Batman and the associated characters are owned by DC. With grateful thanks for cmar for beta reading this chapter and thanks for all the reviews so far! All reviews welcome!
Chapter Seven – Batman – Time of the Wolf
Pain was coursing through the Batman's shoulder. He was not bothered about the pain, the pain could be controlled. Even the blood loss could be controlled. He always carried a small medi pack with him to seal wounds up. This he did pretty much straight away.
No it was not the pain or the blood loss he was worried about it. It was what it signified. What he could become. He looked down at the street below, now pretty much empty. The howls of the werewolves was disappearing into the distance.
He looked up at the full moon and grimaced. If he had been infected it would not be long… Would it be painful? Could he control himself? Would he… Could he kill because of it?
A sharp pain went through his hands and he looked down to see his hands tighten and claws ripped through his reinforced gloves. A cry of pain wracked his body but it sounded more like a howl…
The Joker grinned at the two heavily armoured Team Luthor men. He raised his purple gloved hands to the ceiling and giggled.
"I love your suits, dearie, did your Mummy make them for you? I bet you're a wow at fancy dress parties!"
This statement, from a man dressed in a purple clown suit, stopped them in their tracks for a couple of seconds… That was all Slade needed to rip them apart with his claws. The more werewolves that were out there the more powerful he became… The men were armoured with titanium that nothing short of a tank shell could burst through. He ripped through it like it was made of paper.
"Good doggy," said the Joker and picked up one of the guns off the floor. It was surprisingly heavy since the men who carried it had enhanced strength but he was very strong for such a lean man.
Slade warped back to his normal shape and concentrated on his brethren. There were more and more of them… Including one on a roof… The change was not happening as planned there, though. He was controlling the change. Defeating the change. That was not possible? He concentrated in on the man, forcing the change on him.
He grinned wider, showing fangs. Batman had been bitten! He could have his enemy as his minion!
"No!" Clouds covered the full moon. "No!" he cried again.
A purple gloved hand patted him on the shoulder. "There there, pooch, it might never happen." The Joker leapt back as if stung at the feral eyes that looked at him.
The moon hid behind clouds. All through Gotham various werewolves changed back to the men they had been before. Metallic collars around their neck clicked back into the smaller necks they were now surrounding and small barely audible beeps were heard. About a dozen men ran back under control to the Luthor research building leaving behind them streets full of maimed people.
Ambulances started ferrying injured people to the hospital. Despite all the injuries there were very few deaths… There were normally more casualties in one of the gang wars that occasionally erupted in Gotham.
Lex Luthor was pacing up and down in his office. The phone rang and he picked it up before the second ring.
"Luthor."
"They're all back, sir, and the hospitals are reporting about forty people there with bite marks. It has begun, sir."
"What about Slade?"
There was a brief silence at the end of the phone as if he knew the wrong word would not just cost him his job but his life. "I'm afraid we've lost him, sir… But we have got the Joker and his female companion. They've been badly bitten; we've got them in the infirmary."
"Get rid of them…"
"Pardon, sir?"
"I don't want the attention they'll bring. Get rid of them."
"Eerrrmm… how, sir?"
"Do I have to think of everything myself? Get an unmarked van and dump them in an alley or something. Let Gotham PD worry about them…"
"We also have a Mr Pennyworth on line two, sir; he says he would call before the Wayne Corp lawyers contact us in the morning. He claims that some members of Team Luthor trashed Wayne Manor. He is looking for compensation. I told him no members of Team Luthor would do such a thing."
"Where's his evidence?"
"He has footage from the security cameras there…"
"Tell him a batch of armour was stolen in Europe last week…"
"There would be no record of such a…"
"Add it into Interpol's record."
"Even so sir, people with Team Luthor's armour…"
"Send him a cheque."
"He also says the shock of such an event…"
"Send him two…"
"Also, sir…"
Luthor slammed the phone down. Wayne was still alive. Damn. He could not use Team Luthor again, those armoured fools would spoil everything. This needed a bit of subtlety. Batman was already dead. The people he sent after him would see to that. But Wayne could spoil his plan anyway. His mouth changed into a jagged smile as he thought of someone who fitted the bill perfectly…
"Woohooh!" said Deadshot to his taciturn metallic companion as they touched down. "Wow, what a ride! Now where's our batty target?"
The Cyborg glanced over at him, his eyes glowing red. "You search this area, I'll scout around." Without a look back he leapt into the night sky, his eyes started glowing blue as they scanned the area.
They had landed on one of Stratton Towers, one of Gotham's highest buildings. It was built in the fifties when the designers had been told: "Give this building towers! Give it pillars! Give it statues! Give this building huge windows! Give it lots of fire-escapes! Make it look modern! Make it look concrete! Make it seem like if you're outside this building where you really want to be in life is inside it!" As with a lot of buildings with multiple designers, instead of a sleek modern stylish building oozing style they got a building that put the buncle in carbuncle and in any architectural course was mentioned in the third week of how not to design a building.
It was grim.
It was nasty.
It was home to over 1,200 people, 35 different species of spider, four species of rat and one particular species of Bat…
It also had lots of shadows and places to hide.
Deadshot looked at the roof he was on. A trail of blood disappeared into the darkness. He looked down at his feet and grinned as he saw some black cloth. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. It was made of some sort of high tech material that seemed to swallow the light that fell on it, leaving nothing but a black hole. It was also extremely strong.
Batman.
Judging by the blood, he was injured and around here. Probably still was…
There was a clicking sound and a gleaming magnum appeared in his hand. A lens appeared over one eye showing him everything apart from one patch of darkness just a few feet from him. The darkness where a pair of eyes gleamed at him…
Deep in the realms of the Internet chat rooms there is a strange sub class of people. People who don't just have interests but people who have hobbies. Serious hobbies. The type of people who have huge scrapbooks of carefully glued and labelled information on such curious things as kerbstones and how they've changed over time. Chat rooms where huge fights can erupt over whether the 1953 Chevrolet hub cap with the added fluting is better than the 1954 Chevrolet hub cap with the stainless steel bolt added.
This is a chat room where a Crazy4hubcaps352 is currently chatting to Hubcapnutter!432 about the benefits of chrome plastic over stainless steel when a new person enters the virtual room…
Anonnnymouse – "We need to talk, Crazy…"
A private room has been created.
Crazy4hubcaps352 "Another commission LL?"
Annonymouse – "I need someone dealt with?"
Crazy4hubcaps352 "How?"
Anonnnymouse – "Terminally."
Crazy4hubcaps352 – "Who?"
Anonnymouse – "Bruce Wayne. Payment $100,000 as per usual."
Crazy4hubcaps352 – "Preference?"
Anonnymouse – "Any. Soon. 24 hrs for preference."
Crazy4hubcaps352 has left the room
Anonnymouse has left the room.
Nightwing and Batgirl threw themselves through an office door as bullets tore up the corridor behind them. Flashes of light lit up the corridor behind them and a clanking sound started up the corridor towards them.
"Jeez, Batman is gonna kill us," groaned Nightwing, rubbing his shoulder where he had pushed the door down.
"Why?"
"He wanted a silent incursion here. The Gotham brass band would have made less noise than us." He looked up at the ceiling to see a pair of shapely legs disappear into the air vent. "Talk to myself, why don't I." He swore as a pair of red eyes appeared at the door and a machine gun opened up. He himself leapt up to the air vent and quickly followed her through. "They just don't make these things with heroes in mind." A few holes opened up in front of him and bullets pinged around him. "But it's better than out there…"
Nightwing forced himself through the air vent. "This place is filthy, cleaners should be fired…" Behind him metallic hands were tearing the metal apart…
In a dirty small flat in the unfashionable part of Metropolis was a small man with the beginnings of a beard. He shut down his computer and looked about his room with a thoughtful look. Several rusty hubcaps were nailed up on the wall and small signs were typed up and glued on the wall underneath them with details of what they were and where they were found in tiny crabbed handwriting.
There were half a dozen glass tanks around the walls and various animals and insects were crawling around. In one tank was a small puffer fish. All lovingly cared for and all with detailed instructions on how to look after them pasted on the tank. He also had several devices to feed them at various times when he was out.
He cracked his knuckles and smiled. All around the flat were piles of papers, with some small articles circled and occasionally headlines. All full of hard luck stories, swindlers, drug arrests, corrupt politicians, victims whose assailants had escaped justice. All people with a reason to see someone hurt. All potential customers. He only took on one or two cases a year. He only dealt in cash and preferred to deal with people he had dealt with before. Safer that way. No amount of cash was worth fifteen years inside or a ride on the electric express. And he was good. Oh yes, he was good. He might not be as flashy as these costume types but he did not attract attention, he could blend in, and he always poisoned his man.
In one case, he knew a local businessman he had been paid to ice always smoked one cigar after work. He changed his pack with one with a cigar dipped in the bladder of a Japanese Puffer fish, and was back home. It was three days later before he picked out the poisoned cigar… The coroner just called it food poisoning.
He knew Bruce Wayne. He was a collector of old cars. A collector of old hubcaps. If he could ice the man he would have his pick of the place.
There was one particular hubcap he wanted. It was on e-bay now, from a Silver Ghost from one of the original four models in the 1906 Olympia car show complete with the famous (in hubcap circles) chassis number of 60551. It was going for a small fortune. Bruce Wayne's untimely demise could pay for that!
Luthor would want the job carried out quickly though and he would be happy to oblige…
He opened up a small safe next to his seat and pulled out several rolls of banknotes and a small parcel with some items in it…
He looked at his watch… The nighttime Greyhound to Gotham was leaving in an hour. He could buy the ticket with cash so as not to leave a trace. With any luck he would be back in a day…
Batman could see Deadshot approach his hiding place. He was injured; he did not fancy his chances in a straight fight in his current condition. He would probably win, but at what cost?
Deadshot concentrated on the gloom. The Batman seemed to melt into the shadows; he couldn't be sure of his shot.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Batty boy!" said Deadshot, grinning as he spoke. "I've got a bullet with your name on it!"
Noiselessly Batman lowered a hand to his belt to get a Batarang. His shoulder was injured; he couldn't get much force in it. Deadshot tried to move out the way and the batarang clipped his head stunning him but as he fell he sent a fusillade of shots towards the Batman. Who was too injured and slow too move…
