Author's note: Sorry for the lull in updates. The creative juices stopped flowing, and I've been busy. I'm back now though, and intend to update the next chapter a bit quicker.
I Justice League not own do.
"Would you hurry the fuck up?!" the assault-rifle-toting, heavily-body-armored man said, revealing a thick Brazilian accent. He glanced over his shoulder to look at his nearly identical comrade, who was busy working on hacking the vault door open.
"Jesus, give him a break, man. This hacking shit is delicate work. Wouldn't want him to trip the alarms, would you?" a third mercenary scolded, cracking his neck casually. His voice, too, rang with south American tones. "Idiot."
The first mercenary twitched in irritation, but mentally reminded himself that infighting wouldn't help anything. "Sorry. It's just…the bat, you know? He could show up any time. Got me all…on edge, I guess."
"Would you relax?" the hacker said without looking away from his console, fingers blazing over the keyboard. "We're professionals here, and some ninja wannabe has got your panties in a twist."
"He's right," the laid-back criminal went on, chuckling softly. "How bad could Batman be?"
The nervous one shook his head. "You don't know; you clearly haven't met him yet," he whispered, chills running down his spine as he recalled the vivid details of the first encounter. And the second. And the third…
"Shut up, you two," the hacker barked again, this time risking a quick look behind him. He quivered, perhaps in fear, perhaps due to cold. "We've got a job."
The first mercenary scanned the office building, seeing nothing but rows of cubicles. "Look, all I'm saying is that we should be more…"
There was an ominous thump as booted, metal feet struck the ground about twenty meters away from the trio. The two guards swiveled in the direction of the sound.
"What the hell!?" the jumpy one blurted, shocked by the sight before him. He aimed the assault rifle at the intruder but didn't fire, mind too overwhelmed with the arduous task of identifying her. Wait, HER?
Yes, clearly female, by the curves and breasts. Even more odd, she was clad in some kind of silver metal. The outfit vaguely resembled that of the Greek warriors the thug had read about in his brief time in school…Spartans, he thought they were called. There was a breastplate, an elegant but bulky helmet plumed with feathers, an armored skirt of some kind, and thick greaves. Everywhere else, save her eyes, mouth, and nose were covered by a skin-tight layer of the material. Overall, the garb looked to be all one silver piece…but how was that possible?
"That's not...who the fuck are you?" the confidant gunman asked. All his fellow guard could do was shiver in place.
The imposing figure loomed for a heartbeat, regarding the men with a piercing gaze. Then she spoke, an elegant but deadly voice issuing from her throat.
"I am Myrmidon," the woman boldly declared.
There was a moment of tense silence. Then, "You've got to be kidding me. A chick? And in an outfit like that? Go back to the circus, broad." The guy nervously chuckled, his false sense of bravado extremely obvious. "Here you were, worrying about Batman showing up," he said, turning to the other gunman, "and we've got this bitch to deal with instead. It must be our lucky day. She's got a NICE body. We can definitely have some fun!" When the crude jibe was met with ominous silence and a contemplative look, he cleared his throat, eyes darting back and forth uneasily.
"What fools you are!" the warrior barked in frustration, beginning a charge towards her foes. Quicksilver-esque material melted out of her suit, a phalanx shield forming in her hand almost instantly. She raised it front of her.
At the same time, the men opened fire with their guns. A hail of semi-automatic fire pinged against the shield.
Myrmidon grunted, the force of the blasts threatening to push her back and halt the charge. Moreover, there was a good chance that a lucky shot might eventually penetrate. Another tactic was required. She twisted to the side, threw herself to the ground, and rolled off into another row of cubicles.
"Forget this semi-auto shit!" the nervous mercenary shouted. He jerked a lever on the gun, setting it to full-auto. Muzzle flashes bathed the room in obscenely bright light as a never-ending stream of bullets sizzled through the air, decimating the cubicles. The dramatic devastation was ended with an unceremonious "click" that signaled a shortage of ammo.
"Shit shit shit shit…" the terrified killer spat, fumbling over another clip.
"Great going, dumbass. At least she's probably dead… right?"
A miniature version of a discus sliced through the air and buried itself into the speaker's rifle. He tried to fire vainly at Myrmidon, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. It was no use. The gun was cleaved in twain and would never spit lead again.
She was upon him in an instant. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, the mercenary put up his fists with the intent of slugging her down.
The next thing he knew, the world was a haze of stars and bright spots. All he knew was two facts. One, that he lay on his back amid the wrecked office furniture, and two, that there was pain; a lot of it.
Meanwhile, the shaky, reloading thug finished his task. It was too late. The woman slapped the gun to the side just as a spray of lead shot out, missing by a wide margin. She grabbed both his shoulders and slammed her knee violently into his groin. The mercenary fell to the floor, screaming and convulsing in white-hot pain.
At that instant, the vault door finally clicked open. Before Myrmidon could react, the hacker rolled through the entrance to the server room and punched the lockout button.
If it weren't for her lightning-fast reflexes, the man might have successfully separated himself from her. Instead, the silver vigilante willed her armor to create a Greek sword, which was promptly plunged into the control console. Glitching and spraying sparks, the console shut down, halting the lockdown in progress.
Myrmidon strode into the server room. The hacker had just inserted some kind of thin device into one of the computers. Her strong grip captured his throat, hoisting him into the air.
"What do you want with this technology, little man?" she asked. Though the tone was calm, the sentence was less of a question and more of a command for information.
"I dunno, some kind of files. Please, don't hurt me!"
"Wrong answer. Try again. For your sake, I hope you do better this time." Her voice was sharp as steel but as soft as silk.
"Oh god, oh shit…look miss, I mean, uh…ma'am…I don't even know who I'm working for, or what's here, or um, anything like that." He sweat profusely, rattling off the words in a panic. "I don't even know who hired me. Honest!"
Myrmidon scowled. It was an image that would surely haunt his nightmares for years to come. Icy claws tore at his heart, telling him he was about to die in the most horrible way possible.
"I know you're lying, scum. Do you want me to get the caped and cowled one down here? He's not as nice as I am." The pressure on his throat doubled.
"I'm telling…the truth," he choked, gasping for air.
Even without a magic lasso, she could tell that this pathetic fool was telling the truth.
"Goodnight."
"No, please!" the hacker said, thrashing and clawing to escape. It was no use. Myrmidon kept applying just enough pressure to make him faint, but not enough to actually kill him. When he finally stilled, she laid him a bit roughly on the ground.
She then back tracked to the office and made sure the other would-be thieves were also knocked out. Then, putting a finger to her temple, she said, "Myrmidon to Batman. I've put a stop to the break-in, but I don't know what to make of this situation." She glanced around at the whirring, beeping, and flashing machines inside the server vault. "It's a little bit outside my area of expertise."
Had anyone else been around to hear her voice, they might have noticed that the warrior's voice took on a sultrier, softer aspect when she addressed Batman.
"I'm sure you can handle it. If not, I need you out on patrol. I can stop by later."
"Is that how you feel?" Myrmidon asked.
As she awaited his response, the woman kneeled to inspect the bodies. Something caught her eye, and she yanked aside their collars one by one.
"Yes," came the curt reply. "Damian and I have something important to look into."
Myrmidon continued her inspection, examining the thug's arms, legs, shoulders, and backs.
"Well then," she said, feigning indignation. "I suppose you won't be interested to know that these thugs are covered in rather distinctive tattoos."
There was a delay. "What kind?" the other voice rasped.
"Snakes."
"I'm on my way."
Batman rose from his kneeled inspection of the unconscious thieves. Despite the bulky cape and heavy metal armor, his movement was as silent as a ghost's whisper. Not even a rustle.
"These definitely aren't your average run-of-the-mill robbers," he boomed, wrapping the cape around him like an aura of blackest shadow.
"What makes you say that?" Damien quipped from his nearby position leaning against a wall with his arms folded. "No wait, don't tell me," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Is it the fact that they managed to break into the extremely well-protected office of a highly powerful corporation without triggering the sophisticated security systems? Or is it the fact that they're covered in snake iconography from head to toe?" His much higher pitched voice filled the silence of the room, a stark counterpoint to Batman's low rumble.
The boy's flippant remark sluiced off Batman as if he hadn't even heard it. "This suggests an organized and well-funded plot. These guys don't come cheap."
"Who are they?" Myrmidon asked, putting a hand on her hip. When Batman didn't answer right away, she looked at Damien. The boy was equally at a loss.
"South-American cartel members. I've tangled with them before. They're vile criminals that use reptilian motifs and practically worship snakes. Their highest-ranking hitmen are meta-humans called Copperheads." When his female accomplice shot him a quizzical look, Batman added, "Yes, Luthor's Copperhead used to be one of them."
"I'll scan the data banks and see what they were after," Damian added, heading into the server vault. A few moments later, he was rapidly typing lines of commands into the machines. The key clicks were a drum roll that went on seemingly forever.
Meanwhile, Myrmidon ducked over to were Batman loomed imposingly. "I want to help in any way I can," she whispered to him, allowing her voice to return to the sibilant tones of Diana. "And don't you dare think of sending me away!" she hissed.
The bat's timbre rose in pitch as well, becoming the charming sound of Bruce Wayne's voice. "Look, something big is definitely happening tonight."
Diana peered at him as if asking how he could possibly have guessed that.
"Call it a hunch," he elaborated quietly. "Look," he began, even quieter, checking with his detective vision to see if the thugs were really still unconscious. They were. "I'm worried about you. Just like I'm worried about Damien. I know you both need to be out here, doing this, fighting crime instead of wallowing in your own feelings of ineptitude, because I've been there, too. That's why I did what I did, for all the Robins. Not that I'm implying you're my sidekick, of course."
Diana grinned, nodding in agreement with all of his points.
"I won't stop you from doing as you please," he went on. "Just don't expect it to be easy for me to accept."
Diana wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to hug him, kiss him, or even just lay a hand on his to reassure him and display her appreciation. She almost did, but recalled Bruce's rule about showing any affection at all while in costume. Instead, she settled for another light smile. There would be time for all of those things later…and more.
"Thank you," she intoned softly.
The typing ceased, heralding Damien's arrival from the other room. "The hacker managed to insert a thumb drive which automatically ran a program. It transmitted terabytes of data to an unknown source, but I couldn't crack it. This programming is top-notch."
"What kind of data?" Diana asked, settling easily back into the Myrmidon persona.
"Financial records, the real names of many crime lord's pawns, and private recordings of a highly sensitive nature."
"Blackmail," Batman stated, brushing past Myrmidon and into the vault. She followed. "Is any of it related to drug or human trafficking?"
Damien shook his head.
"Then it's outside their usual style," he observed.
"Wait a minute, why did the servers of a tech company have such information?" Diana asked.
"They didn't; the thugs just needed a set of highly advanced computers to perform the hack, and these are the best in the city. Other than mine, of course. In any case, once they got in, an automated program downloaded everything from secure severs," Batman explained, scrolling through the menus on the various screens. "Since most of this is related to Carmine Falcone and Rupert Thorne, I'd say they were the targets."
"But that doesn't tell us what the motive was," Damien pointed out. He stroked his chin pensively. "It could be a third party trying to capitalize on blackmailing the two most powerful gangsters in the city, or it could be one of them trying to take down the other while protecting himself."
Batman nodded. "True. Staying here doesn't get us any closer to the answer. That's why I'm going out. It's time to finish tracing a few of those leads you and I were working on."
"Care to explain what you're talking about?" Myrmidon inquired.
Batman sighed. "The Joker is dead." The words didn't shock her, she'd gotten the story of the clown's downfall from Bruce previously. "He used to keep the other criminals, even big time syndicates, in line with the threat of his chaotic wrath. Ever since he died, a power vacuum has been left in his wake. Gotham's been quiet lately. Too quiet. If I know this city…and I DO know this city…then someone else is eventually going to attempt a power play. Considering that most of my rogues have been taken care of, my two most likely suspects were Thorne and Falcone. That's what me and Robin were investigating tonight."
Myrmidon nodded. It made perfect sense. "I'll come with you," she said, falling into step with him as he went for the door.
"Wait," Robin blurted. "There's something else you should see." He punched a few keys and summoned a window with some kind of paused video inside of it. "This was encrypted along with the rest of the files, but the code was weaker."
The black and silver vigilantes wheeled around to look. Robin pressed play.
Almost immediately a green clad man appeared on the screen. He twirled a wooden cane topped with a question mark. His outfit was covered in the same symbol.
"Greets, o' dark knight of Gotham!" The man exclaimed joyously. "It is I, your greatest rogue of all time, the unequalled master of all puzzles, and your intellectual superior…"
"Nygma," Batman rumbled.
There was a pause on the other side as the Riddler held baited breath. "You stole my introduction from me, didn't you?" He scoffed, gesticulating nonchalantly with his cane. "It is of no consequence, especially since by the end of the night your feeble mind's fortitude will be utterly shattered by my mental might!"
"Is this guy going to ever shut up?" Damian deadpanned.
"What IS important, my befuddled, bemused, and besmirched Batman, is that I have a capriciously copious conundrum for you to struggle vainly against!"
The screen cut to black. A second later, the recording displayed a still of the following words: What do you call a fire that doesn't burn?
"You must get all the nutcases," Myrmidon commented, shaking her head.
"Tell me about it," Damian mumbled.
"Regardless, we have to solve this riddle," Batman began. "As you saw, Edward Nygma is an extreme egotist. The answer to the riddle is most definitely a clue to his plans. He WANTS me to find him."
"If you say so," Myrmidon said skeptically. She tapped her chin. The gears turned in her head. "The answer would have to be some kind of corrosive substance. Chemicals can burn without creating actual fire. If I'm not mistaken, there are plenty of factories in Gotham that produce deadly substances."
Batman nodded. "True. However, Riddler's solutions are never that straightforward. He wants me to think more abstractly…" He trailed off, beginning to pace back and forth in what little space was available inside the data vault. The blue glow of monitors and flashing lights seemed to contrast with his black clothing, making him appear as an even darker void in reality.
Damian and Myrmidon waited patiently for Batman to come up with answer, staring at him as if witnessing an artisan sculpt a masterpiece from a raw block of clay. After all, Enigma was one of the dark knight's regular villains, and no one else in the room had any practical experience with the man.
"I think you were on the right track, Myrmidon," the man in question stated. "The answer isn't the chemicals themselves, but it has something to do with them. Agent Orange comes to mind."
Myrmidon crinkled her nose in confusion. "And what is that, pray tell?"
"A chemical agent used to quickly wither plant material during the Vietnam War. It severely poisoned the skin of anyone it touched, creating the sensation of burning."
She nodded solemnly. The League, and Bruce in particular, had taught her that this world was not as corrupt a place as Diana had originally believed. It was important though, she supposed, to occasionally recall that it could still be quite cruel at times. She shuddered, imagining what Bruce must feel like, having to immerse himself in the very worst that the world could offer on a daily basis.
"If he wanted to lure me into a trap, which he most certainly does, then we're looking for a place associated with one or both of those words," Batman went on.
Damian typed rapidly into one of the computers. "There's a facility currently in operation that fits the description. It's called…"
"Produce Agent; a distribution corporation that deals in fresh fruits and vegetables, including oranges." Batman effortlessly finished. "Moreover, the Gotham branch is a suspected front for Rupert Thorne's drug trafficking."
"That seems a little too convenient," Diana added.
"Yes," Batman answered. "We've had our eyes on that place for a while now. It's more than suspicious that the Riddler would want to direct me there, especially in light of the company he evidently keeps," he said, gesturing to the unconscious thugs.
Both Damian and Myrmidon weren't quite sure what to say next. They paused, waiting to hear his overall analysis. He was the world's greatest detective, after all.
"What's the conclusion?" Damian pressed when there was no forthcoming response.
"I don't know," Batman stoically muttered. "Everything about this story is contradictory. Riddler doesn't deal in trafficking, so the thugs don't fit his usual M.O., or even his wallet. Same with the distribution plant. Stealing the blackmail *does* match Nygma's style, but not the thugs'. Their style syncs with Thorne's smuggling ring, though."
Myrmidon sighed, shifting her body language in frustration. "So we don't know anything?"
"Well, we do know a few things. One, Riddler is involved with someone richer and more powerful than he is. Two, Thorne and Falcone are connected somehow. And three…"
"Something big is going down tonight," Damian finished. "What?" he asked in response to the pair of blank stares. "I get hunches too."
There were a few moments of silence. Then Diana was saying, "I say we go to this plant together, attack as one solid unit. Whoever Riddler's working with, they want to split us up. Divide and conquer."
Batman was shaking his head. "Excellent battlefield advice, but it's not applicable here. This is a battle of wits and information as much as it is a struggle of physical combat."
Myrmidon frowned, squaring herself up to show that she would not back down on this point.
The attempt at intimidation, while it may have melted the resolve of many lesser people, did not seem to faze the dark knight at all. She should've known better. Still, the Greek warrior kept the staring contest going for a while, refusing to back down. It was a battle of wills, each gunning for the role of alpha.
"Look, Princess," Batman growled, stepping within inches of her. "We don't have time for this. We know absolutely nothing about what is going on here. Yes, we'll play right into their hands, but there isn't time for a better option. Sometimes, you just have to deal with a bad situation."
Myrmidon grit her teeth before taking a deep, steadying breath. "I've seen more battles than you've had days in this life. I believe I'm the most qualified person here to judge what is and what is not tactically sound."
Batman's response was both measured and immediate. "And if we were leading a contingent of Amazons into battle against Ares, I'd defer to you completely; but we're not. This is my city, my enemy, my area of expertise. I'm the most equipped one here to formulate a plan by a wide margin."
Myrmidon maintained her obstinacy for a few more moments, then wavered. The validity of his arguments was airtight. That didn't mean she had to like it, though.
"Fine," she grumbled. "Your plan had better work."
Batman eyed her up close for a few more moments. A storm of feelings was clearly billowing between them at the moment. It was best to put that aside for now. He turned on his heel and stalked away.
"Good. You're going to Agent Produce," he said evenly.
Her eyes shot wide open. That certainly hadn't been expected. Her heart fluttered, suddenly feeling contrite for underestimating Bruce's view of her abilities.
"I'm sure you can handle whatever Nygma has planned," Batman said. "Damian, you're staying here to see if you can trace the signal that Riddler used to stream the video."
"And where are you going?" the boy wonder asked.
"To follow up on the old leads you and I didn't finish, and to see if I can track down anything on these mercs."
He paused before leaving, turning around to glance at his female crime fighting partner. She was already grappling up the elevator shaft to the top floor of the building, where Batwoman's repurposed gliding platform awaited.
Damian waited for her to leave. "I'm guessing that you want me to follow her, right?"
Batman nodded. "Stay in the shadows, and only reveal yourself if she needs your help. I'm sure that between the two of you, Riddler won't be a problem."
"It's his allies you're concerned about," Damian extrapolated.
"You're learning," the other muttered slyly before vanishing into the depths of the night.
As soon as Batman cleared the building and was once again gliding over the skyline of Gotham, he hailed Barbara on the helmet comms.
"Batman to Oracle. There's a signal I need to you trace. Uploading it now."
Miss Gordon didn't answer right away. Then, "I'm on it." She sounded begrudging. The channel stayed open for a few more seconds, as if the redhead was holding back another comment.
"Replaced me already, I see. Tim too." Another pause. A pained chuckle that was barely heard over the tapping of keys. "Only this time, you're actually serious about her, aren't you? For Diana's sake, I really hope you are. That way she'll at least have something left when…"
Barb trailed off into a long sigh. "I'm sorry. That crossed the line."
Batman tried to bury Bruce's regret, but a little sliver shone through. "No. I'm sorry," he whispered through the receiver. "If you want, we can talk about this later. There are…things that I should've said long ago."
No reply came.