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.
Would've had these up sooner, but Wraith had to go and do an awards' layout that I really wanted to rip off. Razzin', frazzin' superiority.
Best Character @Morden Man as The Fantastic Four As big of a superhero buff as I am and a fan of the Marvel Universe in general, I have to admit, I don't really ever go out of my way to delve into the First Family. I don't know what it is that I have trouble grasping about the concept, but it's just one that I don't think I could ever personally write. Morden Man, however, managed to both take The Fantastic Four and add an extra dimension to them that was organically strewn from the corpse of another game and make all four of the characters particularly engaging to follow. I especially loved his posts as Sue whenever she was on her own mission to give Maria Hill a piece of her mind, culminating in her brief interaction with The Surfer just before the second MME. But his Ben is just as good, as is his Johnny, as is his Reed, and all four of them combined do a real service to the creation of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby by turning them into a concept that I would easily follow in a monthly book. I cannot give this enough kudos.
Best Character Development @Lord Wraith as Thor/Blake Donaldson I'll admit, I wasn't quite sure of what to make of the concept of a Thor who essentially blacks out and becomes Thor without any seemingly physical change. It was certainly interesting, but I just didn't know if I quite bought into it as well as the traditional version where Donald Blake and Thor are two entirely seperate entities. But as the season rolled along and Wraith began developing his own side of this world, I saw the line between Blake Donaldson and Thor begin to increasingly blur until they were completely of the same soul, despite being of vastly different histories. Seeing Donaldson come to grips with his plight as the vessel for The God Of Thunder was a hell of a thing to behold, just as seeing Thor make a name for himself as a hero for this world was something that got me excited for future storylines.
Best Season @HenryJonesJr as Spider-Woman/Gwen Stacy Having played the PS4 Spider-Man game to completion, my thirst for Spidey related material was at an all time high as we got closer to wrapping up. But reading Henry's Gwen has more than satisfied my need to have the wall-crawler and his world come alive, only through the eyes of an entirely different character who feels as true to the webs as Peter Parker ever did. I can't think of a thing that Henry didn't do that I wanted to see out of Gwen's initial outing, given that the symbiote saga and the Sinister Six coming together don't quite make sense for a Year One setting, but there was plenty of the expected melodrama and teen angst mixed in with colorful bad guys, a great budding relationship between Gwen and Peter with a tragic sting over everything, and the unexpected reveal that Gwen made to her father of her dual identity. Henry basically spent an entire season checking off everything great about Spider-Man and adapted it for his Spider-Woman stuff, and it was a great ride to go on.
Best Story Arc "Hooray For Hollywood", featuring @Byrd Man as John Constantine Byrd actually contacted me mid-season to ask if I would read this, given that I was still struggling to catch up with the IC thread at the time, and give him some constructive criticism on it. As I delved into this little morality play, however, I found myself having little to no problems with how it ultimately turned out and it has stuck with me ever since. Byrd's Constantine is some of the best writing he's ever done, in my opinion, but this arc has the three things he's best at conveying up front and center: the noir style grime, the twists and turns that you wouldn't have necessarily seen coming, and the supernatural colliding with the real world. To say that this arc reeked of sleaze would be an understatement, to say that it was tragic to see the fall of a man who literally sold his soul to the devil would be a disservice. It was a great statement on Hollywood in and of itself, and Byrd should be proud. He really got his L.A. Confidential on for this one.
Best Story Structure @Hound55's Moon Knight I decided to add this category for one very specific reason: because if I had to go back and do my stuff all over again, this is almost exactly how I would've done it. Whenever I originally started the game, I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea that it would do well for a couple of weeks and then burn out, and I would have scratched my itch to play Batman again until the next opportunity arose. So whenever I was writing those initial Batman posts, I did so with that in mind, thinking I would just have fun while the game was afloat. But as it goddamn turned out, this game became a success and I was stuck with a Batman who was already pre-established, already had a dynamic set up with a few of his supporting characters, and already had the groundwork laid out for future villains.
But if I knew how successful the season was going to be, I would have tackled Bruce the way that Hound tackled Marc Spector: from the ground up, at the very start, gradually building up all of the expected tropes from a natural beginning point and doing so with a very, very unreliable narrator. Hound knows that I'm a fellow fan of Moony, having read a couple of runs on the character, and reading Spector's slow-burn transformation from mercenary to werewolf hunter/masked vigilante was a really intricate, almost intimate experience. You got to see him mess up in the beginning, you got his resurrection, you got all of the business with Raoul Bushman, and you got Werewolf By Night. It was honestly like experiencing the Moon Knight Netflix series that has yet to happen, or a movie. Hound's love for the character shined through every post, and made me all the more envious that I didn't do the origin story with Bats.
Best Post "Surfer! I would have words." by @Lord Wraith It's one thing to write a quality post, but to write a quality post that is both well timed in the heat of a mass interaction and gets the reader to immediately hear Alan Silvestri's theme for The Avengers in their head? That's a feat that I didn't even know one was capable of pulling off. But Wraith's fateful intervention in the second MME was definitely something that I think all of us stood up and took notice of, given it was the ultimate "Aw, SHIT!" moment of the game, so it easily earns it's spot in the Best Post category. There's not much else to say than that, as the post speaks for itself.
Best Antagonist @Simple Unicycle as The Punisher While I know that this one's a bit of a cheat on my part, given that Frank isn't strictly speaking a bad guy and that there are no real PC bad guys in UOU, I would say that beyond maybe The Silver Surfer, Simp's Punisher has had the most effect on the world of the game. He's started from the bottom as a lonesome vigilante and worked his way up to being a cautionary tale, inspiring fear out of practically everyone else in a very real sense, the way a school shooter or mass murderer would. He's a character that likes you to hate him as a person, but be completely enthralled to follow his journey. If Simp had visited Gotham, I'd have been glad to have Batman kick his teeth in.
Best Supporting Cast @Eddie Brock's Captain America & Team 7/The Avengers I mean, it's really kinda hard to beat a supporting cast that consists of major superheroes in their own right, really, but Eddie not only expertly handled the introduction of each member and had Cap's initial struggles to get them to work under his command believable, he really gave all of Team 7 unique voices of their own. I was particularly impressed with how he handled bringing Diana Prince into the fold, given we had a Wonder Woman and Diana couldn't very well take the mantle for herself. The result was every bit the character that exists in the DC Universe, only really missing the costume. But I also loved Hawkeye, Nick Fury, Katana, Falcon, and the rest of the characters that encircled Steve's world, as they felt as if they belonged specifically to that side of the universe and not a bunch of throwaway cameos, which would have been easy to make it feel like. Even though Eddie didn't quite get a huge post count in the game, whenever he posted it was a worthwhile read.
Best World Building @AndyC's Metropolis This was a tough one to nail down, as alot of people have done alot of great things with their respective corners of the world. I never realized that I'd have affection for the fictional town of Marville, Oklahoma, for example, nor did I ever expect to see Los Angeles as the perfect breeding ground for John Constantine. But Andy's work with The Man Of Steel remains as much of a highlight as ever, and this particular version of Metropolis manages to be his best so far. I love the fact that it's so heavily technological based, as Lex Luthor would have The City of Tomorrow, but still manages to fit in all of the sci-fi weirdness that escorts Superman in very subtle ways rather than trying to forcefully cram them both together. And now that everything's connected via Brainiac as an advanced artificial intelligence app, which I still can't get over in it's brilliance, things are bound to get even more interesting for Clark's home town in Season Two.
Best Crossover @HenryJonesJr's Spider-Woman versus @Simple Unicycle's Punisher One of the earliest, if not the earliest crossover of the game, this one still resonates with me because of how diametrically opposed the two heroes (one hero?) are. Gwen Stacy is a snarky, fun-loving vigilante who does her best to keep things calm and maintain a level head in every situation. Frank Castle is a man who literally doesn't give a fuck who he hurts and how, as long as his target is taken out in the end. Seeing these two come to blows was tense, brutal, and best of all, very much like a well coordinated dance, where both players were on their game.
The Ultimate Breakout Character @Sep as The Flash/Iris West The goal of Ultimate One Universe, as I saw it, was to introduce a character that was so off kilter from how the character is usually portrayed and make them just as valid as the hero that everyone is familiar with. I don't think any really expected much out of Iris West as The Flash, as it seemed like a weird choice to make Barry's traditional love interest into The Scarlet Speedster herself. But Sep quickly endeared me to Iris' journey to becoming a hero, through both the character's personality (which is why is was so easy to ship Iris and Clark before the latter became more heavily involved) and her dramatic face-off against The Reverse Flash, who echoed the audience's initial reservations by putting her status as The Flash into doubt and pushing her to earn it. I'd love to see this Flash crossover and meet, through some multiversal shenanigans, either Barry Allen or Wally West as The Flash for an arc in Season Two, as I feel like they'd have some great moments and it would solidify Iris as her own Flash even more by comparing and contrasting.
The John Lees Memorial MVP Award @Morden Man Whenever Byrd originally suggested adding Morden into the fold, I accepted blindly, not really knowing the dude personally or what he could bring to the table. He'd briefly appeared on the Hype and played a great Daredevil, as I was reminded, but I had never actually interacted with Morden on a person-to-person basis. That being said, were it not for Morden as a Co-GM, this game wouldn't even be half as successful as it eventually became. Not only is he insanely easy to work with and a fantastic, upper-tier writer in his own right, but he managed to solve problems within the game that I wouldn't even have known to exist. He brought his experiences from Guild games of the past into this game and took into account the prior games' shortcomings in order to build this game into a well-oiled machine, and I attribute the fact that it made it to a Season Two entirely to Morden. You, sir, have made Ultimate One Universe what it is, and I couldn't be more satisfied.
Best Sex Scene: This post by...@Byrd Man Yep. I went there. Despite the fact that I've heard that @Lord Wraith may have wrote a sex scene, I'm sure that his couldn't quite compete with the dirty, raunchy version that was thrown into this post. Sorry, Wraith. I guess you'll have to try harder next season.
Working on my awards at the moment, those'll go up later tonight.
I'm also working on the banner for Season 2, and by popular request, I'll be adding whoever wants to be added. But there's a catch: You gotta provide the image so that I can work it in. Everyone who submits an image gets on, everyone who doesn't is out of luck. Hoping to have it ready by October 1st, so that's the deadline.
Sunrise. The birds were singing and the many businesses of Gotham City had began to open up shop. This was especially true of the prestigious Roman's Empire, an exclusive investment firm that catered to the elite and the particularly well-connected citizens of town for a very obvious reason. It's owner was Carmine Falcone, the biggest crimelord in all of Gotham. Every member of The Roman's Syndicate invested their money into it, with the assurance that it would be well protected. An assurance that had proven true, over the years. The few unlucky individuals that had attempted to commit a robbery at the establishment were not only found and tortured, but their bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, their families were murdered, and each one had been considered a missing person going back at least a decade. Point being that if you stole from The Roman, you ceased to exist entirely. That type of security made Roman's Empire the biggest bank in all of Gotham, as some had deposited millions, if not even larger fortunes.
One individual, however, didn't see it that way. He saw only opportunity for a year's worth of preparations that were about to pay off. As two unmarked vans pulled up across the street, parking bumper to bumper in a unified position, the back doors of the vehicles slowly opened and several men and women clad in black and white all stepped out, carrying large, reinforced suitcases. All wore masks that completely hid their features, save for one man, who led the pack as they descended upon the front entrance in a calm and orderly fashion. The man was wearing a large leather overcoat, fur-trimmed and decadently prepared. His hair was slicked back and his skin was tan, making it clear that he was a man of some considerable class. And under his arm rested the oddest accessory of all - a large umbrella.
But as they approached and the security guards standing just inside began to radio for back-up, a third van pulled up behind them, as if on command. This one was larger, and very clearly armored, displaying the GothCorp logo on it's side as it's back door opened aswell. Out stood an armored boot, followed by another, as a particularly inconspicuous owner stood up and departed while wearing a modified cooling unit. He had been seen on the news, as of late, for an attack on the Starling Fashion Show. To eyewitnesses that were there, in the midst of a battle with The Batman, the man had called himself Mr. Freeze.
Behind him, other mysterious, hideous figures emerged. A large, muscular man with cracked skin and a series of tattoos that accentuated his deformity, making it seem as if he were a human crocodile. A smaller, demented looking individual who curiously wore a bloodied apron and wielded a meat cleaver followed - his skin was a reddish pink hue and his nose had been cut off, making him resemble a pig. A manhole cover was lifted on the street behind them, and out from the sewers emerged a mass of living clay, having been blown up and destroyed just two days earlier before reforming and being given the opportunity of it's life.
These individuals were all converging at once, and despite the considerable armed presence inside of the building, the man leading the pack didn't seem the least bit worried. There would be resistance at first, but only at first. They had a small battalion, while he had an army of men and women wielding the highest caliber weapons, superpowered individuals that had seen their share of disenfranchisement and were looking to take it out on the world, and one mind steering them all towards a common goal. In short, this wouldn't last any more than a few minutes. And that was being generous.
With a puff of his lit cigarette, the leader smiled as the door was opened for him, with guns already drawn. There were precisely forty-one high level employees of Roman's Empire, all of whom were working that day. Some had families. Some were innocent. But others weren't, and for that reason, they were all going to die.
"Take it all."
The world will die alone, the fair will fall below...
"If you're just joining us, shocking news coming out of the financial district today as the site of a popular bank in Gotham City became the site of an unprecedented robbery turned massacre. Perpetrated by what appears to be a group of metahuman terrorists working with organized crime, the attack happened this morning just after sunrise, as the ringleader of a group calling themselves The Red Triangle looked to security cameras and made his motives clear. Viewer discretion is advised, as the footage could be considered disturbing."
The GNN news anchor hesitantly waited for the footage to roll, before partially grainy footage appeared across practically every television in the city. In the footage was a man, staring directly up at the camera, as the sounds of bullets flying, people screaming, and general chaos could be heard behind him. He took a hit off of his cigar, tossed it aside, and outstretched his arms.
"This, people of Gotham, is what happen when you become complacent. When you let the wolves rule the den for too long, and allow them to become so comfortable that they catch themselves look the other way. You get the occasional tiger waiting in the snow, looking to pounce on them and take everything they've ever known. I have been called many names over the years, including The Penguin, but that tiger is what I am today."
Placing his hand against his chest, the individual smirked as he introduced himself.
"My name is Oswald Cobblepot. For the past year, I've allowed each member of The Five Families to believe that I was someone else, while a paid actor took my place and helped to build my empire in secret. That man is now dead, having outlived his usefulness, and his body can be found in the trunk of a Volkswagen Polo that is parked on the Wayne Memorial Bridge. I say this because I stand unafraid of the consequences of my actions, today. And I'll tell you why."
Cobblepot gestured to the scene behind him, which was just off camera. But the noises were enough to get the point across. Looking back towards the camera, The Penguin narrowed his eyes and showed no sense of remorse in the violence that he was allowing to transpire in his name.
"The police cannot touch me. While it is something of an open secret, they are all under the control of a man named Salvatore Maroni, the leader of an organization calling itself Capo Italiana. Through posing as the bodyguard of Carmine Falcone, The Roman, I have acquired a ledger of each and every officer and public official working under him. I have also taken the liberty of having that ledger's contents transferred to the digital spectrum. Should a move be made against me by the GCPD, that list goes out to the public."
Removing another cigarette from within his jacket, The Penguin struck a match against his sleeve and nonchalantly lit it. Blowing smoke into the camera, he continued on, making it clear that he was far from done.
"But the police are nothing compared to organized crime. Anyone who's lived in Gotham for even a modicum of time knows this. So in the interest of keeping myself far away from their meager grasp, I issue this warning. Try and come for me if you wish, but know that for as much intel that I have on the cops, I have twice as much on you. I've been privy to The Roman's most secure back-door dealings, and have made note of every single member of The Five Families and their many illegal operations. Should I die or be injured by one of you trigger-happy ladies and gentlemen, that information will automatically leak to every federal bureau in the country. Gotham may be corrupt beyond measure, but the United States government won't hesitate to slap the cuffs on you. So if I go down, the rest of you go with me. The Five Families are done."
Giving a particularly devious smile, Cobblepot held up a stack of thousand dollar bills.
"And should you come for me anyway? Well, just listen to the environment I've created with just one attack. That is the sound of bank tellers being frozen solid, security guards being choked to death with clay, the elite having their throats ripped out by filed teeth, and pedestrians being butchered. Once this is over, the police will find that I am not in any way exaggerating any of those methods of brutality. This is the work of powerful people who have sworn their allegiance to me. Those who you've written off as metahumans, or freaks of nature, looking down at them when they were meant to rise above you. They are being given parts of Gotham to control for themselves, once we remove The Five Families from power. And there is nothing that any of you can do to stop it, even if you were foolish enough to try."
Using the still burning match that he had used to light his cigarette, The Penguin brought it to the stack of thousands and waited as it burned, before tossing it aside and allowing smoke to surround him.
"Make no mistake. This is a declaration of war, and we've just made the first strike. The next move is your's, Gotham."
As he smiled once again, the feed cut out, leaving a stunned news anchor to try and pick up where the footage had left off. Equally as stunned were the assembled group of mobsters who had been called back to The Loeb Building, their neutral spot, just hours after assembling at Carmine Falcone's behest. The Roman had thought The Penguin dead, and had even provided proof. But it was all a ruse. His bodyguard, Meredith, had been the real Oswald Cobblepot all along. And now he knew enough secrets to absolve him from immediate retaliation, not to mention a group of metahumans to back him up from physical harm.
Among the many figureheads of The Five Families, save for Falcone himself, was Salvatore Maroni. The usually temperamental crimelord was just as shocked as everyone else in attendance, as the room fell deathly silent, but only Maroni was the one to be able to convey the first immediate thought on everyone's mind.
"Holy shit."
Time will take our place, we return it back to one...
Agent Nashton, having heard about the incident at Roman's Empire, marched into Precinct 27 with a small crowd of officers flanking him. Captain Gordon looked up from watching the television footage of The Penguin, already put into a foul mood by the escalating violence that had just rang out like a single shot across the entire city, and shook his head as Nashton approached the door to his office.
Putting out the fifth cigarette that he had smoked since the footage aired, Gordon got up from his seat and went to meet the Agent at the door. Mercifully, he thought to himself, his daughter wasn't working today. He didn't want to have to explain how they were unable to prevent this, as it was a question that he was already asking himself.
"This is possibly the worst time for you to make an entrance, Nashton."
Nashton sneered, gesturing to the officers behind him.
"Correction, Captain. This is actually the best possible time. Behind me are the selected candidates for The Batman Task Force. They will be working with your department in an effort to stop this insanity before it can truly begin. And it starts with the vigilante."
Gordon gave the Agent an incredulous, stupefied glare.
"The Batman? Nashton, The Batman is the least of our concerns right now! Didn't you watch the news?! The Penguin's just declared war on Falcone and the mob! We've got to send tactical units out there to protect the streets, not go on a manhunt for one masked lunatic!"
"What was that, Captain? I couldn't hear you over the sound of my ears ringing."
Both Nashton and Gordon turned to see another figure emerge into the Precinct, as multiple officers stood in recognition. District Attorney Harvey Dent approached Gordon, pointing to a scar left by the bullet wound that had struck him in the side of the head on the night of his Anti-Batman rally. Gordon looked back at Nashton, then at Dent.
"You're in on this too, Counselor?"
"You're damn right I am.", Dent countered, bitterly. "Somebody's got to stop this, Jim. I've been tolerant of your department's lack of progress in getting results in the Batman investigation before now, but that tolerance has only been stretched thin. It was bad enough when he nearly killed me, twice, but now he's inspired a whole host of costumed terrorists to come barging out of the shadows and protect Cobblepot. This violence started when he initiated it. If there's an example to be made of anyone, it's him."
Gordon remained silent.
He could easily dissuade Dent by telling him the truth. That Batman hadn't been the one to shoot him, and the real sniper had been taken into custody weeks ago. But Floyd Lawton had long since been transferred to some secretive government facility under the orders of a Commander Waller, and if the Captain told him the truth, it could mean his own arrest.
The right thing to do was come clean and face the consequences of his actions. But right now, Gotham City was in a state of peril that it had never even seen before. Gordon was damned if he was going to allow corrupt politicians like Mayor Thorne and Commissioner Loeb dictate what happened next in this war for the streets. There were honest cops, decent people who worked with him that could help turn the tide.
"Even if what you're saying is true. And I'm leaning heavily on if, Dent."
Gordon pointed towards the precinct's windows that showed skyline of Gotham.
"What the hell are we supposed to do about Cobblepot?"
Dent narrowed his eyes.
"One threat at a time. For now, you're going to work night and day to bring us The Batman. Or so help me, Captain, I will personally see that you're removed from your post."
Gordon stared back as the District Attorney angrily left, leaving a satisfied Nashton in his wake. Mockingly placing a hand to the side of his face, Nashton watched Dent exit the building via the elevator.
"I would say that he has an axe to grind, but I think that would be understating it."
Shooting Nashton a hateful glare, Gordon looked to the individuals behind him.
"And these are the candidates?"
Nashton produced a completed folder, outlining the candidates through their GCPD personnel files.
"Hand selected by me, Gordon. Each and every one of them."
Gordon eyed them each, knowing fully well that at least half of them answered directly to Maroni's people without even having to read their files. They sure as hell couldn't be trusted, but at the end of the day, what choice did he really have but to let it happen? The city was at war, and war required soldiers.
"Do what you need to do. I'm going to start working on the real problem in this city, Harvey Dent be damned."
Pushing the folder against Nashton's chest, Gordon turned around and slammed the door to his office in the Agent's face. Nashton simply turned to the group of candidates, each waiting on his first official command as leader of the Task Force. Giving them all a smile, he leaned against a desk and
"You heard our District Attorney. We have a Bat to hunt."
The calm before the cold, the long and lonely road...
Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone entered the catacombs far beneath the city with some trepidation. He wasn't accompanied by anyone, of course, given that his traitorous bodyguard had ended up being The Penguin all along. But he had nowhere else to turn in light of these events. The Five Families were no longer operating on firm ground, and with the threat of war looming, he had to consult the fifth family once and for all. Looking out into the darkness ahead of him, Falcone called out to the hollow shadows.
"Is anyone there?"
At first, there was silence.
"Is there anyone there?!"
"We're here, Carmine."
Eventually, a light cascaded onto a group of individuals before him. Spooked, Falcone fell backwards, looking at them with a combination of rage and fear.
"We're always here."
He wouldn't be able to speak out of turn, of course, given that they were the oldest and most feared organization in the history of Gotham. But he was particularly jumpy today, in light of recent events.
"Christ. Then I suppose I should cut straight to business."
Falcone removed his hat and placed it infront of him, humbled beyond words. Gotham City was about to enter a war the likes of which it had never seen, and he had been too foolish to see right through the act that was being played out before his very eyes. If Falcone had vetted 'Meredith' alot more closely, he might have sniffed out the rat before he could make his move.
"There's a troublemaker. Someone who's set his sights on my business. Our business. He calls himself The Penguin, for some reason I never understood, but he's really just one more cheap hood who hides behind money and needs to be taught a lesson in respect."
Falcone sighed to himself.
"The problem is, he's got serious power backing him. Raw, physical strength. Something that I'm not sure if I can fight alone. The other families are... skeptical, to say the least, of trying to join in a fight that they see as mine to finish. So I was hoping that you would be more accomodating."
Looking back up at the group, the old man’s eyes were pleading.
"Will you help me?"
There was a silence, as they looked upon him. Their expressions blank. Indiscernible.
"You have done this to yourself, Carmine Falcone. As your father once did, before we were able to silence him. You share his trait of foolishness in believing that your empire was secure. That all challengers would fall to your influence. When the truth is, influence can be fleeting."
Falcone grit his teeth, reminded of the fact that these people had brought an end to his long departed father. Ushering him into the life, forcing him to make his bed on the corpses of others. Because of them, he lied awake at night, wondering if it could've been different.
"And what about your's, huh? How is mine fleeting, but your's intact?"
In an instant, The Roman felt a blade scratch against the skin of his throat. Suddenly brought to being still, the color drained from his face and he looked back up, petrified.
"I... meant no disrespect."
"Of course you did, Falcone. But we're more forgiving than you. And the reason that our influence has remained is because we have been selective. Our predecessors were smart enough to stay hidden, and we have remained in the dark."
Falcone let out a sigh of relief as the blade was removed, and the individual wielding it vanished.
"But to answer your question, we may not help in the way that you wish. But we're going to be watching. After all..."
"The Court of Owls watches, watches all the time."
Look for the light that leads me home...
Alfred Pennyworth placed the last remaining piece of the destroyed Batsuit in the raging fire of the furnace, watching as the kevlar began to melt before shutting the door. Bruce had insisted that there had needed to be a change in direction, and it started with the costume. He needed to create a new one, a better one that could help him maintain the advantage in the tribulations ahead.
But Bruce had left just earlier for a destination unknown to him, and it left Alfred worried. Oswald Cobblepot had just declared war on the entire city, it seemed, and Bruce's first instinct was to run. It was very much unlike him, and he wondered what his employer could be thinking. But he had resigned to the fact that it wasn't his place to question such matters, as Bruce would soldier ahead in the end and win the day. That, he had faith in.
"Bloody heat..."
Wiping an excess of sweat from his brow, Alfred looked off towards one of the earlier Batsuits. It was simple in it's design, and it's function was severely outdated in terms of protection, but he had to admit. There was something about it that might work, with the right modifications. Walking toward it to inspect the material further, Alfred was caught off guard as the Batcomputer suddenly sprang to life. Spinning around, he watched as the screen circulated through various colors.
Then it just... shut off.
"Hmm?"
Walking up to the massive command console, Alfred initiated the boot-up sequence. Everything loaded just fine, as it was before. Bruce's case files from the morning's massacre were even still open. Alfred inspected the monitor closely, before eventually shrugging off the brief disturbance.
"Must have been a glitch, of some manner."
Content, he headed back to the Batsuit chamber to inspect the outfit that had caught his eye.
But behind him, the computer began to circulate through colors once again. And then it began to download schematics, all on it's own. Six letters subliminally flashed across the screen, infront of the schematics for most of Batman's arsenal, followed by a logo that briefly appeared.
The letters flashed once again, in sequence.
H. A. R. D. A. C.
By the time Alfred had exited the chamber, the computer screen was blank once again.
As though nothing had happened at all.
Tired of feeling lost, tired of letting go...
Selina Kyle stared out at the skies of Gotham from her penthouse window, watching as the sun set on a city gripped by fear. Angrily, she brought the curtains to a close, shutting the world out as best as she could in the fleeting moments that she had to herself. This was a disaster, and Carmine Falcone knew it. Yet all he had done was run in the face of adversity. It showed the kind of leadership that Selina was more used to, beyond the bravado and beyond the threats. Falcone had always been a fraud to her, but being his daughter allowed her some small advantages. In the wake of all of this, however, it seemed as though those advantages didn't outweigh the opportunities that would be coming her way if she severed ties with the Falcone name altogether.
Staring at a portrait on her dresser drawer, Selina reached down and picked up the framed photograph. It was her most prized possession: a picture of her late mother, just before she had died. Had Maria Kyle lived to see the daughter that was staring back at her portrait, she likely wouldn't have approved. Her tryst with Falcone had ended rather bitterly, with Maria never once wanting to be apart of the life that he'd lived. And because of that, Selina thought to herself, she was dead. Though she couldn't yet prove it after all these years, Carmine had personally murdered her mother and lied to her about it since she'd been old enough to ask. It was why he had those hideous scars on his face. The lasting claw marks of a woman brutalized who had tried to fight back against her aggressor.
Thanks to Cobblepot's war, whenever Falcone returned, he was going to be too distracted to pay attention to whatever Selina was up to. Which meant that she could finally spend less time playing the dutiful mobster's daughter and devote more time towards her ultimate goal: stealing everything that he held dear right out from him, a piece at a time, until his empire was worth nothing.
Placing the photo down, Selina looked down at her bed and placed a hand against the back of a black cat. Isis, as Selina had named her, purred in recognition as she began to have her ears scratched. Selina smiled, somewhat, looking down at the creature.
"You know, girl, you may actually be the only friend I have in this world. Aren't you lucky?"
She didn't know how, but somehow, Selina had screwed things up with Bruce Wayne. The billionaire boy toy wasn't answering her calls, and she had been stonewalled by the butler. Despite stringing him along under false pretenses in a bid to ensure Wayne didn't make a move for his company, there was a part of Selina that felt genuinely for the man, as he seemed kind. Generous, even. Both qualities were almost non-existent in the men of Gotham. Had she been honest with him, she wondered what kind of a future they could have had.
But that was over, now. Alot of things were. Everything had changed. Walking over to a section of her wall that was covered by a painting of the Paris skyline, Selina pulled it aside to remove a secret compartment. Flicking a lightswitch on that was hidden within, she stared back at the various news clippings and articles that she'd been collecting for some time now. They all revolved around one subject.
The Batman.
Selina cracked her neck as she began to remove her clothes, replacing them with a suit that she'd had specially made from a number of different specially reinforced items. A black bodysuit zipped up against her curvaceous form, a pair of militarized climbing boots strapped against her legs, a belt containing various thieving tools slid together to connect at the center, and a hood hung behind her head. Whatever or whoever The Batman was, he had definitely left an impact on Selina whenever he'd first arrived in Gotham. He had given her the perfect way to exact revenge on her father, whether he knew it or not.
From the shadows, behind a mask. In the dark of night.
Selina pulled the leather gloves up against her forearm, twisting her palm. The fingertips immediately sprang forth a set of razor sharp claws all her own, in honor of her late mother's fight to the death against her father. If Batman could stalk criminals doing what he did, then she could certainly do what she was about to do without much notice. It's just the sort of city that Gotham was becoming. And some small part of her, despite the vengeful task she was about to set upon, enjoyed the thrill that such a thought arose within her.
"You can finally rest well, momma."
"I'll make him pay for what he did to you."
Tear the whole world down...
My city is at war.
The thought kept sticking with me as I awoke to the footage of Cobblepot this morning. Saw the bodies of those that had been slain in his grandiose effort to incite The Roman's wrath through the police photos and reports that I'd taken from the GCPD database. It was all too much for me to bear at once, which is why I told Alfred that I had to get away. Had to take a flight to somewhere remote, just to collect my thoughts and analyze how I was going to approach this. The excuse of needing time to heal from recent injuries was also sufficient in getting me out of the country. So as much as he didn't like it, he reluctantly agreed, and booked me a flight to my chosen destination: Budapest.
But my actual motives in coming here are somewhat astray from my given excuses. This becomes all the more evident as I arrive outside of Leopoldov Prison, one of the oldest maximum security penitentiaries in the world. I'm barely running on thought, at this point, more than I am instinct. There are currently one thousand, four hundred and twenty six inmates within this structure. But among them is one man in particular that I've come to seek out today, in response to the metahuman war that Cobblepot threatens to unleash upon Gotham.
Poison Ivy. Mr. Freeze. Clayface. And even Superman, to an extent. They all showed me that for as much training as I underwent to prepare for the criminal underworld, I had absolutely no idea of how to handle threats of this specific nature. People with special abilities aren't exactly something that one could have prepared for, given that until a few months ago, none ever really knew that they existed. But one man has hunted them, and even more impressively, he's managed to subdue them. He's the man I came to see, and as it stands, he's one of my old mentors.
We had a falling out. I disagreed with his methods. He preferred the kill, I preferred to seek a different approach. But he was damn good at what he did, and in the very little time I spent under him, I learned a great deal about how to survive. Now that I'm facing down the worst threat that Gotham's ever seen, I'll admit... I'm out of my depth. I need training that only an experienced metahuman hunter could give me. Which means burying an old rivalry, no matter how much I believe that the man deserves to rot in this hell of a place.
"<Five minutes. Then you leave.>"
I don't even look the guard in the eyes as he escorts me to the cell I requested.
"<I'll only need three.>"
With that, he allows me to enter, where the man in question is sitting in the shadows. I take a moment to look at him, to see how far he's fallen, before looking off. They say that great men can often aspire to the paths of the damned. It makes me wonder, in this moment, what sorts of paths that terrible men can aspire to. And if by doing this, I'm damning myself.
"It's been a long time."
He remains silent as I remain standing.
Glaring. Refusing to take my eyes off of him for even a second.
"I know about what you did to get here. Your sentence is, by all means, light compared to what you deserve. But you have a chance at redemption. A once-in-a-lifetime chance that I'm willing to offer you in exchange for something."
Folding his arms across his chest, he narrows his eye at me as I continue.
"Once upon a time, you were one of the most skilled people to ever hone my capabilities. I left you thinking that I had learned everything that I needed to, that you were beyond redemption and couldn't rationally give me anything others would not provide. But I was wrong, and I'm here to admit that. And to say that I need your guidance again."
Massaging the bridge of my nose, the next few words are strained. Hesitant, as I barely want to admit them out loud. But it's the reason that I've been driven to this absolutely insane length. I wasn't willing to admit my limitations, and they cost me. Had I sought help from the beginning, what happened with Cobblepot may have been avoided.
"I know that you're aware of who I am. Who I really am, when Gotham City goes dark and needs someone to protect her. You taught me the methods that I've utilized to avoid incarceration, and as you told me once, that might aswell be as incriminating as a fingerprint. So let's not dance around the details. I need to be able to protect Gotham from metahumans. You're the only one that's come close to subduing one, much less killing one. So under the condition that you train me to overcome them, and push me to my limit, I'm giving you a chance at freedom."
My expression hardens as he smirks at that.
"A limited freedom, but a freedom nonetheless. Which is more than they're offering you with a life sentence. I have connections. I can pull strings and get you out of here within the week. But I'm putting you under my own surveillance. Nothing you do will be beyond my knowledge, and that includes killing. So if you want any measure of what I'm offering, you'll agree not to take a life. Once we've finished, we go our separate ways. And you continue to build a life without murder."
His smirk fades. Mine grows. Knew he wouldn't like the catch.
"This is the only version of any offer I'm going to make you. Take it or leave it..."
"Slade."
The man known as Deathstroke leans forward, his face no longer obscured by the darkness. He could tell me to go hell. He could try to attack me. He could laugh in my face, for all that I care. But I need him more than he needs me, so I simply wait for his answer, patiently. He thinks it over. Gives it a real consideration. And then looks up.
"Good to see you haven’t changed, kid."
Extending his hand, I look at it as though I'm being offered a deal with the devil himself.
And I may very well be.
Harleen Quinzel had been walking through Robinson Park for an hour, sobbing to herself and generally feeling sorry for her predicament. But her legs were just about to give out, and she was tired of making a scene for any onlooker that happened to come across her path. Peering through the darkness between reddened eyes, she spotted a light in the distance and was immediately drawn to it. Slowly, she approached the bench that was lit up like Christmas morning, wiping the smeared makeup from her face and drawing back a combination of blacks and reds. Disgustedly sighing at the sight, she looked up to notice that there was a man already seated at the bench by the time that she made it.
"Oh!", she exclaimed, surprised. "Sorry, mistah. I didn't think this was occupied. I'll get outta your hair."
The man looked back at her, curiously, before scooting over and allowing her room.
"Nonsense. There's room for two. Come, sit! The park can be lovely this time of night."
Harleen looked quizzically at the man as he grinned, seeming genuinely upbeat. She wanted to disregard the offer, as she didn't even want to know what she currently looked like in the mirror, but there was something hypnotic about the man's gaze. It was as if saying no to him wasn't really an option. And despite being the only other person she could see for a mile, Harleen didn't feel the least bit threatened by him. If anything, he had a kind face.
"Well... if you're instistin'."
Sitting down, she tried to fight back the tears from streaming forth again. The man didn't seem to be paying attention, as he was looking out to the city itself. As though he were marvelling at it, like it were some grand tapestry rather than hell on Earth. Eventually, however, Harleen couldn't take it anymore. She placed her hand over her face to try and hide her crying, but the man eventually noticed.
"Oh, dear. What's wrong?"
"Nothin'. Nothin's wrong. It's just..."
Despite herself, Harleen broke down.
"Everythin's wrong. God, it's just... I'm sorry, but I gotta vent, ya know? I wouldn't have even come ta this stupid park if I still had an apartment ta go back to, but my looneypants landlord evicted me! He kicked me out all because I had a damn dog that wouldn't stop yappin'! An' now I've got nowhere ta go!"
Despite her hysterical outburst, the man seemed unphased, offering a kind hand to her shoulder.
"There, there, my dear. I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be."
"Ya haven't heard the whole story."
Harleen sighed, furiously wiping tears from her eyes.
"When I got the eviction notice, I figured, hey, now's the best time to move in with the boyfriend, right? Just until I could get back on my feet, I told myself. He'd love to have me over, I told myself. We'd been seein' eachother for a year! But what do I find when I get to that creep's doorstep? Another woman, in his bed right alongside him! He didn't even pretend like it mattered!"
"Oh."
The stranger seemed to recoil the hand, realizing the futility of such a gesture.
"Well, that does seem to be a bit of a downer..."
"So I took a waffle iron and bashed his skull in! Now he and his new galpal are pressin' charges, because'a the fact that I maybe tried ta claw her eyes out. I'm gettin' sued by the douche who screwed me over!"
Harleen leaned forward, allowing the tears to freely fall against the pavement.
"All I got left is a job that barely pays. Some psychiatry thing, and even they're startin' to get tired'a my antics. All I want is a little break from life, ya know? All I want is the chance to be happy. Like, really, really happy. The kinda happy that you see in the movies. But what do I get? Stomped on. Chewed up. Spit out."
For a moment, the stranger seemed unsure of what to say.
And then he started... giggling.
Harleen shot up, surprised, as the giggle fit turned into full blown laughter. The gaunt man slapped his knee, fighting back tears of his own, but of happiness. Harleen angrily eyed him, standing up from the bench and placing her hands on her hips.
"And what's so freakin' funny about that?!"
The stranger shook his head, eventually calming himself down.
"Hehe. Hah. No, you misunderstand. I wasn't making fun of your predicament, my dear. Truly, I meant no disrespect. It's just..."
He began to laugh again.
"A waffle iron! That's classic!"
As his laughter continued, Harleen's frown slowly turned into a smile.
And then she began laughing aswell, sitting back down on the bench beside him.
"Well, when ya put it that way. I guess it's kinda funny."
Grinning back at her, the man took her hand in his, and placed his other hand over it.
"The world can be cruel sometimes, it's true. But you'll land on your feet, my dear. As long as you see the funny side of life, you'll always land on your feet. That's the great punchline of the universe. You do your set, you get booed off stage, and then you try again until someone laughs with you. Then you find that you're not alone anymore, and life starts to seem alot less cruel."
Harleen was genuinely taken aback by the man's words, not expecting such eloquence or kindness. She'd never even been told that she'd been worth a damn in her life, let alone that she had the power to get back up. Everybody had always beaten her down. This man was laughing about the way she dispatched the creep that had cheated on her.
It made her smile. Genuinely, she felt just a bit happier than when she arrived.
"I don't know what ta say ta that. But you're right. I ain't let this be the end’a me. Thanks, mistah."
He patted her hand before relinquishing it.
"Anytime, dear. It's what I hope to do to this town. Spread joy as far as the eye can see."
Harleen raised an eyebrow.
"You in some line'a charity work or somethin'?"
He shrugged.
"You could say that. I am about to give back, in a way."
Harleen couldn't believe it. Not only was the man jovial and kind, but he had a good heart, aswell. That was a one-in-a-million catch if she'd ever seen it, and yet when she looked at his hands, she saw no signs of a ring.
"I just realized I never gave my name. That's awfully rude of me."
Extending her hand, Harleen flashed a grin of her own.
"Harleen Quinzel."
Placing his hand in her's, he nodded once.
"Jack."
As the two rested against the bench, Jack began to softly giggle to himself once more. Harleen looked over, curiously.
"What's got your goat now?"
Jack smiled, glancing over at her.
"Oh, nothing. It's just that I went back to thinking about your story. And, well..."
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.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Very well, where do I begin? <br><br>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. <br><br>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. <br><br>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. <br><br>There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.</div>
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