Joker
Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight
Chapter Eight: The Beginning Of A Fatal Relationship
You all have no idea how long I have waited to write this chapter. NO IDEA. This is Ace Chemicals the way it should have been done. Enough said about that. I suspect you came here to read a story. Go ahead and enjoy this final chapter!
I do not generally get angry. I am not a bad person at heart. Many of the things I do help me make a living. It's how I get through life. Society can't argue against that. But, if someone denies me my right to live, then I will make sure it never happens again. That night, I was the maddest man on the face of the Earth, sitting by my family's corpses. It all gave me time to think and evaluate the situation; after all this time, all my suffering and struggling in life, the one moment I had where I could see through the smog of misfortune the chance to breathe in happiness was snatched away by Salvatore Valestra. When you've got nothing in life, it really makes you re-evaluate your whole viewpoint on the world. For example; Sal no longer seemed like my boss, or a mobster, or a powerful individual. He just seemed like a weak man. A large sack of mangled human flesh begging to be ripped apart by the first person who actually understood that behind his title, his possessions and following, he was just as mortal as any of the men I had sent to the bottom of the Gotham River. I felt no remorse in seeking revenge, no regret killing the men he sent after me as they attempted to dispose of me in my own house. Success or failure, it didn't matter. As long as I left my mark and it was clear for anyone to see. This man can be killed. I did wish though, oh so very much, that it would be me who finally pulled the trigger and watched his empire crumble like his body and fall, bloody and disfigured, to the floor. He didn't deserve the nice cool water at the harbour. This was a death I wanted to savour for as long as I could keep him alive. Revenge makes monsters of us all.
FRIDAY
It wasn't too cold a night. Not that it mattered; everyone was wearing their trench coats. The heist of the Ace Chemicals building was only a few minutes from initiating and the whole gang, bar Essex and Hillocks, was gathered out back by a black van. Red handed guns out to each of them, skipping Hunt who already had one. "You expecting company?" asked Jack, sitting in the driver's seat of the van.
"It's my opinion to always expect the unexpected, no matter the odds." Red then passed one along to Jack who took it hesitantly. "You sure you don't wanna join in on this one?"
"Nah. I've opted for boredom and boredom it shall be." Jack smiled to Red who returned it.
"Okay, everyone." He summoned the rest to pay attention. "We've still got a little bit of time before eleven so, smoke 'em if you got 'em." The group split up and sat around, several taking out cigarettes while others just psyched themselves up.
"I didn't know you smoke." Said Trent as Zed lit a roll-up.
"Can't concentrate without one." Zed looked it over, admiring its beauty. "It's like every puff injects me with intelligence, forever rising my I.Q. until, one day, I shall become the smartest human being known to man." He took a very long inhale and blew a smoke ring.
"So...you were a moron when you started." Summarised Trent, receiving the evil eye in return. Then, Hammond walked over, smoking a pipe. Even Trent had to whistle in appreciation of its craftsmanship.
"You classy mother f-"
"Zed!" called Hunt sternly. "Give me a hand reading these blueprints." Zed begrudgingly complied and trudged over to his summoner. Meanwhile, Webber and Barlow sat up on a grassy incline, looking out over the vast chemical factory, sharing a cigarette.
"What'll you do with your share?" asked Barlow, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Hookers." Grinned Webber. They both chuckled a little, Webber choking a little. "Nah. Maybe a car or some kind of holiday. I hear Rhode Island has some great fishing spots, maybe Minnesota. Or go to Miami and check out the fabulous 'beaches'."
"Aww hell, we could all use a holiday."
"Mmm." Agreed Webber. "What about you? Got plans, or just throw it at the first woman you meet on the street corner?" Webber laughed, but Barlow was silent.
"No, I don't think I'll go for that sort of thing." He admitted.
"Why? What's holdin' ya back?"
"I just don't think the missus would approve." Webber stared at Barlow, stunned.
"Jeez, I...I had no idea you were married." He gaped.
"Yep, with kids too. We've been together for well over two decades now; high school sweethearts." Reminisced Barlow.
"You not told anybody?"
"Nope. I keep my worlds separate, stay outta trouble and keep my mouth shut. I don't want to risk one destroying the other," he explained, "because they both keep me alive."
"Well, you can tell us." Insisted Webber. "We're your friends."
"As harsh as this may sound; I have every reason not to." Barlow stated outright.
"Name one." Tested Webber. Barlow only had to nod in the direction of the solitary man by the waste canal.
"Jack Napier." Red saw Barlow's little indication of the sorrowful being standing hunched by the running waterway. He looked quite pathetic and, for all intents and purposes, dead. If the man was thin when they first met, then he was skeletal by now. Napier was aware of the world around him as much as an animal looks where a person is pointing. The only thing that captured his attention was the toxic brownish-yellow sludge oozing below him. Somehow, a reflection of him looked back, almost judging the real man and insisting he could do a better job. If you pushed a feather into his back, it would likely push him right in. Probably would have jumped in of his own accord if Red hadn't strolled silently to his side.
"You feeling okay?" asked Red, unable to think of anything better to say. Then again, no one could say anything good after what a man like Jack Napier had been through. The man nodded non-committedly and continued his long stare downward. "Still up for a little larceny?"
"Uh...yes. Yes, of course." Napier was still very distracted. He looked up and down the small path that ran parallel to the waterway. "I just-I was just remembering...I used to walk along here on the way to work. Seemed much nicer back then."
"Everything does when you're with the person you love." Red affirmed. He knew it wasn't the least painful thing to say, but anything else would be a lie. "I know what you're going through."
"You don't." insisted Napier. "No one can."
"My wife died." Admitted Red, silencing Napier. "She and I were young and hasty. I wasn't the world's best husband, but I tried my damn best every day. She was pregnant when..." he paused, deciding this was enough information. He looked Napier right in the eyes. "The pain never dies...but, perhaps, one day...we might. That's all we can hope for...but that doesn't mean we can give up." Red gave Napier a small pat on the back and waited. If the man didn't want to talk anymore, then Red wouldn't push the issue.
"It..." Napier mumbled. "It was just so...pointless."
"Death always is." Commented Red.
"The police said it was random, but the guy knew exactly what he was doing."
"What do you mean?" asked Red, intrigued.
"He attacked Sandra with a blade. The first strike went through the abdomen and into the uterus, like...like he wanted her to feel the baby die." Red was horrified. This person, whoever they were, was psychotic and methodical. "Then he just cut her all over, let her bleed out slowly."
"Why didn't she call for help or signal the nurses?"
"He'd-" It was getting difficult for Napier to picture the images that had been described to him. "He'd cut her vocal chords. Then, to make sure she didn't push the call button, he stabbed her right hand, through and through. The tissue was so damaged; it might as well have been amputated." Napier was becoming emotional, barely keeping himself from crying. "What kind of a sick monster does things like this? What possible justification is there to warrant killing a mother and her unborn child?" Red was frozen, not with fear but with outrage. At the mention of Sandra's last injury, his mind had ticked over and immediately, the answer was clear. He knew exactly who murdered Sandra Napier.
"Excuse me." He muttered, standing and turning away from the chemical river. Slowly, the revulsion rising in his stomach, he marched purposefully towards Hunt who was reading over the blueprints with Zed. With every step, Red recalled every dark day when Hunt would do the most incredibly abhorrent and ignorant acts. How every single time, Red had warned him off but Hunt would go back and do it again and again behind his back. As the memories flooded back, so did the disgust he held for this man. This revolting, sickening, loathsome, nauseating, repugnant antipathy of a man who dared to walk upon this Earth and call himself human. By all accounts, he was not something that could be born as offspring from any willing paternities of any sex, creed or species. His only regret now was that he hadn't put this vile creature out of its blissful pandemonium sooner.
"...so you just hang a right and you should be at the storage labs where they keep their pet chemical agents." Zed indicated on the map with his cigarette. "Hey, Red. Think we all know what we're doing now."
"Fine. Hunt, I want to talk to you." He motioned to the other side of the incline to which Hunt followed him to.
"Yeah? What did you wanna-" Red tackled Hunt into the concrete perimeter wall, slamming him firmly again and again.
"You bastard." Red growled, punching Hunt in the face several times. "You couldn't just satisfy your urge to kill by drinking or punching a pillow or playing video games like everyone else. No, you had to go-" Red pulled out his gun and smacked Hunt with it some more. "-and take two lives simultaneously. I've stood idly by and watched you bring misery to the world. Consider that a mistake I will not be making again." Red kicked Hunt to the ground. Dazed and woozy, Hunt could barely stay on his hands and knees, but Red was by no means done with him. "Get up." He spat, pulling Hunt to his weak knees and leaning him against the wall. "I'm not a fan of killing people, like you," Red aimed his pistol at Hunt's head, "but don't think it'll stop me from enjoying this." Hunt stared into Red's blazing eyes and waited for the end. But it never came. It felt a lifetime, but the gun still hadn't gone off. Red didn't understand; why couldn't he shoot this man?
"You won't...shoot me." Laughed Hunt through bubbly chokes. "I know you won't. You haven't killed anyone since before the gang existed. Sure, you get Trent and me to do your dirty work, but the taste for death died out long ago. It got bitter. And besides, what are you gonna tell them if you do manage it?"
"The truth."
"Oh, sure. How do you think our inside man's gonna take that news?" Hunt smiled evilly. "You know exactly what he's going to assume. He'll think you ordered me to kill his wife to force him to join us, no matter what you say. Kill me now, and no heist."
"Red!" called Jack from the other side of the hill. "Red, it's time!" The decisions were simple in Red's mind; kill Hunt or kill him later. Just as Jack walked over the hill, Red holstered his gun and turned to him. "It's eleven." Said Jack. He noticed the bloody face of Hunt and the bruises on Red's knuckles.
"I'll be there in a moment." Assured Red sternly. Jack nodded but stood his ground, wanting to make sure nothing else happened here without his knowing. Red turned to Hunt. "We'll pick this up again later." He said before re-joining the gang over the hill. Hunt wiped his lip and straightened himself and his clothes. He walked up the slope towards Jack, spitting blood at his feet before passing by.
Disappearing is not difficult. It is staying hidden that takes practice. Luckily for me, I blended into the woodwork. I planned my revenge carefully; watching Valestra's movements with every eye I could spare. A man like him, in the profession he runs, pisses off a lot of people even in his own organisation. Some can deal with a few hard knocks here and there, but others who are dealt with the brunt of his wrath feel they're being abused by power. Now, Valestra wasn't stupid. He too was bunkering down and fortifying his defences any way he could. He just didn't know who the hell to trust. My main inside man at the time was Hammond. He got me all the info I needed, including names of people who might like to bring Salvatore's reign to an end. Along with giving me information, Hammond would suggest men from the outside so that Valestra would hire them on, some of them planted by me. To run his automated security measures was Zed. All I remember of him back then was that he looked too young to be into this kind of thing. Then again, so was I at the time I started out. Zed patched me in to all the cameras around Valestra's compound and gave me access codes for every door. Salvatore's hit-man team held a prominent young street urchin like myself. He was an up-and-coming pet of Valestra's, but also a beating boy. As hard as he tried, Barlow was given a bum rap in every aspect and given very little on the return. When I met up with him, it was obvious how deep in debt he was. He reminded me of...me. On the outside, I found a few useful hands who would all help me when the time came to fight against Valestra's army. One of them used to own a popular nightclub which was burned down by Valestra's men. Webber was only too happy to join me. Everyone was. I had only one condition: Valestra was mine.
Napier had been right; the whole plant gave off the chill and fear that only claustrophobia could inflict. Though there were only four walls around them, pipes and machinery stuck out, making the corridors and walkways thin. It felt worse than being trapped in a box; caught in a tangle of vines and you can still see freedom but never reach it. For the vastness it portrayed outside, Ace Chemicals felt so small. It didn't help now that Napier had stopped dead in his tracks; at least on the move, they could distract themselves from their surroundings. "C'mon! Quit daydreamin'!" hissed Trent, nudging him in the back.
"I-I-I'm not. It's this damn mask!" Napier tried moving it around fruitlessly. "Everything's in red, I can barely breathe..." he sniffed the air inside the helm. "...and it smells like garlic."
"Hurry up!"
"Just give me a moment. This place looks different in red." He tried looking around a little harder through the red lenses, a little skewed. It wasn't exactly one-size-fits-all. Even outside they had trouble getting it on. Hammond even pointed out he had a funny shaped head, but they eventually stuck it on. He was just afraid they wouldn't be able to pry it off. "This way." He signalled, recognising the path. They all followed him deeper into the lion's den. The further they went, the more paranoid it made them; the hisses of valves, clicking of dials and bubbling of vials. A moving shadow always turned out to be some kind of machine. It would be difficult to know if anyone were on their way in this place. Finally, at long last, they reached the main offices where they went into phase two.
"Okay, you know your jobs. Hammond, Barlow; perimeter. Trent, Hunt; chemicals. The rest of us will remain here. When we're done, regroup at the waste warehouse. Got it?" Everyone nodded to Red and divided up, all disappearing into the beast's bowels. The Supervisor's office wasn't too crammed, but still quite small. So tiny that the suggestion of a wall safe was moronic. It was quite easy to spot; a large black iron slab in the corner.
"Go do your thing." Hurried Webber as Zed approached the safe.
"My thing?" Zed raised an eyebrow. "You mean 'safe-cracking'?"
"Well, forgive me for not using the technical term." Retorted Webber. "If it means that much, I can buy ya lunch and we can call it even."
"I like Jambalaya."
"Eugh!" shivered Webber, disgusted. Zed cracked his fingers and scanned a false key card into the safe.
"Y'know, this takes me back." He sighed. "The first time I opened a safe for you guys; eighteen years ago." Red chuckled.
"Oh, yes." He smiled.
"What happened?" asked Napier, interested, sitting down on the desk. The helm was heavy and he was afraid if he didn't sit, then he would fall over and never stand again.
"Sionis Industries. Back then it might have been considered competition for Wayne Enterprises, but times change." Recalled Zed, putting the card into his laptop which began deciphering the code. "Old-man Sionis was stashing away some under the table money from mobs while letting its staff go due to 'budget cuts'. Our inside man gets us the info, we break in, no problem. This was when I was hands-on, no gizmology."
"So much for technical terms." Commented Webber.
"Anyway, it was Red and me who snuck in." continued Zed. "He wanted to make sure I didn't just take the money and run. I'm in the middle of cracking the code when the door opens and in walks Sionis' little boy. We're like; 'Oh shit. How're we gonna get outta this one?' when genius here has the bright idea of bribing the kid." Red was crying and laughing.
"Did it work?" asked Napier.
"Not only did it work," answered Zed as his computer finished decoding the numbers, "but he kept his daddy busy so we could steal the money." He swiped the imprinted card once again and typed in the code. The safe door creaked open and revealed the stacks of bound up money lying inside, waiting to be taken. "It's all about the money."
Hunt and Trent strode through the empty, dark laboratories. Cleaner, wider and ordered was a nice break for them. It helped the grimness of being in this place mixed with the irk-ness they were experiencing at having to get these chemicals melt away. "So, Hunt." Began Trent uneasily. "What're you doing when you get outta here? Leaving Red Hood?"
"Don't sound so eager." Commented Hunt with a half-smile.
"Just askin'. Don't think all of us didn't notice those fresh bruises you got after that little 'meeting' with Red."
"Just a friendly disagreement." Shouldered Hunt, dragging open a heavy sliding door and entering cold storage.
"Sure." Inflected Trent. "Disagreement." Hunt gave Trent a sidewards glance.
"No, I'm never leaving. Red Hood for life." He walked up to the first of dozens of cylinder stands, each with caps on top. Hunt pulled out the first lid, drawing up the tiny freezer within. On each shelf that stretched around the cylinder inside sat a vial of various toxins marked with chemical composites. Some of the shelves were empty; Essex wanted one that was full. "Next one." Said Hunt, closing it up.
"You hoping to outlive Red?" questioned Trent a little more forcefully than he meant to let on. To his relief, Hunt sniggered, thinking it a joke.
"Nobody can hope to outlive the other. Not doing what we do." He opened another cylinder, still not full. "It's all just random chance."
"That can't be all."
"No. Sometimes, if you're mindful and just a little lucky, you can alter chance to give you..." Hunt opened a third one but paused eerily, "...the advantage." He looked back at Trent, staring at him with a subtle intensity. Trent was frightened by this unblinking gaze. What was this man thinking of doing? Just as he was about to figure the worst, Hunt smiled devilishly. "This one's full." He said, finally turning away. Trent gave a little sigh and took off his backpack. "What about you?" asked Hunt. "Gonna leave, find an honest job?"
"Not sure." They both unscrewed the heavy container from its perch and lifted it into the bag with great difficulty.
Nothing was amicable, everything was sinister. With every twist and turn, their surroundings became even more foreboding as if the whole building were a hostile entity preparing to attack. Barlow and Hammond had split up to cover more ground and were instantly regretting it. They'd wandered for only a few minutes and already felt completely lost. "Hey, Barlow." Buzzed the radio. "You see anything?"
"I couldn't spot Bigfoot in here, let alone a cop." Complained Barlow.
"Yeah, I know." Hammond agreed. "It's like a goddamn labyrinth in here. I could swear I've passed this boiler already." Barlow changed the channels.
"Jack-ey boy, you see anything?"
"All's quiet." Droned Jack, his feet hanging out the van window. "River's a little noisy though."
"Well, poor baby. Having to put up with that river must be difficult." Expressed Barlow in false sorrow. "Now excuse me while I don't get killed."
"Uh...I think you've spoken a little too soon there." Jack pulled his feet back inside and listened.
"Yeah, right. Nice try."
"Quiet!" He hissed. Building slowly in the distance, just barely over the trickle of the waterway, the sirens were approaching. As they grew louder, flashing lights appeared far away on the other side of the compound. "Barlow, you guys might have a little company." Barlow suddenly felt a shiver fall down his spine. He quickly changed channels once more.
"Red, you'd better talk to Jack. He says the police are dropping by." Conveyed Barlow quickly. Red looked up from the two large sports bags they were putting the money in. The others had also frozen, wide-eyed and afraid. He grabbed his radio and tuned in to Jack's frequency.
"Jack, are you sure?"
"Positive." Over Jack's words and the working plant around them, the sirens became audible to them also.
"We're almost done in here. Don't come for us; stay in the van. We'll be out in a minute." After another station change, he continued; "You two get back here and tell Trent and Hunt to move their arses too."
"You got it." Agreed Hammond. He tuned in to Trent's radio. "Boys, prepare to leg it, cops are on the way." Hunt and Trent exchanged looks.
"Shit." Cursed Trent. "We should meet up with them." He ran to the door, swinging the pack over his shoulder and peered out.
"Why?" questioned Hunt. "We should just go and stay alive." Trent looked back at Hunt, incredulous and a little angry.
"I hope you do leave." Said Trent darkly before leaving Hunt on his own in the cold chamber. Even he knew that what he was doing was shameless. Leaving his people behind to die was not a mark of a leader. As much as he hated to admit it, Hunt knew this was the wrong thing to do. With as much compassion as he could muster, mixed with a little regret, he picked himself up and followed Trent to almost certain death. Maybe he was crazy after all.
The day came. So much blood was spilled on all sides. The papers called it 'The Bowery Bloodbath', soon forgotten. I walked into Salvatore Valestra's home, without having even fired a bullet. I was saving them for one man only. Not once did I flinch as I stepped over body after body, friend and foe, faces I knew and others I only now know in death. I felt like I was walking down the road to my salvation. I walked up the stairs of his mansion-like dwelling and mocked the money that had been wasted in its construction. It would never be lived in again. Perhaps by squatters, but no one who could buy it, no one who would appreciate it. I found him sitting in his bathtub, a gun in his hand. There was so much I wanted to say, so much he needed to understand, but no matter what I did now, all my words would fall upon deaf ears. He chose to die a tyrant; strong and powerful with this city in his hand. Perhaps the first casualty of the battle. Leaderless, his men scattered. Some fought unnecessarily while others hid in the corners of Gotham. With his territories up for grabs, Maroni replaced him as the king of The Bowery. When he asked what I wanted in return, I knew that I had to make it count; I didn't want to end my life here. If anything, I wanted it to mean something more than it had before. And so, Red Hood was born. Barlow, Zed, Webber and Hammond joined me, the rest followed along the way. We found Essex in Valestra's interrogation house; it was his job to make his enemies talk or else he died. The man was grateful when we got him out of there. Hillocks came recommended by Hammond, Trent was a former bouncer at Barlow's nightclub and Hunt...He kinda just...blew in from nowhere. I wanted it to be my stand against criminal power, fighting it the only way I knew how. Still haven't talked to Molly, she probably doesn't even know I'm alive. Even now, I still think about Jeannie and the kids. But the one thing I try to keep in mind was the irony behind Valestra's death. He made me understand what I had done and who I had become. Revenge had taken me apart and put back only the worst anyone could be. I didn't want to be a bad man, I am not an angry person. After that day, I promised myself I would never kill again. That's a promise I intend to keep until the day I die.
Bang! Bang! Two shots went off somewhere. It echoed so much that it was impossible to determine where they came from. "I thought you said there was lax security!" barked Webber at Napier, who was becoming very agitated.
"It's not my fault!" he squeaked. "Th-They must've altered things since I left."
"Altered?!" Webber shouted, rounding on the small man in the helm. "I'll alter your goddamn face, you arsehole!" Before this could escalate any further, the door opened and two men entered. Everyone drew their guns and aimed at each other before they realised the two others were Trent and Hunt.
"Don't y'all be happy all at once." Scoffed Trent, lowering his gun. The others all put their weapons away. Red eyed Hunt suspiciously.
"Any sign of Hammond or Barlow?" he asked. Hunt shook his head.
"They've not shown. Makes me think those two shots mean its curtains for them." Said Hunt. "In my opinion, we should be moving as well."
"Zed, how much longer until those files are wiped?" Red walked over to Zed who was at the Supervisor's computer, interfacing it with his own.
"I've only just gotten in." he exclaimed through gritted teeth. "Only half of the files are gone. This is gonna take a-" He was tackled to the floor just as the room was torn to shreds by weapons fire. Everyone fell to the ground as bullets and glass hailed all around them. When Zed looked up, he saw a bullet had shot right through the computer monitor, and then through his own laptop. He looked to his side and saw his saviour; Trent, lying motionless, a hold through his skull. Hunt opened the door and shot out at the attacking officers while lying on his side.
"We're trapped in here! Somebody make us a back door!" He shouted. Webber opened fire out one of the windows while Napier cowered behind the safe. Red picked up a chair and threw it out one of the back windows, following it up with the sports bags full of money. He crawled over to Zed who couldn't tear his eyes from Trent's corpse.
"Zed!" Red shook him, gaining his attention. "You go out that window, take those bags and get to the waste warehouse! Get out, you hear me?!" Zed nodded and waited for covering fire before diving out the window, hitting the floor on the other side. He was now back in the manufacturing complex. He may not have liked it, but being here meant that he might lose the fuzz amidst the chaotic mesh of machinery, that is, if he didn't get lost himself.
Back inside the office, the room was being torn apart like paper. As Hunt ran out of ammunition, he paused to reload which is when he saw Trent's body on the ground behind the desk. In his mind, the image changed and was replaced with his own dead form in Trent's place. It became clear that if he stayed to fight, it would cost him his life. "Hunt! I need some cover while I reload!" called Webber but Hunt was unresponsive. "Hunt! Help me!" Webber watched as Hunt gave him one last selfish look, shot out a side window and dove through it, fleeing for his life. "You son of a bit-" Webber had to duck back under the glass as it was shot out by the police. "Shit!" He turned back to Red who was lying by Napier, trying to comfort him. "Red! Get out! Follow Zed and get the hell outta here!"
"What about you?!" Red called back.
"Have a pint ready for me when I get back!" Webber shot out the window, no longer interested in talking anymore. While he held back the police, Red helped Napier through the back window and followed him out.
"Okay, which way?" he asked, checking the coast.
"I think...this way." Napier stammered and they hurried into the abyss.
Zed was scared for his life. Not only didn't he know where he was going, but he was being held down by these damn bags. Keep them or leave them? Either way, it meant his life. All he wanted to do was go home, anywhere was better than here. He almost jumped out of his skin when Hammond and Barlow emerged from the darkness, Barlow with a fresh graze across his cheek. "What happened to you guys?" Zed asked immediately after regaining his breath.
"Met the first wave of cops that came through the door." Said Hammond. "We dashed away as fast as we could hoping to see something familiar, but it's like a maze in here."
"You okay, Barlow?"
"I'll live." Answered Barlow bitterly, touching the flesh.
"Look, do you know where in the hell we are?" Hammond queried grumpily.
"I think our exit is just a little further down here, but don't quote me." Zed pointed down the path he had been following. It probably wasn't right, but it hadn't killed him so far.
"Good, let's get mo-" Another gunshot rang out and Hammond clutched his neck as he collapsed. Barlow dispatched the officer and knelt down by Hammond's side.
"He's been hit in the throat." Barlow took Hammond's hands and forced them into his wound, trying to keep the blood from pooling everywhere. "We need to get back to the van." He picked up Hammond and slung him over his shoulders, struggling under the weight just to stand on his feet.
"But...what about the money? I need help!" demanded Zed.
"Drop one!" ordered Barlow. "They're not worth your life, now come on!" Begrudgingly, Zed let one of the bags fall from his shoulder and hurried after Barlow, their trail marked by blood droplets.
Hunt was flying down passage after passage with no idea where he was heading. From the corner of his eye, he spotted several policemen searching through the plant. He came to a stop, hiding behind several pipes. They were headed his way and he couldn't take them all at once. Just then, he heard a noise above on the upper floor. Hunt saw, to his good fortune, Red and Napier creeping through the complex. This was the lucky break he needed to escape. "Hey!" he called out, grabbing the attention of the police and his fellow gang members. "There he is, up there! The Red Hood! The leader!" Red scowled down at Hunt, seething from within but had no time to have an outburst as the policemen fired at him. He quickly pushed Napier to move on and they hurried out of the line of fire. The cops near Hunt hurried after them.
"Murph! Get some boys over to the rear bays! We got Red Hood over here!" ordered one of the officers into his walkie talkie as they ascended the metal stairs in pursuit of Red. From the shadows emerged Hunt, happy in his good fortune. As he decided to carry on, he spied someone he was happy to see. Lieutenant Aaron Eckhardt had another motive to be here; income. Red was his best employer; at least he saw the value in having him around. The other mobsters would not be so considerate towards his application. There were other stronger, brighter and better cops who would be dying to have a take, but Eckhardt wasn't going to miss out on his share. This is why his intent was to help Red escape.
"Eckhardt!" whispered an urgent voice from nearby.
"Red?" said Eckhardt into the darkness. "Is that you? I'll get you outta here." He just couldn't see anything; it was so dark that he could barely see his hand in front of his face.
"Eckhardt." Beckoned the voice strangely. It sounded more gleeful than frightened. Still, Eckhardt shuffled forward, trying to find out the voice's origins. He patted his pockets and found a packet of matches. He scratched one against his scruffy cheek and held it before him. Suddenly, it was blown out and he felt a cold metal barrel press into his temple. "My saviour." Spat Hunt, hocking on Eckhardt's shoes. "Nice night for a walk?"
"Hunt?"
"All those times that you came in with 'useful' information and I couldn't help thinking...how could Red trust such a fat, miserable sod like you?" whispered Hunt offensively. "A sack of crap that can barely look down to tie his shoes. Why get him to do work?"
"Hunt..." stammered Eckhardt.
"Why you, when I could do so much better." With what needed to be said over and done, Hunt pulled the trigger and continued the way the Lieutenant had come, straight out of Ace Chemicals.
They had lost the police, but it appeared that Red and Napier had also lost their way. With every decision, it felt like they were heading further away from freedom. The stomping of boot against grille unsettled them, made them panic. The police, as well as the walls, were closing in around them with no end in sight. "How much further?" Red panted on the heels of Napier who was in a state of distress.
"I...I don't know! This mask...!" He exclaimed, giving in to his fearful impulses. Pathetically, he clawed and tugged at the helm, making animalistic noises with every attempt.
"Calm down!" hissed Red but it was no use. Napier had lost his nerve. He was like a caged monster being cornered by the hunters. The shrieks and growls grew louder and more desperate, bound to be overheard by their pursuers. As he pulled and twisted, it seemed more likely the thrashing would kill him before anyone else could.
"Get it off! Get it-" With one final almighty haul, Napier wrenched the hood from his head and held it high in the air, victorious over his struggle. In only a moment, his relief turned to sorrow as he saw three policemen take aim and fire, blasting his head apart. Red watched as Napier's body stumbled back, his arms throwing the helm aside, and fell into a stack of barrels. The police, in their own hysterical state, continued firing as the barrels collapsed around him, believing every sound to be another gangster. Red spied on one of the barrels several markings under the words 'Caution: Flammable' written on its surface. Realising this, he ran as several impacting barrels cracked and spewed their combustible fluids from within. Just moments after he had taken cover, the sparks ignited and exploded outwards in a massive fireball. The policemen were thrown back, while others who were caught in the blast, staggered and panicked as their bodies were engulfed in flame. When he was sure he was in the clear, Red peered over his cover. The whole section was ablaze; the fire was spreading quickly with smaller ones cropping up everywhere. It was clear that he wouldn't stand a chance down here. That his only hope of escape was up on the catwalks above where he might find an escape route. He placed the red hood over his head, hoping it would provide some protection from the smoke, and dashed up the nearest staircase while the distracted officers fought off the inferno.
"Gagh!" choked Hammond, unable to take a proper breath bouncing on Barlow's shoulders. He spluttered and spewed blood from his mouth that trickled onto the floor.
"Come on, old man." Barlow grunted. "We're almost there." He and Zed hurried through the waste warehouse as fast as they could, passing shelves and shelves of containers filled with toxic waste. As they scampered further inside, several barrels were stacked on the floor, no room for them to fit with the others. Luckily for these three, there was no sign of the cops.
"It should just be up here." Zed pointed to the stairwell that lead up to a second level. "The fire escape should be just outside a window on our right." Clang! The side door to the warehouse opened and in from the manufacturing complex entered several officers, their torches scanning the warehouse.
"Quick!" hissed Barlow, treading as quickly and lightly as possible up the stairs after Zed, narrowly avoiding a beam of light.
"This is it." Whispered Zed, opening the first window they reached. He climbed out first, throwing the sports bag onto the dirt ground and standing precariously on the fire escape. "I don't think it's been used in years." He commented to Barlow. They could hear the footsteps coming closer.
"One at a time." Said Barlow, preparing Hammond for the climb. Zed tried to lower the ladder, but it let out one loud squeal. The footsteps stopped momentarily and then continued, their torch light visible downstairs. "Hurry!" Hassled Barlow. Zed looked down directly under the grate and saw a shelter that peeked out of the wall. He scrambled over the rail and dangled above the shelter. Once he was satisfied he would make it, he let go and landed on its surface, climbing the rest of the way down.
"Go!" he called up quietly. Barlow rolled Hammond out onto the fire escape and climbed out afterwards, closing the window behind him. The landing wobbled dangerously but Barlow didn't have time to hesitate. He picked up Hammond once more and held him over the edge, swinging him onto the shelter roof. Barlow then swung himself down, quickly carrying Hammond in his arms before he slid off the roof.
"Right," he began to explain to Zed, "I'm gonna need you to..." Suddenly, the shelter lurched severely, swaying down on its side and tipping Barlow from his balance. He landed with a crack on the ground, Hammond still in his arms, and fell on his back. He moaned in great pain as Zed hurried closer.
"What's wrong?" He panted.
"My leg." Struggled Barlow between breaths. "It's broken."
"Stay calm, I'm gonna help you."
"No. Get Hammond to the van. You can only take one." Insisted Barlow, hyperventilating.
"I'm not leaving you behind!"
"No, just-" Barlow suddenly whipped out his gun and pointed it at the figure that had just appeared behind Zed. They both let out a sigh of relief when they saw it was Jack. "Thank God it's you."
"Let me help you, there." Jack grabbed one of Hammond's arms while Zed grabbed the other. "One. Two. Three." They hauled Hammond up, slinging his arms over their shoulders and began carrying him away. "Need any help, Barlow?"
"I'm fine, now he's off me. I can make it." Barlow limped after them, his leg bent at a weird angle.
"Where are the others?" asked Jack.
"We all got split up." Answered Zed.
"What about Red?"
"Can only hope he's doing better than us."
High above the smoke, a red figure ran down the catwalks, narrowly avoiding the watchful eyes of the police officers patrolling and searching for this elusive figure. Red could no longer tell which direction he was going; he was lost in an intricate catacomb of unimaginable design. The walls seemed to change, and a path that appeared open turned out to be a herring; closing itself off at the wrong moment. When he discovered his location to be the processing plant, Red was certain that there was no way out. Instead of heading to the rear, he had somehow made his way east and buried himself deeper into the compound. What frightened him the most wasn't his sense of loneliness, but that the gunfire had ceased. Where he had come from, there had been noise everywhere. In here, it was all just too quiet. "Can anybody hear me?" he whispered into his radio, only picking up static. There was too much electrical interference being generated in here. Despite his obvious isolation, Red couldn't help but feel eyes staring at him. He whirled around at the tiniest of clatters, unable to see anything in the shroud of darkness. Suddenly, from the rafters above, he saw them; two shining slits peering out from the shadows. It scared him so much, that he ran. By the time he looked back, they were gone, stalking him, getting closer. From nowhere, several cops gave chase after him, firing dangerously in his direction.
"He's taking off across the catwalk!" shouted one of the cops.
"I got a clean shot at..." but the second officer couldn't finish and neither of the others could react to the tall, black figure above them. "Oh my God. It's him." By the time the creature disappeared, they had lost sight of the Red Hood and began searching once more. Red checked behind him, wondering why the police weren't right on his tail like they had been only moments ago. Not squandering his luck, Red ducked into a control room of sorts, finding no means of escape. As he walked out, he spied further down an adjoining walkway was an exit. But as he made his way closer, a silhouette of what was obviously the police appeared. Red tried to back track but froze, terrified at the presence lurking in the shadows on the path he had just trod. It was there; hidden but felt physically throughout his body.
"Dear God," deliberated Red in terror-filled disbelief, "what have you sent to punish me?" The manifestation stepped into the light, revealing its demonic form. It was by no means supernatural, but created the fear it needed. The creature advanced forward, causing Red to step backwards. "Don't come any closer." Warned Red, feeling greatly threatened by its willing appearance but it ignored the caution. It took a swing at Red who only just managed to duck, only to have a second punch hit him square in the gut, knocking him to the floor. He quickly stood, still backing away, and avoided the heavy blows that were sent his way. Finally, Red kicked it back, trying his luck with a random flurry of attacks. He didn't see the left hook that left him dazed and only became aware of the world once more as he found himself tumbling over the catwalks' railing. As he fell, a hand clamped tightly around his ankle. Hanging upside down, Red looked up at the bubbling chemicals beneath. He turned back to the bat, its claw-like grip slowly coming undone. With one last pleading look, the black figure relinquished its hand and Red watched, helpless as he dropped into the waste below. Red felt himself being sucked into a large tube which ejected him into a basin where the chemicals swept him towards a disposal tunnel. The officers who had witnessed the whole ordeal opened fire at the Red Hood, several bullets hitting their mark, but only enough to wound. They continued their barrage until Red had been carried out of sight. Batman watched, wise enough to know he couldn't follow Red Hood down. He brought himself back to full height and began to make good his escape when-
"Bastard!" Webber tackled Batman, only to have his own force used against him. He was lifted over Batman's head and tossed aside, but Webber wasn't done. He attacked, every punch blocked and retaliated. This seemed an impossible battle to win like this, so Webber tried a kick. Batman held it steady and swung Webber around, throwing him through the control room window. As he fell through the glass, his body crashed into one of the levers, knocking it down and a warning signal flashed; 'Turbines Active'. Batman was about to collect Webber's barely moving form, but the police spotted the creature first; firing wildly at him. Batman fled, disappearing from sight. Webber, semi-conscious, knew that he had to escape. He could barely even walk out of the control room, bleeding from glassed cuts, but the police were not so generous. They shot him, believing for a moment that he was Batman and watched on as Webber swayed and toppled into a vat of acid where his body disintegrated into nothing.
Pain. All over, pain. Red was blind, deaf and in complete agony. The chemicals stung his body and eyes as he floundered uselessly down the long, dark tunnel. He had figured it would lead back to the river by the van, but that thought was long gone, squeezed out by the unbearable torture. Did he deserve this for everything he'd done in his life? Was this some kind of destiny that his existence was meant to fulfil? It didn't matter now; he just wanted it all to end. The eternal suffering had gone on long enough. Luckily for Red, fate was merciful. Although he didn't see it until the very last second, when he managed to glimpse the spinning blades chopping the water ahead through the wet lenses, he was almost glad that his ordeal would be over very soon.
At long last, they reached the van and Jack and Zed heaved Hammond inside, laying him down on the car floor. "We're here, buddy." Reassured Zed, grabbing a first aid kit. "We'll get you back to Hillocks and he can patch you up good. Don't worry. Just don't-don't worry." He was becoming more and more hysterical, so Barlow stood in, grabbing several bandages and pressing them into Hammond's lacerated neck.
"Stay with me." Barlow ordered into Hammond's fading eyes. His chokes were lessening. "I said stay with me, old man. You're not done yet." With all his strength, Hammond reached out and grabbed Barlow's collar. Slowly, he nodded, layed back, loosening his grip. His hand fell to his side and all was still. Barlow lowered his head, closing Hammond's vacant eyes.
"No." squeaked Zed, sobbing. He sat beside his fallen comrade, crying, his head in his hands. They took a moment for their friend in silence.
"We have to go." Said Barlow solemnly. "Leave his body behind." Zed was already too shocked to argue. He couldn't even manage to think about seeing the logic behind that command, but he carried it out anyway. "Jack!" called Barlow. He saw Jack standing by the muddy bank of the waste waterway, staring at the tunnel the brownish-yellow chemicals flowed out of. "Jack, we have to go!" But Jack wasn't listening. He was squinting through the half-light at the sludge. Suddenly, his eyes spotted something in the pooling waste, glinting in the dark.
"Wait!" he shouted back, moving a little closer to the water's edge. He couldn't make it out at first, but as it came closer it all became clear. Bobbing along on the surface, straight towards Jack was a red helm, drenched and all alone without an owner. When it hit the bank, Jack picked it up, noticing the large scratches on its shell. When he looked inside, a curious wave struck and a strange sensation overcame him.
"Jack!" interrupted Barlow. Jack placed the helm back on top and carried it back to the van, setting it on his lap as he started the engine. "What's that?" enquired Barlow, but Jack simply ignored him and began driving away. From atop the grassy knoll, Hunt walked out, watching the van drive off into the distance. How had they managed to survive? He had given Loeb all the information needed and the police were only now making their way down the river to where their meeting spot used to be. If he returned to The Stacked Deck now, then his betrayal would be immediately realised. All this meant was that he now had to bide his time. Soon enough, Red Hood would be his. Soon enough.
Jack strode through the front door of The Stacked Deck with an air of accomplishment. He walked past Hillocks and Essex and up the stairs to the second floor. Finally, he entered Red's office and stood behind Red's desk. He looked at the many possessions that had belonged to his mentor and regarded them with a pleasantness he could not express verbally. Inside his mind, the cogs were turning and new ideas formulated themselves within. When he heard Barlow walk in and turn, the first thing his friend noticed was the fanatic twinkle in Jack's eyes. "What do we do now...boss?" He asked, holding down the pain after having walked upstairs on a broken leg. Jack smiled airily, tossing the hood in his hands.
"Regroup." He answered. "Re-form." He seconded. "Re-analyse."
"Very good." Barlow looked at Jack, unsure of what to say next. "I'm sorry about Red."
"He will be missed." Said Jack, taking a closer view of the hood. Barlow noticed that there was something inside.
"What is that?" he asked a second time. Jack placed the red hood down on the corner of the table and grinned.
"The new face of our empire." Jack lifted the helm and revealed what lay beneath. Disfigured, deformed, chalk-white skin, messy green hair and large red lips made the face of Red appear nightmarish. Even Barlow was startled by Jack's comfort in having his father-figure's head mutilated and sitting on his desk. His mangled expression was difficult to read, being dead, but beyond the scars and trauma, Barlow could almost swear that those ruby red lips were curled into a mangled, hauntingly wide smile.
I've told you all I can. That's about the end of my story, you know the rest. Can't say it's a happy ending, but what is happy is not necessarily what is right. What my life has shown me is that wanting personal justice is not going to get you anywhere. It'll make you a monster. You have to learn to adapt to your situation and improvise. We live in a world where our plans can go horribly wrong; sometimes it is best to fly by the seat of our pants. Patience is a virtue and hot-headedness will get you killed. I'm not trying to prepare you for the future, you have your own life to live and are capable of making your own decisions in life, but I'm just trying to tell you what I have come to understand. The people in this world are not just straight up good or evil. There is no black and white. Death is not something to seek vengeance over; it is an opportunity to grow. I don't expect people to mourn my death and, frankly, I don't want them to. Under the circumstances, indiscriminate retribution in my name is something I abhor the thought of. Revenge makes monsters of us all, but someone without a motive is capable of so much more. Perhaps, if you even find what you do to be fun, you won't need one. Goodnight, Jack.
"Goodnight...dad."
First things first; thank you all for reading. Thanks especially to my three avid reviewers; Keywee, MintierBadger (you two have been there from the very beginning) and recent addition Jenicide24, along with followers Gideon Moriattis and lolmak. I am honoured you have taken the time to read my stories. You are all the reason why I continue to write them. Everyone, thank you.
Secondly; as you may have guessed, this is NOT the end. As with before, the next chapter will be part of a whole new story, so keep in touch to see when it is up (or do a notification thing or something). I do not know when I will begin work on it, but I already know that I will get pestered to start soon by a couple of people. All I can say is that it is called 'The Crowned Prince Of Crime'.
Finally, I would like to add that this chapter was my absolute pleasure to write. I am very proud of it, having finally, after all this time, actually been able to plan it out and show it to you all. I am so happy you enjoyed it. Thank you.
Well, I guess I'll see you again some other time. See you around...
