A/N: Second BTAS fanfic, except I'm trying to write for myself this time and not novelise something (the second chapter of that IS coming, don't lose hope).
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Two bursts on a foghorn sounded through the night and echoed around the docks, though the weather was fine and a lighthouse was showing the way in. That was the observation the guard had made upon hearing the noise, but he decided that the captain must have been new or incredibly incompetent, perhaps a mix of both. Besides, he was keen to go off and spend the hundred dollar bill he'd found on his desk a couple of minutes ago. Who cared if a rookie didn't know how to dock? Not him, that was for sure. Wandering off, he turned off the lights and locked the door. He'd be back in the morning.
Once the guard had gone, the boat ceased the noise, restoring the quiet.
It had alerted its business partners. And it just happened none of them were on the right side of the law.
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A few minutes after the foghorn had let its bellowing die down, the ship drew into the docks and a cargo ramp reached down onto the concrete. Two men rushed down, followed by a crate and two men struggling to push it down.
Inside the crate was enough cocaine to last a single addict a large portion of his life, with over twenty-five kilograms. The next two crates contained twelve bottles of moonshine, eight bottles of absinth, and two kilos of steroids and caffeine. All of these would be sold by drug dealers under Rupert Thorne's employ at high prices, though they'd continue to attract the crowds like they had for dozens of years. At the end of the day the vile man would only count his profit and customers while he contemplated a way to draw even more people in. A hundred lives ruined every day, and the prices only kept climbing.
Now the man stood as the cargo was assembled by three well-built and roughly dressed men, each operating like this was second nature, which in a way, it was. This was a job they'd done many times before, and they weren't about to forget the routine.
"Hurry up! This normally takes twenty minutes at most. It's been fifteen and you still haven't unloaded the first crate!"
Suddenly, one of the men seemed to trip up and the bag of cocaine flew out of his hands. It soared into the air, rotating twice and almost hitting the deck before a hand slid under and snatched it back up.
"You idiot! That's three hundred grams of drugs you dropped!"
A second man fell over and cried out as he hit the cold floor.
"And this should be three hundred years for all of you put together in the slammer- on good behaviour."
A tall figure stood in the night, blue and black cape flapping in the wind and a utility belt around his waist, arm outstretched as he caught the Batarang he'd used to knock the thug over.
"Batman," Thorne hissed, like an adder that had been sat on by an overweight human being.
Three of the dock loaders stopped what they were doing, and their hands went to their holsters, producing .45 pistols that had been manufactured on the other side of the world. Before two of them could so much as consider tightening their fingers on the triggers, they found themselves crying out as more Batarangs slammed into their hands, knocked their weapons to the ground and dislocated one or two fingers. The third rushed to the left, firing three shots as he went, though none of them succeeded in wounding the Dark Knight, only managing to burn a few small, coin-sized holes into his cape.
He found out the price for firing a gun on the enemy of his boss as a heavy bag of drugs hit him square in the face and knocked him out for twelve hours. The rest all pulled back, ignoring the vulgar threats of their employer. Batman proceeded to advance on Thorne, who desperately fumbled for his own weapon before he realised he'd dropped it in panic.
"Still trying to rebuild your drugs enterprise, are we?"
This was the third drug smuggling operation Batman had had to halt in two weeks. Usually Thorne would have planned out less frequent and more careful deals than this, but since Batman had undermined the monthly shipments that came in, Thorne had chosen to up his game by increasing the amount he brought in and how often he had it imported. While most of them had been stopped, several still got past the radar and onto the streets.
"Don't you have any nights off we can use?"
"Sure, just stop the illegal business and maybe I'll get a few," Batman replied coldly. He'd had enough bad business with Thorne that they might as well have talked over their phones each and every day. The business with Harvey Dent, then Sidney "The Man Who Almost Killed Batman" Debris, and if it couldn't have got any worse, the time when Thorne had hired Bane to try and break his back.
Thorne tried to reach for a fallen gun on the floor, but before he could so much as consider, Batman had stuck a foot out and kicked the weapon into the sea.
"What's wrong, Mr Thorne? Would you like a midnight swim?"
Realising the implication, Rupert Thorne fell on his knees to the floor, every part of him pleading.
"Please, no! Let me go!"
Before the crime boss could argue any further, Batman grabbed him by the neck and, without breaking a sweat, he dunked the boss headfirst into the cold, dark water of the night. Thorne's eyes slammed shut, begging for it to stop as the oxygen inside his lungs gradually begun its quick conversion into carbon dioxide.
Then he felt the pressure suddenly lift as he found himself back on the docks, head out the water now.
"Where are you getting the drugs from?"
Thorne merely coughed and spluttered, shooting angry glances at his interrogator when he managed to take a breath or two. Batman frowned, already angered.
"I'm going to count to three, Thorne, and if you haven't told me what I want to know by the time I'm finished I'll dunk you in a second time, and I won't be pulling you up for a whole lot longer. If I were you I'd take a deep breath before you consider not giving me an answer…"
Thorne's eyes widened at the threat.
"You wouldn't… you don't kill."
Batman clenched his teeth like an angry predator before a long and exhausting hunt.
"I'm sure that given the hundreds of lives you almost destroyed tonight, I can make a one-off exception."
All Thorne could do was whimper as Batman loomed over him.
"That's one… two…"
And that was when the grenade went in front of Batman's face and went off.
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A sudden flash and a high pitched ringing noise echoed in the small blast area, and Batman realised if this was a fragmentation or high-explosive grenade, he wouldn't be trying to analyse the situation or recover from his senses suddenly going all bizarre. If this was a gas grenade, he'd probably already be suffering from any effects it may have.
Somehow in the disorientation, Rupert Thorne managed to get back to his feet and stumble away from the caped crusader, who was still trying to stay balanced.
His efforts ultimately proved useless as something rammed into his stomach and he tripped over the thin air and landed face first with a groan, his vision still blurry, ears still ringing.
Then the voice began speaking.
"Doesn't the policy of private business mean anything to you?"
The voice was cold, and in his hazy state Batman struggled to try and identify it. He could tell it was slightly distorted, though whether this was through some kind of speakers or synthesiser was something he couldn't work out.
"Joker? Is that you?"
Struggling to stand, his brain went over the possibilities of who this could be. While this task was underway, his vision finally went back to normal, though Thorne was out of sight.
He couldn't properly process his next thought as a foot slammed into his chest. Batman tried to locate his attacker, but that was the thing that worried him.
Whoever was attacking him, they couldn't be seen.
"How dare you compare me to that insane sociopath?"
A dozen punches struck him, and Batman was barely able to try and shield himself from the attacks.
"Ventrix? What are you after this time? I don't know where your daughter is!"
The voice suddenly paused, and Batman had to cover his still ringing ears at the noise that followed.
"What? Of all the names you could have given me, you call me Ventrix? Who is that you're talking about, anyway?"
In the sudden burst of angry speech, Batman was finally able to hear the voice a little better properly as the ringing faded. The voice was male and slightly synthesized so its speaker sounded like something out of a British science fiction show, and the accent was unmistakably European, though from where he couldn't tell.
And then Batman saw part of the wooden surface go inwards, a single hole in it, probably made by the man's leg. Deciding to strike while the man might be at a disadvantage, he struck out-
-and hit the floor as he only made contact with the air around him.
"A little off-target, aren't we?"
The voice came from behind Batman, but before he could whirl around, a foot slammed into the back of his head and he fell forwards into the freezing black water.
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With the Caped Crusader out of the way for now, the figure lowered his camouflage and next to Thorne appeared a man clad in midnight-black armour with a dark blue visor on his helmet and a small emblem on his chest. Standing in a combat position that implied having been in a military force at some point, there was a silenced pistol on a holster to his right and a combat knife in a sheath on the left.
"Thanks for your help, but next time don't leave it so late. You may find there's nobody to pay you for your services next time."
"Sure, I'll jump in early and attack while he's completely alert. If I do that, he'll overpower me and your drug operation ends completely, not to mention you. Trust me, it's better to let him get to you and lower his guard."
Thorne sighed.
"Be that as it may, let's not debate tactics. We've got to get all this shipment down to the trucks and then the streets."
The armoured man shook his head. "That's suicide."
Thorne angrily raised a fist.
"Well, what am I supposed to do? Abandon it and leave it here for the police to intercept?"
Again, the man shook his head. "That's just as stupid."
The crime boss was sick of suggesting things. "Well, have you got any better ideas?"
The man took off his helmet, revealing the blue eyes, dark black hair and pale skin. He'd taken off his headgear partly so he didn't have to speak with the synthetic attachment, and partly so the boss could see his face.
"Simple. You and any uninjured men take all the drugs they can and get out of here. I'll make sure the rest of the drugs get hidden until it's safe to retrieve them." Outside the synthesiser, the man's Scottish accent was clear.
"And the injured?"
Shrugging, unconcerned. "They can get to safety their own way."
"But they're my men! I need them and the police will arrest them if they find them!"
He scoffed.
"Look at yourself. Almost drowned by the Batman and probably in a scene that would have convicted you if the police had arrived with you still there."
Thorne nodded, aware his planned distraction wouldn't last much longer. Getting the men Batman hadn't injured, he proceeded to gather the drugs he could and fled in his Sedan, the other few cars fleeing with whatever they could take. The armoured man proceeded to put his helmet back on and chuckled.
"We'll see how challenging you really are, Batman. Or rather, I will."
Chortling at his own joke, he reactivated his invisibility and began his extra work.
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A/N: I'm aware that may have gone on, but as it's the first I promise there will be improvement. If you chose to view this, my thanks indeed, but please review as I could do with some constructive help (flaming will be ignored).