A.N.
Okay Munchies, I'm back!
I really appreciate all of the amazing support you guys gave me when I was writing my first fanfiction :)
And so I figured why not write another?
Please R&R!
CHAPTER ONE – MAGNESIUM
The driver hummed softly along with the radio, running a weary hand over his blearly eyes; it had been a long week, a long last couple of nights.
The trucks' diesel engine growls and hisses; the yellow beams of the headlights barely able to penetrate the dark fog more than three feet ahead at a time. Gotham had been experiencing heavy fog coverage during the nights; the dense phantom clouds rising from the murky water of the bay and stealing silently through the streets, bringing with it an eerie quiet.
Like the calm before the storm.
Tom Gary yawns and switches off the radio, the female announcer's voice was making him tired. This was his last delivery of the night and then he can go back to his apartment and get some much needed sleep.
He glances over at the pistol sitting beside him on the seat; so far he hadn't needed to use it, the nights had been obnoxiously boring.
None of the other drivers had run into any trouble, no hijacks, no murders and no Batman.
What the cargo was, Tom never knew, he had been told it wasn't important for him to know. He guessed it was weapons or drugs, but which it was he didn't really care, he wasn't a curious man.
He was being paid a thousand bucks a night and that was good enough for him.
The fog is making him nervous, driving blind down on the Gotham docks is like wandering blindfolded through a lion's den.
Tom leans over the steering wheel, trying to see what's ahead of him as his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
His apartment was sounding better by the minute…
BOOM
Tom jerks awake; he had fallen asleep behind the wheel!
"Aw shit."
He can hear an ominous spluttering sound coming from under the crushed hood, the metal had crumpled up like an accordion against the steel freight container.
"You'd better kiss that thousand bucks goodbye Tommie Boy." Tom grumbles reaching to unclip his seatbelt, at least he had had the presence of mind the fasten it. He was shaken but unharmed although he was sure he'd be sore the next day.
Then he stops, freezing with one hand on the clip; something was moving in the back of the truck, thumping against the sides with the force of a caged bull.
Tom looks franticly for his gun as the screech of shredding metal fills the air and the truck sways on its wheels; the pistol has fallen to the floor against the passenger door, far out of reach.
The fog is rolling past the windows in dark grey waves as Tom sits perfectly still behind the wheel, hardly daring to breathe as he listens to his cargo climb from the truck.
He was wishing he had joined in the family business of dry cleaning.
Nothing appears to move and he sits in utter silence for what seems an eternity before slowly reaching for the keys to restart the truck; if he could get the stupid thing running again he could back into the city where it was bright and full of people.
He would be safe.
The engine groans shrilly, hissing and whining and shattering the heavy quiet like an explosion.
Tom freezes again, waiting, his heart racing. If the cargo was hostile there was no way it couldn't have heard that and it would be coming back for him.
And yet still nothing stirs beyond the cab and Tom slowly lets out the breath he had been holding, turning to peer out of his door window.
It is there, glaring at him with solid black eyes, the massive face separated from his only by the thin sheet of glass.