"It's not who we are underneath, but what we do that defines us." The Batman, Known Vigilante.
Manhattan, New York City: 1989.
You can always tell a new cop by their look. A not so subtle pride in the eyes, a closed mouth grin, but most obvious was the critical indiscriminate glare they cast at a criminal or a suspect. A look that could only come from an undisturbed conviction that crime and law enforcement was black and white, that you were either guilty or innocent and that the good and bad people were as different as night and day. For Victoria Gates, that conviction had just been smashed into a million pieces.
The cold March night had started out simple enough, she and her partner cruising what used to be the Five Points neighborhood, when they stopped for a midnight snack and met another patrolman. Gates had immediately smelled the alcohol on the Sergeant's breath and uniform, so the minute they were back on the street her partner moved to arrest the drunken officer. Only he wasn't even near close as drunk as he smelled. Next thing she knew the sergeant pulled his gun on them, bashing the colt 45's butt into her partners head and crumpling him like a rag-doll onto the pavement before turning the barrel toward her.
"Now,' He said as a slight snarl came into his Brooklyn accent. "What to do about yous?" Victoria had already drawn her own gun, a revolver, but her hands were shaking so badly it was more likely to come apart than shoot straight.
"Drop your weapon!" She snapped almost reflexively, "Put the gun down now a, and!" She swallowed hard, voice cracking as her throat dried in the frigid air. "Put the gun down and back away."
All he did was laugh. "Ah come on, are you really that green?!" The look of disbelief in his eyes was almost as unnerving as his firearm, but Victoria felt her blood run colder than the city around her as his surprise changed to contempt.
"You shinies are all the same. Stick a badge on ya ya got nothin but stars in your eyes." His eyes were glassy from the booze, but Victoria could see the pedestal he was talking down to her from clear as day.
"And you know what the real sad part is?" He asked, clicking off the safety on his gun, "Its de idiots like you dat get all de fanfare when dey die." A sudden crash of falling metal behind them turned the drunken cop's attention around, and instinct finally overwhelmed training. Victoria bolted.
"EY!" He yelled, firing three times over her head, all three rounds missing as she swerved down a back alley. She could hear the footfalls running behind her, and terror flooded her veins as she realized she'd dropped her gun when she took off. Turning another corner, she spotted a fire escape looming up ahead of her and ran for it, the Sergeant's yells ringing out just as she grabbed the rusted ladder.
She climbed for her life, trying to put the possibility of falling out of her mind just as she realized she was being shot at again. She'd just reached the sixth out of seven floors when a bullet tore through her pants and grazed her leg. The man cursed below her, but all Victoria could think of was how much it hurt. Time blurred as the alien agony flooded her senses, overpowering the adrenaline that had begun to fill her system, and stretching the world around her.
And to think she had actually begged her captain to let her take this patrol.
Victoria had no way to know how long she hung there for dear life before she realized the Sergeant could be climbing up behind her, and with one final effort, lifted herself up and over the final ledge to the building's roof. But instead of safety, all she found was the barrel of his gun waiting for her.
"Nice try kid," He smiled, now drunk on a cocktail of booze and adrenaline, finger coiling around the trigger of his gun. "But effort don't get ya no A in this town. Make sure you say hello to the big man for meAAAAAHH!"
The gun went off, but the bullet never came. Instead Victoria saw the pistol clatter away where it had been knocked from the would be killer's hand, a hand now running red with its owners blood from a knife blade running clean through the palm. Then another knife came flying out of nowhere, burying itself in his thigh and dropping the sergeant into a writhing mess.
There on the ground, Victoria noticed the details of the knife embedded in his hand. The long curved blade curled back like a snake's fang, metal tinted with flames spewing from the hilt, itself shaped in the open jaws of a fire breathing dragon with its tail as the handle curved back against the blade. It was then she heard a dull thump to her left, like a rock on loose dirt, and she turned her head just in time to see him emerge, broad shoulders and tall build floating out of the shadows as if he was the darkness itself.
He was black from head to toe, detailed only by the glare of streetlight off the armor like pads spread across his body. His head was a mass of twisting slicked back shapes against the night, defined only by the rhythmic puffs of his fogging breath. The Sergeant must have seen him too because he scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own still bleeding leg as he tried to get away, but the man was already on top of him. Instead of pulling another knife out and finishing him though, he settled for grabbing the intoxicated cop by his hair and throwing him into the roof's hard concrete, knocking him out. Then he cut a strip of cloth from the Sergeants uniform and turned to Gates, the newly minted patrolwomen's eyes desperately searching for the discarded sergeant's gun before she felt him grab her.
"Don't," he breathed with a voice like midnight rain. "You've lost enough blood as it is." She froze when she remembered the gunshot wound to her thigh, and winced when the faceless man pressed the cut fabric onto her leg. "It's clean, just a graze. Here," he said grabbing her hand and putting it to the wound. "Keep pressure on it."
"I know how to handle a bullet wound," she suddenly spat, making the stranger recoil slightly.
"...Sorry," he said slowly as Victoria put her other hand on the hole the bullet had torn on leaving her pants leg. "There's an ambulance on the way. They should be here in a few minutes. You got it?" She nodded yes, signaling she had both ends of the wound under pressure, letting the faceless man step away.
"Good," he said in a flat tone, before turning to the still unconscious sergeant, a new knife already gleaming in his hand.
"Stop!" she shouted, only to wince and groan as a fresh lance of pain shot up from her leg. "I'm placing both of you under arrest."
'Is she serious?' He barely kept himself from bursting out laughing. That wouldn't help the image he was trying to build in this part of town, so he kept his mask up.
"Is this how you usually say thank you?" he asked as calmly and casually as he could. "Cause if it is then that explains the bullet to the leg." Her fixed expression told him his attempt at a joke ended at that, so he changed gears. "Which reminds me, how exactly do you plan to arrest either of us without a gun?" The young officer only had a moment to look embarrassed before another lance of pain shot up from her injured leg. "Now sit back and let me work."
"You can't," Victoria hissed through her pain. "Bad cop or not, assaulting and killing an officer is still a crime."
"And what about his crimes?" The man barked with sudden anger. "Hm? What about all the drug dealers scum like him let walk so they can make a little side profit? What about your partner, nearly knocked dead?! Tell me, who keeps them and the rest of the political vermin infesting this city in check? Who holds them responsible, WHEN THEY ABUSE THEIR AUTHORITY JUST TO MAKE A QUICK BUCK?!" Victoria only stared at the man, breath now coming in haggard smokey puffs as he steadied his fiery temper.
"I'm not a criminal," he sighed in an only slightly calmer tone. "I'm the one keeping trash like this," he pointed his knife at the dirty cop, now groaning on the roof. "From giving you and all the other good cops in this city a bad name." The would be murderer, now mostly awake, had started crawling toward the fire escape, but not before the faceless man noticed him.
"As for you," he growled, stalking over to the corrupt cop then hoisting him up by his collar and dragging him across the roof.
"Wait, please!" he screamed as the stranger forced him onto the ledge and held his legs up, ready to toss him head first off the five story building. "Please don't kill me! I'll do anything!"
"I know," he snarled. "But you have to do exactly as I say."
"Anything!"
"I want you to tell your friends about me," He hissed as he yanked the dragon knife from the corrupt cop's bleeding hand. "All of them. Every corrupt politician, every dirty cop, every back alley drug dealer and money grubbing mobster. Make sure they know I'm coming for them, and it doesn't matter if I have to cut what I want out of their hides, one at a time. I will find them." He turned the Sergeant over on his back, then pressed the blood stained blade of his dragon knife to the cop's throat.
"From now on, this city. Is. Mine. They're on my turf, going by my rules. Got it?"
"Who are you?" He asked, equal parts terror and confusion, prompting the faceless man to jerk him closer, not enough to make out his features under his head sock, just the coal black leather Dragon mask covering them.
"Gutter trash like you are a creative bunch," he growled, features tightening behind his mask. "I'm sure you'll come up with something." Then he shoved the man off the roof, screaming like an uptown soccer mom.
"You said you wouldn't kill him," Gates said with a certain lack of concern, one mirrored in the masked man's tone.
"Not up high enough for that," he said casually, looking over to where the sergeant had landed face down in a half full dumpster. "Though I suspect he's not gonna be very welcome anywhere for the next few days. Not until he's had a bath at least." He whipped his blade on his sleeve, looking up as the wail of sirens grew in the distance.
"Right on time boys," he sighed, the nodded to Victoria. "Officer," he said politely then turned to leave.
"Wait," she called, stopping him inches from the opposite ledge of the roof. "Who are you? Really?"
"You mean behind the mask?" he asked with a smirk in his voice. "No one. Absolutely nobody." He then stepped back and vanished over the edge, just a half minute before the paramedics came running up the stairs and out onto the roof.
The next morning Victoria woke to thin hospital sheets and a lukewarm cup of thin coffee. After the nurse checked her injuries over Victoria asked her to bring her a copy of the Times. She breathed a sigh of relief when the front page's article didn't mention her, but the headline was bound to grab attention back at the precinct.
Fresh Blood in Lower Manhattan!
The Dragon Strikes Again!
"It just boggles the mind!" The man ranted where he stood looking out the window of their uptown home, looking as indignant and furious as a balding man could in a green silk bath robe. "What kind of, lunatic?! Could get it in his head he has to do the Police's job for them?"
"Probably just some junkie looking for a cause," His son said with disinterest as he leafed through the rest of the paper. He was sitting opposite his father, enjoying a cup of imported coffee at the family's long dining room table while the older man vented.
"People just don't do that!" The older man continued. "It's not their place to take the law into their own hands. And I'm surprised at you William," he said gesturing his mid-morning glass of whiskey at the seated man, "After all it's the duty of our duly appointed law enforcement and city officials like yourself to keep criminals off the streets. Not overzealous gutter trash like this "Dragon," or whatever they're calling him."
"Of course father, you're right," William said with rehearsed calm. "But you must admit sometimes even the police need a helping hand. And according to the papers no one was killed."
"He hospitalized TWO officers! Mark my words William, nothing good will come from this maniac." William nodded with calm practice, going back to his paper.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the mayor sets up a task force to catch him after this."
"Well he'd better hurry up!" His father declared. "The sooner that psychopath is off the streets the better." Just then there was a knock at the door. "Come in." A well-dressed middle aged man entered, his dress and the platter he was carrying telling he was the butler of the house.
"So sorry to interrupt Sir, but there's a call for you on your personal line. A Ms. Rodgers I believe."
"Ah, excellent," the older man said smoothing his robe before turning to his son. "That reminds me William, I know you're busy at the office nowadays, but if you could swing by Macy's on your way home. I'm afraid I forgot to buy your Aunt's birthday present again."
"Of course Father," William nodded, having expected the extra chore.
"And James, make sure the car is serviced. I don't want any surprises on my trip this weekend."
"Certainly Sir," the butler said with practiced dignity as his employer left the room, and his son and servant alone. James slowly closed the door behind him, then faced the visibly exhausted William. "Another late night Master William?"
"You could say that," the son said tiredly, rubbing yet more sleep from his bag rimmed eyes.
"I've taken the liberty of brewing a second pot for you. Extra strength."
"James you're a god-send," he sighed rolling his shoulders in apparent discomfort.
"Trouble with the suit again?"
"No more than usual," William shrugged as he got to his feet. "Just needs some maintenance done."
"Might I remind you how Mr. Drake detests repairing your equipment every other week? You know how sensitive he is about his creations."
"I know, I know," Wiliam said defensively. "But between you and me I don't think the whole knife wielding masked man shtick is gonna cut it much longer. I need something with a little more umph you know?"
"I assume this "umph," will be of the non-lethal variety, Sir?"
"Of course. Just enough to put the fear of God in the punks on the street."
"I'll contact Mr. Drake then. Perhaps he's come up with more toys for you to play with. That is if he's not still cross about you breaking the last dozen or so."
"Hopefully he'll finally teach me that bullet catch trick of his," William laughed, but James simply rolled his eyes.
"The things I do for this family," he sighed, earning a smirk from William.
"And we could never pay you enough for what you do." The butler nodded in agreement and both started laughing before a shout from William's father drew the butler's attention.
"That would be another of Master Bracken's relationships down the drain," James said off handedly. "Will that be all Master William?"
"That will be all James." The butler opened the dining room's doors and walked off, leaving William to make his way to the kitchen and more caffeine in a faint hope it would keep him awake at his desk through the morning.
Okay some explanation is in order. One: Heroes and Villains is among my all-time Favorite Castle episodes, and the arc covering the Beckett Conspiracy always struck me as the show's high point as far as over-reaching plot.
Two: Senator Bracken's dialogue and character never struck me as truly evil. Ruthless maybe, but not evil. He wasn't seeking the power of office for power's sake. He seemed to be driven by a goal that revolved around furthering a greater good, something he was willing to do anything to accomplish. He even seemed to regret his actions at times, such as when he and Castle talked near the end of Recoil, like a part of him regretted becoming part of the political machine.