A LONG NIGHT
In a consistent barrage, rain fell like tiny bullets on Gotham. The forecast over the metropolis calling for woeful weather throughout the night. Stepping out of his armor-plated limo, Wilson Fisk shielded himself from the onslaught with a newspaper held above his head. The four-hundred-plus pound man deftly navigating the curb and sidewalk outside of Cicero's, a Greek restaurant located Uptown, in Gotham's Diamond District. Known for its world-famous cuisine, the establishment was owned by David "The Greek" Falcone, the grandson of the infamous crime-lord, Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. Believed by the GCPD and other law enforcement agencies to be a front for the mob family's comeback; the seemingly legit business was a bid to reclaim a foothold in the city of Gotham once more. The five-star restaurant quickly becoming somewhat of a local attraction.
"At least he's got good taste," Fisk said gesturing to his assistant, handing the much smaller man his wet newspaper. "Mr. Sweet, when we get inside, contact my associate."
"Yes sir," the thin man said, covering Fisk with an umbrella.
Moving into the building, surrounded by several bodyguards dressed in dark business suits, Fisk was greeted by the matre d'hotel. The well-dressed head attendant quickly ushering him inside, escorting the large man to a room behind a black velvet screen away from the other patrons. Entering the restaurant only minutes later, accompanied by an attractive brunette, Matthew Murdock adjusted his twice tinted shades on his face.
"Reservations for two," he said leaning in, offering the waiter two hundred-dollars. "An 8:00 seating under the name Murdock; Matthew Murdock."
Running a finger over his log, "Yes, I have it here sir," the waiter said. "If you would please follow me, I'll escort you to your table."
"Please, lead the way," the handsomely disheveled man said, taking his date by the arm as he released his walking stick.
Moving through the room slowly, Matt began to filter out all the smells and sounds assaulting him. Blind for all intents and purposes, he was unable to see the varied details of ocular form, shades and colors. The ability to see afforded the eyes of, "normal people", lost to him forever. His sight taken as a boy was replaced by something entirely different; something that made him the man he'd become, one few suspected truly existed but feared, nonetheless.
Adjusting to the noise of the forty plus patrons seated in the room and some beyond the building itself; their various conversations ranging from sex, politics, finance etc.; he took his seat. Weeding through the discussions of the staff he focused on those concerning the large man who seemingly entered and disappeared into the back of the restaurant.
"I can't believe we got in on such short notice," Patricia Reed said glancing around the restaurant.
"They always reserve a table or two for special guest who show up at the last minute," Matt whispered. "Grease the right palms and you tend to find yourself on that list."
Placing a hand atop his, "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised you called me," Patricia said playfully. "After moving to Gotham, I didn't think we'd ever see each other again. Not that I'm complaining mind you…it's nice to see you."
"I'd say the same, but I'd really be lying," Matt joked.
Laughing, "That's what I mean; we always worked well together Matthew; and I'm not just talking in the courtroom," Patricia said.
Listening to the kitchen staff discussing Fisk, "You're making me blush," Matt replied. The large man apparently asking for the head chef's moussaka recipe. "After flying in from New York, I'd be insane not to at least look you up. Who else would know the best places to hang out and truly laugh at all my jokes?"
"And not to mention...you won't need to rent a hotel room while you're in town."
"When I arranged to be in Gotham for a day or two, I hadn't thought of that," Matt said attempting to order a bottle of wine.
Turning, feeling the anxiety level of his waiter rise as the young man repeated his request. Matt refocused his attention on the commotion outside. The young man's heart rate and body temperature increasing as he stopped taking their order. On the street, the engine of a Maserati, Quattroporte-GTS could be heard as the driver-side door opened. The 250,000-dollar car, with a 523 horse-powered engine purring almost silently as onlookers gawked and raved over the person driving it.
"Excuse me please, I will return shortly," the waiter said departing.
"What's going on?"
"I don't have the slightest idea," Patricia said excitedly. "The head attendant just gestured for our waiter to come to the front. I think the whole staff is coming out of the kitchen. Wow, do you think it's someone famous; maybe a movie star or singer? They're known to drop by this place; that's why it's so hard to get in."
Hearing the hushed whispers of those around him and the beating of Patricia's heart, made Matt smile. The shift in the atmosphere almost palpable due to the arrival of the Hollywood starlet. Beautiful and talented, the actress slash singer, Vickie Vaile, could be heard handing her keys to a valet. Tinsel town's new, 'it girl', she was at the top of her game if you believed every internet chatroom, blog and magazine. The entertainment outlets acknowledging the blond movie star to be one of the highest paid actresses of the year. The word on the street suggesting she'd be making a film in Gotham soon; her presence causing everyone outside to lose it. Moving passed the staff that greeted her at the door, she was speaking to her equally famous date.
"Thanks for letting me drive Bruce," Matt heard her whisper. "I haven't had that much fun in a long time. My agent would kill me if he knew how fast we were going."
"The night's still young," the multibillionaire whispered back, tipping the valet, causing the man's pulse to speed up.
Passing his table as they were led to a private section of the restaurant toward the back, Matt could smell the scent of money saturating Bruce Wayne. The Wayne Enterprise chairman's Rolex, that would cost most men two years' salary; justifying the virgin wool, Giorgio Armani suit and calfskin, Salvatore Ferragamo shoes he wore. His cologne, a scent unfamiliar to Matt, was apparently made exclusively for him. Truly, the man did smell like money, Matt thought; giving a name to the fragrance. Growing up in New York, the thought of excess was having a second serving of whatever you were lucky enough to be eating that day. The idea of acquiring wealth, as it was displayed throughout the room, was often reserved for businessmen, politicians, and criminals; which more times than not, were one and the same. Exiting the back room, David Falcone followed by Wilson Fisk and his assistant, made their way over to Wayne's table. Standing, shaking Falcone's hand followed by Fisk, Wayne introduced them to his date.
"Do forgive the interruption Bruce; I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet Miss. Vaile in person," Fisk said, kissing Vaile's hand. "It's a pleasure, I've been a fan of yours for some time now. Your role in, 'The Unseen,' was magnificent."
"Thank you, I did so enjoy playing, Joan of Arc."
"What brings you to Gotham, Wilson," Wayne asked taking his seat. "Looking to invest in the city's renewal? Your development firm has done wonders in Midtown Manhattan, I've taken notice of the changes personally. The gentrification of Hell's Kitchen is an admirable and lofty goal; impressive to say the least."
"Thank you, Bruce; but no, I'm no Lex Luthor. New York is the only sandbox I wish to play in. I'm merely here to see the sights, no business I assure you."
"Sir, the opera," Fisk assistant interrupted checking his itinerary.
Eyeing the little man, "Thank you Mr. Sweet," Fisk said. "Now if you would excuse me Bruce, I'll let you return to your exquisite date," he finished, kissing Vaile's hand once more before departing.
The rain had become a light shower over the course of the night. Discussing their past relationships and present endeavors, Matt and Patricia enjoyed an intimate meal over wine. Taking Patricia back to her apartment and engaging in sex, Matt made sure she would be asleep for several hours. Slipping out of bed, dressing quietly, he donned the crimson costume of his alter self hidden in an overnight duffle bag. The horned image of the Daredevil reflected in the sliding panel doors leading to Patricia's balcony. Hovering over the city as he stepped outside, adjusting to a cacophony of sounds, he leapt into Gotham.
GOTHAM: Daredevil
Rushing passed him, wind filled the Daredevil's ears as he fell; the thermo-ballistic suppression bodysuit helping to warm him against the cold and rain. The dark red kevlar mesh costume, making him all but a living shadow as he raced toward the street below in a blur. Twisting midair, as rain struck the world and sound painted a mental landscape of soundwaves, "The Man Without Fear", allowed his body to relax. Drawing his baton from its holster on his side, he fired a titanium cable from the short white rod. The thin wire attaching itself to the head of a gargoyle posted atop the outer ledge of an adjacent building halting his descent. Swinging high above the lights of the Gotham skyline, he once more hurled himself into the night.
Like a human tuning fork, Daredevil's mind focused beyond sound, touch, taste and smell, as he gave into what he called, 'the sight'. The addictive interweaving of his remaining four senses that instantly created a fifth. A strange amalgamation that utilized both his heightened awareness and mutation. The world quickly becoming mental shadows pulsating around him with sonic bursts of spectral energy. The crimson hero likening the effect to an x-ray he'd once seen as a boy before losing his vision. Within his world, the depth and density of every object in the range of his hearing was processed and laid out in his mind's eye in shades of resonating grays. Their subtleties and minuscule diversities vibrating in waves of sound, smell and heat.
Falling, landing on a roof as he adjusted and realigned his senses, Daredevil sifted through radio waves produced by countless cell phones, cars and antennas. Their distinct electromagnetic patterns filling the air like threads of endless webbing intersecting throughout the city below and above him.
Show yourself, Matt thought, blocking out all distractions as he amplified his abilities. The opera ended three hours ago, factoring in traffic, that only gives you an hour head start.
Like fingerprints, each signal produced by any electronic or biological source was unique. Tuning into those frequencies using his sixth sense, Daredevil became a human antenna. Processing and pinpointing waves of electromagnetic radiation traveling around and through him; meticulously searching for the cell phone now in use over three blocks away.
Gotcha, Matt thought racing for the edge of the building; leaping air units and piping as he dove out over the city once more.
Swinging from buildings high above the congestion and noise flooding the streets below, Daredevil ran along the outer ledges of smaller structures guiding him toward the Sheal Docklands. The Gotham City harbor and pier south of the South Channel Island, Midtown on the city's west-side. The undeveloped sector of the city cloaked in a strange silence and smell that alluded to death. Tracking the large vehicle moving through Red Hook, he sought to get ahead of it.
"No Sir, all went according to plan," he heard the voice of Mr. Sweet report; the cargo van coming to a halt two blocks away. "He was informed of our arrival some time ago, but I doubt his services will be...as you say sir. The Galahad will dock on schedule according to your contacts, and he'll be aboard. They don't foresee any complications on that end. Maybe the so-called protector of Gotham has taken the night...no sir, only what I've read or saw on the local news. Quite frankly, I've always considered the man more of an urban legend. After all, no reputable source in New York has confirmed his existence outside of Goth…yes, I'm aware we're in Gotham sir. Very well, I'll contact you once all transactions are final."
Moving deeper into midtown, Daredevil took note of the gothic architecture making up what some called, Old Gotham. The older abandon buildings and cluttered landscape saturated with a scent of overwhelming fear.
This city is starting to smell like the Kitchen, Matt thought, mentally sensing the van passing below him. I guess they always do; no matter where you go in the world.
Navigating the shorter structures of the historic district, bringing him ever closer to his prey, Daredevil halted momentarily. Putting distance between him and the van once more, he could sense movement on the peripheral of his awareness. The figure or figures advancing only close enough to alert him to their presence. Their scent and movements indicating they were above him; their precise location was lost in the muddled pulse of the city causing him to reach out using his mutation. The targets masked by wild shifting winds and surrounding noise at such a distance making him feel uneasy. Yet, the thought of someone or thing tracking him, made The Devil smile.
BATMAN
"Are you sure it's not him sir," Bruce Wayne heard Alfred exclaim through the headset of his cowl. Batman's iconic cape draping his shoulders concealing his true form as he peered through a pair of bat shaped binoculars.
"He's not the Flash," Batman said examining the man posted above West Sixteen Street, near Ross. "If he were; he'd know better than to enter my city without an invitation."
"Yes, but maybe he's just passing through sir."
"Perhaps…in the meantime, pull up everything you can find on him. Check all national news feeds, databases and archives for the past two years; also run his costume through the FBI's metahuman registry. I need to know why Gotham has become so popular as of late."
SHEAL DOCKLANDS: Daredevil
"We've swept the perimeter and my team is in position," a large muscular man dressed in plated combat fatigues stated.
Perched above the Gotham City waterfront overlooking Sheal Docklands, "Very good, but unlike the boss, I don't think they'll be any need for them," Daredevil heard Mr. Sweet reply. "Once I secure the package have your men follow me to Gotham airport. The boss wants his gift transported back to New York as soon as possible. As discussed, you'll stay behind and conclude all business with his associate."
Listening to the two men as they talked on the pier, Daredevil could smell gun oil, iron, sweat and rust. The various scents mingling with the smell of the Gotham River and city. The sound of drizzle pinging off the wooden dock and metal rooftops filling the world. Every drop resonating with smells and taste to paint countless mental images in cascading bursts of light around him. The nine heavily armed men hidden atop several structures in groups of three flashing like neon signs in his mind's eye. Their long-range weapons placed within arms reach as they smoked, ate, talked or patrolled the areas assigned them.
On the water, with the slapping of waves against steel, he could hear the engines of a cargo ship moving up river. The large containership heard slicing through the water slowly, given its size and apparent weight.
So, we begin, Matt thought, cracking his neck and knuckles.
Somersaulting over the arm of a shipping crane, kicking away with his feet, he soared backwards into the air. Arching his back, twisting while laying out, he released his grapple and righted himself. Assisted by his momentum, his body was carried up and away; a crimson blur swinging across warehouses and stacks of shipping containers littering the dockyard far below. Dropping more than three-hundred feet disengaging his line, The Devil landed atop a row of modules silently; racing their length. The long rectangular metal shipping crates stacked more than four-story high, slick with rain as he skidded to a stop. Vaulting, clearing fifteen feet, he leapt onto the roof of a warehouse; making his way across the pitched surface concealed in shadow. The building leading to a water tower some thirty feet away patrolled by one of the groups of mercenaries. The armor-plated men circling the structure equipped with night-vision goggles and assault rifles.
Watching them periodically remove the goggles to wipe away rain, Daredevil made his way onto support beams beneath the tower.
"Searchlight One, give me a sit-rep," he heard the voice of the team's leader inquire over a secured com-link.
"Cold, wet and miserable, but clear Recoil," the merc responded. "Hey, what's the arrival time on our primary directive? The boys are getting antsy, they hate this…wet, rat infested city."
"Concern yourselves with staying clever, you'll be home soon enough."
Severing communications, "Screw you too, group leader," the merc stated, patrolling the tower.
Approaching from behind, striking the man in his carotid artery with his baton,
Daredevil incapacitated him instantly. Rounding the arc of the structure at top speed, he rammed into a second merc knocking him into the third. Stunned, unable to level their weapons in time, he quickly assaulted them both. With a series of hand strikes meant to avoid the armor plates they wore, he attacked. The Devil using his fingers and palms to apply pressure to nerves in their arms, legs, neck and shoulders. Thoroughly subdued in a heap at his feet, he tossed their weapons over the side of the tower before checking the bodies. Without hesitation, finding no identification on either man, he dove from the water tower advancing toward a second group stationed a hundred yards away.
BATMAN
What hit them wasn't seen or heard for that matter. Putting Taylor and Geese down before firing a single shot. Moving toward his weapon that was dislodged from his hand, the last mercenary drew a knife from a sheath at the small of his back.
"You get one chance to answer," a whisper echoing from every direction warned. "Who hired you?"
Contemplating, gripping the dagger tighter, "I…we wasn't told," the man said looking down on his teammates.
"Your team leader?"
"Recoil…his name's Recoil. You're the Batman, right? He said you might show, but I didn't think we'd ever see you up close."
Striking the man from behind, "You still haven't," Batman replied.
Before the first body hit the roof of the dockyard's receiving office, Daredevil heard wind driven from the lungs of two mercenaries. The force of such a blow leaving its recipients gasping for air; the two ensuing blows, leaving them unconscious. A third man, who'd just returned from pissing, had met a similar fate; yet, not before speaking to the caped figure racing for a fire escape. Darting across the rooftop, the man dressed in composite mesh body-armor, cape and cowl stopped and dashed into the shadows. His effort to conceal himself, although admirable, ultimately useless given Daredevil's abilities. Realizing his attempt to hide would be futile, Batman stepped out into the open.
"This isn't Hell's Kitchen," he said, studying the crimson vigilante walking toward him.
"I wasn't aware it mattered; criminals travel and..."
"Not to my city."
"You may want to tell that to…"
"Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin," Batman said turning. "I'm aware of his presence in Gotham, he's my problem now, your assistance won't be necessary, call it a night."
"Not going to happen."
With speed that Matt could only describe as impressive, Batman hurled two miniature bat-shaped throwing stars at his head. One of the razor-sharp weapons passing mere inches from his face as he deflected the other using his baton. Equally impressive, the man had covered more than fifteen feet in the time it took Matt to dodge his first attack. The second coming in the form of a right cross aimed at his jaw. The blow obviously meant to put Daredevil on his ass and possibly knock him out in the process.
Damnit, he's not holding back, Matt thought, stepping away from an uppercut followed by an overhand right.
Countering with a series of jabs, Daredevil followed with a roundhouse kick designed to put distance between them. Absorbing the attack to his ribs, Batman grabbed his arm and pulled him in close. Using a combination of short choppy punches, elbows and knee strikes, the Dark Knight sought to attack pressure points while negating his opponent's speed. Hearing and reading the man's muscle fiber firing as he threw each blow, the Daredevil was able to ward off most of the strikes. His forearms beginning to bruise beneath his padded costume from the force of the assault. The Man Without Fear redirecting and countering as he trapped Batman's upper arm and tossed him over his shoulder. Landing on his back and rolling to his feet as he extended his cape outward, the Dark Knight exploded a strobe directed at the eyes of his opponent. The light pattern designed to overwhelm the ocular nerves and cause momentary blindness and confusion.
Turning away as if blinded, He thinks I can see, Matt thought, staggering backward.
Sensing Batman rushing in, preparing to deliver a vicious blow to the gut, Daredevil spun away grabbing his cape. Pulling him downward, hearing his pulse quickening for the first time that night, he drove his baton into the back of Gotham's protector's head.
"Don't hold that against me when you wake up," Matt said leaving him semi-unconscious where he lay.
SHEAL DOCKLANDS: Daredevil
Docking on the far side of the pier, the Galahad swayed softly in the water. The large containership partially weighted with black unmarked cargo containers and large crated machine parts. Waiting, being prepped by a small contingent of sailors dressed in camouflage, three flatbed semitrucks set parked on the dock. The unmarked trucks guarded by the remaining three mercenaries, Recoil and a much larger man wearing a hooded poncho. Removing the unmarked containers, a crane operator placed them next to the semitrucks as the crew of the Galahad removed their contents and covered them with tarps. Lifted onto the back of the semitrucks, the freight being guided into place and lowered, it was strapped down and secured.
"When they're finished loading the equipment, get ready to move out," Recoil said directing his men. "Jackson, you'll ride with Mr. Sweet. I want him safely delivered to the airport, no excuses."
"What about Taylor and the others, we should go back and find them," the merc said.
"They're expendable, no?" the large hooded man stated. "Much like you, yes?"
"Who the fuck is this…"
Grabbing the merc by the throat, lifting him off his feet, "I'm the only one capable of stopping the Batman," the man said.
Leveling their weapons on the hooded man, the remaining mercenaries spread out to surround him. Recoil using his assault rifle to gesture for the large man to drop his lieutenant. Smiling, placing the choking man back on the ground, the large man turned and walked away laughing.
"Now to hunt real game," he said, racing into the night throwing off the poncho.
Standing atop a building overlooking the dockyards' main gate, Daredevil watched the last truck departing. The wheels of the four flat haulers riding low as they passed beneath the iron entrance. Seeing each vehicle turning onto Ore Street, they were heavily laden with the weight of what registered to be high-performance engines of some kind. The four machines, although similar in size and width, possessing an alloy density unlike anything Matt had ever viewed.
What are you up to Fisk, Matt thought, allowing the trucks to turn onto Adrian St. before pursuing them?
Stopping, hearing the sound of accelerated wind, what felt like a bullet took Daredevil off his feet. The force hitting him in the back spinning him head over heel as he plummeted bouncing off the side of an adjacent building, a window ledge and an air unit; before splashing in the alley below. Willing himself to rise as he heard the footfalls of someone running above him, he moved to conceal himself in the darkness of the alleyway.
Trained to push pass the pain in his side as he sought to regain his bearings, he attempted to assess the threat.
That…bullet made no sound, Matt thought searching for an entry point, thankful for the ballistic mesh fibers of his suit. It must have grazed me, but that can't be possible given the force of impact! From that range I should be bleeding out or dead!
Dropping from the roof, Recoil landed atop an abandon car parked in the alleyway crushing its hood. The mercenary dressed in an exoskeleton suit wearing large oversized gauntlet type weapons on both arms.
"Oh my, that shit looked painful, my friend," he said leaping down off the car. "Mr. Sweet said these puppies were going to be fun, but I had no idea how much. I was hoping to use them on the Batman, but…well let's say, he's got his own dance partner tonight. So, guess what; that just leaves me and you darlin'."
Throwing his baton at the face of Recoil, Daredevil vaulted over a dumpster running toward the mouth of the alleyway. With a wave of one arm the merc deflected the rod and tossed him backward, slamming Daredevil into debris aligning the alley. Pinning him in place with both hands extended outward, his gauntlets glowing blue, Recoil begun to sing, Tom Petty's, 'Free Falling'.
"That's the spirit champ, keep fighting," he grinned. "I wouldn't want to make this too boring for you. Normally, I take no pleasure in pulling the wings off butterflies; well not much, but I so want to see what these puppies can do."
BATMAN
"Sir, the Galahad's cargo was unloaded and is in route to Gotham Airport as we speak. The convoy has a thirty-minute head start and appears to be traveling toward the Starr Bridge."
"I'll intercept them shortly, Alfred," Batman said turning onto Fisher Street; the batmobile's tires screeching as he took the sharp turn, engaging the vehicle's boosters.
"Do we even know what's being transported, Master Bruce?"
"I was…side tracked during my investigation," Batman said touching the back of his head. "Computer, pull up a satellite feed and identify any notable markings on all vehicles leaving the dockyard. Also, run plates and report any violations, warrants or infractions to the GCPD; we may need to involve them."
"Is that wise sir; these are professional killers. Any officer seeking to pull them over could be in grave danger."
"Fisk wouldn't risk that Alfred," Batman said. "The Kingpin's anonymity is critical to his success in business as well as crime; he won't jeopardize it. It's likely he'll feign ignorance or allege the goods were stolen and acquired without his knowledge. He's a brilliant strategist; Bruce Wayne has faced him in the past. That said, he'll have a contingency plan in place if something should go wrong. Given how much trouble he's willing to go through, I'd say it won't be good for Gotham."
"Then I hope whatever your planning is adequate sir."
"I'm hoping it doesn't come to that Alfred; I hate being in debt."
DAREDEVIL
Like a stone skipped across a pond, Daredevil struck the pavement several times. The crimson vigilante coming to a sudden stop as Recoil made a fist using the gauntlets.
"Oh wow, this is like a freakin' video game, right," Recoil said gleefully. "I wave my hands and…"
Walking out into the street, Recoil raised his hands tossing Daredevil into the air. Bringing them down, he watched the costumed hero land with a thud.
I have to get close, Matt thought coughing, spitting blood. Hearing the man's pulse racing, He's truly enjoying this; it's really exciting him.
Pushing himself into a kneeling position slowly, Daredevil began to crawl away from his adversary.
"You look bad buddy," the mercenary said casually approaching him. "Tell you what I'm going to do; you get a sixty second life break; where you can regret ever screwing with me and mine. After that, I'll bounce your sorry ass around Gotham awhile, then kill you."
Falling face first into a puddle, Daredevil collapsed. His breathing becoming shallow as his body begun to convulse uncontrollably.
Rushing in, "No, no, no," Recoil screamed, turning the horned hero over using his gauntlets. "You don't get to die on me like that! I'm just starting to get a feel for these things!"
Lifting Daredevil up with the power of the gloves, his body limp and lifeless, Recoil drew him closer. The mercenary reaching for Matt as if to examine his corpse.
"Damn you, your supposed to be a hero; some kind of tough guy," Recoil said pouting. "I barely touch you and look, you're a rag doll. You suck hard at this hero shi..."
Grabbing the chest harness of the merc's exo-suit, Daredevil drove his forehead into Recoil's face. Stunned, wobbling slightly as his nose exploded, the man released the vigilante from his kinetic grip. His hands instinctively seeking to protect his face as he tried to retreat from the attack. Obscuring his view, the oversized gloves powered down while he attempted to regain his footing. Mustering his remaining strength, Daredevil moved. Focusing a series of kicks at the joints of the mercenary's suit he battered his knees. The design of the gear obviously crafted to compensate for the weight and use of the oversized weapons.
With open palm slaps to the face, he pressed his advantage keeping Recoil off balance. The merc unable to defend himself with his hands as he powered up the gloved devices.
"Get off me," he screamed, raising his hands.
Feeling the effect of the gauntlets taking hold, Daredevil grabbed the suits' harness once more, pulling it apart. The kinetic push back driving him away as he slammed into a parked car on the far side of the street. Like a paper bag, Recoil folded and collapsed, his body unable to support the suit and gauntlets. The merc's weapons depowering while pinning him to the pavement as he struggled to lift them.
Wincing, "If you don't mind, I'll take that break now," Matt said clutching his side, resting against the vehicle.
BATMAN
Branching out in four directions, four flat-haulers raced through Gotham. The large semitrucks veering toward separate exits as they raced along the highway in the middle of the night. Each small neon blip taking an alternate route on the batmobile's tracking screen.
They're playing a shell game, Batman thought, pursuing the semi marked number two on the screen.
The fifth vehicle, a black sedan containing Fisk's assistant, was seemingly heading toward the Gotham City Airport moving away from the four trucks. Opting to follow the semi with the lightest payload, Batman sped after it. The driver veering to avoid several cars bringing them to a stop, causing a roadblock in hopes of impeding the batmobile less than fifty yards behind it.
"This is all a game," Batman said speeding through the light traffic avoiding a SUV spinning out of control. "The Kingpin, is toying with me."
"I don't understand sir…why? Surely, the man has better things to do with his time and money than to engage in such antics. He's obviously up to something, but what could he ever hope to gain with this stunt?"
"In the boardroom, Wilson has always leveraged his true intent with what seemed to be insignificant transactions; even at times insane from a business standpoint. His purchase of the housing in Hell's Kitchen was done by first overpaying for all the local corner stores, auto shops and fast food restaurants. Once that was accomplished, he slowly raised the prices or closed his businesses down over a ten-year span; to drop property value and drive out the disenfranchised. This all while offering pennies on the dollar to property owners.
"The man's a fiend sir, taking advantage of the less fortunate in such away."
"He's a businessman Alfred. One who would never waste his time or money unless he thought it would profit him in the long run."
Seeing the truck turning onto an off-ramp leading into Colgate Heights, the low rent housing neighborhood located on the far Eastside, Midtown Gotham, Batman followed.
"Alfred, inform the GCPD, that the other vehicles are a threat and have them all stopped."
"Yes sir, at once; and what about this Mr. Sweet fellow?"
Rolling onto the off-ramp, "I have that under control," Batman said. "But first, I need to know exactly what Fisk has been transporting through my city."
Giving chase as the truck sped through the urban slums of the Heights, Batman watched it turn onto a side street. Pursuing, only a block away, he saw the truck parked next to the curve unattended. The driver and passenger abandoning it as both men ran in opposite directions. With the doors left open and the keys still in the ignition, the radio could be heard turned up to its highest setting. Making their way toward it, a group of teens exiting a house a few doors down were preparing to investigate. Each boy and girl dressed in the gang colors of the Gotham City Ballers, a neighborhood gang known for their criminal activity within the city. Already climbing onto the truck, undoing the straps that secured the freight on the back, they were pulling away the tarp that covered it. The large piece of high-tech equipment shining beneath the street lamp as the gang crowded around it.
Leaping out of the batmobile, Batman noted two of the gang members climbing into the cab. Stopping, the girl and boy quickly ran away calling for the others to do the same.
"We have a problem," Batman said, watching the gang scatter, sprinting back the way they came. "Call the GCPD and have the bomb squad alerted. Inform any law enforcement officer who finds an abandon truck; it may be rigged with explosives."
Approaching the truck, Batman studied the device on its flatbed. What appeared to be a prototype jet engine, was little more than a hollowed-out shell. The prototype crafted to look functional from a distance, was built using a newly fabricated metal alloy.
The specs of this engine render it nonfunctional, Batman thought moving to the cab. They're all just decoys to get my attention. This entire night has been crafted to keep me running in circles, but…
Throwing himself forward, springing to his feet as a fire-hydrant ripped off the truck door, Batman spun into a fighting stance. Glimpsing the large figure in the rearview mirror of the batmobile upon arriving, alerted him to his attacker; the size and strength of the man, indicating it hadn't been the Daredevil waiting in ambush.
Running at him with a deep feral growl, Victor Creed leapt high into the air. The assassin known as Sabretooth tackling The Dark Knight pressing him back toward the ground. Relaxing his body and absorbing Creed's weight, Batman lunched the mutant over his head using their momentum. The weight causing the vigilante to grunt as he used all his strength to do so.
I don't have time for this, Batman thought, flipping to his feet and hurling several bat-shurikens behind him.
Striking Sabretooth in the chest and arm, rushing the much larger man, Batman begun his assault. Creed had been a soldier, spy and assassin; depending on which CIA, FBI, NSA or Interpol report you chose to believe. Most of his files either altered of redacted, little was known about his early life; if anything. Studying his psychological profile, it was commonly believed he was frequently tortured, starved and abandoned as a child. The feral mutant taking an almost euphoric joy in doing the same to his victims before killing them.
Like leaves stuck on what looked to be a dark leather costume accented with a fur collar, the assassin brushed away the small knives. Smiling at Batman coming toward him, he roared and braced himself waving the caped hero to him with open arms. Choosing to meet the villain head on, Batman bobbed and weaved throwing body shots into the mutants exposed ribs and abdomen. The much taller and larger man allowing him to do so as a show of strength.
"They say you're good; some even say the best," Sabretooth smirked revealing enormous K-9 teeth. "Tonight, we find out for ourselves!"
Slashing at Batman with claws extending from his fingers, Sabretooth attempted to cleave the man's head from his shoulders. Slipping beneath his attack, driving a knee into his inner thigh, Batman thrusted a palm strike upward into the assassin's armpit. The force of the technique meant to dislocate the man's shoulder and hinder his defense.
His attacks are instinctive, Batman thought, causing Sabretooth to give ground as he tried to shake off the numbness in his arm. His fighting style is wild and unorthodox, playing into his animalistic nature; now to upset him.
"I don't have time for this," Batman said turning his back on Creed and walking away. "I don't have time for you! Go tell Fisk I'm coming for him and get the hell out of my city!"
Hesitant, taken aback and insulted, Creed roared charging as he reached for the tiny caped figure in front of him. His blind rage and fury felt as he growled and slashed ripping at Batman's cape and cowl; the garment torn in two falling on the wet pavement. Facing him, dodging his assault, Batman punched a bat engraved taser into his chest. The small black weapon's 2500-volt capacity amplified by the prongs placed on Creed's body at the outset of their confrontation.
Entering the truck, Batman saw what made the teenage boy and girl flee. On the seat, about the size of a small vacuum cleaner, a low yield thermal nuclear bomb had been left. The explosive device capable of leveling all the Heights in a four-block radius; covering the area in radioactive fallout for years.
"Alfred, where are the transports now," Batman said, examining the bomb.
Sounding confused, "They've come to a stop sir, at random locales," Alfred said. "Their drivers have all fled and are being pursued by the Gotham City police at this time."
Tapping the side of what remained of his cowl, "You've been listening I take it," Batman said, removing an access plate on the bomb. "You have five minutes according to the timer on the mechanism."
SUPERMAN
I could have handled all this early on, Bruce, Superman thought racing through the skyline of Gotham City. Your pride will be the death of you someday. The uncertainty of the Kingpin's plan notwithstanding, we may have been better served confronting him head on.
Reading the small computer in his hand, the stationary blips on the screen numbering one to three, Superman altered his course and heading. With speed that defied description, resonating in a sonic boom behind him, he raced toward South Channel Island. In a second, he covered over five miles; the bluish-red streak stopping suddenly, hovering high above the first of the three abandon trucks. Below him, police officers were setting a perimeter of fifty yards around the vehicle, their bomb squad seen advancing cautiously.
"Excuse me gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind standing clear," Superman said drifting downward, landing next to the truck. Ripping the door off and tossing it aside, he carefully removed the explosive. "I have it, now what?"
"Don't let it detonate," the voice of Batman said over their com-link.
Racing up into the sky hurling the device into the air, Superman watched it speed off into space. Turning, flying in the direction of the second semi, he repeated the process twice more.
"I'm on my way to Gotham Airport," Batman said over coms. "Fisk's flight landed in New York three hours ago, you'll find him in his Manhattan penthouse."
"No legal objections," Superman said ascending higher into the night sky.
"You won't be arresting him, Clark. Your presence and knowledge of his true identity will unhinge him, perhaps he'll make a mistake we can capitalize on later."
Flying over the Gotham River, "Is that what I've become Bruce, a harbinger of your pending justice," Superman said moving toward New York.
"More like a symbol. I doubt your costume generates the necessary visual threat to warrant…."
Hearing his com-link cut out, "Batman, come in," Superman said lowering onto the penthouse patio of Fisk's Manhattan apartment.
Relaxing on a patio sofa, "Finally, we've been expecting you Superman," the giant businessman said dressed in a white robe.
"Yes, and Wilson tells me, you're well worth the wait," The Mandarin added, holding a sliver of kryptonite produced by one of his rings.
TO BE CONTINUED