Late Night Visitors

By now, most people in Gotham had heard the news about the Phizer break-in. Twenty-four news cycles and all that. Rumors that the Batman, or someone impersonating him, had interfered were everywhere.

The only person who didn't seem to care was Sal Valestra.

"I knew that Scarecrow fella was a punk," he told Chuckie. "All talk. Couldn't handle a real job."

"Why'd you let him take our boys?" Chuckie asked.

"To see if those boys could handle some manual labor. Everyone has to start at the bottom; you know that." He reclined back in his seat. "Tell me, Chuckie. Have you taught those boys what to say if the cops got a hold of them?"

"I want my lawyer? They better if they know what's good for them," Chuckie said, rubbing his prominent chin.

"Keep an eye on that," Valestra ordered, though it was not to Chuckie that he said that to.

It was to a much larger man with a huskier build that someone like Chuckie would kill for. With only a large mole on the left side of his face, slightly below the corner of his mouth, to distinguish him from any hired muscle, Buzz Bronski lounged on the sofa as if it belonged to him, feet settled on the glass top coffee table.

"Got it, Sal," Buzz replied.

"Make sure of it. It may have been some newbies, but we don't want some mess up leading the police to us. Any of them talk, you know what to do." Valestra really needed this to reach the larger man.

"Don't worry, Sal. I know what to do. It's what I'm good at," Buzz assured him.

Valestra nodded, beginning to feel a slight shortness of breath. He willed himself past it, not willing to show any weakness in front of his left and right hands. Preferably, this get together wouldn't last much longer and he could get himself some pure oxygen soon. Business had to come first, however.

"I need to speak with Chuckie boy for a bit. Would you step out, Buzz?" Valestra suggested, though suggestion was too weak a word here.

Buzz shrugged and swept his feet off the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch while straightening his tie. "Call me if you need me."

Valestra waited until Buzz had left. However, before the larger man closed the door behind him, the crime boss thought he mouthed the word "loser" at Chuckie. Chuckie didn't see it, mainly because Buzz did it behind his back, leaving only Valestra in the know.

It occurred to him that there was some rivalry going on here. Or at least it had increased recently. Before, Buzz and Chuckie could get along, but now that he was thinking about it, it appeared there was a schism happening. So long as it didn't threaten this enterprise, they could have it. Might want to have a talk with the two of them at some point to make sure they were all on the same page.

"No disrespect or anything, but did you have to call me that in front of Buzz?" If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Chuckie was groaning there. It was well known that Chuckie hated that nickname, Chuckie boy. It was a habit for the crime boss to let it out now and again, and he saw no reason to change that anytime soon.

"Sorry, Chuckie. Guess it slipped out," he chuckled, not sorry in the slightest. Now to business. "Tell me something, how are things going for tonight? Any problems with the arrangements?"

"Everything is going smooth, Sal. We'll be getting the shipment, no problem," Chuckie reported. "Since we managed to get that one union outfit, things have been easy."

"Make sure they stay that way," Valestra told him. "The hardware we're bringing in is not the kind we want the cops finding out about. Remember that this is going to be a big expansion of operations. Anything can go wrong, so make sure that they don't, do you understand me?"

What he wouldn't give to have a cigar right now. Whenever he was giving a warning to his subordinates, it was always an added flair to add some tobacco smoke into the mix. It was especially satisfying to blow it into another guy's face.

"I got it," Chuckie said, nearly repeated Buzz's words from earlier.

"Good. Now there's one last thing I want to discuss with you, Chuckie," Valestra said, though he was starting to feel his body urging him to wrap this up. Oxygen was beginning to become urgent. "Neither of us are stupid. I bet even Buzz knows. My health isn't what I want it to be, and I won't be able to be in charge for much longer. Maybe a year if I can push it."

Chuckie was now as sharp as a hawk. The man wasn't stupid, and he knew where this was going. Valestra could tell.

"If tonight goes off without a hitch, and our expansion into arms dealing suffer no setbacks, I'd be willing to hand things over to you once I enter retirement," Valestra concluded for the other man. "Between you and me, of you and Buzz, you're the smarter of the two. Buzz has the muscle and ruthlessness parts down, but brains have never been his strong point. Because he does know how to do business, I am still willing to turn this organization over to him should you find a way to mess this chance up."

"No way that's going to happen," Chuckie stated, bold. "My best guys are going to be all over this. There's no one else you can count on to get a job like this done."

"Continue to show initiative, and I'll be willing to say you have this in the bag," Valestra replied. "Focus on tonight. Get through it. Then come to me in the morning with good news."

"Count on it," Chuckie smirked.

The more things change, the more they stayed the same. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since Bruce had been at Wayne Enterprises and they had done some redecorating in his absence. The lobby was completely rearranged with a new front desk right where the old seating area had been and the seating area was on the opposite side of the room. At least the elevators were in the same place and Bruce hadn't had a hard time finding those.

As long as the upper floors were similar to what he remembered them to be, his office should be on the top floor. The elevator ride seemed smoother than he last remembered it to be, almost to the point where he hardly noticed it rising up. When a ding! sounded off, the doors opened to reveal a more familiar hallway, though the colors of the hall were brighter and warmer looking.

Stepping off, Bruce began heading towards his office, ignoring the doors to the boardroom out right. A wave of nausea welled up inside him at the sight of those doors and he wanted nothing to do with them, especially considering what had happened the last time he'd been in the room.

Thankfully, a door further up the hall opened and out stepped Lucius Fox. The man had definitely aged, a few more wrinkles showing on his face and his hairline beginning to recede. It didn't seem like anything affected his eyesight though, as he paused in the middle of the corridor at the sight of the dark-haired man. "Bruce?" he called out questioningly before his face lit up. "Well, welcome back, Young Man! I was beginning to think you'd never come back!"

Bruce grinned at the dark-skinned man. "I had thought about that," he said humorously, "but even traveling the world gets old after awhile."

Closing the distance between them, the two men met in the middle and shook hands. "Perhaps you might want to consider traveling again," Lucius joked. "The Alps must be a lot better than some boring old meeting room."

"Well, if you put it that way…"

"I kid, Bruce, I kid. Do you need a tour? I know a lot has changed since you've been gone."

"I believe I might." Bruce gave a cursory look around him then. "I notice you've redecorated."

Lucius shrugged his shoulders. "Someone in marketing thought it'd be better to create a more light-hearted environment for prospective clients, so they had the entire building repainted and moved everything around. I'm still trying to find the break room."

Bruce chuckled. "Makes me wonder what else has changed."

For a moment, it looked as if his fellow businessman was going to let that comment go by unanswered, but suddenly thought better of it. "We did move the boardroom. It's a floor below us now."

That caused the younger man to blink owlishly. "What about the one up here?"

"Well, considering what happened...it was decided that a different location was needed," Lucius said delicately. "The old boardroom is being used for storage now."

Bruce felt a pang at that, but he wasn't completely against the decision. He'd let it go for now. "Whatever you guys felt was right is alright by me." That caused the man in front of him to relax a bit, apparently holding himself tense through that exchange. Bruce really couldn't blame him. "So, when do I get to see the new boardroom?"

"Not today," Lucius assured him. "Nothing scheduled, though if I recall correctly, we do have a meeting with an accounting firm very soon. The name escapes me at the moment, but I'm sure it'll come to me."

"Then you can expect me to be there."

Lucius raised a hand and clasped Bruce's shoulder warmly. "That's great to hear. I best be going though; you can catch up with what Wayne Enterprises has been up to during your vacation."

This time the younger man sent a smirk at his older counterpart. "You didn't redecorate my office too, did you?"

"No, we left that the way it is. Everything should be the way you left it, though perhaps cleaner since housekeeping does like to keep dust off of everything."

Giving him a nod, Bruce then began to walk around Lucius, the other man dropping his arm from the dark-haired man's shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later then, Lucius."

"Sure thing." For a moment it seemed as if their conversation was over, but then out of nowhere Lucius suddenly called out, "Wait a minute, before I forget, there is the Rutherford Gala coming up in the next couple days. Wayne Enterprises has of course received an invite and I thought it might make for a good party for you to attend."

"Well, you know I never miss a good party," Bruce jested, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Great. Well, I'll see you later."

And with that, the conversation was over. Turning away, Bruce began making his way to his office, mentally factoring in the gala into his schedule. He did need a big coming out party for his return and this would definitely provide him the opportunity. It might take some convincing for Zatanna to attend with him considering the last one they went to. Perhaps if he left out what sort of party it was, she'd be more likely to agree.

The docks were active tonight. A freighter had just docked at Pier 19, a couple cranes going to work in unloading pallets of crates from the ship's deck. All around, workers scurried about, ensuring the cargo was unloaded.

There was just a few problems with that, though. One, the freighter arrived well after normal work hours, so the lights that lit up the pier was like raising a giant flag up, claiming that something was going down. Two, the ship's crew were mainly comprised of Russians, who weren't known for using Gotham as a port. They preferred Metropolis and New York in comparison to Gotham, so there was little in actual trade. And finally three, there were men on the docks dressed more for some corporate board meeting than they were a shipping arrival.

Crouching on top of the pier's warehouse, Huntress gazed at the scene. Her dark hair and purple cape were blown about by the wind, thankfully coming from behind her. This caused her cape to be pressed against her back, though its edges rippled from the breeze. Her hair was another matter as it battered her cheeks and flipped around in front of her face. It was times like these she wished she cut her hair like Katana's.

Speaking of which, that Japanese woman had to be somewhere on the ship by now. That was her job after all, and who better to take on a bunch of unknown men than the chick with the samurai sword?

Of course, that wasn't the only person with Huntress. They were a triplet with her, Katana, and the blonde Black Canary. Blondie was supposed to be working her way to the cargo that was currently being set down towards the north side of the pier, right where they had predicted it.

Now that she thought about it, the dark-haired vigilante, the most experienced member of their team, was sitting on lookout. Something was backwards with that planning, the woman thought grudgingly. She should've been the one scouting out the cargo, not the rookie chick in fishnets and a leather jacket.

A static sound went off in her ear, causing Huntress to press a hand up to it. "This is Katana; I'm in position," a soft voice said.

"Roger that," Huntress replied into her bluetooth earpiece. These were basically small radios that allowed them to contact each other during their missions, a wise investment the purple vigilante felt. "How about you, BC?"

There was a pause before a louder voice replied, "Almost there. Just...give me a minute."

"Did your fishnets give you a cramp?" Huntress responded snarkily. "You're holding us up, Blondie."

"Don't get your cape in a night, H. I've had to knock out a couple guards and whoa!" There was a brief silence as Huntress jerked her head to look towards the north side of the dock. "Okay, they're bringing in a forklift. Looks like they'll be moving the cargo soon."

From where she sat, Huntress could pick out the forklift Black Canary nearly ran into. The twin forks were being lowered to the ground, just in time to insert them into grooves in the pallet. Intently, the purple vigilante watched as the forklift raised up the pallet of crates and began backing the way it came, turning to a side before stopping and shifting into the drive gear. Driving forward now, it made a turn and continued going the way it originally was going in reverse. Creeping across the warehouse roof, the dark-haired woman followed it to set of trucks, where it slid the pallet inside.

Well, if this wasn't convenient.

Shooting her eyes around, she noticed several men milling around the trucks, a couple of which were waiting for the forklift to move away so they could climb into the truck. Observing them for a bit, Huntress then raised a hand to her utility belt, grabbing a small crossbow and holding it out in front of her. This was definitely smaller than her usual crossbow, but she only used it for a specific task. The small bolt on the weapon was coated in a powerful sedative and would knock out anyone she shot. Aiming at a man just below her, Huntress squeezed the trigger and fired the arrow, smirking in satisfaction when the bolt hit her mark on the back of his shoulder and the man immediately shot a hand up to it. By the time he touched the arrow's shaft, he dropped into a heap on the ground.

Instantly, Huntress shot a hand back to her belt, specifically to a pouch with more of those sedative-dipped arrows and pulled one out, reloading her crossbow with practiced ease. Ready, she took aim at a thug approaching her first target and fired, hitting this one in the side of his neck. He too dropped like a sack of beans just as he had jerked a hand up to touch her bolt. Another reload. Looked as if she didn't have another clear shot.

Absently, the purple vigilante wondered if she should inform the other two of her movement, but thought better of it They were probably busy with their own assignments.

Setting down her crossbow, Huntress pulled out a long cable and tied it around a small metal smoke stack next to her. Making sure the knot was good, she then picked up her crossbow and tossed the cable over the edge of the building, seeing it touch down on top of a few stacked crates lining the wall of the warehouse. A quick glance around told her no one was looking towards her location, so she took advantage of it to climb down the rope, sliding down it as quickly as she could until she felt her feet touch down on the crates.

Jumping off the crate stack as quietly as she could, Huntress began making her way to the side of one of the trucks, doing her best to remain hidden behind it. Looking around for any goons, she then quickly went to the driver's door, thankful for the rolled down window. Seeing an arm hanging out, the fingers tapping the truck's door to some random beat, the vigilante reached up to the handle and slowly pulled it towards her, watching it carefully to see when it became unlatched.

The moment it did, Huntress whipped the door open, surprising the driver as he let out a confused, "Wha?" Grabbing his extended arm, Huntress jerked him out of the truck, the man crashing roughly down on the ground. Pointing her crossbow into the truck's cab, she was pleased to see there wasn't a passenger inside and turned the weapon on the fallen driver, shooting him in the back. Silently closing the door, she then moved around the front of the truck, looking for her next victim.

The sudden appearance of another thug sent a jolt of adrenaline through the vigilante. Before the man could make a sound though, she quickly shot him in the neck with a bolt and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him towards her as she lowered him to the ground softly. Jerking her head this way and that, Huntress made sure she was alone before making her next move. Instead of weaving her way around the trucks though, she climbed up the grill of the truck she stood in front of, creeping up onto the roof.

Now that she had a better view of her surroundings, Huntress immediately spotted three more thugs, thankfully by the back of the truck the forklift had placed the crate in. They were chatting with each other, not paying any mind to their surroundings. The only thing that would've made this better is if they weren't facing each other so she could pick them off one at a time with her crossbow.

Looked as if she'd have to improvise. Well, perhaps improvise was the wrong word for what she was about to do. She'd seen Batman do the same move without difficulty back when he was alive. It had taken her days on end of practice to perfect it herself and she was feeling pretty confident about her chances pulling it off.

Reloading her crossbow, the purple vigilante also withdrew a couple of H-shaped shuriken. Since she was a rightie, Huntress changed hands with her weapons, holding the crossbow in her left and the shuriken in her right. Taking her time, Huntress aimed at the nearest thug and when she felt ready she pulled the trigger. Her arrow hit the man in the back, immediately causing him to buckle and causing his friends to jerk back in surprise.

Instantly, Huntress whipped out her right hand and sent the projectiles flying. She watched proudly as they sliced through the air, spinning end around end until they made contact with their targets, hitting the two standing men right on their foreheads. Just as she hoped, they both dropped to the ground unconscious, ugly bruises appearing on their heads.

Smirking, Huntress holstered her small crossbow and lept off the truck, landing next to the three fallen men. Glancing around, she then crept to the back of the truck and boarded it, quickly spotting the crate. Seeing a crowbar hanging from the wall, the purple vigilante snatched it up and carried it to the crate, sticking an end between the lid and box and pulling down. There was sharp crack as part of the lid snapped, but it didn't stop the box from being pried open, long nails being revealed in the gap between the lid and box. Going to the other side, she did the same thing, tossing the crowbar to a side when she was done and shoving the lid up.

It wasn't all that hard to recognize the familiar sight of AK-47s, what with their prevalence in movies and video games. Lined up in row after row, she saw the weapons neatly arranged to fit as many of them as possible into the crate. Shooting a hand up to her ear, she activated her bluetooth earpiece. "Ladies, we're dealing with an arms shipment."

Immediately, Black Canary replied, "How do you know...you left your post again, didn't you?"

"Which doesn't matter," Huntress snapped back. "These guys are trying to sneak in guns. We're done pussyfooting around and now is the time for action. Katana, do your thing, girl. BC, it's time you and I started kicking some tail."

Of course, right then two men carrying glocks appeared at the back of the truck, aiming the guns right at the purple vigilante. "That's enough out of you, bitch," one of them said. "Eat lead!"

Eyes wide open, Huntress ducked behind the wooden box just as a torrent of bullets was fired, pelting the truck walls and crate. Splinters of wood and sparks flew through the air, washing over the vigilante as she cringed from the barrage. Well, stealth was definitely not an option anymore.

Reaching to her belt, she unhooked her usual crossbow and held it at ready, waiting for the storm of bullets to stop. The moment that time came, she leaned out from her covered and shot the larger arrow, hitting the man on the right in his shoulder and causing him to scream from pain. This caused his friend to hesitant as he twisted around to watch the other man fall to the ground and writhe.

Instantly, Huntress was on the move, putting her crossbow back in its place and pulling out a rod. Flicking a switch, both ends extended out, forming her bo staff. Holding it to a side, Huntress charged at the standing goon and at the last second swung her staff, slamming it into the man's face.

The blow knocked the man off his feet, just as Huntress lept off the back of the truck, holding her staff over her head. Swinging it down, she rammed an end right into the falling thug's chest in midair, forcing him down onto the ground, the purple vigilante landing with crouched on top of his stomach.

The man shot his head up, gasping for air that had been forced out of his lungs. Releasing her back hand from her bo staff, Huntress balled it into a fist and swung it down, punching the goon in the face and cracking the back of his skull against the pavement. There, that should have knocked him out for good. Turning her head to see the man she shot with a bolt, she saw him still crying out, wiggling on the ground pitifully. Gripping her staff with both hands, she dropped it down until it was horizontal to her before shooting an end to the goon, ramming it into the side of his face and effectively shutting him up.

Looking up, Huntress caught sight of a lot of activity on the pier and ship. On the freighter, she could make out burst of light and explosions from gunfire, which was just as quickly snuffed out. Men were rushing about, some of them heading for her location.

Grinning ferally, the purple vigilante shot off of the goon she was crouched on, rushing towards the approaching men. As she neared them, she let out a warcry as she launched herself into the fray. Bo staff swinging through the air, she slammed it into the face of her first victim, forcing him to a side, spinning her body through the air as she lashed out with a leg, the heel of her foot flying into the gut of another thug.

As her cape fanned out behind her, Huntress completed her spin, landing another strike of her staff to a side of the winded thug's head and knocking him out. Seeing her first target recovering from her first hit, the purple vigilante launched herself at him, back swinging her staff slamming it onto the other side of his head, causing it to snap to the other side.

Because of this, Huntress saw another thug rushing towards her from behind the man she was beating, a ridiculously large wrench in his hands as he held it back and ready to swing it. Ducking to a side, the dark-haired woman made sure to keep the goon in front of her between her and the new opponent; thankfully the guy didn't turn out to be so smart as he swung his wrench, hitting his own friend in the back and causing him to collapse with a cry of pain.

Dropping her left hand down, the vigilante pulled out a H-shaped shuriken and immediately threw it, watching the projectile hit the man in the head. Head snapping back, the wrench-wielding man dropped his weapon and fell backwards, landing hard on his back.

Not bad for a left-handed throw.

Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to revel in her satisfaction as she caught sight of a couple more thugs, these ones carrying their guns. Instantly, Huntress ran towards a stack of barrels, taking cover behind them just as gunfire rang out.

Gritting her teeth, Huntress crouched behind her cover as sparks were tossed into the air from bullets ricocheting off the metal barrels. However, a few actually punctured the drums and a dark, viscous liquid began to pour out, much to her horror.

Goddamn it, oil.

Spotting a stack of crates, the purple vigilante launched herself towards them, keeping low as bullets flew over her head. Diving behind the wooden barriers, Huntress did her best to keep out of sight before an explosion rang out, causing the ground beneath her to shake violently. Bracing herself, she rode through the tremor, staying where she was as she listened for approaching footsteps. If these guys were throwing grenades at her, she wanted to make sure she took away the safety of distance between her and them to make sure they held back trying to blow her up.

When she didn't hear anything after awhile, she peeked her purple masked face around the wooden crates and saw the oil drums she had been previously hiding behind burning brightly, a cloud of dark billowing up into the air. There were a few men sprawled out unconscious as if they had been thrown through the air. Perhaps they had considering the explosion.

Her guess, the idiots shooting at her got too close to the oil drums and accidentally detonated them. There was a reason for those flammable warnings, people.

Cautiously, Huntress crept out and around her cover, looking for more people to beat the shit out of. Unfortunately, a beep went off on her bluetooth earpiece and Black Canary's voice spoke. "Guys, cover your ears."

That caused the purple vigilante to widen her eyes before dropping down to her knees, clasping her hands over her ears as her bo staff clattered on the ground next to her. Despite these precautions, a shrill shriek pierced into her skull, causing Huntress to grit her teeth as she weathered through the pain.

In front of her, she saw what could be best described as a distortion of air racing from one side of her vision to the other. The random piles of crates and barrels were thrown into the air as well as pieces of the pier being ripped up and thrown away. Faintly she could make out the sight of men flying off their feet, each of them holding their heads in agony.

And then, just as sudden as it started, it stopped. Everything that had been thrown into the air came falling to the ground, landing roughly on ground. Staying where she was, Huntress watched the fallout for a moment before she finally dropped her hands from her ears. Picking up her staff, she stood up on her feet and began walking to the origin point of the blast.

It wasn't long before she ran into Black Canary. Her long blonde hair stood out in contrast to the black jacket and leotard she wore, making her hair stand out more than it already did. She currently had her hands on her hips, surveying the scene of destruction she'd caused.

The moment the two women were in view of each other, their blue eyes locked on the other. "You had to break rank, didn't you," the blonde accused, not sounding the least bit happy.

"I'm not the one that took forever finding out what was in the crates," Huntress shot back, flicking the switch on her bo staff and shorting it into its base.

"I was trying to be covert and it was working until you sprung the entire pier into action."

"Hey, I was covert too, up until those two guys trapped me in the truck," the dark-haired woman responded.

"Not good enough."

Huntress just rolled her eyes. This was normal for them with Black Canary being a worry wort and her being a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of girl. Their styles definitely clashed at times, but it wasn't anything personal. Besides, Huntress would rather not have to go up against that scream of BC's. The pier was a good enough example as any why she didn't want to be.

"Everything is okay, we stopped the operation," the dark-haired woman said, seeing Black Canary roll her eyes. "We send in an anonymous tip when Katana shows—"

Speak of the Devil and he shall come-or in this case, she. A soft thud alerted Huntress to someone else arriving, causing her to turn her head and see the third member of their little group. Whereas she and Black Canary wore dark colors, Katana didn't. Instead she wore a red skintight suit with a yellow shoulder guard. She sat crouched on top of a stack of crates, her Japanese sword shining in the moonlight.

"Oh, there you are," Huntress greeted her. "You get the guys on the ship?"

"Yes," the woman said softly before leaping off the crates and landing next to them. Her short black hair settled around her head as a yellow cloth fell around her left leg as she stood next to them, tied around her waist at her right hip. "All have been vanquished."

"Then we can get out of here. Put the call in, BC."

Again, Black Canary rolled her eyes. "Aye, aye, captain."

Chuckie Sol was not happy.

"What do you mean somebody screwed it up? Who? Women?!"

He was having trouble understanding this. Really, he was. Because none of it made any Goddamn sense.

He had told Salvatore Valestra himself that he had his best guys on this thing, and there was absolutely nothing that could go wrong here. "Count on it." Those were his words to the most powerful man in Gotham, words he had said only just this morning no less. Now it was past midnight and he was getting the news he least expected to hear.

As he stood on his balcony in only a bathrobe, getting some fresh Gotham air, he tightened his grip on his phone as his man continued to try and explain to him what had gone wrong.

"Let me get this straight. Three women, in masks and costumes, came out of nowhere, beat the crap out of you...and there was nothing you could do about it. Do you know how fucking stupid that sounds?!"

Yes, he was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

"You what? You...thought that one of them was Batman? But you told me they were women! A crossbow? What?"

The longer he was confused, the more angry he became. This was supposed to be simple, and not like the ridiculous heist at Phizer! This wasn't chemicals, just guns! How hard was it to move something in a bunch of crates from one place to another? Did he have to hold somebody's hand or something?

Leaning his torso on the chest high balcony railing, he rested his elbows on the railing and pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not currently hold the phone.

"Okay. I want you to listen, and I want you to listen real good." He started out calm, but that was going to be changing real soon. "I want you to find a tombstone. I don't care what's on it. I don't care whose name is on it. Because first thing in the morning, somebody is going to be using it. Take a wild fucking guess who it's going to be?" His voice continued to rise with each word he spoke until he was nearly yelling. "YOU, you stupid, fucking piece of shit! You are fucking dead! You hear me? DEAD!"

He hung up without listening to anything else. There was no need.

Pushing away from the railing, he stomped back into his apartment. With his free hand, he reached out to the sliding, glass door, giving it a tug as he headed towards the only thing that could calm him down right now.

His liquor.

Tossing the phone onto the couch, he marched up to the small bar and helped himself to some cognac. Pouring himself a glass, he drank the whole thing in one go, not bothering to come up for air. Damn, that burned! He needed more.

A second glass went down the hatch, and only after that did he pour one last glass. He was going to do this one slow, he decided as he sealed the cognac. Back to the couch, he plopped down on it,, legs spread as he sunk into the cushions. Beside him was a lampstand, a lamp providing the only light in the room.

This was a Goddamn nightmare. Never in a million years could he…

He took a big sip to try and calm himself down some more. Not really working, but it was better than nothing.

This was it for him, wasn't it? Sal would know about this already. If he didn't, he was going to find out soon. Any chance of him ever taking over after the old man retired was practically zero. Nil. Nada. Not even a snowball's chance in Hell.

Buzz was going to get it now, he could feel it. He also felt that the brute was going to run it all into the ground. Sal was right; Buzz didn't have the brains like he did. The project for the Shady Lady, anything else he was working on, it might all go into the toilet now.

If only there was a way to fix this. Or at the very least turn it around. He hadn't been Sal's underling for so many years to be shoved aside for Buzz of all people. He didn't want to be known as "Chuckie boy" for the rest of his Goddamn life.

The sound of wind distracted him from his thoughts. Glancing toward the balcony, he saw that the sliding door was still open, the curtain that normally blocked it from sight settling down. Hadn't he closed that thing? Last he remembered, he only tugged on it...

Eh, probably didn't pull it hard enough. It had happened before.

Though, from what he heard, any open glass doors or windows typically meant that there was a bat infestation. That had been the talk he had heard from some guys from other outfits. As if some lunatic in a cape could have gotten passed him without him hearing it.

Standing up. he made his way to close the damn door. Reaching out to grab the door handle, he paused as something moved in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he found what looked like some kind of fog or mist moving towards him. Looking back out into Gotham, he saw nothing that looked like a cloud or fog out there.

Lowering his hand, he turned fully towards the mist, his eyes following it towards a section of his living room that was covered in darkness. The light from the lamp didn't even reach over there. He was going to need to find the lightswitch, get some more light in here to see what was going on in here.

Before he could, something moved in that darkness, making Chuckie pause. What was that?

That looked like a leg...and that an arm...was someone else in here? If it was a person, they were moving towards him, slowly coming into the light.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stepping towards his couch slowly. He needed to get to the lampstand; he had a gun stashed in its single drawer, just in case. Why'd it have to be so far now of all times?

As the figure emerged, Chuckie immediately noticed the black-clad left arm, his thoughts going back to the thought about bat infestations. Was this...the Batman?

A gray-colored cape covered the figure's shoulders and chest, which stuck out to Chuckie. From what he heard, the Batman had a black cape. What was…?

The figure's face came into view, and Chuckie's blood froze. A gray hood covered the person's head, showing only a face that almost looked like a skull with narrowed, white slits for eyes.

"Chuckie Sol," a deep, foreboding voice spoke. It jerked Chuckie out of his fear-induced paralysis. Oh Christ, whoever that was was still moving! And getting closer! He stumbled away, trying to get to the lampstand as soon as he could.

He was frozen once more as that voice spoke again.

"Your angel of death awaits."

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, giving Chuckie what he needed to dash the few remaining feet to the lampstand. Nearly pulling the drawer out, he snatched up the revolver hidden within. He didn't need to check to see if it was loaded; it was always full of bullets in case someone needed to be shot.

With safety within his grasp, he spun back around to face the nightmarish person-

There was a slicing sound and Chuckie fell back with a cry, no longer holding his gun. Instead, he was holding his injured right hand, blood beginning to seep from a long cut. His eyes trained themselves on his revolver, which was now in two pieces on the floor. Up his sight went to the masked person who was now on the other side of the room.

How'd he get over them without him seeing?!

"W-wha...what do you want?" he stuttered as he began to back away.

The person raised their right arm, pointing a metal stump that was equipped with one large, scythe-shaped blade on top, and a second, smaller, curved blade on the bottom. "I want you, Chuckie boy."

How'd he know that name?

"Wait, we can work this out!" he protested, continuing to back away. The skull-faced intruder pressed forward after him. "I'll give you anything you want! You name it! Whatever it is, you can have it!"

There was no answer from the nightmare, only silent pursuit. Chuckie just kept backing away, everything becoming colder—whoa!

He almost lost his balance there for a second. Without realizing, he had backed himself out onto the balcony! Shit! He was cornered! He took his eyes off the masked man, his sight taking in just how far up he was. Below was the entrance to the building, a glass pyramid sitting atop of four-pillared structure that allow people to park for a few minutes when it was raining.

And he was right above it. On the twelfth story.

He snapped back to his intruder, but the only thing he saw was a cloth-like boot kick him in the chest and over the railing.

Air buffeted around him as he fell, a scream tearing itself out of his throat. He threw his arms about, kicking his legs, as if somehow that would help him save himself. The next thing he felt was his body crashing through a pane of glass, then a second, until finally his fall stopped against a paved road.

Where everything stopped.

Watching from the balcony, the masked figure observed its handiwork before retreating back into the apartment. A misty fog surrounded it, blocking it from view to all.

The masked figure was completely out of sight when a nearby apartment dweller peeked out, checking out what all the screaming was about. "Was that the Batman?"

Author's Note: Anybody care to guess just who showed up in that last scene? If any of you guys recognized that dialogue, then you should know who it is. If not, well, the image for this story should also give it away.