A/N: I planned on making this into a monthly series but Work and a Rewrite on this chapter caused some delays. Apologies for that on my part. But that just gives you a better story that is sure to entertain.

Am glad that many of you liked how I've set up Arbitrator Nidarr. More of him will be told in this segment of the story and will help with understanding him more.

Yami-Guy: Yes. The Batman shot down the Arbitrator and the Heretic's ship but not before he himself was shot down by the Arbitrator before crashing. (See Ch 2)

Slaggedfire & ManwithaPlan113: Could be, could not. Most people would already be hostile if they're put in an uncomfortable position of being with a crazed killer in the back of a police van. Cris's anger could pass off as legitimate.

solarblaster: Nabu wouldn't know about the Emperor's existence in the Warp since he isn't that type of God yet in this time period.

Axcel: Reviews are much appreciated. But please, stories like these have many unrealistic scenarios that are made to be entertaining and dramatic. Cut a little bit of slack in the creative freedom, if you would kindly. I actually had trouble figuring out what weapon I wanted for the Arbitrator so I kind of made the mistake about the Clip/Magazine thing. Thanks for pointing that out.


The Journal

His Holiness, 190 993 M41. The day I have long awaited will alas come to be. On the morrow, I shall advance to be a full member of the Adeptus Arbites. A Trooper. A Ceremony will take place for the 20 of us. 20 out of hundreds deemed worthy and capable to be instruments of the Emperor's Judgement. Whispers about the possible attendees have been made in the silver halls. Rumors abound to the appearance of the Judge or even by a High Marshall. Optimistic views. Ones would be very excited for no doubt. Let them be humbled by such gatherings and be awed by its splendor because none of it truly matters to me. I care only for the honor and privilege this entails for me. A step closer to becoming an Arbitrator, and if the Emperor be willing, rise even higher so that I may uphold his Laws and be a cornerstone of Order in His Imperium. All these are second however only to my desire to serve the Law and His Holy Emperor.

By all means, I can't wait to get out of here. Arduous years spent in the Progenium will now pay me back in full as I now had the privilege of stepping foot outside the and into the Imperium at large. A call for freedom if you will. I tend to feel uncomfortable being in such enclosed spaces. Even more so to the prejudiced eyes of the Drill Abbots. For honesty's sake, I must say that I cannot wait for all of this to be behind me but not of their wisdom of which would prove fruitful for me out there.

On the morrow, I shall become Adeptus Arbites. I weep at the realization. I weep even as I write these words. May my tears on this page stand testament to my devotion to the tasks on hand. I shall be the ever vigilant Sentinel. A Beacon of Order. The Iron Hand His Emperor's Justice. An upholder of His Holy Will. The voice for His Words.

I shall face the challenges of this Glorious Imperium without fear because the Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Compared to the chaos engulfing Gotham up on the surface, the serenity expected in the city's underground tunnels was something unheard of.

For Noose, it all seemed to look like an entirely different world. Fresh from the page of the storybooks he stole and partly collected as a kid. He found himself journeying through a forgotten world. A labyrinth of infinite winding paths. An ancient place as old as the first stone that laid the foundation of the very city above their heads. A place of eternal night that was more than a match to Gotham's grim aura of brooding skylines and abandoned bright alleys. A place only shadows lie. Untouched by time where you'd mistake a minute traversing in the dark for an hour.

Noose shut his flashlight off and allowed the darkness consume him. He took a brief moment to savor the sensation of serene blindness. Allowing his other five senses took hold of him immediately to a new type of euphoria and allowed his imagination go wild.

He took the mossy damp steps for the marshlands of a swamp. His very whispers echoed back to him en masse like a gathering crowd. The cold air he breathed were imagined as smoke out from a puff. The deafening silence broken only by the maddening drips from the rusted pipes. The maddening serenity broken the moment someone patted him in the back and broke the spell.

"Something wrong, Kid?" One of his five companions asked. All of whom were armed with flashlights, guns, and other tools for a Hired Gun's trade.

"Nope. No. Nothing at all, Cap'n Graves." Noose squinted at the blinding sight of the light. The suddenness of the circumstance had him grab hold of his own gun and squeezed the trigger by accident. Thankfully the safety for the thing was on.

"You sure? Didn't see anything, did you?" Graves pressed. His own gun was raised at the ready. "The stories they have about this place isn't all fairies and Chupacabras, kid."

"Like I said. It's nothing." Noose promptly replied as he turned his own flashlight on. "Not far now, sir. We're actually almost there."

"I do hope so for your sake." Another man said at the tap of his cane.

The light revealed the oddest looking man of their little party. The man stood tall with a black birch cane, a bowler hat on his crown, and a 3-piece striped suit with shiny brown leather shoes. The most notable feature that the man has were the pair of thick round eye-glasses that he wore that has marks reminiscent of clock hands.

The man was someone they all have met just a few hours ago. A man that they only trusted because of his reputation. The man was their employer. The man was the Clock King.

"I would prefer not to be late for this particular venture." The Clock King approached Noose. "We still have lots to do and time is not on our side as of the moment Mr. Souci."

"Yes sir, Clock King, sir." Noose tipped his cap to him and pointed to one of the tunnels in front of them. "One turn through there and were there."

"Do you swear?" the Clock King pressed.

"Every fucking day." Said as he raced off to a turn inside one of the tunnels. "Over here, guys! Cmon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His Holiness, 191 993 M41. The Ceremony, as expected, was a simple affair. Barely lasted an hour as a matter a fact. Her Honorable Judge Orrin stood in front of us with the Proctors and Arbitrators flanking the twelve of us. I would have mistaken it for a Hearing. I still shudder at the thought even as I write. Before we can be given our badge, a final test was presented. In front of us Cadets were a twelve of the Condemned kneeling in front of us. One for each of us. No black bags on their heads so we will all bear witness to their last moments. A legitimate test.

We never knew their names nor their crimes. None of the others brought it up. It will be the task we shall undertake from then on. The final door. All that mattered to me was that they were guilty and by showing the Arbites my commitment to their cause, I would have fulfilled my oaths and forthwith as Guardians of the Law.

Pathetic writhing creatures. Soiling the Silver Court with their filth in the presence of her Honorable and the retinue of Arbites. Scared out of their wits, no doubt. Many cower under the shadow of our Academia of Law but I can only imagine the terror filling their thoughts when they find themselves in the presence of the Arbites to face judgement for their crime. I say, let us be the last things they see before crossing the Warp. Let our terror be known to the daemons they lodge with in their hellish pits. Let the Warp fear the might of the Imperium before the coming of the Emperor.

What I got was a young woman. Early 20's 5'6 approx. 110lbs approx. Short red of hair. Beneath the grime and filth, I imagine a comely face. The pretty green eyes were unblemished despite her sunken sockets. I might even consider her a pretty thing. Seduced many a man I reckon. Slaaneshi slut's charms are just as useless as her cries for mercy on me. I find myself honored to perform her sentence spare the Imperium from her proclivities.

My First Sentencing was quite a scene. Hearing it all as it was spoken by 20 voices as one. The same can be said when it came to our oath.

"To serve the Emperor. To Protect His Domains. To Judge and stand guard over his subjects. To carry the Emperor's Law to all worlds under His blessed protection. To pursue and punish those who trespass against His Word.

The Emperor Protects. "

Not one word added nor forgotten. Down to the last word. Not a syllable out of place as it echoed throughout the Court. Sounds as ominous as it was intended. The same could be said for the gunfire. Blasted about like clockwork without a hint of delay or hesitation. Must have been an impressive sight. Judge 'Stonewall' Orrin honored us by nodding to us for our deed. A rare occurrence. The other Arbites, our Proctors, provided us with our Badges. Shining gold. Untouched by no other hand before ours. Our helms were then given. These were our new faces out there in the unforgivable Universe. Our Shield against corruption. Our Avatar of the Law.

It is a day worthy of note. Another note was that the woman was also my first kill. Rather anticlimactic and not as dramatic as what they present in the Holo-Picts and Vids. They say that, "One never forgets their first." But it felt so insignificant to me that I predict that I wouldn't recall much of it later on. Useless gak never last long in my noggin. I never felt anything when I pulled the trigger save for the recoil. I had no regrets for the life I had stolen from the Emperor. I had no pleasure in the satisfaction of the immense power bestowed upon me by the Law. What I had was the pride at the confirmation that my beliefs in myself, my Will, and my Faith in the Emperor made real. Assured that I had what it takes to uphold Justice in his name from now on and beyond.

The Emperor Protects and henceforth, so shall I.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

True to his word, it didn't take long for the boy to bring them to a large opening. A place were the innumerable subway tunnels interconnected in one spot. The Crossroads.

"Fortune smiles on us, gentlemen." The Clock king approached the center of the chamber. "The police have their hands full from the riots occurring not far above our very heads. And to avoid it from spreading to other parts of the city, the government has decided to close down the subway system. Leaving us with a very wide window to do as we please without any interference."

"We will set our trap here." The Clock King announced as he tapped the ancient stones with his cane and flipped out his gold pocket watch. "Let's hop-two. We have approximately 16 minutes and 33 seconds as of now. Let us not waste our window."

"You heard the guy, let's move it!" Graves called out and scattered the team.

Graves took out a bundle of road flares and threw one on every corner of the area. All of it looked like he was setting up a pagan ritual with all that red light and smoke spilling from the sticks. As pretty as it looked and as helpful in shedding light on their work. It also helped masking the stink of the sewers that were gurgling underneath them.

"Not all of us here are boys, you know." Plastique pointed out to the Clock King testily as she walked past him.

The woman then shot a grappling hook to the ceiling and pulled her up to the pipelines. Another mercenary, Noose, did the same and joined her. The two started secured their rappels on the rafters for easier movement.

"Perhaps if you'd start acting like one," Clock King called out to her for all to hear. "I might just consider you as one."

The other mercenaries laughed aloud in response. Noose barked out the loudest laugh but a quick elbow from Plastique cut that short. The woman spat a fat one at the Clock King's general direction before going back to work. Swinging about the pipelines like a trained monkey.

The other two men, Meat and Grasse, set up shop next to the Northern and North Eastern tunnels where they unzipped and set up their gear. Someone could have mistaken the two for twins based on how they assembled their guns so meticulously down to the last screw. In less than a minute, they managed to complete a Compact Carbine combat rifle with Meat finishing first by 2 seconds.

"9 minute and 20 seconds, people." The Clock King said. "We seem to be ahead of schedule by 40 seconds. I am impressed, Graves."

"We all aim to please after all, sir." Graves proudly stated. "Else we'd fall short from being called the best."

The man looked at the Clock King longingly. Expecting some form of response or praise from him. Using him as most people in this professionalism ought to do. With a reputation as a mastermind in the criminal underworld with so much red written in his name, this little man might as well have been in the presence of a god. It disgusted him.

So the Clock King said nothing to the sniveling wart. Graves soon got the picture and shriveled back. Betraying his earlier bravado. Ironically, this earned him some form of praise from the Clock King. Little of it for sure, but praise nonetheless. This one seemed smarter than he looked.

"Grasse and Meat are in position," Graves reported in a more serious tone. "Noose, is just about done with the last couple of charges while Plastique is doing the finishing touches on the detonator, and Sid is ready with the dump truck. Roost on lookout also said that the target is in the 3rd of Roosevelt."

"Very good, Captain. Very good. All is going right on schedule." The Clock King replied passively before turning to the blinking lights of the C4 being set up above them. "Though I worry that the others in your team will get in the way of that. It is very noticeable that they are on edge and you know how much I hate being late."

"The other guys just don't like someone looking over their shoulders. They like doing things their own way, y'know?" Graves explained. "They may have their complaints but I sure as hell don't. Cash doesn't always pop out of the blue just about anywhere in our line of work. I take what we can when there is. I could also use a good distraction from all the shit's that's been going on today."

"Indeed." The Clock King simply nodded. "For a man who expects every possibility on everything in his day to day life, I was given the dissatisfaction of witnessing what that thing blotting out the sky has wrought."

"Y'know, they call it the Purple Star Incident, right now."

"Do they?" The Clock King raised an eyebrow then shook his head. "Well whatever they choose to call it is none of my concern. It's the consequences that troubles me."

"And that's what?" Graves curiously asked.

"Man has always feared what it couldn't understand. That is why they put their stock in gods and superstition to help them sleep better at night as they have done throughout history. Superstition soon became tradition, tradition turned into culture, and culture turned into Order. In Order, there is a place for everything and that makes everything in its place."

"And makes everything else very predictable." Graves surmised.

"As a matter of speaking, Captain. Yes." The Clock King chuckled. "Despite all that we have accomplished, we are still animals if one such pillar is exploited. We are all still primitive to our most basic desires. And that Star-whatever-you-called-it was the ticket that gave people the pass to the Land of Do What You Want and the Land of Take as You Please."

"Total Anarchy, amirite?" Graves nodded.

The Clock King turned to Graves with a raised eyebrow. A show of surprise. He wasn't expecting his colleague to understand the metaphor so easily.

"What?" Graves shrugged. "I read Alan Moore."

"Indeed." Clock King sighed. The Captain had a point but the point wasn't on the same point of view to what he had in mind. "Regardless. I disdain chaos and disorder. It makes people unpredictable. Hard to understand. To manage."

"I'm no stranger to what a man can if given enough reason to. I've had my fair share of getting the front row seat of those during my Army days."

"Neither am I. Suffice to say that it is events like this that makes my job of reading and predicting them a whole lot more challenging if not impossible because of the infinite possibilities it ensues. Even now, I find myself pondering on these changes. Though a little bit less than I was after the initial part of the mess. I didn't even notice my phone ringing for this particular undertaking a 53 seconds after."

"So, you weren't the one who hired us?" Graves asked in disbelief.

The Clock King bit his cheek at this. The man WAS smarter than what he had taken credit of him for and now he has slipped and fallen into a trap. How Graves wanted to use this information was irrelevant and didn't know that the very mention of more would put them both in dangerous territory. Anonymity between criminals was an important aspect in their line of work since trust is an alien concept for them. The less that's known between the two, the better. Saves the trouble of fucking the other one over when one got captured. An inevitable consequence due to how many capes soared above all of them.

"I believe it is best if we get back to work, Mr. Graves." The Clock King excused himself. "We are beginning to dally with time we cannot afford. We shall speak more of it soon."

"Roger that, sir."

This seemed to satisfy the man. For now. But as of that moment, the Clock King had unknowingly made a loose end. He never knew that his precautions for such situations so soon into the game.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His Holiness Year, 198 993 M41. The Arbites have assigned me to Aristachus in the Calixis Sector. Population: 7.3 billion. A single growing Hive-City of 5 billion and counting. P-Gov's cooperative at least and realistically corrupt but provides his tithes in time. No history of Major Rebellions of note. 43 - 50 known and notable factions of Gangs. Reports of Mutants are prevalent and occupy most of the Underhives and some of the lower levels. The Emperor is generous for delivering me to such a place. There will be a lot of work for me to do for the sake of His Glorious Imperium.

There will be 34 other Troopers who will join me in this journey. White-Shield Cadets but not as naïve as me I'd care to fancy. None of them are from my own batch and none of whom I knew. They are but individuals from the other sects of the Schola Progeniums in the Sector. I've always admired this design. The genius of it is palpable. To deny ourselves of attachment and loyalty for a particular place, we avoid any source corruption that would take root in us. It would deny us of our task to pass judgement properly. Attachments are a weakness that blinds us from the truth. Opens us to corruption – in a political sense – and denies us any sense of loyalty to the Law and to the Imperium that I will serve.

I pride myself for my devotion to this ideal. So much so that I've never considered this planet to be home mor any of my colleagues here to be my friends which makes their exemption from my life will be soon no more than a distant - or if I'm lucky a forgotten - memory. They never liked me for a reason that is a mystery even for me even now as I write. I could say the same about them and so I prefer to turn a blind eye to it because I like what it entailed. But I digress…

The Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After carefully setting up the last charge for her bomb, Plastique whistled in satisfaction with her finished work. The woman quickly rappelled down from above the pipelines with the artful grace of a circus rope performer and landed right in front of the two men without breaking a sweat. The tunnels may have been smelly and damp but it spared no expense with how colder it was inside.

"I take it that your task is finished?" The Clock King asked.

"I wouldn't be down here if I wasn't, Poindexter." Plastique replied while making the final adjustments with the detonator.

Noose rappelled down after her only without the same entertainment value as Plastique.

"Detonator's set and ready to blow!" Noose exclaimed in excitement. "Let's get this show in the road!"

"Timing couldn't have been better." The Clock King praised the best that his personality could offer. He then looked into his pocket. "Two minutes and 32 seconds. It won't be long now. Get your men into position, Captain."

"Got it." Graves left with Noose following not far behind. His eyes never left the Clock King after a few steps before turning heel to his position.

The Clock King had no doubts that his foolishness had earned him a chat with the good retired old Captain shortly after this job was done. He was about to make his way off when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't doubt who it was, but he decided to entertain her since he had a minute to spare.

"You have 32 seconds, Plastique." The Clock King said to the obnoxious woman without even turning his gaze at her. His eyes were glued to his pocket watch. "That is the most I can spare for you."

"Yeah. Just something that's been bugging me." Plastique paused to light herself a cigarette before continuing. "I just never thought of you as a movie guy."

"Excuse me?" The Clock King turned to her in surprise. Evidently surprised to be asked something trivial.

"I said, are you into movies?" Plastique repeated herself after blowing out a stream of smoke. "Cuz all of this shit here reminds me of 'The Italian Job'. And I ain't talking about the classic one. This one has Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, and even Edward Norton before he was completely an asshole-"

"And how is this relevant?" The Clock King impolitely cut in to ask.

"The climax had the team rob a truck with all this gold so they rigged bombs that led under the subway, sent the whole truck crashing in, they then knocked out the drivers, cracked it open, and sped off with all the loot." Plastique motioned to the bombs that she set up, to the ring of flares that they had set up where the Van was going to drop, and to Allister and Bronte who were armed at the ready. "Any of it look familiar?"

"To answer your question, Ms. Souci, is no." The Clock King answered disinterestedly. "They're too predictable for my taste."

The Clock King then swiftly, but lightly, tapped Platique on her side with his cane. His eyes were a mask for her but behind those oddly shaped spectacles of his, he was utterly impassive when doing so. Interested only in keeping up with their schedule.

"Your time's up. We have a minute and 40 seconds." The Clock King had the final say the moment he closed his pocket watch shut then putting on his earplugs hearing no more of her chance to complain. "To your position now, if you'd please."

Plastique blew a long stream of smoke at the Clock King's face in disgust then waited. Much to her disappointment, the Clock King didn't show anything that showed weakness. She could see man's eyes behind those stupid glasses and never saw it flinch. Not a single bead of sweat poured from his brow. No pause in the man's breath. Both understood what the other meant. With a single nod, both went to their separate ways.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His Holiness Year, 209 993 M41. Entered the Warp and the first time to see it up close. Not the most favorable position I would care to be in as of the present. The Immaterium. The Realm of the Enemy. I've always hated the idea of the place and simply being in it made me hate it even more than I fear it. It was really something else when you are looking at it up close. Doesn't make it any prettier though. The portal was like an insatiable maw of a celestial giant that is ready to swallow up the Bounty Ascending and her fleet like a meal on a silver platter.

The Warp is everything I have sworn to fight for His Holiness yet I find myself being here. The belly of the beast. Surrounded with naught but the enemy that scratch at our hulls and whisper in my sleep. Not that I could get any here. I find no comfort here. No matter how thick the walls. No matter the guns or the shields or even the chorales of the priests, I shall have no peace here. I know that I alone do not have this outlook.

Everything about the place is everything I have sworn to stand against. The place is chaos incarnate to the point that even the order of time is swayed and was as immaterial as the realm. I simply placed the date in approximation to the cycles that have passed before we entered this Emperor forsaken place but even then it might change by the time we get out. Whether by days, months, or even years. For all I know we might have missed a century out there in a week that has passed in here. Calculating all of that just gives me a headache but NOT thinking about it gives me an even bigger one. I put my trust in the Voidsmen that they get us to our destination in due time but I place my faith in the Emperor that He protects us from the hordes of demons prowling outside. I might as well have been living in the chapel instead of my own bunk for the rest of this trip.

Ironic that despite of it all being the realm of the Enemy, it is the only means of travel we have in the breadth of our Glorious Imperium as well as the gift our Holy Emperor bestowed upon us before His internment. The very thought of us needing the Warp and in turn the Enemy have need of us to corrupt, is enough to make me vomit. Gifts are accepted and used but it doesn't necessarily mean that it must be loved.

I hope that we survive this trip. I'd hate to spend eternity here before I could manage to spend one day in service of the Emperor's Will.

The Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Roost just came in." Graves called out. "The convoy is nearing target. Sid confirmed and is revving himself up. Get your asses in gear, folks!"

Graves followed this up by throwing fresh flares on the ground in front of them. The entire team held their weapons tight at the ready. Their eyes glistened like a cat ready to pounce their prey. Their heartbeats quickened so much that it faintly echoed in the damp corners of the tunnels.

"18 seconds." He heard the Clock King say to no one in particular. "13 seconds."

"Sid just made contact!" Graves announced. "Get your ready now!"

"10 seconds."

"Blow the Charges! Now!" The Clock King ordered.

Graves would have preferred hearing the signal coming from Roost but decided otherwise to follow the Clock King's lead. The man had a reputation he could lean on and he was their boss after all. And in case that the guy was wrong, Graves and his team get off Scott-Free from any blame since it was the Clock King's move in the first place.

Plastique in turn didn't care who the command came from. Her hands were already trembling the moment she first held onto the detonator and itched to press it longingly. She was more than happy to blow something up.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" She cheerfully howled.

In contrast from the others who ducked in cover, Plastique instead kept her head up and looked in awe at the sight of her explosives blow up in quick succession above them. The C4 blew up as one in a deafening roar in quick succession. The rocks were blown asunder that showered them with pungent dust and chunks of rubble. The loud crack of concrete stone from the ceiling crumbled and shattered under the weight of the Armored Vehicle that came falling down after it.

It took two seconds for the Van to fall from such a height and slammed onto the middle of the Crossroads with a deafening clang. The red lit flares were buried under the rubble while some were blown away by the thick gust of wind. The same gust nearly blinded the trappers and bathed them in grey.

"Ahead of schedule." The Clock King grinned as he stood to bear witness to his prey served in front of him on a silver platter. "With 2 seconds to spare."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His Holiness Year 963 993 M41. A productive day despite it being the "Emperor's Gift". This time coming from Sepheris Secundus and another from nearby Dreah. No one is to go hungry or lack anything of want in the next passing cycles. The Arbites will make sure of that.

I'd expect that the citizens would be more disciplined than usual at these prospects. Greedy swine. Many would not be eating well for the next coming cycles but as compared to the last one, the results were a lot lower than usual and what was once given before. Arrested 44 for minor offenses, 32 for major offenses, 18 executions for the crimes of murder, rape, attempted murder, and treason.

Another 5 were captured and sentenced for trial. Fools were conspiring a coup against the government. Being caught by my squad red handed, they were already begging me to execute them on the spot. I was tempted to do so after they spout out bribes, but orders were orders and I wouldn't want to deny his Honorable a final judgement. I always expected that the Elite would care to show more dignity in the face of their Sentence.

The Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not a second before the Armored Van stopped quiet on its tracks, Meat and Grasse opened fire at the drivers in the front windshields of the Armored Van. The gunfire was deafening. The bullets burned as it flew but only left cracks and some dents on the bullet-proof glass. The barrage was relentless however and didn't take long for it to shatter under the weight of the bullets. The two SWAT Officers never stood a chance and were quickly cut to ribbons.

Grasse fired in controlled bursts while Meat hollered and whooped as he fired in wild abandon. The latter even went so far as to approach towards the vehicle in between shots till he blasted the corpses a foot from him. Scattering glass, sparks, guts, and splatters of blood all around him while he kept up a wide grin.

As this one sided massacre occurred from the front of the Van, Noose made a mad dash to the Van's cargo hold at the back with a leather satchel at hand. The boy tripped and slid on the way however because of the grubby wet floor but saved himself from humiliation by grabbing onto the door handles and propped himself back up to speed. Graves and Plastique on the other hand waited not far behind with their own guns at the ready. A Colt Commando with a Grenade Launcher attachment.

Reaching into his satchel, Noose took out a breaching charge and stuck it by the doors before clearing away for the explosion. The moment the Van's doors were blasted open, the other two mercenaries immediately fired a pair of gas grenades into the Van. It didn't take long for the gas to do its work and soon the entire Van was engulfed with the noxious gas. Long enough for an easy extraction for the plan's second phase.

Noose climbed aboard with a gasmask on and disappeared into the smoke. Graves approached the Van where he met up with Meat and they both waited near the doorway for Noose to bring out the Target. Plastique covered the both of them not far behind. Grasse remained at his post. Covering the front of the Van while the Clock King simply acted as a spectator that stayed behind the scenes.

Noose reappeared soon after from behind the plume of smoke carrying a wheezing SWAT Officer with him. The Officer was partly blinded and was coughing violently but Noose made no move to assist him. Instead, he indifferently threw him to the others before once again disappearing behind the thick smoke. Meat quickly struck the Officer unconscious with the butt of his gun and restrained him to the side with the man's own handcuffs. Noose came back soon after with another SWAT Officer. Only this time the man was unconscious with a bleeding brow.

"Woah, woah, woah." Graves waved off a hand. "We're not the fucking Red Cross, Noose. We don't have time for shit like that. Retrieve the Target and only the Target so that we can go off our way."

"It's hard to see shit with this mask on, dude…sir. Rather be sure who to pick up. Take everyone out to make sure." Noose panted. His mask muffled out part of his voice. "Plus in case that the plan goes to shit somehow, at least we got some leverage with us."

Before Graves could retort a complaint, Noose already tossed the Officer at him then disappeared inside the Van again.

"I swear to God that if that kid is fucking getting ahead of himself." Graves cursed under his breath. "If he weren't Plastique's ilk, he wouldn't be worth a damn."

"He takes after his aunt that's for sure." Meat nodded next to him. "And the Kid has a point though, boss."

"Thanks for volunteering." Graves tossed the dead-weight to Meat. "And smash their radios."

Meat griped at being given a menial task but followed through since it was an order. Being a soldier was all he had left now and he'd hate himself for forgetting the best times of his mostly miserable life. After restraining the unconscious Officer, he had the other carry him and led them to the corner where he impassively kept an eye of them for the duration of their stay.

Graves turned his sights back at the doorway and saw a figure emerge from behind the clouds of gas. It was easy for him to see that it was Noose but oddly enough, he wasn't carrying anyone and a loud scraping noise was coming from inside. His questions were soon answered when Noose finally emerged and jumped down from the Van. The kid wasn't entertaining any questions and he ripped his mask off then greedily gulped on the stale air. No matter how foul it smelled.

"Gimme a hand here will you," Noose groaned in between pants as he put on his mask again. "This fucker here…weighs a fucking ton."

With no one else nearby to lend a hand and with time ticking close to home, Graves decided that he had to be the one who had to pull his weight. Covering his face with his baklava and his goggles, he joined Noose back to the Van. The boy wasn't kidding. The man really did weigh more than he expected and struggled a bit to drag the body out of the Van. The two were careful with placing the man on the ground before dragging it again further away from the smoking Van.

Past the near-blinding smoke, Graves got a better look at the dead weight he was dragging. It was no surprise to him that the guy's heavy ass was caused by the banged up plate armor the Target had on it. The decorations and the aesthetics that the man had on his uniform, was enough for Graves to whistle in awe. Especially the full face helmet that the man wore. It was stark, intimidating, and made him want to make something similar for himself. That or just steel it right then and there.

"So." Graves asked. "Anyone else in there?"

"What?" Noose wiped his brow. "No. No. This is our guy."

"He's not dead is he?" Graves lightly kicked the body.

"Nah. He's got his pulse still." Noose waved off an impatient hand. "I checked."

"Right. You hear all that, boss?" Graves called out to the Clock King.

"Clear as it could be, Captain. This is our man. There's no mistaking it." The Clock King said as he approached the body. Plastique followed him from behind.

"Cool. So who is he?" Plastique asked.

The Clock King remained silent and went about inspecting the body. He had no intention of divulging any information to any of his hired guns. Thankfully for him, Noose decided to fill in the blanks for the others himself.

"I dunno, but I think he's a soldier or something. Cuz… y'know… of his armor – obviously – and this thing I found in there." Noose guessed before taking out a massive Revolver from his satchel. "I know the GCPD. And none of those bozos have guns like this. I don't think any police force HAS guns as big as this. What the fuck do you kill with these?"

"Something big and nasty, I reckon." Plastique replied.

"Lemme see that," Graves didn't wait for the boy to give him the weapon. He forcefully took it and inspected the weapon. He tinkered with it but the weapon wouldn't play ball. The gun wouldn't open its chambers for the bullets, the hammer could barely budge, and the trigger was stuck.

"Damn thing must be broken." Graves cursed. "I'll have a look at this in the shop later and get it back into shape."

"Yeah, but you're gonna give the thing back, right?" Noose asked Graves but the man was so occupied by the weapon to be disturbed.

"He's gonna give me that gun back right?" Noose turned to Plastique.

"Probably once you learn how to say please." Plastique jested.

"Damn." Noose lamented. He was never going to get that gun back from Graves.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His Holiness Year, 985 993 M41. 94 for minor offenses. 52 for major offenses. 20 executed for association with dissidents, cause for rebellion, and for treason.

For Man to be Just, Our Laws must be cruel. I've been saying that a lot to myself lately. More and more at every passing day. The people hate us no matter where I walk. Amidst the myriad of faces, not one of them would turn without either turning pale white or scowling – if they dared. A good sign on my part. Fear quells treachery. Treachery instigates rebellion. Rebellion is heresy. It does not take much for them to turn their backs on the Emperor. Their very salvation. A few quick knocks and a sudden stop was enough to make the other denizens cower. Have them obey His Laws and do so more convincingly.

Others need a more 'thorough' lesson than most. Carelessness on my part earned me a ticket in the Medicae for a day after I took a slug in the arm. I could have gone out on the next hour if it weren't for Medicae Stahl wasn't so stubborn. Infected she said. Easily managed by a dose. Exit wounds? Stitches and plasta-salves. Broken bones? Chop it off! Might cost me a visit to the Cog-Boys, but it beats being stuck under her strict eye and care for 3 days. Of course, all of these fell on deaf ears and slipped past her blank green gaze then had the gall to operate on me herself whilst I was strapped on a gurney.

Must admit that I admire a bit of that about her. The young lass could actually look at an Arbite without wincing which was a nice change from the usual. Her line of chopping up bodies and the possible drugs she might be reliant on might have a hand in doing so. Not that it is illegal afterall. Their Adeptus provide them the means to work better. If only there was one that could deal with her obstinacy. I believe that my future visits to her will be a difficult affair. I'll just have to be careful then so as not to see her as often.

The Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Disarm him whilst he's still unconscious." The Clock King ordered. "Then let us get a move on. We are getting behind schedule."

"Roger Wilco, Clock-Boss." Noose volunteered.

The boy knelt next to the black armored man then began rummaging through the man's things. There he found some familiar and unfamiliar items neatly set up under the man's surcoat: A series of grenades next to a series of empty pouches, thick iron handcuffs, a buckler shield, a portable med-kit, and what looked to be a heavy studded thermos with a leather neck. He didn't bother himself with those at first however. He wanted to get himself a good souvenir first. Probably one that he could sell for a good price.

Noose decided that these would be one of the colorful medals that were stuck on the armored man's armor. The prize he chose was a not the shiniest, but simplest but the most unique. An ornate red wax badge with intricate carvings of a Florian Cross and two sheets of parchment paper with strange inscriptions written on it. But the badge however would not budge no matter how hard he tried to carefully pry it out. He was so busy trying to satisfy his greed that he failed to notice the man slightly stirring from under him. By the time he realized the red light emanating from the man's eye shining on him, it was too late.

"Hmmmm." The Arbitrator growled. His voice sounded distorted with his respirator but it made it sound deeper. More sinister.

Noose didn't expect that the Target to be conscious so soon and find the man looking at him with his faceless mask and demonic red eye was petrifying to the bone. He was stupefied. Stunned. He didn't get a chance react or say anything back when the Arbitrator violently grabbed him in the throat and lifting him over him with inhuman strength.

"Besmirching a Purity Seal…with your filthy stinking hands…is a serious offense." Arbitrator spoke in between pauses of breath. Each phrase sounded angrier than the last whilst his grip slowly tightened. "No quarter. No rights. For Heretics like you!"

The Arbitrator did not simply choke the boy but instead crushed it in the palm of his hand like it was nothing. Noose fought hard and desperately tried prying the fingers off of him. He even started kicking the man at anything his legs could reach but to no avail. The Arbitrator's hand was as solid as a stone statue and his body was as hard as concrete. Not even hitting the man's the groin did Noose any good save from pissing the man off and squeezed even harder till the bones in his throat were crushed. His vision became blurry as his eyes were almost popping out of its sockets. The pain was so intense but he could not find the air to scream even and desperately gasped for what little he could breathe. Blood gurgling out from his mouth while the rest of his face turned pale. With what little strength he had in him, he punched the Arbitrator one last time. The best he could do was give the monster a light tap before limping dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

254 994 M41. Lara. Medicae Stahl, gave me my journal. Didn't bring it in case I died. Below the Underhives. Didn't ask for it. For Therapy perhaps? Emperor bless her.

Finally earned the right to become an Arbitrator. Not something expected after waking up in the Medicae Center. I begin as soon as I finish rehab. Others are dead. Only survivor from 5 Platoons. Served Proctor Moserah. Sent to eliminate mutant incursion. Aided by Redemptionists. A crusade. Don't remember much. Killed so many that my hands still stink. Demons were there. Filthy things. Disgusting things. Evil things that ate so many of us. Lost good friends. Ferio. Dorinne. Maxine. Sven. Tulfio. Barret. Xenia. Lost Proctor Moserah. Tried killing as many as I can before dying. Killed a big one. Scared off the little ones. Don't remember much afterwards. Found me crawling out of that hovel. Alone. Half dead. Lost my helmet. Still had my firearm. Broken power maul. I was the last one pulled out. Thank the Emperor. I survived. Lost some of good looks. Many scars. Thank the Emperor. Able to serve. Started calling me "the Immortal". Has a nice ring to it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Graves and the other Mercenaries were just as surprised as Noose the moment they saw the Arbitrator regain consciousness. A cold chill crawled down their spine the moment he did and thought that they were looking at a demon with that red eye glowing in the dark.

Unlike the rookie however, they managed to steer clear and got themselves to firing positions. They all motioned to shoot but hesitated when the Arbitrator used Noose as a human shield while in the middle of choking him. The boy's thrashing made it harder for them to take a shot at his assailant in the dark.

Everything happened so fast that they never got a chance to help the boy before they all heard his neck snap. The sight of losing a comrade gave the Arbitrator an opening to reach for Noose's Micro Uzi but Plastique kicked it away before he could shoot any of them. As compared to the others, Plastique wasn't shocked. She was angry. Angry that she wasn't fast enough to save Noose. Angry that she just lost her nephew. Before she could even avenge the boy, the Arbitrator threw the corpse at her. The blood drooling deadweight pinned her on the ground.

With that out of the way, Graves shot at the Arbitrator but the man quickly rolled himself out of the way and deployed his shield just in time to block the bullets. The shield then emitted a bluish hue and rebounded some of the slugs back at Graves. The ricochets struck his gun, his legs, and a couple on his belly. All this put together threw him backwards on the floor.

"Fuck!" Grasse cried and began unleashing controlled bust of gunfire at him.

Caught off guard, the Arbitrator was struck by a stream of high powered rounds but it didn't do much to take him down. The bullets instead ricocheted off of him or fell to his side in a pile of smoking flat heaps. The Arbitrator threw his shield at him like a Frisbee and struck Grasse hard in the chest. The shield also struck his gun, bending it in half, but this did little to soften the blow and still threw him a couple of feet across the room.

"Goddamn son of a bitch! Get some!" Meat fired wildly while spouting out as many obscenities as his machine gun. "Fucking kill you! Fucking cunt! Cocksucker! Bitch faggot! Punk-ass Motherfu-"

Meat's barrage was quickly cut short when the Arbitrator threw a bolas at him. The man never knew what hit him as it whistled towards him in the dark. The bolas caught him and incapacitated him as it coiled around his body. Trapping his arm and his gun in place. When the balls struck him, Meat accidentally shot himself in the leg. The high powered weapon blew up his limb to red meaty pieces and dropped him in the floor. As he laid bleeding on the floor, Meat defiantly spouted curses and fiercely spat foul language at the Arbitrator up until his last breath.

"An Ork has better aim..." The Arbitrator snidely remarked before the Clock King struck him with a sword he unsheathed from his cane.

The hit didn't hurt the Arbitrator in any way short from being a nuisance. The sword struck him hard but didn't pierce through the armor. It did leave a noticeably bright spark however but it barely left a scratch on him.

"Dead or Alive, is what they've instructed." The Clock King ranted while swiping his sword. "I wanted to be civil and bring you over to them in one piece. Not a hair out of place I told them. I had everything planned down to every minute. You've made a mess out of all that, thank you very much! I am considering killing you right here and now. For making me LATE!"

"You're welcome to try." The Arbitrator retorted. "Then…you're gonna give me those names."

The Clock King didn't need another excuse and struck the Arbitartor with a flurry of blows whilst dancing around the man to stay clear from his blows. For an old man, his attacks were as strong as they were fast as they were no more than a blur to the naked eye. Nearly invisible inside the dimly tunnels with only the whooshing sound of the humming blade to lookout for before a strike. Advantageous as it was for the Clock King against the large and exhausted target, but even he had the same disadvantage as his opponent. His own attacks were limited since he only had the Arbitrator's silhouette and its red eye to work with in the dark. What's worse was that his attacks were just as useless as the bullets as every strike glanced harmlessly off of the Arbitrator's armor no matter where he lands a blow.

Undeterred, the Clock King continued his relentless attack. He kept the Arbitrator on the defensive long enough for Plastique appeared and shot the Arbitrator in the head at point blank range.

"Eat lead, dickhead!" Plastique shouted. Her eyes were red with tears and rage. "This! Is! For! Niel!"

Fierce as her words were, her gun was too weak. Its bullets were too round for it to penetrate the thick nut of a helmet the Arbitrator had. Despite this, the man groaned and stumbled, as the bullets rung his bells. One of the bullets however bounce off the helmet and ricocheted the bullet at her gun. Knocking it from her hands.

Unarmed, the Arbitrator swung at her and struck her right in the face. She tried blocking it with her arms but only succeeded in breaking them as the fist tore through them. Stars were dancing in front of her dazed blackened eyes. She expected the hard kiss of the cold damp floor but the Arbitrator was far from done with her. He grabbed her hard by the hair then kneed her hard in the face. Blood and broken teeth spilled from her lips. Her nose was broken and caved into her face. Her eyes were near blinded by the weight of the blow. Ever so generously, the Arbitrator finished off by throwing her over to a wall. Leaving a sizable dent in its wake.

The Arbitrator never got a catch his breath before the Clock King struck and stabbed him straight in the eye. The Clock King used Plastique's distraction to aim for the only thing he could see in the dark, the Arbitrator's red eye. He figured that the man's visor was his Achilles' heel.

"Checkmate." The Clock King reveled at his perfect execution but this quickly turned to a scowl.

The sword struck true but the moment it touched the Arbitrator's visor, the blade bent then quickly snapped in two. The broken tip of the blade flung itself in the air and disappeared in the dark. Much to the Clock King's chagrin, the Arbitrator quickly grabbed the old man's wrist and crushed it from under his fist.

The agony of his broken limb brought the Clock King to his knees whilst screaming out loud in pain. The Arbitrator never let him go and kept him on his feet and looked at him straight in the eye. The Clock King was so close to him that the latter was nearly blinded by being so close to the Arbitrator's bright red eye and nearly upchucked his lunch due to the man's pungent smell.

"The Fuck…are you?" The Clock King angrily asked.

"Dog-tired." The Arbitrator huffed before ripping off his rebreather. This didn't make his words any less threatening however. Only a lot more serious. "Now. hem. The names. Before I rip your arm off."

The Arbitrator violently grabbed the Clock King by the throat with his one hand while slowly twisting the man's arm with the other. The pain was grueling. The intimidation tactics were more than effective that he felt himself suffocating under the man's gaze. In the face of all of this however, the Clock King simply smiled.

"Sorry but…" The Clock King chuckled. "Snitching isn't in my itinerary today. Better try later."

The Arbitrator snapped the Clock King's arm backwards like a twig. The latter screamed in agony and gasped in between breaths afterwards.

"You're wasting my time." The Arbitrator glowered.

"That…hmm!…makes two of us." The Clock King hissed as he tried holding back the pain. "You are strong. I admit. But you are nothing. Nothing! Against the forces in play here. You…you are going against the Devil here…Demon!"

The Clock King was going to say more, but the Arbitrator cut him short when he punched the man hard in the face. He couldn't see it, but the Clock King felt the fury emanating from the Arbitrator before getting his head knocked hard. Something in the Arbitrator snapped that made him fume so fierce that Temple Fugate imagined that the air burned around him. Figuratively speaking.

The Arbitrator unsheathed a long bar from out from his holster that extended itself into an intimidating iron mace after a quick whip. The weapon then unleashed a blinding blue light of violent crackling electricity at a press of a button. He rammed the mace so hard at the Clock King's stomach that it blasted the old man across the corridor with a loud bang.

The Clock King crashed hard into the floor but even as he laid wet in the cold damp floor, the painful spasms remained that made him twitch like an epileptic on crack. His entire body would not obey him even as he struggled past what felt like the thousand cuts that was coursing throughout his body. He felt his chest burning embers as it twist and turned his insides like ribbons.

The last thought that came to the Clock King's mind before everything went black was the 5:30pm coffee break that he was going to miss.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

355 994 M41. Minor Offenses – 78. Major Offenses – 86. Executions – 12. Assigned with Proctor Einid of the IV Squad. Riots becoming more prevalent. Many sport the Star. Covens discovered. Had to act fast before Inquisition gets wind of it. Worked 3 times as hard. I pray to the Emperor that we put a stop to all of this before it gets out of hand. Source yet to be discovered.

The Emperor Protects.

360 994 M41. Minor Offenses – 53. Major Offenses – 43. Executions – 4. Including partner. Arbitrator Wyatt. Arbirator broke down due to stress. Off hinged for past few weeks already. Wyatt shot at crowded street. Arbitrarily. Without sentencing. Imagined nonexistent threats. Killed 16 people. Injured 10. Subdued him just in time but the man pointed his firearm at me. A Capital Offense. Forced to act. Executed him on the spot. Multiple Witnessess. He has failed his Adeptus. He has failed the Emperor.

The 16 were not guilty. May they find peace with the Emperor.

The Emperor Protects.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Graves groaned as he tried getting back up his feet and plucked out the rounds off of his chest. His Kevlar thankfully took the brunt of the rounds but it didn't stop them from feeling like a punch from a pro. Whatever voodoo that shield had made his 5.56mm come back at him like it was a .50 Cal. It knocked the wind right out of him and left him wheezing on the ground. The one that hit him in the gut hit him straight to home and had him puck his lunch out on all fours.

By the time he finished and caught his breath, he found the Arbitrator as the last guy standing. Or rather, tried standing. The son of a bitch could barely keep on his feet as he breathed like an asthmatic whilst coughing his lungs out. As weak as this guy looked, Graves knew that even a cornered mutt – no matter how beat up it is – wouldn't go down without a messy fight. Graves may not see the Arbitrator properly, but he knew that the man still had a lot of fight left into him.

Coincidentally, Graves still had a lot of fight left in him too and just like Hannibal, 'He always has a plan.' Grasse was still in the game and was behind the Arbitrator. Graves was sure that the Arbitrator didn't know that. The lights from the flares were also about to run out of juice and that might help tip the scales to their favor. All Graves needed to do was to distract the Arbitrator long enough for Grasse to make his move.

"I seriously drew that short straw here." Graves lamented. "This was all supposed to be a simple pick up job. A milk run. Easy money. Now look what you've done."

"Give me the names." The Arbitrator demanded.

"Not the type for small talk huh? I can relate to that-"

"Shut up!" The Arbitrator bellowed. He then activated his mace and allowed it to do the talking.

"Alright. Alright." Graves coolly said with both his hands half raised. "The fuck are you talking about. What names?"

"The Successor Chapters of the 3rd Founding." The Arbitrator sarcastically replied. "No, you fething bolt-magnet. Your boss. I want them."

"Oh that." Graves said to buy time. He had no idea who they were neither. "The Clock King. The old man with the cane. He's the one who hired us."

"Talking about him?" The Arbitrator pointed his mace towards the tunnel next to him.

Graves turned his flashlight towards the same tunnel and saw the Clock King's broken body lying there. His face was lying down and half submerged in the filthy water. The man's limbs had stopped twitching.

"That four eyed gak-head says differently. And won't be saying much anymore." The Arbitrator rasped as he loomed above Graves who in turn felt himself shrinking under the man's shadow.

Sweat started pouring down his brow despite the cold. His throat quivered and words would not escape his mouth. Graves was petrified in dread in the face of this terrifying man. A cold chill ran up his spine as he felt something from otherworldly in the presence of the Arbitrator. It was something Graves could not entirely explain.

"Let's see…if your comrade will talk more sense." The Arbitrator said.

The flares died at that very moment and at the same time, Grasse charged in with his pistol firing. Graves on the other hand, froze and gave the Arbitrator an opening to head-butt him. The blow shattered his nose and sent the man stumbling back.

Graves snapped himself out of his dazed state long enough to watch the Arbitrator overpower Grasse after a few blows that sent the latter stunned but still on his feet. The Arbitrator lifted Grasse's head by the hair then shoved his face onto the mace where it sizzled and burned amidst the poor man's agonizing screams. The foul stench of charred meat filled the entire chamber and almost made Graves hurl what was left in his stomach. Chunks of flesh were ripped out of Grasse's face when the mace was pulled out from him. Grasse immediately collapsed and fell on his knees with the Arbitrator towering above him with his mace gripped tight.

"Stop!" Graves cried out as the Arbitrator struck Grasse one last time.

The blow to the head so hard that it got swiped it from his shoulders. The head flew off into the shadows before loudly splatting itself on the metal plated van. With said and done, the Arbitrator started limping towards Graves with his mace hanging lazily on his side.

"Not much of a talker apparently." The Arbitrator snidely remarked.

Graves quickly scrambled to reach for something in his webbings and grabbed on to the first thing he could get his hands on, the Arbitrator's massive pistol. He forced the hammer back and immediately pointed it right at its owner.

"Hold it right there you son of a bitch 'fore I swear to God I'll splatter your head all over the floor!" Graves cried.

"Your 'god' abandoned you." The Arbitrator snarled whilst he slowly made his way towards the man. "So Emperor be with me…SWEAR TO ME!"

"Shut the fuck up, you demonic son of a bitch!" Graves spat. "Shut up! Shut up! And put. The night-stick. Down! Asshole!"

"Who say's I'll need it?" The Arbitrator growled as he dropped his mace to the ground.

The Arbitrator was no more than a few feet away before Graves decided to pull the trigger. Or at least would have if the gun would fire. The gun only clicked at every pull of the hammer not that it did him any good. Before he could do anything else, the Arbitrator broke Graves's arm, took back his gun, and then held him in the air by his collar.

"Eunomos Pattern Service Pistol." The Arbitrator motioned to his weapon. "Not as precise as a Las-Pistol. Not as powerful as a Bolter. But it's reliable and mine and mine alone."

The Arbitrator dropped the wounded man on the ground. He broke open his weapon and reloaded the weapon with a few massive rounds from his pocket before closing it with a snap in one swift motion.

"You don't know, do you? The names?" The Arbitrator said in disappointment. "Pity."

"In the name of His Holy Emperor. You have been charged with multiple accounts of attempted murder of Imperial Personnel. Assaulting an Imperial Personnel. And the Forbidden & Unwarranted use of Arbites property. I hereby thrice judge thee, Traitorious in Extreme Diabolous. And sentence you to death." The Arbitrator stated monotonously as he placed the weapon on his accused's head. "Any word for your defense?"

"P-Please…" Graves begged in between sobs.

"Defense noted." The Arbitrator replied dryly before pulling the trigger.

The gunshot was powerful that it blew the man's head asunder to a hundred pieces. The blast was so powerful that the sound echoed a storm around him and blew the body away like a discarded toy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With everything else dead and done, Arbitrator Mateus stood alone in the midst of the destruction around him and collapsed in one knee. Safe at last, he gave off a heavy sigh of relief and breathed heavily in between violent coughs that earned him the taste of blood in his lips. His body was greedy for any respite. Exhaustion had taken hold of him like an obsessed lover and would not let go without a struggle.

Mateus was tempted, but he knew that he was not out of the danger yet and forced himself to move forward. But before he did anything else, he took off his helm, clasped his hands on his brow, and prayed to the One True God.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Atop one of Gotham's many skylines, the Batman stood alone and perplexed. His thoughts were racing. His brow furrowed whilst his eyes were glued onto the tattered pages of the old journal Robin found. The Boy-Wonder was dismissed hours ago and left to aid the beleaguered police against the city in turmoil.

The Batman instead opted to stay behind and go through the pages of the old book as to better understand the whole picture. Little did he know that his curiosity would quickly turned into interest as he kept on turning the page after page. With what little he could understand from the mess of scribbles introduced him to a world that both intrigued and horrified him. It was a world unlike anything the Batman had ever seen. Something more akin to a dystopic nightmare that makes Gotham sound like a kid's playground.

The journal also contained separate pieces of parchment with hand drawn pictures of this world, its cities, and its monsters. The Batman could only stare in astonishment at the detail the man took in drawing this collection. One of the drawings were of Skyscrapers the size of cities piercing the skies, curly red haired girl with a tired look in her eyes but showed off a light smile whilst smoking a thin cigarette, thousands of soldiers in gas-masks standing in attention, hulking brutish aliens with teeth the size of daggers, horrible insect like creatures ripping a bunker apart with its claws, and the remains of a burning tank with corpses of bird like creatures surrounding it.

Underneath it hall however, The Batman found himself reading a story of a broken man. Devoted to his duty. Stubborn and defiant in the face of perceived Evils. Ravenous to the ideal of Justice. Blinded by his faith to the point of fanaticism. All in all a dangerous man. The type that he could not allow to let loose in his city.

An explosion from somewhere inside the city placed all of these thoughts on hold. It was not far off from where he was. His instincts telling him to go there didn't accost him thoughts to reconsider. Strapping the Journal in one of the webbings in his suit, the Batman jumped off the building with his cape as wings and flew off to the scene of the rising pillar of smoke.


A/N: Chapter 5 is coming soon so please be patient. More are to come soon. So in the meantime, keep sending me your reviews. Let me know what you think and feel free to have fun with theories. This makes things a whole lot more entertaining.