The following is a non-profit, fan work based off the respective works of Rei Hiroe and Christopher Nolan
All rights belong to the original creators, Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc., and Madhouse Inc.
The Bluefire Phoenix presents...
A File from Operation Dusk Hour...
Chapter XII: The Trebia
Safety and security made up the illusion that most civilians in the so called first world lived in, reinforced by a slow drip of rhetoric about freedom. Yet they always acted shocked when tragedy occurred. Freedom's a weak shield against a determined psycho with an assault rifle or an insane zealot with an explosive vest.
Even when such an act was perpetrated in the name of some medieval cause, it was usually just a quick "fuck you" to scare the masses. Statistically futile really. However the appearance of such a display provided good cover to obscure a much more nuanced message for those with the skills to decipher it.
Such was the use of the rising smoke in the square. The predicable panic intermixed with the haze. It was a familiar brew found all over the world. No matter the land, no matter the people; panic always spread the same.
My prey fell into line through my scope. All that was left was a simple…
Squeeze.
One.
Squeeze.
Two.
Squeeze.
Three.
Squeeze.
Four.
Squeeze.
Five.
With the emptying of a clip, government of Australia would collapse in a matter of weeks. The fallen were unwilling and unknowing martyrs for the downfall of a monster far more corrupt than even they could comprehend.
Precision demolition as we called it was among the first things I learned under Amanda Waller and my other handlers. How to dissect a government turned from a textbook study into a day job. The first thing was to understand that prime ministers, presidents, dictators; they were but the power source that fed a much larger machine. Sure there was symbolic power in assassinating a leader like that. But the political machine was still capable of repair. In any machine, it was the gears that did the brunt of the work.
The gears of a government were the career politicians and the entrenched bureaucrats that brokered the real power. Take out the right gears at the right time and the system falls apart. A government that didn't work generated unrest. And unrest got attention.
The world would see terrorism at its finest. But for those with real power it was a warning shot.
I climbed down out of my perch to the plaza below. The chaos of the moment flowed over my body. Police and soldiers tried to maintain order.
They didn't worry me. This was but the signature of my final warning.
Most people scrambled out of my way. They had nothing to fear from me. The damage had been done. All that was left was for the security footage to be seen by the right people.
Something was wrong. There was a pair of watching eyes out in the haze. Someone was on to me.
My body tensed. This wasn't supposed to happen. My hand quickly drifted down to my belt. I grabbed a compressed quarterstaff. My thumb slid over the extension button.
I flipped around, weapon at the ready. The only thing that stood out was a girl that looked like the one that tried to stop me in Jakarta. She was running out of the square. I relaxed and continued on.
A figure coming off of a rooftop caught my attention. He skillfully dropped down to the ground. The man was dressed in black armor. I noticed he had a blue avian icon painted on his chest piece. A thick black domino mask obscured his identity. His dark hair was cut short.
One of those hero types that had started to pop up in recent years. They were damn fools. Nothing but idealism wrapped up in tacky costumes. I wasn't going to suffer such a man.
The hero approach. I gripped my staff.
"Sorry but I'm putting an end to your terror spree, Wilson," he declared. He was a bit late. I didn't bother with a verbal comeback. My response was only a quick jab to the man's abdomen near a break in the plates of his armor.
He dodged the blow by a razor thin margin. He grabbed the end of my staff and was able to rip it out of my hands with a single twist of his shoulders. The boy quickly brought the weapon to bear, taking a low stance. I wasn't sure if I was impressed or angry at the kid's action. On the one hand he seemed to have been trained, that was more than I could say about his peers. Then again I could've just been getting sloppy in my old age.
I dropped into my own fighting stance. "Walk away now kid, because I promise: you are not going to walk away at all if you keep this up," I calmly stated. I hated using such a threat. They never worked but I wasn't in the mood to come up with something better. I also didn't want to add another body to the pile. Especially one whose death served no purpose.
The boy shook his head. He charged me. I was able to dodge and deliver a good hook across his face. The hero stumbled back. A bit of blood dripped down out of his mouth. I saw those bloodied lips curl into a smirk. It was a smirk I had seen dozens of times.
It was the look that every wannabe badass I had ever run into bore before their inglorious death. Skill rarely mixed well with bravado on the battlefield. I imagined that my opponent's hero complex probably made this toxic solution even more deadly.
Unfortunate, he might have made nice life for himself. I understood his motivation though. I was already a wanted man before I finally started my quest, and the hero thought he was doing the right thing for bringing me in. To be fair I agreed. I had many crimes to pay for, but I had to make sure that all of us were indicted.
My newest foe cocked back for an attack. I moved fast, dodging into his high strike. My fist delivered a nice uppercut to his jaw. The kid recovered faster than I anticipated and went for a leg lock.
I was able to slide out of his attempted lock, smacking him in the ear. The boy twirled around. He came around with a low sweep with his staff.
I rolled out of the way. I was able to get to his opposite flank. The hero closed up his defenses, using my staff to swat away any of my strikes. We began to circle each other. Sweat began to roll down my brow.
A quick lunge was enough to force us into a grapple for the staff. The kid was providing the first real challenge I had run into in years. It was exhilarating.
Unfortunately such a challenge was not what I needed at the moment. I got leverage and yanked the staff away from him.
Escape was the priority and my ride out of town was leaving in less than an hour. This nutcase was too unimportant. I broke off after collapsing my staff, and started running through the smoke and people. The hero continued to pursue. I could feel him trying to figure out a way to catch me.
The panicked crowd that remained in the square provided a good obstacle for me to slide through. I made it to the edge of the square and darted out into downtown.
I had to find some favorable terrain and fast. The shorter the fight the quicker I got out of the city. My eyes darted all about in search for a good area to finish the fight. A water treatment center came into view. Perfect.
I ran to the center, readying my knife for battle. I kicked in the door to the administration office. The small office was littered with papers and still steaming cups of coffee.
I used the door that led into the plant itself, sheathing my blade. There were pipes and vats along with the runoff. I climbed up the pipes, hiding in the shadows above.
The hero burst in after me. He looked around. Probably confused. He began to slowly move through the plant, circling about. His movements were as smooth as the water running in the runoff below.
I quietly moved through the piping. My heart pounded in my chest. It had been years since I had hunted such high quality prey.
It took another minute to position myself above him. Static crawled over my skin. I took a deep breath through my nose.
The world went cold as I fell to the catwalk bellow. I landed behind the hero, delivering a blow across his face as he turned to engage. He stumbled forward. The opening allowed me to deliver a good roundhouse kick.
My leg buffeted against his hand! The hero had grabbed it in the air and attempted to flip me over. I followed the motion of his throw, hoping to roll away from him just after I hit the ground. He noticed my maneuver and kneed me in the face.
It was a good move. For him. It was excessively painful for me. I groaned as I barrel rolled away from him.
We paused to catch our breath. "You're pretty good kid, pretty good," I said as I got up. The hero nodded in agreement, his chest heaved for air. I wasn't one to give praise like that. Especially in the middle of a fight.
I had to end said fight soon. I produced a bottle of mace and charged forward. He tried to rebuff me but I was able to sneak under the block and deliver the mace right to his eyes. The kid fell back into a defensive posture. I pulled out my knife. His armor was made of plates. If I could find a gap then he was doomed.
My opponent noticeably changed his tactics. I began a series of thrusts near his chest. The hero was able deflect my blows, but he was always a few seconds slower than his usual blocks. It was a rather impressive display. His defenses quickly tightened up enough to match me blow for blow.
Even so his defense wasn't perfect. Normally a person in armor built a defense around the weaknesses of said armor. Not a difficult task even if he was blind. No, my foe was just trying to keep me scoring a hit in general.
So he was probably new to the armor. Interesting.
I pressed the attack. A lightning strike embedded my blade right in between a couple plates on his abdomen. He hissed in pain. I jabbed it in a little further. Blood started flowing out of the wound. I delivered a couple hits to his face.
The hero slumped over a little. His legs gave out a little. I stomped on the exposed back of his knee. He howled in pain.
A swift yank on the grip retracted my blade. The hero raised up his arms. He tried to punch me. I easily deflected the blow and reciprocated with a strike of my own.
He was now totally stunned. I pushed the hero over the ledge. I saw the brief horror and realization in his eyes even through the pain of the mace. I shook my head. He fell down into the fast flowing stream below with. His body floated away.
A sigh passed through my lips. I wished he hadn't chosen the path that led to me. But I had my priorities after his untimely demise.
I slipped out of the plant. The city was unsurprisingly still in a panic. I used the panic to sneak through the city back to the docks. My ride out of town was waiting for me. It was a small tanker. Her captain was waiting at the bottom of the gangplank. He was a tall, heavy set Russian with a nasty scar across his dour face. His name was Boris and he had built a reputation over the last couple of years as an A-list arms dealer.
Normally I wouldn't dare associate with such a low life. Nothing like desperate times to break one's code. I carefully approached him.
The Russian was dressed in a wrinkled suit. He was lazily curling his fingers around a watch. "Ah Mr. Wilson, glad you made it," he greeted in a gravelly voice.
"Hate for you to not get paid, Boris," I said. The man started up the gangplank without a second glance. I liked a man who didn't care much about formalities. They made the world far more tolerable.
The ship set sail a few minutes later. Next stop, answers and home.
To Be Continued...
A/N: I must admit, one of my favorite tropes in fiction and reality is the question of the few versus the many. Who do you save? How do you judge the value of another human being in a dire situation?
Shows like Fate/Zero and even the Dark Knight itself really dig into this question. And I find it endlessly fascinating. For some reason.
Anyway, Deathstroke wins! Deathstoke wins! No shit. What did you think was going to happen?
I found this chapter slow to write. I knew what was going to happen and where it was going to end up. It just took a kick in the ass for this to get this done.
Leave a review and tell me what's up.
Until next time, I don't know {Should we know where the line is}