DC Infinity Presents
Batgirl # 20
Streets of Fear Unseen
Conclusion
Gotham
Batgirl and Nightwing sped through the back streets of Gotham in one of Nightwing's modified cars, modified to resemble an unmarked police car, at speeds that would be dangerous for professional drivers on closed courses, but were barely a challenge for the two Bats. All lights in their path turned automatically, thanks to a few devises that were, in theory, supposed to be exclusive to law enforcement.
"Situation?" Batgirl didn't need her ability to read body language to tell that Nightwing was worried and angry. When not in the field, Dick Grayson wore his heart on his sleeve (Oracle taught Cass the expression, and though she barely understood it, Cassandra knew it when she saw it). Unlike Batman, Nightwing rarely hid his emotions from those he worked with or respected.
"Your friend took a pretty big risk," Nightwing replied, "according to Oracle's sources, he made less than subtle inquiries about the kidnappings, asking if anyone knew anything and all but painting 'snitch' on his back."
Batgirl tensed. Acting like an informant in Gotham was bound to attract the wrong attention, if not from the actual kidnappers, than from some other thug who hated the cops and The Bats just on 'principle'.
"I didn't think…"
"Don't sweat it," Nightwing cut her off, "what is, is. Missions go wrong more than they go right, and we may have lucked out. The trackers on his clothes are across town, but the ones he…otherwise concealed are in an empty warehouse. He hasn't been there long, so he should be okay."
oooOOooo
Bill Silver supposed that he should feel fear in his gut as two large men escorted him down the hall, eyeing him carefully. He could tell they expected him to run, but Bill wasn't about to give these punks the satisfaction. It wasn't that Bill wasn't scared, far from it. But it was the people in charge that scared Bill, the costumed sociopaths, not these rent a-thugs. In Gotham, idiots like these wouldn't even spit on the sidewalk without permission from their boss first.
And besides, after twenty years of boxing, Bill just didn't know how to walk away from a fight in the ring.
The two shoved Bill through a heavy metal door, and slammed it behind him. Bill heard a metal click, and knew he wouldn't be getting back out again without their permission, or a blow torch.
The 'ring' was little more than a circular trench dug eight feet in the ground, surrounded by cement walls. The ground was just plywood on dirt with some debris scattered around for flavor. Bill observed some blood stains and smelled death.
In his youth, Bill was fascinated with gladiator games. Right now, he wished he could travel back in time and smack his younger self upside the head.
"So, subject twenty seven, are we ready to begin?"
Bill looked up, and saw Scarecrow and Mr. Zsasz standing at the edges, like vultures awaiting for fresh carrion.
"Mind telling me what we're doing?" Bill asked, surprised he kept his voice from cracking. Something about seeing the psychopaths that fought Batman in the flesh and blood made Bill feel very, very small. They lived in a world far larger, dangerous and more deadly than Bill could ever imagine.
They could and would kill him as thoughtlessly as one might step on an ant, and everyone knew it.
"Have you ever wondered how much someone would pay, to be completely fearless while their teeth are at their enemy's throat?" asked The Scarecrow, "think about it. The Bat is a legend, the mere sight of him cowers even those with enough courage to fight back! But if one could manipulate the body's fight or flight response while directing them…"
The Batman.
Somehow, Bill wasn't too surprised to hear that this craziness, in some small way, revolved around Gotham's Dark Knight. While most thought to blame the Detective for their crimes, Bill was one of the few who were relieved that monsters like Scarecrow and Zsasz focused most of their attention on him instead of regular people.
Keyword there being 'most'.
"Lemmie guess," Bill deadpanned, "mean sumbitches?"
"Very much so," Scarecrow's smile, even though it was hidden beneath that hangman's mask, was like of a shark's to Bill.
"And why are you usin' homeless people?"
"It was my suggestion, actually," Zsasz said. Bare-chested and covered with more scars than skin, each one for a murder he'd committed, Zsasz looked like a human blackboard, "it was a homeless man who gifted me with my revelation, after all. The least I could do was to give them some sort of purpose before they met their pointless end."
"Muscle and brains," Scarecrow smiled, "I trust you can see why I asked him for assistance in this important experiment."
"Yeah, you're both wackjobs," Bill spat with all of his courage.
"Oh, you wound me," Scarecrow put his hand over his chest theatrically, "I am a scientist, good sir. And my experiment has progressed to the point that I need a control."
Bill looked at Scarecrow, confused, "Control?"
"Of course!" Scarecrow replied, "so many eager scientists of my…persuasion forget that any good experiment needs a control group. You see, you're going to fight our champion, but without my wonderful drug to provide assistance."
Scarecrow snapped his finger, and a steel door across the ring swung open. Jacob Palmer, thus far the most successful test subject of the demented doctor, stepped into the ring.
"Meet our champion, a one Jacob Palmer. Mr. Palmer, meet your next victim."
Jacob Palmer, his heart pounding and his vision running red, charged.
oooOOooo
The car squealed to a halt, and both crime fighters sprang out in seconds.
"Now remember," Nightwing and Batgirl raced across the pavement side by side. Two burly thugs rushed out to meet. Nightwing dispatched one with a casual right cross, while Batgirl used a snap kick to dispatch the second, "if we're dealing with someone from Arkham, make it personal, make them hate you."
"That," Nightwing pointed at the symbol on Batgirl's chest, "is what we want them to focus on, to see, fear and hate. Make it personal, and about the Bat."
oooOOooo
Bill knew from personal experience that in a fight, rage would only carry you so far. That was why he didn't panic when Jacob Palmer came at him like a wild animal, ready to tear him apart.
Palmer swing his fist for Bill's head, and Bill just took it. Running on instinct, and the knowledge that the human skull was the toughest bone in the human body, Bill positioned himself to perfectly response with an uppercut to the center of Jacob's rib cage.
It was a shot that he never would have been able to land on even a third rate boxer, but here it couldn't have been easier.
Palmer back-peddled as he struggled for breath, the air having been forced from his lungs by Bill's first punch. The aged boxer gave Jacob a sympathetic look and then decked him with a right cross, sending Scarecrow's champion into unconsciousness with just two blows.
This was one of only three fights in Bill's entire career where his life had been endangered, yet he considered it one of the easiest fights he'd fought yet.
"Thing about fear," Bill looked up towards the two sociopathic rogues, "it teaches ya, it gives boundaries. No fears means no brains, Scarecrow."
Zsasz chuckled, as he saw his companion stiffen at the insult.
"When the lab rats start thinking they know better than the scientist, it's time to euthanize," Scarecrow hissed.
"I don't know, Crane, I've always thought you needed a brain since the beginning."
Nightwing landed in the ring, one hand still gripping his grappling hook. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Bill around the waist and hoisted him up and out of the ring, opposite Scarecrow and Zsasz.
"Nightwing!" Scarecrow hissed, "you think you can stop the two of us! We'll tear you apart and send you back to The Bat in pieces!"
"I could," Nightwing shrugged.
"But he doesn't have to," Batgirl came up behind Scarecrow with a powerful drop kick, punting him into the ring below.
"Batgirl…" Zsasz snorted, before he turned and ran.
"Get Scarecrow!" Batgirl snapped as she darted after the scarred monster.
"Just like him," Nightwing smiled as he rolled his eyes. When he saw Scarecrow ducking through one of the doors in his makeshift ring, the experienced hero didn't have to be told to chase him down. But in this business, there were those who cared to such a degree that they left nothing to chance.
"Stay here and stay out of sight," Nightwing said to Bill and then leapt into the ring, "Batgirl and I will wrap this up in just a few minutes, and then we'll get everyone out of here."
oooOOooo
There were several things that separated Zsasz from the average Rogue of Gotham. First, he proudly kept no methodology, no themed obsession which made him harder than Scarecrow or Riddler to predict. All he ever seemed to care for was death, adding another notch to his own scar riddled flesh.
Second, he kept himself in peak physical condition. Robin once remarked that since he didn't put any effort into his 'gimmick', Zsasz used his free time to work out.
Batgirl didn't know if that was true, but between his physical ability and knowledge of the installation itself, the scarred murderer managed to pull ahead of her, not enough to lose her but he did manage to slip out of sight. Batgirl just barely arrived in time to see him slip through a freezer door and slam it behind him.
Batgirl growled inwardly at her poor luck. Allowing her enemy to escape was out of the question, but doors were natural choke points. The perfect place for an ambush, no matter your weapon or skill.
So Batgirl slowed, just a little bit and reached into her utility belt. She withdrew a batarang and flash grenade. She threw the batarang through a small window on the door, and tossed the flash bomb in after it.
The room exploded in searing light as Batgirl swung the door open, and leapt inside, on guard for any attack.
The flare died, but no attack came.
Batgirl scanned the room, calmly noting the lower temperature as her eyes adjusted to the lower light. The only source of light in the entire room was her flares, and the small amount that managed to trickle in from the dimly lit hall outside.
The lack of light wasn't much of an issue for Batgirl, as she learned how to navigate, run or fight blindfolded at the age of six, but she still hesitated. There was a strange, gangly pile in the center of the room, while Zsasz was a master of hand to hand combat.
Fighting blind was possible, but only as a last resort.
Slowly, like a picture coming into focus, Batgirl was able to make out what the pile before her was. And when recognition struck her brain, the young crime fighter thought she might vomit. Her stomach heaved like a lumberjack.
Piled together like cordwood were the bodies of at least a dozen homeless men, beaten and bloodied, their blood frozen around their mouths, on their hands and on their shirt. They were carelessly piled in a stack, and to her horror, Batgirl saw Zsasz sitting at the top, like some sick sage of the mountain.
"Glorious, isn't it?" Zsasz asked, "I couldn't kill you before you saw the whole breathe of my accomplishments."
Fighting every instinct in her body, Batgirl just shrugged dismissively, "You killed. Anyone can do that."
"No no no!" Zsasz stood up angrily. Batgirl saw how he needed her acknowledgement, her attention, "this is a work of art! A testament to how pointless human existence is! The gift that I have given these men!"
"Anyone could do this," Batgirl forced herself to be calm, "this is…just like you. Nothing. Pointless. Irrelevant."
"This! Is! Art!" Zsasz was almost foaming at the mouth at the idea of Batgirl, and by extension, The Bat, dismissing him, "a testament to the pointlessness of…"
Zsasz's rant about his morbid art was cut short when a batarang struck him square in the head, and he tumbled forward, down off his macabre mountain of murder victims.
"Get. Up," Batgirl gripped a batarang in each hand, with the metal edges pointed outward, "get up so I can beat you down again."
"Of course, my lady bat."
Zsasz lunged like a raging bull with his knife at Batgirl's gut, but she knocked the blow aside with her right arm, and smashed her left fist into Zsasz's kidney.
A shot like that made even the hardest man pause, but somehow, Zsasz barely seemed to feel it, and he swung his elbow backwards and caught her in the face.
As the Daughter of Destruction staggered, Zsasz swung his knives for Batgirl's stomach. Batgirl just barely grabbed his wrists in time to keep him from disemboweling her.
"When the life bleeds from you, you'll see how pointless this all is," Zsasz said with an eerie smile.
Batgirl struggled to hold Zsasz's knives at bay. The madman was one of the few who used his time in Arkham exercising, and Batgirl no longer had the time to devote to her training that she once did.
But then, she was still the daughter of Cain and Shiva.
Batgirl switched from restraining Zsasz's blades from diving into her vital organs, and pulled him forward while pushing the blades outward. Zsasz stumbled forward, and Batgirl crushed his nose with a text book perfect head-butt.
The scarred killer staggered, but she wasn't done with him yet. Still holding his wrists in a powerful grip, Batgirl pulled him downward while she slammed her knee into his chin, and then separated him from herself with a snap-kick to the head.
Batgirl took a step back, her mind shooting back to when she'd punched the rogue in the kidney. A blow like that was hard for anyone to ignore, it even slowed Batman at times (though only she saw it).
Batgirl quickly realized that she'd failed to account for Zsasz's countless scars. All that scar issue and nerve damage might not serve as body armor, but it would certainly lessen the effect of pressure point and dampen surgical attacks. And just one failed attack was enough to throw her off her game and let him get a hit in…
"My body is a work of art, isn't it?" Zsasz saw how his enemy's eyes were drawn to his body count, "each one evidence of how nothing matters, the meaningless of life."
Batgirl couldn't believe the amount of pride the madman had in his scars. She remembered her own scars, numb island patches that barely qualified as skin, permanent reminders of times when she wasn't fast or quick enough. How they itched in ways that couldn't be scratched, never allowed her to forget them and acted as armor against regular, basic feeling.
So if Zsasz felt so much pride in his scars that riddled his body, Batgirl decided there could be no greater justice than making that canvas of his, hers.
"You don't matter," Batgirl spat, "you're just a killer. Nothing…original about you. Not in Gotham. Do not…confuse your…pointlessness with others."
"You'll be one of my greatest marks," Zsasz purred. The scarred maniac swung for Batgirl's throat, but his eagerness betrayed him. Batgirl ducked under the swing and came up with an uppercut that made him see stars, and followed up with a left hook that neatly broke the villain's nose.
"You bitch!" Zsasz felt his eyes beginning to water as they began to swell. A little known side effect of a broken nose was two automatic black eyes. As his vision began to blur, Zsasz knew it was over before he even felt the first punch. Batgirl's follow up attack was a blur of pain, and he landed on the ground less than a minute later.
"Well, I suppose it's time for a vacation," Zsasz chuckled as his head swam with pain, "Do yoy think Arkham's started their new meat rotation? The way they jump at every twitch, it's funnier than anything on TV!"
"Shut up," Batgirl growled as she pulled plastic ties out of her belt. In short order, the maniac was hog tied, helpless.
"Or what? We all know you Bats are all alike," Zsasz smiled, even though he couldn't see through his swollen eyes, "so afraid to even cross a line that doesn't even exist for the rest of us. And you think your threats have power over us."
"We'll see.".
"Oh?" Zsasz smiled as he thrust out his throat, though only Batgirl saw how the eagerness of his smile didn't match that of his body.
Batgirl stood over Zsasz, and ran her hand gently over his back. The madman had left almost no inch of his body unscarred, though Batgirl had no idea how he managed to notch certain parts of his back.
"What…are you doing?"
"Your back…it's ugly," Batgirl explained, "I think I will improve it…mark it…and make it mine."
"No…," Zsasz began buck wildly, the very idea disgusting him to his core,"nooooo! You won't take my art! My life! I'll kill you!"
"Why so worried?" Batgirl placed her boot firmly on Zsasz's back and then leaned over. She placed the tip of the blade against a patch of skin she was certain Zsasz could still feel, "nothing…matters. Why do you care…if I make the notch, or you do?"
"You can't do this!" Zsasz screamed. Batgirl watched as his body shook with equal parts fury and fear.
"Every time we meet, I will open…another notch," Batgirl placed the blade against one of the many scars, and pressed down the point so that Zsasz could feel it, "and I will never stop. Until every scar…is mine."
oooOOooo
"Oh my," Scarecrow felt pure ecstasy as he heard an unfamiliar scream of fear. His mind drifted off, wondering what could produce such a delicious scream, before he snapped back to the matter at hand.
"Tell me boy, what do you see?" Scarecrow stood over Nightwing, with a yellow cloud of fear gas liberally spread around the room.
"Get away…" Nightwing moaned, eyes clenched shut.
"Boss, come on!"
Several of Scarecrow's men stood at the edge of the gas. They were wearing masks, but none of them wanted to chance catching even a whiff of the fear gas. They knew of it only through whispers and rumors, each more terrifying than the last. To them, it was the stuff of legend, one step below Batman in its ability to cause terror.
"Don't you dare question me!" Scarecrow snapped at his men. He then turned to Nightwing, looming over the hero, "what is your fear? Perhaps it's The Bat! Wouldn't that be ironic?"
"Boss, what about the other Bat!" the men pleaded. Everyone there wanted to simply shoot Nightwing, but knew what Scarecrow would do to them if they even suggested it, "we got to go!"
"The master of fear, surrounded by cowards," Scarecrow rolled his eyes, "fine. Nightwing will serve as a hostage to keep the other one back. Bring him along."
Scarecrow's men, four in total, surrounded Nightwing. Two of them grabbed him by the arms, and hauled him up.
"Finally," Nightwing sighed.
The Titan lashed out with lightning speed at the people holding him by the arms, and tore the gas masks from their face. That accomplished, he swung his elbow into the face of the third man, and landed a snap kick on the fourth, both times shattering their gas masks.
"Oh…no!"
The four men screamed in horror as the ambient fear gas spread into their lungs, and their greatest nightmares came to life before their eyes. Nightwing counted until five, before he dropped a pellet of knock out gas, and leapt after the fleeing Scarecrow. He knew from personal experience that the gas went beyond terrifying, but if these men were willing to subject others to it, Nightwing only thought it fair that they experience it firsthand.
It might make them think twice the next time they decide to be a part of Scarecrow's crew.
"Damn you meddling heroes!" Scarecrow spat as he took off.
"You never did like to miss a cliché, did you Crane?" Nightwing raced after the straw Rogue, and brought him down with a single batarang to the leg, "you want to know what I saw?"
Nightwing grabbed Scarecrow by his collar, and brought him face to face.
"I didn't see you, Crane," Nightwing neglected to mention that he'd taken a special booster shot meant to protect against Scarecrow's fear gas. As many times as Nightwing had personally overcome it, he still didn't look forward to the hallucinations that accompanied the gas, "we never see you. Though I know you always see us!"
"Shut up, shut up!"
Nightwing decked Scarecrow, knocking the rogue unconscious. Nightwing secured the rogue, and when that was done, he could barely give the man a second thought. After so many battles, it was enough for Nightwing that the man was unconscious and ready to be shipped back to jail.
oooOOooo
Jacob Palmer came around slowly. Like always, when he wasn't consumed with rage, the memories came at him like a tidal wave. Looking back was like looking through a red tinged nightmare, only the pain and memories were all too clear from the blood underneath his nails to the pain in his knuckles.
Today was perhaps the only time when he'd awoken without pangs of guilt tearing at his gut like a wild animal. And maybe that was why he finally noticed a small, sharp two inch length of glass, partially covered in dirt laying towards the wall of the arena.
His head still ringing and stomach aching, Palmer dragged himself to his feet. He inched towards the glass as fast as his body would carry him, like a drowning man towards air. In his mind's eye, he could already see it traveling down his wrist (length-wise, he'd spent too much time fantasying to even consider doing it wrong), spilling his blood on the ground and ending his agony once and for all.
Jacob was within inches of his dream, when a black boot appeared out of nowhere and crushed the thin shard to bits.
Jacob looked up, not in horror, but relief.
"Come on!" Jacob threw his arms out wide, eager for her to visit a terrible violence on him, to wash away the emotional agony he felt, "hit me! Do it!"
"No."
In truth, Batgirl was tempted to do just that. She saw how much the man wanted something, anything to lessen to agony in his heart. But both her head and gut told her that was the absolute last thing Jacob needed.
"Do you know what I've done!" Jacob spat, self loathing evident in every word, "who I've hurt, how many I've killed? Why do you even care?"
"I care because…I know what was done to you," Batgirl placed a gentle hand on Jacob's shoulder, "and I know what kind…of person…you really are."
That simple action of compassion, of true understanding, was too much for Jacob. He fell towards Batgirl, and wept as the horrors he'd done and were done to him became too much for his fragile heart to hold. Batgirl held firm, and was the pillar of strength Jacob needed as he finally came to accept that his personal hell had finally ended.
From the nearby shadows, Nightwing watched with a smile that was a mix of admiration and sympathy.
"Just like Bruce…"
oooOOooo
Later
Nightwing and Batgirl stood vigil as Gotham PD sorted out Scarecrow's latest operation below.
"I talked to your Detective Akins," Nightwing said, as Batgirl crouched to watch the events below. Bill and Jacob were being loaded into an ambulance below, "he's going to get Jacob into one of Gotham's better social services, and then get on notifying the next of kin for the victims. Next week, a Wayne Corporation charity is going to come forward, to cover the funeral expenses for everyone Zsasz and Scarecrow killed. I burned all of Crane's notes, and I think he'll want a piece of us before he tries this again."
Batgirl said nothing.
"You ready to head home?" Nightwing asked, "I think we've done enough for tonight. And late nights and morning classes are a mix you want to avoid."
Batgirl stood up, and turned in the direction of Nightwing's vehicle,"…I used to hate the lightning."
"I'm sorry?"
"You are wondering…about my time on the street," Batgirl stated, "but too…po…uhh…too nice to ask."
"If you don't want to talk about it…"
"No need…to keep secret," Batgirl replied, "you are…too nice, and that's too much like…him."
Nightwing stifled a chuckle, while Batgirl looked skyward. Reflecting on the past wasn't something she did often.
"No matter where I slept, thunder…always woke me up. Instincts. I lived…in many places. Only stayed in one play long. I…was so scared that…Cain would find me…even when no one noticed me. I don't talk…about before… Gotham…because there simply isn't much to talk about.
I lived, I moved. That's all…my life was. When I heard Gotham was being…closed…I thought all the fighting…everyone acting like animals to survive….it was the closest I could ever find…where I might be seen as…normal."
Batgirl flipped forward, and did a one handed hand-stand, with her other arm tucked behind her back, holding her cape in place. She watched Nightwing for a moment, taking stock.
Nightwing's body language was reserved, but attentive and concerned at the same time. He was on the edge of saying something, but was patiently waiting for her to finish first.
"It wasn't hard…on the streets, not for me," Batgirl explained, "I see you are…concerned."
"I can't imagine you having much trouble," Nightwing's smile was something Batgirl enjoyed watching unfold. It started at his face, traveled downward to radiate from his whole body, "I'm glad that you're opening up, but if it makes you uncomfortable…"
"Is fine," Batgirl shrugged, trying to act indifferent. Looking at her life then compared to now was painful, yet she could never explain why, even to herself.
"Trust you," Batgirl flipped into a standing position and stood in front of Nightwing, cape draped over her arms, "hard to be…uncomfortable with you. You always…talk to me. Not like Oracle, or Batman…do sometimes."
Nightwing raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes, Oracle talks to me, but not…" Batgirl tried to think of a better explanation, "Batman too…I am there…but he talks like I am not."
"They talk at you, not to you," Nightwing nodded, with a sly, knowing smile, "believe me, as a former Boy Wonder, I know exactly what that's like."
Batgirl saw Nightwing's casual stance, his warm smile. In all the years she'd known Nightwing, this was perhaps the first time was alone with him like this, and had the courage to ask the next question.
"Did you know…what I did?" Batgirl wanted to kick herself for spoiling this moment, but she knew that she didn't have the courage to ask in any other circumstances, "why I…do this?"
Batgirl watched as shock spread over Nightwing, followed by acceptance.
"I know you killed," Nightwing said softly, not a single trace of judgment to be heard, "but I never thought you were a killer, or a murderer."
"Why…didn't you say something?"
Nightwing shrugged, "Why would I? It was something you did unknowingly, not who you are. Until you were comfortable talking about it, there wasn't anything that needed discussing."
Seeing the truth of Nightwing's words in his body, Batgirl felt an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. She never knew how much she cared about Nightwing's opinion of her until now. Next to Batman and Oracle, Batgirl couldn't think of anyone whose opinion she respected more, and only now seemed to recognize that.
"We ought to continue this discussion in the car," Nightwing popped his neck to work out a kink, and Batgirl was almost taken back by how casually he to accepted her, even after her greatest mistake was brought out into the open, "trust me, you want to limit the time you're out patrolling on a school night. Not like you can tell a teacher 'Sorry for napping, I was beating up Killer Croc'."
"Should be able to," Batgirl muttered.
"Anything else you wanted to talk about?" asked Nightwing, "you're family Cass, you can ask me anything."
"Well…"
oooOOooo
Later that night, on the road to Arkham Asylum
"So what'd you put down on the pool?" Jason Anderson asked his partner.
"Three weeks on Scarecrow," Michael Perkins replied, with a flat tone, "six on the other loser. He stays in the most."
Neither of the men could be described as incompetent or corrupt by their brethren, but that didn't mean they weren't jaded as hell. Both of them had long since come to accept that the Asylum was little more than a revolving door for Gotham's sociopath. They both entertained the idea of simply shooting the monsters themselves, but then realized that would only put them at the mercy of the criminal's surviving thugs.
Crooked cops were lucky to survive prison with just a severe beating every week. Clean cops? Not a chance. So gallows' humor and morbid betting pools were all the decent staff had to keep themselves from going as mad as their prisoners.
They were only about a half mile away from the infamous Asylum, in a section of road overrun by forest and trees, when there was a large 'thump!' that hit the front of their transport.
Anderson slammed his foot into the brake, bringing the transport to a squealing halt. The two cops glanced at one another, and broke out into a nervous sweat.
On the one hand, there was, potentially, someone outside who'd just been accidently struck by a heavy truck and needed medical assistance.
But on the other hand, it was also a classic ambush, meant to lure them out of a heavily armored transport. In Gotham alone, it'd been used fifteen times this year alone.
Before either man could decide on a course of action, there was a second thump, as a man landed on their hood. He was dressed in a full light blue body suit, sleeveless trench coat and a faceless silver mask curved around his face.
"Hey guys," the man reached behind his back and produced a wicked combination of C4 and wires. He slapped it against the transport's reinforced window, and leapt away, "you guys may want to move."
Jason and Michael threw themselves out of the transport, and found themselves looking down the barrel of three handguns each.
There were four men for each of them, all wearing ski masks and plain, non-descript running jackets. The gunmen motioned for the officers to follow them, and brought them around to the back of the transport.
"Alright pigs," one man said, "we're not here for you, or to free them. We just have a message to send."
The unarmed men took a step forward, and relieved Jason and Michael of their guns. The two long time cops winced, fearing that the loss of their weapons would mean at least a year pounding the street, writing tickets and all the jobs that were reserved to break in rookies. Gotham was more lenient on officers who had their weapons taken, but not by much.
What they hadn't expected was for the men to remove the clips, clear the chamber, and then hand the guns back, as if they were simply borrowing them.
"We mean this as a sign of respect," one of them said, "don't make us regret it. Now, open up those doors."
"You said you weren't here to free them," Jason said.
"And we're not," the two officers looked up and saw the man who'd placed the explosive on the window, "you can call me Silver Shrike. Open the door, and stand back."
Jason took the keys from his belt, and with a sigh, took a step up and unlocked the door. He swung it open, trying to what was going on, and barely saw Zsasz almost fly out the door.
But as fast as the scarred maniac was, Silver Shrike was faster. He came down atop the madman and drove him straight into the ground, where Zsasz hit like a sack of bricks, while Silver Shrink fluidly rolled away and then came to a standing position.
"That crunch you heard were your ribs," Silver Shrike said flatly.
Silver Shrike glanced at Zsasz, and saw that the man was unconscious.
"Damn it, that was an awesome line, and he didn't even hear it!" Silver Shrike pouted.
"Dude, it sucked. You know you shouldn't even bother."
"Hey, I have to try!"
Jason and Michael glanced at one another, and for a second thought that they had been transported into some demented comedy, as the thugs and costume argued about one liners, sounding bad ass and other unimportant crap as they held two officers and two of Gotham's most infamous Rogues hostage.
"Okay, whatever!" Silver Shrike said finally, "get Scarecrow and lets get this done!"
Two men kept their guns trained on Michael and Jason, while two climbed into the transport, and hauled Scarecrow out.
"Unhand me!" the Master of Fear demanded, "what is the meaning of this?"
"This is a message," Silver Shrike stepped forward and slammed a haymaker into Crane's stomach, making the villain double over, "and you, are the message."
"Oh Jesus," Michael watched in shock and horror as Zsasz and Scarecrow were first hog tied, and then the ropes around their knees were looped around the transport's bumper.
The intent was clear.
"You must be out of your mind!" Michael shouted despite himself, "do you know what those other wackjobs will do to you?"
"This is an outage!" Scarecrow spat, "I'll have you choking on your own blood!"
"We know what they'll try to do," Silver Shrike replied, "still, we thought it might come to this. Mr. Blue?"
Still keenly aware of the men who had their still had their weapons trained on them, Jason and Michael remained still as one men stepped. He nodded for them to lean in close, and whispered something only they could hear.
"…please, you don't have to do that!" Jason begged.
"That ain't right, that ain't right!" Michael spat.
"If you want to avoid all that, just drive," Mr. Blue ordered, "or else."
The two officers raced to the cab, and slammed the door.
"What did you say?" Scarecrow demanded. Sweat began to trickle down his brow, as he heard the engine rev.
"You're the master of fear, you figure it out," Silver Shrike replied, "when you get to Arkham, let them know. This is just the beginning. Gotham's changing, and there won't be any more free rides for freaks."
Silver Shrike motioned towards the rear window, and the transport took off at top speed, dragging the two Rogues down the street like fish on a line.
Scarecrow's scream was soon followed by another, as Silver Shrike and the men watched with a smile.
"What'd you say?" Silver Shrike turned to Mr. Blue.
"Just that I'd cover for them," Mr. Blue replied, "I knew they'd leap at the chance."
"Who in Gotham wouldn't?"
oooOOooo
Two days later
Tatsu walked into Cassandra's room, clothes basket under one arm, and wondered if she should be concerned about how neat Cassandra's room remained. When she was Halo's guardian, Tatsu couldn't get the girl to keep a clean room if the world depended on it.
Cassandra was a different story altogether. Tatsu had told Cassandra to keep a clean room, and the place went from looking like a third world disaster tragedy to spotless almost overnight. Tatsu still couldn't believe that she was picking up dirty clothes that had been neatly folded before being placed in the hamper.
"She can be too good for her own good sometimes," sighed Tatsu as she picked up the clothes.
Tatsu was almost out of the room, when old instincts kicked in and she scanned the room. Her level of personal awareness wasn't equal to Cassandra's, and retirement had further dulled it but she was still damn sharp.
And she still had to do a double take.
Where she old Beatles poster had been replaced by a Naruto 'Ninja and Proud!' poster. And hanging on the back of the door was a movie poster for Tom Cruise's 'The Last Samurai'.
Tatsu instantly recognized both posters as a childish rebuke of her. Tatsu regarded herself as a modern day samurai, serving the cause of justice and living her life in accordance with the Bushido code.
And ninjas were, by their very nature, the very antithesis of that and everything she stood for.
But in the end, the Swordswoman felt more relieved than offended. Cassandra act of rebellion, however small, was easier to understand than her usual total compliance. Cassandra almost seemed like a normal teenager.
But what Tatsu couldn't understand was how Cassandra managed to know exactly what to pick to offend her Samurai sense of honor. The only time Tatsu could even remember discussing the subject was when she was a member of the Outsiders, on a stake out with Metamorpho and Nightwing.
Rex had sarcastically suggested it as a birthday gift. Tatsu countered with an offer of castration. Nightwing seemingly ignored the whole exchange.
"Oh, that…" realization of who'd tipped off Cassandra to her personal pet peeves washed over Tatsu. She shook her head and smiled, "…that Dick."
Next Issue: Gotham's underworld goes to war for its black soul, as its freak vs. felon, with the Bats in the crossfire!
A few personal notes for all my fans!
I'm gonna keep up with Cass' series as long as I am interested in writing. However, at the moment I am unemployed. I think it goes without saying that will impact my already slow work. Sorry.
So making Babs Batgirl again is DC trying to be progressive. Very telling.
That's all! Read and review, pepes!