Warning: Before you read this story, I feel I should warn you that there is some strong racism. One of the African American heroes I chose to use in this fic starts out as a slave. I kept it pretty tame for this chapter, but it will probably get more intense later on. If you think you might be bothered by this, then you probably should not read this story.
Also, there is a corrupt Pope. I want to make it clear that the Pope in this story is completely fictional, and he will be exposed for his crimes later on. But he is a villain. If you think you might be offended by this, then you should find something else to read.
You have been warned. To those moving on, enjoy the story!
Chapter One: A World Divided
Birmingham, England
"Mother I don't want to see him." Diana repeated once more, remaining solemn in her own defense.
"Diana, please. Sir Arthur Curry has traveled for days to meet you." Her mother insisted.
"No, he traveled for days to find any young woman whose skirt he can remove, just like all the other suitors you keep trying to force me upon. And just like all the others, I am not interested."
"Diana you are almost twenty-four and still unmarried. How does that make you look?"
"Like a woman with enough intelligence to do something other than clean houses and cook meals."
"I don't understand what you keep thinking you are going to achieve in your life, Diana, but I assure you that it will not be as glamorous as you hope."
"My only hope is to maintain some independence and self respect, mother. And if that is anything other than glamorous then by all means, marry me away!"
"Is it because he is foreign?"
"What?"
"Foreigners aren't always as untrustworthy as those Frenchmen you see running around. Sir Arthur Curry is a fine gentleman."
"Mother it has nothing to do with his-"
"Our heritage is not all here, you know?"
"Yes, we come from Greek ancestry, I know. That has nothing to do with this. I don't want to just be married off to some random man who comes knocking on my door. I can make my own decisions, mother."
"I just want you to make the right ones Diana. Will you at least see the man?"
"Huh…" Diana sighed and looked up the stairwell. "Very well. I'll head up to my room and freshen up a bit."
"Good for you." Her mother nodded with a smile as she watched her dark haired daughter disappear up the stairs.
Outside the Home
"A beautiful home." Arthur Curry acknowledged as his carriage approached.
"Just please remember why we are here. No matter how beautiful the lady Diana may be…"
"Yes, yes. We have a greater objective." Arthur groaned. "You would do well not to hassle me about this, Garth. After all I am no amateur."
"No, but you are a hopeless romantic." Garth smiled.
"We'll need to put on quite a façade if we want this to happen fast. We gain the lady Diana's trust and affection, and in doing so we become close with her family. Then…"
"Then we get the tablet before it can fall into the wrong hands." Garth finished.
"Yes. Absolutely."
The carriage came to a halt at Garth's command, and Arthur moved toward the doorway of the Prince Family Mansion. He hardly tapped the door before it was pulled open by a tall woman dressed in fine clothing.
"Hello madam."
"Sir Arthur Curry, I presume?"
"You presume correctly."
"The rumors were true; you are a highly attractive man." The woman smiled.
"Thank you. It means very much coming from such a beautiful woman as yourself." Arthur flattered her.
"Save such compliments for my daughter, if you would."
"I have plenty more madam. Where is the man of the house, if I might ask?"
"My husband is off fighting the Yanks. He has temporarily left control of his company with me."
"Wonderful. I do support women's rights, and running a company, even for a short time, you serve as a fine example of what society should hope to achieve one day."
"I agree."
"What is your name madam?"
"Hippolyta Prince."
"Oh…"
"It's Greek, as is my heritage." Hippolyta laughed. "And exactly where do you hail from, Mr. Curry."
"Oh, Sweden. I come from Sweden." Arthur said quickly. It was a lie.
"Funny, I don't hear an accent."
"I've spent enough time in Britain to be able to cover it up."
"I see." Hippolyta looked up the stairs. "What is taking that girl so long?" She moved up quickly and knocked on Diana's door. There was no response. Angered, Hippolyta pushed the door open. She found the room empty, and the window wide open. "Oh my goodness…"
"What is it?" Arthur came running.
"Diana! She's gone!"
Venice, Italy
"Hurry up!" The archer dressed in green whispered hoarsely. "They'll be awake soon!"
"I am hurrying Queen!" The red-dressed archer snapped as he lowered another heavy leather bag down the chimney. The green archer grabbed the bag and tossed it into the room.
"Is that the last one?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Good." The green archer smiled. "The woman who runs this orphanage is going to wake up tomorrow and find enough money to feed these children for a year!"
"Yes, yes, we did a great deed. Now get out of there will you?" The red archer barked.
"Fine." The green archer reached into his quiver and pulled a hunting arrow with the arrowhead painted green. He stuck the arrow into the floorboards. "They will remember the sign of the Green Arrow."
"Must you be so dramatic?" The red archer snapped as the Green Arrow climbed up the chimney.
"Come on Leroy, have some dramatic flare." His green-clothed partner smiled. "We're stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, for goodness sakes. Its very theatrical."
"And you yourself are rich, you hypocrite." Stated Leroy Harper.
"Well I'm not going to steal from myself, that would down right impractical." The Green Arrow laughed.
"Well we just robbed the highest religious official in Italy; we should probably get to hiding." Leroy reasoned.
"You're calling me a hypocrite? That man we robbed tonight claims to be holy, but refused to give a cent of his wealth to these starving children."
"I just fail to understand why we have to steal all of this money when you yourself have plenty."
"Because if we didn't steal it, then the unjust fools like that priest tonight would get away with their crimes unpunished." Arrow reasoned. "Plus, I would have no use for my bow and arrow and what fun would that be?"
"Just don't become too engulfed in these Robin Hood antics you love so much, I beg of you."
"You are such a pessimist." Arrow scoffed.
"And you are too much of an optimist."
"And which one of us is happier?"
"The same one who is more likely to be killed in the near future. And I'll give you a hint; it isn't me."
"I know very well I'm going to die doing this some day, Leroy. That's the thrill of it all."
"Sometimes I question your sanity Oliver."
"Sometimes? Then you aren't spending nearly enough time with me yet." He laughed and looked out into the rising sun. "But I do suppose you are right; we should probably leave Italy. There will be a very large manhunt out for us by morning."
"Where do you think we should head next?"
"England."
Leroy shot Oliver a painful glare. "England? Of all places, why England?"
"There is a very rich family in Birmingham with a very attractive young heiress."
"Oh Lord… so tell me, do you intend to rob this family, or sleep with their daughter?"
"A little of both. Whichever comes first."
"And just who is this family you speak of?"
"They own the Amazon Foundation. The family name is Prince."
London, England
"It was the butler." Detective Bruce Wayne announced.
"How could you possibly know that?" Constable James Gordon demanded. "He is the only person who you have even questioned!"
"He is also the only one I need to question."
"And what exactly do you have as evidence, Mr. Wayne?"
"The butler claimed that at the time of the killing, he was at the market buying a loaf of bread. There is, however, no bread in the pantry, which leads me to believe that he in fact did not buy said loaf."
"So you are incriminating the man based on bread?" Gordon scoffed.
"No, I would appreciate it if you would let me finish." Bruce narrowed his eyes. "The bread was only my first clue. When I first began the interrogation, I simply told the butler that Mr. Harriett was killed with a gun."
"Which he was. Clubbed to death with a pistol." Gordon nodded.
"Yes, but I did not tell the butler that he was clubbed. I simply said that the murder weapon was a gun. And halfway into the interrogation, the butler told me very plainly that he did not club his master to death."
"Yes, so what?"
"Normally when you hear that someone was killed with a gun, you automatically assume that they were shot. The butler expressed that he knew his master had been clubbed, not shot."
It appeared that a series of gears clicked into place behind Constable Gordon's eyes. "That is quite a coincidence."
"No such thing, Constable."
"But we do need a motive, Mr. Wayne. And I'm afraid a motive is something you do not have."
"Actually, I do." Bruce stated immediately.
"Oh of course you do." Gordon recoiled, seemingly frustrated. He had never been particularly fond of Detective Wayne solving his cases for him.
Bruce called the butler out into the courtyard, and the elderly man approached them slowly. "I assure you gentlemen that I have already told you everything that I know." He pleaded.
"Shut up." Bruce told him casually. He pinched the butler's cheeks with his gloved hand and pulled the skin out a little. "The man is wearing blush."
"So what does makeup possibly have to do with a motive?" Gordon demanded.
"Well a man usually doesn't wear it without a damn good reason." Bruce then spit on the butler's cheek, and wiped away the makeup, revealing the skin's true tone beneath. "Notice the odd yellow discoloration of his skin, Constable?"
"What is it?" Gordon inquired.
"It's also on the whites of his eyes, yellow discoloration." Bruce continued.
"Where are you going with this sir?" The butler demanded, pulling away.
"It's the cause of jaundice, a common symptom if liver disease. I'm not surprised you've developed complications with your liver either, you stink of alcohol."
"What are you implying?" The butler asked again.
"What is it? Hepatitis? Liver cancer?" Bruce continued on.
"Mr. Wayne was does this man's illness have to do with a motive for murder?" Gordon asked.
"Check Mr. Harriet's will. He had no children, no wife, and no living family to speak of. I trust Mr. Harriet left a large sum of his money to you, didn't he?" Bruce eyed the butler. "But he was in good health, and you are dying. You needed that money now, for a doctor. Am I right?"
"You are most certainly not!" The butler spat.
"So you haven't already seen the doctor then?" Bruce moved and tore open the butler's shirt! Right above the area of his torso where the liver would be, there were incisions in a circular pattern, obviously done by someone with medical knowledge. "If you haven't been to the doctor, then why has your liver been looked at recently?"
After a moment of silence, the butler breathed a deep sigh. "My employer, Mr. Harriet, was a selfish man. I wanted only a small raise in my salary, just so that I could afford a doctor's visit… but he refused…"
"So you killed him, and cashed in on his will." Bruce finished.
"Can you blame me?" The butler screamed. "I just want to live!"
"So did Mr. Harriet." Bruce Wayne turned to face Constable Gordon. "There you have it Jim. Evidence, a motive, and a confession."
"You know I don't appreciate you coming in a solving my cases for me." Gordon whispered as he moved to arrest the butler.
"Only doing my job old friend." Bruce responded, and then headed back to his carriage, where his own butler, Alfred Pennyworth, awaited him.
"Any suspects?" He asked.
"I've already solved the case." Bruce answered as he entered inside the carriage.
"Solved it? Master Bruce it has been under an hour!"
"And that was all it took." Bruce shrugged.
"So have you received your pay?"
"You know I don't charge for murder cases, Alfred."
"Yes, yes. I know." Alfred groaned. "But free cases don't pay taxes, you know."
"I wouldn't worry about the taxes Alfred. I'm a wealthy enough man that I can afford the occasional non-profit work."
Within an hour, the carriage had reached the large home that Bruce had inherited from his parents. Alfred brought the horses to a halt, and Bruce stepped out onto the pavement and walked up to the door. He pushed the door open and walked into the cluttered mess that was his home.
The floors were littered with books and newspapers, and important notes had been nailed onto the walls to the point where barely any wall was actually visible. There was a fireplace on the far side of the room, and at its sides were statues of Bruce's late mother and father, Martha and Thomas Wayne. Buried somewhere among the clutter was a piano, and leaned against one wall was a violin. Bruce took a seat in the chair before the fireplace, and lit his pipe.
He had barely gotten out the first breath when a young, dark haired boy burst into the room. He was an orphan who Bruce had taken on as a protégé, his name was Richard Grayson. He was currently thirteen years old, and Bruce could already tell he had amazing potential in the field of deduction.
"What is it Richard?" Bruce asked calmly.
"A young woman was here just a few moments ago, looking for you. I believe her name was Donna Prince."
"Prince? Would she be from the same Prince family that is buying up land all over Birmingham?"
"The very same." Richard nodded.
"What did she want?"
"She had a letter for you, she said it was important." Richard handed Bruce an envelope. Quickly Bruce tore open the parchment and unfolded the letter inside.
February 1st, 1778
Dear Mr. Wayne,
I am writing to you from the city of Birmingham, with news of the utmost importance. I have had my second oldest daughter rush this letter to you by and all means necessary, and I ask you to consider its contents carefully and with an open heart. My husband is the owner of the very prestigious Amazon Foundation, which works in dealing and distributing ancient artifacts from around the world. We are a very wealthy family, and are willing to pay any price for your aid in our problem.
My eldest daughter, Diana Prince, went missing last week on the date of February 24th. My husband is away, fighting against the Yankees, and has entrusted management of the Amazon Foundation to me. Therefore, my workload has been quite heavy as of late, and I am unable to search for her on my own. I have already contacted the police, but at this point they have no leads as to where she may have gone. Just as I was beginning to think all hope had been lost, I remembered the rumors of Detective Bruce Wayne. You are famous throughout all of England for your incredible powers of deduction, often renowned as the greatest detective this world has to offer. And so, I beg of you to use those deductive powers to find my daughter.
As I stated above, I will pay any price for your help. All I ask is her safe return. I will provide you a place to stay in Birmingham until she is found, and any and all commodities will be paid for by the Amazon Foundation. Normally I would not go to such drastic measures, but I'm sure that you have heard the stories of the brutal serial killer currently wandering the streets of Birmingham, and with such grisly murders turning up, I fear greatly for my daughter's safety. I ask only for my daughter's safe return. Name your price, and I will pay it. Please Mr. Wayne, bring Diana back to me.
-Sincerely
Hippolyta Prince
"No." Bruce said dryly and placed the letter back in the torn envelope.
"I think we should accept it." Richard argued.
"I'm a detective, not a bounty hunter. I won't travel all the way to Birmingham just to apprehend some spoiled runaway."
"But you said yourself you are interested in these strange killings going on, the ones related to the killer mentioned in the letter. Perhaps if we go to Birmingham looking for this girl, we can also look for the serial killer." Richard reasoned. "The woman said she would pay for our housing and commodities, so it would basically give us free time to investigate."
"I don't have Jim Gordon on my side in Birmingham, that area is outside of his jurisdiction. I would be arrested in a heartbeat for interfering with police business." Bruce reasoned.
"Not if no one knew you were the one apprehended the killer." Richard smiled.
"What are you getting at?"
"Think about it Bruce. You put together some sort of a false identity while investigating the killings, adorn a costume, perhaps. And-"
"Richard this isn't some damned fairy tale." Bruce interrupted. "And I would prefer you not treat it as one."
"Bruce don't you remember when your parents were killed?"
"I thought I told you to never speak of that to me!"
"Just listen! It happened to me too, remember?" Richard narrowed his gaze. "And this serial killer in Birmingham… every person he's killed, has had a family of some sort. Parents, siblings… children. And they all go through exactly the pain you and I went through. Do you want to let that continue?"
There was silence, so Richard continued. "We go to Birmingham to find this Diana Prince, but while we are there, we investigate this killer under false identities, and bring him to justice. And we make sure that no one else has to feel the same way we did. Don't you want that?"
Bruce turned, looked his protégé in the eyes, and said, "What exactly did you have in mind?"
Virginia
If you could shoot a rifle, you could join the militia. That was the rule in Virginia, and it was also the reason why fourteen year old Billy Batson was now a soldier. He wasn't the youngest in the militia, not by far. Some of the kids were as young as ten. But he was definitely the most uncomfortable holding a gun.
Billy didn't want to hurt anyone, and the very idea of battle terrified him. But he always liked to the right thing, and considering how unfair Britain had been treating its colonies, joining the militia certainly seemed like the right thing to do. No matter how scared he was.
The year was 1778; the war with Britain had been going on for about three years now. Most still called it the Revolution, but Billy called it a nightmare. His only source of confidence was General George Washington. Washington was in charge of the Virginian militia, and more of a farther figure to Billy than anyone else had ever been. Billy was an orphan turned a soldier, and Washington's encouragement was the only thing that kept him going.
George was a tall man, and he never spoke much. But when he did, it was always meaningful and worth hearing. He never wasted a single word. Billy thought about all of this while he cleaned the rifle that had been given to him. He wasn't sure if he would ever be brave enough to actually shoot someone with it, but he figured he might as well keep it clean whether it would make a kill or not. Billy was relatively new to the militia and hadn't really seen battle yet, something he was extremely thankful for.
"Billy? Are you listening?" A loud voice interrupted his thoughts. He shot his gaze up to see the general eyeing him. "We were discussing something important."
"Right, strategy, planning. I know sir. Sorry." Billy said.
"There will time for this later son." Washington said as he removed the rifle from Billy's lap, and placed it with the rest of their weaponry. Then he moved back up to the map in the middle of the tent that he had called most of the militia into, to discuss a plan for an upcoming battle.
"Ok, so we know that the redcoats will be heading into this valley." He said, pointing to a valley on the map. "We'll have a small platoon waiting for them there. That platoon will feign a retreat, and lure the redcoats through this trail here." He pointed to a pass through the woods that had been drawn out on the map. "We'll have sharpshooters in the trees throughout the entire pass, who will take out their cavalry. After that, we'll draw them out of the pass and into this hill area here." He pointed again on the map. "We'll have cannons atop these hills, as well as the rest of our force waiting. Our hidden squads will emerge out of the woods, and our entire force will box in the redcoats here, attacking them from every direction. They will either have to surrender, or be wiped out."
Several of the men began to congratulate Washington on the battle plan, but Billy just stood and felt his skin pale. To many it sounded like a brilliant strategy. To him it sounded like terror and mindless bloodshed.
Later, after the militia had settled down and everyone went to rest up for the battle, Washington approached Billy. "Are you alright son?"
"Yes sir. Terrified, otherwise but alright."
"You don't have to go into battle with us Billy. No one is making you. We have enough men as it is. You're only fourteen; you shouldn't have to worry about this."
"I have to do it." Billy stated. "My dad always told me that if you do good things, good things will happen to you in return. And everyone seems to think that this war is a good thing, so I'll be happy to fight in it."
"Billy war is never a good thing. Men die, lives are destroyed, and money is wasted on death..."
"Then why are we even fighting it?"
"Because if we win, we get so much more than a simple victory. We get our independence. We get freedom from Britain's tyranny. And that, Billy, is a good thing."
"I want to fight for it sir, I really do. I just…"
"You don't want to kill anyone?"
"No."
"I understand completely. And hopefully you won't have to. You're far too young for your innocence to be blasted away like that."
"I'm not innocent sir. I'm just not dirty either."
George smiled briefly. "Take your time Billy, make your own decision. I'm sure it won't be the wrong one."
"Thank you sir." Billy nodded. Then he headed off to prepare for the coming day. Little did he know, the dawn would bring with it an event that would change his entire life, forever.
Rhode Island
The sun beat down heavily as the slave worked through the tobacco field. He had built up a profuse sweat, but continued working tirelessly. Tobacco plants were difficult to work with, but he did his work well and without complaint. He had been given the name John. John Stewart. He had been brought over on a slave ship when he was just a small child, and he no longer remembered what his name had been in Africa. I didn't matter much, really. He knew he was never going back.
The owner of the tobacco plantation was Carter Hall, a man of fair wealth. A few years ago he had taken a wife named Shayera. From the few glimpses John had caught of her, she was a beautiful woman. Fiery red hair, strong green eyes… the list of perfections was endless. She had never spoken to him or to any of the slaves for that matter, but he had always secretly wished that she would. He doubted the day would ever come, but at least he could dream. Really, dreaming was the only liberty he had.
One of these rare glimpses of Mrs. Hall was captured on this day; he spotted her heading out to the well for some water. The sun seemed to radiate off of her body, building an angelic golden cascade around her. Beautiful. John noticed the bruises on her face, even from his far distance. He had long suspected Carter of beating his wife, and he didn't like it. But that didn't matter. None of his opinions mattered. Because to them, he was just an object. To them he was just another dumb Negro who did labor and kept his mouth shut. The thought sickened him, but he had come to accept it over the years.
Still, seeing the lady Shayera with those bruises on her face… it made him angry. What, did Carter thing that she was just a thing too? How many others were nothing but objects to him? Objects that he could just abuse and control with violence and force. John hated it. He hated Carter Hall and the things that he believed in. The things he did, the things he said, all of it. But more than anything, John hated that Shayera just put up with it all. She seemed like a strong woman, so why did she let the man walk all over her like that?
Suddenly, John's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp pain of a whip cracking against his bare back. He let out a cry and fell forward. "What are you dreaming?" A gruff voice shouted. "This isn't a place for dreaming you dirty n-"
"If you call me that word, I am going to take that whip out of your hands, and string it through your filthy ass." John growled. He spoke better than most slaves, something he had earned from listening to his masters scream at him for disobedience over the years.
John got to his foot and looked the man in the eye. It was Hank Hall, one of Carter's two boys. The other was Don. Hank and Don weren't Carter's sons by blood, but he had taken them in from birth and raised them. Don was ok; John actually liked him pretty well. Don was never violent, and he actually seemed compassionate toward the slaves sometimes. Unfortunately, Carter had forbid him a long time ago from speaking to them.
And Hank, he was a different story. He got his kicks out of causing pain. John hated him just as much as he hated Carter. "Did you just threaten me, slave?" Hank snarled.
"No, it wasn't a threat. It was a promise." John responded coolly.
"You think just because you can talk good, you're tougher than me?"
"No. I think I'm tougher than you because you're still here, instead in the militia fighting for your country. You think you're invincible here, where you have a whip. But the second you don't have all the power, you're terrified."
After a moment of enraged silence, Hank began to walk away. "Get back to work. I'll be sure to discipline you later."
"Why do you do that to yourself?" A woman's voice asked. John turned around and, to his surprise; Shayera was standing about twenty feet away.
"What?"
"You get beaten a lot, I can tell. Why did you mouth off to Hank like that?"
"I don't want to let him have power over me." John answered.
"But… he does."
"I'm sorry you think that." John told her. Then he went back to work. But as she began to walk away, he called after her and said, "Carter doesn't have that power over you, either."
"Excuse me?" She said.
"You know what I mean." And with that, John turned away and went to finish his work, leaving her to think.
Later that night, after the sun had fallen and John went back to the crappy slave house that had been built for him and the family's eight other slaves, he began to drift to sleep. Before he could completely lose consciousness, however, he was shaken awake by Mari. She was another slave on the plantation, the only female worker. "John! John wake up!"
"What?" He asked groggily.
"Don's got a plan!" She said excitedly. They were usually kept separate, in different divisions of the barn, but Mari had apparently snuck into his area somehow.
"Don Hall?"
"Yes." She pulled John toward the door, and it was opened by Don Hall.
"I don't have long." He said quickly. "So listen carefully."
"What is it?" John asked.
"I don't know what you did to anger Hank and Carter so badly, but they're out for blood." Don said.
"What?"
"Yes, I heard Hank say something about you talking to Mrs. Hall?"
"Damn it." John breathed. "So what are they going to do?"
"John, they're furious. I think they're going to kill you."
"So why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm getting you out of here." Don answered. "All of you."
"You mean-"
"Yes. I'm helping you escape."
The Vatican, Italy
"I was robbed! Robbed because your men failed to protect my fortune, Bertinelli!" The Pope screamed. "I am the highest religious official in the Catholic Church! I deserve that wealth, do I not?"
"Sir, I hate to disagree with you, but is God not the highest religious official?" Once of the guards inquired. The Pope looked to Franco Bertinelli, leader of the mob. Franco quickly took his pistol and shot the guard in the head.
"I apologize for him sir." Franco nodded.
"Apologize for this!" The Pope threw an arrow into the floor. An arrow with a bright green tip. "The robbers left that arrow where my money used to be! The money that I hired your men to protect!"
"A calling card." Franco picked up the arrow and studied it. "I heard of this man before. They call him the Green Arrow."
"I do not care about his reputation. I want him dead!"
"Of course, sir." Franco nodded. "And he will be dead. I have my finest assassin ready to search for him."
"One assassin? Just one mere assassin? That is all you send after the man who dared to steal from me?" The Pope screamed.
Suddenly, a crossbow bolt ripped through the air and shot the tip off of the green arrow Franco held. The Pope looked to where the bolt had been fired from, and saw a beautiful young woman holding a crossbow, standing directly in the moonlight. "I promise you sir, I am all that you need."
"A young woman? This is your finest assassin?" The Pope asked skeptically.
"She is my daughter. And I assure you, master, that she is far more lethal than any other than all of Italy. If anyone can kill the Green Arrow, it is the woman standing here with us." Franco promised.
"I see." The Pope stepped toward her. "And what is your name?"
"Helena Bertinelli." She armed her crossbow and moved toward the door to begin her search. "But you can call me the Huntress."
"Think that crossbow of yours can rival this thief?" The Pope inquired.
"Sir, the Green Arrow will dead by sunset tomorrow. I guarantee it."
Drogheda, Ireland
"Wildcat! Wildcat! Wildcat!" The people on the sidelines continued to chant. Theodore 'Teddy' Grant ignored them, drowned them out until he couldn't hear them anymore. There was only one thing that mattered at the moment, one thing to focus on… and that was his opponent.
The opponent swung a punch. Teddy dodged it swiftly and drove his fist into the guy's jaw. He felt bone crack. With his other hand, Teddy punched the guy in the ribs, dealing a lot of damage. The opponent was disoriented now, and Ted decided to just finish the fight quickly. He fist connected with the opponent's nose, and in a flash the guy hit the ground, blood spraying from his face like a fountain.
"Too easy." Ted shook his head. The people on the sidelines were still cheering his name, or at least the name that they had given him. Wildcat. He had been the reigning champion of these illegal fight clubs for over a decade now. He made decent money off the fights, and he loved the feel of the crowd cheering his name, the energy flowing off of them… but he was sick of the simplicity. Lately, everyone who had stepped him to fight him had gone down easily. He missed the challenge of the fight, the wave of panic when he was unsure if he would win, followed by the powerful determination. He missed it all.
Ted got his money from several of the people placing bets on the fight, and walked off to the alley outside the small, crappy tavern that became an arena every Thursday night. The police didn't know, and the ones that did wouldn't tell.
"Another quick win?" A girl's voice inquired. Ted looked to see Dinah Lance smiling at him.
"I told you not to come here anymore lassie." He said dryly.
"I'm not that well behaved." She laughed. "And I worry about you."
"You don't have to."
"Teddy you're getting older and-"
"Shut your trap will you? I'm still as tough as I was thirty years ago!"
"I know you're tough, Teddy. And I also know you're stubborn."
"That's called Irish pride lassie."
"You mean from someone who isn't really even Irish?" She grinned.
"Oh come on now, I been living here fifteen years! I picked up the accent and all that!"
"I know." Dinah took his hand in hers. "But remember Teddy, the luck of the Irish does wear off."
"I don't need luck. I have skill."
"And you also have back pain and gray hair."
"Hey! It's not gray; there is still some definite black in there! You just need to look for it!"
"Teddy I don't want you to get hurt!"
"I know birdie, I know. It's just that after your mother died, she made it clear that she wanted me taking care of you. And fighting is the only way I can earn the money to do that right now."
"We'll think of another way, Teddy." Dinah smiled and headed down the alley. "I'm headed back home. Are you coming with me?"
"Soon, birdie. I'm just gonna' pick up one last drink."
"Fine. But remember, one last drink, not ten last drinks." She smiled.
"I know, I know." Ted laughed. He watched her disappear, and then put his hand back on the wooden door, ready to head back into the tavern. He had practically raised Dinah ever since her mother died in a fire, and she was like a daughter to him. He would have done almost anything for her, but when she asked him to quit fighting… he found he just couldn't bear to give it up.
"Are you the one they call Wildcat?" A voice with a heavy Spanish accent interrupted. Ted turned his head to see a new figure in the alley. He was tall, dark skinned, and extremely muscular. His body was a chiseled silhouette against the light of the full moon, but the hatred in his cold, unfeeling eyes could be noticed even in the darkness.
"That depends whose asking." Ted responded.
"Someone looking for a fight." The man said.
"Not tonight buddy, I'm settling down."
"Are you? Why? Because the blond cheeka told you to?"
"Look pal, I'm not interested in a fight right now. Why don't you go look elsewhere?"
"There is no challenge elsewhere." The man stepped forward. "Isn't that what you miss? What you crave? The challenge of the fight. I can see it in your eyes, you are a warrior. You don't just want to fight, you want to win. You need to win. And it needs to be a victory worth winning. That my friend, is something you will not find in there. That is something you will find with me."
"I said I-"
"And do you know how I know this?" The man continued. "Because your eyes… they are the same as mine. We are both warriors looking for a test. I see no reason to deprive ourselves of the thing we want."
Ted turned and stared the man down, a determined look on his face. "What's your name pal?"
"They call me Bane."
Pacific Ocean
The stolen naval ship moved swiftly through the waters as soldiers of fortune from countries all around the world littered the decks, sharing stories of bloodshed and bragging about their many kills.
In the Captain's Quarters of the ship, sat Lexington Luthor, reading The Art of War by Sin Tzu. Several books on warfare were littered about the floors of the room. Just as he was finishing the book, there was a knock on the door behind him. "What is it?" Lexington barked.
The door opened slowly, and a tall, dark haired soldier stepped inside. "We are approaching a Spanish ship, sir. What do you want us to do?"
"Is the ship larger than ours?"
"No sir."
"Raid it. Decapitate everyone on board the ship, except for one person. Leave this person to go back and tell the tale to his superiors. Take all of their weaponry and food, and any gold you can obtain as well. We'll leave our mark on Spain while we wait for this war between Britain and their colonies to end."
"Pardon my asking sir, but exactly what are we waiting for?" The soldier inquired.
"It's simple, really. It doesn't matter who wins the war, both sides will be greatly weakened after it ends. And we will take advantage of that weakness. We'll conquer both Great Britain and America. Then we will move onward and conquer everything to East. I am going to be the next great conqueror!"
"Very ambitious sir."
"No soldier. I'm not ambitious. I'm just taking what I deserve. The second part of my plan… that's the ambitious part." Lexington grinned.
"Would you tell me what that might be?" The soldier asked.
"Are you a man of history, soldier?"
"Not as much as you are, but I've read a few books in my time."
"Genghis Khan, William the Conqueror, Alexander the Great, Vlad the Impaler, Sun Tzu… they were all great men. They all had the will to do what other men did not, and they succeeded where other men would fail. But all of them eventually fell. Do you know why that is soldier?"
"Why sir?"
"Because as brilliant, as powerful, as they were… they still succumbed to the atrocities of human fragility. Humans are weak, frail… a simple cut on a piece of paper, and we bleed. A simple gunshot fires, and we cower. A simple disease and we fall ill. A simple knife to the chest, and we die. Humans are not powerful by nature, and thus they cannot handle power."
"What are you getting at sir?"
"I plan to break that cycle." Lexington smiled. "I plan to improve upon nature's design."
"How… exactly?"
"Don't ask too many questions soldier. It might get you killed."
"I'm sorry sir."
"No you're not. You're curious, and that's nothing to be sorry about. Curiosity is the first step to gaining knowledge, and knowledge is the greatest form of power. Therefore, curiosity is powerful." Lexington got up and walked toward the soldier, looking him in the eyes. "Just remember soldier, like all forms of power, curiosity has its limits. And pushing those limits almost always leads to one's demise."
"I will remember that sir."
"You'll do more than remember. You'll learn it, and master it. Because I need you to be as powerful as you can be." Lexington placed his hand on the soldier's shoulder. "Because you are my secret weapon, Clark Kent."
A/N And so it begins! The rest of the main characters will be introduced in the next chapter, and some of their storylines will start tying together. It will all come together eventually, so stay tuned to find out how!