Jim Gordon was not a man who cared for celebrity.
48 years old with dark orange hair and moustache with black glasses, he worked as a lieutenant for the Gotham City Police Department. He moved to Gotham from Chicago in 1995 with his wife and daughter, and they lived in an apartment in the south island of the city before moving to the suburbs on the mainland in '97. They moved again to a bigger house in 2004. Nowadays however, Gordon lived most of the week at an apartment in Midtown Gotham due to his job.
Jim opened the front door to his apartment with his free hand while holding two bags of groceries in the other. He walked into the kitchen and dropped the bags on the counter, his eyes flicking to the TV screen his daughter, Barbara, was watching. Her soft-featured face was nearly identical to her mothers, but her eyes were grey-blue like his.
She turned her head slightly to call to him over her shoulder, "Hey Dad, have you seen this?"
Gordon walked out of the kitchen and stood behind the couch. He wiped his glasses on his shirt and putting them back on, saw a familiar face flash onto the screen. "What's going on?"
"Bruce Wayne has been found. Or rather, come back." Barbara answered, turning the television's volume up with the remote. A well-groomed, dark skinned young man in an expensive, blue tailored suit walked down a garden overlooking the ocean.
"It was May 2007 that Bruce Wayne was last seen," a male reporter narrated, "Vanishing without a trace, the son of Thomas and Martha has returned to Gotham City in good health."
The scene changed and Bruce sat against a darkened background, smiling confidently.
"So, where have you been?" the reporter asked.
"I've been around." Bruce smirked.
"Bloody hell," Gordon swore, brushing his mouth with his hand, "Well that's certainly a relief."
"How so?" asked Barbara.
"To know that he's not buried down in some cave or out at sea." Gordon walked back to the kitchen, unpacking the grocery bags. He turned back and saw Wayne laughing in the reporter's interview.
"I hope I haven't caused too much trouble." Bruce winked down the camera. Gordon shook his head. He may not have cared for celebrity, but the return of the billionaire Wayne piqued his interest.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
"It's so good to see you back in the house!" she cried as she embraced him with a warm hug.
"And it's good to be back and see you, Aunt Harriet." Bruce replied. They let each other go and she felt his sides.
"You're getting a bit thin, dear. I'll put together some sandwiches for lunch."
"Ah, so that's what you're doing," said Bruce as he locked eyes with the stern faced Alfred, "just like a proper aunt."
Harriet was in her early 60's but looked ten years younger, with black hair, dark skin and a thin face. She wore a purple cardigan, a brown skirt with a purple pattern, stockings and some slip-on shoes. She went to leave the foyer to head to the kitchen but turned back, "Any reason why you waited three weeks before letting everybody know you were already here?" She asked.
Bruce looked at Alfred again, who leaned on the doorframe next to Harriet, "I just wanted to get settled in first, get my head back in it." Bruce answered.
Satisfied, Harriet nodded with a smile and left the room. Alfred walked forward to Bruce. He had wavy blonde hair that was slowly greying combed back, blue eyes and a thin moustache. He wore a dark green turtleneck sweater with brown pants and polished black shoes. "Now, I told you she would ask." he said with a strong London accent.
"I only did it because you said I should, Alfred." said Bruce as he undid his tie. The two headed through to the drawing room, Bruce taking a seat on a green leather couch by the fire. He ran his hands over the material and frowned, "I don't remember this couch at all."
"I bought it three years ago sir, and it has been sitting in this room in that exact spot for the last nineteen days you have been back."
Bruce sat forward and rubbed his eyes, "My mind is just clouded and preoccupied, focussed on other things. Now being back in public it can only get busier."
"What do you have planned next?"
"I may need another day or two to finalize the plans. It may be another month before I can start but that's enough time to distract from the fact that it could have anything to do with me," Bruce stood up and walked to the window, gazing out over Gotham City in the distance, almost invisible due to the steady downpour of rain, "I was thinking of heading out in a few nights time."
Alfred folded his arms across his chest, "And what do you intend to do?"
"Reconnaissance. Get down on the streets and see what exactly I have to deal with, as both myself and in the mask."
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
"Mister Fox, this is Bruce Wayne."
"Yes, I know who he is." Lucius said to his secretary as he shook hands with Bruce. He had dark freckled skin, neatly shaved grey hair, wore gold wire framed glasses and was dressed in a grey suit with a green plaid shirt and a dark grey bowtie. "Mister Wayne, it's good to see you."
"And it is good to see you too, Mister Fox."
"You can call me Lucius if I can call you Bruce."
"Certainly, go right ahead." Bruce chuckled.
"Jessica, could you please get me a cup of coffee. Would you like anything Bruce?" Lucius turned to face him.
"A tea please, white and two."
They went into Lucius' office on the 42nd floor of Wayne tower and sat at the desk, speaking business for 20 minutes and personal anecdotes for a further 30. Lucius saw the time and placed his glasses back on his face and adopting a serious manner. "Mister Wayne, as pleasant as this talk has been, I can tell you didn't just come here to discuss business and funny stories."
Bruce laughed, "You got me."
"May I inquire as to what that is you really came here for?"
Bruce leaned forward, his voice turning serious, "Can you keep a secret? A big secret?"
"I may not be a counsellor or therapist but I do know about that professional confidentiality. As long as it's not illegal."
"Well that may be a bit of a problem then as this may not be, in the strictest sense, legal."
Bruce sat back and Lucius stared him down, before breaking a smile, "I'm listening, Mister Wayne."
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
"You know what I hate about this city?"
"No, I don't."
"Hey, I'll tell you. The weather. The weather in the cold months. Freezes your tits off. I gotta wear a goddamn coat on another coat on a suit to keep warm, and I'm still freezing."
The two men drove through the forest roads on the outskirts of Gotham in a grey four-door saloon. The Driver had an angular face and wavy dark blonde hair; beside him his shivering passenger had olive skin and a mole on the corner of his right eye. Both wore black suits and ties with white button down shirts. The engine roared as the Driver steered the car around a sharp bend.
"Why are we even out here again?" the passenger asked the Driver.
"There's a guy who was loaned money six months ago and has... 'forgotten' to pay us back. He works for the Falcone's, so we're heading over to his to make him pay up."
"Great," the passenger nodded and looked out his window, catching glimpses of the city across the water and through the trees. "D'you think it's going to snow soon?"
The Driver remained silent. His passenger shrugged and began rifling through the glove compartment in front of him. A few minutes later they reached a long stretch of road, where up ahead they saw a car pulled over on the shoulder with its hazard lights flashing. As they got closer they saw two men standing around, the car's bonnet popped up and steam rising from the engine. The Driver grinned, "What do you know, Vince." he said.
"What is it?"
"Why it's our pal, Sal." the Driver growled, pulling his car over to the side. They exited the vehicle, the Driver pulling on a pair of purple leather gloves, and walked over to the broken down car.
One of the men who was of a large build, with a red face from the cold weather. He wore a suit, coat, scarf, gloves and a bowler hat in black, and turned around to face the new arrivals. "Thank Christ you stopped," he called out, "I think we just need a jump start. We've been out here about thirty minutes, no phone reception. We've got the jumper cables in the boot, I think. Stan's my name." He offered his hand to shake it.
The Driver stopped just in front of 'Stan', Vince stepping in front of his friend. The Driver licked his lips and surveyed the engine, "You know, did you happen to use that money on this car? I mean, the money was for something important, right?"
The colour drained from Stan's face, "Goterelli?!"
The Driver grinned, "Stan the man! Or should I say Sal?" He grabbed Stan's arms, twisting them behind his back and slamming his torso onto the car engine. Vince delivered a blow to the face of Stan's accomplice and pulled his gun on him. "Now, we were on our way to see you, Sal. But, as luck would have it, we saw you by the road and thought we'd just do what we came for right here. It saves us the drive."
"Please don't kill me!" Sal yelled, "I'll get him the money!"
"Why would I kill you?" the Driver cackled, "How else we gonna get the money back if you're dead? No..." he lifted Sal up a little, "We're just sending the message."
He slammed Sal's face onto the engine, allowing him to fall to the ground. The Driver nodded to Vince, who stepped back. "Now, we'll jump your car. You still have a long way to drive, and an even longer way to walk if we were to just leave you here. I think it's best for everybody if you're allowed on your way to complete this task as soon as possible, wouldn't you agree?"
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
Bruce sat at the dresser in what was once his parent's room, admiring the fake beard and scar across his cheek and eyebrow in the dresser mirror. He opened his mouth wide open, moving around his lips and jaw to make sure the makeup didn't stretch and peel off. Satisfied, he packed away the costume makeup into a small dark green plastic tool box before slipping it into the drawer below. He turned around and surveyed the room, looking over the details he had since forgotten, before leaving the room.
"It's quite effective, sir." said Alfred, his eyebrows raised as Bruce walked down the staircase.
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce grabbed a military green jacket off the coat rack and slipped it on, "I'll be heading out, just tell Aunt Harriet-"
"You're heading out?" Harriet came into the room, stopping when she saw Bruce, "what on Earth's happened to you? Are you going out like that-"
"Costume party, Aunt Harriet," Bruce smiled reassuringly, "Just a little something the people at the company threw together for me."
"And who is it you're supposed to be?" she asked.
"This…is a character from a video game, a new one just released." Bruce was relieved that the mention of video games completely disinterested Aunt Harriet.
"Well, very well. Drive safe." she pecked him on the cheek and hurried out of the room.
Alfred turned to face him, "Quick thinking, but I don't think you can come up excuses all the time, or distract her like that again."
"What are you saying, that I tell her?" said Bruce quietly as he walked through to the foyer, opening the door, "I'll write some ideas down so I can fire them off when needed." They both walked outside, down the great limestone steps and onto the gravel driveway. A small green car was parked and waiting. He opened the passenger side door and rummaged through the backpack on the seat, looking up and catching Alfred's disgruntled expression. He knew what he was thinking. "I'm not trying to turn you two against each other, but can you imagine?"
"Yes, I can," said Alfred, "But things have been worse."
Bruce hopped in the car, closing the door and winding the window down, "No need to stay up for me, I'll see you in the morning."
He drove off, leaving Alfred shaking his head.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
Selina Kyle adjusted her shirt as she swung her bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the club's dressing room. A dark haired man in a pastel red suit ran out after her. "Selina! Please, stay! Double, triple, whatever as long it's not above triple! It's yours."
She turned back, her green eyes gleaming as he stooped in her shadow. "No Marty," she asserted, "Go away, I'm leaving right now. You're not conning me again and you won't do so to anybody else!"
Marty straightened up and wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Fine you skag, crawl off and die you worthless-"
Selina spun on her heel and delivered a kick to his jaw, the crack audible above the strip club's loud music. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth onto the carpet, mixing with the countless other stains from other fluids spilt over the years.
She exited the strip club onto the street; a narrow laneway lined with old apartment blocks, its walls painted in graffiti, pink, purple and red neon lights and other grease and grime. A woman with long dark brown hair, a red hooded jacket and skirt with high heels got up from the seat across the street and approached Selina, giving her a hug. "How you doing, babe?"
"Great," Selina smiled. She was 23, had a heart shaped face, wavy short black hair, emerald eyes and thin lips. She wore black skinny jeans and sneakers, and zipped up a black and purple motocross racing jacket over her grey t-shirt. "Just quit my job."
"You what?!" The long haired woman was horrified.
"Can we go eat somewhere?" Selina asked. The two made their way to a diner a few streets away, where the city was cleaner but far from the decadence that Gotham's Northern Island enjoyed. They sat by the window, Selina eating bacon and eggs while her friend sat opposite with a coffee. "Holly," Selina said as she swallowed a mouthful of food, "I'm not going back. To Marty, to that club, to any other place."
"Where then?" Holly asked.
Selina placed her knife and fork down on her plate and leaned forward across the table. Holly leaned in too to listen. "This life, it's hardly good. Far from it. I've had a whacked out idea and I've got no clue if it's even going to work or not, but it turned out well when I was on the job. If not, well, I'll be stuck back at square one but at least I gave it a go."
"What is it?"
Selina gave Holly a wink, then leaned back in her seat again, "Excuse me sir," She called out to the diner employee who had finished clearing off a table down the end of the diner.
"Yes ma'am?" he said as he approached.
"Yes, very formal," She smiled dryly, holding a twenty dollar note out to the employee, her eyes darting to his name badge which read 'Jeremy', "Could I please have a coffee? Black and one, you can keep the change."
Jeremy grinned, "Thank you very much! Coming right up."
"I think you forgot your watch, Jeremy," Selina said as Jeremy turned around. He stopped, checked his left wrist and spun back to face her, bewildered. Selina held the expensive chrome watch up for him to see.
"What's going on?" Jeremy frowned.
Selina laughed. "I'm sorry Jeremy. A bit of a trick for you, I'm a magician," she offered the watch back to him and he snatched it, "Performing a little on the streets, some cabaret clubs. Did you like it?"
Once again Jeremy smiled, "That was sweet, lady. How did you do that?"
"Why ruin the trick Jeremy? But I will say this; always keep your eye on the action."
Holly leaned forward holding her head in her hands, grinning. Jeremy nodded, turned and left, pocketing his five dollar note. Holly noticed this and looked at Selina, who slipped the original twenty back into her purse. "Like I said, keep your eye on the action."
"That was awesome!" Holly cried out.
Selina held a finger to her lips, "And if I can do that with the person looking me in the eye, imagine what I could do with their back turned," She said, a sly smile spreading across her face.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
Just five weeks before when Bruce abseiled down the hole in the cliff face, the dark cave beneath Wayne manor featured nothing but rock pools and the brick and mortar foundations to the manor's west wing. Its residents were only a few frogs, the odd rat and a couple of hundred bats. Knowing the dangers of drilling and the fact that he was already planning on breaking enough laws without filling a potentially ancient cave with concrete, Bruce found the flattest and driest surface he could and extending the area with steel mesh panels held up by feet cushioned against the rock. After a bit more searching he discovered an old service lift from a cavern not too far from his main set-up that lead up to the kitchen's pantry, which also backed onto the main drawing room.
While Aunt Harriet was away from the manor Bruce set to work fixing the lift and opening it up into the pantry, as well as making plans for an alternate entrance through the drawing room. After five days the lift was working and Bruce began transporting his gear and hardware down into the cave, which had begun to be delivered by courier each morning. The mesh walkway was extended between the lift and his work area, which now had a metal frame with plastic sheets draped over it to prevent water damage.
At the end of the five weeks the cave had been completed. The walkway was stabilized, a plexiglass casing replaced the plastic sheets and sturdy metal work benches were bolted down. The pool of water extending throughout the cave had been traced to a waterfall a quarter mile away through dark tunnels. Bruce had made a note of it for future plans.
Bruce was also halfway through constructing the armour he would wear in his crusade against crime. In recent years Wayne Enterprises had expanded its ventures by designing and building military hardware concepts. The ideas dreamt up had been far too big and expensive, so the many prototypes sat in draws collecting dust before Lucius showed them to Bruce. Among other things Bruce had taken home with him a skin tight skydiving suit that was made of high endurance armour; intended for paratroopers. Bruce used that and built on top of it, adding more armour to further bulk the suit up and change its outward appearance, just in case it was recognised as the expensive Wayne prototype.
Just over a week later the armour was complete. Alfred sat by the work bench reading through the morning's paper. "Are you ready Alfred?" Bruce called from the darkness.
"Ready and waiting," said Alfred, looking up from the rag expecting to see Bruce; but there was nothing. Then out of the darkness, two glowing eyes appeared, growing bigger as whatever they belonged to advanced forward. Alfred dropped the paper and sat up, his own eyes wide in surprise.
Bruce stepped out from the darkness, clad head to toe in matte black body armour. Bruce had succeeded in making it unrecognisable when compared to the prototype base; its armour segments fitted together neatly and flexed to allow a full range of movement. Large gauntlets on each forearm hid a multitude of different gadgets and gadget control buttons, while the utility belt, painted a dull gold shade that matched the bat symbol on his chest, held even more. The black cape covered his shoulders and draped down to fold neatly around his feet. On top of the armoured neck brace was the helmet, with two ears pointed up on either side, and glowing blue-tinged eyes gave life to the engraved, scowling face.
"Well," said Alfred, "it's certainly impressive."
"And intimidating I hope." Bruce moved around to the other side of the work bench and began sorting the clutter.
"Your enemies had better be wearing brown trousers when they meet you," Alfred stood up and began tidying as well, "Can you breathe through that mask? Did you think about adding a mouth hole?"
"I did, the first two designs had exposed mouth and eye holes," Bruce finished tidying and reached up to his helmet, pushing his two thumbs into the neck join, which loosened the mask and removed it. "However I came to realise that there's only so many rich people in Gotham who'd be able to afford to do this, and an even smaller percentage of them are black, so to have even a very little of my skin exposed would be suicide in more ways than one."
"And do you have a name for all this?" Alfred asked as he sat down again.
"My name?" Bruce lifted the helmet and looked into its eyes, "Batman."
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
That night, Batman made his debut. His first act was small and simple. In Gotham's middle island, two men ran into an alleyway, obviously in a chase. The attacker caught up and with a swing of his arm bought the victim to the ground, overwhelming him with a barrage of off-balance kicks. Batman swooped down from rooftops to land behind the assailant, tapping him on the shoulder and knocked him out with a punch when he spun around. He tied the assailant up before turning to the victim, helping him to his feet.
"Are you alright?" Batman asked. The victim nodded, eyes wide at the sight of him. "Call the police." Batman added as turned and flew back up to the rooftop with his grapple gun.
It was almost two hours before Batman found more action. Down in the Narrows a few streets from the diner Bruce visited in disguise weeks before, a woman with a blond bob haircut ventured away from her friends to dispose of her drink. A short, dirty, bearded man crept up behind her, the kitchen knife in his hand catching the light off a green neon sign. Batman swiftly pulled out his grapple gun and attached the hook to the railing of the fire escape and the other end to the back of his belt. He leap off the roof of the building into free fall, but stopped suddenly when the wire taught. The momentum swung him forwards, and he raised his feet. The bearded assailant saw him too late, and Batman kicked him in the chest, pushing him far away into a collection of dustbins sitting at the mouth of a dark alleyway with a tremendous crash. Batman hit the recoil button on the grapple gun and within seconds had disappeared into the dark sky. The knife clattered to the ground and the woman spun around at the sound of the crash, but could see nothing. Batman watched from the rooftops as she looked around and scanned the darkened fire escapes, before hurrying back to her friends.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
Jim Gordon had given up smoking 12 years prior to now. Despite kicking the habit and replacing cigarettes with strong tasting savoury meat snacks, he still went through the motions of a smoker; standing on the sidewalk holding the snack between his index and middle finger, and kicking at the ground. On this night he was more anxious than usual. He was waiting for his partner outside a fancy restaurant in northern Gotham and wanting more than anything to clock off. He had promised to pick up Barbara from university by 9 and drive back home with her, and time was creeping up on him.
A black limousine pulled over in front of the patrol car and a man in a tuxedo walked out of the restaurant. Gordon recognised him and called out, "Mister Wayne!"
Bruce spun on his heel to face him, "Sergeant Gordon!"
"Ah, it's Lieutenant now," he half grinned, "Though since I'm practically off shift, you can call me Jim if I can call you Bruce."
"You may certainly not," said Bruce with faux disgust before cracking a smile, "What brings you here, if it's not out of place of me to ask that?"
"No, no, not at all. I'm just waiting for my partner to come back, then I can go home."
"Ah, I see, I see." Bruce nodded, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and slipping his hands into his pockets.
"What are you here for?" Gordon asked.
"Quick dinner date, gotta rush off to a party now," Bruce cleared his throat and lightly thumped his chest his fist, "Rubbish mussels in there. It seems both our partners are keeping us up."
"How are you Bruce?" Gordon asked, somewhat suddenly.
Bruce's smile faltered slightly, "I'm alright. You?"
"I'm doing great."
A tall brunette in a short green dress exited the restaurant and grabbed Bruce's arm. "Here's mine now," Bruce smiled, "Sam, this is Lieutenant Gordon with the GCPD."
Sam offered her hand and Gordon awkwardly shook it. Sam giggled.
"We'd best be off. Great to meet you again, Lieutenant. Should do this again." Bruce too offered his hand, which Gordon returned more confidently.
The two of them hopped in the limo and disappeared into the sea of taillights. Gordon stared after them. I'm not letting him anywhere near Barbara, he thought.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
After a week of taking to the streets Batman had yet to make headlines. His exploits were nothing more noteworthy than keeping the money in the pockets of the defenceless and leaving the attackers with the hospital bills. Yet on his eighth night he hit the big time. Patrolling the Narrows, he sighted a man he identified as an employee of the Goterelli crime family, several arrests and drug related convictions to his name. He placed a bug on the black van he drove and traced it to the Gotham docks. Perched on top of a crane at 3 AM with temperatures nearing freezing, he watched the van enter a warehouse with an armed guard by its entrance.
He moved to the warehouse roof and was met with the overwhelming stench of fish. But something was wrong. Fiddling with the controls on his left gauntlet, he changed the display on his eye pieces to identify the smell. The particles could now be clearly seen, and even without the readouts he noticed a difference in the smells. There was that of the sea, true, but only those that matched to the water or weeds. The other dominant smell was far from aquatic.
"Methylamine," he muttered, swiping through the display on the gauntlet to read up on the compound. Used in the production of methamphetamine.
He stood and carefully walked to the roof's edge. He heard the faint sound of the van doors opening and slamming shut, so he tuned back in to the bug.
"... Enough for a year for what he's planning." said the first voice, obviously coming in mid-sentence.
"Where's the last hit?" asked the second voice.
"ACE Chemicals this Tuesday day."
"Ah yes. He's mad, thinking that'll work." The turn of the key in the ignition was heard.
"He's mad thinking the bikies will play along." said the first voice.
The warehouse doors opened yet again and the van left. Batman crouched out of sight and saw the trail of methylamine stench pouring off the back doors. He made a note of what the man said about the Tuesday attack, before flying off into the night.
-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
The grey saloon pulled into the truck rest stop on the outskirts of Gotham's industrial area. The Driver stepped out, adjusted his jacket and looked to the four other Mafioso who got out of the sedan. He checked his reflection in the mirror before gesturing the Mafioso to follow him over to their contacts. Six outlaw bikers walked towards them. The leader was the least bizarre looking of the lot; his hair shaved down, his thick eyebrows scarred. The clean patched leather jacket he wore with a maroon dress shirt, faded jeans and brown boots.
"Gentlemen." the Driver nodded at them.
"Howdy," the leader grinned, "nice suit you got there, dude."
"Why thank you. It's good to see you here early. In fact it's good to see someone who takes their job seriously."
The biker folded his arms, "Well, when someone says 'jump' we say, 'how much are you guys paying us?' Not that we're just in it for the cash. These cocksuckers at the plant been messing with us a while now."
"So I take it you won't mind getting your hands dirty?" the Driver asked.
"You're looking a certified psycho right here, pal."
"I'll take your word for it." the Driver took a briefcase from one of the Mafioso and opened it, showing the contents to the biker.
"Honest man are you, paying up front?" the biker grabbed the case and passed it to the gang member behind him, who lodged it onto the back of his bike. "I gotta say, you must be a bit crazy yourself, doing something like this in broad daylight."
The Driver turned back, a wide grin on his face. "They'll never see it coming!" he laughed.
They got back to the car and the outlaws mounted their bikes, the one with the money driving off back to the city with the cash. The bikers flanked the sedan as they drove through the industrial area, turning off towards ACE Chemical Plant.
"You here any reason, pal?" the security gate attendant asked the sedan's driver. The rear door flew open, knocking the security guard over. The Driver stepped out from the back of the car while the biker leader ran forward and kicked the guard unconscious. He ducked into the small office and hit the button, sending the boom gate flying up.
The sedan and the bikes rolled in, the Driver following on foot. He raised his assault rifle and fired two shots into the air. The sedan came to a stop and the Mafioso got out, opening fire on the guards that came spewing out from the chemical plant's offices. The Driver ran through and onto stairs that lead to elevated scaffolding that wrapped around the plant. A bullet whizzed pass his head from a walkway above, making the Driver duck. He stood up when he sighted the guard who had fired the shot, raised his gun and shot him the chest. The guard stumbled back and toppled over the safety rail, clipping the building with his legs and hitting the pavement with a sickening thud.
Two bikers ran up behind the Driver. "Johnny's gone through the main building to get his guy. What are you here for?" one yelled over the noise of the gunfire below.
"In the main plant, a safe with an item of importance," the Driver shouted back, "plus I have my eye on a certain something else."
The biker nodded, "We'll cover you as you go in." The three ran hunched over along the walkway and into the main warehouse. Underneath the walkway, open vats of a glowing green chemical stewed.
"The hell is that shit?" the second biker growled, peeking over the edge.
"Why don't you jump in and find out?" the Driver muttered, "It looks quite safe."
The first biker laughed. "Sure does. THAT however, does not."
The Driver turned to look where the biker was pointing and saw a channel running through the centre of the warehouse, long funnels and slides dumping various chemicals of different colours and consistencies into the stream, which ran through a large set of doors to the outside.
"Well, let's be careful."
The three continued along the walkway until they ducked for cover at the bang of a door violently opening on a walkway above. Four men wearing grey tracksuits and holding assault rifles ran out of the office. The Driver and the bikers kept down and fired their guns up at the mercenaries. The second biker took a shot to the shoulder, falling back with his hand on his wound. Then the Driver stood up and emptied his gun's clip into the mercenaries, who dropped to the ground. He reloaded and ran up the flight of stairs three at a time, while the biker behind him lifted his partner over his shoulder, pistol in hand.
The Driver reached the walkway, treading over the bodies of the bullet-ridden mercenaries. When he reached the fourth, he noticed a green duffel bag splattered with blood underneath the body's arm. The Driver kicked the arm away and unzipped the bag, reaching in with his gloved hand to find several wads of new one hundred dollar bills. Beneath the cash, two bars of gold, three bags of white powder and a block of plastic explosive. The Driver zipped the bag back up, lifted it and threw it over his shoulder. He checked his gun, then the room descended into darkness. He spun around, teeth gritted, to see a large black shadow descend from the rafters.