Master Bruce — Roleplayer Guild

Gotham City, 27th Precinct of The GCPD
12:09 AM

A storm was brewing. Captain James Gordon could feel it in his bones. Arthritis, is what his doctor had told him. Figured that it had been onset for awhile, given he was only a few weeks away from his 49th. But all Gordon had to do was look outside his office window and see the flash of lightning that illuminated the dark, gloomy cityscape ahead of him to know that his suspicions were correct. Skyscraper lights flickered with varying brightness, as if to say Gotham itself was bracing for what was coming. What Gordon didn't realize is that no one, not even the city, knew for certain what kind of storm it was going to be tonight. And that was almost the worst part of the job - the waiting, seeing whether or not the night ahead would bring him a much needed rest and good fortune or the dread that came with a city morgue lined to the brim. There was no in-between anymore. Not since all hell broke loose between the five families of Gotham, inciting a territorial war that had been brutal enough to be compared to the original Roman's Holiday massacre of the 1930's. 

"Uh, Captain? You with us?"

Gordon looked up from a mountain of paperwork he'd been pretending to focus on for the last hour, staring directly into the face of his immediate subordinate. Lieutenant Francis Tork was conducting a meeting of the Major Crimes Unit, of which Gordon had insisted on supervising as it pertained to an oncoming raid of a warehouse on the corner of Meredith and Devito. 

It was thought to be a safehouse used in conjunction with The Red Triangle, a Russian superpower turned crime syndicate believed to be operated by Oswald "The Penguin" Cobblepot. Nothing had ever tied Cobblepot to the outfit, of course, but that was due to an overwhelming amount of influence that the Siberian mobster's Iceberg Longue had on the city's financial district. 

Business was booming for The Penguin, and Gordon knew they were taking a risk by going after such a high-profile piece in the overall puzzle of Gotham's criminal underworld. But the gang war had forced even the more honorable members of the GCPD to overstep certain proceedures in order to pre-emptively strike before the bloodshed began. Word on the street was that The Red Triangle was due to sit down with Salvatore Maroni's Capo Italiana, the second most influential group in town. In theory, it could either end in an alliance to take on Carmine "The Roman" Falcone himself - or end in both men trying to fill eachother full of holes. Neither outcome meant anything good. 

"Sorry, my arthritis is acting up. Didn't catch the last part.", Gordon apologetically sighed, massaging his hands. "You were saying, Lieutenant?"

York pointed back to the drawing board ahead, illustrating the potential targets of the raid.

"I was saying that these are our perps, lined up and ready for the taking if our intel is any good."

"Which it is.", announced Duke Thomas, the source of said intel. "We're looking to nab Penguin's top man, Maxie Zeus, but if we can't get him? We got about five underbosses looking to go down with the ship."

"Yeah? We'll see, Thomas.", Sergeant Rene Montoya replied. "Don't want to stumble into another Post-Bat thrashing scene, like last time."

Gordon narrowed his eyes at the mention of the word. Montoya's grin faded. The rather infamous vigilante had obviously become a sore spot with the Captain, especially when it came down to his unit having to be the ones to usually clean up the mess left in the wake of one violent encounter after another. 

Never any casualities, of course, but lots of drug runners and weapon smugglers left to put into the ICU. It was the kind of chaos Gordon couldn't stand, and it was precisely the kind that they needed to avoid in order to focus on the gang war. 

"Look, how was I supposed to know my last tip was gonna be intercepted by some dude in a cape?", Thomas argued. "City's getting stranger every day, Montoya. We can only do the best we can with what we got. And what I got for us now is a pretty solid lead."

Montoya raised her hands in mock surrender. "Sheathe it, rookie. I was just busting your balls."

"Alright, enough of that.", Gordon announced, standing up from behind his desk. "Francis, you're in charge of assigning tactical to this. Pick a team captain that you can trust, go in and out for arrest and seizure. You know the drill."

"Right. I'll get right on that. But we still need Commissioner Loeb's sign-off if we're going to..."

"We're not waiting around for that.", Gordon interjected. "I know that's against the rules, but we're up against a wall, here. Loeb doesn't need to know about this. Anything goes south, I'm prepared to take the heat."

Tork raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Jim. But aren't you the one usually giving us shit for jumping the gun on these things?"

Gordon sighed. "Like Duke said. City's getting stranger every..."

Several of the members in attendence looked past Gordon and their eyes went wide, standing up in shock. Montoya pointed to the window behind the Captain, prompting him to turn around. 

"Speak of the devil."

By the time that Gordon noticed what they were gawking at, he could already feel the frantic rush of officers behind him as they moved to intercept the scene. Gordon's brow furrowed in anger as the familiar light bounced off of the storm clouds just over The Narrows. The call-sign of a masked vigilante that had taken what little law was left in Gotham City into his own hands, brazenly letting the police know where to find the latest victims of his assaults in the most dramatic way imaginable. 

"Christ. Not another one."

30 Minutes Earlier
Gotham City, A Formerly Private Penthouse Suite

"LOCK THIS PLACE DOWN, GODDAMMIT! MOVE OUT AND SWEEP THE FUCKING AREA! HE'S NOT LEAVING TILL HE'S DEAD!"

Salvatore 'The Boss' Maroni loaded a clip into his personal firearm, frantically trying to light a cigarette as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands were shaking and the gun felt like it weighed a ton against his palm, signaling to the crimelord that he needed to get ahold of himself if he stood even somewhat of a chance in maintaining control of the situation. He didn't know how the bastard had found him, given that nobody but his own inner circle knew about Maroni's personal Narrows safehouse. If he had to guess, someone had ratted him out. The question was, who'd be crazy enough to rat him out to the one person everyone in the city wanted a piece of the most, right now? It's not like this Bat-freak had made friends. 

"He's not in the South Wing!", Arnold Flass announced over Maroni's radio. "Son of a bitch must've cleared out half of our detail by now..."

Maroni slammed his fist onto the table. "I don't want to hear that shit, Flass! You hear me?! All I wanna know is when you've found him! Better yet, when you've killed him! He doesn't get to march in on my turf and walk! Not him!"

Inhaling a large cloud of nicotine into his lungs, Maroni fell back into his chair with his gun at the ready, pointed directly at the only entrance into the room he had barricaded himself in. His hands were still shaking as he exhaled the smoke, making the aim questionable, but he was determined to take the shot if it came down to it. Flass had promised him protection from this, and the Captain of the GCPD's main precinct had failed to deliver. Now he was left in a locked room, scared shitless of a man who thought he was freaking Dracula. Six months ago, this would've never been an issue. Nobody would've even tried moving in on their operations, much less Maroni's own home away from home. There were rules in place, and certain protections that made a man like Salvatore above this petty street-brawling. 

But The Batman didn't care for the rules. He just swooped in like something out of a fucking movie, beat half of the mob to a pulp with his bare hands, and left a trail of broken bones and burning product straight to the assault that was taking place right outside The Boss' door. In truth, Maroni had been anticipating an eventual face-to-face with the vigilante, prompting him to hire out half of Flass' department for protection, each working on rotation for the past few weeks. Somehow, The Bat had gotten the drop on them. 

Well, screw that. Maroni didn't spend the last thirty-four years in this line of work to be taken down by a clown who thought it was Halloween. He'd fought his way up the ranks, he'd earned his stripes. Nothing about this would deter him from keeping his business sailing as usual, even if he had to suffer a few bruises along the way. 

"Flass? FLASS! ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!", Maroni shouted into the intercom. "I WANT A STATUS! YOU HEAR ME?! GIVE ME A STATUS RIGHT NOW!"

The cigarette in Maroni's mouth disappeared. Whisked away from him so fast that he didn't even have a chance to react. 

"He can't hear you."

Eyes bulging out of his head as he heard the raspy voice come from behind him, Maroni spun around and fired three slugs into the wall. Nobody was there. Standing up and kicking over his chair, Salvatore scanned the room for any sign of a pointy-eared shadow. 

"YEAH?! YOU GOT TRICKS?! WELL COME ON, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!", Maroni shouted at the shadows. "I GOT TRICKS'A MY OWN! YOU WANT ME SO BAD?! COME AND GET ME!"

"Actually..."

Maroni felt his right arm slam against the desk so hard that it caused him to drop the weapon to the ground. His other arm reached for it, but his nose hit the desk even harder. By the time he could manage to look up, The Batman was already breathing down his neck. The souless white eyes stared back at Salvatore with no discernable emotion, but he could tell. There was rage behind the mask. 

"That's exactly what I intended."

Firing a weapon of his own into the air, Maroni was shocked to see a steel cable spring forth and smash through the re-inforced window overlooking the room. Grabbing Sal by the collar of his jacket and violently throwing him to the ground, The Batman slammed his elbow into Maroni's throat and seized him by the neck, squeezing hard enough to cause further discomfort. Salvatore tried to scream for help, but nothing came out. And for a brief moment, he could swear The Batman smirked. 

"We're going for a ride, Maroni. And I'd prefer it if we went alone."

Salvatore shook his head in defiance, trying his best to break free of the iron-clad grip on his throat, but Batman tossed him against the glass as if he were nothing more than a paper doll. Launching into the air, propelled by the steel cable that he'd shot, the vigilante raised both legs and slammed the soles of his boots into Maroni's chest, sending them both through the cracked window entirely. 

By the time Captain Flass had become conscious once again, he only saw the shattered window and the fallen gun left in his boss' room. Panicked, he raised the two-way radio from his lapel. 

"Shit. Shit! This is Flass! I've got an all-points bulletin to send out! My location!", he barked. "The Batman has been sighted! I repeat, The Batman has been sighted! He just kidnapped Sal Maroni! Send backup! I repeat, send backup!"

But backup wouldn't arrive nearly in time to spare Salvatore the fate that awaited him.
Master Bruce Member

Winged Freak

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
