like a light.

[Master Bruce]

"We're rolling in five, people! Let's move it!"

Sheathing a bundle of warm offerings in a carrier case from Starbucks, Clark Kent quietly weaved himself through the frantically-paced newsroom of the Daily Planet News Station just as they were preparing the evening broadcast. Having acquired the job a little over nine months ago, Kent had only just learned how to maneuver through the staff during their busiest hour, leisurely placing each labelled cup of espesso or decaff on whichever desk it was assigned. What he still hadn't quite mastered was how to do so whenever the staff wasn't on a busy schedule - which seemed to be never, given the constant happenings around Metropolis.

Still, Clark said to himself, preparing his last three deliveries while juggling a clipboard full of instructions from the station manager. You reap what you sew. You were the one who just had to have a major in journalism.

"Alright, we got everything finalized?!", Perry White barked from over the floor. "We're running with the piece on the Manheim scandal! Anyone wanna correct me on that, they better do it in the next thirty seconds! Get those cue-cards marked! Troupe, I better have that protest rally footage at the ready! Olsen, you either get the bugs worked out on that camera or I'll find someone who can! Lane, Corben, stick to the cards! No ad-libbing!"

"Sir,", Clark intervened, from behind. "Here's your..."

"Ceasar's ghost,", White muttered, turning around. "What is it now?!"

Holding up a cup of his employer's favorite, Clark half-heartedly smiled.

"Two sugars and cream?"

Blank-faced, White took the cup and calmly nodded. "Finally. Something to calm the nerves..."

Placing the last two under his forearm, Clark squeezed through two large cameras focused directly at the news set, where the two lead anchors, Lois Lane and John Corben, were getting the finishing touches applied to their onscreen makeup. For a moment, Clark considered approaching Lois first, despite it meaning having to go out of his way. But the closer he came, the more his nerves took ahold of his actions, prompting him to place both cups at the edge of the desk and quietly walk away.

Corben grabbed the one labelled "Lois", not even paying attention as he drank from it. Retracting the cup, he took a glance at it's contents.

"Someone piss in this?", Corben asked, disgusted. "Hey, did the coffee boy piss in my drink?"

Just as Clark was prepared to mutter a response, the entire crew turned around as a staff member rushed onto the set, frantically making his way over to Perry. Whispering in White's ear, nobody heard anything, but they saw the expression on the station manager's face change. Something was happening.

"Okay, listen up! We've got a new lead story!", White exclaimed. "Our informant at City Hall just called! That nutso extremist group, The Silver Banshees? They just took The Mayor's office hostage! They're circulating a list of demands as we speak!"

Murmurs erupted from the crowd. Whispers of preparing an obituary broadcast for the Mayor. But Clark had another priority in mind. Looking around for a spot to slip away, he finally got his wish whenever he noticed someone duck out of the northeast elevator. Slowly making his way towards it, Clark remained focused as Perry turned his attention to Lois, who stood up from the makeup chair.

"Right. I'll take Olsen,", Lois stated. "If we start now, we can sure as hell beat traffic before the situation gets hostile..."

"It's already hostile!", Perry corrected his star anchor. "Grant, you're taking Lane's spot on the main broadcast! And try not to flub your words, it's live television..."

Grabbing the arm of her videographer, Lois flashed an eager grin.

"Ready to break some speed limits?"

"Not if you're driving,", Olsen shot back, grabbing his camera with his free hand. "I don't wanna die at twenty-seven. Twenty-eight, tops."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Trust me, you keep stressing out about the way I drive, you'll have a heart attack long before then."

Just as the two approached the elevator, a strong gust of wind blew back Lois' hair. Stumbling back, she stared over at Olsen, who had seen what just transpired and looked just as equally perplexed. It had come from the inside of the shaft. Pressing the button, the two cautiously looked inside, seeing what had caused it - the top half of the interior was demolished.

"Uh, I, uh,", Olsen stammered. "I guess we can take the stairs."

As they raced for the emergency stairs, Perry could still be heard across the newsroom.

"Anybody seen my intern?!"

[Byrd Man]

Federal Correctional Institute
Walpole, MA


The guard lead Flag and Waller down a long corridor of prison cells. The catcalls and threats come from all sides as they walked through the prison's maximum security wing. The guard stopped them at a metal door and held a hand up.

"Stay right there for a second. I'm gonna have to ask for you to turnover any and all objects in your pockets. Keys, change, cellphone."

"I think we'll be alright," said Flag.

"Let me explain something to you, buddy," the guard said matter-of-factly. "He isn't fed solid food. You know why? Because the last time he was, he tore his bread into pieces and rolled them up into balls. He proceeded to flick those balls of bread down the throats of two guards. One of them choked to death, the other is at Mass General with brain damage after being asphyxiated for five minutes. We been feeding that animal with protein shakes every since."

"I promise you, we'll be alright," Waller spoke up. "We signed a waiver with the warden. If either of us are hurt by your prisoner, then it's nobody's fault but our own."

The guard eyed Waller, and then Flag before finally shrugging.

"Alright. Your funeral."

The guard punched his code into the door and stepped aside as it swung open. Flag and Waller walked into the cell. The room was very spacious by prison standards, but it lacked a bed or toilet. There was a lone naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling. A man stood underneath it, basked in the light.

"Christ almighty," he grumbled to himself. "I could really use a smoke."

Floyd Lawton. A notorious criminal. He was known in the international underworld as a prime assassin. Going by the alias of Deadshot, his reputation was that he never missed a target. Well, almost never. According to the file Flag and Waller had, he was in some trouble last year in Gotham City, a target of his actually managed to get away. A first time for everything, it would seem.

"Here you go, Floyd," Waller said as she tossed Lawton a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook. He caught the pack and matches with one hand and held them at arm's length.

"Ten seconds," he said.

"What's that, Lawton?" asked Flag.

"I said ten seconds. That's about the amount of time it'd take me to kill both of you with these items."

"Try it," Waller said. "By the way, how's the toothache, Floyd?"

"Better, thanks," Lawton said as he took out a cigarette and struck a match. The the tip of the cigarette lit up. He took a long drag off the cigarette, savoring the taste of it. "Let me guess," Lawton said, finally expelling smoke out. "You guys are from the government, right?"

"What gave it away?" Waller asked.

"Well, you strut around like you own the goddamn place. Reminds me of the spooks I've killed in the past. And your buddy here stands like he has a corncob up the ass, which means he's military."

"He's smart," Waller said with a bemused smile. "Isn't he smart, Colonel?"

"You may think you're inventing the wheel by reaching out and getting an assassin to do government wetwork. This isn't the first time I've been approached by suits, it won't be the last. They promise you everything from parole, to a get out of jail free card. Hell, a guy from the CIA even said he'd buy me a hooker for the weekend. But I told him the same thing I'm tell you: F***. Off."

Waller chuckled and looked at Flag, patting him on the back gently.

"I think you two are going to get along real well."

Flag saw Lawton move out the corner of his eye. Before he had a chance to defend himself, Lawton was driving the lit cigarette's tip into Flag's cheek. He grunted in pain and grabbed Lawton's hand, twisting his wrist and kicking him away.

"Wrong answer, ***hole," Flag said through gritted teeth.

Waller pulled a handheld device from her jacket and pressed a button. Lawton crumpled to the ground like a ton of bricks, his whole body convulsing in pain. Waller let her thumb off the button and tucked the device back into her jacket pocket. Lawton twitched on the ground, semi-conscious and moaning.

"How's your face, Colonel?"

Flag touched the burn mark and winced slightly before pulling his fingers back.

"Could be worse. I don't think he permanently scarred me or anything."

Waller nodded and bent down beside Lawton.

"See, Floyd, when you got that tooth removed the other day, we had something put in. I guess you could call it a control measure. The twenty-five thousand volts that went through your head was one of two setting. That was pacification mode, Floyd. You f*** with me or the Colonel again and I break out the other mode. Termination mode. Don't make me do that, Floyd. I really don't want to get my clothes all messy."

Lawton moaned and Waller patted his cheek.

"Welcome to the Suicide Squad, Floyd. You're gonna love it."

[nightrunner]

IC Robin
-------------------------------------
2:00 pm Gotham Bridge

Officer Dick Grayson stood over the body of a once very successful thug in the city streets, Louis Berouz. He started by picking pockets, later joined Two-Face's gang. He even became Two-Face's right hand man. But he ended up facedown on a sidewalk.

"Kids these days," Grayson joked,"don't know how to play nice."

"Can it, Grayson. We got work to do," said his partner, Tom Braxton.

"I don't get you Tom, some days you play, others you brood."

"I don't think its funny when people get killed in broad daylight."

"But it is funny when people are killed at night?"

"I said can it, Grayson."

Dick Grayson looked at his partner. The thirty five year had man had a scar from a knife marking his face, right down the center. His leathery face looked like a newspaper rolled up to beat flies and unrolled.

"Why does this guy being dead bother you?" Asked Grayson.

"Kid. Its personal." Tom replied as he walked toward his car.Wheres the guys to document the scene?"

"Now that you mention it they should be here by now. The only reason were here is so he doesn't transform and kill anyone. But dead people don't transform, they stay dead."

"The guys who made that law were serious. People do come back now."

"You're kiddin'"

"Brave new World to explore."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Pretty much as soon as he got off work Dick drove his red Firebird home. He jumped out the door and sprinted into his house. He picked up a gym bag, made a sandwich, and left through the back door.

About five minutes later he walked to his storage unit and unlocked it throwing the door up. He scurried over to a black silhouette. He ripped off a nylon sheet and revealed his motorcycle. A red and black bike with the letter R spray painted onto the side.

He turned on a light, shut the door, and opened his gym bag full of weapons, tools, and clothes. He casually slipped on his red bulletproof vest, red leggings, black boots and gloves, cape, and utility belt. The final touch was putting on a tiny eye mask, followed by his black motorcycle helmet.

"Its show time," he said as he threw up the door before mounting his bike.

[Agthala]

Gold sat at his desk, typing away on his personal computer. It was good to be self employed, but sometimes it was draining. The most draining parts where moments like these, the times when Gold had nothing to do. Gold stopped typing for a moment, rubbing his eyes. Memories flashed back across his mind; A large grey brute walking through the streets. The grey brute rampaged through the streets of Gotham City, finding a single man's house. Once there, it was simple for the grey brute to just break down the door (and parts of the surrounding wall) and walk in. Once in, the grey brute not only attacked his target, but the target's friends too. All of them where ripped limb from limb, it was truly a horrific sight. When the grey brute walked outside, he was met by a squadron of police cars. It's kind of hard to rampage through the city and not get noticed, but the grey brute didn't mind, it didn't care. The grey brute charged towards the barricade of cars, flipping over the first two it came across. He was met with a barrage of bullets, flying from all around him. When the bullets penetrated his skin, no blood came from the wounds. Several police officers died before the brute was finally put down. The grey brute fell to the ground, looking much like grey Swiss-cheese. The remaining police where then left with the horrific sight of the grey brute decaying at an accelerated rate. Within a minute, it looked as if the body had been dead for weeks and within an hour, the body was little more than a grey puddle on the ground. This was Solomon Grundy, Gold's darker side.

Gold woke from his trance, his eyes looking down to his hands as something clicked within his brain. He scanned over his fingers, hoping. Ah, good, no fingerprints. Luckily, the whole undead thing had more upsides to it than downsides. Then again, how are you meant to explain to someone that you don't need to drink, eat, sleep or even breath? Gold shrugged to himself and got up from his desk, walking towards the kitchen of his house. The kitchen was well-stocked with food, only non-perishable foods of course. Gold didn't have any need to eat, so he wouldn't be eating anything in this kitchen. It was just for appearances. It's much easier to explain having a lot of non-perishable food in your kitchen than having no food at all. There was one item in the kitchen that Gold did have a fondness for; Tea. Not just any ordinary tea, English tea. He used to have a fondness for the tea that was sold in Gotham, but after a trip to England, Gold couldn't stand the usual stuff when he got back to Gotham. Now, he only drinks a brand he gets imported from England, but it's worth every cent.

Gold sat back down at his desk, and took a sip of his tea, not minding the heat. Delicious. Maybe moments like these, moments where Gold has nothing to do, are fine after all.

[Pagliacci95]

Vic never cared for Arkham Asylum, if he ever went Coo-coo for Cocoa puffs, which most people say he has, he'd move to metropolis before anyone found out. This place had archaic, almost demonic architecture and it was falling apart, leaving many passages for lunatics to make an easy escape.

Such as this loose window just on the second floor. Vic hoisted himself up onto the ledge, placed on his mask, and produced a screwdriver, which he used to unscrew the window-frame and place it down just outside, he needed to be quick before someone noticed the draft.

By his watch the man he wanted to see would be in one-on-one therapy right now, perfect, he ducked and rushed through the halls of Arkham, knowing the layout rather well by now until he heard a voice coming from a door two doors down.

“Okay Otis, I'll be right back, sit tight, I'm going to see the pharmacist about some new meds.”

Question ducked down into a supply cupboard as the doctor left the room.

“What a wierdo.” The Doctor said under his breath.

“Oh there are stranger people, doctor.” He said as he suddenly erupted from the cupboard and pinned the doctor to the wall.

“Argh!” The Doctor cried out in pain. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm Santa Claus and you've been very naughty this year, Doctor.” He said with a quick headbutt, knocking the doctor out clean.

“Not to self,” Question mumbled as he dragged the doctor into the supply cupboard, “Think of better one-liners.”

He undressed and undressed the doctor, laying his almost naked body on the ground as he searched through his lab coat pockets. A cheap packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.

“You should know smoking is bad for your health, doctor.” He said to the unconscious body.

“Then again so's working at Arkham.” He continued to dig until he found a surgical mask, just what he was looking for, he pulled the surgical mask on, now only looking like an eyeless man rather than a faceless one. And put on the doctors clothes, tight fit, but it will only be for a few minutes.

He left the supply cupboard with the doctor still inside and closed the door behind him. He hoped no one found the Doctor, he left his best suit in there. He walked into the door the doctor first exited from, no lock, Arkham security at its time again and sat down across from the patient.

“W-who are you? Where's Doctor Steinback?” Quivered Otis.

“Change of plans Otis,” He lowered the surgical mask, “I'll be asking some different questions.”

“Oh God, oh God, I know you!” Squealed Otis. “You're that Question guy!”


“And I know who you are Otis. Otis Flannegan, better known as “The Ratcatcher” You've been in and out of Blackgate all your life but finally ended up here, after that stunt when you unleashed a pack of rabid rats during a football game between the Gotham Goliaths and the Metropolis Meteors. 10 people died and 50 are still under treatment, and all you said in your court hearing was-”

“At least they were from Metropolis.”

“And you were found criminally insane, where are your rats now, Otis?”

“In my cell, t-they don't let me take them into councilling, Mr Question.”

“Now I'm not hear to try and make you sane, but before you went you knew everyone in this city, so tell me who's the greatest detective around.”

“Batma-”

“Besides Batman, Otis.”

“...you?”

“Do you think I just came here to stroke my ego? I need good detectives, Otis, don't make me break something.”

“Oh please! Uh-umm...Gold! There's a gumshoe called Gold! And that Grayson guy in the force, I heard he's pretty good, please don't kill me Mr Question! Who'll look after the rats?!”

“Good boy Otis” He dug into his pocket and produced a hunk of cheddar cheese. “For your friends and if everyone asks Steinback was drunk and your suffering from withdrawal systems causing freak hallucinations, got it?”

“Thanks, Mister Question.” He gleefully takes the cheese from Vic's hands. “And don't worry, the amount of people who visit me these days, the doctors always tell me its always a hallucination.”

Now, he had the names, all he needed was the locations and enough charm to form a group, shouldn't be too hard, he thought as he got dressed into his regular attire once again and readied himself for a daring escape.

[nightrunner]

IC Robin
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VRRRRROOOOMM!
Robin's motorcycle took off down the highway as it went for the closest knownTwo-Face gang hideout.

7:42 Half finished apartment complex

Robin parked behind a hill in the distance to ensure he wouldn't be spotted.

A single member of Two-Faces gang stood watch over the north side of the complex. Just standing in front with his big gun.
It was only half finished because a fire killed 22 of the 44 workers, destroying part of the East side. With the place crawling with references to the number two, how could Two-Face resist kicking the owners out.

"The doors wide open. Much appreciated."

Robin snuck up to the side of the building. On the one hand, I could listen around and interrogate some thugs to find out who shot Louis. On the other, if Im spotted I get tortured before dying a horrible death. And on my mutant third hand, I could go to work tomorrow.
Third options boring. Second is ... Unappealing. I guess the first is my only real option.

Robin walked with his cape covering him to blend in with the shadows. Sneaking is so easy, he thought to himself, before pouncing. He grabbed the guard's head and smashed it into the wall.

He was going to go get another thug before considering option two again. So he just kidnapped the gaurd and brought him to his motorcycle. Then he realized hed have to balance the thug, his gun, himself, and his cape.

After a rather jittery ride home, he brought the thug into his basement, taping him to a chair after hiding his giant gun.

About two hours later he woke up.

"Keep me waiting, why don't you. You like Jenga?"

"Son of a bi-," the thug started.

"No such language in this house mister!" Robin interrupted with a parental tone.