Shout out to @Master Bruce for managing to make me feel slightly less self-conscious about my absurdly long post by posting an even longer one.
That's what I'm here for.
Master Bruce
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Winged Freak
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Bio
Very well, where do I begin?
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.
There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.
There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.
Most Recent Posts
That's what I'm here for.
GMs, should we be finishing up our individual fights for the MME so we can get to the Surfer? Just want and idea on the timeline
In a word, yes. Once you've all beaten your respective opponents, I'd make a gameplan amongst yourselves to start moving people towards a general shared location. I know that Andy/Superman and I will probably be sitting the actual gathering of heroes out, since we've got our own crossover to get back to, but the rest of you that want to team-up can go ahead and do that as soon as you want. Once everyone's in place, The Surfer - by under the control of myself, Byrd, and Morden - will come to you for the final bout.
Gotham City, Dini Plaza
The Rooftops
1:10 AM
"What's the matter, freak? Never seen a guy scarier than you before?"
The air around me immediately begins to smell of sulfur. Massive, living tendrils spring up from both sides of the stone gargoyle that I was unfortunate to have already landed on when this - thing - appeared from out of nowhere. My hand instinctually reaches for a batarang or smoke pellet in the face of certain danger, but by the time I manage to look up and get a full sense of the scope of the creature that's now towering above me, as if it is completely engulfing the very building that the gargoyle is attached, the futility of such an attack quickly dawns on me. This is something completely foreign to me and beyond my level of expertise, in both combat or survival. Yet it speaks as though it were once human, leaving me to go with the only sane explanation that what I'm facing is the third in a growing number of metahuman hostiles that seem to be taking an interest in Gotham. By the time it lurches forward, malicious intent evident, there's really only one reasonable course of action that I can think to take.
I jump.
Despite the readout of my cowl telling me that I had been standing at an estimated forty-eight stories above street level, I ignore the obvious peril and begin a swan dive directly for the concrete, allowing nothing but the wind to carry my descent in an effort to put as much distance between me and the creature as possible within the smallest frame of time. I can see the clay-like residue building off of even the lower levels of the building from here, indicating that he, or it, or whatever the hell I'm supposed to call this thing has permeated the structure. There's no telling how many people are trapped inside, and my scanner's output indicates there are no immediate heat signatures. If there is an imminent danger to anyone aside from myself, I need to lean into the creature's apparent belief that I'm his metahuman target and use it to lure him away from civilian contact. The old tricks of theatricality and deception are going to have to serve me well tonight.
"Base! Hostile made of an unknown origin!"
While I wouldn't ordinarily rely strictly on Alfred's military experience in a high-stress situation of so many unknown variables, as I know how much he hates improvisation, I've literally no time to weigh out the scenario on my own. Seconds could mean the difference between life and death, as this is the threat that both Freeze and Ivy represented when multiplied to an uncomfortable degree. I barely survived those respective encounters when attempting to go at it alone, so I'm not about to leave this one up to chance.
"Right. An emergency situation, I presume. I'm afraid I'm going to need some clarification. What sort of origin could you best estimate?"
I grit my teeth, spreading my cape against the violent draft of Gotham's skyline and slowing my descent just enough to ready myself for a grapple line to spring me forward upon reaching a certain altitude. You're cutting this a little close, Alfred.
"Best guess is a clay residue. Sample's on my glove. Ready the spectrograph."
"I'll need a moment to prepare it. Stall as best you can."
"A moment may be all that I have."
It takes the longest twelve seconds of my life for me to fall to the desired height to pull this off. Firing the grapple outwards, I forget all laws of physics associated with such a stunt and jam my thumb against the trigger for the line's reel. Nearly dislocate my shoulder in the process, but I nevertheless grab onto the grapple gun's handle with both hands and rip myself from a high velocity descent into a forward thrust, building off of the momentum of the fall in order to advance my speed to a level that's still humanly possible. Any faster than this and I'd already be dead from the sheer force of changing altitude that quickly.
As I reel ahead over the rooftops below me faster than I can even count, I manage to glance back at my would-be opponent to see how much he's gaining. My eyes widen as he seems to solidify himself into a shape best resembling a human - give or take ten feet in height and a couple hundred pounds - and smashes onto the far rooftop behind me, briefly flattened into an unrecognizable mess. His body momentarily flattens before he resurfaces and reshapes himself as entirely whole again, never once losing a step.
With any known metahuman or mutant cases, I've never even read of something as extreme as this. The ability of full body transmogrification, able to alter shape, density, appearance, and god knows what else. I'd be a fool to say that I didn't have serious reservations about getting into a fist-fight with something like this. Given the way that he hit a concrete roof at a velocity well over two hundred miles per hour, dropping as though he were made of lead, I highly doubt that this is something I could even land a punch on if I dared to try.
Looking forward, I see the end of the grapple line in sight and prepare to move. Have to vault over a fire escape and remain at least three steps ahead of my current trajectory just to keep some level of distance between us.
"Base?!"
"Spectrograph is online, Bruce! Give me a look at the sample!"
Thrusting the palm of my glove directly in eyesight, I briefly allow the lenses in the cowl to transmit a high-definition image of the residue trace that's stained into the fabric back to The Batcomputer, so that Alfred can analyze the substance that this thing's made of. Best that I can give him is a partial scan at first, as a giant tendril of clay sweeps ahead of me and forces me to dodge, forcing me off of the line and sending me into a hard crash onto another rooftop. Luckily, a wooden crate broke my fall. Much as it hurts, it's considerably better than the alternative.
Raising my palm to complete the scan, I immediately notice the tendril smacking down on the pavement, to which I roll to avoid. Making sure to never break eye contact with the glove, I take a very slim chance on a nearby water tower and use my free hand to produce a specialized batarang. Tiny sliver of a wired C-4 hidden in the chamber within. Low-tier explosive.
"Stay still, meat! Or better yet, use one of your fancy powers to make this interesting! I'm dying to know what the hell is so special about a guy who runs around scaring the crap outta the mob!"
Wordlessly, I toss the batarang just as he approaches the water tower, massive spikes and tendrils forming off of his back and arms. As he takes a massive step forward, the batarang hits one of the legs of the water tower and immediately explodes, sending the tower cascading against the monstrosity before he even realizes what's happened. Wood, metal, and water collide into him and force him off of the building, his deformed expression changing from smug to petrified in an instant. As he falls, the scan of the residue on my palm concludes, and Alfred dutifully uploads the image into the spectrograph for me to see with my own eyes. I was never one for forensic analysis, but as Alfred himself taught me at a young age, four eyes are always better than two.
"I assume you're getting this."
"Yes. But I can't even begin to describe what I'm seeing."
"Nor can I, regretfully."
The deep tissue scan that the spectrograph produced feeds back an image that looks, as best as I can tell, warped. There's biological DNA mixed in with an organic substance that certainly resembles the genetic compound of clay - I recognize it from several crime scenes I've investigated in The Narrows, where selling cheaply made pottery is a common street trade - but it's all so mangled and scattered. By all accounts, this thing might have been human once, and the genetic tampering seems too recent to have fully bonded with the skin tissue and organs of whoever this used to be. But it's not human anymore. It's not even metahuman. It's some sort of hybrid between flesh and a foreign element embedded with a consciousness.
"Hmm. That's interesting."
I turn and fire out another grapple, refusing to take the chance that my pursuer is completely down for the count. I need to gain traction towards an area considerably less populated than this.
"You notice anything that I haven't?"
Somersaulting over the aforementioned fire escape, I can already hear several mounds of clay smash against the brick of the buildings below in an attempt to get back to the rooftop level. Kicking off of the fire escape as I fall, I dive forwards and activate the paraglider to retain some of that earlier momentum.
"This sort of analysis used to be my specialty, if you'll recall. And from the readings that the image is giving us on a mere biological level, I daresay that I may have come across a startling conclusion. You're not fighting against one man given monstrous form. You may be fighting... well, several."
Beneath the mask, both of my eyebrows raise.
"You want to run that by me again?"
"I find it hard to believe myself, Bruce, but the spectrograph has already isolated at least four separate strands of DNA separated from within the foreign structure that make up the rest of the cells. This creature isn't simply one unfortunate soul given new life, but several of them bound together to form something ghastly. A sort of post-mortem reanimation through earthly minerals."
I can barely comprehend the information as Alfred relays it, despite the evidence being presented as clear as day. He's essentially telling me that I'm fighting four people who were killed, brought back to life, and made into a solitary creature that seems to have a consciousness all of it's own. The impossibility of this thing's existence just went from questionable to almost certain. Nothing short of some process that no human in existence has ever encountered could have done to those people whatever it took to create this clay-creature.
"The DNA strands. Could you cross-reference them against the DNA samples of recent prison escapees?"
There's a pause.
"I suppose that's feasible, if not oddly specific."
"Before it attacked me, it mentioned something about being broken out of prison by a third party. It was told to go after a metahuman and kill it as compensation for it’s freedom. That thing believes that I'm one of them."
Alfred sighs to himself, as I land on the last stretch of rooftops overlooking Miller's Bay.
"Give me some time, and I may be able to extrapolate the results. But I can't promise you a miracle."
"Direct identification can wait. Right now, I need something more tangible."
"Such as?"
"Some way of putting a stop to it."
I scan the area ahead of me. Need to find someplace that's relatively uninhabited. The docks would normally be the safest bet as they're only five blocks away, and the authorized parties aren't scheduled for any importing or exporting jobs that are listed on the books. But there's still the chance that Maroni has a waiting cache of weapons, narcotics, and whatever else in stolen goods that the vermin of Gotham treasure. If I lead the creature there, it could just make more of a mess than whatever the Five Families have in store.
Robinson Park is to the west, and would take me fifteen minutes to get to on foot. No telling of how many are taking a early morning stroll, either. Despite what the press believes, I'm far from the only nocturnal animal that inhabits Gotham. Some people are desperate enough to risk a mugging just to get away from the everyday noise of their day jobs.
Which leaves me with relatively few options. Except...
"Here."
"I'm sorry?"
Turning back as a massive hand of clay grasps the edges of a few rooftops away from me, I immediately dive for cover and hope to hell that I've become hidden enough from sight to buy me some time. The creature pulls itelf back up with a fair amount of elasticity in it's arms, bringing it's body over the scaffolding with one swift motion. It's eyes wild, it begins to search the area. Chuckling to itself, I watch as it looks at it's own hands and form what look to be solid constructs of wrecking balls, void of the chains. Smashing through the roof access of one building with ease, it begins wreaking all sorts of havoc in an effort to find me.
Whoever it once was, the unification of their mind is beyond broken. I'd say that the creature is insane, but I don't even know if sanity would be possible with a being like this. If the old adage of absolute power corrupting absolutely holds any merit, this thing is well beyond the concept of any sense of self-control beyond mindless wanton destruction and murderous intent. It has to be stopped, not just for my sake, but for all of Gotham. I can't have this monster running loose in my city.
"Whatever has to be done to bring it down, it has to be executed here. On the rooftops, far away from any potential casualties."
"That's suicide, Bruce. You're talking as if you're about to charge this thing directly into battle without any backup."
I sneer to myself.
"I don't have a choice. I'm the one it's after. If I can keep it focused on me, it can't spread to the rest of the city."
"That's hardly the most sound logic I've ever..."
"You can argue, or you can help me devise a solution. Either way, there isn't much time."
Alfred goes silent again as I slide against the edge of my cover, peering around the corner to see just how close the creature is. Unfortunately, while still in the midst of it's path of destruction, it's advancing very close. I'll be exposed within the minute if I don't move, and if I do try and move, it'll mean an instantaneous death sentence.
"Your electrical gauntlets are still indisposed, following your incursion with that Ivy woman. You've already tried water, and it's mass is too large to try and freeze. Perhaps heat? Some sort of controlled explosion, large enough to disintegrate the majority of the body?"
"If it's made of clay, wouldn't adding heat harden it?"
"Theoretically, yes. But I'd take hardened and unable to move over it's current state. And with enough force, you could shatter it before it has the chance to try and regain mobility."
At first, it seems like too much of a risk. Inciting an explosion atop one of the roofs could cause structural collapse and bring the building down on it's inhabitants, and I refuse to be party to any collateral damage. But the more that I think about it, there actually is a way to do exactly what Alfred's proposing without affecting anyone but the creature. And the creature's safety isn't something of particular concern to me. I made a vow never to willingly take a life, but this thing has already been proven to be something that, by all scientific definition, isn't truly living. It's some twisted perversion of life given sentience by an unknown factor.
"It'll have to do."
I reach into my belt and pull out as many of the remaining C-4 variations as I can. Stacking onto that a packet of thermite, I take the wiring from the grapple gun and quickly wrap it as tightly as I can until it's bound together. Preparing a seperate line attached to a batarang, I pull out a length of cord and wrap it around one of the pouches of my belt until it sits loosely. I'm going to need it if I plan to survive this.
"C'MON! YOU CALL THIS A FIGHT?! I JUST SHOOK OFF A STINT IN THE RAFT FOR THIS, YOU COWARD! THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"
The Raft? My mind races as I try and discern how that's even possible. Unless I'm mistaken, it's talking about the high-security supermax prison just outside of New York. And unless it took on a form that was very convincingly human to the naked eye, it couldn't have travelled all that way just to end up here. It must have been brought here, somehow. But that's a part of the mystery that can wait until later. Right now, I believe I'm being called out. Best not to disappointing.
"With pleasure."
Leaping out from cover, I take the grapple gun holding the line that's attached to the C-4 batarangs and thermite and raise it with my left hand, readying the other line with the right. Aiming squarely for the creature's chest, the scanner in my cowl indicates no vital organs for me to hit, indicating that this thing is even less human than I originally thought. Makes doing what I'm about to do a hell of alot easier, lifting a considerable burden off of my conscience.
POOM!
With only a few seconds to get clear, I throw out the line to an adjacent building and pull as hard as I can once the batarang hits a solid surface. Swinging off of the rooftop I was already stationed on, I hear the line hit the clay and immediately brace myself for what's to come. The blast is so loud that both eardrums burst, and I'm momentarily blinded, sent flying into the air beyond my own accord. But my grip against the line remains tightly wound, giving me an anchor to safety as a giant fireball engulfs the clay creature from within, containing as much of the blast as possible and alleviating my fears of destroying the building itself.
I would say that I'd like to see that thing emerge from this unscathed, but I really wouldn't.
Hurtling through the air, guided only by the steel cable of the line that I threw, I eventually succeed at hitting another solid patch of roof, this time directly in the face. Briefly winded, I slowly pull myself up and grab onto the rooftop's edge, head still spinning and ears ringing loudly. I suppose I can consider this apart of a series of injuries in recent weeks that I've had to take back home with me. First Ivy and Jessica Jones, then Mr. Freeze, now this thing...
It's all getting to be too much for me to handle.
"And so ends the menace of the Clayface."
Barely feeling as though I'm still alive, I lean against the concrete and work up just enough energy to visibly question Alfred's choice in nickname.
"Clayface...?"
"Forgive me, lad. A droll joke, nothing less. It merely seemed like what one of these individuals would call themselves, given the manner of that transformation."
Pulling myself back up, I survey what remains of the roof that... Clayface, was just blown off of. And to my surprise, there's nothing left to see. No scattered remnants of hardened clay, no dust particles indicating disintegration. Not even a mess of scattered globular pieces. Just a charred, smoking ruin that, at worst, will have to be paved over. Frustrated with that result, I slam my fist against the surface I'm leaning against and fall to my knees.
Clayface is still out there. Gone for now, yes, but not as far removed from Gotham as I'd hoped. Which now brings the count of dangerous, unstable metahumans roaming the city up to at least three, placing the creature within the same category as Ivy and Freeze. More work for me to do that I'm ill-prepared to carry out. And with no leads on the latter two with consideration of the condition I'm in, it seems as though I'm coming up empty for tonight.
Goddammit.
"Lad, I'm aware that you're likely in no mood to hear this, but there seems to be a situation developing uptown."
Silently, I pick myself up and breathe in the night's air, trying to shake off the damage that the blast caused. The last thing I needed was another incident that required The Batman's attention, but apparently I'm not going to be given much of a say in the matter.
"Go ahead."
"According to several eyewitness reports being routed to the GCPD's emergency line as we speak, there's a series of pedestrian vehicles that are swerving out of control and heading into Grant Park. What's curious about this is that it seems as though they're being guided, but beyond the respective driver's volition."
I just fought a monster made of, for lack of a better term, corpses biologically fused into clay, so the news of remote controlled vehicles comes as somewhat of a relief by comparison. But given that this is happening now, and Grant Park isn't too far away if I can reach The Batcycle, there may be a chance that I can disable the vehicles before anyone gets hurt.
At the very least, it'll allow me some time to recover from what I just went through.
Mentally and physically.
"Get me a live feed of the park and direct it to the Batcomputer's servers. Ace isn't going to find Ivy or Freeze at it's current pace. I'll re-route it towards finding a solution in severing whatever signals' connected the vehicles once I arrive."
With that, I take a deep breath, crack my neck and take an immediate step forward.
Nights like these are making me consider an early retirement.
I am not sure if you got my question or not. So I am going to post it again just to be safe.
I would say yes, there is a plan for Barda to eventually play into the Surfer's storyline, but it's not a huge role and there are no plans for her beyond that initial use. You could probably get away with doing whatever you wanted with her as long as you either waited for her introduction. Which shouldn't be too long of a wait.
To each their own. I will probably sooner retire from the RP scene than do it without color dialogue, as that's how I've been playing since waaay early on in my roleplaying days on the Hype.
Infact, before the Google Docs discovery, I had a saved document full of codes for every single font (or revised font) that I've used in the UOU thus far. Comes in handy to just be able to copy/paste, though obviously there's now an easier alternative.
Infact, before the Google Docs discovery, I had a saved document full of codes for every single font (or revised font) that I've used in the UOU thus far. Comes in handy to just be able to copy/paste, though obviously there's now an easier alternative.
Post is formatted, thank god. It looked naked without the fancy-schmancy colors.
Also, apparently the Android version of Google Docs doesn't feature the BBCode Export add-on, so I'll be sure to use Google Docs on my PC from now on.
Also, apparently the Android version of Google Docs doesn't feature the BBCode Export add-on, so I'll be sure to use Google Docs on my PC from now on.
<Snipped quote by Master Bruce>
Did you miss the "you can automatically format posts on Google Docs" discussion? Because finding that out has changed my life. You'll never have to manually wrap tags around anything ever again.
I actually wrote that post in Google Docs over my phone in the hopes of taking advantage of that, but couldn't find the feature to transfer the post in code. Possibly due to my using the mobile app, which in itself was new to me.
I believe I need to reapply before I can post again. So here's my CS with some ammendums and a fresh sample post.
Well... not my best work ever, and it's absolutely killing me to be too tired to format any of the dialogue at this time. But it's better than officially crossing the two week limit, of which I was a hair away.
Gotham City, Dini Plaza
The Bowery
1:00 AM
"S-Stay away! Stay the hell back or I'll cut the bitch! Believe me, I'll do it!"
It’s not that I don’t believe him. I just don’t happen to have enough faith in the combat capabilities of a trembling seventeen-year-old holding a switchblade to a woman’s face in order to hesitate in my attack. The kid is right to be scared out of his mind, given I already knocked his associates unconscious, but the all-consuming need he has to put distance between us through an empty threat makes him vulnerable in ways that he cannot even begin to comprehend. The woman’s safety is barely in question as I can already tell that her captor is green. Hasn't brought himself to kill, much less wound, to survive living in Gotham.
So in the best way that I know how, I try and let him off with warning.
"I'm going to put this delicately…"
Immediately throwing the cloak infront of me to cause him to flinch, I seize the given opening and grab the hand carrying the knife. The kid loses all interest in his captive, who looks at me with the same gaze of horror and quickly flees into the shadows while clutching her purse. He struggles as I lift him off of the ground by his own arm, kicking and panicking as I lean in. The expression on my face making my displeasure more than clear enough to turn his complexion pale.
“If you or your friends so much as think about pulling a stunt like this in the future? Consider me the reason to remind yourself not to.”
Just as the kid starts to think that he’s in the clear, I reach up with my other hand and easily rip the switchblade from his grasp. Reeling back to go in for a stabbing motion, I wait until he cries out and shields his face before thrusting the knife forward. To his surprise, he looks back up to find it embedded in the brick of the wall he’s pinned against. Inches from his face.
"Holy fucking shit!"
"Indeed."
With a hard precision kick to the face, I send the back of his skull colliding into the wall. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he hits the ground, out cold and hopefully having learned a serious lesson: Never try and pull a knife on someone in the dead of night in Gotham. It only ever ends one way.
Letting out a quiet sigh, I survey the alleyway behind me, freshly littered with unconscious bodies. I should almost feel relieved, all things considered, to have dealt with such a considerably low threat as this. Ever since the Five Families began clenching their remaining operations closer to the chest following their lieutenants ending up in GCPD lockup, subsequently forcing them to rethink their distribution strategies, Alfred and I have been putting in a more considerable effort in trying to uncover their next move. Which has dealt the unexpected consequence of driving my attention away from the smaller crimes.
Of course, there are other things threatening Gotham than just the mob, lately. Firing a grapple line up to a nearby rooftop, I ascend into the shadows and leap, spreading my cape outwards so that I can easily vault over the scaffolding without error and land into a running sprint. The entire purpose of dividing up my routine patrol tonight was to allow the time to strengthen Ace’s signal as it began a citywide search for the known components linked to two metahuman fugitives. Poison Ivy and Mr. Freeze.
So far, I’ve been coming up with nothing of note. An earlier sweep of The Narrows, where I fought an Ivy-controlled Jessica Jones, produced no apparent remaining trace of the pheromone extract that I suspect Ivy used to initiate the manipulation of Jones’ will in the first place. Meaning that the extract was likely concocted to dissolve with time, rendering it untraceable if not immediately noticed. And in the case of Freeze, there appears to be no discernable temperature drop in any area of the city that seems out of place. Grocery freezers, meat packing plants, produce lockers. But nothing big enough to hide a seven foot suit of technologically advanced cryogenic armor, nevermind it’s occupant.
Grappling up to a gargoyle overlooking the skyline of the financial district, I land into a perch and stare outwards, hoping for any lead to pop up in the ongoing scan of the city. I’ve already began to hate this feeling. Knowing that these types of individuals with special abilities are out there. Hoping that I can even devise some method of capturing them. Doubting myself in the face of the unknown. None of it feels right, chasing these larger-than-life extrapolations of the common criminal.
When I created The Batman, I did so under the impression that no one would even think of going to the very same and particularly extreme lengths of theatricality that I would. The knowledge of having this advantage against my enemies instilled me with a certain amount of confidence. An unshakable determination to hound the thugs that had oppressed Gotham for decades back to whatever hole they originally crawled out of.
This is something entirely different. And I’m not sure how to handle any of it, beyond pressing forward and hoping for the best. Likely an approach that’s going to get me killed, but I don’t have any other options left. It isn’t as though I could have trained to anticipate an evolutionary phenomena, or however one would classify the metahuman uprising.
With a frustrated grunt, I raise my gauntlet and press the button to open up the secure channel linked to my cowl’s earpiece. Maybe Alfred’s had better luck than I have in tracking down these perversions of science. I only know how to work so many angles on my own.
"Tell me you've found something."
"Nothing of interest on the surveillance feed, Bruce. Just the usual string of petty thefts and drunken brawls that one has grown so very accustomed to in regards to the Gotham nightlife."
Dammit.
"Keep looking. Ace hasn’t given me anything to work with, and I'm running out of ideas. Ivy and Freeze have evidently found a way to cover their tracks."
"Will do, lad. And in the meantime?"
Standing atop the gargoyle, my cape billows out behind me as I prepare to make the leap.
"Word on the street is that Maroni's got a small group of officers working the docks later tonight. Some kind of security detail on a shipment off the books. Until I can pick up a trace on the other two, I'll be staking that out. Could be something."
As I go to move for the dive, something unexpectedly drops onto my shoulder. At first, I think it’s just a passing flock of birds. But as I reach over to that shoulder and feel for it, I realize that whatever’s hit me is much denser. Thicker, almost of the same texture as…
I pause, examining the substance in my palm.
What the hell?
"Clay?"
“Heh. Guess I tipped my hand a little too early, huh?”
Alarmed by the completely unexpected voice that originates from the very building that I’ve been perched against for the last minute, I immediately spin with knuckles raised in a defensive stance. But the sight that greets me is enough to completely turn that instinct on it’s head.
I… have no idea what I’m looking at.
But whatever it is, it’s growing. Fast.
“When they busted me outta lock-up, they told me the only stipulation was that I had to go and kill a super. Seeing as how you’re the big man causing a scene around here, lately…”
“I’m guessing that means you.”
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