A/N: My favorite characters: Batman, Wonder Woman, Artemis(Young Justice),Nightwing, Superboy,Captain Atom, Icon,Black Canary,Deathstroke, Lex Luthor, Vandal Savage,Black Adam,Victor Fries,Joker, Ra's Al Ghul, Darkseid, Big Barda, Lashina, Aqualad(Young Justice), Prometheus,Sinestro,Hawkman, Wolverine,Punisher, Penance, Moonstone, Norman Osborne, Crossbones, Taskmaster, Daredevil,Thor,Thanos,Savage Dragon,Rai, Domino, Iron Man, Dr. Doom,Spawn,Constantine, and many many many more but these are what I picked off the top of my head. More below.
No, I have not watched Justice League Doom.
Gotham, Wayne Manor
Bruce sat at the huge computer, dressed in black jogging pants, sneakers and a black sweatshirt. He was staring at the images on the screen.
There were numerous grisly images showing corpses in various stages of decomposition, all of them savagely mauled. There were mugshots of the creature feature in the sewers too. Bruce was glad he had fought him in the dark. Croc was outright horrifying under bright light. Bruce had seen a lot of weird crap on his travels, and a good deal of scary stuff too. He had once seen a woman possessed by demons when he visited a mosque in Tunisia, and he even helped killed them later under instruction from his Master. It had been horrifying, the ease with which she had overpowered dozens of men 3 times her size, and the way she seemed to speak in multiple voices at once. The woman was successfuly exorcised, but she died less than an hour later. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end even now at the memory of it. But even with his experience he would have lost his nerve for a moment facing Croc under fluorescent lighting. It seemed his learning curve grew ever steeper.
Pushing the thought out of his mind he resumed his study.
He had come across a whole wealth of information courtesy of the samples he had procured, and a plethora of hacked juvenile, prison and mental institution records, and had managed to compile it into a single folder. Now he went over it to make sure he had a solid case file for future reference.
NAME: WAYLON JONES
SEX: MALE
HEIGHT: 8'3"
WEIGHT: 488 LBS
HAIR COLOR: N/A
EYE COLOR: YELLOW
BLOOD GROUP: B+
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: REPTILIAN APPEARANCE.
BACKGROUND INFORMATION: Waylon Jones alias Killer Croc is the product of a traumatic childhood largely due to a genetic disorder that grew worse over time. Jones suffers from an extreme form of Epidermolytic Hyperkeratosis, causing his appearance to take on that of a crocodile. Jones mother died in childbirth and his father abandoned him. He was raised by his aunt, a physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic. He murdered his aunt and cannibalised her remains at the age of 16 during the first of many psychotic episodes. He was tried and convicted at a juvenile facility, where he murdered three more of his fellow inmates for mocking his increasingly subhuman appearance. He was subsequently transferred to Leavenworth Penitentiary. During his incarceration his genetic disorder progressed rapidly, producing mild reptilian features in his physiology and greatly augmenting his physical strength,speed,endurance, durability and reflexes. Jones became a top level enforcer in the maximum security prison, and he was eventually deemed too dangerous even for a Supermax facility. Jones was transferred to Iron Heights Penitentiary and proved to be one of the most difficult inmates to contain, having to be placed in a special wing of the Pipeline.
Jones is believed to have escaped from Iron Heights Penitentiary during the mass breakout engineered by Gorilla Grodd, and was missing for several months.
UPDATE: Waylon Jones is currently incarcerated at Arkham Asylum serving out the duration of his sentence as it is better equipped to contain him.
Everything made sense. Iron Heights was notorious for its abuse of inmates. Gregory Wolfe had a reputation as a cruel warden, bordering on sadistic.
Daily beatings, orders to shoot any inmates on sight, 24 hour containment inside cramped quarters, 2 meals or less a day. These were just the publicly known methods used to contain the average criminals housed at the holding facility. The entire prison was as inhumane as the legendary D Block at Alcatraz was in its day, if not more.
To someone-something-like him it would have been unbearable and downright maddening. No amount of weights or poker could distract the mind from such horrible privations, much less the mind of what was for all intents and purposes a wild animal.
Even the sewers of Gotham would be a better place for such a poor creature.
Sometimes the System failed or made things worse.
There was nothing he could do about that. His job was to bring in people like Jones. Whatever happened next was out of his hands. Batman couldn't arm twist the legal system into working efficiently. This was one of those cases, and while he was sympathetic that didn't change the fact that Jones had committed murder on a large scale, and that he was an extremely dangerous metahuman.
He minimized those files and opened another.
The serial killer from the Narrows.
He had precious little information on him. He only knew that he was blonde, of medium height,strong, with a predilection for knives. There didn't appear to be any prior criminal records. This would need a more personal approach than a screen and keyboard.
The murders were still going strong, now focusing on prostitutes.
As if he didn't have enough to worry about.
What with his 'proposition' for an honorary membership that was starting to feel like a polite demand of his services, and the fact that he still had no idea where his stolen chip was. If S.T.A.R Labs had it in their possession he would surely have been questioned at least once in his capacity as Bruce Wayne, and the story would certainly be all over the news, if not a subject of gossip in corporate circles. So far none of that had happened. No rumors of a conglomerate undergoing investigation of any kind besides the financial. No gossip over garlic bread and He didn't think the government had it, and checking their files revealed this in their inventory. No one had approached him, and this convinced him further. He could only hope that it was destroyed in the chaos. He knew there was a good chance it survived. If so, someone somewhere had it, and they had done nothing, which was perhaps the most unsettling thing of all. Immediately he composed and sent an encrypted e-mail to Lucius Fox.
L, please ensure all new generation field equipment is capable of self destruction, possibly via thermite bombs. I don't care how much it costs.
B.
From now on, if anything of his fell into the wrong hands, it would melt into slag when triggered. This entire debacle could have been averted if such a fail-safe had been built into his technology from the very start. But he had never anticipated someone getting to Batman through his civilian identity in this way. The irony was Lex wasn't even trying to uncover his secret identity, and yet he had come dangerously close. He would never make that mistake again.
He didn't really want to join the JLA-even as an honorary member-either. Gotham's criminal elements were starting to grow. He had succeeded in weakening the two major crime families to some extent, but this led to them hiring criminal metahumans such as Deathstroke, or the formation of isolated players like the Penguin and Black Mask. All of this was mixed up with the occasional bizarre cases like those he had been witnessing recently.
Organized crime was blossoming into something more, and it was now more than ever that Gotham needed the Batman.
"I must say Master Bruce, these enemies of yours, they grow more colorful each night." Alfred said from somewhere beside him.
He didn't bother turning his head as he replied.
"It used to be drug pushers and gun runners. Pimps and burglars. The occasional purse thief. Now I get serial killers, metahuman criminals, people wearing masks and spandex too."
"It almost makes me long for the days when I was merely worried you would be mowed down by a bunch of gun toting goons." Alfred said as he eyed the bloody crime scenes and autopsy reports splashed across the screen. It looked like the back room of the butchers shop he used to work at as a teenager back in England. Glancing at the console he noted there was a plate with the remains of Bruce's light evening meal- a chicken salad and a small protein shake, with the protein jar still open and the scoop sticking out. For someone so fastidious in his habits, Bruce had incredible moments of sloppiness, especially when he was 'working'. But that was what it meant to grow up in money. There was always someone who would clean up after you.
"How on earth can you eat when looking at such things?"
"Call it a testament to your superior culinary skills." Bruce said dryly.
"Why thank you sir. I'd spent many an hour slaving over a hot stove to prepare for you-" he squinted slightly. "-Super Pro Muscle Building Protein Powder. Cookies and Cream flavour. You know you really should try real food one of these days sir. It is quite good, I assure you."
"I had a salad." he said defensively.
"I repeat, real food. And that brings me back to my original question."
"Worry not Alfred. I haven't become desensitized to the horror of it. Whoever said a human being could get used to anything was probably a Class A psychopath." he replied, correctly guessing as he always did exactly what Alfred meant.
"Speaking from experience sir?"
Bruce wisely kept his mouth shut.
No, Alfred thought, he isn't desensitized at all. If that ever happened he would simply give it up. Perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing... Would it? It is after all the horror that drives him more than anything I think.. On the outside he might seem tranquil, but the storm forever raged underneath...
Bruce rose from his seat. It was almost dark, and he was raring to go. He remembered the nights when Batman wasn't seen before 10. Now he hardly waited for the sun to set before he got cracking.
"I suppose it would be a waste of time to ask you to rest?" Alfred asked as Bruce peeled off his sweatshirt, revealing mottled bruising on his back and shoulder that looked a lot like smashed grapefruit. The elder man grimaced at the sight. He wondered if it felt as bad as it looked. Probably a lot worse. But Bruce's facial expression was as deadpan as ever.
Bruce was silent as he got some adhesive tape and began winding it around his trunk. Alfred watched for a few moments, then he sighed dejectedly and took the strapping, winding it more methodically around Bruce's torso and snipping it off neatly. Next he wrapped some more around his injured shoulder. One of the few things he wasn't that good at was this kind of thing. His stitching was neat but he always made a mess of things, leaving so much blood soaked gauze or else staining his clothing and sheets so heavily that Alfred insisted on doing all the medical work himself. He suspected the young master's inhuman pain tolerance played a large part in his reckless first aid procedures.
Lucky for him he had a butler with experience in medicine.
Bruce flexed his arm experimentally. He would have to look into prosthetics for the suit at some point in the future, minimize the strain on his joints when he was injured at least. Pain could always be tuned out, but pain meant physical damage, and if he wasn't careful he'd be walking around in an exo-suit just to hold his battered body together in the future.
"What's the weather like Alfred?"
"Terrible sir. Freak thunderstorm I'm afraid."
He was tempted to ask if Alfred was being serious, but decided against it. His sarcasm was directly proportionate to his skills as a butler.
He picked out several different suits. One that was little more than spandex with kevlar sown in. No. One that had heavier kevlar plating and a large utility belt. No. Eventually he picked out the same suit he always wore. Then he set about packing his fancy gadgets, or 'field equipment' as he called it rather drolly.
Alfred couldn't help but note the similarity to Miss Martha. He wondered if Bruce knew how much of his parents quirks he had inherited.
Every time they had an important event to host the Mistress would spend hours going through her wardrobe only to wear one of the first outfits she had selected anyway. Master Thomas would recline on the bed with infinite patience, his mustache quivering with amusement. Every now and then Miss Martha would ask, "What about this one Tom?" and he'd give Alfred a conspiratorial glance, as if they were in on a joke. Then he would say, "It looks perfect Mart." But she would always discard it for another. And little Bruce would sit on the floor, adorable in his miniature tuxedo, completely oblivious to everything going on around him as he watched his mother toss out dress after dress.
Then, when he would inevitably fall asleep halfway through the party, Alfred would carry him back to bed because the Master and Mistress were so popular no one would let them leave even for a minute, and they were far too polite to protest too strongly. Bruce would always be clutching one of his toys. No, not toys, figurines. Little Bruce would always correct anyone that called them toys.
He pronounced it as 'figuwine' for such a long time.
Quite suddenly Alfred was seized with a feeling of intense grief. It was so strong he felt he would burst into tears. Indeed his eyes were moist.
Extremely unprofessional.
He excused himself and went upstairs to polish the silver, leaving Bruce, no longer little, no longer obvlivious, to play with his new toys.
A/N: I probably have at least 50 favorite characters. Many of them are from the Young Justice series. You can probably see how that show influenced my writing. Its unfortunate they cancelled it, I really think it was the best animated feature since the Timmverse era. There was so much potential for future plots, and the little things like Lex being Superboy's 'father', Artemis' family, Robin's past at Haly's Circus, Megan being white(lol),Red Arrow being a clone and the general Mentor-Student relationship differences between the various OG heroes and the young upstarts made the story that much more interesting. I particularly liked the episode 'Failsafe'. Taught me a lot about the characters. Like how at the very beginning Robin wants so much to be like Batman. He uses actual batarangs on missions, operates exactly as Batman would, except he's 14. Then over the series he gradually begins to want the mantle less and less, eventually we see him using his own boomerangs and tech, becoming more light-hearted(yet darker at the same time) as he realizes that being Batman isn't all its cut out to be, especially as he gets to 'be' Batman during the training exercise turned horror movie. I also like how Superboy displays that chilling detachment, saying he enjoyed being Superman. Much later I realized Lex has the same sentiments. Then BOOM CONNOR I AM YOUR FATHER WHY DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE SO MANY ISSUES. Blatantly telling us the entire plot, except hardly anyone is that observant so hardly anyone noticed. Also, I know in the DCU and general sci-fi universes irrational anger is attributed to one of the (many) glitches in clones (Speedy/Red Arrow was also a loose cannon. Once again the writers laying the answer right under our noses, brilliant.) but I always liked to think that Superboy's rage was the piece of Lex Luthor within him, and that's what he's like without the formidable intellect to keep his rage in check. Batman and Robin's relationship was perfect, good balance of expectations vs what its actually like having to be a parent and a superhero mentor at the same time. I also liked that Aquaman was a bit arrogant, a bit of an asshole, and Kal'dur'ahm was like the nicest guy on the planet. I liked Green Arrow cheerfulness and Red Arrow's abrasiveness. Didn't see much of the 'real' Red Arrow but he seemed more imperious than angry. Only dislikes were not enough Wonder Woman and Superman being a dick towards a 16 year old kid who so clearly idolizes him and has major self esteem issues.
Teen Titans Go! is so much liquid faeces in comparison, and it couldn't hold a fucking flamethrower to the original. But whatever gets the toy sales up, right? May as well bring back Super Friends at this rate. I mean 'Waffles Waffles Waffles'?
Somewhere on this earth Glen Murakami silently weeps.
What do you guys think of a Justice League fic set in the 60's? Or 70's? Or 80's?
Read and review.