Issue 26
Wrestling with a Pig
Determined to ride out the peak of the chemicals Damian resolutely gritted his teeth as the walls of the library ballooned and contracted rhythmically. He hid sensibly behind a wall of heavy books spines facing out optimistically to ward off the phantoms that snuck in through the diabolical shadows. Bane, Penguin, and Deathstroke hungrily circled his fortifications taunting and baiting him to emerge from safety.
"Another fool," Bane declared, "your plan is flawed, childish. You cannot control an army much less yourself. Everything will fall to ruin under your guidance."
"He'll disown you for what you're doing," Penguin speculated cunningly, "Either way you belong with us. Cursed with the demon blood you were always destined to join us as a freak, a killer."
"Weak!" Deathstroke growled crouching like a predator in the weeds, "Soft and weak! You're a kid playing at being an adult. SECURE will kill you even easier than the rest. It's only a matter of time. I'm taking the Militia and you're alone now with nobody to save your pathetic father." Damian ignored them tensely scanning the room for the real threat. Sweat ran down his forehead profusely though he sat completely naked behind his literary fort. He felt strangely feverish though not excessively hot with dilated pupils from the drug.
"Why didn't you save us, Damian?" a voice called from the dark and Barbara Gordon rolled her wheelchair around the corner of a bookshelf, "Did you even look for us? Do you care what happened to us or were you just waiting for the moment you could run off with your new friends?"
"Barbara, it's not safe here," he whispered pleadingly over his wall.
"Nowhere is safe thanks to you. You've done nothing but make this situation worse," she accused him justly, "Don't pretend you're concerned. It's way too late for that." From the darkest corner of the vast library Damian heard a soft giggle.
"Get out of here. He's coming," he warned helplessly. She sat with her back to her greatest nightmare as Joker approached silently. He cut his face off again apparently as his visage was a soppy mass of muscle and tendon bore bleeding for the entire world to see. Behind him a woodcutter's ax permanently grooved the polished hardwood floor. Heartlessly Joker tipped the chair forward so the defenseless woman fell towards Damian on her stomach.
"Leave her alone!" he screamed unconvincingly, "Don't hurt her again!" Joker only smiled and giggled some more as he raised the ax. As Damian looked on Barbara reached out pleading for help as the terror swung. Hungrily the ax bit into the back of her knee as blood sprayed the room. Again and again Joker struck until she crawled toward Damian weakly dragging her spurting stumps.
"No!" Damian shouted but Joker simply turned without a word and sauntered back into the shadows. Now Bruce appeared next to the flailing woman and crouched to examine her fresh injuries.
"This is your fault. All of this happened because you weren't strong enough to do it on your own. You're not my son," Bruce accused venomously, "Get out of my house. I never want to see you again." Unsurprisingly Damian could find no response to his father's disownment. Before the nightmare could continue the doors to the library swung open and a werewolf burst into the room.
"What the hell is going on?" it demanded snapping and drooling from its razor sharp teeth. The werewolf dressed like Jason Todd in his tight body armor and for the first time since the madness began Damian laughed crazily.
"The sheep in wolf's clothing," Damian incorrectly observed, "Are you actually real?"
"Of course I'm real," Jason responded, "Who did this to you?"
"Me, I did. Took an extra strength dose of Crane's fear gas," he relayed to his monstrous friend, "I'm training. Have to be ready for anything. Need to conquer all fears, reject all weakness."
"You're not your father! This is crazy. You're killing yourself," Jason stated.
"You're right. If I was him this never would have happened. We wouldn't be in this position," he lamented. Carefully Jason extracted the teenager from the trashed room and forced him into a hot shower. Damian met him again in the enormous kitchen of Wayne Manor still coming down off the effects of the toxin.
"Look you need to eat and get some rest," Jason ordered sternly but Damian ignored him as he was already dressed in his Robin gear.
"I've got a meeting I can't miss," he explained distantly, "Not sure when I'll be back so don't wait up if you've got stuff to do."
"You're not in any shape to take off again. We need to talk about stuff."
"Fuck off, Jason. You're not in charge around here. You'll get what you want so let me worry about the rest," Damian stated briskly. Jason watched him go but didn't know the right words to stop him if there were any.
In an extravagant apartment nestled anonymously somewhere in the Diamond District Professor Pyg stared into the full length mirror neatly straightening his colorful tie. Dark bags appeared under his eyes from a lack of sleep and he dejectedly pulled at the crow's feet that branched from their edges. Though jovial and friendly with his equally preposterous counterparts Lazlo kept a shameful, serious past. At the beginning of his illustrious career he took a position within a shadowy organization called Spyral.
Spyral regularly serviced a bevy of rich clients taking on specialty jobs that average security firms didn't have the stomach to accept. For that reason Spyral agents were typically altered both physically and mentally the latter requiring mind washes and the addition of personality traits as well as combat or technical skills. Lazlo excelled at manipulating the human mind and developed neurological pharmaceuticals to aid in the augmentation of Spyral agents.
Eventually his expertise proved so efficient that Spyral no longer needed his continued experiments and maliciously subjected him to the same chemical torture he created for them. Lazlo tragically succumbed to the confusion and madness of an unguided journey from the mind altering drugs. This directly led to the emergence of the personae known as Professor Pyg a dangerous character obsessed with the fleeting concept of perfection.
After his nontraditional termination of employment by Spyral Lazlo began construction of his own malleable agents called Dollotrons. They were people carefully selected to undergo programming that would in effect alter them into drones who followed his every command. As one would expect Spyral wasn't the only covert conspiratorial company to show interest in his work and Professor Pyg made quite a bit of currency popularizing the methods among Spyral's competitors including the military industrial complex.
Unlike so many other super villains who desperately turned to the lifestyle after a horrific accident or ethical expulsion from the scientific community Lazlo entered into super crime as a form of retirement from his psychological studies. As so many great minds toiled in the metaphorical dirt of creation Lazlo relaxed like a man who rested assuredly in the fact that his fields lay prepared and planted. Lavishly he reaped the rewards of his groundbreaking efforts quite infamously and often times to excess. From here until the end he simply pursued a life of that which paralleled his curiosities and interests.
"Oi Professah, wot yah think 'bout meh tie?" Mr. Toad entered the room wearing a clean colored shirt and creased dress pants, "Yah loike ah red one or ah orange one? Partial to ah red one Missah Toad is. Et beeyen uh complimenary colah to ah green en awl." Earnestly Mr. Toad modeled the red and orange ties to his throat hoping for an honest opinion. Lazlo raised the pig mask over his eyes slowly covering a face that was still miles from perfection and vengefully tightened his belt over a pot belly that only seemed to expand.
"I'm afraid you will not be attending this party with us. I have a different assignment for you," Lazlo stated continuing to examine his unfit figure in the reflection.
"Oh alroight," Mr. Toad responded disappointedly, "Long as yeh ain' send'n Missah Toad trough ah sewers or nuffin. Got me bes' trousahs on en meh shoes 'ave jus' got polished."
"It will not be dirty. What you are wearing will be fine. Mister Toad, let me ask you. Am I a good man?"
"Wot mate? Wot kina tricky bloody quesion es thut? Coursen yer uh good man. Ah bes' Missah Toad e're known notta fookin' doubt 'both tha. Yah saved meh life, Professuh," Mr. Toad replied nearly offended at the implication. Lazlo squatted down on aching knees in front of his trusty henchman.
"Listen old chap, you have unequivocally proven yourself the most loyal, honest hearted friend a mess of a man like me could ever have asked for. There is not enough gratitude in the world to express what our time together has meant to me. I pray that one day the opportunity will arise for you to go your own way to bigger and better things. When that moment comes you must be willing to trust in yourself. Promise me you will do what you know to be right in your heart without considering me or our friendship."
"Ah-ah will if'n that's wot yeh wan' Professuh. But wots et awl mean then? Es Missah Toad fired en sodding off tuh who knos where'n?" he asked staring into his mentor's eyes frightened.
"Far from it, my friend, your contract with the Circus of the Strange is completed in excellent standing. You will be admitted into our hall of fame post haste. From this moment on I, Lazlo Valentin declare you a free man to make your own decisions and live life in the way you deem to be fit. Whether we work together in the future is entirely up to you though I admit I still require your assistance. If you do decide to join me it will be as a partner. You're a servant no longer. What do you say to that?" Lazlo asked hopeful. Mr. Toad stood awhile processing the concept of free will.
"Missah Toad sez les' fookin' do eet, boss," he pounded a webbed fist into his open palm.
"Call me Lazlo."
"Ah kent…ah couldn't." Mr. Toad hugged his best friend thankfully.
"That's okay. We can work on it," Lazlo stated embracing the amphibian man, "Before we go there's one more thing I need to tell you."
Sixty stories above the grimy, insect infested streets of Gotham the real party turned time. Powerful men and influential, though sometimes just beautiful, women mingled under the glow of the best society had to offer. Painstakingly crafted garments hung relatively ignored off their bodies as they ate and drank and danced to the sweet chords of imagined remuneration. Spyral rewarded their agents and administrators graciously with parties like this quite regularly. A twenty piece orchestra created the soundtrack to their self-indulgent conversations.
"I'm not dressed for this," Damian declared in his Robin outfit as the elevator opened on the sickly extravagant scene.
"Nonsense," Lazlo declared looking down on him through the eyes of his mask, "In an environment such as this at the highest echelons of achievement people counter intuitively care little in how someone dresses. No, these connoisseurs of industry mostly worry themselves in what a person can do and we, little bird, can work absolute miracles hence their self-serving invitation."
"Easy to say when you're wearing a three piece suit," Damian bristled stubbornly, "So are you going to let me in on this plan? What's the play?"
"I don't think so. I merely brought you along to observe the proper way to handle adversaries who hide in the weeds. Whatever you do I need you to trust me and follow my lead. Your opinions will be helpful in private later and by all means enjoy yourself. We deserve a break now and then."
"Fine, let me get a plate of food before you get us thrown out though," Damian requested. Spuriously Lazlo branched off to chat up some familiar faces. Plate in hand Damian took his place in line as the caterers generously doled out helpings of sautéed vegetables and to his surprise macaroni and cheese. A beautiful girl no more than nineteen turned in front of him to comment on the spread.
"You should try the braised pork loin. It's hands down their best," she said smiling as her auburn curls swayed behind her stunning brown eyes.
"I'm a vegetarian," he admitted suddenly even more uncomfortable with his costume against her flowing blue dress.
"Oh that probably sounds terrible then."
"Yeah it does actually," he laughed, "I was surprised they had macaroni and cheese. It seems a little below them."
"Well the noodles are made from scratch and flown in from Italy while the cheese comes from Wisconsin or somewhere in the Midwest," she explained.
"So it's probably like the best mac and cheese in the world."
"Yep," she agreed, "but it wouldn't be the best without the aged bacon bits."
"Damn," Damian muttered as they reached the end of the line.
"My friends call me Polly and you're Robin, I know. It's nice to see someone interesting here. Normally these parties are full of zombies.
"I-I think you're interesting too," he fumbled and immediately kicked himself for such a stupid response. Thankfully she smiled and they parted ways. Across the room in a crowd next to the dance floor Lazlo regaled some old acquaintances with a story of a botched assassination of a president.
"Lazlo, you're the pinnacle of charm without a doubt," Mrs. Amelia Lapen observed smiling radiantly, "Though apparently not everyone thinks so. What's this nonsense I hear about you being wanted by the federal government? The top ten list is headed by you and your compatriots in Gotham's Militia. The whole town is absolutely abuzz with talk of the cause." The quickly aging wife of prominent Spyral head Otto Netz held up a cell phone that displayed unflattering mug shots of said villains.
"My dear, societal reengineering is a savage business full of cruel necessities and sadly void of the pleasurable distractions such as yourself. In fact just standing next to a dangerous criminal like me can put a woman of your distinguished reputation at risk," Lazlo reached down and subtly goosed her. The lady Lapen jumped and flushed then provocatively leaned toward him.
"Take me back to Versailles," she begged in a whisper, "The leaves will begin to change next month. I bought that hotel we stayed in. We can have any and every room we want."
"Sweet Amy, to recreate that week with you would be to reject the rare gift of perfection which a man of my nature simply cannot do. That being said there's always Bermuda," Lazlo wooed but quickly noticed his young guest sitting alone at the head table next to Otto Netz himself. Politely he excused himself and rushed over to intercept the unrefined teenager.
It was true when Damian left the buffet he couldn't find a seat so he moved towards the front table where Otto Netz, the villain known as Doctor Daedalus sat by himself. Otto waved away the guards who moved to stop the costumed boy.
"Mind if I sit down?" Damian asked though in truth he already had.
"Be my guest," Otto invited with a perceptible German accent.
"So you were a Nazi," Damian mumbled nonchalantly with a mouthful of broccoli, "What's that like?" Otto smiled completely unperturbed by the provocation.
"Don't believe your bluntness causes me offense. There's far too little of it in the world if you ask me," the old man commented.
"I didn't. I asked you what it was like being a Nazi," Damian pushed.
"It was like taking the course of human history by the horns and wrestling it to the ground forcing the beast into submission," Otto reminisced but Damian shook his head.
"That sounds pretty dumb," he replied as the old man chuckled.
"Okay, in more accurate terms it was a recognition of hard truths…that sacrifices needed to be made for the betterment of society."
"Just not your sacrifices though," Damian accused. Otto's smile quickly vanished.
"Our sacrifices were our humanity in an attempt to change the world as it was in its current state."
"Well that's one thing we can agree on," Damian said pulling from his glass of water, "Good food at least."
"Professor," Otto greeted as Lazlo approached their conversation, "Your friend here was just asking me about my service in the war. Please have a seat."
"Damian, that's enough," Lazlo rebuked the boy, "Certainly not a dinner topic. Would you mind leaving the doctor and I to speak?" Damian shrugged but gladly got up from the table. As the titular head of Spyral Otto proceeded to vehemently threaten the well being of Gotham's Militia while Lazlo scanned the crowd for women. Spyral, he explained, would join and further fund their organization only if their leaders would freely submit to them as the higher authority. Lazlo laughed in his face. Bored and restless Damian wandered towards the dance floor only to run into the young woman Polly again.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asked grabbing him by the hand and leading him into a less crowded area toward the back, "I have a message from your grandfather Rhas Al-Ghul. He offers help against SECURE in exchange for a portion of the city once the enemy is conquered."
"My grandfather? The League of Assassins? I thought you worked for Spyral," Damian stated stunned.
"I do but as a plant for the League," she claimed earnestly but stopped as Lazlo approached.
"It's okay. He's a friend," Damian assured her as he turned to the professor, "She brought us a message from my grandfather. The League wants to help us." Lazlo's demeanor turned cold as he eyed her.
"You're an Assassin double agent? You work for Rhas?" he asked insistently.
"Yes," she whispered pleading, "but please no one can know." Nodding Lazlo snatched a serrated steak knife off the nearby table and plunged it into her midsection. Wide eyed Polly gasped and doubled over staggering as the orchestra stopped and everyone turned to stare at the gruesome act.
"You tell Rhas we don't need or want his help and he won't ever get a piece of this city as long as I live. Tell him he can send all the killers in the world and it won't stop what we're doing. Also tell him he's a coward for not coming to speak with us directly," Lazlo whispered as he held the knife in her stomach then let go and moved away.
"This young lady," Lazlo announced loudly as security closed in on them, "you will find after you do a proper background check is an agent of the League of Assassins. She admits this to me freely. Is this what Spyral has become in my absence? An inhospitable host full of moles and incompetence?" He shoved Damian past security as he bravely continued the verbal lashing. To Damian's shock everyone began letting them pass as security reached the wounded Polly.
"The truth is Gotham's Militia will never let Spyral dictate terms to us. Perhaps instead you should consider whether the League's spy is really a spy at all. Who pulls your strings, Otto?" Lazlo wondered as they neared the elevator, "Furthermore as far as your petty threats go all I can say is you better send every last agent you have." The elevator doors closed and Damian continued staring in shock. Glancing down Lazlo frowned disapprovingly at a stain on his jacket.
"Blood spatter," he moaned, "Absolutely ruined."
"What did you just do?" Damian exploded, "You killed that poor girl and put both the League and Spyral on our ass!"
"She won't die. In fact she'll get even better medical care being a rat than any regular Spyral agent would get. She'll get our message to Rhas one way or another. If he has one plant in Spyral he has ten. Also remember we had an arrangement. I clear out any opposition against SECURE and you let me work in the way I see fit."
"Clear them out? All you've done is pissed them off! How has any of this helped us?" Damian demanded. Confidently Lazlo exited the elevator ready to move on to their next target.
"When it comes to good old fashioned spy work it's not about who can punch the hardest or who orders around the most troops. It's about guile and finesse, boy. Believe me I haven't even begun to piss people off yet. When I do you and the entire world will know it. Are you writing any of this down?"
Across town at GCPD headquarters Commissioner Jim Gordon reorganized his file on SECURE and conscientiously locked his office behind him. He denied his rookie's request to come along though he recognized the danger in taking this trip alone. If it didn't directly involve SECURE and his informant he would never take the risk. In an unmarked cruiser he drove cautiously into the Cauldron searching for the address the unnamed informant left for him.
For weeks now pieces of evidence including photos, videos, and documents mysteriously appeared in his department email from someone. Yesterday the enigmatic helper insisted on a meeting at this abandoned warehouse once owned by the Russian mob. Jim entered alertly with his service revolver drawn and a flashlight illuminating his path. Seemingly empty the rickety building emanated an ominous atmosphere.
"You alone?" a gruff voice called from somewhere in the darkness. Wildly Jim spun around but couldn't locate the man so he put his back against a flaking pillar scoping the room.
"I am," he responded calmly though adrenaline roared through his system, "Show yourself."
"Wasn't sure you'd follow through on my terms," Two Face said as he stepped into the light arms raised, "It's been awhile since I've seen what kind of cop you are."
"Harvey," Jim replied and lowered his weapon. His one time friend wore a regular, black two button suit and solid black tie which was a far cry from the hodgepodge outfits he typically wore. His face remained disfigured despite the new clothes.
"How's the case coming," Harvey asked.
"It's hard to say. Our evidence pile on them is massive thanks to your help but I'm positive they know we're trying to undermine them. Every official request for information is roundly rejected. Not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth but what are you doing, Harv? You're about the last person I expected to find helping us," Jim stated.
"Do you know what that kid is doing? Robin? Organizing us ne'er-do-wells against your paramilitary masters?" Harvey asked instead. Sullenly Jim nodded.
"We've heard talk of it from our informants. Can't get the kid to take my calls though."
"He thinks you're compromised. Me on the other hand I realized we can't go to war with these people. We've got to do this the right way like we used to," Harvey reasoned.
"What about that? What changed with you?" Jim wondered.
"There's no clear cut explanation for that. I guess when two conflicting sides war against each other long enough one gives up, recedes, and fades away. Some things just can't be held down forever. You have to hope our better natures win out in the end." From outside helicopters could be heard and floodlights broke viciously through the dust smeared windows. Both men immediately knew what had happened before the voice on the loud speaker spoke.
"James Gordon, the building is surrounded!" a man with a bullhorn declared, "You're under arrest on charges of conspiracy, collusion, and treason against the United States government. You and your associates step out of the building now with your hands up." Jim looked desperately at Harvey who simply stared at the floor.
"I didn't set you up," he claimed and the scarred man nodded.
"You couldn't have," Harvey agreed, "You didn't know it was me. Anyway it sounds like they're here for you. Knew they'd get tired of your shit sooner or later. It looks like we're out of options." Defeated Jim dropped his gun on the ground and stuck his hand out towards his friend. For a moment Harvey hesitated uncertain then shook it firmly.
Outside squad cars flashed red and blue lights sporadically interrupted by black, unmarked SUVs. Almost a hundred men including federal agents spread around the building weapons at the ready. Two choppers circled the sky scanning the surrounding area with infrared surveillance. The negotiator waited at the front of the group carrying his bullhorn like the conductor of the world's most violent orchestral unit. At the front doors of the warehouse Harvey and Jim prepared to face the music.
"Sorry this reforged partnership was so short lived," Jim apologized but Harvey brushed it off.
"That's the way it should end, Jim. Me and you against everybody, just like old times."
"The best times, buddy," he corrected, "Just like the best times." He opened the doors and they stepped into the light together.
Ignorant of the dramatic scene playing out at the Cauldron, Damian and Lazlo sat in an aged hatchback stolen from a nearby apartment complex. Impatiently Damian fiddled with the radio as Lazlo serenely scanned the empty street.
"Shouldn't we be doing something? Recruiting people?" Damian wondered aloud.
"We are doing something. We're waiting. Quality villainy is like comedy, boy. It all depends on the timing. Our next meeting is with the Court of Owls."
"Great, shouldn't we, you know, get to it?"
"Oh we're not attending this one. We're going to blow them up," Lazlo declared nonchalantly picking at his cuticles.
"What? So now we've got Spyral, the League of Assassins, and the Court of Owls on our asses. Professor, I want some answers now!" he demanded hotly.
"You don't get answers. That wasn't part of our deal. Our deal was you come with me and learn how to deal with your enemies and I give our little rebellion a clean slate. Excuse me I need to take this," Lazlo said answering his buzzing phone and flipping it to speaker courteously.
"Mmmyello?"
"Heard you made some new enemies, Lazlo," the voice of US Army General Benjamin Burrows came through crystal clear.
"I wouldn't worry about it, General. Don't bother tracing this line either. We'll be at Watonobi Tower in about an hour along with the rest of Gotham's Militia. You can find us on the roof waiting on the so called might of the American military. How's your daughter Rebecca by the way? I remember her as a young lady so eager to please. Does she still play the harp?" Lazlo taunted.
"You're fucking dead, pig! Do you hear me? I will bury you before this night is over I swear on my mother's grave!"
"Save the recriminations, sir. I've got naïve maidens to woo and nuclear codes to snatch," Lazlo hung up.
"So we're going to die tonight then?" Damian complained to Lazlo's amusement as the professor dug a large book from his bag.
"Of course not, we're going to put on a big show. Our location was leaked purposefully through my own network."
"How do you plan on doing that? If you didn't notice we don't exactly have an army," Damian reminded as Lazlo checked his watch, "and what's with the book?"
"Books hold the answers to all our questions in life. The trick is to know what page it's on. Besides who needs an army when you have the next best thing?" Lazlo asked suggestively as a small figure approached the car.
"Mr. Toad?" Damian asked through he seemed slightly taller and wore a yellow one piece bodysuit with a fat utility belt around his waist. On one hip he carried a short sword and on the other a submachine gun.
"I'm afraid it's Mr. Toad no longer," the former sidekick enunciated in a perfect gentlemanly English accent, "Call me Special Agent Toad." Behind him and twenty stories up the windows blew out of a building with a fiery boom. Special Agent Toad didn't so much as flinch or do anything but smile that uneven grin.
"What the hell is happening?" Damian wondered through the open car window.
"The future, my boy," Lazlo announced cheerfully slapping him on the back, "It's happening all around you right now whether you know it or not, and it would like nothing more than for you to join it."
"All right then mates, it's high time we got to work," Special Agent Toad decided.
Following Lazlo through the entrance to Watonobi Tower Damian pushed through the silent, staring crowd in the lobby. No one spoke or hindered them as they headed for the elevators.
"Who are all these people, Professor?" Damian asked feeling like the human exhibit in Vonnegut's alien zoo.
"The Circus of the Strange, Dollotrons we call them, women and men who have been washed of the base animal instincts that propel us through the jungles of civilization. When necessary they can be uploaded with new personalities or skills as a situation requires. They are my original successful test group. I simply couldn't let them be destroyed so we rolled them into the circus act," Lazlo explained casually.
"It's all mind control then. Is that what you did to Mr. Toad?" Damian speculated since the new improved Toad was away scouting out other floors of the tower.
"Not at all, his personality remains intact. I only activated a latent augment in him that adds the martial artistry of Bruce Lee with the irrefutable charm of James Bond. Deep down he's the same Mr. Toad he always was just more effective for our current predicament."
"How many people have undergone this procedure?"
"It's more than a procedure and unfortunately there isn't a concrete number I can give you," Lazlo stated, "After my forced resignation by Spyral and the subsequent perfection of my mind control methods I took my act on the road and worked for many organizations for example the US Army and various international corporations." He leaned against the empty receptionist's desk as they chatted.
"So that's why General Burroughs hates you."
"He's definitely not alone. This actually goes much deeper than simple brainwashing. As time went on others helped me apply my work to a broader base, everything from product placement to the ignition of fads and trends across cultures and markets. When you choose a soda at the gas station or a brand of phone or computer you'll never pick up anything they didn't put in your hand for you. Media including television and internet only produce the fabricated illusion of freedom when in reality you have anything but."
"I've got to admit that sounds horrifying," Damian admitted.
"Oh without a doubt," Lazlo agreed, "but if you can face that truth and base your actions on that accepted assumption you'll already be a leg up on everyone else. Look at me. I made a whole bunch of money and bought a high rise office building all for myself." Suddenly Lazlo trailed off suspiciously eyeing a normal looking Dollotron mingling with the others.
"Dolls!" he yelled pointing at the blank looking woman, "She is a Spyral agent. Stop her!" Sure enough the woman's face seemed to disappear behind a hypnomask, the standard tech for all Spyral field operatives. She raised a gun but multiple Dollotrons crowded her stripping her of the weapon. Across the room other planted spies rose up sparking emotionless chaos in the lobby. An outside window was breached and more agents stormed the building.
"Showtime boy!" Lazlo cried pulling Damian into the waiting elevator. Slowly they climbed to the thirteenth floor.
"Professor, this is crazy. We're playing right into their hands!" Damian observed.
"Are we? You must be wary of an enemy who projects weakness. As you push forward to destroy them you might be falling directly into their trap," Lazlo said as he exited onto the empty office floor. Quietly they moved through the dark unadorned rows of unused cubicles and office furniture.
Without warning a masked figure blocked their rush to the bank of elevators on the other side of the building. Damian instantly recognized the assassin's garb of his grandfather's clan. Behind them he saw other ninjas closing in on them. The floor was filled with them allowing no way back. The pair stopped dead in their tracks.
"The all-powerful Rhas Al-Ghul was extremely disappointed in your response to his generous offer…especially with you, young man," the assassin in front of them pointed at Damian.
"Got them right where we want them huh Professor?" Damian asked sarcastically.
"Almost," Lazlo replied checking his watch again. Suddenly the elevators where they entered sounded and Spyral agents poured out onto the floor accompanied by another group bursting through the stairwell.
"The pig is ours," one agent screamed and they began shooting at the assassins indiscriminately. Seeing his opportunity Damian took down the sole ninja blocking their path and they sprinted towards the other set of elevators. This time they didn't speak as they again ascended from the war below their feet.
The sixtieth floor looked nearly identical to the thirteenth. It appeared clear as they crossed the building again until windows began exploding along one side. Along with the gusting wind a cadre of Talons, assassins from the Court of Owls, swooped in landing all around them. Masks and goggles hid their faces and they remained silent. Before the pair could react a ceiling tile fell to the ground and Secret Agent Toad dropped out brandishing his machinegun. Screaming and firing he momentarily scattered the Talons from their roosts while he approached the pair.
"Professor, everything is on schedule. I'll draw them away as you head for the elevators," Secret Agent Toad assured dramatically drawing his sword. Satisfied Lazlo prepared to make a break for it but Damian caught his arm.
"Wait! We can't leave him," Damian protested as Secret Agent Toad bounced away.
"Go!" Toad yelled behind him, "Protect the Professor at all costs. I'll be right behind you!" Crouched down they quickly moved across the floor towards yet another waiting elevator. In the middle of the room surrounded by avian themed killers Secret Agent Toad fought them alone from all sides. His sword rang violently as it diverted multiple attacks at once. Luckily he didn't need to destroy them only hold them off until his friends were clear.
As Secret Agent Toad hacked off limbs and ran his enemies through he dropped a cluster of grenades and dove through the mass of enemies just beyond the range of the resulting explosion. Instead of a fiery combustion the bombs froze everything in their blast radius. Approaching the set of blocked elevator doors he removed a grappler from his belt and fired it toward the adjacent rising elevator that carried the boy and the professor. Shooting up at incredible speed he detached the lock on the line and swung effortlessly to the roof of the ascending elevator.
"Easy boys, it's me," he declared as he dropped through the top hatch.
"Thanks for the diversion, Secret Agent," Lazlo said, "We're almost there." At the roof they exited into rushing winds and spotlights of armed military choppers. One had landed on the roof and a contingent of Marines approached weapons live.
"What now?" Damian asked expectantly.
"Now we surrender," Lazlo stated cooly.
"To the federal government? You're insane!"
"Boy, you have to trust me. Get on the helicopter please. Everything is under control," Lazlo insisted. Against his better judgment Damian let himself be cuffed and escorted onto the waiting bird.
"Well, well Lazlo Valentin the infamous pig," General Burroughs greeted them in the passenger's seat, "I'm going to personally burn your genitals off with a cigarette lighter. You know that right?"
"Good to see you too, Ben," Lazlo ignored the threat opening the thick book in his hand, "Listen to me closely, General. 46 Defense, reverse Springfield sweep." For a moment Burroughs paused then his face went blank.
"What can I do for you, sir?" the general asked neutrally.
"Order your men to level this building immediately," Lazlo commanded.
"Of course, Professor," he replied without any of the anger left in his voice. The other choppers in the area locked missiles onto Watonobi Tower and fired in unison. Damian began to speak but Lazlo held up a hand as the unloosed ordinance struck the building from all sides.
"By God I love a good finale," Lazlo declared as he watched the skyscraper collapse in on itself. Bits of glass, concrete, and the Militia's enemies scattered across the area in a cathartic rain.
"So he's a Dollotron too?" Damian asked pointing at the nonresponsive general while the chopper flew them to safety.
"No entirely but the methods the Army employs were designed by my own hand," Lazlo explained, "That left me room to assure a back door into their, shall we say, systems. Codes that can be activated by my voice, take a look." Damian caught the heavy book and opened the cover. The title page simply said Bears Defensive Handbook 84-86.
"The professor is a master artisan in his field so much so that people rarely recognize the depth of his craft. Despite his suave nature he remains a true gentleman and therefore has no need to inflate his ego by bragging," Secret Agent Toad commented staring at the city.
"What about you, Secret Agent?" Damian asked, "What are you going to do now?"
"The world is full of opportunity, lad. Honestly there's no telling what I might get into but rest assured we have no intention of abandoning you. The two of us mean to see this through to the end." Although Damian would never admit it to anyone that statement made him feel quite a bit better about their chances in this desperate struggle.
The next day Commissioner Jim Gordon was inexplicably released from federal custody and reinstated in the GCPD. Unfortunately his accomplice had already been transferred to SECURE's custody. Harvey Dent was never heard from again.