DECEMBER 22, 2003
APPROX. 2110 HOURS
"Master Bruce fell asleep rather early, but I ensured he was tucked into bed."
Alfred's distinctive footsteps echoed through the halls of the underground cave. This would have normally alerted Thomas if it wasn't for the motion detectors on his computer blinking at him otherwise. The cave, as a whole, was extensive. If it wasn't for an earthquake so long ago, it would not have been so large, if even existent. Thankfully, it wasn't a risk to any of the manor's foundations, and as such Thomas found it more of an opportunity.
In front of Thomas was a collection of screens, attached to a nearby supercomputer, which took up a good amount of space around the flattened out operating area. As the fans of the computer hummed away and chirped every now and again, the screen displayed various things; among different police chatter channels, there was GCPD criminal database information, personal database information that Thomas himself kept, and recent news headlines and articles of interest. In the future, he would eventually try to download FBI, CIA, and other federal criminal databases, but for now Thomas decided to keep it local.
Most prominent of all on the screen was an active search for different phone wiretaps. In the past, he had placed several bugs on the landlines of different people of interest around Gotham, under the guise of 'just a friendly visit about that article you wrote' on top of 'oh I just need to ask my butler about dinner tonight, mind if I use your phone?'. And now Thomas imagined it would come in handy more than police chatter.
Thomas turned and nodded to Alfred as he came down. "He's okay?"
"Respectfully, as okay as okay can be for him."
"Good." Thomas sighed. He cared about Bruce, but if he wasn't willing to accept help, there was nothing that both Alfred nor Thomas could do.
Thomas turned back to face the screen as Alfred approached and stood next to him.
"What seems to be on the menu tonight, sir?" Alfred asked, observing the computer at work.
While the wiretap search kept working, Thomas pulled up one of the articles on screen - one of the same ones he had read already earlier in the day, in regards to the bat vigilante stopping a heist.
"Last night, I was occupied by three different jewelry store robberies." Thomas began explaining. "The first two I was able to deal with, but on my way to the second location, I had figured it was too coincidental for multiple stores to be hit at once. Before I could interrogate any of the thieves, the GCPD had arrived on the scene."
"I assume they had already arrived at the third store before you could pursue?" Alfred asked.
"You assume correctly." Thomas said. "It would have been dumb to try and interrogate someone already in their custody."
"The Police do seem to have it out for you in particular." Alfred quipped. "So what are you thinking in regards to the jewel debacle?"
"That it was a distraction." Thomas explained. "Look here." Thomas pulled up another article, lower on the front page. "It reads 'Mysterious Ice Occurrence Freezes Wayne Warehouse'. It has both the media and GCPD detectives confused."
"Where one of the company warehouses had ice covering the floors and walls?"
"As well as some recent shipments going missing."
"Heavens, whatever shall we do about all those lost profits."
"Very funny." Thomas shook his head, huffing a small laugh. "My point is this - when have you seen such great crime scene photos without any police tape?"
Thomas switched the active newspaper page on the screen to the full article concerning the icy thefts. Indeed, the photos included had 0 police presence at all. No tape, no cops, no detectives.
"This can only mean that they arrived before the cops, and assumedly after the thieves made their getaway." Thomas concluded. "As such, I've decided to tap into any potential phone calls tonight, in hopes that our same super sleuth reporter stumbles upon another scene."
"How can you be so sure that…" Alfred leaned closer, squinting to get a better look at the author of the article. "…Mr. Jack Ryder will strike such gold, sir?"
"I can't, which is why I've still got police chatter up, but mostly it's been drunkards or quiet." Thomas said, hands linked together under his chin as he sat, staring at the screen.
"The system still isn't linked with the car?" Alfred asked.
Thomas shook his head. "No, Lucius has been having trouble with it. I suppose that's why I have you here on comms for a while."
"I'm not sure what else I would be doing, sir." Alfred spoke softly, still staring at the screen. He always had dry wit up his sleeve, much to the little amusement Thomas got from it.
Not soon after, the computer's screen began to flash a message. [WIRETAP ACHIEVED, RELAYING AUDIO] it said.
"Good, Ryder's calling someone. Let's see if he has anything good."
After a brief moment of the computer communicating with the wiretap, audio began to play out of two large speakers next to the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Vicki! Sweetheart, how's business?"
"It was better before I picked up. What do you want, Jack?"
"What, I can't call just to chat with my favorite-"
"Every other reporter you call is your favorite co-worker. If you're gonna ask me something, at least have the decency to actually talk to me first."
"My goodness, isn't she rather fiery." Alfred remarked. Thomas simply grunted in affirmation, as they listened. Jack Ryder, with his voice like an off-key trumpet, awkwardly tried holding a conversation with Vicki, whose voice was stern and confident. Vicki had known that Ryder only wanted one thing, and wanted to push him to actually try talking rather than focus on work. His bluff was called, as his attempts at trying to hold back the fact that he was chomping at the bit for a scoop were paltry and weak. Eventually - after what seemed like a painfully long time - Vicki relented.
"Okay, my god, just spit it out."
"Okay, so!" There was a brief moment where Ryder could be heard putting the phone to his shoulder and ear, and rubbing his hands. "One of my scouts called me, and said they saw a strange van go into that uh…" He snapped to himself, trying to recall. "...that one place where they research flowers."
"The Gotham Botanical Research and Preservation Facility?"
"Yeah yeah yeah! That's the one! Same kinda van that got me last night's ice scoop."
Vicki could be heard sighing, and then tapping her foot, pondering.
"Well-"
"Fine." Vicki answered. "Give me 20 minutes, I'll meet you at your apartment, and we'll go together."
"Take your time. My guy says that the van that went in? Well it had a driver and a passenger, plus whoever was in the back."
"And?"
"And when it came out, it didn't have any passenger. Might mean that someone's still in there."
"You really should just call the cops, not every story is worth it."
"That's why I'm making headlines and you're not, honey."
"Shut up, Jack. I'll see you in thirty."
[WIRETAP LOST, TRANSMISSION CONCLUDED]
"Well then." Alfred huffed, nonplussed. "Scouts?"
"Ryder pays the homeless around town to either phone him from a payphone or go to his house if they see anything suspicious." Thomas said as he got up from his seat, and walked over to his table full of equipment. "Since I didn't get any taps earlier, I'm guessing whoever his scout was didn't have the phone money Ryder gave him."
"Well, that's a rather dubious thing to do. I can't tell on what side of ingenious or dastardly that falls." Alfred said, somewhat disgusted.
"Nonetheless, I know where to go." Thomas said, putting on more padding and armor from his table. "Stay on comms and keep me updated if Ryder or Vale call the cops." He grabbed various tools and gadgets to put into the pouches around his belt and armor.
"Will do, sir." Alfred nodded his head, and strode over to the computer, taking an all-too-familiar seat to him. Thomas finished his preparations by applying some eye-black around his eyes, and donning the last of his gear. Ready for the night, he strode over to the car on the makeshift driveway that led out of the cave.
"Good luck, sir. All of one company." Alfred recited in solidarity. It was a byproduct of his time in the war, a signal of his comradery. Thomas always took solace in the fact that he had Alfred in his corner.
"All of one company." Thomas said back, as he got into his car. And soon, he was off.
DECEMBER 22, 2003
APPROX. 2140 HOURS
"So I said to my wife, 'Your brother? You sure that ain't a 600 pound sack of shit walking in my house?'."
'Lucky' Lincoln and Hector were leaning against the railing of the second floor, chatting and laughing at each other's terrible jokes. The Gotham Botanical Research and Preservation Facility had been iced over, similarly to how one of Wayne Tech's warehouses had been. As such, it was freezing - but Lucky and Hector were fighting the cold by wearing warm jackets that they had been advised to bring, as well as smoking perhaps one too many cigarettes than would be advised. Placing his rifle against the railing, Hector then rubbed his hands after chuckling at Lucky's story, trying to keep warm - his breath visible as it blew against his knuckles.
"God it's cold, I even felt a draft earlier." Hector said.
"There's no draft in here, though?" Lucky said, quizzically. "Ice doesn't make wind last I checked."
"Maybe a window was open, I dunno." Hector brushed it off, lighting another cigarette to replace his previously finished one. "You hear what happened to Miller?" Hector asked.
"No, I had another deal going on in Park Row." Lucky answered.
"Big score?"
"Nah, just some dope for my aching back. Really helps, you know?"
"Well, you better share, it's been a minute since we last smoked together." Hector patted Lucky on the back.
"Yeah, yeah…" Lucky smirked. "But what happened to Miller?"
"He got hit big time last night. I saw it with my own eyes." Hector explained, eyes wide in self-amazement as he recalled what happened.
"Jesus, hell…" Lucky shook his head, taking the stub of a smoked cigarette out of his mouth and tossing it against a chunk of ice. There was an audible sizzle as the tip extinguished against the frozen surface. "He make it?"
"I think so, we tried uh… treating it the best we could." Hector was still trying to figure that one out in his head.
"Well, if he's breathing he's okay, besides the fact he owes me 20 bucks." Lucky shrugged. "I hope he doesn't think dying will get him out paying me back."
"Christ dude, he almost died, be a little more emphatic."
"You mean empathy." Lucky corrected. "And besides the fact, it'd actually be sympathetic. I ain't never been shot, and I ain't planning letting any pig get one up on me." Lucky was smug with his words.
"Whatever." Hector brushed it off. As he said so, his watch beeped rapidly at him. He checked it, reading the digital numbers on the screen - 9:45 PM.
"Quarterly check in, yeah?" Lucky asked.
"Yep." Hector sighed, tossing his own cigarette from his mouth. "Boss wants things tighter than last night."
"Do your thing then, I'll shut up."
Hector reached down to his waistband, and tried grabbing a non-existent radio.
"What the hell?" Hector kept grabbing around him, looking to see if he placed it down on the ground. "Where's my radio?"
"I don't think I saw you walk up with it." Lucky remarked.
"Well why didn't you say so, you horse's ass?" Hector was growing impatient.
"Don't get pissy with me, you should have had it, I thought maybe it was behind you or something."
"I know I had it, I didn't wanna leave it anywhere!"
"Well the boss won't mind if you're a minute late, you probably left it in that one broad's office."
"Ugh, dammit." Hector gave up. "Fine, I'll be right back…" He strode off, shaking his head. He could have sworn he had it on him. He made sure.
No matter now. On his way back to the office that Lucky mentioned, Hector was swearing at himself in his own mind.
I didn't think I put it down… I had it clipped on, did it fall?
As he walked, he took a quick mental inventory of everything else. Wallet? Yeah, he felt it in his rear pocket. Extra magazine? Tucked into a pouch on his belt. Cigs? You offered Lucky one, jackass, you know you have it. He kicked himself in his head. It seemed that the radio was the only thing he thought he had that he didn't. It was weird, it didn't sit right.
Whatever, maybe just got too distracted. Focus up, things'll be fine. He huffed, as he climbed a flight of stairs down.
While travelling to the office, he also took mental note of everything else around him. He passed another crew member, Patrick, who gave him a quick nod. There were five of them leftover in total: Brian, Juarez, Lucky, Patrick, and Hector himself. They were just waiting for the second van to arrive. They were effectively just patrolling, taking things they wanted, marking important things, and just B.S.'ing while waiting. Nobody should have known they were there, he remembered clipping the phone lines before going in. Nothing seemed off so far, just the radio, but god be DAMNED Hector knew that he-
Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed he was heading towards the ground until his forehead knocked hard against the tiled ground. The hard thwack brought Hector back to reality, as now a dull throbbing pain rang around in his skull.
"JESUS, SHIT!" He swore loudly as he reeled on the floor, quickly getting up. He looked back, seeing nothing at first glance. It was just an ordinary hallway, different paintings and simple signs hanging from the walls. The office was just up ahead and on the left, and the door was… actually, closed now. Hector distinctly remembered that he left it wide open. What in the absolute hell was going on?
He looked backwards again, and something in the light had caught his eye. It was lower to the ground, which - upon looking at it - he finally realized what happened.
A tripwire was strewn from each side of the hallway. That's why he barely felt anything on the way down. Now alarmed, Hector knew something was up.
Now, rose anxiety.
"One and only chance, if this is any of you chuckleheads messing with me, I'm about to call in backup so it's YOUR ass if-" he started to call out, on the off-chance this was a dumb prank. But before he could finish, a blood-curdling scream rang out, and continued to ring.
Shit! Hector knew none of this was good. That sounded like Patrick, goddammit! Quickly, he turned back around, sprinting towards the office. He threw the door open, and prominently on the metal desk inside was the radio.
A-ha! He thought, grabbing for it. Guess I did place it down. Whatever, gotta call backup. Going to help now would have been worthless if he couldn't call for backup. His hunch was right.
But his stomach then twisted into knots as he tried pressing on the radio. Not only did it feel lighter than normal, but there was nothing coming from it. No crackle of static, no distinctive beep of it coming to life. Quickly, he turned it around and checked the back. The back panel had been taken off, and the insides gutted.
Anxiety rose to anticipation.
Despite the chill of ice and frost around him, he felt himself begin to get warmer, on the verge of sweating. Breathing heavily, his mind raced.
Calm down, shit. Something's happening, something bad but you can turn it around. Remember what to do, regroup and find strength in numbers, that's what the iceman said.
Swallowing some resolve into his gut, he strode out and opted to follow the screaming. Everyone else should have regrouped there, he imagined. It only made sense.
Careful not to slip on any ice, he rushed and ran quickly, following the echoes of Patrick's screaming which had been getting progressively more and more quiet. Rounding a few corners and climbing a flight of stairs, he saw one figure crouched next to a writhing Patrick. Running up, Hector frantically called out, recognizing the standing figure as another crew member.
"Juarez! What happened?!"
"Look at him! Someone messed him up real bad!" Juarez exclaimed while pointing at Patrick. Upon a closer look, Hector recoiled. Patrick was flat on his back, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes, as his left arm and leg were both twisted in directions they shouldn't be facing. His other arm was trying feebly to grab at his broken limbs, but the pain was obviously too much for him. Near him was his own rifle, brutally broken into bits and now unusable.
"Sweet christ…" Hector stared, astonished and afraid. He shook his head out of it, and focused on Juarez. "W-what about the others?" He tried to keep his anxiety in check.
"I haven't seen them, you're the first one I saw." Juarez was quiet, as if they were being spied on. Paranoia had obviously hit him deep.
"Radio's busted, someone is in here with us." Hector explained.
"You think it's-?" Juarez began, but Hector shushed him quickly.
"No, it can't be. He can't be real, this is just some supercop messing with our heads." He didn't want to hear the name, as if superstitiously it would summon him. Hector was breathing heavily, in and out, in and out, trying to calm his racing heart. He kneeled down, and took a bottle of pills out of his pocket, popping two into Patrick's mouth.
"This'll kill your pain good, just stay here and we'll deal with this, okay?" He was trying to maintain a facade of a leader, keeping calm in the chaos that was going on at that moment. Patrick dry swallowed two pills, and was now just shuddering on the ground. Hector took his coat off, and rolled it into a makeshift pillow for his crewmate. He figured the cold might sharpen his senses, keep him alert anyhow.
"We need to find Lincoln and Brian." Dropping the nickname. He was serious. "Stick with me, and let's check around. We can beat this."
Getting up, the two quickly made to patrol the facility. Hector took point, and Juarez followed with his gun raised, ready for anything.
It didn't take much longer to find both Lincoln and Brian. As the two were on the lookout, and carefully creeping around the facility, they heard what sounded like knocking coming from a nearby closet. The room itself was high, with a catwalk up above, although that itself bore ice hanging from and and around it. Turning quickly, the two looked at each other, and huddled up at the door. Hector would open, and Juarez would keep watch, gun raised in case of who may come out.
Hector quickly opened it and recoiled back, and the two were ready for almost anything. What they weren't ready for, were Brian and Lincoln handcuffed to each other, bruised and beaten. They fell out of the closet, barely able to wriggle around as they were out of any energy to do so. Their mouths had been taped over, and their faces were bruised around the lower parts of their eyes and their jaws.
"Shit, Lucky! Brian!" Hector kneeled down again, and tried to get them out of their bindings to no avail.
Anticipation rose to panic.
"Okay, calm down, we can get this. What happened?"
He tried to rip the tape off, but as he looked down at Lincoln's eyes, he heard two gunshots ring off. Bang, Bang they rang, and quickly - Juarez fell to the floor facefirst, yelling in pain. Hector ripped his head upwards to see what happened, gun raised at where he heard the shots come from, roughly. But there was nothing. There was darkness, shadows that stared back at him. Nothing around.
Panic rose to fear.
His lip now trembling, Hector quickly stooped over to Juarez to inspect him. There wasn't any blood, however. Gunshots, but no blood? He checked his back, was Juarez wearing his armor?
He wasn't… it was just his jacket, which didn't have any large holes. Upon closer inspection, there were just very, very tiny holes, and it seemed like they stopped once they hit his back. The two shots left a dark and nasty bruise around his shoulders in the broad middle of his back. Juarez couldn't bear the pain and couldn't find the strength to get up.
Hector was shaking now. He was the last one left. He picked his gun back up, and stood as tall as he could. He looked around, back and forth, head swiveling trying to find SOMETHING, ANYTHING around him. This didn't make any sense, this couldn't be right. He was the last one, he made sure of everything, he KNEW he had the radio! He didn't want to get shot, the last thing he wanted was to get-
Tink.
He turned in the direction of the noise, and opened fire. About a dozen holes now littered a picture on the far end of the wall. There wasn't anything, but Hector knew he heard something. Jogging over, something small caught his eye. Quickly looking around beforehand, he bent over to inspect the small trinket on the ground.
It was a bullet, roughly 9mm - the kind made for standard pistols. However, it was unlike any bullet he had ever seen. The cartridge was still there, meaning it wasn't spent. But the bullet itself, the tip of the bullet, was different. It was a dull-looking metal, and had a different kind of point. It was flatter, and looked like it had something inside. It was lighter than any other bullet he had held, too. This bullet certainly was a curious trinket. Hector inspected it more, and turned to look at the bottom of the bullet. On the rim, where the primer was, at the bottom, was a special logo emblazoned onto it.
A bat.
Hector felt another draft behind him, familiar to the one he felt earlier. Not taking chances, he turned with his gun raised. But as he did, a harsh hand grabbed at his wrist, and he felt a gloved finger jamming his palm outwards away from his trigger, as a second hand slammed against his chest, grabbing him. Hector's back was pressed harshly against a nearby wall, as his rifle dropped out of his hands and clattered on the ground. It was now that Hector had a good look at his assailant.
Fear rose to dread, and he screamed out.
"B-B-BATMAN!"
Batman stood grabbing him, standing tall and armored from head to toe. He was clad in darker, more navy-blue colors that blended well with the night sky. A cape of a similar color stood out behind him, clad against his padded shoulders. On his chest, the dim lights of the facility struck the sheening metallic logo of a bat that embellished his chest. It was black, sharp, with a blue circle as its backdrop. Sitting on top of his head was a helmet. It looked similar to a motorcycle helmet of sorts, a large visor hiding his face. But on top were two pointed ears resembling that of a bat. A small speaker sat on the mouthpiece of the helmet. Inside, Hector could barely see his face. The visor was tinted enough, but when the right light caught it, he could see that whoever was behind that helmet was wearing a padded balaclava, concealing everything but his eyes. Eye-black concealed the features around what could be seen. All Hector could see is that they were brown eyes full of anger.
These were the eyes of a vengeful being.
"Please, G-G-God, Batman! D-Don't hurt me!" Hector pleaded, fearing now for his life.
"You're going to tell me who your boss is." A disguised voice crackled from the helmet's speaker. It was deepened, twisted just enough that you couldn't tell who was behind the helmet.
"I-I can't…" Hector stammered out. "He'll kill me if I say anything!"
"I will do worse than that." Batman emphasized, taking out a pistol from his holster. It was a well-used handgun, the marks of age and time were apparent in its metal sheen. But it was also very well maintained. The tip of it had a flash hider. Hector could now feel it against his gut, as he tried to recoil back away from it. "The longer you take, the angrier I get. The itchier my trigger finger becomes."
Hector's breathing was rapid, and he stared into Batman's eyes. He didn't know how serious he was - as far as he knew, The Batman didn't kill. Hurts pretty bad, but seems like that might be worse than death. He thought hard, about the iceman, and about his boss. He picked his words as carefully as he could.
"C-cobblepot. Oswald Cobblepot." Hector breathed out. He was trembling in Batman's grip.
"What were you doing here for Oswald?" Batman was straight to the point. He knew the 'Cobblepot' name, but Oswald was an oddity to him. He could figure out more about that later.
"Waiting for Oswald to send backup to pick up some of this gear." Hector too was straight to the point.
"Something's already missing though." Batman pointed out. "I took a look around already, you know…" Which he had. While setting the various traps for the patrolling goons, Batman conducted a brief investigation of what had already been done. Aside from the dead or frozen over security guards, he learned that only one thing of importance had already been taken. "I saw that a flower that the scientists here were experimenting on is missing." Batman shook Hector a bit with his gripped hand. "Where is it?"
"Flower?" A look of puzzlement met his look of pained fright. "I don't know what-"
Swiftly, Batman lifted the thug and slammed him onto the ground, then swung the pistol in his other hand to strike against Hector's face. Hector, crying out in pain, tried to reach his hands to meet his face. He was stopped when the barrel of the gun stared at his eyes.
"I SWEAR TO GOD I DON'T KNOW!" Hector shrieked his words out before Batman could speak again. "SOME GUY WHO WANTS TO WORK WITH COBBLEPOT TOOK IT AND LEFT ALREADY! I DON'T KNOW HIS NAME HE'S GOT A WEIRD SUIT AND HE'S BALD AND I DON'T WANNA DIE! I DON'T WANNA DIE PLEASE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE I CAN SAY!"
"You've said enough." Batman said, before slamming a pair of custom made handcuffs against one of Hector's wrists. The other cuff met a nearby guardrail and clicck-ked into place.
"Wait, come on, what are you-" Hector spattered out while shaking his cuffed wrist. "It's freezing and I don't have a jacket, what are you-?!"
"The GCPD will warm you up soon enough." Batman said as he strode away. He had a new batch of information ready to comb through.