The Surfer has arrived.
Commence the dogpiling.
Commence the dogpiling.
Master Bruce
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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
Manhattan
He could feel their respective triumphs as they had each occurred. The test had finally been completed as it was always meant to be - and the results, much to The Silver Surfer's surprise, were yielded in the favor of this world's metahuman protectors. But this unexpected victory did little to dissuade the contempt that had slowly grown within The Surfer as he had remained floating, invisible to the human eye, above the skies of New York. Initially having chosen this spot to watch the events that would transpire at The Raft Prison Island with his own eyes, The Surfer's thoughts had quickly become clouded by the actions of those below. The humans, whose very existence relied on these chosen and often anonymous protectors to step against the very brink of certain annhilation by utilizing themselves as shields. Had the race of these predominant species truly been so weak before the arrival of these superhumans? And what's more, had they not become even weaker for their use of such individuals as a crutch against disaster?
The Surfer's mind was weighed heavily with these questions, as he took in the thoughts of those blow him. Their trivial fears of that which they did not know. Their wasted hatred for one another, and themselves. The emotions that guided their every action, leading them in the feeble attempt to stem back an inevitable extinction. Lord Darkseid sought to end the suffering of the cosmos themselves. Without the universal balance that would upend the chaos which even now swept across the galaxy, affecting the lives of billions of creatures inhabiting millions of worlds, they would bring about their own destruction through an imperfect nature. Not only would this be the fate for the people of Earth, but of distant worlds such as Hala, Rann, Kylntar, Thanagar, Xandar, Oa, and many more.
It had happened before. The inhabitants of this system's planet Mars were brought to a silent end through senseless war and unimaginable violence, leaving but one survivor whose destiny was uncertain. The world of Titan, which shared many similarities to a moon orbiting this system's planet of Saturn, had prospered for millennia before eventually succumbing to it's own overpopulation. Sensibility and reason were lost on the Titanians, and the very few remnants of that world had been driven mad by the cruel loss. Were either the Martians or Titanians allowed to share one soul, one mind and heart that drove them to prosperity, the inhabitants of the universe would not only achieve everlasting peace, but the secrets to immortality.
But it would have to come at a great cost. Darkseid knew this, as his endless search for The Anti-Life Equation that would secure him the will of every living being had allowed the universe to advance without his generous and fair rulership imposed. The results were, as The Surfer could tell by the inhabitants of Earth, catastrophic beyond measure. Even now, millions of this planet's people were suffering under the threat of violence, the harsh reality of famine, the predominant human desire of personal greed, and many other self-imposed impediments that brought this species closer to the end.
The Surfer could do little to hold back his frustration, knowing that when given the choice, each chosen prisoner of The Raft had sided with personal retribution over the path of virtue. All they had been tempted with was a mere taste of power, and their greed did the rest. Mick Rory had sought to be one with the destructive flame. Doris Zeul had sought the strength to match her ability to transcend stature. Aviva Metula had sought a greater link with this world's literal darkness. The team of thieves once known as Matthew Hagen, Preston Payne, Sondra Fuller, and Basil Karlo had sought to be unified in power stemming from this world itself, despite becoming a singular abomination. Hector Hammond sought ultimate knowledge and the power to control it. And Leslie Willis, already having mastered the power of electricity, sought only to be turned loose and make the world feel her wrath.
Insolence. Barbaric, justless stupidity. It was barely a wonder that each had fallen at the hands of Earth's so-called heroes, and each so very quickly. But The Surfer had nevertheless proven the point that Darkseid sought of him: the metahumans of Earth would suffice to build the foundations of an army. With their unification, the millenia's old quest for Anti-Life would be complete, and Apokolips would serve as a beacon to the galaxy that New Genesis paled to in comparison. All that The Surfer had to do now was wait - and approach.
"I sense..."
As if answering his beckoning, The Surfer felt three powerful life-forms converge onto The Raft at once. One, he had already encountered before in Central City, feeling the familiar pull towards an unknown force of speed. The other two had joined forces in an impressive alignment that had tamed the fury of the rechristened 'Giganta'. The Surfer pried further, awakening recent memories within these two radically different female minds. Gwendolyn Stacy, forced to reveal herself infront of a father who sought to put her in chains. Bekka, curiously a former resident of New Genesis, reliving the horror of that massacre through her dreams. They were both known to the world at large as Spider-Woman and Wonder Woman, respectively.
And even now, as The Surfer reached out to the larger area, he could feel another champion approaching. These four would do well, for the moment. They would be able to be swayed, and convince their compatriots to do the same. If they resisted, they would simply perish and negate favorable outcome of the test. Holding up his palm, watching as light dance between his chrome fingers, The Silver Surfer blinked out of existence...
...Reappearing infront of Spider-Woman and Bekka, with The Flash not far behind.
"YOU HAVE DONE WELL, CHAMPIONS OF EARTH. THE THREATS SENT TO YOU HAVE BEEN VANQUISHED, AND YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR METTLE. THE MASTER WILL BE MOST PLEASED."
Extending a hand towards them, there was an equal sense of benevolence and malevolence in the act. Whichever had been intended would all depend on their actions going forward.
"I ASK YOU TO LOOK UPON THIS WORLD. LOOK UPON THE CHAOS SOWED WITHIN. THE RAFT IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE VIOLENCE THAT OCCURS EVEN NOW, THANKS TO A SPECIES BENEATH YOU."
The Surfer's emotionless face cast a reflection of both the masked visage of Gwendolyn Stacy and the immediately tense expression of Bekka.
"BUT WHAT WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO SAY IF I COULD OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO CEASE THIS NEVERENDING CONFLICT, ONCE AND FOR ALL? WOULD YOU LEAVE THEM TO THEIR FATE, OR ACT AS SOLDIERS FOR THE GLORY OF DARKSEID?"
"CHOOSE NOW, AND CHOOSE WISELY."
He could feel their respective triumphs as they had each occurred. The test had finally been completed as it was always meant to be - and the results, much to The Silver Surfer's surprise, were yielded in the favor of this world's metahuman protectors. But this unexpected victory did little to dissuade the contempt that had slowly grown within The Surfer as he had remained floating, invisible to the human eye, above the skies of New York. Initially having chosen this spot to watch the events that would transpire at The Raft Prison Island with his own eyes, The Surfer's thoughts had quickly become clouded by the actions of those below. The humans, whose very existence relied on these chosen and often anonymous protectors to step against the very brink of certain annhilation by utilizing themselves as shields. Had the race of these predominant species truly been so weak before the arrival of these superhumans? And what's more, had they not become even weaker for their use of such individuals as a crutch against disaster?
The Surfer's mind was weighed heavily with these questions, as he took in the thoughts of those blow him. Their trivial fears of that which they did not know. Their wasted hatred for one another, and themselves. The emotions that guided their every action, leading them in the feeble attempt to stem back an inevitable extinction. Lord Darkseid sought to end the suffering of the cosmos themselves. Without the universal balance that would upend the chaos which even now swept across the galaxy, affecting the lives of billions of creatures inhabiting millions of worlds, they would bring about their own destruction through an imperfect nature. Not only would this be the fate for the people of Earth, but of distant worlds such as Hala, Rann, Kylntar, Thanagar, Xandar, Oa, and many more.
It had happened before. The inhabitants of this system's planet Mars were brought to a silent end through senseless war and unimaginable violence, leaving but one survivor whose destiny was uncertain. The world of Titan, which shared many similarities to a moon orbiting this system's planet of Saturn, had prospered for millennia before eventually succumbing to it's own overpopulation. Sensibility and reason were lost on the Titanians, and the very few remnants of that world had been driven mad by the cruel loss. Were either the Martians or Titanians allowed to share one soul, one mind and heart that drove them to prosperity, the inhabitants of the universe would not only achieve everlasting peace, but the secrets to immortality.
But it would have to come at a great cost. Darkseid knew this, as his endless search for The Anti-Life Equation that would secure him the will of every living being had allowed the universe to advance without his generous and fair rulership imposed. The results were, as The Surfer could tell by the inhabitants of Earth, catastrophic beyond measure. Even now, millions of this planet's people were suffering under the threat of violence, the harsh reality of famine, the predominant human desire of personal greed, and many other self-imposed impediments that brought this species closer to the end.
The Surfer could do little to hold back his frustration, knowing that when given the choice, each chosen prisoner of The Raft had sided with personal retribution over the path of virtue. All they had been tempted with was a mere taste of power, and their greed did the rest. Mick Rory had sought to be one with the destructive flame. Doris Zeul had sought the strength to match her ability to transcend stature. Aviva Metula had sought a greater link with this world's literal darkness. The team of thieves once known as Matthew Hagen, Preston Payne, Sondra Fuller, and Basil Karlo had sought to be unified in power stemming from this world itself, despite becoming a singular abomination. Hector Hammond sought ultimate knowledge and the power to control it. And Leslie Willis, already having mastered the power of electricity, sought only to be turned loose and make the world feel her wrath.
Insolence. Barbaric, justless stupidity. It was barely a wonder that each had fallen at the hands of Earth's so-called heroes, and each so very quickly. But The Surfer had nevertheless proven the point that Darkseid sought of him: the metahumans of Earth would suffice to build the foundations of an army. With their unification, the millenia's old quest for Anti-Life would be complete, and Apokolips would serve as a beacon to the galaxy that New Genesis paled to in comparison. All that The Surfer had to do now was wait - and approach.
"I sense..."
As if answering his beckoning, The Surfer felt three powerful life-forms converge onto The Raft at once. One, he had already encountered before in Central City, feeling the familiar pull towards an unknown force of speed. The other two had joined forces in an impressive alignment that had tamed the fury of the rechristened 'Giganta'. The Surfer pried further, awakening recent memories within these two radically different female minds. Gwendolyn Stacy, forced to reveal herself infront of a father who sought to put her in chains. Bekka, curiously a former resident of New Genesis, reliving the horror of that massacre through her dreams. They were both known to the world at large as Spider-Woman and Wonder Woman, respectively.
And even now, as The Surfer reached out to the larger area, he could feel another champion approaching. These four would do well, for the moment. They would be able to be swayed, and convince their compatriots to do the same. If they resisted, they would simply perish and negate favorable outcome of the test. Holding up his palm, watching as light dance between his chrome fingers, The Silver Surfer blinked out of existence...
...Reappearing infront of Spider-Woman and Bekka, with The Flash not far behind.
"YOU HAVE DONE WELL, CHAMPIONS OF EARTH. THE THREATS SENT TO YOU HAVE BEEN VANQUISHED, AND YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR METTLE. THE MASTER WILL BE MOST PLEASED."
Extending a hand towards them, there was an equal sense of benevolence and malevolence in the act. Whichever had been intended would all depend on their actions going forward.
"I ASK YOU TO LOOK UPON THIS WORLD. LOOK UPON THE CHAOS SOWED WITHIN. THE RAFT IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE VIOLENCE THAT OCCURS EVEN NOW, THANKS TO A SPECIES BENEATH YOU."
The Surfer's emotionless face cast a reflection of both the masked visage of Gwendolyn Stacy and the immediately tense expression of Bekka.
"BUT WHAT WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO SAY IF I COULD OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO CEASE THIS NEVERENDING CONFLICT, ONCE AND FOR ALL? WOULD YOU LEAVE THEM TO THEIR FATE, OR ACT AS SOLDIERS FOR THE GLORY OF DARKSEID?"
"CHOOSE NOW, AND CHOOSE WISELY."
@Master Bruce@Byrd Man[@Morden Man Any of you currently about?
Question pertaining to next post :P
I was asleep at the time you sent this. What up?
The 25th. And good idea, I'll do that now.
Hoping to get this arc finished this weekend, because I'm simultaneously trying to move house.
If need be, just make your next post a 'To Be Continued' type of deal.
The three month gap will still be there at the start of Season Two, but that doesn't mean you can't finish your arc through flashbacks if you need the time.
Heading back to the ground and setting the drone down, I tell Batman what I've found.
"Otisburg," I say. "Stagg Enterprises has a server farm there, looks like it's mostly automated, completely empty at this time of night. The building has a large transmitter tower on top, and I'm seeing pretty large spikes of electricity being diverted from the city's power grid to feed into a single room on one of the building's sub-levels. Thick lead shields around the room itself, so I can't see if the Toyman's actually there. But I'd bet good money that's where we'll find him."
That steel-bending determination in Lois's eyes must have rubbed off on me with that kiss. Now, suddenly, getting myself airborne isn't a struggle at all. I take to the sky, and then turn back to the vigilante in black.
"Are you coming, or what?"
My brow furrows beneath the cowl at the mention of Stagg Enterprises.
It's a name I've heard mentioned only in passing by most, given that it's CEO doesn't exactly run in the same circles that Gotham's elite crowds tend to frequent. But the every word was enough to arise suspicion and lend credence to rumors that either Simon Stagg or one of his high-level employees had been dealing under the table with select members of the Five Families for access to advanced non-lethal technologies, including enhancements to body armor and personal vehicles that would make them more formidable against warring factions.
Nothing concrete's turned up on the streets as of yet, and I haven't ran into such obstacles when taking on lieutenants for Falcone's Syndicate or Capo Italiana, but the idea that Stagg could be harboring a dangerous lunatic like this 'Toyman' lines up too well with the word-of-mouth. If I'm able to convince the board of directors at Waynetech to bring Bruce Wayne into the fold, investigating Stagg will need to become one of my first priorities as one of their direct competitors.
Superman flies ahead as I produce my grapple gun and fire towards the scaffolding building to his left. As the line becomes taut, I look out and notice the familiar sight of the Lincoln Continental peeling onto a street corner that's only a few blocks away. Alfred got here faster than I would've even thought. Indicating the car directly as he expertly weaves in and out among the traffic sitting about a yard away from Grant Park, I leave Lane to care for Dr. Irons in the meantime.
Hopefully Alfred will have remembered to wear a disguise, as I instructed in the message. It'll be damning enough to be taking them to a Waynetech site. Don't need to incriminate myself any further.
"There's your ride. The occupant will take you both to a nearby facility until Superman and I have shut Toyman's operation down. He'll give Irons a patch-up and get you anything that you need, within reason. I'll give the location to Superman once everything's secure."
As I ascend into the air, I glance back at Lane as her eyes remain squarely focused on the man in the sky. I don't think either Dr. Irons or I remained oblivious to the moment that the two shared earlier. Lane and this Superman are... an item, it would seem. I wouldn't say that it really matters or is any of my business, but it makes a certain amount of sense. Lane was the first to break the story of his arrival, suggesting a pre-existing intimacy. And given that journalists are notorious workaholics, I would doubt that this sprang up out of nowhere or became something outside of the newsroom. Makes me wonder if there are any Clarks employed at The Daily Planet...
Focusing ahead, I join Superman in the air as we both push forward, heading for the Stagg Enterprises tower in the distance. There's a sort of awkward silence that hangs in the air as we leave Grant Park in the distance, with neither of us really willing to say anything about the words we exchanged to the other in the heat of the moment. He may have been influenced by an electrical trauma, but I could tell that some of what he said came from a place of truth. And there were certainly no minced words whenever it came to anything that I imparted.
It wasn't until I was face-to-face with the man himself that I allowed the frustration of finding myself incapable of dealing with the growing number of metahuman adversaries to dictate my anger. Perhaps it's because Superman is largely considered the first of them. Barely anything is known about him at this point, and it was alarming for me to discover that he even possessed the capability to see through solid material, much less detect radio frequencies.
And yet despite all of that power, this was also a man that just sheepishly apologized to me for how he had behaved. This is a man that has managed to find love, and potentially even work at a blue collar job whenever he's not trying to save lives. I speculated earlier that Superman had assimilated into our civilization as one of us in an effort to hide what he truly was, but perhaps that was an inaccurate assessment. Maybe it's the other way around, and the true part of him is the one that had the decency to own up to his mistake.
I may never know for sure, and I don't have much of an interest to find out. But it leaves me feeling as though I can at least focus on the task at hand, rather than try and keep my distance in the event that he'll go berserk again.
"For what it's worth... your apology is noted."
"If anything, I'm more annoyed that you had to go and ruin my uniform."
I don't know whether that was my crude attempt to diffuse the tension or a genuine complaint, but I try and keep myself from seeing how he reacts as we head closer to Otisburg.
The sooner that he and his friends leave Gotham behind, the better.
I've got enough to deal with as it is.
"Anything we should be wary of? If Toyman was willing to send drones and manned vehicles after your friends, it's almost certain that he won't be willing to go quietly."
"I....I wasn't...." I start to sputter. "Livewire, she......my mind, it's not.....I'm not......oh, God......I'm sorry....."
Earlier today, I'd been talking with her about the potential run-in with the Batman. I'd been the one willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, to think maybe there was more to him than what the media had made him out to be. Now here I am, proclaiming judgments and ready to cave his skull in.
Maybe Lois was right. 'Sometimes a wild animal is just a wild animal.' But maybe Batman isn't the animal here.
"Easy there, Big Guy," she says, taking a few tentative steps closer to me. "It's gonna be all right. Maybe you weren't yourself for a moment there. But you are now, right? You're gonna get a hold of yourself, and you're gonna make this right.....right?"
".....right...." I mutter.
"And you," she says, turning to the prone form of Batman, "First and foremost.....thanks. Dr. Irons and I would be dead if it weren't for you. Secondly, I'm guessing you've got a bunker or a headquarters or somewhere that we can take Dr. Irons where the Toyman can't reach him. And thirdly, while we're there, I'm also going to assume you don't go to a public hospital to patch yourself up, and I'll be honest, unless there are two of you all of a sudden, I'm a little worried I might have a concussion. Think it'd be possible for you and my man to stop hosing down the street with testosterone long enough for us to take five?"
"Clark"?
Hearing that causes me to double back on the rage I've directed toward Metropolis' would-be protector. Clearly, some of it was more than a little justified, but it seems that neither of us knew what exactly was going on in this scenario. Even the thought hadn't necessarily crossed my mind before that he would have a name - a human name, rather than some designation given to him by a scientist in a lab somewhere, or however he came to be as powerful as he is - but it almost makes too much sense when presented with the evidence. He's strong and fast, but no one like that simply appears and disappears without some sort of eye in the sky on them.
He would almost have to maintain a dual identity in order to assimilate into society. I wear the mask to scare people, but my status as Bruce Wayne also requires a degree of discretion that the outfit affords me. So I can't even imagine what it would be like if I could also bend steel with my bare hands, or take on rocket launchers as if they were nothing. It's odd to see his rage fade as Lane approaches him, as he appeared in Gotham like a freight train, filled with almost as much hatred and contempt as I held for him. But seeing his regret, seeing that honesty in him, as revealed by being called out for potentially doing something he'd regret - it makes me question whether or not I've even seen who he really is.
Not that I'm completely won over. The man was about to murder me, and I still can't entirely trust someone of his sheer might - whether it be used by his own hand or put under the influence of another. If anything, if he truly wasn't acting himself, this scenario illustrates my long-held suspicions that his power is too much to leave unchecked and roaming free within the world. Some in Metropolis may worship him as a hero, but all I see is a man who still hasn't quite figured out how to wield the sword he's been handed. And given my recent setbacks and close-calls... I'd be a hypocrite to say it's hard to understand.
But it doesn't matter. My point still stands, as do a few of his. I only recently realized the good that I could be doing to give back to the community, and it took far too long for me to even reach that conclusion. Eventually, I'm hoping to be able to find a balance between what both Bruce Wayne and Batman can do for Gotham. But by bringing Toyman here, Superman - or Clark, or whatever his name really is - still unwittingly lured a psychopath onto my city. And I can't let that go, no matter how much I may have misjudged the so-called Man of Steel.
Maybe instead of trying to defend myself with words, I should try and utilize actions that will prove why the public doesn't need to live in fear of me. At the very least, it'll get Superman to calm down long enough for us to solve the current crisis that the Toyman represents. And as wary as I am of him, I'd almost prefer someone of his power to a madman who can remotely control cars and drones and unleash them on the larger populace.
"Fine."
The word comes to me hesitantly, as I sheathe another set of batarangs that I'd prepared to use in a last minute effort to distract him. Again, it would have done nothing to actually hurt him, but it was all I had left in the moment. And I don't want to feel that helpless again. No matter what happens after tonight, you can sure as hell bet that I'm going to do as much research into Superman and his abilities as possible. Someone has to be prepared in the event that he flies off the handle again.
"I'll overlook what just happened in light of Miss Lane's statement that you weren't acting in your right mind.", I explain, my eyes casting a cynical gaze towards him. "And I'll... keep what you said about giving back in mind. The last thing Gotham needs is just a man who solves problems with his fists."
Turning towards the injured civilian, identified as a Dr. Irons, I calmly approach him and check his vitals. Surprisingly stable, despite his apparent condition. Throwing his arm over my shoulder, I hear a slight moan of pain escape the doctor's lips as I secure him enough to allow him to stand.
"I just lost my only means of ready transportation, so getting Dr. Irons cleared is going to be difficult. I doubt that he's in any condition for flight, or leaping, or whatever it is that you do."
Re-activating my communications server after having Ace reroute my suit's active systems to the Utility Gun, I use a touch-screen miniature telegraph attached to my belt to send out a signal in morse code to Alfred. I haven't established any personal safehouses, nor am I willing to send a stranger to The Cave, but Waynetech has a number of storage facilities that utilize cloaking technology to block incoming signals. Haven't had much of a use for them before now, outside of the occasional equipment raid.
"But I have a man who can get him somewhere safe. He's an experienced medic, so Irons will be in capable hands. I just sent out a distress signal that should get him here shortly."
Lane rushes over and takes over propping up Irons' half-conscious body, wordlessly giving me an expression of gratitude. Superman, however, still seems shaken by what's happened. He's particularly tense, but not in any way that seems hostile. He seems more afraid than anything, glancing over to the spot where he nearly killed me with abject horror.
"Look,", I announce, walking to him. "Clark, is it? You're going to need to snap out of this. I don't mind helping the three of you, but I do take issue with someone from your town putting the rest of Gotham in danger."
"So if you have any idea of how to stop him tonight, now would be a good time."
I'd argue that given it's a superhero universe, an alignment of some sort is almost essential, at least eventually - not necessarily this season, since @Eddie Brock established The Avengers, but eventually.
In terms of how it affects the way the game is played, though, there's nothing to say that anyone has to treat it like it's a major thing that affects our individual characters. I don't really see a need for the whole Hall Of Justice/Avengers Mansion type of team where they have a place to convene or something, I see it as more of an understanding made that if a major threat arises and the respective hero can't go at it alone, they can easily extend a line to another (singular) PC for planned interactions. MME's would really need to be the only time that multiple heroes would team up.
If it's done that way, the chance of it being affected by PC's who drop out are lessened entirely, unless a plan is made well in advance. In which case, the player affected just has to scrap that planned interaction and do something else. But I definitely don't think forming a team necessarily means that team gameplay suddenly needs to become a thing. Infact, I've never understood that approach to these things. It seems unnecessarily complicated compared to just saying "____ is a member of the Justice League/Avengers/Titans/X-Men" and leave it at that.
EDIT: Or, y'know. What @Superboy said better and in lesser words.
In terms of how it affects the way the game is played, though, there's nothing to say that anyone has to treat it like it's a major thing that affects our individual characters. I don't really see a need for the whole Hall Of Justice/Avengers Mansion type of team where they have a place to convene or something, I see it as more of an understanding made that if a major threat arises and the respective hero can't go at it alone, they can easily extend a line to another (singular) PC for planned interactions. MME's would really need to be the only time that multiple heroes would team up.
If it's done that way, the chance of it being affected by PC's who drop out are lessened entirely, unless a plan is made well in advance. In which case, the player affected just has to scrap that planned interaction and do something else. But I definitely don't think forming a team necessarily means that team gameplay suddenly needs to become a thing. Infact, I've never understood that approach to these things. It seems unnecessarily complicated compared to just saying "____ is a member of the Justice League/Avengers/Titans/X-Men" and leave it at that.
EDIT: Or, y'know. What @Superboy said better and in lesser words.
Huntress would be fine, as I imagine she'd be among the first to be inspired by Batman's antics, in a way.
"I don't know how you've gotten wrapped up in the Toyman's plot," I say, lunging towards him and giving him a shove that sends him sprawling back. "And right now, I don't really give a damn. I've let you go unchecked for too long, let you snap limbs, put police officers in the hospital, attempt to assassinate a district attorney."
I rush him again, grabbing him by the front of his costume, clenching the bat-symbol in my fist and feeling it tear free. The part of me that's seeing red right now wants to really unload on this lunatic, show him the same kind of brutality he's inflicted upon this city. Another part of me is holding my fist back, pleading that maybe there's more to this than it seems, that I'm missing something.
I won't hurt him, if I can avoid it. But I will stop him, here and now.
"You've turned the people of this city into a cowardly, superstitious lot," I say, hoisting him up off the ground, "convinced them that you're a monster, a bogeyman, something to be feared. But I'm not afraid of you, Batman. I'm not going to fall for your tricks, or buy into your illusions. You're not some creature of the night. You're a sick man who needs help before he hurts anyone else."
With that, I toss him up and back, not with the intent to do damage, but to get the message across that he's not going to win this.
"I'm only going to tell you once," I tell him. "Stand down, or I put you down."
My back hits a nearby tree under the speed and force of what feels like a normal man's throw multiplied by five. Were it not for the plating of my armor, the trauma could have likely put me down for the count as it is. Head's spinning, likely because of everything catching up to me tonight. Not only the blunt force of Superman, but the combined effort of trying to save Lois Lane and her companion, the victims of this... 'Toyman', the strain of fending off Clayface, and the injuries that I've suffered over the last few weeks, ever since that night in The Narrows. I've been putting off some much needed rest ever since, and I can feel the tank starting to run on empty, as it were.
But something about the way that he speaks to me - his self-righteousness, his contemptible sense of authority over matters he doesn't even begin to understand, combined with all of this power that he's misplaced in trying to apprehend me when there's a real threat to take down - it turns my fear in facing him and twists it into a boundless rage. I honestly didn't know what to expect if it ever came down to meeting him, but so far, the 'Man Of Steel' is coming up short of any expectations I would place on someone of his capabilities. Were I to wield his strength alone, I would know how to better utilize it. He seems to operate purely on ego.
That makes him dangerous. And if he's been going into battle like this every time, his headstrong attitude is liable to get someone killed. He needs to be brought down to Earth and taught what it really means to be afraid.
"You think that I made Gotham like this? That I alone put the fear into them? Look at the hell that surrounds us!", I growl, pointing out towards the cityscape. "Gotham's been bought and sold to corrupt politicians and the mob long before you or I were ever born. I held back with the police because of Gordon, and he's the rare exception in a sea of thugs under the payroll of a crimelord named Salvatore Maroni. The people have nowhere to turn. No one to stand up for them, unlike your insufferable residence."
I can see some of Superman's rage subside for a moment, as he considers whether or not I'm telling the truth. In all honesty, he has no reason to believe me. What I've been blamed for in the media is damning enough, but it wasn't until now that I realized by allowing those stories to perpetuate what the public thought of me, it was only a matter of time before I brought about contenders and potential fellow vigilantes coming in to bring me down under their own sense of moral obligation. I've unwittingly invited this sort of behavior to Gotham by refusing to clear my name.
"I already know that the people of Gotham are afraid of me. But I'm only doing this out of a sense of duty to them. I'd rather have them scared than dead, which is what they would be if I'd stood by and allowed the mob to continue their reign on the streets.", I elaborate, slowly picking myself up. "Do I want them to be afraid of me? No. I only want to evoke fear in the guilty, to make the men that prey on their fear too scared to go out at night. But things have been escalating out of my control, lately... and that's largely because of people like you."
Pointing an accusatory finger toward that damned S on his chest, I narrow my eyes as he looks down at it himself, wondering what I'm about to say next.
"Clearly, symbols don't mean a hell of alot to you. But they mean something to me. And that thing that you wear on your chest? I've got news for you. Some believe that it stands for hope, but there are others who look at it and see the symbol of a world's that's only become more dangerous ever since you crawled out of your hole and started imparting your authority on everyone weaker than you. I took the fight to the criminal underworld, but you? You're scrapping with giant robots. Metahuman threats. Insane opportunists looking to challenge you because of your very existence."
Gesturing my hand across the space of the Park around us, where burning debris of the machinations of this 'Toyman' still burn with an open flame, I shoot Superman a glare that would likely mean another man's crippling. But I'm way past the point of reason with this idiot. He's got the entire world on edge, and he thinks I'm the damn problem.
"Your intentions may be genuine, and they might be even noble. But it's clear that I'm not the only one who's been operating under a cloud of naivety. The truth is, 'Superman'... you came into my city. You attracted this madman to my doorstep, and then had the nerve to blame me for it. Your reporter friend? She'd be dead if I hadn't intervened. That other man was going to be rammed to death by cars under the control of Toyman, but I got to them and saved their drivers in time. And I did not try and kill Harvey Dent. That's simply another lie perpetuated by the same people I've been taking the fight against. People that cops like Gordon are powerless against."
Placing my hand squarely against my chest, where my own symbol used to be, I openly challenge him to continue his attack. There's certainly nothing I can do to stop him. But maybe, just maybe if he listens to reason for a moment, we can end this before it gets worse.
"This may be a foreign concept to you, but not everything you see infront of you is black and white. Sometimes there are gray areas that no one wants to face. But in Gotham, we're all exposed to it on a daily basis. We live in fear of the true oppressors and the power that they wield. Compared to them, I'm nothing. But at least I'm trying to do something about it."
Producing three batarangs, in the event that none of this works, I stare him down and raise them behind my head. I don't expect these to do any damage, but if I'm going down, I might aswell go down fighting.
"So do your worst. Because I'm not standing down. Not for anyone, but especially not for you."
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