Chapter Nine
For the second time in the span of a week, Rebecca Mulcahey found herself awakening in unfamiliar surroundings. At first she could see nothing, and she groaned inwardly with terror and realisation. "Not again..."
Her arms and wrists were bound with chord, and she could feel hard wood pressing against her back and rear. She was bound and tied to a chair. Suddenly, the hood was roughly pulled away from her, and she squinted as sudden, harsh light was thrown onto her face, her head throbbing from where she had been incapacitated.
As she struggled to resolve shapes in the glaring light, a dark figure approached, and slammed its fist into her gut, making her retch and cough, all wind driven from her lungs.
"Alright, bitch, you're gonna tell us everything we want to know, and maybe we'll let you go afterwards..." a nasty, gruff male voice said. As she coughed, her vision blurring, the sight of her assailants and circumstances slowly swam into focus.
An ugly grinning thug stood over her, massaging his knuckles. Sitting at the back of the room, seemingly bored, was one of the people she least wanted to see. An elegant businessman, wearing white chinos and a summer jacket, a thick Cuban cigar twirling in his fingers. A man of wealth and taste, who also happened to hide his face behind a Black Mask.
One of the most powerful crime-lords in Gotham, the Black Mask and his False Face society controlled petty crime operations and the flow of high-quality narcotics. Key to his success, Rebecca knew, was his ability to turn bent cops to his exclusive use. He more than anyone alive right now had influence over the compromised and traitorous amongst Gotham's Law and Order system.
"Black...Mask..."she breathed, her heart pounding, feeling a sinking feeling. Unlike with the strange woman before, she knew she had absolutely no chance of leaving this room alive. All that remained to be decided was how much pain she would feel before then.
She felt the blow before she saw it, a sickening crack as two of her teeth were knocked clean out of her mouth, the thug's fist bloodying her jaw without hesitation.
She sobbed openly from the pain, her mind too disorientated to make much sense of things.
"You don't speak unless its to answer a question, whore. You ain't worthy of the Mask's time."
Black Mask simply watched, his grinning death's head concealing his true emotions, his body language of languor and ease, even as a woman was savagely beaten before him.
"Go ahead and ask her a question then." He spoke, his voice cultured and smooth.
The thug paled, and nodded. "Right, boss." He pulled Rebecca's head up by her hair, causing her to gasp in pain.
"Alright bitch. Who took you from the Club? What did ya tell them? How come you were trying to leave Gotham in such a hurry, huh? You sold us down-river didn't you?"
She struggled for breath, the pain in her head and jaw intense. She looked up into the beady, hate-filled eyes of the thug, and wondered if this was really where her life was going to end. For the thousandth time, she cursed Jim Corrigan. He'd been good to her, and she'd certainly had her fun, but now it all seemed so petty compared to living in fear and being beaten up twice for her duplicity.
"I don't know who nabbed me, I swear! I told her nothing! She's some kinda vigilante, not a cop! No threat! I just wanted to get away-"
The thug didn't even let her finish. Letting go of her hair, he simply pushed her back roughly, letting her slam down onto the hard stone floor with a painful bump, the chords digging into her.
Before she could recover he was straddling her, and she realised with sudden panic that this interrogation would be nothing like the vigilante's. The thug pawed at her, grinning, producing a thin pocket-knife, and she gazed up at him with terrified, wide eyes.
"You lie again girly and I'll do worse than slap you around. Slut like you probably enjoys the rough treatment, right? Bet you don't know how rough I -likes- it, though." His hot breath was in her face, and she winced, turning away from her captor, tears streaming from her eyes. Anything but that.
"Enough, Jacob. I want to hear what she has to say." The Black Mask spoke.
The thug grunted, clearly disappointed, reluctantly pulling himself up off of the woman.
"Miss Mulcahey. I believe you when you say you don't know the vigilante. None of us do. But this vigilante has been causing me a great deal of trouble. So you'll understand why I want you to tell me everything you can remember, what she asked you, what you told her, everything."
Though she could not clearly see the Black Mask from where she was now, lying on the ground, she could hear him walking over to her, his finely tailored shoes clacking on the hard concrete.
"She...she wanted to know if you...if you were the only one I reported to. Who...who else I knew you'd ah, done business with. I have always been loyal!" she added quickly, her voice ragged with fear and anxiety.
Surely she didn't deserve something like this. She'd only done what any cop in her position would have done. Okay, maybe she'd had more than her fair share of fun along the way, maybe done more than just the look other way occasionally, but everyone's gotta make money right? It just wasn't fair.
She felt hands on her, and she cried out in terror, but they were gentle, smooth, helping pull her and the chair back up. She looked into the grinning face of Death.
"Describe the vigilante to me. You described them as a she?" The voice was kindly, gentle, understanding.
Rebecca gulped, and began to relay everything she could remember, at first in a babble, but slowly growing smoother, calmer.
The Black Mask, despite his terrifying visage, nodded, like a kind parent. "I see. This is...most unexpected."
He turned to the thug. "I think she is telling the truth, but this...isn't what I wanted to hear."
"You want me to work her over some more boss?" Jacob's voice dripped with anticipation. Mulcahey shuddered.
"No, that won't be necessary." The Black Mask turned back to her, looking her straight in the eyes. He spoke directly at her, his voice lacking all emotion or civility, cold as ice.
"Wrong vigilante. She's worthless to us. Kill her."
Jacob looked as if he was about to object, but sighing, he produced his knife again, and walked around behind her.
"No! Wait, please, I can tell you more-" she begged, desperate to live just a little longer.
The light suddenly went out, leaving them in total darkness.
"Shit." the Black Mask said.
"Boss-"
"Not a word. Leave the girl. Get the men."
Rebecca sat, terrified, as the two men quickly left her, an iron door opening, letting a little dim light in, before slamming again. She waited, her heart hammering in her chest, unable to see anything, her head and jaw throbbing, her skin stained with sweat.
She prayed that the two men would not return. After a few minutes alone in the darkness, she prayed that they would.
The Black Mask hurried out into the warehouse, reaching into his jacket smoothly for an ivory-handled pistol. He waved to Jacob. "Silence. Gather everyone. Equip yourselves with fire-arms. Stick together. Kill the intruder."
Jacob nodded, and ran off to join the rest of the crew. Mask calculated, and decided discretion was the better part of valour. He fled quickly to his secret bolt-hole. No one could possibly know about it there, not even any of his staff. He had a feeling that what was coming would be over soon. What the girl had told him...he frowned. Inconsequential.
In the darkness, the thugs called out to each other uneasily, as they tried to get the emergency power back on.
"Frank, you there?"
"That you Greg?"
"Wait, where's Grant..."
Suddenly there was a sound like nails being dragged along a chalkboard, followed by bursts of gunfire in the darkness.
"Aacgh!"
"Greg! Fuck, he got Greg!"
Chaos reigned. Jacob quickly broke into one of the crates he'd been looking for, sweat beading his brow. He'd been with the boss a lot lately, and he had an idea of what was coming. He fished out the heaviest weapon he'd ever seen, an M240 light machine gun. He clicked the safety off, and got down behind the crate, resting the tripod on it, setting the sights and aiming down into the warehouse. Nothing could come from behind him. Whoever or whatever was coming would be in for a nasty surprise.
"Garth? That yo-aaaagh!" Another sound, wet and gruesome. Gunfire opened up all over the warehouse, and even Jacob could see they were giving their positions away with their panic firing.
He sweated, his heart pounding, his finger resting shakily on the trigger, ready to fire at the first thing that came this way.
Two figures broke, and started running towards him. "Stay back!" he shouted. "Stay where you are!"
A dark, heavy shape swung from the rafters, slamming into them, bringing them down. He fired instinctively, heavy barking noise deafening him. The muzzle-flash was painfully bright, illuminating glimpses of something from one of his worst nightmares.
When he let go of the trigger, the heat from the barrel radiating back at him, all he could see was shredded crates, and the two figures lying still and bloody on the floor. Where was...?
Movement, in the corner of his eye.
He swung round with a cry, switching to full-auto, and hosed the warehouse with his LMG, round-casings spinning off wildly, one scarring his cheek as it left the ejector port.
"Die you fucking monster! Aaaaaaaaah!" he screamed.
He felt the gun click on empty, its magazine exhausted. So soon? It hadn't been that long. He quickly fumbled to eject the empty drum, but it was too late.
The figure exploded at him, huge, heavy, black as night, a face of a red-eyed demon looming in at him.
A long black cape, splattered in blood, blossomed out behind the figure, like wings of shadow. The moment stretched on infinitely as Jacob's eyes narrowed to points in pure terror.
The creature's claws swung into him, razor-sharp claws of vibranium, scattering him into the darkness. Jacob knew no more.
Black Mask hastened through the sewers, the stench making him gag. The stink was ruining some of his finest shoes, but he had to get away, damnit. Not much further now and he could get be at his private jetty, and be speeding away into Gotham Bay...
He felt the presence before he saw it. Something huge, menacing was coming. Coming for him. Beneath his mask he curled his lips in distaste. He would not succumb to fear! He was the great Roman Sionis, lord of crime! He looked behind himself nervously, swinging his pistol back and forth.
"Show yourself, demon! I know what you are! You think you can wear the mantle of the Dark Knight in this city? You are no hero! You're a murdering coward!" He shouted into the blackness, his words echoing through the dim sewers.
When no response came, he hurried on, almost tripping head-first into the sewage as he did so. He clambered through thin, winding tunnels, and at last could hear the roar of the outflow, and the sea.
Maybe he'd make it out? He turned around one last time...
It slammed into him like a freight-train, and he coughed with surprise, falling back against the grate, splattering sewage water running along his suit as he was pushed against the wall.
"You fucker! This suit cost ten thousand dollars! I'll rip your face off!" He snarled, and grappled with the black demon. Red eyes burned into his, but he felt no fear. This creature's mask was demonic, but his was death. He would triumph here.
He felt his arms being forced back with incredible strength, and he cried out in pain, every muscle in his body screaming for release. He tried to fire a shot, but his pistol was banged against the wall, and the shot echoed, ricocheting painfully off the walls, his ears ringing in the confined space.
"Aaagh! You can't kill...me..." He roared, and head-butted the creature, his iron-mask slamming against the alloyed plastic of the demon's.
The demon staggered back, even as Roman's head rang, dizzy, blood thundering in his ears, his eyes swimming.
"I have you now!" He shouted in triumph, turning his pistol back quickly, emptying the whole clip in rapid succession at the monster, dry firing for a few seconds even after the magazine was spent.
The monster staggered, and dim moon-light from a thick grate shone down, illuminating the figure more clearly for the first time.
A shadowy, flowing cloak, draped from broad shoulders. A cowl, thrown back, and a slender head clad in a full mask, night-vision goggles built in around the eyes. A blank, ridged face, like an insect's black carapace. The mask was splattered with blood, and had a small dent where the Black Mask had head-butted him.
The body was impressively muscular, almost impossibly so. Two huge clawed gauntlets extended from around the wrists, the fists encased in heavy metal gloves. The burly figure's chest was emblazoned with a silvery eagle-like design, resembling a highly stylised W. Bullet-marks marred the design and the chest armour, but no blood flowed from them.
Black Mask realised he was screwed. He did the only thing he could think of doing, even as the demon recovered. He dove into the sewage, and felt a strong current pull him away almost immediately. The stench was overpowering, and he could feel all manner of things flowing along side him. He held his breath, even as nausea rose to overwhelm him.
The creature simply looked back at him, before speaking for the first time, in a powerful, husky voice. "You can run, Roman, but no one hides from the Wrath!"
The Black Mask felt chills, wondering how on earth this vigilante garbed like a demon had found out his true name. But before he could think much more, he found himself spilling out into the sea in a stream of raw shit, plummeting into the dark ocean...
His fight with this newcomer was only just beginning.
Rebecca Mulcahey groaned in the darkness, sobbing with terror. She was relieved when the door finally opened, and almost shrieked when she saw who. It was the faceless woman from before!
"Quiet. Are you hurt? Can you move" The Question asked, running to untie her.
"A little. Uh...yeah...I can move." She said, rapidly untangling herself, massaging her wrists. Without waiting for further comment, the Question grabbed her roughly by the arm, and began to haul her out.
"Hey! You...You can't just haul me around like a piece of meat..."
"Shut up, or do you want me to leave you here?" The Question hissed through her teeth.
Rebecca shut up, though she nearly cried out when she saw the torn, bloodied mess that had once been Jacob, a machine gun broken in half lying strewn about in pieces by his eviscerated corpse.
"What the..."
"Keep moving. You don't want to be here when he comes back." The Question said, anger and frustration in her voice.
They ran silently through the warehouse, past bloodied bodies, looking as if they had been hacked apart, looks of terror permanently frozen onto dead faces.
Outside, a van was waiting. The night-air was cool and misty, shocking to Rebecca. She had never thought she would draw in outside air again. She shivered, the bitter cold hurting, but feeling good all the same. She could even see her breath coming out in ragged puffs. In the distance she could hear the wail of sirens.
"The cops will be here soon. I trust you don't want to explain why you've been missing for a week and just happen to be at the Black Mask's base of operations?" The Question asked sardonically, hurrying to her parked van.
Rebecca blushed, and started to stammer, uncertain how to feel about this rough woman, a past tormenter but currently rescuing her, in a way. Before she could reply, the Question grabbed her, and hauled her roughly into the back of the van. It was none too soon, as the Question heard something heavy running at them.
Emerging from the gloom of the warehouse into the cold was a monstrous figure, a man powerfully built and clad from head to toe in black grey and silver, great swathes of red blood splattered across all of it. His cloak billowed out behind him as he came to a sudden halt, mere yards from where the Question stood.
She reached unhesitatingly into her pocket for her police side-arm, cocked it and aimed it at the blood-splattered monster.
"I don't give a fuck who you are or why you're doing this, but you're not killing any more people tonight." She said with absolute authority.
"Ah. The Faceless woman. I hear you call yourself the Question now." The gravelly voice spoke, with obvious dark humour.
"You think yourself an Agent of Justice, perhaps? There is no Justice in this world, Captain. There is only vengeance, and Wrath." The figure looked as if it was about to leap at her, at Rebecca craned her head out of the Van, watching with terrified eyes as the two vigilantes squared off at each other. Mulcahey had no doubt who would win such a fight. There was no way her faceless saviour could possibly withstand a monster with claws like that.
The Question tensed, her hands tightening around her grip. Somehow the man- this...Wrath, she supposed, had known her rank, which suggested it also knew her identity. That was definitely not good. She aimed for the head, noting the bullet-marks along the chest, and hoping that the vigilante's mask wasn't as tough as his chest armour.
For a few seconds they regarded each other this way, before the wail of sirens suddenly became a lot louder, police cars skidding on the icy roads as they rounded the corner, heading down the street their way.
The Wrath turned, and, without further word, vanished back into the gloom. The Question sighed a huge sigh of relief. "We better get out of here. Now."
"Where are we going?" Rebecca asked with alarm.
"Only place I can think of. Home."
She put her foot to the pedal, and the van sped off into the night. She had no real idea why she was saving someone as scummy as this bent cop, but she felt instinctively that leaving her to be killed by that...that monster, would have been fundamentally wrong.
She smiled thinly to herself under her own mask. The honour of killing the ones who betrayed Jim Gordon would be hers, and hers alone. And she'd do it the right way, or not at all.
Rebecca clung to herself, shivering, wondering just where life was taking her next.
Tires squealed as they sped through the autumnal city, grey night hanging like a haze over the hazily lit streets, the noise of sirens fading into the noise of midnight traffic, the Question seeming to expertly know the right back-roads to get them away from the Docks and the police.
"I owe you." Rebecca said simply.
"Yes, you do." the vigilante replied.