Everything was dark and murky. A sense of dullness enveloped Matt Hagan, leaving him floating in this void of nothingness. The anesthesia had to be causing this, or so he thought. But then, why did he feel conscious? Didn't anesthesia knock a person out? Perhaps he was just finally coming out of his sedation and hadn't opened his eyes yet. Yeah, that had to be it.
Still though, that murky feeling was making him nauseous. In fact, he was nauseous, bloated, and feeling completely crappy. This had better been a side-effect of that damn gas, otherwise he was gonna puke right on that smarmy doctor of his when he showed up, maybe the nurse too while he was at it.
A moan left his lips then, his voice sounding quite raspy. Geez, he must've been asleep for a long time. Ugh, he needed this fog in his head to clear up already.
A ray of light appeared before his eyes then as he cracked his eyelids open. It was painfully bright, making the actor squeeze his eyes shut and eliciting another groan from him. Raising a hand up, he pressed it against his eyelids to soothe the irritating, burning sensation.
Huh, that's odd. Matt didn't recall his fingers feeling so swollen. They were much larger than before and it felt as if they were filled up with some kind of liquid. Was it swelling? Why was his hand swollen? No, that was it, couldn't be it. There was some sort of medical term that he vaguely recalled. What did those doctors guys call it again? He had been on a medical drama early in his career and he had the term thrown around him so much, he had damn near memorized it. Eggama? Exama? Edema! That was it! He had edema in his hand, so that explained why they felt strange.
Lowering his hand down, Matt tried again to open his eyes, seeing light pour into his sight. He squinted in response and slowly let his eyes adjust, widening them as he became more and more comfortable.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, and using his arms to hold his torso up on what was a cold, metal, operating table. The doctors and nurses must've moved him onto this for the operation. Still, if they moved him beforehand, you'd think they could do it to a more comfortable bed afterwards.
Smacking his lips loudly, Matt turned to a side, moving his legs to he could dangle them over the side of the table. That bloated feeling was still presence and was starting to get really annoying. Seriously, he was gonna have some words with someone about this. And what about the room! Was it just him or did it seem smaller?
A beam of light caught his eye then, causing the actor to turn his head and catch sight of a mirror hanging on the wall. Hey, he could see how he looked now. An eager feeling began welling up within Matt at the thought. Dropping his feet to the floor and standing up, he plodded over to the mirror, anticipating seeing his familiar, handsome features again. Oh, he couldn't wait!
Standing in front of it, the reflection he got was not his face. Instead, a brownish-tan monstrosity stared back at him with pupiless yellow eyes. Its hairless skin was oddly-formed, especially the chin that expanded out like a wrinkled bullfrog's. Its overly elongated mouth was gaped open slightly, revealing misshapen, out-of-place teeth.
"What the…" Matt said, the monster mimicking him in the mirror. Taken back, he flinched backwards, the monster once more copying him. A horrifying thought came to the actor then, one that he desperately hoped was wrong. Shakily, he raised a hand up towards the mirror to confirm his thought when he finally saw what he had first perceived as a swollen hand. The same brownish-tan colored his hand. In fact, he could only count four misshapen, claw-like fingers.
Immediately, Matt dropped his gaze down to look at the rest of his body, releasing a horrified gasp. What once had been a muscularly-defined body was now a giant blob of what was best described as hardened mud. "No…" he whispered softly, taking a step back, and then another.
The back of his foot then hit the table behind him. "NO!" Matt screamed as he whipped around and slammed the back of his enlarged fist against the side of the table. The table flew off the floor and crashed loudly against the wall before collapsing to the floor in shambles. An animalistic cry tore from the man's mouth as he swung his arms wildly, his body spinning as he did so. His hand smashed into the furniture of the room, breaking them into pieces. The walls took the punishment better, showing no worse for wear.
And then Matt came to a stop as he once more caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. On instinct, he slammed a fist into the glass, shattering it. Bringing his hands up to his head and clutching the top of his skull with them, he let out an inhuman scream that echoed throughout the room.
Bullock leaned back into his seat, his new rookie chauffeuring him in their squad car. They were out on patrol and so far the hispanic woman had proven him wrong about women drivers. So far. More driving like this and he wouldn't have to worry about driving again. It'd be just like his early days when his first partner was hellbent on driving their squad car. He never had a problem with that as it let him enjoy his morning coffee without having to adhere to the rules of the road.
"How ya doin', Rook?" the large man asked as he looked out the windshield. Things had been quiet so far on this patrol, his first with Montoya. And so far his new partner had been very quiet around him. Probably was still in awe of his rank. Being a Sergeant did that to people.
"I'm fine, Sir," Montoya answered immediately. She was sitting stiffly in the car, as if she were trying to be at attention even while on her backside.
"Good to hear. If you have any questions, you let me know. I'll teach ya everything I know about these streets."
"Thank you, Sir." Nothing else, eh? Another thing she was proving wrong to him. Didn't women always yap a guy's ear off? You know, talking about feelings and girly stuff? She was just going to sit there and drive and not talk? Well that was boring.
"You know you're pretty quiet over there," he commented. "Anything on your mind, Rook?"
Montoya did not take her eyes off the road. "None at all, Sir. Just keeping an eye out for trouble."
"Sure you want to do that? In a town like this, you don't want to be looking for trouble. It's got plenty of it in spades." Bullock glanced out the window, taking in the sight of the Gotham streets. "You'll find more than you'd like before too long."
"But that's our job, isn't it?" the woman responded with certainty. "We find criminals and stop them from causing further trouble."
"All I'm saying is that you don't have to actually look for it. Once upon a time, there was a crime happenin' at every street corner. Ya couldn't make it a block before you had to stop and break up a robbery-in-progress. So don't go trying to find a disturbance; they usually end up finding you."
"So what are you saying that we should do? Ignore our responsibilities?"
"Not that. Only to pick your battles wisely, Rook," he replied. "We can't stop every crime. Believe me, I wish we could. I wish we had that power. But we don't, so we settle on what we can do. You may not like it. Heck, I don't like it, but that's the way it is."
He could tell by the tightening of her jaw that she was not in complete agreement with him. Still, he had more to say that just some speech he pulled out of his ass.
"Don't get me wrong though. Sometimes the guy who's getting robbed deserves it. Little karma never hurt nobody. 'Sides, if you want to be a bleedin' heart, there are better professions for that. Like social workers."
Yep, that was his good deed for the day. Giving sage advice to a greenhorn in return for being given a ride. What more could you ask for?
"I am beginning to wonder how you live with yourself," the Rook muttered under her breath, but Bullock heard her just fine.
"It's not as hard as you think," he answered, leaning his seat back. "Two cold ones a day, one in the morning and the other before bed. Plenty of donuts and you're living the dream. Now keep an eye out and wake me if you see something. I had to fix my neighbor's car alarm last night. Went off at all hours of the night until I used my .22 and put a stop to that."
"I hope that's a wrench you're talking about."
"All available, report to the Bertinelli Residence. We have a 10-25, I repeat, we have a 10-25 at the Bertinelli Residence, over."
"See Rook? I told ya trouble would pop up without us lookin' for it," Bullock quipped smugly.
"But it's just a Breaking and Entering, Sergeant," Montoya replied.
Bullock slowly turned in his seat and gave a hard stare at his rookie. "Bertinelli is mob," he reprimanded her. "Anyone that has the balls to hit a man like that ain't just stopping over for a cup of sugar. There's gonna be a lot of hurt and dead people there, so it ain't just gonna be a couple squad cars. There's gonna be fire engines and ambulances, most likely a lot of them. Now if your ready to get off your high-horse, remove that bug up your ass and get us south side."
Franco Bertinelli was a made man. One of Maroni's top lieutenants, the man was one of the Italian's top advisors and confidants when he was lording over Gotham's streets. If there was someone in this city that knew what Maroni was up to, it would be him.
A gentle breeze blew up against the Batman as he stood on the top of Bertinelli's high rise apartment. The entire top floor of the building was one giant residence, complete with seven bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms, an entertainment room, office, swimming pool, and ballroom. The ballroom was regularly used by Bertinelli to entertain large parties, much like the one happening tonight. It was a who's who of the entire Bertinelli family, a reunion in the making for the last several months.
Batman could see it all as he stared through the glass enclosure atop the roof, giving him a perfect view of the party. An absurdly long table sat in the middle of the black-and-white-checkered floor, men and women in dressed in high-end suits and dresses. Servers were constantly taking away plates covered in food scraps and returning with recently-cooked main courses and side dishes. The wine was flowing free between all the guests as servers periodically refilled each and every glass.
There were bodyguards along the outer walls of the room, each one watching the dinner stoically. They were mostly there to provide security should someone get too drunk and attempt to get too excited. Also if someone forced their way into the party, though that was a rare enough occurrence. There had also been a few guards up on the roof, but each one had been dispatched silently by the vigilante, their unconscious bodies littering the building's top.
Unfortunately, Batman wasn't the only person here. Though he was the only person standing on this building, he could feel those ever watchful eyes on him. He would have to deal with them sometime soon; right now there were more pressing matters that needed to be attended to. They would watch him as he worked and maybe they'd realize that he was not a man to be trifled with.
If only it were that simple.
For now, let them watch. Stepping backwards several feet, he came to a stop a good distance away from the glass enclosure, steeled his nerve, and then went charging at the glass. At the last second, he leapt up into the air, extending a leg out as he let his momentum and gravity propel him to the glass. Aiming his foot to the side of one of the glass panels, where it was at its weakest, the force of his landing caused it crack and shatter simultaneously. The vigilante fell into the room, landing on the long table in a crouch as shattered pieces of glass rained down on him. Cries and gasps of surprise cut off all the chatter of the room's occupants.
Looking up, the Batman stared down at the head of the table, right at that shocked stare of Franco Bertinelli. Satisfied that the man seemed rooted to his seat, the vigilante made a quick survey of the ballroom, taking note of the bodyguards pulling out their guns and aiming them right at him. They were all slowly approaching the table, a step at a time. They weren't too keen on opening fire since they stood a chance of hitting some of the their boss' guests, though that could change at a moment's notice.
Staying in his crouched position, his cape hiding his body as one hand reached up to the gauntlet covering the other, the Batman greeted, "It's time we had a talk, Bertinelli."
Bertinelli seemed to stiffen in his chair before he relaxed, his eyes darting to the slowly approaching bodyguards. "You just crashed the wrong party, Batman," he said smugly, a smirk working its way under his mustache.
The dark vigilante ignored the remark. "You have information I want and you will give it to me. How much pain you want to endure before you tell me is all up to you."
"I think you misunderstand the situation. See, I've got a room full of guns and they're all pointed right at you. From where I'm sitting, I don't think I'll be feeling any pain whatsoever."
"Assuming that your men all hit me and not miss and hit your guests. Of course, one could hit you too," he countered. "Is that a risk you're willing to take?"
That made Bertinelli hesitant, but he seemed to get over it quickly. "I am."
The vigilante let those words sink into the minds of Bertinelli's guests, each one looking to their neighbor in disbelief. "That's all I needed to know," he grunted out. At that, Batman hit a button on his gauntlet, which sent out an electric impulse that knocked out all the lights in the room, plunging it into darkness. Leaping off the table to his left, the lenses in his cowl immediately adjusted to the dark by activating the night vision program. His vision turned green as he flew through the air at one of the bodyguards, slamming his fist into the man's face and knocking him to the floor. The back of the bodyguard's head hit the tile floor hard, effectively knocking him out.
Reaching to his belt with both hands, he withdrew multiple bat-shaped shuriken and spun around. By now, he could clearly see men were standing up at the table, drawing their weapons. So the bodyguards weren't the only ones packing heat. With a swing of his arms, he sent the shuriken flying through the air. A couple of them made contact with the men's hands, knocking their guns out of their grasps and leaving them clutching at their appendages in pain. One hit one of the weapon-wielding guests in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious as his body collapsed onto the table. The rest hit bodyguard and standing guest alike in the face, having the same effect as the man on the table.
Dashing to his right, Batman launched himself at another guard, slamming a bent elbow into his face, causing the man to cry out as he jerked backwards. Grabbing the guard by his shirt, the vigilante spun around in a circle, dragging the man with him before he lifted him right off the ground and threw him through the air. The guard screamed as he flew across the room, crashing into another guard and knocking them both to the floor in a heap.
The Batman kept moving heading for the guard standing near the foot of the table. Diving towards the floor, his hands made contact with the tiles and he flung his feet up into the air as he began a flip. Just as his feet began to make their descent, the vigilante bent his arms down before he pushing off against the floor, springing off of it as he pressed the sides of his feet together. His feet slammed into the guard on the side of his face, sending him flying off his feet and crashing to the floor, the Batman landing on the opposite side of his fallen form gracefully.
By now, the men with the guns had begun shooting, causing all the unarmed people to cry out in fear and duck down to hide under the table, leaving only the guards and armed guests standing at the table on their feet. Growling, the Batman pulled out two bolas from his belt and began rotating his wrists as they began to spin. Throwing them, the dark-clad man sent the bolas flying through the air until they made contact with two of the armed guests, wrapping around them until one of the heavy metal balls smashed into their faces, knocking them out and causing them to collapse to the floor.
That cleared up about half of the room, leaving the only threats towards the head of the table, where Bertinelli was. The roar of gunfire filled the vigilante's ears, causing him to duck down as bullets whizzed through the air over him. So they had an idea where he was now. Reaching to his belt again, he pulled out and launched another volley of shuriken at them. This time, only one made contact with a guard's face, rendering him unconscious as he felt to the floor. For the others, the projectiles struck the men's hands, sending their guns falling to the floor and clattering on it as they let out howls of pain. Charging forward, the Batman leapt onto the table, took a giant step across the wooden surface, and launched himself towards the left side of it, aiming for two guards that were standing close to each other.
As he landed in front of him, his gloved hands lashed out, gripping either man by the side of their heads, and then forcing them together. A cracking sound was made as their skulls collided, Batman releasing his hold on them and letting them drop to the floor harmless. Without hesitating, he shot towards the nearest guard, who was turned towards him having heard his comrades getting attacked. Going in low, the Batman threw an uppercut at the man, landing the blow on his chin, which snapped the man's head backwards as he lifted off the floor. He landed a moment later, laying on the ground stunned by the punch.
Drawing a leg up, Batman pivoted on the other foot, spinning his body around and lashing out with the drawn leg at the next guard, the heel of his foot connecting with the side of his face and sending him spinning into the nearby wall. All that left now was one last guard, to whom the vigilante leapt toward as he finished his spin, reaching out with his left hand. The moment his hand grabbed the side of the guard's face, the dark-clad man twisted his torso and forced the guard to the table, slamming his head against it before tossing him aside like trash. As luck would have it, the last guard fell on top of the stunned one, both of their skulls bashing against each other and knocking them unconscious.
Finally, the Batman turned his attention to Bertinelli, who was frozen in his chair. Closing the distance between them, the vigilante, grabbed the Italian man's collar and twisted it as he rotated his wrist to a side. Pulling up, Bertinelli began to gag in his seat his arms flailing at his sides.
Deactivating the night vision, the vigilante found he was just in time as the backup generators for the floor finally kicked in, flooding the room with light. A cursory glance told him that all threats had been eliminated, leaving him with his target and the frightened guests hiding beneath the table.
All except for one.
A woman with long, dark hair was slowly rising from her place further down the table. Both of her hands were pressed onto the wooden furniture, her face twisted into...awe? From what the Batman could tell, there wasn't any fear in her. She was completely engrossed by the sight of him towering over Bertinelli and seemed oblivious to the bullet holes and unconscious guards and guests around her. Odd. She didn't seem hurt, her strapless, light purple dress looking no worse for wear, and she didn't appear to be a threat. Not that she could have hidden a weapon on her body considering her tight dress. She wasn't even making a move to pick up one of the many scattered weapons on the floor, so focus was she on him. Choosing to ignore her, the vigilante returned his focus right to Bertinelli.
"Now, let's try this again," he growled.
"I ain't tell you nothing!" Bertinelli shouted, glaring up at him. Now that just wouldn't do. Turning his head away, he saw one of the walls was mostly glass, a large cross-section of window panels with a glass door allowing entry to a balcony just beyond it. With his other hand, the vigilante grabbed his target by the shoulder and hauled him out of his seat. Twisting his body around, he threw the man at the glass paneling, his body crashing through it and landing on the balcony with the broken shards of glass.
Storming out of the ballroom and towards Bertinelli, Batman grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and dragged him towards the railing. With a grunt, he lifted Bertinelli up into the air and hung him over the edge. With one hand, the vigilante grabbed the mobster by one of his wrists and then released the back of the man's collar, causing him to drop down until he was dangling by his arm. A petrified scream tore out of the man's lips as his legs began kicking around beneath him.
Already, Batman could feel his arm straining to hold up the man, but he could hold out for a little bit. "Are you sure you don't want to talk?" he asked calmly.
"You're crazy! You can't do this!" Bertinelli screamed as he turned to look at him.
"Can't I? Careful what you say to me, Franco. My arm is getting very tired."
That seemed to convince Bertinelli just who was in control of this situation, this thrashing body going limp as he vainly tried to reach up and grab the viglante's arm, an attempt to make sure he didn't suddenly drop. "Alright, alright! I'll talk! Just don't let me fall!"
"Good. And Franco, now isn't a good time to be lying to me."