Chapter 5 - "John Bridgeman"
Johnathan Bridgeman huffed deeply, a thin vapor escaping his lips as he flipped through the channels on his TV. As usual, nothing exceedingly interesting caught his interest. Cop shows? He could walk down the street and find an actual police incident going on in Gotham City. Something fantasy or sci-fi? A grin cracked his lips. Please.
Turning off the TV and climbing to his feet, John rose up to his five-nine height, trying to feel impressively taller than everyone else in his presence. Not too hard, since no one else was in the room.
John ruffled the long brown hair running down his neck. What to do, what to do . . . he didn't have to report to work at the karate studio for another three hours, so that was off the books. Unless he wanted to get in early, warm up, maybe help a few of the kids there seeking extra training to get in their trainers' good graces.
As John moved towards the kitchen of his modest, one-bedroom apartment, he gripped a small glass and filled it with water from the spicket and turned to gulp it down. When he turned, John heard the water drip behind him. Groaning, he turned and shot an icy glare at the dripping spicket. It must've paid off, because with the sharp glance, a water droplet froze mid-drop and covered the bottom of the spicket, until it began to slide down and crash into the bottom of the sink.
John grinned as he made his way to the bookshelf. You see, John Bridgeman was a Cryomancer—he could summon ice to help him in any incident. It worked when you were in a jam and needed any solid object; picture it in your hand, and there it appears, albeit made of ice. Yes, the tools tended to be a bit weak, but if you were just careful, you could get the job done.
One glance at John would cause most people to assume him to be a young guy, about twenty-one, just making a living in Gotham. A look beneath the surface revealed a lot more, however.
It all started back in 1754—well, before then, technically. An ancient dragon god, a deity named Kuaion, would choose one mortal every one hundred years to possess ice powers. In the 1700s, his choice was the son of an Irish couple, the Bridgemans, and young John was blessed with these powers. The only noticeable abnormality of the young child was an icy blue dragon tattoo on his back and right pec. Other than that, he looked just like any starry-eyed, bright-futured Irish boy.
In such a restless age, when the more supernatural elements of the world weren't as known as they were in the modern age, the Bridgemans feared for their child's life if he were found to have such exquisite powers as summoning ice. They quickly journeyed to Newfoundland, a town called Poppystow, where they settled down and eventually, eight years later, had another child, a girl named Susan. All was well, and John never used his powers.
Then, when John was eleven, he was playing in the woods with a few friends when a tree fell. A branch splintered through one of his friend's legs, drawing a steady flow of blood. All of the boys were in shock and fear at the sight, and John reacted naturally—calling upon his ice powers, he froze the wound and the boy soon received proper medical help and was able to make a recovery.
Somehow, a man living in the town had witnessed the incident and had a good knowledge about not just John's powers, but his background. The man seemed to be nice enough, but it just was a little creepy, some stranger knowing such details about a young boy. John's parents warned him to stray away from the stranger.
But things couldn't be helped. When he turned fifteen, John went to collect firewood and was confronted by the stranger. The name he had gone by was revealed to be an alias, and the man gave his true name—Ra's Al Ghul. He told his story to John, informing him that he was the member of something he called the League—what it was specifically, he never clarified. He just said that he needed young warriors with powers like John to join.
John refused; he wanted to live a regular life with his family and friends. They were simple people, and he wanted nothing to do with his powers. Yes, he'd use them if necessary, like he had in the woods, but he didn't want to make a practice of it.
Al Ghul had been quick to anger at the boy's rejection. He quickly stirred up rumors in the town that witchcraft was afoot, and the Bridgemans were the center of it. The enraged townspeople flocked and captured John's parents and his sister. Some of the more perceptive townsfolk fought against their actions, and they reminded the angry citizens that the Bridgemans were good, Christian members of their community. But no amount of talk would stop them, and before anyone knew what was happening, the three were burned at the stake as witches.
John, full of sorrow, froze the first few townspeople who had come near him, seeking to murder him as well. He ran to a cave to hide, but he was trapped by Ra's. John attempted to freeze him so he could escape, but the cause of all of John's grief redirected the blast, freezing John with ice instead. Fifteen years later, an earthquake swallowed up the town and the frozen boy, where they were lost for ages.
In the modern day, a mysterious woman named Lady Shiva heard of the entire incident concerning John Bridgeman and Poppystow. She went to the location of the engulfed city and, after two years of excavation, found the frozen John. After freeing him from ice, John revealed that he had been frozen by Ra's Al Ghul. Shiva offered him an opportunity at payback against Al Ghul, but he refused, just wanting a normal life still. Shiva revealed that Al Ghul wanted nothing more but to control the world for himself, and John realized that he needed to do all he could to stop his greatest foe.
Shiva trained John to control his powers and fight using martial arts through harsh training—which paid off for John in his work at the karate studio. When he was nineteen, though, John learned that Shiva had once been part of the League with Ra's. Enraged at her deception, he left her and decided he would take Ra's on his own.
Two years had passed until the present day. John now was well over two hundred years old, but he still retained the appearance, body, and skillset of a twenty-one-year-old. Armed with a passion to stop crime—especially Al Ghul—John took the name Tundra and vowed to fight evildoers. As he worked to hone his skills, John heard wind that the League had been spotted near Gotham. John knew of Gotham's reputation as a haven for crime, so he went there. If he couldn't find Ra's, he at least could put a dent in the local crime trouble.
So, with a second look, John Bridgeman wasn't your typical twenty-one-year-old. He held a colored past beneath his regular-looking appearance.
So far John hadn't been too involved in the crime-fighting scene. Some shrouded, mysterious vigilante known as Batman seemed to keep it in check, but the crime families of Gotham were stirring up trouble. John considered stepping in a few times, but he had never felt it was the right time. The only time he had ever stepped out to fight crime was to pin a fleeing robber from a convenience store against a brick wall. But no one had seen him, and he liked it that way. No sense in making it public there was a guy stalking the streets with ice powers—especially when an icy vapor coming from your mouth. He tended to wear a mask when he could, but on most occasions would simply not open his mouth too often or hope that people who saw him figured nothing of the vapor.
John placed the glass on the kitchen counter and grabbed the backpack he used to keep a couple of things for the karate studio in. As he slung it over his back, he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He grimaced; while he still looked young, John was still having a bit of trouble getting accustomed to the technology of the modern age. Having spent fifteen years in the 1700s and then being thrust into the twenty-first century, it was a whole new experience for him.
As he slipped the phone out, John skimmed the words and his brow knit in confusion. It was directed from the Gotham City Police Department. They couldn't possibly want him for anything. . . .
John read the message and was shocked at the words. Apparently he hadn't been as inconspicuous as he thought he was. Clearly evident from the message, he had been noticed for using the ice powers in nabbing the runaway thief. The message stated that security cameras were used, but he had never been tracked down because it had been assumed that a man not wanting public recognition for stopping a robber wouldn't want to be sought out by the police.
Until now, that is. The message mentioned something about an initiative to fight against the crime families, and they had sought him out, because the GCPD needed all the skilled fighters they could get to fight against the growing threat of the crime families. John felt a smile creeping on his face. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Not only would he be stopping criminals, but he'd also get into Gotham police business, and he might hear something concerning Ra's.
Quickly, John typed the message of acceptance into his phone before having to erase it and fix the errors he had made. After he made the corrections, he had to fix the errors a second time before it was ready to be sent. Tapping the "send" key, John huffed, the icy vapor clinging around his mouth. "Some smartphone you are," he grumbled in his thick Irish accent as he shoved the phone into his pocket and moved out the door.
Councilman Arthur Reeves adjusted the tie around his neck as Mayor Hamilton Hill spoke at the gathering of men behind him. "With the disappearance of the Batman, we have more of a solution than a problem," Hill was saying. "We no longer have a looney guy running around the streets wearing a cape and a bat mask."
Commissioner James Gordon, arms crossed across his chest, snapped back quickly. "Why don't you mention the even greater problem we have, Mayor? With Batman gone, there's no one on the streets fighting Falcone's punks, and there's a lot more crime going on around Gotham."
Hill's face quickly flushed and he glanced about. The aged man removed his glasses and ran a hand across his face. "Look, Jim, I know that you and the Batman are on good terms and he has helped us take down some criminals, but look at the results: Gotham is in the worst shape it's ever been in."
"What the mayor is so eloquently avoiding to say, Commissioner," Reeves spoke up, finished with checking himself out in the mayor's mirror, "is that he thinks Batfreak isn't putting as much of a dent into the crime scene as you'd like to believe."
Reeves turned, flashing the grin he had practiced oh-so-often. Gordon withheld an exaggerated gag at the man. He couldn't stand Reeves; the man was too pompous and too high on himself. Hill, on the other hand, was a tough man to peg: Gordon knew from working with him that he did have Gotham's best interests at heart, but why was he so apt to discount Batman as an ally and so quick to refuse to name Falcone as a key threat to the city?
"Listen up, Reeves. Batman's done better for this city than anyone in this room has done." He glanced to Hill to make sure the mayor knew he was part of his addressal. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat any of this. Gotham is in poor straits, and a large part of the blame can be laid at the GCPD's feet. There's a good amount of corrupt cops in our ranks, but there's no way we can root out every corrupted man or woman in our organization." He eyed both men. Hill seemed to mull over the commissioner's words, but Reeves was flashing his most bored look, practically begging "When will this be over?"
He wasn't getting off that easily. "I know that you aren't too keen on my idea to form a movement to combat Gotham's growing criminal element. But do know that the people I have chosen have the skills we need to fight the crime wave that is flowing through our city."
He sighed. "I know you're too young to remember, Councilman, but Gotham hasn't always been a stink-hole of crime. Mayor Hill himself can attest that the city used to be respectable back when he first got into politics, and when I first entered the GCPD. There were good cops and people working to make Gotham better. Now, many offices are filled with people who'd rather make themselves look good for the cameras and ward off any controversial questions."
Apparently Reeves wasn't fazed by Gordon's speech. "All nice and good, Commissioner, but I'm just a little cautious about turning the safety of our city to the hands of a group of vigilantes and weirdos."
Gordon eyed the councilman and a grin lit up his face. "Better than being in the hands of a crime family and corrupt politicians, isn't it?"
Reeves swallowed hard and kept his politician's smile, but his eyes said all that his mouth wouldn't. His speech done, Gordon nodded to Hill. "We're in the process of contacting the members of the initiative, Mayor. I'll let you know when we've finished."
Hill nodded as Gordon turned and exited his office. With a snort, Reeves turned back to the mayor's mirror and made sure there wasn't a hair out of place before he turned and exited with a swagger.
A/N: Here's chapter 5! You all got to meet Johnathan Bridgeman, aka Tundra. What did you think of the chapter and the new character? I also added a bit more to give you all a look into the political atmosphere of Gotham. Please leave your reviews and let me know how you enjoyed the latest chapter! Be back soon.