A pair of deeply azure eyes surveyed the scene, their sparkle a testament to the intelligence of their owner. As the orbs swept over the area, they scrutinized it for any sign of danger or aberration. There were none.
An imperceptible silvery flash occurred as the woman shifted her position slightly. At least, there would have been, had she not been sufficiently cloaked from sight by the shadows of the empty parking lot.
Unease; that was the first word that came to her mind. Why do I feel this way? she asked herself, though she knew the answer. Pull it together, Diana. You're perfectly capable of handling this. Now put that calm mask of confidence on and take a deep breath.
"I see nothing", Myrmidon whispered to herself. The statement was not one of relief, but of frustration. If there was one thing that she had learned from Batman, it was how to look beyond what was plastered before one's eyes and intuit the truth beneath.
In this case, it was plain that there were no guards, traps, lights, or any other obvious sings of activity near the Produce Agent distribution plant. In other words, there was nothing obvious to indicate a trap.
Which meant that there most certainly was one. Of that there could be no doubt.
However, Diana was here to do a job. The Riddler must be truly dangerous to warrant
Batman's concern, she reasoned, and therefore had to be stopped before innocent lives were put at risk. If Batman's analysis of the villain was to be trusted (and there was no one else she trusted more on this earth, Diana reminded herself), then playing Nygma's game was the best way of defeating him. Trap or no, Riddler wanted the Dark Knight here. Myrmidon resolved that she would make him regret enticing Batman to send her on his trail.
Without further hesitation, the silver-grey figure sleuthed through the darkness of the night, making not a single sound. The exiled amazon had learned to hunt game in the sacred forests of Themiscyra. Ever since she was a young girl, Diana had been perfecting that art. In this case, the only difference was that her prey was an evil puzzle maker and not a deer.
Minutes later, Myrmidon crouched on the roof of the old fruit distribution plant. The place was completely shut down; rusted, dirty, and dark. Luckily, she had night vision lenses and a lack of aversion to grit. Using the "detective vision" Batman had installed in her cowl, Myrmidon scanned for anything that might suggest a trap, bomb, or security feature. Safe ingress verified, Myrmidon descended a rooftop access ladder.
Once inside, she began to explore the structure. Although she made liberal use of both the detective vision and her own keen senses, the warrior woman could not find a single thing of interest in the outer rooms and offices. The entire upper level was deserted, bereft of people, weapon crates, bombs, drugs, or any vile plots. She began to wonder if the whole affair was simply a clever diversion from the real threat.
In any case, Myrmidon knew that the report to Batman had to be conclusive. Determined to prove her capability, she dropped quietly from some scaffolding to the factory floor, ready to scan it for evidence as well.
The instant her toes touched the pavement, blinding white lights flickered on with a loud clicking sound. She momentarily staggered, covering her eyes as she gasped in shock. Stars danced behind her tightly shut eyelids as a sudden headache intruded her brain. Myrmidon willed the pain away and concentrated on recovering herself.
The light faded. The amazon princess had her wits about her instantly, ready to face the trap that had just been sprung on her. What she saw was something that she could not have expected.
There, at the other end of the factory, was an extremely bulky and muscled man. In fact, he was easily a broader and more thickly built person than Batman by nearly two times over! He wore a black leotard, blue tights, and a gaudy luchadores mask over his face. His posture was overly confident, but spoke of his martial skill. Clearly, this person fancied himself some kind of macho wrestler.
These features were not his strangest, though. That description belonged to the numerous green tubes that protruded from some kind of metal device on his back and were connected to his arms, legs, and head.
"Oh? And who is this?" the man asked dryly. His tone implied a Latino descent, Myrmidon noticed. That would certainly explain the mask and choice of attire.
"I could ask you the same question," Diana observed in a steely tone, still blinking away the light spots. "I am Myrmidon."
The wrestler chuckled. It was a whimsical, mocking noise that carried the suggestion of a threat. "First children, and now the almighty Batman sends a girl to do a man's work? How pathetic. And to think that this man is my most hated enemy. It is absurd!" He trailed off, laughter rasping off the placid factory walls.
These comments earned a scowl from Myrmidon. Her visage actually halted the cocky man's laughter for an instant. He suppressed an actual shiver from the dangerous glare, wondering if perhaps he had underestimated her. He brushed the notion away and decided to pretend as if the fleeting moment had never happened.
"If you truly work for him, then surely you know my name. But I will tell you anyway. I am the one known as Bane." When the title failed to draw recognition from her, Bane chuckled again. "Ha! You fight for him but you know nothing of his greatest adversary. How foolish you are, darling." He rolled his shoulders and stretched casually.
Myrmidon's response was as icy as the river Styx. "You are the foolish one if you continue to antagonize me," she said, "for I will instruct you to regret it." The words hung in the air for several moments.
Bane frowned. "I no longer find your childish bravado so amusing. I think I'll teach you a lesson, puta!"
At the conclusion of the sentence, the man rushed forward, shoulders forward in an obvious attempt to bowl her straight over. His body propelled itself through the air like a speeding missile of muscle, closing the distance between them in mere moments.
Diana's reflexes were equally fast. She timed her dodge perfectly, leaping aside from the charge almost at the last second. She somersaulted, twisted through the air, and landed on her feet behind and to the side of Bane. However, the man anticipated her motion. He wheeled around, fists swinging through the air.
She was momentarily caught by surprise, not anticipating speed with which Bane could move his large frame. As a result, Myrmidon just barely managed to duck in time, having to fall flat to evade the strike quickly enough.
Bane was immediately looming over her, preparing to body slam or grapple. If he managed to grab her, Myrmidon knew, she was as good as dead. Contorting herself, she rolled backwards and kicked upward, hands pushing off of the ground for leverage. Her feet propelled into Bane's stomach, imbued with the bonus force of the agile maneuver, as well as the wrestler's own forward momentum. She felt a few ribs crack and organs squish. The man's skin rippled and bruised.
A string of foreign curses exited Bane's mouth as he reeled from the mighty blow. This lent Diana enough time to continue the roll and launch herself to her feet once more. She came up a several yards away, facing the man.
"Submit!" the silver-clad woman barked. "Or that will be merely a small taste of your punishment."
Bane chuckled again, only to wince from the pain that pooled in his gut like cold fire. This time, the sound was ominous. "This fight hasn't even begun, girl," he said, reaching for a metal dial on his wrist that Diana hadn't noticed before.
He spun it radically. A moment later, his veins began to bulge as if they meant to free themselves of his skin, becoming a foul shade of green in the process. Bane screamed in agony as his muscles bulged, expanding so rapidly that his frame contorted in a disgusting fashion. Bones popped audibly as they rearranged themselves to accommodate the new form. Myrmidon had to suppress her nausea at the sight of the hideous transformation.
Only seconds had passed, and yet Bane had swelled to more than thrice his size. He was now an obscene mass of muscle and seething fury.
"I'LL BREAK YOU, AND THEN THE BAT!" Bane roared, his words causing Diana's ears to ring in protest at their volume.
As he thundered his way towards her, she could not help but feel a pang of fear deep inside. Swallowing it, the woman struck up a fearsome fighting stance and issued a valiant Amazonian war-cry.
"Please, I don't know nothing about no snake-gangs. Honest!"
Batman scowled at the pleading street thug which dangled upside-down over the side of the abandoned building. That was not the answer that he had wanted to hear, and the thug knew it.
The man licked his lips nervously, beads of sweat rolling down his face and neck. "Looklooklook…" he stammered wildly, "I wasn't, I mean, I p-promise I wasn't gonna, you know, d-do what you're thinking I was gonna to do. I j-just wanted her w-wallet. Serious…seriously."
Batman paused for dramatic effect, then used the concealment that his cape offered to secretly tap a button on his belt, enabling detective vision. All the thug saw was the vigilante's eyes suddenly glow a wan shade of blue. He yelped in surprise, then took a loud gulp to swallow his terror.
Meanwhile, Batman analyzed the thug's vital readings. It was a result that his deep medical knowledge told him was consistent with a truth response. That was good; it meant he didn't need to starting breaking any ribs. As for the part about the "snake-gang" …well, Batman hadn't expected this guy to know much about that in the first place.
Batman leaned in really close and growled in the thug's face, "Good. You get off easy…this time. Provided you tell me who *would* know if there are any new movers or shakers in town."
The man gulped again, hesitating. His eyes darted back and forth.
"Fine. If that's how you want it…I clearly have no use for you anymore," Batman stated coldly. He stepped back a few paces.
"Whoa…you can't just leave me here, man!"
Batman's eyes narrowed, sending artic chills up the criminal's spine. "Who says I'm going to leave you?"
Another gulp, and a mask of confusion.
An instant later, the thug saw a razor-sharp throwing blade appear in Batman's hand. He only had time to scream before the weapon whistled through the air, heading straight for the cable that suspended him above a fifty-foot drop.
At the last second, the blade veered away from the cable, missing it by a hair's breadth. The thug's chest heaved and he was drenched in cold sweat. After a moment, the projectile returned to the Batman's hand like some kind of demonic boomerang.
"Looks like my aim is off tonight," Batman said casually, arm crooked for another through.
"Okayi'lltellyou!" the thug blurted between body-shaking gasps.
"I'm waiting," Batman said, still aiming the weapon.
The dangling man spoke as evenly as possible, the words coming out like a waterfall. "I know a guy…names Earnest Wilde. He's like a fixer, gives me jobs and shit. Smash and grab type stuff. I used to be a technician, so I hack short circuit alarms and crap for him. Anyway, he's a real bad dude. Not a fuckup trying to survive like me. Extortion, bribery, rape, murder, you name it. Even trafficking." He shuddered. "Guy's big time gangster. Works for a lot of the mafias. If there's some new group in town, he would know."
Batman cocked his head. "You had better be able to tell me where this fellow can be found, or…"
"Nexus Hardware! Warehouse on 227th street, makes fancy computer cards. Ernie needs em' for some reason. He's hittin' it tonight, with a different crew. Two more guys, heavily armed."
Batman nodded. More truth readings for the entire spiel. "You've been very helpful," he said, tossing pellet near the man's face. It exploded, covering him with knockout toxin. He coughed, then went limp. Tomorrow morning, he would wake up in this garbage dump of a building with distorted memories of the night before. It was how Batman kept his interrogation tactics fresh for repeat criminals, after all. As a side bonus, it added to his seemingly supernatural reputation.
Within minutes, Batman was perched on the side a building that overlooked Nexus Hardware. He activated his detective lenses again, seeing the x-ray outlines of three men inside the building. One stood on watch, heavy assault rifle pointed in the general direction of the door. Another seemed to be busy rifling through the warehouse, loading equipment into a bag. A third could be seen in between the two as if supervising.
Batman typed a few keys on his wrist computer, causing a nearby Waynetech drone to listen in on the building. Not a peep could be heard inside, save for the shuffling of feet and the sounds of silicone being jangled around. These guys where a little smarter and more professional than average criminals. Batman knew that he was going to have to plan his attack carefully.
Just as he had discarded three strategies and settled upon a sound fourth, a sweet voice chirped in his ear.
"Myrmidon here. I'm at the factory, getting ready to take a look around."
"Good," Bruce responded, trying to climb out of the distracted state that he found himself in upon hearing her voice. "Take your time and stay vigilant. We have no clue what Riddler could be planning."
Rather than take it as pandering insult as her first impulse told her to, Diana accepted the advice in stride. She had to admit, it was sound. "Will do."
A delay. Then…
"What's your status?" a feminine but firm voice asked.
"Following up a lead on our Copperheads," Batman answered. "I'm going in now."
"Roger," Myrmidon answered. Although the response was largely professional, Bruce perceived an undercurrent of worry. Now was not the time to dwell on it, though. Besides…he had an ace in the hole.
"Robin?" Batman asked, patching himself to a different channel.
"Don't worry. I'm right behind her," a dull but high-pitched boy's voice answered.
Batman nodded. "Excellent. Has she spotted you?"
"Not unless she has eyes on the back of her head and sees in the infrared spectrum," Damian deadpanned. "Wait…that's not one of her powers, is it?" he sarcastically asked.
"I certainly hope not," Batman joked just as dryly. "But who can keep track of all of them anyway?"
"Not that it matters anymore," Damian stated, his tone suddenly turning somber.
Bruce snapped back to reality, reminding himself of how Diana had fallen from her lofty position as Wonder Woman. No, not fallen, he corrected; her title had been unjustly stolen even though she had done nothing wrong. Well, save for fall in love, that is. No one should be punished for doing something as innocuous as that, of all things. Thinking about it made his blood boil. If Hippolyta were standing before him right now…he was certain that he would do something regrettable, rigid emotional discipline be damned.
Bruce sighed and compartmentalized his wrath. There were other things to consider for the moment.
"Don't worry, we'll get her through this," Bruce stated, afraid of saying too much while 'on the job', so-to-speak.
Silence. Then, "I certainly hope so, and you've got that right." The young Robin tried to be as monotone as possible, but a hint of frustration and genuine concern showed through. After a moment, he said "Alright, she's going in."
"Good. Do not hesitate to radio me if you two get into trouble." After all, the whole point of sending Damian after her was to provide insurance against Diana's stubbornness and reckless attitude.
Bruce's trepidation intensified, however, when his son disconnected the line without acknowledging his command. Perhaps in retrospect, Damian was not quite the right person to provide a counterpoint to Diana. He could be just as headstrong.
In fact, the whole exchange had him thinking that his son was not all that dissimilar from both he and his…girlfriend? All three of them were excessively stubborn and overly self-confident. It was no wonder that both of the people whose names began with "D" in his life got along so well. With a cringe, he realized that they almost seemed like a perfect family.
Damian was clearly more like his father overall, though. He seemed to possess all of Bruce's traits, only ramped up to eleven. At times, his simmering anger and reserved personality concerned him. Thus, it was refreshing to see that Damian cared deeply enough about Diana to be troubled by the fall-from grace she had endured, try as he might to conceal that fact. Fiery passion beneath a guarded shell.
Bruce realized his hands were clenching tightly again. The Batman was re-asserting control. Within moments, Bruce was buried again so that the night terror known as the Batman could take the reins once more.
Settling on one of the avenues of attack that he had mentally gone over before, Batman swooped down upon the hardware warehouse to begin his assault.
One of the thugs was watching the door, and there were no other entrances (for security reasons—Gotham was a dangerous city). Therefore, a stealth entrance would be nearly impossible. Thus, Batman didn't aim for the door. Instead, he aimed for a wide window right next to the main entrance.
Glass shattered in every direction, but he was protected from the cutting shrapnel by his suit. The thug was not so lucky; he threw up his hands a moment too late and was sliced in multiple places by the shards. Just for good measure, Batman tossed a spray of small, metal pellets into the air as well.
The room exploded with sound and light. The shouting and cursing voices of the three robbers clashed with the angry ringing of the flash bangs. By the time the doorman had recovered, Batman was nowhere to be seen, having used all the commotion as a chance to hide.
"Behind the rows!" The man in the middle, presumably Earnest Wilde, yelled at his goons, referencing the tall, industrial-size shelves on either side of the men.
An instant later, the doorman opened fire with his AK-47 while Earnest whipped out a .44 Magnum. A spray of bullets tore through the flimsy plastic crates that lined those shelves, spelling doom for any living thing on the other side…which is exactly why Batman wasn't there.
Meanwhile, the third man, who had been rifling through the loot, sprinted across the room to reach his shotgun. Moments before reaching it, some kind of metal claw attached to a cable appeared out of nowhere and ripped the gun away from him.
"The fuck!?" The baffled criminal gasped. He recovered quickly though, and followed the path of the cable back to its owner. Although he couldn't see Batman's location, he pointed in the general vicinity.
"Shit, you see him?" the doorman questioned.
"Over there!" the would be-shotgunner yelled, pointing at the ceiling.
Muzzle fire illuminated the area, revealing a Batman who hung there menacingly, white eyes boring straight into them.
Unfortunately for the criminals, their enemy was already moving. They only saw him in between the muzzle flashes, which gave him a chance to outpace their bullets by moving erratically. They began to panic, screaming in terror and firing desperately. Needless to say, this did not improve their aim. Many bullets whizzed past Batman and ricocheted off the ceiling.
Two black streaks materialized, slamming into the men's heads, the impact knocking them backwards and dazing them. By the time the doorman recovered, Batman had dropped from the ceiling and swiftly knocked him out. Earnest, though, had his wits about him much quicker. Leaning against the shelf for support, he leveled the ridiculously powerful revolver at the Dark Knight.
Batman had expected this, and he was ready. His fingers were already on a special button affixed to his utility belt. He pressed it firmly, detonating the explosive gel on the other side of the shelf that Earnest was leaning on.
The man grunted as he was thrown violently to the side. He did manage to pull the trigger, but the bullet missed by a light year. The shelf toppled over, spilling piles of heavy boxes right on top of the criminal. Earnest groaned in pain from under the mountain of clutter.
"Where do you think you're going?" Batman asked calmly, spinning around to face the front door again. The final thug was just about to bolt outside. He didn't make it. A bola whizzed right into him, entangling his limbs. He crashed to the warehouse floor helplessly.
"Oh god, what are you going to do?" the man asked, wriggling as if he thought that he could somehow free himself fast enough to escape.
"Just this," Batman said, then knocked him out with a solid punch.
Minutes later, he had the two goons tied up. Then he hauled the still-groaning, disoriented Earnest into a chair and hovered over him like a black cloud of doom.
"What are you going to do?" the vile man mocked, chuckling wryly. "Kill me? Everyone knows the Bat doesn't kill." He spat on Batman's cape defiantly and smirked.
A gauntleted hand shot out like lightning and bent Earnest's index finger in half with a disgusting cracking sound. The criminal swallowed his yelp of pain, trying to fight off the waves of cold fire that assaulted his nerves. He teared up, but managed to refrain from screaming.
"That's…cute," Earnest joked humorlessly. "I've received far worse than that."
Batman peered intently at the man. He was sweating and panting profusely, but otherwise seemed to be able to handle the pain. From all the scars on his face, Batman wasn't surprised. And now that he saw his face up close, he recognized the man as a notorious criminal who was federally wanted; Earnest Wilde was merely an assumed name. Batman had even studied his file personally. To his dismay, the thug he had interrogated earlier hadn't been joking about the vile crimes this man had committed. It was dark stuff.
"And you get bet your caped ass I've given it just as bad plenty times to those girls," he cackled. "Some of them were just kids. But I'm guessing you knew that, didn't you?"
Batman shoved his face an inch away from the psychopath's, scowling at him hatefully. "What are you going to do? Torture me? That's rich. I know you don't do that either."
Batman leaned back, then calmly went about strapping the still-dazed man to the chair, during which time the latter constantly spewed taunts. Then, just as calmly, Batman began methodically breaking all of the man's fingers. By the fourth one, 'Earnest' couldn't contain his agony. He began whimpering and screaming. Batman didn't let it stop him.
"I make exceptions," Batman said evenly. "Now, you're going to answer all my questions. If you don't, I'll make your every waking moment a nightmare. If there's one thing I know, you better believe that it's pain."
Earnest nodded obediently, but just for good measure, Batman popped a pellet containing mild, temporary fear gas in his face.
Screaming echoed off and on through the crisp winter air of Gotham for approximately the next 20 minutes, causing nearby lurking criminals to reconsider their nightly exploits.
The Bat's crusade had claimed another victim.
The gargantuan avalanche of the muscle that was called Bane (if it could be rightly said that any amount of 'Bane' was left in the raving berserker, that was) bore down on Myrmidon. She tensed her muscles, preparing to evade the charge again. Her plan was to mimic the tactics that she had seen Batman use against stronger opponents such as Kalibak. In fact, she'd even convinced Batman to teach her that fighting style out of pure intellectual curiosity. Now that she was sans-blessings, the techniques were infinitely more practical.
Just before the critical moment to leap aside came, a curious red throwing-blade struck Bane-thing's face. In the instant Myrmidon could perceive before the weapon exploded, it barely failed to scratch the skin of her opponent's face, if it all.
Orange fire engulfed his body. Crackling flames and waves of popping force radiated from him. Hot air billowed at Myrmidon, who was mostly protected from the blast by the high-tech armor that she wore.
Bane gargled a string of curse words, but was abruptly silenced. A red, yellow, black, and green streak slammed against the back of Bane's head. The blow was perfectly timed. Bane lurched forward, confused and weakened by the combination assault.
The blur rolled forward, somersaulting over the luchadores criminal. It landed several feet to Myrmidon's right. She saw out of the corner of her eye that it was Damian.
"I am beginning to see that that is your favored move," the silvered Greek soldier observed.
The boy shrugged. "What can I say, it is a tactically sound stealth attack."
She smiled. "You are beginning to sound like an Amazon."
Bane stumbled backward, and Myrmidon's first instinct was to leap into striking range. The notion of a deceptive opening seemed dubious for the mindless beast. Something tempered her fervor, though.
Perhaps it was Batman's stern lecture earlier that night. Instead, she decided to put some distance between herself and the foe. Damian followed her.
The stratagem turned out to be a wise one. Bane recovered, then charged again. Dividing his attention between two valid targets appeared to tax the fragile sense of concentration his raging mind possessed. Dodging him was child's play. As a result, he received a concentrated hit that forced him to collide with a row of factory equipment. A loud metallic screech reverberated through the factory as Bane rolled around in the pile of mechanical detritus.
"Any suggestions?" Myrmidon asked, hoping for a detailed analysis of the enemy.
Robin rattled a checklist of data off like a human computer as he and his female companion evaded the chunks of robotics that Grunting-Bane launched at them. "Bane. Experimental soldier test subject escapee, presumed dead (until now that is). Physiology adapted with a compound known as 'Venom'. The source of his transformation, as you might surmise. Weak point: his supply of Venom. Too much or too little and cellular degeneration commences. A nerve gas also works, but Batman did not foresee its necessity."
Myrmidon smiled, impressed with the boy's mental acuity. He was like a younger version of Bruce in that respect. Really, it should not have surprised her. But then again, the Amazonian princess-in-exile was unadjusted to the concept of biological children.
"I hacked the Batcomputer shortly after arriving there," Damian stated by way of explanation when he saw her masked face staring at him. He smirked that self-satisfied smirk that was just so…Wayne.
"Look out!" Robin shouted, breaking her reverie. He fired a wrist grapple at the ceiling, swung across the chasm created by two rows of shipping crates, and tackled Diana head-on. Sensing what was happening in time, but unable to react fast enough to dodge on her own, she let herself go-off balance and tip over intentionally. The duo lost their air, grunted, fell over the side, and rolled under some machinery.
During the frantic jostle, Robin's hands landed in some…suggestive places on her anatomy. A jolt of panic ran through him. He wanted to swear to her that it was an accident, but couldn't make the words come out. He thanked the god that he didn't believe in that there was a layer of metal in-between.
Bruised, battered, but not too worse for wear, the duo awkwardly untangled themselves and crawled out from under the old junk. They were now crouched in a concealed position against one edge of the factory.
Myrmidon noticed that her (saying younger would be an understatement) companion's face had turned beet read, though he did his best to look indignant and non-plussed. She could not discern the cause, and this troubled her.
"Are you okay?" the soft, caring voice of Diana asked. She could hear Stomping-Bane on the other side of the factory, trashing the area in order to find them, so she deemed it prudent to take a moment to assess the condition of her troops. Which was, in this case, one flustered twelve-year-old boy.
"Nothing! It was…I'm fine," Robin half pouted, half barked in his petulant manner.
Had she not been wearing a mask, Diana would have worn a curious frown. She could divine no good reason why he should feel embarrassed. Perhaps the boy was injured? It was reasonable: if he was Bruce's child, he may also share Batman's traits of ill-advised independence and zealous pride. The notion irritated her, but there was no obvious sign of injury. Perhaps it was something else, such as some strange man's world custom?
Myrmidon shook herself out of it. Now was not the time for silly guessing games. Stomping-Bane was now Roaring-Bane. He'd find their hiding spot eventually.
"We are not calling him for backup," Damian stated in an attempt to change the topic. Diana could sympathize. She peered at him, and a moment of silent communication passed between the strange pair. They each saw something in the other that was fiercely resolute. Both were eager to prove themselves. Diana nodded in agreement.
"Alright then," she eventually answered, returning to the commanding and matriarchal tone that befit a warrior princess. "If we are going up against this deadly foe, I need to know that you are focused."
Damian nodded slowly, dispelling whatever curious emotion Myrmidon had initially perceived from his head entirely.
"Good," the commanding heroine went on. "Here is what we are going to do…"
"A woman?" a hoarse voice spoke in the dark confines of the nearly-empty room. The speaker puffed his cigar a few times, then wheeled to face the screen. There he saw the avatar of the Riddler in the bottom right hand corner, the rest of the screen occupied by a live feed from the warehouse where Myrmidon and Robin were battling Bane.
"Unless my eyes deceive me, that is what appears to be the case," Edward Nygma replied. "The boy showed up to help her, so he IS there, as you had planned."
The shadowy cigar-smoker grinned. "I cast a net for Batman's son, and get his…what, wife or some shit as well? It must be my lucky day," he observed wryly.
"Indeed," Riddler groaned, rolling his eyes. They hadn't planned her appearance. In fact, they didn't even know who this person was. Clearly, she was a new player in Gotham of some kind. The fact that the plan had reaped this secondary benefit was nothing more than complete luck. But Riddler kept that observation to himself. His compatriot's dollar was simply too good to refuse. Besides, Nygma would have allied with him for free. Anything to bring down the Bat who had slighted his intellect.
"Look at this bitch," Ridder's benefactor said, "She's not like them. The rest of that godamn sappy 'bat-family', that is. I wonder why."
"An astute observation!" Riddler said.
"A new Leaguer, perhaps? But you know as well as I that Batman doesn't permit metahumans in the city."
"In order for him to break that rule, she must be special to him. Combine that with that fact that our DNA analysis of Robin's blood showed him to be a paternal match with Batman…well, what does that tell you?"
The voice chuckled. "The mother, perhaps?" He shrugged, causing his expensive striped suit to crinkle. "In any case, we will soon possess two powerful bargaining chips."
Riddler chuckled along as well. "Shall I activate the brainwave signal now?" he asked gleefully.
"No!" the mysterious man barked. "We wait until Batman is confirmed to be en-route to my location, as was the plan, Nygma!"
Riddler's face went slack. "But…but…" he whined, "We can force his surrender now!"
"That was an order, Nygma," the man growled in an extremely threatening manner. The latter backed down. "Patience," he went on, "and if everything goes well, you'll have your turn torturing the Bat."
It was Nygma's turn to grin evilly.
At the end of the intense interrogation, Batman felt confident that he was indeed closer to unraveling the Ridder's bizarre mystery. However, it had not happened the way he had expected.
'Earnest' knew nothing about any Copperheads moving into Gotham. Based off the preliminary files in his own data banks, the earlier thug's testament, and the vast supply of illicit knowledge that the trafficker possessed, it was a reasonable assumption that this man would have known about it if that were the case. Additionally, there was no way the man could have been lying. The interrogation had seen to that.
Batman tied up his now unconscious prisoner. He was in a very sorry state, but none of the damage was permanent. It would all heal…in time. It would be a long, painful recovery as well, to say the least. He felt a pang of sickness at his actions, but dismissed them as necessary. Earnest was as hardened as professional criminals came, so extreme force had been necessary to crack him. Besides, he told himself, he saved this kind of treatment for the real scumbags like him. Average criminals got off much easier.
Batman sent a private 'pickup' signal to Gordon, then left the building. He perched on a nearby Gargoyle, pondering the situation.
He was beginning to think that the whole thing was either a red herring, or, alternatively, his detective skills had been worn down by his distracting concern for Diana, causing him to see connections where there were none. This thought was extremely unsettling. In any case, he had a mountain of info on the trafficking operations in Gotham city as a consolation prize. The whole interrogation had been recorded by his cowl lenses and automatically uploaded to the Batcomputer for later reference. So at least some good had come of this foray, he thought grimly.
Perhaps it was time to seek Oracle's counsel. She had to have made some progress on tracing the operations performed by the Waynetech computers Riddler's thugs had hacked.
"Come in, Oracle," Batman said over the comm system.
"Batman!" he heard Oracle yelp, as if surprised while under deep concentration. He could hear her adept fingers rattling on the keyboards.
"Status…" the Dark Knight began.
"Listen. Batman. I looked into that thumb drive…and the results are not good. Not good at all."
"Spit it out," he commanded.
Oracle took a deep breath. "The servers were used to scatter the signal so that the attack couldn't be traced, as well as boost processing power. Somehow, he managed to get into most of our systems, despite the fact that it still shouldn't have been enough processing power. Even more alarming, while Nygma's good, he shouldn't have been proficient enough to break this encryption without some major assistance and expensive tech."
"You're right, that doesn't add up," Batman stated, trying to keep the worry out of his voice and maintain the calm demeanor of a leader. "He should be ruined and broke after our last few bouts. Something more is going on."
"Yes, Batman" Oracle said, rushing her words. "It's like something in the system was outpacing me! Everything I tried was thwarted faster than I could react. And you had better be damn sure that I'm among the fastest."
"What systems are compromised?"
"Status monitoring, communications, and remote tech. If we speak, he can track us on both ends. He'll always know your metabolic states and be able to control any devices you bring online, such as the Batmobile. I started partitioning and wiping everything I could so that he couldn't get access to anything else. He's in those systems for good now, so we'll have to do a secondary clean setup in the future." She spoke with panic, her words contrasted by constant keystrokes in the background.
"Did he…" Batman began, icy fear gripping his heart. A catastrophe would occur if Nygma got any personal information, and not just on him, but those he cared about as well.
"Thankfully, no. Speaking of which, we should get off this channel. I need to go off site and do what I can remotely. He'll have my location, now," Oracle said.
"Good call, and don't tell me anything more," Batman said.
"And please don't tell me what you're going to do either, Batman." Oracle sounded worried and fearful. "That includes Robin and Myrmidon too. You can't contact them without increasing their vulnerability." There was a pause. "I'm leaving a dead drop for you as well, in the old place we used to use. It's critical."
He sighed. "I know. And thanks, Oracle."
"Don't mention it. You too," she said solemnly, then cut the line.
Batman hit the kill switch on his communicator as well. His hands flexed, gloves creaking under the pressure. This night was a total disaster. He blamed himself for bringing Diana along in the first place, as well as for letting concern distract him. It wasn't her fault. He was weak for not being able to put it aside and focus on the mission. He was confident that this was something that could have been foreseen, despite the lack of any indication to that extent.
His family was beset on all sides. They couldn't communicate without exposing themselves to a whole host of risks. Any plan they coordinated could be easily foiled, and that was merely the tip of the iceberg. What if Riddler equipped some mercs with optics keyed to the Bat comm servers, so that stealth tactics were rendered meaningless? The thought was terrifying. Concealment was one of the main tools for a non-powered superhero.
As painful as it was to admit, Batman had to ignore Damian and Diana for now, and instead hope that whatever situation they had landed themselves in, they would achieve success. Ironically, the safeguard he had set up by having Damian shadow her had forced him to confront his nagging doubts concerning both of their competences. His foolish scheming and rabid independence had led him on a wild goose chase that he had erroneously believed to be the true threat, while permitting his loved ones to walk right into a trap. Batman's judgement was indeed brought low this day.
Sure, he could go to the factory, but were they even there? He had no clue what was going on in that location and would essentially be going in blind. What if they were captured? His surrender could easily be negotiated. No, the best move was to check Barbara's dead drop and see if she had supplied pertinent information. Then, he would have to find a way to strike at the mastermind behind all this, figure things out, and rescue the others (if they needed it, that was).
Panic welled up within him, the uncertainty gnawing at his sanity. Riddler had ruthlessly exploited his weak point: emotional attachment, and without even knowing the tragic background of his life.
He strong-armed these feelings aside and took control. It was a difficult struggle, but Batman succeeded. He grappled away into the night, searching for Barb's dead drop.
This task did not take long. Batman found the drop. It was cleverly concealed just inside an exterior vent located on the top of a skyscraper. He removed the vent's grate and retrieved what Barbara had likely programmed a Waynetech drone to deliver: several sheets of paper with hastily drawn maps, one address, and a short message scrawled on it.
According to Oracle's writings, she had managed to locate the origin of the signal that had commenced the hacking operation. The purpose of the drive had merely been to open a vulnerability and provide remote access. In truth, the operation had been initiated from an off-site location: a derelict building in the heart of Gotham's slums.
Batman tapped into his photographic memory and genius level IQ, completely memorizing the information Oracle had provided within minutes. He even committed the building's blueprints, as well all of the diagnostic information on the cyber assaults that she had been able to print out to memory. After doing so, he incinerated all of it.
He knew what he had to do. Although it was impossible to differentiate what was a trap or not through the multiple layers of deception that the Riddler had created, there was only one reasonable course of action: go to the signals' origin. It was the only lead available.
Batman promptly left the rooftop, making as much haste as humanly possible in the direction of the building Barb had found. It was all the way across Gotham, and if her assessment was correct, using the Batmobile or Batwing was simply out of the question.
Hopefully, he could detect the nature of the game that the Riddler (and whoever was backing him) was playing by the time that he arrived. All the pieces were right out in the open for him to study. There had to be an answer.
Steeled by his burning desire to ensure his son's and his girlfriend's safety, he pushed forward towards the unknown, mind and body simultaneously overclocking beyond belief.
"NOW!" Damian yelled, unleashing a fan of birdarangs on Bane, who was momentarily stunned. The projectiles descended upon him like a plague of insects, exploding, smoking, or electrocuting the raging titan of a man.
At the same moment, Myrmidon willed her armor to thin itself enough to manifest sufficient material to sculpt an object. The neural receptors built into the suit's cowl fired, sending signals through the transformative metal. It did as she commanded, causing a ball of silver-grey goop to pool in her hands. In response, the circuits in the glove section of her armor fired as well, allowing her to assume control of ball's form.
She began molding it, drawing upon her training in the art of ceramics that she had cultivated on Themiscyra. Soon, there was a massive, perfectly-formed shield in her hands. She smiled in satisfaction and hefted the mighty object. Ironic, she thought, that she now possessed a suit capable of sculpting itself to her desires when she herself had been formed of clay. Fate must have a sharp sense of humor indeed.
She peered over the weapon at Bane, who was recovering from Robin's assault. There was no time left for idle thoughts. Now was the moment that their battle plan would finally come to fruition.
Bane roared in anger and swiped savagely at the boy, who back flipped out of the way. Then he fired his wrist grapple to soar across the warehouse. Bane grunted and pursued him, sprinting to keep up with the rapidly-fleeing superhero.
Robin cleverly maneuvered himself to stay just out of Bane's reach, while dangling low enough to taunt the monster with a chance of catching him. As such, Bane wasn't really paying attention when the path of his chase was interposed by Myrmidon. He glanced downward, seeing her cowering behind a shield at the last second. Thinking nothing of it, he swiped her out of the way like crushing a gnat.
Only, he didn't crush her. Not exactly. He did manage to crush her shield, but instead of crumpling it, it flowed like liquid, engulfing his fist. Bane stopped, confused, and tried to shake the material off to no avail.
At the same moment, Robin turned around and threw flash pellets at Bane. The bright light stung his eyes, so he threw up both arms in a cross block to protect himself. He realized his mistake an instant too late when the liquid metal molded around both hands and his face. It hardened, creating a prison of metal. Bane raged, gesticulating blindly.
Robin and Myrmidon knew what they had to do. They bore down on him, unleashing every attack in their arsenal. She struck all the pressure points she could find while evading super-powered kicks. He utilized a grappling wire to trip Bane as his bulging muscles locked under the trauma of the precise hits. The result: a venom-infused wrestler who was moaning, face down on the cold cement.
The pair wasted no time. They were on his back in an instant, ready to sever the tubes which carried venom. He with Ra's' katana, and she with a Grecian xiphos sword. Their strokes were blocked, though, as a steel casing suddenly appeared over the tubes. Their swords, while sharp, could not penetrate the thick, high-tech barrier. Instead, sparks flew everywhere.
"By the Goddess!" Myrmidon exclaimed.
"Well, that's new…" Damian deadpanned. "Bane must have gotten an upgrade." He slashed repeatedly at the armor. It achieved little, other than fueling his frustration and increasing the volume of his grunts.
Diana frowned. In her prime as Wonder Woman, she could have easily ripped these cords out with her bare hands, steel casing or no. "Retreat!" she yelled at Damian, trying to reach him through the boy's fury. Luckily, he seemed to listen, following her hasty backpedal.
Shortly after, Bane exploded off the ground. The metal mask ruptured as well, sending shrapnel everywhere. He flexed, then charged again.
This was bad. Really bad. That failed strategy had been the result of an intense, prolonged battle. Setting it up had expended much effort on their part. On the other hand, Bane seemed to have an infinite supply of Venom and therefore, energy. From Myrmidon's perspective, the battle was seeming less and less in her and Damian's favor.
Both of them rolled away, panting heavily as they desperately tried to come up with a plan.
"It may be time to call him," Myrmidon stated, as much as it wounded her pride. "Batman! Come in, Batman!" The channel seemed open, but there was no connection to the other side. All she heard was static. "Robin, you try. My device may be damaged."
The boy nodded, then yelled "Batman! Batman!" as he dodged a Bane punch. "Just static!?" he shouted over at Myrmidon.
"Same here!" she responded. "I don't know what is…"
That's when the horrid shrieking started. It was atonal, cacophonous, and brain-bending. Somehow it also warbled, like a soundwave composed of many individual tones, both high and low.
Diana and Damian simultaneously collapsed, screaming in pain. The noise, whatever it was and from wherever it came, paralyzed them. They couldn't move and could barely think over the instant and extreme migraine.
Diana felt blood dripping out of her nose, eyes, and ears. She looked over at Damian and saw that he was suffering the same fate. Vaguely, she wondered if there was some way out of this. There had to be. It couldn't end, not like this. If she was to die, she wanted to die blood-soaked on a battlefield, not blood-soaked from an underhanded, ignoble technological trick.
Technology! That was it, wasn't it? The sound had only started after she and Damian had used their communicators. Perhaps Nygma had hacked their communications systems. It still didn't explain the source of the sound, but she'd puzzled out the delivery mechanism. That was something, at least.
"Robin…" she groaned, interrupted by a stab of torturous pain. "The communicators…"
"That's right, bitch," Bane taunted, snatching both of the heroes up in his powerful arms. He held each around the neck at arm's length. His cocky, self-satisfied, thick Latino tone was back. The animalistic rage had been a ruse!
Diana squirmed, dangling from Bane's fist tightly closed around her windpipe. The tone in her ears had stopped, and she recovered herself slightly. Damian appeared to be unconscious or worse. "If you kill us…" she managed to choke out.
"Then what?" Bane said, putting his grotesquely muscular face inches from hers.
"Then Batman will hunt you down and make you regret it!" she snarled.
Bane blinked, then burst out laughing. "Perhaps that is so. I am strong enough to admit that your boyfriend has beaten me on multiple occasions. I've had a great deal of time to reflect on the fact that he is simply a superior fighter than I. I accept this. What I do not accept, however, is defeat. I will claim my vengeance, one way…" he squeezed their throats slightly, "…or another."
Shivers ran down Diana's spine but she refused to give in to the fear. "Oh? And how do you see this ending without either killing us or being killed by him?"
Bane chuckled. "You see, puta, I have a partner. Two of them in fact. Both are very smart (although one much more so than the other), and one is extremely rich. We hatched a plot to deceive and distract the Bat while luring his headstrong son into a trap. You're an added bonus, I suppose. In any case, we can force Batman to surrender because we have you two."
"He'll never do it! You're insane!" Diana shouted, squirming again. In truth, she was not so confident. Ice cold dread filled her veins. Half of her wished that he wouldn't sacrifice himself to save her and Damian. Gotham needed Batman much more than it did either of them put together. Same for the League, now that she didn't have her powers. But on the other hand, she knew it would utterly fracture him if he lost another loved one…let alone two. She could easily imagine the nightmarish vigilante becoming a nightmare for the world. Or worse…a nightmare prison of his own creation.
"We will see," her captor responded. "The clock is ticking, and your man has a date with my ally. It's enough to make you jealous, no?" Bane smirked for a few moments, then frowned at the joke not landing. "Eh, well…I suppose I do not have the blessing of wit like that deceased clown fool. In any case, it all comes down to the outcome of their meeting…"
Bane's arrogant chuckles echoed off of the warehouse walls. Diana did not share in that feeling. Her world was nothing but pure dread.
She desperately prayed to every Themiscryan goddess she could think of, though she secretly doubted that any of them had influence here, let alone cared for her well-being anymore.