Innocence unleashed
Weren't expecting this were you? Set in the animated universe of Krypto the super dog, which had only so long before some unprincipled opportunistic author tried to corrupt it all. All credit for this concept goes entirely to Alan Moore (that's right the British writer) and Krypto belongs to DC comics and Warner Brothers respectively. And their welcome to it. I personally would not touch this part of the franchise with a kryptonite laced pole. But this idea was too good to pass up. Research into the show is enough to know basic characters and plots but not what Paul Dini was thinking.
Gotham city
Well past any well behaved child's bedtime
This was what it was all about.
The last few moments of the hunt.
Wind tugging at scalloped black cloak (those other dogs wore capes, master had given him a cloak) Ace the Bat hound padded gently towards the rust brown and grey silver grill.
The kind that was bolted firmly to the air vent. Easy roof access points were things of human fiction. Which just meant you had to make them.
No need to get any rust on his nails though. If the infection didn't kill him Alfred would. A paw was pressed against a specific smelling tag on his utility collar and a Wayne enterprises standard issue screw driver mounted on an extendable telescopic relay buzzed forward. Metal slid down, silent as shadow.
As the darkness of the vent enveloped him, Bat hound reviewed the, as of yet unfancy named, case. Standard kidnapping and ransom situation, two perps, Bud and Lou, both pedigree hyenas illegally held by local criminal/ Arkham asylum for the criminally insane inmate and escape The Joker.
Kidnapped the duchess of Kaznea's prize winning pedigree kaznean terrier mid transfer, New York to Metropolis, no ransom. Yet.
Not that they'd get the chance to issue any.
He paused over a ceiling vent, inhaled the room below: Ageing wood, disinfectant, the mixed scents of rusting tin and musty hardened plaster that belonged to a trio of plaster mould drums. Nothing.
Grey ears cocked: rats scuttling through the walls, the occasional burst from a loose wire, water battling through old pipes, Gotham nightlife whispering into brick. Nothing.
A paw tapped against an edge and he dropped, cloak spread wide to slow the fall through the swinging grill. Wood creaked under paw and Ace bit back a wince with iron resolve, slipping behind the drums, allowing scent and shadows to mask him.
Nothing stirred, Bud and Lou insisted in not drooling through the door so he lowered on all fours, putting an ear to the floor. Heard more scurrying, creaking metal as a chain swung in gusts from a broken window, laboured breathing, a relieved sigh and the loud splash of impact on toilet water…oh good God!
Wait, laboured breathing? The kind right before…
Ace darted from behind the cans, out of the shadows, charging at the door…bounced and hit the cans with a dull 'boink'. Locked then. This presented a problem.
Damn criminal masterminds and their opposable thumbs!
The screwdriver would be to slow this time, anything else would either take even longer or give him away all together. But if what he thought he heard and what he thought he smelt were accurate what choice did he have?
A paw rose to a small button under the centre of the collar. If the Bat hound had been able to see in colour, it would have been red.
Corpse yellow teeth gleamed in flickering overhead lights. What was it with villainous hideouts and bad lighting? Okay, the boss was a wanted criminal, neck and neck with that snake guy in the FBI's database and couldn't afford somewhere better lit. Okay, the boss was, as a result of the price of infame (was that a word? It was now!) , constantly spending what little time he spent out of Arkham (with the food they served there who wouldn't want to breakout?) on the lamb. Mmmm…lamb.
Okay, this meant finding hideouts that people would most likely avoid, which where often hellholes when they were built. Okay, he was, as a canine, colour blind and the lighting wasn't that much of a problem. But that didn't mean you couldn't make the effort.
Still, it didn't matter that the light wasn't blinding, just that Lou could see his victory grin. Not to be confused with his malicious grin, his intimidating grin or his 'pet me and I'll rip your fingers off' grin.
A paw was lowered with deliberate slowness, the kind that nerves get ahead of, slow down, claw their way back to, and end up back where they started. A claw speared succulent rawness and Bud the hyena raised his final stake. The victory stake.
Lou's face was the perfect contrast to his, and by morning he'd probably tell the gullible son of a bitch he'd rigged the whole thing. It would get his lip to wobble, right before he'd go for his eyes. Which he couldn't do if Bud beat him to it.
Still as insurance, better say something reassuring.
"Hey, chill out. Could be worse right?"
In the coming months spent behind an Animal Control cage door, Lou would place the blame for what happened next entirely on Bud's shaggy shoulders. What happened was this: the building shook and the ceiling fell in on top of them.
If unable to act upon stealth and subtly, use a dramatic effect big enough to compensate. If possible, dramatic enough to take down the problem as well.
Admittedly, the master generally didn't approve of explosives. Yet he carried them in his belt. And as bad as a situation got, there was always a way to make it even worse for the scum behind the situation. Case in point: groans filtered through ceiling tiles and floor boards.
"My stake…my beautiful stake…ow, there's a splinter in my eye…"
"It's in your paw moron…"
"Not the eye I'm talking about…ow…"
Playing cards, filled with more jokers than was legal, if not possible, lay scattered over the wasteland like vultures waiting to feed off the stakes that had bounced greasily across the floor and in some case even imbedded themselves into what was left of the walls.
The Dark hound stood triumphant over it all.
"Ace beats Joker boys."
A sudden whine raked across his ears, breathing ending in short sharp grunts. Back to the night shift. The woodlice colony that was the door, bent at an angle that would have made a math teacher cry, gave easily to the sudden weight of Ace, breaking in completely.
Ghost white eyes went wide, lenses and all, at what was seen in a corner. The duchess's terrier lay hunched in a corner, fear and pain visible in every shake of her small frame. At first, Ace thought guiltily, he'd thought it was a sack. Well she was. Kinda. If this was what he thought it was. Was it? Where was the hot water?
Wrong species! Not helping! Do the job!
A nervous throat was cleared. "Ma'am? Do you need any…?"
She yelped suddenly, a joy buzzer jolting his heart. Oh she needs whatever I can give her. Especially with her mate overseas. But wasn't she supposed to be single? It wasn't mating season, breeding groups in Kaznia were kept under strict time tables.
Another yelp. A mystery for another time!
He shook his head. He was thinking like a human for god's sake. Bitches knew what to do, while he knew the exact science of how birthing a litter worked he would never have to, thank heaven, deliver one himself.
Might as well ask her some questions while she could still talk.
"Ma'am what happened to you?"
A snarl, instinctive, meant to scare. But it's nigh impossible to scare a bat hound.
"I'm…pregnant you moron…oh!"
That was let slide. Bud and Lou's snickering was not.
Ace didn't need heat vision. Not with a glare like that.
"Did they do it?"
That got the attention of all; hyenas' faces masks of horror. Understandable. If the cubs looked anything like that…God forbid.
"What?"
"Are either of these two responsible for…assaulting you?"
"Ow! Never…touched …me! No! Aggh!"
Bud looked at him, pleading eyes pools of damp in the swaying light, Lou's head nodding up and down like an ugly paddle and ball.
"Never touched! I swear!"
"Nope! Nuh uh! Never! Nope! C'mon Batsy, ya know us!"
Ace rounded on them, hunched in a stalkers crouch, but teeth not bared. Yet. "That's the problem."
"Don't insult me!"
Mouthy for a bitch in labour. He wondered vaguely if he should be impressed. Probably not.
The terrier let out a sound like an opera singer with glass in the throat and bulged, inducing a sense of nausea in all present. "Oh god…"
Cursing his lack of sweat glands, Ace fought the urge to pant. Bud and Lou didn't, staring like morons, which wasn't that hard for them considering. Lou cocked his head sideways, insane eyes tea cup wide and widening.
"Is that the…head…?"
Bud fainted.
Hatred churned in Ace's gut, he was useless, and she was in pain, the fate of her and her pup(s?) out of his paws. He never had liked hospital soaps. They dragged things like this out almost too realistically. Suspicion crept in like fog over Gotham harbour.
She was pregnant…giving birth right now, before his masked eyes. And Bud and Lou, hell, the goddamn Joker hadn't noticed? On the one paw, it was Bud and Lou. On the other, if they were that stupid any and all hope for canine evolution was lost. But they hadn't touched her. Apparently. But she was ready to go into labour one, two, buckle the bat shoe? What was going on here? Kaznian genetic modification?
Senses came alive: running feet on the stairs, swearing, and cheap hair gel.
Ace spun snarling as a purple tinged silhouette hoped out of the shadows, pant braces flailing like hungry snakes against the moon light.
"What in the name of fatty Arbuckle's third chin…?"
Ace lowered, ready to pounce like a bat winged hound out of hell and organic cannon exploded behind him. A white blur flashed between cowl covered ears, smacking the clown prince of crime to the floor like an inflatable clown punching bag.
The dark hound could only stare.
Lou fainted.
Ace blinked. "That was…different." Yet familiar.
The cannon exploded again, and he was bowled over like Cerberus's favourite chew toy. The artillery changed course this time, cocking a white head and letting out a yip of curiosity. Ace jerked his head around, trying to free himself from the sudden night like darkness of his cloak.
And stared.
The floating puppy gave another yip, interested more by the mass of black and grey confusion below than by it's defiance of gravity.
A groan came from the bag of bruised psychopath, a green hared head rising.
What was left of the upper floor fell on it, and left the GCPD's holiday bonus in an easy to handcuff heap. The first puppy flew a quick ring around it's brother, and was then joined by their sister for a game of "chase each other through a wall". Ace heard the mother inhale again, throwing him self to the floor like a mad dog as the warehouse shook in a confusion of rubble and happy barking.
He realised that in a perverse way he was counting each of them: 5. Boom. 6. Boom. 7. Boom. 8. Boom. 9. Boom. 10. Boom. 11. Boom. 12. Boom…
Who in god's name did she mate with, Pongo?
After the 20th birth he dared to raise a paw from an eye. Two stared back. Ace probably never jumped that high ever again. The puppy barked happily, sniffed then liked him, and bounded across air out of the gap in the wall. The duchess's terrier gave a dazed giggle and passed out. Ace wasn't too sure he benefited from being the only one conscious in the room. The sound of sirens found it's way through numb shock . Wandering to the eggshell remains of the wall, peering down into the streets with dread closing a hand around him, Ace saw the newest brand of animal themed insanity to hit Gotham since the whole Joker fish affair.
Night air blurred with white barking bullets, maws more powerful than locomotives worried street lights like there was no tomorrow, fire hydrants were leaped in single bounds. Someone somewhere started shouting the end was nigh, then broke into a recital of "Scooby Dooby Doo". Glass and concrete shattered and broke as waves of white raced out of Gotham's apartments and alleyways, colliding like the closing of a bleached red sea. Then things began to catch fire.
Ace watched as flashes of concentrated heat illuminated the underbellies of the arriving air force jets and GCPD choppers, listening to the surreal clashing of the mad man's "Where are you?" and the blaring civil defence alarms. An idiot could have put this all together. Bud and Lou could have solved this, given enough help.
Super powered puppies.
Super powered puppies with heat vision.
Super powered white puppies with heat vision.
A postal service van hurtled past his perch, an armada of playful yipping and yapping thundering at it's fenders. Enough was enough.
Ace slammed a paw into his glider control unit, mind a steel hard ball of indignant determination. He leapt aboard with practised ease, plotting a course for Metropolis, one underground den beneath a specific tree house in particular. Jet engines slammed to life, mimicking the rider's general mood, and a jet black dart shot across the full moon. Ace's eyes were narrowed the whole trip, even more so as the Metropolis coastline came into view. Target almost acquired. God help the son of a bitch.
Krypto…