Chapter 5: Fire and Brimstone
The Story Thus Far: Someone has broken in police headquarters to peek into the files; Gordon and Bullock stake out Det. Allen's apartment, convinced that he's up to something no good; Bruce, Harley and Ivy reach their destination in early morning. A black garbed ninja-type attacks Harley, but his attack fails thanks to Harley's companions. He leaves behind a small demon's head as a warning. The three of them then set across the nearby desert; Penguin and Two-Face break into a jewellery exchange without the intent to steal. Instead they set explosives and the Penguin depresses the button...
…
When you're a cop there's always a boogeyman in the dark. No matter the situation it exists, sometimes imagined and sometimes real. It's being able to tell the difference that determines your length of service, and Det. Joe Allen hasn't risen through the ranks of Gotham's police force through sheer luck. He can stare into that inky blackness and discern the fabricated from true threats. Like now, sitting in his tiny apartment he feels the hairs rise on the nape of his next. His fear becoming palpable he turns and can make it out in the moonlit etched shadows before him. Swirling like a twisted fold of cloth it seems to ooze up from the ground. Clutching his gun in one hand and secreted file in another his muscles tense. This creature has the shape and manners of a man, but it is much more. Allen's met it once before and hopes he fares better this time.
He waits until the creature's eyes are in sight and pulls the trigger. A sudden explosion of light and sound burst through the creature's skull, sending it reeling. Allen rises and starts for the window and the safety of Bullock's car on the street, but in spite of his better judgement he pauses. Taking a glimpse behind him he sees the creature whole again and with a shimmering blade that he swears wasn't there a second ago.
"Son of a…" he calls as the gun rises once more. Like a streak of lightning the assassin strikes, slashing sharply before the weapon is fired, severing Allen's wrist. Bleeding profusely and suffering from nerve damage he releases the gun to the ground and falls to his knees. Looking up he could see the shadow of the grim reaper as the blade is risen high…
A shattering of glass follows and two black boots crash into the chest of the assassin, sending it back once again. The creature stops to assess this latest opponent and is met with a batarang flush to the skull, embedding itself deep into the mental tissue.
As the attacker recovers the black caped girl interloper calls to the wounded detective, her muscles primed for action, "Get out!"
He obeys, and though suffering from blood loss he still manages to reach the window. In a daze he tries to climb out onto the fire-escape.
The creature snarls. Still wounded it hurls the blade at Batgirl. Twirling midair she deftly dodges the spinning sword only to watch haplessly as it passes through the shattered window and reaches its true target, Allen. The blade slides deeply into the startled detective's shoulder; its momentum sends him back into and over the railing to the hard cement 4 stories below.
Batgirl gasps and leaves herself open to a smashing blow by the attacker that sends her through the window as well. She doesn't panic and manages to fire a line. The grapple grabs hold and she alters her freefall to a swing, landing with all the grace of a cat. Enraged, she fires the line once more and soars back to Allen's apartment. It's empty.
"Sweet Jeezus!" Bullock exclaims as he looks down at the mess that was detective Allen on the sidewalk. Gordon is already kneeling by the fallen detective who still clutches at his precious file. Allen's good arm manages to tremble and he tries to speak, "File…"
"He's still alive," Gordon calls to Bullock, checking the pulse rate, "Call it in! Whatever did this could still be in the building!"
The earth then trembles and glass shatters all around them as the still night air is forced to echo the shockwaves of an enormous explosion several city blocks away. Bullock jumps at the sound, but Gordon merely curses, "Damn it! Damn this city! Why now? Why, in heaven's name, does it have to be right now?!"
"Commish, the explosion," Bullock starts, excited, "they're all going to head for it. We're not going to get any back-up any time soon…"
"I know, damn it, I know!" he screams, "Just let me think. Allen's his target; he'll come to finish the job. Load him in the car and let's head for the blast, maybe we'll find a free medic there…and maybe we'll draw that psycho out and away from the residents, maybe… Damn it!"
They pile into the unmarked car and Bullock shifts it into drive. Soon they are roaring down the road, unaware that Batgirl is still searching for the attacker in the apartment complex.
"What did this to you, Joe," Gordon asks, trying to keep his detective awake.
Allen seems to sigh as he tries to draw breath, "Shaftie."
"Shaftie? What the hell's a Shaftie. I've heard of Shaft, but…"
"Shut up Harvey!" Gordon screams, and then he turns to Allen, "Go on."
"Shaftie…my name for it…human-like creature, strong, fast, nothing hurts it… met it before… seems it tried to…tried to make me stop working… working for Two-Face… said it'd kill me, but this case, promotion… seems I just kept going… did nothing wrong…"
"Two-Face? I knew it, you son of a…"
"Shut up Harvey! Why, Joe, why were you working for Two-Face?"
"Why…?" and he's gone. Gordon sighs heavily and passes his hand over the detective's eyes, sending him to an eternal slumber.
"Is he?" Bullock manages.
"Yes," James Gordon replies, clearly shaken by the event. He's seen death before, but so rarely have they passed away in his arms in such a bloody mess. In fact this is similar to only one other time, it's so close to how it happened, when it was…The Commissioner growls as he reaches into the dead man's hand and rips out the blood covered file folder, "And I'm going to find out why…"
…
"Feel the heat yet?"
Garbed completely in black the two of them trudge across desert sands with their leader, a grim faced man whose handsome face covers another, more grotesque and sweat drenched visage beneath. Only he knows what their goal is to be. Behind him is a pale skinned woman whose fiery red hair seems to taunt at them and their situation. She doesn't speak, her mind attuned to its surroundings, waiting for the slightest disturbance. In the rear is the blonde, pig-tailed orator who continues to do what she can to draw attention to herself.
"Yes, yes I do," she replies to her own question, "You?"
"Uh huh," she nods meekly to her own question, frowning, "I don't think I can go on much farther you know…"
"Now that's a shame," she continues, "All because of the mean, MEAN man and his stupid secrets. I don't see why we couldn't stay on the boat."
"Submarine," she corrects herself.
"Whatever! I mean, how long have we been out here? Hours…? Days…? Weeks…? 'Gasp' Years? I tell you, he won't be happy until we're all dead!"
"It's been 40 minutes," she corrects herself once more.
"Minutes, years, what's the difference out here?" and she stops in her tracks, waving her arms in all directions to point out the sea of emptiness, "I mean, how can you tell?"
While Ivy is tempted to grin at Harley's foolery, instead she finds what she seeks buried beneath the sand and waiting to strike. She yells out a warning barely in time.
The sand flies up as three assassins, dressed in black from head to toe, rise up from underneath the scorched surface. The searing embers temporarily blind their quarry and Bruce Wayne fears the worst as his vision returns, but there is no onslaught, at least, not yet. The three attackers merely stand at the ready, hands clasping their shimmering blades.
The center warrior speaks, his tone muffled by the black wrappings about his face, "Turn back…or die!"
Bruce doesn't hesitate in his answer, "I choose neither!" And the battle begins.
Immediately the three attackers move forward in unison, swords unsheathed and raised in the air to be brought down upon their assigned target. Rather than fanning out however, they move together and lunge towards Ivy. Though she's taught herself to fight she is nowhere near as agile, nor as adept at martial skills as Harley Quinn and Bruce Wayne, and her attackers know this. Remove the weakest link and the rest will follow.
Bruce lunges forth quicker than the eye could see, bringing down one of the assassins in a crushing tackle. The assassin tumbles and rolls, committing the most fatal of errors as his arm twists in the air and imbeds his own blade in the small of his back.
Harley's pent up anger is finally released as she moves with a speed and ferocity seldom seen in human beings, and with a leaping kick she crushes another attacker's windpipe. He moans as she lands, his blade sent flying across the desert sands. Turning about she sees Ivy engaged with the final attacker.
His blade makes several sweeping slashes through the air, missing Ivy by hairs each time. In a sudden change of tactics he whirls about and kicks her legs out from under her. He then stops and brings the blade down in a vicious stab.
"RED!" Harley screams as she leaps forward.
Bruce can only utter a nearly inaudible "No." Thinking back to that singular night when it all began to unravel, when everyone and everything began to fall apart. He reaches into his utility belt as he watches the assassin raise the knife up high, poising for a final strike.
A gleaming black bat-wing slashes across the assassin's knife wielding hand, forcing his hand to spasm and drop the knife. He turns and is greeted by a flying kick into the gut by Harley. He falls to his knees and sees a very angry blonde haired woman staring down at him, and HIS blade in HER hand. It's the last thing he'll ever see…
The battle over Bruce tends to Ivy's wound using what's available in the utility belt, all the while muttering uncontrollably, "I'm sorry, so sorry…"
"It's okay," she whispers, trying to console him.
"If you hadn't twisted away in time…"
"I've had worse," she whispers, whimpering only slightly at the application of the alcohol, "It's just a scratch."
"But I promised, promised to…" he continues.
Ivy touches his shoulder and smiles, "Look in my eyes, Bruce." He does, gazing deeply…almost longingly, "I'm fine."
He pulls away and walks towards one of their defeated adversaries.
"You know, Red," Harley chirps up when Bruce is out of earshot, "He's this close," she pinches her index finger and thumb together, "THIS CLOSE to completely losing it!"
Ivy can't tell if Harley is concerned or thrilled about that fact. Instead she calls to Bruce, "So, how much farther?"
He ignores the question as he looks over the prone form before him. He shakes his head and spots a tiny, black keychain on the assassin's belt. He stares at the attachment, shaped like a car alarm activation box. Depressing the button he sneers as the ground shakes and only a few meters away a glass shrouded cylinder rises up from beneath yellow sands. The doors part in an inviting manner and he accepts by walking gingerly towards them.
Ivy struggles to get up and Harley shakes her head. "He's going to get us all killed, I just know it," she grumbles as she helps Ivy towards the elevator.
The doors close and they watch as they shrink away from the light and into the depraved depths below. Harley grimaces at the thought, "Kinky."
The darkness has always held a special fascination to the human psyche. As children many learned to fear and respect its inky folds, for each pocket of night could hold a terror capable of forever altering the shape and substance of life. In later years this theory metamorphosises and the darkness becomes a curious part of space yearning to be explored, and if possible exploited. Inhibitions seem lost when the night shrouds blanket our existence and we often find ourselves willing to embrace the bizarre, unexpected and insane much more readily, almost as a consequence of embracing the blackness itself. And then we grow, and age, and learn once more to fear that blackness and the terrors it may hold.
Bruce Wayne has experienced every level of the night, and what he once considered his ally and tormentor at the same time has become nothing more than another facet of existence to loathe. With the darkness you're forced to think, not act. Your mind is forced to wander, and it brings with it thoughts that may have been better left suppressed. He's learned to fear and hate the dark, especially when it isn't under his control.
Within the glass lined elevator he continues his descent within the bowels of the earth, his two erstwhile companions, Ivy and Harley Quinn at his sides. None have spoken since their trip has begun and he can only gauge their presence by listening for their breathing. His ears perk a little as he notes how Ivy's breathing is still slightly laboured and heavy, her wound at her side obviously causing sharp bolts of pain each time she draws breath. All because of him and his damned need...
The elevator then shudders to a halt. He could hear the doors part and they delicately makes their way out into the pitch blackness with Harley helping Ivy along. Bruce is about to reach for his flashlight when the room is doused in a blanket of bright light, leaving all three momentarily dazed. As their vision clears the elevator doors close, and they realize that a trap has been sprung.
All about them are men dressed in black, with swords sheathed and faces masked. Each stands at the ready, awaiting the order to strike from he who sits upon a large, elevated throne directly behind them. His countenance is pure malice as he stares down at the three before him with hate filled eyes. His skin is darkened by the desert sun and it tenses as he raises his muscular arm upward to order his horde to stay down, for the moment. A grin then forms upon his lips that would quell any thought of victory in any normal human mind.
Bruce Wayne merely smiles back at his opponent.
"It looks like some kind of cult…" Ivy manages in awe.
Harley swallows hard, "I hope they're the suicidal type."
"What have you got us into?" Ivy asks.
The figure on the throne calls out to his captives below before Bruce has a chance to respond, his voice every bit as powerful as his presence, "Allow me to answer that question, my dear. This collection you see before you…" he gestures at his men, "represents the most elite faction of assassins the world has ever known, a veritable league, if you will. Each of them have been trained from birth in the deadly arts and are absolutely loyal to only one man, he who is called Ra's al Ghul, or the Demon's Head, if you will. Me. I bid you welcome to my humble abode and hope that each of you has come prepared to die…"
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Story Thus Far: Someone has broken in police headquarters to peek into the files; Gordon and Bullock stake out Det. Allen's apartment, convinced that he's up to something no good; Bruce, Harley and Ivy reach their destination in early morning. A black garbed ninja-type attacks Harley, but his attack fails thanks to Harley's companions. He leaves behind a small demon's head as a warning. The three of them then set across the nearby desert; Penguin and Two-Face break into a jewellery exchange without the intent to steal. Instead they set explosives and the Penguin depresses the button...
…
When you're a cop there's always a boogeyman in the dark. No matter the situation it exists, sometimes imagined and sometimes real. It's being able to tell the difference that determines your length of service, and Det. Joe Allen hasn't risen through the ranks of Gotham's police force through sheer luck. He can stare into that inky blackness and discern the fabricated from true threats. Like now, sitting in his tiny apartment he feels the hairs rise on the nape of his next. His fear becoming palpable he turns and can make it out in the moonlit etched shadows before him. Swirling like a twisted fold of cloth it seems to ooze up from the ground. Clutching his gun in one hand and secreted file in another his muscles tense. This creature has the shape and manners of a man, but it is much more. Allen's met it once before and hopes he fares better this time.
He waits until the creature's eyes are in sight and pulls the trigger. A sudden explosion of light and sound burst through the creature's skull, sending it reeling. Allen rises and starts for the window and the safety of Bullock's car on the street, but in spite of his better judgement he pauses. Taking a glimpse behind him he sees the creature whole again and with a shimmering blade that he swears wasn't there a second ago.
"Son of a…" he calls as the gun rises once more. Like a streak of lightning the assassin strikes, slashing sharply before the weapon is fired, severing Allen's wrist. Bleeding profusely and suffering from nerve damage he releases the gun to the ground and falls to his knees. Looking up he could see the shadow of the grim reaper as the blade is risen high…
A shattering of glass follows and two black boots crash into the chest of the assassin, sending it back once again. The creature stops to assess this latest opponent and is met with a batarang flush to the skull, embedding itself deep into the mental tissue.
As the attacker recovers the black caped girl interloper calls to the wounded detective, her muscles primed for action, "Get out!"
He obeys, and though suffering from blood loss he still manages to reach the window. In a daze he tries to climb out onto the fire-escape.
The creature snarls. Still wounded it hurls the blade at Batgirl. Twirling midair she deftly dodges the spinning sword only to watch haplessly as it passes through the shattered window and reaches its true target, Allen. The blade slides deeply into the startled detective's shoulder; its momentum sends him back into and over the railing to the hard cement 4 stories below.
Batgirl gasps and leaves herself open to a smashing blow by the attacker that sends her through the window as well. She doesn't panic and manages to fire a line. The grapple grabs hold and she alters her freefall to a swing, landing with all the grace of a cat. Enraged, she fires the line once more and soars back to Allen's apartment. It's empty.
"Sweet Jeezus!" Bullock exclaims as he looks down at the mess that was detective Allen on the sidewalk. Gordon is already kneeling by the fallen detective who still clutches at his precious file. Allen's good arm manages to tremble and he tries to speak, "File…"
"He's still alive," Gordon calls to Bullock, checking the pulse rate, "Call it in! Whatever did this could still be in the building!"
The earth then trembles and glass shatters all around them as the still night air is forced to echo the shockwaves of an enormous explosion several city blocks away. Bullock jumps at the sound, but Gordon merely curses, "Damn it! Damn this city! Why now? Why, in heaven's name, does it have to be right now?!"
"Commish, the explosion," Bullock starts, excited, "they're all going to head for it. We're not going to get any back-up any time soon…"
"I know, damn it, I know!" he screams, "Just let me think. Allen's his target; he'll come to finish the job. Load him in the car and let's head for the blast, maybe we'll find a free medic there…and maybe we'll draw that psycho out and away from the residents, maybe… Damn it!"
They pile into the unmarked car and Bullock shifts it into drive. Soon they are roaring down the road, unaware that Batgirl is still searching for the attacker in the apartment complex.
"What did this to you, Joe," Gordon asks, trying to keep his detective awake.
Allen seems to sigh as he tries to draw breath, "Shaftie."
"Shaftie? What the hell's a Shaftie. I've heard of Shaft, but…"
"Shut up Harvey!" Gordon screams, and then he turns to Allen, "Go on."
"Shaftie…my name for it…human-like creature, strong, fast, nothing hurts it… met it before… seems it tried to…tried to make me stop working… working for Two-Face… said it'd kill me, but this case, promotion… seems I just kept going… did nothing wrong…"
"Two-Face? I knew it, you son of a…"
"Shut up Harvey! Why, Joe, why were you working for Two-Face?"
"Why…?" and he's gone. Gordon sighs heavily and passes his hand over the detective's eyes, sending him to an eternal slumber.
"Is he?" Bullock manages.
"Yes," James Gordon replies, clearly shaken by the event. He's seen death before, but so rarely have they passed away in his arms in such a bloody mess. In fact this is similar to only one other time, it's so close to how it happened, when it was…The Commissioner growls as he reaches into the dead man's hand and rips out the blood covered file folder, "And I'm going to find out why…"
…
"Feel the heat yet?"
Garbed completely in black the two of them trudge across desert sands with their leader, a grim faced man whose handsome face covers another, more grotesque and sweat drenched visage beneath. Only he knows what their goal is to be. Behind him is a pale skinned woman whose fiery red hair seems to taunt at them and their situation. She doesn't speak, her mind attuned to its surroundings, waiting for the slightest disturbance. In the rear is the blonde, pig-tailed orator who continues to do what she can to draw attention to herself.
"Yes, yes I do," she replies to her own question, "You?"
"Uh huh," she nods meekly to her own question, frowning, "I don't think I can go on much farther you know…"
"Now that's a shame," she continues, "All because of the mean, MEAN man and his stupid secrets. I don't see why we couldn't stay on the boat."
"Submarine," she corrects herself.
"Whatever! I mean, how long have we been out here? Hours…? Days…? Weeks…? 'Gasp' Years? I tell you, he won't be happy until we're all dead!"
"It's been 40 minutes," she corrects herself once more.
"Minutes, years, what's the difference out here?" and she stops in her tracks, waving her arms in all directions to point out the sea of emptiness, "I mean, how can you tell?"
While Ivy is tempted to grin at Harley's foolery, instead she finds what she seeks buried beneath the sand and waiting to strike. She yells out a warning barely in time.
The sand flies up as three assassins, dressed in black from head to toe, rise up from underneath the scorched surface. The searing embers temporarily blind their quarry and Bruce Wayne fears the worst as his vision returns, but there is no onslaught, at least, not yet. The three attackers merely stand at the ready, hands clasping their shimmering blades.
The center warrior speaks, his tone muffled by the black wrappings about his face, "Turn back…or die!"
Bruce doesn't hesitate in his answer, "I choose neither!" And the battle begins.
Immediately the three attackers move forward in unison, swords unsheathed and raised in the air to be brought down upon their assigned target. Rather than fanning out however, they move together and lunge towards Ivy. Though she's taught herself to fight she is nowhere near as agile, nor as adept at martial skills as Harley Quinn and Bruce Wayne, and her attackers know this. Remove the weakest link and the rest will follow.
Bruce lunges forth quicker than the eye could see, bringing down one of the assassins in a crushing tackle. The assassin tumbles and rolls, committing the most fatal of errors as his arm twists in the air and imbeds his own blade in the small of his back.
Harley's pent up anger is finally released as she moves with a speed and ferocity seldom seen in human beings, and with a leaping kick she crushes another attacker's windpipe. He moans as she lands, his blade sent flying across the desert sands. Turning about she sees Ivy engaged with the final attacker.
His blade makes several sweeping slashes through the air, missing Ivy by hairs each time. In a sudden change of tactics he whirls about and kicks her legs out from under her. He then stops and brings the blade down in a vicious stab.
"RED!" Harley screams as she leaps forward.
Bruce can only utter a nearly inaudible "No." Thinking back to that singular night when it all began to unravel, when everyone and everything began to fall apart. He reaches into his utility belt as he watches the assassin raise the knife up high, poising for a final strike.
A gleaming black bat-wing slashes across the assassin's knife wielding hand, forcing his hand to spasm and drop the knife. He turns and is greeted by a flying kick into the gut by Harley. He falls to his knees and sees a very angry blonde haired woman staring down at him, and HIS blade in HER hand. It's the last thing he'll ever see…
The battle over Bruce tends to Ivy's wound using what's available in the utility belt, all the while muttering uncontrollably, "I'm sorry, so sorry…"
"It's okay," she whispers, trying to console him.
"If you hadn't twisted away in time…"
"I've had worse," she whispers, whimpering only slightly at the application of the alcohol, "It's just a scratch."
"But I promised, promised to…" he continues.
Ivy touches his shoulder and smiles, "Look in my eyes, Bruce." He does, gazing deeply…almost longingly, "I'm fine."
He pulls away and walks towards one of their defeated adversaries.
"You know, Red," Harley chirps up when Bruce is out of earshot, "He's this close," she pinches her index finger and thumb together, "THIS CLOSE to completely losing it!"
Ivy can't tell if Harley is concerned or thrilled about that fact. Instead she calls to Bruce, "So, how much farther?"
He ignores the question as he looks over the prone form before him. He shakes his head and spots a tiny, black keychain on the assassin's belt. He stares at the attachment, shaped like a car alarm activation box. Depressing the button he sneers as the ground shakes and only a few meters away a glass shrouded cylinder rises up from beneath yellow sands. The doors part in an inviting manner and he accepts by walking gingerly towards them.
Ivy struggles to get up and Harley shakes her head. "He's going to get us all killed, I just know it," she grumbles as she helps Ivy towards the elevator.
The doors close and they watch as they shrink away from the light and into the depraved depths below. Harley grimaces at the thought, "Kinky."
The darkness has always held a special fascination to the human psyche. As children many learned to fear and respect its inky folds, for each pocket of night could hold a terror capable of forever altering the shape and substance of life. In later years this theory metamorphosises and the darkness becomes a curious part of space yearning to be explored, and if possible exploited. Inhibitions seem lost when the night shrouds blanket our existence and we often find ourselves willing to embrace the bizarre, unexpected and insane much more readily, almost as a consequence of embracing the blackness itself. And then we grow, and age, and learn once more to fear that blackness and the terrors it may hold.
Bruce Wayne has experienced every level of the night, and what he once considered his ally and tormentor at the same time has become nothing more than another facet of existence to loathe. With the darkness you're forced to think, not act. Your mind is forced to wander, and it brings with it thoughts that may have been better left suppressed. He's learned to fear and hate the dark, especially when it isn't under his control.
Within the glass lined elevator he continues his descent within the bowels of the earth, his two erstwhile companions, Ivy and Harley Quinn at his sides. None have spoken since their trip has begun and he can only gauge their presence by listening for their breathing. His ears perk a little as he notes how Ivy's breathing is still slightly laboured and heavy, her wound at her side obviously causing sharp bolts of pain each time she draws breath. All because of him and his damned need...
The elevator then shudders to a halt. He could hear the doors part and they delicately makes their way out into the pitch blackness with Harley helping Ivy along. Bruce is about to reach for his flashlight when the room is doused in a blanket of bright light, leaving all three momentarily dazed. As their vision clears the elevator doors close, and they realize that a trap has been sprung.
All about them are men dressed in black, with swords sheathed and faces masked. Each stands at the ready, awaiting the order to strike from he who sits upon a large, elevated throne directly behind them. His countenance is pure malice as he stares down at the three before him with hate filled eyes. His skin is darkened by the desert sun and it tenses as he raises his muscular arm upward to order his horde to stay down, for the moment. A grin then forms upon his lips that would quell any thought of victory in any normal human mind.
Bruce Wayne merely smiles back at his opponent.
"It looks like some kind of cult…" Ivy manages in awe.
Harley swallows hard, "I hope they're the suicidal type."
"What have you got us into?" Ivy asks.
The figure on the throne calls out to his captives below before Bruce has a chance to respond, his voice every bit as powerful as his presence, "Allow me to answer that question, my dear. This collection you see before you…" he gestures at his men, "represents the most elite faction of assassins the world has ever known, a veritable league, if you will. Each of them have been trained from birth in the deadly arts and are absolutely loyal to only one man, he who is called Ra's al Ghul, or the Demon's Head, if you will. Me. I bid you welcome to my humble abode and hope that each of you has come prepared to die…"
TO BE CONTINUED…