The Singular Universe: An Ultimate Comics RPG IC

[Hound55]

It's two hours pre-dawn. Most cattle have settled in small groups, both for protection and warmth. The nearby town of Gisborne is neither lively, nor close enough to be a disturbance with either light or sound. Casting a dark silhouette from before a bright full yellow moon, a cow stands alone on a hill. An old long-dead steer's skull at his feed, he stands atop it. He watches.

Gisborne at night. My people. It seems a sleepy town to the uninitiated, but I have long since come to know it to be the four-sectioned belly of hell. I have grown in the darkness. From here, atop this gargoyle I watch over them alone. There is no inch of this pasture that is not under my own survey.

A small fox breaches the fence in a dark corner, ears twitch on the cow on the hill and he raises his head and lows deeply. Standing higher on his haunches and aligning his head perfectly to obscure the moon from the onlooking cattle and the fox. Other cow's moo in disturbed tones at the breach of silence and look upon the hill. The fox, sensing something askew with the situation, leaves the way he came.

The Batcow's symbol cut's deeply at the carnivores’ hearts. Carnivores are a superstitious and cowardly lot, the symbol preys on that fear. I... prey on that fear. To prevent it from ever happening again to another calf. That is my method, that is my mission.

Almost a decade earlier
Wayne Homestead

“How you goin’, ol’ girl.” Alfie uttered, pressing his hand against the swollen cow’s side. “Geez Martha, you’re about to pop any minute. I better call the vet in.”

The farmer had precious little calf-birthing experience, and after the great expense of this particular artificial insemination he wasn’t game to attempt it himself. So some time later, after a quick phone call, a four wheel drive is seen powering up the lengthy driveway towards the homestead.

“G’day, Alf.”

“Mornin’, Joe.”

The vet strode past a bull being kept in the home paddock, towards the milking shed where Martha was being kept in isolation.

“She in here? This the one?”

That was the day. The day everything changed. My destiny would find a new path, to prevent the same thing from ever happening to another.

The vet feels the side of the cow. “Yep, she’s bloated, Alfie. Called me in right on time.”

With eager, expert fingers the desperate man clutched at my mother in desperation.

“Mooooooooooooo!” the bull bellowed.

“Thomas! Settle down.”

The bull began to thrash out. He flipped a drinking trough by the fence.

“Awww, no. She’s turned. The calf’s turned. Hell.”

The calf came out, with a hard yank. The vet fell on his rear end, covered by the calf and some putrid smelling afterbirth.

“There ya are, little fella. We were looking for you. Wait, what are you? That’s a—“

“A Montbéliarde.” The farmer said with a smile. “Yep. Martha was always a good breeder, so I got her inseminated with Montbéliarde for higher grade milk.”

“Well, ain’t she a spruce one.” The vet said.

“Yup. My little Spruce.”

“Aww Hell.” The vet pined, looking back at the calf’s mother. The cow’s mother had more than just afterbirth hanging from its cavity. He gave the farmer a look, which he immediately understood. Alfie looked at the floor and then walked away. The vet went to his car and brought out an air-canister and hand-piece; a captive bolt pistol.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Thomas the bull bellowed.

With a puff of compressed air the vet fired a bolt through the cow’s head, it stayed upright for a second and then crumpled to the floor of the milking shed.

I can still remember it. All of it. My father’s shout. The shot. Beads of milk falling to the cement like white pearls in the night, before she fell. Never to rise again.

Crack! Bang!

Thomas the bull kicked the upturned trough, which echoed like thunder throughout the farm and then tore through the fence.

Lightning cracked, thunder rumbled and my father ran for that man. Joe Chill must fall. But the man was too fast.

“Jeezus!” the vet exclaimed, hurriedly re-loading the bolt gun. The bull rushed. The vet took aim and with another puff of air it was all over.

A young calf’s life was forever changed. I lay on that hard, cold cement besides my mother and father and lowed deeply, about all that was unfair in this world. It wasn’t for years until I would find my path and the means to change it.

[HenryJonesJr]

After work, Jim and Clark sat in the corner bar across the street from the planet drinking a few beers, otheir normal Friday evening tradition. Kent of course couldn't get drunk. Whatever it was about his alien physiology prevents it, but he wasn't surprised. He could get hit in the face with a baseball bat at full speed and be okay. Alcohol wasn't going to stop him. Though sometimes he wished it would. At college he saw the parties and all the fun people were having. It seemed like something that every human does at that age, and watching it made the outsider feel even more separate from his adoptive race. It wasn't easy being an indestructible man, and feeling like such an outsider didn't help any.

But Jim Olson enjoyed Clark's company, and Clark considered Jim to be his best friend, at least his best friend outside his parents.

"So what do you think, Clark?" Olson asks through a sip of ale. "Is Superman a mutant? Or an alien?"

The question catches Clark off guard. He hadn't prepared for these kind of questions from a friend, even though he should have, "I'd say a mutant. He looks human enough, you know? If he was an alien you'd figure he'd look a lot different from us."

"Yea, but the mutants," Jimmy started, he had obviously been thinking quite a bit on the subject, "they usually only have one power. This guy seems to have all of them."

"Well maybe he's a new kind of mutant," Kent lied right to his friend's face. He never thought about this when he was crafting his plan for Superman. He never thought about having to sit across from people he cared about and lying to their faces. It didn't feel good. it certainly didn't feel right. But he knew he'd make enemies in this line of work, and for their protection he needed to keep his secret safe. And if that meant lying to them, so be it. "Maybe they're getting stronger."

"Not a lot of people are going to be happy with that." Jim told the truth there. Anti-mutant sentiment was running high throughout the country due to continued attacks by mutant freedom fighter Magneto. There was even talk of forcing them to register with the authorities, but those measures were unlikely to pass through the Senate. "Tell you what, whoever's right gets a beer from whoever's wrong?"

"Sounds like a-" Before Clark could finish his thought, his phone buzzed along the table next to him. "Yea? Perry? What is it? Really? Outside of town? We're on our way, Come on, Jim."

"Ugh...we have to work on a Friday night!?"

"I'm afraid duty calls, buddy," Clark responded with a worried look on his face. "Some sort of meteor is about to crash land outside of the city."

"I need to go grab my camera at the planet!" Jim rushed out of the bar, throwing some money down on the table for the tab.

"I'll meet you there!" the reporter shouted, before ducking out into the bar's back alley. He checked to make sure no one was around before ripping open his shirt, revealing the S emblem underneath.

[Byrd Man]

Mumbai
India

Bond raced down the middle of the congested Mumbai street. He weaved through the sitting cars and ran as fast as he could towards his fleeing target. Anatol Sturn, the Bulgarian assassin, was Bond's prey. Sturn leaped over the handrail that separated the sidewalk from the street. He landed on the concrete and stumbled as he started back running. Bond followed a few seconds behind. He took the railing in one swift motion and kept running without breaking stride. Bond gained ground on Sturn as the older man ran into a group of school children. Sturn cursed in Bulgarian and jumped another railing back on to a street. Bond avoided the children and followed Sturn over the railing and back to the street. As they ran, the landscape around them began to change. They passed through the working class neighborhoods and hit the slums. The pavement became dirt, the three story middle class apartments became shacks.

Wheezing, Sturn grabbed at the stitch in his side and went down a narrow alley. Bond stopped only to pull his Walther from the holster strapped to the small of his back. With his gun out, Bond leaned around the corner. A gunshot echoed out, a bullet ricocheted off the side of the tin shack. Bond leaped back and opened a channel to his SIS backup.

"Where the bloody hell are you?" he growled.

"Enroute," came the clipped reply.

Bond chanced another glance around the corner and saw Sturn running away, a pistol in his hand. Bond figured Sturn was a hundred meters away, almost out of range. Bond took a deep breath and steadied his hand. The Walther kicked in his hand, the gunshot cracking loudly. A half second later, Sturn fell to the ground. He yelled, grabbing the back of his leg in pain. Aiming at Sturn, Bond closed the gap between the two men. By the time he got to him, Sturn was leaning against the side of a shack, his left hand holding his leg. Sturn's gun was on the ground, away from him.

"Don't even move," said Bond as he began to pat Sturn down. He was patting the man's left pants pocket when Sturn jerked, a knife sliding out of his shirt sleeve. He swiped at Bond with a loud growl. The blade cut into Bond's shirt, slicing it. Bond felt the knife blade scrape his stomach, but the pain was minimal. It made him mad, if anything. He stepped back as Sturn made another attack with the knife, this one a fast stab. The knife missed Bond's arm by just a few centimeters. The missed strike sent Sturn stumbling forward. bond brought the butt of his gun down and smacked Sturn hard on the forehead. The blow slammed Sturn against the side of the shack. Sturn tried to attack again, but was stopped by another pistol whip the head. He slumped to the ground, Bond holding him by the scruff of his neck.

"What's HYDRA doing in Mumbai?" Bond barked at him. "Talk, goddammit," he yelled when Sturn remained silent. "Who was that woman you met in the apartment? Talk!"

The gray-haired man took a deep breath and looked up at Bond. Bond heard a click come from Sturn's mouth. With a look of fear and defiance, Sturn bit down on something. "Cut off one head, two shall take its--," Sturn was cut short as he began to convulse, foam and blood filling his mouth. Cursing, Bond shook the dying man in frustration. Bond looked into Sturn's unfocused, lifeless eyes and sighed.

*****

"See you had a bit of bad luck," said M on the TV screen. He was in his office in London. The window behind him showed gray skies and stormy weather, a direct contrast to the hot evening that waited outside for Bond. Bond was inside the British Embassy with the SIS Mumbai station chief, a man called Phillips. The two of them had just briefed M on the run in with Sturn. "I'll talk to the Indian government, they said they'll keep Sturn's suicide under wraps for as long as possible."

"We have managed to look into Sturn's affairs while in Mumbai," said Phillips. "We have a lead. Apparently, he was to be part of a security detail at a party tonight hosted by Armand Sarkissian. He's a wealthy Armenian businessman. For nearly ten years he's lived here, buying and developing real estate. The guest list appears to be filled with a who's who in the Mumbai social scene."

"How does a shady character like Sturn get a job like that?" asked M.

"Let's find out," said Bond. "Can you get me inside that party?" he asked Phillips.

"I can try," said Phillips. "But nothing is absolute."

"M," said Bond, turning his attention to the screen. "Put me in the Interpol system with a criminal record."

"What?" M asked with an arched eyebrow. "May I ask to what end?"

"Someone at that party wanted Sturn for work, maybe it was because he was a criminal. If I find out who it was, it'll help if I have a record."

"Agreed," said M. "Alright, give me a few hours. When someone checks Interpol, they'll find that there is a James Bond with a lengthy history of run ins with the law."

"No," said Bond. "Not a long criminal history. A criminal with a long record implies sloppiness.

"One with no record implies a plant," said Phillips.

"Best of both worlds," said M. "A series of minor charges and offenses when you were younger. The rest will be mostly conjecture and allusions, implying that you got careful as you got older. Sound good?"

Bond nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Now where can I find a tuxedo around here?"

[THEBANNONCANNON]

Gotham City
12:30 A.M., Friday.

Jonathan sat in his car, parked on the side of the curb. It was a lazy drizzle in Gotham.Rose Trimmels had come home only half a hour earlier with a man in a Taxi, both of them obviously wasted. The lanky man figured it funny, they seemed to have only had sex for 20 minutes or so before passing out. But Jonathan waited the extra ten to make sure.

He wore his standard crisp black suit, though recently he had managed to buy a Kevlar vest, and was wearing it this night under his white button up shirt. He also had his delivery system set up in his jacket. The Toxin was stapped to his lower back, roughly where his kidneys were; with small hoses leading from the Aerosol can all the way up his arms to his wrist. From the wrist, a small hole allowed him to spray the aerosol whenever he pressed down on a small pad in the palm of his hand. His burlap mask lay in his lap, staring up at him silently in the dead of Night.

Dr. Crane quietly got out of the car, with his mask in hand. He’d decided after he’d taken his Revenge against his dream girl, he’d need to find a way to modify his mask with a voice modifier. Though that would be in the future, For now, he needed to concentrate in the present. He quietly slinked his way up to the house they entered, and quietly attempted to open the door. Jonathan found that the door was indeed unlocked, though opened very loudly regardless of his caution.

“Wha-..? What was that..?” Roses familiar voice said in the darkness of the house, slightly slurred. She seemed more confused than afraid, though Scarecrow would take care of that soon enough. He quietly tip toed through the house, trying to follow the sound of Roses voice in the dark.

“I don’t know; just go back to bed...” replied a seemingly tired males voice. By this point, Jonathan had found the door to the room they were in. The lights were all of in the house, and Jonathan guesses they were lying in bed. He leaned against the wall next to the door and placed the burlap mask over his head, nearly feeling the transformation within.

“Would you please go check..? I’m scared..” Replied the girl who had broken his heart. The Scarecrow heard a man sigh and rise from the bed, his heavy feet trudging towards the door. The Titan of Terror crouched down low and tried to make himself hidden. It apparently worked, as the slightly drunk man walked right past him towards the door with a yawn. What a mistake.

Scarecrow grabbed the man from behind and put him in a choker hold, but not before giving a quick spray in the face with his Fear Toxin. The man seemed to gasp right as Scarecrow sprayed, affecting him even worse. He thrashed wildly in his captors arms, attempting to yell but being unable to draw breath. Scarecrow wasn’t sure what terrors were racing through the man’s mind, but he imagined the situation was terrifying enough. He slowly passed out, still writhing in pain and terror. Jonathan, deep inside, felt a sick pleasure in the terror of this man. He wanted more.

He then entered the bedroom, and found Rose already standing with a baseball bat. She gasped, seeing The Scarecrow enter the room, half shrouded in darkness, and dropped the bat. She rose a hand to her mouth in astonishment, and Scarecrow crossed the room in two steps, spraying her face as well with his Hellish substance. She successfully screamed, but it was immediately followed by Scarecrow punching her in the stomach, knocking the wind from her. She fell to a knee, and the King of Crime stared down at her wounded and terrified form without pity. He gingerly touched her chin and rose her head to look into his burlap mask. Then, lightly, sprayed her once more. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth started foaming. She gurgled unpleasantly, and Jonathan smiled. He walked across the room and grabbed a chair. Placing the chair in the center of the room, he opened his black jacket and withdrew a rope with a noose. Throwing the noose over a beam, he grabbed the woman by her night gown and dragged her to her feet.

She still seemed fairly out of it, though her eyes seemed to be returning slightly. Through her delirious state, Scarecrow heard her ask.

“Who..are you..? What do you... want from me?”

Jonathan picked her up and placed her standing on the chair, then, standing on her bed, placed the noose around her throat. He noticed tears welling in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembling. Her legs seemed to be shaking as well. She seemed to understand well enough what was happening. He decided to reply to her.

“I am.. Scarecrow. You shall pay for your heartlessness, Rose.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his voice, and he saw realization slowly dawning on her face. She seemed to quickly try and think of a way out of this, but Jonathan knew her fate was sealed.

“Jonathan..? You don’t have to do this! Please!”

“Oh, but I do, Rose. It’s time the people of Gotham got what they deserve.”

With that, he gave her one last spray of his noxious gas, before kicking the chair out from beneath her. A sickening crack was heard, and her neck contorted to a unnatural angle. She didn’t even have time to scream, and her eyes remained open. Another ominous sight from the Gotham Police Department. Jonathan reached into his jacket once more, and further flung straw across the room. He exited the bedroom and approached the knocked out man on the ground. He hadn’t seen anything of value, and Scarecrow felt like a witness would be.. Interesting. He knelt down and sprayed a second blast in the man’s sleeping face, and he coughed violently and his face contorted in a sleeping horror. Scarecrow chuckled slightly and stood up, he exited the building and got back in his car. Taking off his mask, he drove into the night, further schemes taking place in his head for the future of Gotham.

This was only the beginning.

[Spartan]

1975.

The wind whipped up a flurry of powdery snow around the body of the lone wanderer. He stood high on the crest of a cliff that fell away to a sheer drop just a meter away from where he stood. Gloved hands pulled the fur lined jacket closer to his neck before tugging the brim of his old beaten hat further down towards his face.

It had taken him three days from the last town he had stopped over in to get to where he currently was. The previous days had seen him survive on what he had managed to hunt and sleep wherever he could find enough shelter to stave off the cold. He was truly in the middle of nowhere, cut off from all of civilization. As he scanned the Canadian wilderness far below he felt the pounding in the base of skull he had been feeling a lot recently. Two words hammered relentlessly at the edge of his thoughts.

He sniffed the air and smelled Caribou on the wind. He had survived so far on hare and birds and was in need of a good meal. Turning his head in the direction of the scent he listened to the sounds carried on the wind but nothing came to him. Still, the scent was unmistakeable and along with a fire, the taste of good meat would allow him to focus on the meaning of the words that had driven him to this desolate and Godless place. Saliva formed in his mouth and new energy bled into his muscles at the thought of stalking a decent meal. He stepped off the crest and made his way through the tundra towards a nearby tree-line, hoping that tonight he would finally be able to answer the question.

What is "Alkali Lake"?

[Byrd Man]

Mumbai
India

"Your name, sir?" asked the large security guard. He stood in front of the express elevator that led to the penthouse party.

"Bond. James Bond."

The guard checked his list, then favored Bond with a once over. The man nodded his head and then pressed the button to call down the elevator. "You're good," he said once the doors slid open. Bond stepped into the box and waited for the doors to close.

"Hold up," said a voice outside of Bond's vision. American accent. Northeast, Bond surmised, somewhere around Boston. "I'm on the list," said the voice. "Alex Timm."

Bond heard the guard give his consent and the voice's owner stepped on to the elevator. A burly man who looked like he could barely fit into his tuxedo. He had flaming red hair and a fiery red handlebar mustache that extended to his ruddy cheeks. The man, who was apparently named Alex Timm, gave Bond a nod as the elevator doors shut.

"How's it going?" asked Timm.

"Evening."

Bond inspected himself in the metallic reflection of the elevator doors. The tux he wore was procured at the last minute, but it was top quality. Bond adjusted his bowtie based on the reflection and thought back to the last time he wore a tuxedo. Five years ago, back when he was still in the Navy. It was a celebration in M's honor, his promotion to head of SIS. Bond, back before he was Bond, had toasted his mentor, danced the night away and stayed up until the morning with the M's eldest daughter. Bond was pretty confident that M didn't know about that last part, and if he did he didn't let it cloud his opinion on his protegee.

"So what do you do?" Timm asked Bond as the elevator shot up past the thirtieth floor.

"I'm in the import export business mostly."

"Oh, yeah?" Timm's eyebrows waggled. "Where to exactly?"

"In and around the Black Sea, shipping things from there out to the Mediterranean and the Atlantic."

A low whistle from Timm. "Nice. I myself mostly do private security stuff. It's not as lucrative as shipping, but I get by."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Bond and Timm walked out of the doors into the lavish opening. The penthouse's foyer was decorated with rich, colorful fabrics hanging from the high rafters. There were settees dotted around the foyer, all of them loaded down with opulent throw pillows. There was a bar on the foyer's far wall stocked with drinks and liquors. The main attraction, however, was in the middle of the room. Of the two dozen or so guest, most of them were gathered around an elderly Indian man with long white hair and a bright red turban on his head. He played a Pungi while a younger man beside him played sitar.

"Look at that," said Timm. "Dinner and a show."

Timm passed by Bond and gathered with the rest of the guests to watched the performance. Bond watched from a distance. He turned away from the performers and met eyes with another guest. A woman in a long, maroon dress. She was Asian, Bond thought maybe Chinese, and her dark fell below her shoulders. She stared at Bond for a brief second before turning away, a slight smile on her face. Bond smiled to himself and headed to the bar.

"What'll it be?" asked the bartender.

"Vodka martini," said Bond. "Shaken, not stirred."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes," said Bond impatiently. "I asked for it, I'm bloody well sure I want it."

"It's just... shaking the martini instead of stirring bruises the gin. It makes it sharper."

"And that's how I like it. Be a good lad, and do what I said."

Two minutes later, Bond sipped from his shaken martini and gave a nod to the barman. With drink in hand, Bond began to walk back to the performance in the middle of the room. As he did, he passed the Chinese woman as she headed to the bar. "Be careful," she hissed at Bond as they passed. "You are in the den of the snakes, now."

Bond stopped and watched her as she walked. He tried to interpret her cryptic warning, playing it over in his head. Before he could ponder, more on it, there was a commotion coming from the far corner of the foyer. People were gathering around a door as it opened. People applauded as a man and woman came out the door and towards the middle of the room. The man was of average height, olive skinned with curly black hair that was gray around the temples and the base of his head. To Bond, he looked about fifty or so. Armand Sarkissian, the wealthy Amernian who owned a good percentage of the greater Mumbai area. But, Bond was more interested in his companion. The woman in the navy blue sari was familiar to him. It was the woman Sturn had met shortly before he committed suicide.

For the next few hours, Bond mingled with partygoers. The two men played light music while a few partiers danced near the middle of the room. He made light conversation with them, figuring out that most of the people here were among Mumbai's wealthiest. Nearly all of them were foreigners, expatriates from their homelands. He kept trying to make his way towards the Asian woman, but she was always moved before Bond could get closer. While she alluded him, Bond staked out Sarkissian and his woman. Bond was preparing to approach them when he had the work done for him.

"Care to dance?" Sarkassian's companion asked Bond. Her English was good, her Indian accent not overbearing.

"Love to," said Bond. He took her by the head and led her to the middle of the room. There, they danced slowly to the music.

"You are Mister Bond? she asked as they danced. "You sent Armand reeling today. A direct invite from the British ambassador. Who knew someone who had such pull?"

"Well, what's the point of having friends if you can't lean on them. But, you have me at a disadvantage. You would be?"

"I am Kali."

"From Hindu? The Goddess of Death."

"She is more than that, Mister Bond. Kali is also the Goddess of Empowerment. Goddess of Time. Bringer of Life."

"Hindu mythology seems to be like that," replied Bond as he dipped Kali gently. "Gods are contradictions."

"Much like us, Mister Bond, the gods struggle with their duality. Like us, they are capable of great good and great evil."

"Are all of us? Even a beautiful creature such as yourself?"

Kali ignored Bond's comment. "We all are. Even you. You struggle with duality."

"Closest I've come is a a bad case of diphtheria once when I was a boy."

"I can see through you," said Kali, staring into Bond's eyes. Her hazel stare was steely and intense. "I see a man who plays the gentlemen, but on the inside... is something else entirely."

"What would that be?"

"A brute," she said in a low whisper. "A thug and a lowlife."

"Well, the girls always liked the bad boys. What's your dual nature?"

"My life here. What I am, what I do for Armand, it's not me. I act like serene and proper lady at parties and functions. Show up to events with my arm wrapped around Armand's. But, it's a lie. I'm no lady, and Armand is no lover. Our arraignment is one of convenience. He has... other tastes."

"So, you're single?"

Kali stared at Bond for what felt like, to him, nearly a minute straight. "I have a suite two floors below the penthouse. Midnight, Mister Bond--"

"James."

"Midnight, James. I expect you to be the brute."

"And I expect you to not be the lady."

The song ended and they parted. Bond shifted through the crowd, stopping only once to look back at Kali. She kept walking, never looking back at Bond. Bond shook his head and mingled with the party for a little while longer. Wherever the Chinese woman was, she was nowhere to be found anywhere. Timm was still there, telling a group of men and women a story that was so funny his beefy face was turning red. Bond checked his watch. Two minutes to midnight. He hit the elevator and went down two stories.

He found Kali's suite and knocked. A moment later, the door swung open. She smiled at him, her cheeks flushed. Bond reached out and placed his hands around her waist. He leaned in and they kissed. bond savored the sweet taste of her lips, like jasmine. She pulled away from Bond and took his hand.Kali led Bond into the hotel suite. Bond shut the door behind him and made sure it locked.

[Spartan]

1975.

The lonely howl of the wolf pricked the wandering mans ears. He knew the sound well and knew that they were on the hunt. Seconds later the air was sliced by a thin piped scream from nearby. The wandering man growled and began to run, catching the scent of the air as he broke through a clutch of spruce. In hi peripheral vision the wandering man caught the dark flashes moving through the trees on either side of him. Thin agile shapes, their breath forming deep clouds of vapour as they raced.

The wandering man stepped up his pace as the scream, a womans scream, wailed into the air once more, much closer this time.

He burst through the snow covered spruce and into a clearing. In front of him a woman was scrabbling in the snow, blood leaking from a head wound highlighting her terror-filled eyes. Behind her, a group of scrawny looking wolves closed in, their throaty snarls escaping from behind bared yellow fangs. The wandering man growled himself and balled his fists... SNIKT!! ...long claws burst from between his knuckles, blood leaking down his fingers as the agony of blades tearing away clear of his hands.

The wandering man roared and leapt into the fray. The animals met his challenge and leapt back at him. Claws sank deep into the body of the first creature but the second was on his back, its fangs sank deep into his shoulder. The wandering man cried out his angry fury as he fell to the snow. The wolf rolled off and found its feet and leapt back to the attack, joined by it's fellows. Claws both metallic and animal scratched and stabbed, cut and thrust. Blood and fur covered the pristine white on the ground as a symphony of animal aggression broke the silence of the wilderness.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. In the clearing five animals lay dead on the ground. Amongst their corpses, on hands and knees and breathing in ragged heavy growls, the wandering man watched his own scarlet life-force stain the ground. A gentle hand lay upon his shoulder. He looked up and found the woman he had saved by his side. "A-are you okay?" she asked.

The wandering man nodded and spat a wad of blood into the snow then stepped to his feet and staggered a bit, a hand slipped around his waist and helped him to his feet. "Come on, I have a cabin nearby, we can clean you up".

[HenryJonesJr]

Connors had been working at the lab 24/7 for the past week and a half, trying to figure out how to finally get his serum to work. They were so close at this point. The turtles had accepted the primer without a hitch, and now were ready for their mutation. If only he and the other scientists could figure out the correct protein configuration for it. The computer simulations continuously came back with negative results, often with the death of the subjects due to cellular rejection of the compound. But they were close. He could feel it.

Or maybe that was just the false hope he was keeping talking.

With Dr. Stromm and Osborn's edict to finish this research quickly or get out, the entire lab had gone into a frenzy. People were neglecting loved ones and other arrangements to find the finished product. Without it they'd all be on the streets, and years of research would have been for nothing. Connors found that to be unacceptable. This was his work, his passion, and his dream, and he would not let it die here. For this was the life or death of the project. Being dropped from Oscorp would mean no one else would touch him and his theories. It was hard enough to get Norman on board with cross species genetics, especially with the current mutant unrest. Without this backing, he would be ruined.

His phone began to wring next to him, and he answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, dad," a voice said from the other end. The voice of his son, Billy.

He glanced at the clock and noticed how late it was. The boy was probably getting ready for bed. Connors cursed under his breath, making sure his son couldn't hear. He hated missing time with Billy and his mother. He hated having to be in this damned lab all of the time. But most of all he hated Norman Osborn for making all this necessary.

"Hey, pal," Curt said with a smile, "how was school today?"

"It was okay," the young boy responded in a bored tone. He was smart, just as smart as Curt. And because of that, school bored him to tears. Everything was easy to Billy. "I had a math test and a history test. Both were easy. Gym was fun. We're playing floor hockey."

"What position were you playing?"

"Goalie. It was fun and I was really good."

"That's great," Curt beamed. "Are you getting ready for bed?"

"Yea...I..I just wanted to say I love you and I hope you're home soon," the boy blurted out quickly. He was getting to the age where he was embarrassed to say things like that. Curt could remember back to the time when he was the same way.

"Love you too, Billy," Kurt sighed. "And I hope I'm home soon too."

With that he hung up, and cursed Norman Osborn yet again.

**********

A few days later

April's head slumped off her hand as her mother cooked her breakfast Saturday morning. She and Gwen had been working in the lab overtime to help out the researchers in anyway they could. April watched as the lab descended into a kind of controlled chaos. Doctors and lab assistants had been running around like mice on wheels all week, most with very little sleep. It wasn't the stress free environment Gwen had touted when she got April her job, but she understood. It was now or never.

But this was totally not meshing with her desired stress level.

"So how late were you out at the lab last night?" Ms. O'Neil asked her daughter with a raised eyebrow.

"Midnight," April groaned, digging into the meal. "Gwen and I came home together. We were safe."

"I know you are. But you haven't slept well this week."

"You know why. Besides, I like it," April smiled. "The turtles are so cute. Michelangelo fell on his back last night and couldn't get up. But his brothers turned him over. It was so cute!"

"Michelangelo?"

"Yea, I named them," April said, thinking about the four little turtles. She came to really care about them in the short time she had been working at Oscorp. Of course, one couldn't help being in love with the cute little creatures. "Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo. We've been doing Renaissance stuff in History."

"Do you think it's smart to get so attached to lab animals?" Her mother was worried. Her daughter often got attached quickly to things that wouldn't last.

"If Splinter can have a name, so can the turtles," April was indignant. The rat had even become a welcomed companion during the long nights. His intelligence was astounding, and he even seemed to want to make her happy, performing tricks to make her smile. A text message came across her phone and her heart jumped into her chest. "Oh my god!"

"What is it?!"

"Doctor Connors! He found a simulation that worked! They're going to do the test!"

**********

"You're sure, Stockman?" the voice said from the shadows, deep and frightening.

"One hundred percent," the squirrely scientist responded, wringing his hands. Baxter Stockman knew who he was dealing with here. This man was dangerous, one of the most dangerous in New York City. But he was a necessary evil at a time like this. Stockman knew that if Connors ever discovered a way to make his serum work Stockman would lose his funding. And he couldn't have that. Luckily, his business associate wanted the serum for himself. For what reason Stockman didn't know, but that wasn't important. All that mattered was saving his own projects from the chopping block. "I have my access right here, as well."

"Taking it would draw suspicion on you," the man in the dark replied coolly. "We need to make this look legitimate."

"And how are we going to do that?" Stockman squealed nervously.

Without a word from his associate, two men seemingly stepped from the shadows, cracked their knuckles, and got to work.

**********

"Exciting, isn't it?" Gwen swooned at the thought of finally seeing the fruits of the lab's labor come about.

But April wasn't as excited as she thought she was. Since she had gotten to the lab that afternoon she hadn't left the four baby turtles alone. Now that the threat of them not being around for long was very real, she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. She looked back up at her friend and nodded, "Oh yea. Super exciting."

Sensing her friend's reluctance, Gwen attempted to calm April down, "Relax, would you? Doctor Connors wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't perfectly safe."

"Yea, I guess," April shrugged, picked up the turtles' cage, and carried it towards the testing chamber.

"I've never seen you so attached to something so slimy," Gwen joked.

"I dunno," April laughed and whispered, "remember when I had that crush on Harry Osborn?"

"Shhhhhh!" Gwen chuckled.

In the center of the room, Doctor Connors prepared the chamber for specimen testing. The breakthrough had happened last night with a stroke of blind inspiration. The proteisn fit in the correct order, and round after round of computer simulation said that the serum had a twenty-five percent chance of working. That was good enough for him. As long as one of these turtles regrew a leg and survived, he could begin his next phase of testing. That's all that mattered.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began to address those that he had been working with for so long, "tonight we take a great step forward in curing the human race of its ills. Tonight we pave the way towards a cure for caner, Alzheimer's, and HIV in one swoop. Tonight, and with this," he said, holding up the green serum in his hands, "we will make history."

The lab erupted in applause, and the test was ready to proceed. That is, until the lights went out throughout the entire Oscorp building. A murmur of concern swept through the assembled crowd, and April clutched the turtles' enclosure tight to her. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.

And that feeling was proven correct as small pops were heard from inside the lab. Everyone turned in frightened haste to see what it was, only to see smoke begin pouring up around them as if from thin air. April sniffed the air, expecting to smell the familiar scent of a fire, but there was none. This was no fire. No, this was a diversion.

The crowd began to try to escape, and in the panic someone bumped into April, sending the cage to the floor, the glass shattering across the floor. But April wasn't going to let the turtles die. Not like this. Not by being trampled on. She moved quickly, scooping them up in her hands and heading for the exit. She cut her hand slightly on the broken glass, but couldn't be concerned with the blood. Not right now.

But as she did, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Two men, both dressed in some sort of ninja get up pointed at her. And one of them was holding Doctor Connor's serum.

Not wasting any time, April took off towards the elevators and boarded one before the men could reach her. Pressing the lobby button, the elevator lurched down to her hopeful escape. But the movement felt so slow at a time like this. What were these people after? What did they want with the serum? And what about the turtles? They were of no use to them. They were just helpless creatures.

The doors to the elevator slid open and April slid out of it, only to be greeted by the sight of more of the ninjas, as well as unconscious guards. She turned and made a beeline for the other exit while the ninjas entered into hot pursuit. She burst through the doors and into the tower's parking garage and just kept running. She didn't think she was ever going to stop. That is until she almost ran into one of the attackers. It was the one from upstairs. And he was huge. In his left hand he had the container of the serum.

"Impressive you got this far, girl," he said, his voice deep and threatening. "But this ends now. Give me the turtles, and you will be unharmed."

April hesitated, but there was nothing that could be done. The other ninjas had now surrounded her, and she had nowhere to run. But as she stretched her arms towards the giant of a man, the world seemed to slow down as actions went into motion that would change New York forever.

The man grabbed greedily for the turtles, but a brown ball of fur jumped from April's shoulder towards his face. It was Splinter. He had hidden in April's hood this whole time to protect the little turtles too. He was just as attached as she was, and he wasn't going down without a fight. The smart little rat bit and clawed at the man's face, causing him to flail wildly. His hand smacked April's causing the turtles to fall down a storm drain. But Splinter wouldn't give up, and the man went even more wild.

Which is when he dropped the canister of serum, and knocked Splinter down the same storm drain. As he did, the sounds of sirens exploded into the air. The man looked at the sewer grate, then back to his fellow warriors, "Ninja! Vanish!"

With another round of smoke bombs, the ninjas disappeared into the night. When the police arrived, they found April shivering from fear, alone and cold.

**********

Below in the sewers, the turtles and Splinter wallowed in the serum, along with blood from the human girl. As the scientific experiment's liquid begins to take affect, the four turtles began to regrow their lost legs.

But it didn't stop there. They and the rat began growing in size and changing in shape. They could all feel it. They could feel their intelligence growing. They could feel their bodies morphing. Bones were shifting, shells were growing, and voices were coming. They pain was excruciating, but the realization of why the pain was coming was the most amazing thing. The four brothers and the older rat were now self aware. They were sentient. In the span of 20 minutes they became some of the most biologically amazing creatures on the planet.

"My...my...sons," Splinter said, using his new found ability to speak. The words came to him like whispers from the past. He didn't know how, nor did he know why, but he could talk now. And he knew he needed to get the four turtles away from here, "Follow me...my sons."

[THEBANNONCANNON]

Jonathan sat in his quiet little apartment on Saturday morning, exhausted yet thrilled from his recent success. Those who had wronged him were beginning to fall, one by one. Yet he still had so much Vengeance still left in him. He felt a burning passion to gas Gotham University’s school officials, for their prudent and foolish behavior of firing him! Sure, he was unorthodox, but he’d been fired for being unpopular, not for any legitimate reasons, as far as he was concerned, anyways. It was becoming more and more obvious that he would need a large amount of money if he wished to get serious about rededicating his life to his cause. Which, honestly, he hadn’t even thought of putting the mask away and trying to forget this whole thing. He couldn’t go back to his old life, not after discovering his Destiny. But If this was going to work, he would need cash, and a serious amount of it.

His toxin supply was running a little low, he’d had too much fun with Rose, but oh, was it worth it. He contemplated the idea of robbing a bank, but figured he’d need more than his little pistol to pull it off. Plus accomplices. This task was quickly beginning to seem daunting, but he figured he could find a few thugs in Gotham’s Narrows to take him up on his offer. This city was ripe with corruption, and it seemed as if nothing was going to be done about it. Jonathan sat up out of his arm chair, in his slippers and smoking jacket. He entered his kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, before sitting down at the kitchen table and opening up the morning paper while taking a drink. Flipping through the pages seemed like everything was going normally, until Jonathan noticed a small area in the back of the paper describing a man found dead in his apartment. Covered in straw, with a bullet in his head, it said he was found in the fetal position with dried tears. Police were baffled by at, and urged anyone with information to call a hotline.

It wouldn’t take long for Rose’s lover to alert someone as to what happened once he found her corpse. The lanky man found the thought shuddering when he realized he had snuffed out the life of two people. Yet more were still to come, he was sure. Standing up, he entered his bedroom with a grim smile and opened his closet. Before him, he saw a pair of black tuxedo shoes with black silk socks stuck inside them. Followed by a pair of black slacks with grey vertical stripes on a hanger, then there was a button up white collared shirt, also hung. Finally, a black tie with a black cuffed suit was on the last hanger of his. Inside a small chest in the back of his closet, lay The Scarecrow mask as well as his Distribution System.
He’d timed himself getting prepared multiple times, and had it down to 15 minutes, 10 minutes or so if he really tried. Though he figured it was unlikely he was ever caught in a position where he’d need to get dressed and ready that fast. Still, it was good to prepare. He’d spent the last of his money on making the suit look as nice as it did, and as he began to dress himself in his suit, minus the mask, he realized he hadn’t come into to work in at least a week or so. As if he had been in a stupor ever since the night he finally found the courage to enter the Church of his Nightmares.

He’d have to come in Monday morning with a damn good excuse, and work his ass off for a while to make sure he wasn’t too screwed. This would be hard to keep up the facade that he was normal too; like the rest of his Co-workers. But it was worth it every time he sprit that Aerosol into the face of those who deserved Terror. Standing up, he walked to the front door and stepped outside. It was around 9 A.M. and Jonathan felt like going to The Narrows to see if this bank robbery would be possible after all. He definitely knew he’d attract low lives attention dressed as sharp as he was there, but he felt confident in his abilities. Approaching his car, he suddenly saw a large flock of crows descend around him, led by the largest, Nightmare.

“Ah, Hello there friends, my beautiful! I apologize for not stopping by as of late, I’ve been terribly busy. But I hope to actually move into that old abandoned church quiet soon. Oh, there’s just too much to do, and not enough time to get it all done." He opened the back door of his car and pulled out a large crate. Setting the crate on the ground, he took the lid off and motioned with his head into the crate.

“Inside.” He commanded, and thus all of the crows quickly swooped inside, all quiet as could be. It was strange his seemingly unnaturally command of his crows, and he looked around the street for any who had noticed his strange behavior. But the street seemed deserted, and he quickly got inside his car and began to make his way towards the bad, well, worse part of Gotham.

************************************************** **********************************

Jonathan was walking down a decrypt alley in the Narrows, when he heard a slight footstep behind him. Smiling slightly, he kept walking. Good, so everything was going as he planned. He had noticed three particularly rough individuals loitering around as he got out of his car earlier, and he certainly hadn’t failed to notice them following him from a distance. Now as he entered the alley, he wanted to see if these thugs had anything useful about them. He quickly spun around, and saw two of the three men standing there about 20 yards or so back. One was unarmed, while the other carried a wooden bat. The one with the bat smiled, and Dr. Crane could see a glittering metal on his teeth. Uncivilized brutes.

“Don’t you try an’ run now!” He called, beginning to advance towards Jonathan maliciously. Jonathan turned around towards the other end of the alley, but the third man as well as two more had cut off that side. The man looked at the cracked and wet cement under his shoes and smiled slightly.

“I don’t plan on it. But you should.” Jonathan mumbled to himself, with slight arrogance. He had always tried to keep himself in at least fairly good shape, and after getting private lessons from a student of his named Katsu Hokkaido, who had connections with The Yakuza in Japan, learned Crane style Kung Fu, or at least the basics. Not only that, but he’d also learned Drunken Boxing in College to help assure he was never bullied again like he was in High School. These two styles blended nicely, with Scarecrow.

He slowly withdrew the mask from his jacket pocket, and gingerly placed it on his head. The men seemed to give him a queer look, but continued their advance anyways. The one with the bat tapped it threateningly against his palm, and from what Scarecrow could tell, one of the three behind him had pulled a knife out. Jonathan had never been in such a unfair fight before, and actually had hopes of winning. He figured he should start getting used to fighting others than helpless terrified victims, as he felt this would happen with some frequency. Suddenly, his thoughts were broken.

“Nice mask, freak. You playing off that other freak, The Batman..? Because we ain’t afraid of him, or you!” The man with the bat had gotten in striking distance, and quickly swung the wooden bat as his sentence ended. Scarecrow ducked and jabbed a fist into his stomach. The man gave a Oomph! And stumbled to his side, leaning against a wall. The second man gave Scarecrow a quick uppercut, and Jonathan felt the world rock as he stumbled backwards. Yet he felt too much adrenaline in his body to feel any pain.

The three men behind him were running towards him now, he needed to make this quick. The second man threw another haymaker at the stunned Scarecrow, but he quickly sidestepped it. He twirled behind the man and kicked in the back of his leg, dropping him to a knee. He grabbed him by the air and pulled his head back, making him look at the upside down Scarecrow while on his knees. He released a squirt of his Aerosol into the mans face, and then kicked him in the back sending his face straight into the concrete.

A third man, indeed with a knife, slashed at Scarecrow. But he too, missed his mark. The Sultan of Scares hopped back, and whistled a high pitched noise. Dozens of Crows, freed from Cranes car before he entered the ally, descended from the sky and assaulted the bladed man. He let out a panic’d screech, and dropped the blade slapping wildly into the air. The original man with the bat appeared to be back on his feet, because Scarecrow heard a groan and a lurch behind him. Turning around, the bat smacked straight into Scarecrows ribcage, sending him flying back into the man being attacked by birds and sending them both falling to the ground.

Jonathan gasped for air, and got a mouthful of burlap instead. Red hot pain shot through his chest, and he swore he cracked a rib. Just then, the man who had been sprayed by the fear toxin began screaming himself and writhing on the alley floor in terror. This second long distraction allowed Scarecrow to sweep out the legs of the man with the bat, and send him to the ground as well. The fourth and fifth men rushed over, and began kicking Jonathan repeatedly. He felt himself blacking out, disappointed in his martial ability, when suddenly, Nightmare detached from the Crows terrorizing the third man, and assaulted the fourth and fifth. While he did little to damage them, he distracted them long enough for Scarecrow to crawl into a kneeling position.

One of the two men got a lucky hit, and punched the loyal Crow, sending it flying into a brick wall. It hit the wall hard, and fell to the ground in a heap. Jonathan drew ragged, sharp breaths and tried to concentrate. Yet the world began to seem darker, and it was hard keeping his eyes open. The voice of the man with the bat, now back on his feet, brought Jonathan back to reality.

“Well, well, brought to yer’ knees. Now it’s time to pay…” He crossed over in front of Jonathan, having a accomplice on each side. He reached out and grabbed hold of the burlap mask, yet right when he did so, Scarecrow felt a burst of energy, and uppercut the man, sending him reeling. Then, raising both arms fired a quick spray of his Toxin into the face of both accomplices. They both yelled and grabbed at their faces, stumbling backwards. The apparent leader with the bat had just regained his balance when The Titan of Terror leapt forward, landing a tuxedo shoe square in the mans throat, sending him flying back and clutching at his throat, gasping for air.

The Scarecrow would be lying if he didn’t admit a strong urge to kill every single one of these men. He figured they surely would have done the same to him. Yet he needed them, if he was going to grow in his operations. Taking account of the situation, three of the men were gassed, the leader was clutching at his throat, and the fifth was on the ground being assaulted by Crows. He limped lazily to the man with the Crows on him, and whistled sharply for them to stop. They did, and the man seemed to quit moving and screaming, laying on his side with his back to The Scarecrow and his face towards one of the alley’s two walls. He grabbed the man by his collar and hoisted him to his knees, where it became apparent the birds had ripped out tufts of air and nipped at his ears, nose, and lips.

“Who do you work for?” Demanded the enraged Scarecrow. The man’s head rolled lazily and he coughed slightly before muttering a response.

“Fuck you.” The Scarecrow released a punch into the man’s already battered face, giving him what he could tell, would be a black eye.

“Who?!”

“I believe the man you are looking for, is myself.” Came a voice from behind the Scarecrow.

Spinning around, Scarecrow saw a wispy looking man, much like Crane himself. Yet this man seemed to have the facial features of a rat, and thin, balding hair of auburn color. His chin was scruffy and his glasses were thick. On either side of him was a man holding a pistol, both relaxed yet seemingly confident in themselves. They didn’t seem like the same brand of street trash Scarecrow had just defeated, having more toned muscles under their clothes and a sense of calmness about them.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Edward Skeevers, and unless you have a damn good reason for beating the piss out of my men, and trying to track me down, you’re about to die.” He smiled sarcastically, and showed surprisingly white, if crooked teeth. His eyes shown with ruthlessness behind his glasses.

“I’m… I’m looking for guns, guns and men.” Replied the Scarecrow, releasing the beaten man from his grip. The man slumped to his knees and then onto his side with a grunt, and the Scarecrow slowly advanced towards Edward. Edward, in turn, casually approached the Scarecrow before lightly kicking a loafer into the side of the first man Scarecrow gassed.

“Well… I’ll be. I bet the Doc would be interested in this. What exactly is this stuff..? And who are you, anyways, stranger? You don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen in this city, and I've seen a lot.” He scratched his scruffy chin and rested his eyes on the gassed man for a few minutes. The man was quiet now, his eyes having rolled back into his own head, and his mouth slightly ajar. The expression on his face screamed terror.

“You may call me... The Scarecrow. I need finances to continue making that product, actually. Of course, I need money for other things as well. I was.. planning on robbing a bank.” Replied the Scarecrow shortly and suspiciously, keeping his eyes on this Edward at all times. Edward looked up and tried to make eye contact with Scarecrow, but found it near impossible with the obtrusive burlap. He sighed and rolled his eyes slightly, turning around and motioning for Scarecrow to follow.

“Wow, slow down there, Dillinger! If you’re plannin’ somethin’ like that. You’re definetly gonna need some help. Lucky fer’ ya, I may just have it…”
He paused for a moment before continuing.

“Ya know, this town just keeps gettin’ weirder and weirder. First that damned Batman starts shownin’ up, then I heard rumors of some Clown runnin’ around, and now we have a Scarecrow! Well, Scarecrow, I think we may be able to come to some agreement after all. You single-highhandedly just beat five men at once, and I like powerful Allies… Even weird ones.” He looked over his shoulder with a crooked half smile and chuckled slightly. Yet Scarecrow did not laugh, and Edward coughed awkwardly before continuing. The Scarecrow whistled sharply for his crows and motioned towards Nightmare. At once, they flew over and picked up the large bird, flying off to take it to the car and mend it to the best they could. Scarecrow had cracked the window to allow them to enter and leave at their own digression. While he did worry for Nightmare, he felt this was more important.

They exited the alley the way Jonathan had entered and crossed the street, entering a large warehouse that Edward unlocked with a unnaturally shiny metal key. The two guards of Edward seemed to keep an eye on Scarecrow, but Mr. Skeever himself seemed very casual and relaxed in his business sense. In a way, Scarecrow enjoyed the informality of it. They approached a large tarp in the center of the warehouse, and Edward ripped it off with the enthusiasm of a child showing a friend a neat toy, and toys they were. Under the pile lay a great many AK-47, Makarov Pistols, PPS Submachine guns, and more. He bent down and picked up a small black tube of lipstick before turning around and letting out a grin.

“This is one of my favorites. The Doc called it ‘The Kiss of Death’. See, look!” He turned the bottom of the tube, to make the lipstick raise up. Yet instead, a small bullet ripped through the top and fired into the wall, allowing sunlight to leak into the warehouse slightly.

“Is that some James Bond shit, or what!?” Cried Skeever with delight, discarding it back into the pile. He then turned to the Scarecrow and spoke to him with unsettling seriousness for such a delightful man.

“I’ll give you seven men, two vans, and as many guns as you can carry. We cut it 80/20. Deal?”

“80/20!? Are you kidding me? You expect me to risk my life for so little?” Replied a slightly indignant Scarecrow.

“We have the guns, men, and a van. You’re lucky I don’t kill you for what you did to MY men. I’m keeping you around because I like yer’ style, actually. We’re all a little crazy, some just don’t hide it.. Like you and That Batman. Besides, I think The Doc will like that gas of yours. And this 80/20 cut will give ya incentive to get as much cash as you can. Eh?”

Scarecrow nodded with slight frustration. This definitely wasn’t his ideal start, but it was definitely a start.

[Master Bruce]

"Well, well, well..."

For anyone that had met him, Anthony Zucco was not a pleasant source of company. Nicknamed "Big Tony" for an ego that was larger than life, the Italian immigrant was one of several that had been found on the streets living in poverty, corrupted, and drafted into the Falcone crime family at an early age, starting off as a delivery boy for the mob at just 14 years old. His story from there was practically as old as the city itself, becoming further integrated in Gotham City's growing scene of criminal organizations throughout the late seventies and asked to become a hitman for then up-and-comer Carmine "The Roman" Falcone himself. But Zucco had other ideas of how to make money, with aspirations of becoming a mafia don himself and running a narcotics racket whenever the demand became high in the mid-80's. He worked tirelessly and eventually got his wish granted whenever The Roman wanted a man who could help him plot the downfall of Gotham's once notorious kingpin, Silvio "Silvermane" Manfredi. Once the war between the two factions reached it's breaking point, Silvermane left Gotham for a small-time operation in New York, leaving Zucco to inherit his operations on the condition that he remain loyal to Falcone.

For a time, this loyalty was uncontested. But rumors had been circulating through Gotham's underground black market that Zucco had been given a better offer than anything Falcone had ever tossed his way. A new force was making it's name in the continuing struggle to keep the mob afloat. A particularly ruthless gangster who, in the place of a known identity, had been going by the moniker of The Penguin. And to Zucco, he was more than legit - he had the money, the power, the weapons, and the drug supply to keep the flow of Zucco's operations secured for the next ten years. All that he'd have to do is manipulate Falcone in a position to take the fall for his current operations.

Naturally, such a rumor had placed Zucco in considerable jeopardy. Falcone was struggling, but not to the point where he wasn't still able to have his traitorous ally's operations dismantled. Going into hiding within Gotham and running things from afar, Zucco's list of friends in high places began to diminish and he found himself staring down a threat that he'd never once faced - The Gotham City Police, who were more than eager to get their hands on him. Word is, they'd even developed a small task force dedicated towards his apprehension.

But now, as Big Tony Zucco calmly strolled into the billiard room of the private estate that he had been using as a safehouse for the last few months, he saw an immediate opportunity for some payback staring him directly in the face. Two officers of the Gotham City police force were being held down on their knees at gunpoint, a heavyset man and a leaner one, the latter nursing a severe gunshot wound to his shoulder. A lit cigar in his mouth, Zucco puffed out a foul cloud of smoke and blew it in their direction.

"What've we got here? A couple'a off-duty cops stickin' their noses where they shouldn't, from what I'm told. But maybe that information ain't exactly true. Maybe I got you wrong, and you're just a cute little couple that decided to go sightseein' and wound up parkin' across the street to do what the young people do,", the mobster taunted. "Or maybe you're just gonna tell me that you two were gettin' ready to deliver a pizza, but you showed up at the wrong address. Any of those stories ringin' accurate?"

The two officers looked at eachother, the high tension in the room straining them enough to sweat. Zucco leaned in to the heavyset one, sneering down at him as he stared back, trying his best to look unintimidated. But given that a gun was being held to the back of his head, the gesture seemed particularly useless.

"Or do you wanna go ahead and set me straight, mister,", Zucco began, signaling one of his men to reach into the cop's back pocket and remove his wallet, handing it back so that it could be read. "Burke, is it? Lieutenant Samuel Burke, Gotham City PD. Shiny little badge and everything. Well, I guess that just about solves our little predicament, doesn't it?"

Burke raised his head high. "I'm not talking. Not to a piece'a shit like you."

With a laugh, Zucco watched as the man keeping him restrained pistol whipped him hard across the jaw. "Whoah there, this one's got some balls! I like that, I like that alot! Tell you what, Sam Burke of the Gotham PD..."

Grabbing Burke's tie, Zucco lifted him off of the ground. His arrogant smile slowly fading as he spoke.

"Instead of talking and tellin' me what I already know, that the two of you are apart of that freakin' task force that the jackass Mayor's had commissioned to bring me in, how's about you render yourself useful and tell me somethin' that I don't. Who's leadin' the task force? Who wants me that bad?"

Burke remained silent. Removing the cigar from his mouth, Zucco pressed it against the Lieutenant's cheek and applied enough pressure for it to begin to burn. Despite closing his eyes and biting down on his tongue to avoid crying out, Burke didn't reveal anything. Slapping him hard across the face, Zucco pushed him back to the gunman and watched the Lieutenant be kicked in the spine, knocking him down face-first onto the floor.

"So it's like that, huh? Ain't gonna rat on your chain of command? S'alright, I can take a hint. Every man's got his breakin' point, so sooner or later, one of you is gonna sing. And I promise, the one who does is walkin' out of here without a bullet in their brain."

Zucco's eyes were drawn to the second police officer, who had been forced to watch his partner endure the relatively light torture. Compared to him, anyway. "How about you, though? You as stubborn as wideass, over there? You got a pair of balls on you, too?"

Noting his gunshot wound, Zucco strolled over to the other officer and removed that man's wallet on his own, reading it as he tossed his cigar to the floor.

"What do you say, Detective Charlie Fields? You got the chance to prove yourself smarter than the average bear, here. And let me tell you.", he explained. "Bears, they get hunted. Your partner is gettin' one in the lap first for his smart mouth, then he's gonna get one in the shoulder to match you. That's just for starters. You, on the other hand, can avoid that fate entirely and get medical treatment. You just gotta tell me what I want to know. Who runs the goddamn task force?"

Fields was white in the face, having already lost a considerable amount of blood.

"I... I..."

Zucco shook his head. "Yeah, you, it's always gotta be about you. So be smart, Charlie. Choose your next words carefully."

Fields lowered his head and said a silent prayer. Just as Zucco began to signal one of his men to come over and give Fields some more discomfort, the Detective finally looked up at him and muttered something. Zucco paused, looking back down.

"What the hell'd you just say?"

"Gordon."

Ashamed of his cowardice, Fields kept his eyes to the floor.

"Captain Gordon leads the task force. He sent us here tonight to verify you were staying here."

"Cripes, Charlie, what the fuck're you doing?!", Burke shouted, still pinned to the ground. "Gordon knows we're here, he could have SWAT coming to get us in the next few minutes for all you know!"

Fields angrily looked over at his partner. "Screw Gordon and screw you, Burke! They're not gonna be able to hold Zucco, and he knows our names now! They can find out where we live if we don't cooperate, so what the hell is it gonna matter?! I've got a family to look after!"

"You think that matters either way, you moron?! You don't think they'll just do that anyway?!", Burke barked back. "Zucco knows the ground's shrinking under him, that's why he's had to hide in this dump for the last six months! We had him dead to rights, and you just blew it!"

Producing a glock from within his three-thousand dollar jacket, Zucco aimed the weapon directly into Fields' face.

"I think I gotta side with him this one. You really did."

BLAM!

With a violent explosion of flesh and blood, Charlie Fields' head jerked back and his lifeless body fell hard onto the floor, clearly dead. Despite his hatred of him in his last few moments, Lieutenant Burke still looked back at the corpse with considerable shock and horror.

"Charlie,", Burke whispered. "ZUCCO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Zucco reloaded the weapon and strolled over to Burke, casually kneeling down without even a hint of remorse for murdering the man. Burke could still see Fields' blood on Zucco's shoes as he spoke, only further sending him into a rage.

"Let me tell you somethin' about what I just did. The cops in this city, your pal Gordon? None of them can do a damn thing about it. I just literally shot a cop in the goddamn face. You saw me do it. Hell, I've got security cameras runnin' all through this place that can show me doin' it. And they still can't do a single, solitary thing. And you know why that is?"

With a large grin, Zucco grabbed Burke by the hair and lifted his head back, pointing the gun to his burnt cheek.

"Because this is Gotham City. And in Gotham City, fortune favors the bold. You think the ground's been shrinkin' under me, is that what you've been led to believe? You don't know a goddamn thing about how this city works. How it's always worked, how it's always going to work. The cops are still bought and paid for, even if Loeb's been taken down. The courts? In my pocket. Hell, I got more power now than I did a year ago. And it's all thanks to my new and very good friend."

With his finger on the trigger, Zucco leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch away from Burke's ear.

"So tell me, wideass. With everything I've just said, what the hell's gonna stop me from killin' you?"

BLAM!

A shot rang out, and Burke immediately closed his eyes, bracing to meet the exact same fate as his partner. But despite knowing that a gun was fired, he quickly began to notice that it wasn't him that the bullet had hit. Infact, judging from the way that Zucco and his men turned towards the window overlooking the private courtyard of the estate, Burke realized that the shot hadn't even been fired in the same room.

BLAM!

Another shot. Placing the gun back in his jacket, Zucco was handed a walkie-talkie as he walked towards the window, fronted by a pair of guards. "Frankie, Johnny. We heard shots comin' from the roof. What the hell's goin' on out there?"

"---Oh god, oh god---"

Zucco looked back at his men, worried. "Frankie?"

"---NO! KEEP AWAY FROM ME! KEEP THE HELL AWAY!---"

Then there was nothing. Silence. Zucco took a glance outside of the window, watching as his other man, Johnny, was firing shots randomly into the darkness while clearly scared out of his mind. Zucco couldn't see anything at first, but just as Johnny began to turn and run towards the estate grounds, a large silhouetted figure swooped in from the trees above and snatched him up off of the ground. Zucco's eyes widened in horror, realizing what was happening immediately. He had been hounded by the same figure for the last few months, hearing all the ghost stories that had come from his own lieutenants about who had dismantled his narcotics operations.

They called him a creature of the night, claiming everything under the sun about him. That he had wings, that he had fangs, that he could let bullets pass right through him, that he wasn't even human. But the papers had taken to calling him something else. Zucco backed away from the window and waved for his men to follow, hurriedly running for the door and deeper into the mansion halls. Burke was dragged along with them, hands held firmly behind his back.

"No, not this, I can't deal with this now!", Zucco shouted. "Why's it gotta be him? Why the hell's it gotta be him?!"

"Who, boss?"

Zucco angrily looked at the oblivious gunman. "Who do you think?! The freakin' Bat!"

Five minutes working my way around the grounds, incapacitating the rooftop snipers, and it confirms everything that I need to know. Tony Zucco is definitely in there, and he's currently holding two police officers hostage. There were a multitude of different stealth tactics that I could have used to breach the compound and make it to Zucco himself if this were any other situation, but the immediacy of getting the hostages to safety takes precedence. I'm forced to be quick about it, merciless. Factor in a selective amount of brute force over logistics. So far, I'm making good time, and definitely making good on taking down Zucco's primary defense. That was the last of his outside forces. But that shot that I heard coming from the inside worries me. The possibility of a second one pushes me to move ahead, leaping atop the outside gate.

Wherever you are, Zucco, know that I'm coming for you.

Know it in your soul, and let it haunt your every nightmare for the foreseeable future.

"Alfred, that was the last of the snipers. How far have you gotten on your end?"

I can hear him still typing from the other side of the line, patched into the radio-link in cowl. Right now, he's looking directly at the screen of the computer in Batcave, more specifically the Wayne Enterprises satellite footage being transmitted back of the entirety of Zucco's estate grounds. It's limited in it's focus, but Alfred's been running a series of thermal, infrared and night vision scans in order to give me the best possible drop on incoming threats from the outside.

"As best as I can tell, sir, you're free to engage the gentlemen inside without interference."

Cracking my knuckles to relieve the imminent stress of bones breaking beneath my fist, I leap down into the darkness and begin to advance towards the courtyard, where I'll find one of the top floor windows and scale the wall in order to break through.

"Good to know."

"And if I may, I've taken the liberty of determining the trajectory of Captain Gordon's incoming squad. Taking the traffic into account, they should not be arriving for another seven minutes."

Him bringing it up has reminded me of my obligation in taking Zucco down. Jim's got a personal stake in this. If I fail tonight, then I'll have failed him aswell. Which means that it certainly doesn't look like I'm about to run out of further motivation to make this happen.

"Then I'll have it done in six. I'll get back to you when I'm finished. For now..."



"Time to go hunting."