Earth-3
Gotham
A long table folds out before an equally long room, men in expensively tailored suits around the table talking amongst themselves whilst waiting for their boss.
"So why do they call her Huntress?" Mark, the youngest capo piped up, having not been with the family for very long. He was just shy of Twenty-Five, bright blonde hair and blue eyed. His uncle Carmine smacked him upside the head for the impious question, but the others decided to humor the kid. "They say she's trying to oppose that Owl-Man what's been taking over the city. Takin' on something that don't exist."
Vito, another capo, pipes up derisively. "Nahhh, That ain't it, I heard she tracked down her old boyfriend, hunted him down, knifed him up what good." The table had a round of laughs and another capo spoke up, lighting a cigar as he did so. "Y'know, boys, the boss is on her way here, and if you wait about-" He checks his watch, puffing out a bit of acrid smoke."-two minutes, you can ask her yourself. Of course, outta respect for the boss, I'll choose not to answer with my own version of the story, you understand."
The room falls silent at that, a quiet tomb until the doors open and close to the entrance of their boss, who lithely walks on five inch heels to the head of the table, sitting at the head of the table. She spreads her immaculately manicured hands out over a folder, one with the label Owl-Man on it. "Gentlemen, I have managed to procure this file from our man in the GCPD; it contains every scrap of information the pigs have on him. My assistants will distribute copies, and you will read them; that is assuming of course, that you can read at all. With that, my new bodyguard, Mr. Eric Needham, will brief you all. "
The man behind her stepped up to the table, letting his face show in the light. He was a big man, an ex-cop, and former SWAT as well, judging by a tattoo on his bicep. It figures, the capos thought, that an ex-Cop would be their best protection from the Owl-Man.
His voice booms around the room, clear and concise like a drill instructor, but not harshly barking at them. It is like them organizing their men to action. "I have studied this file, and watched any available footage on him, which isn't much but I can tell you now: The Owl-Man is going to kill you. He is going to kill you, and you will die. Make no mistake, I worked for ten years on the GCPD SWAT team and I have never seen anyone this skilled. Some of you will scoff and say he doesn't exist. Let me be the first to say he definitely does. Thus: You are definitely screwed."
At that, the table sets up on a roar, its occupants' collective egos bruised, until Helena silences them all by slamming her hand down on the table. "Shut the fuck up! Mr. Needham, show them the footage." Needham nods, and glares at the projectionist he has brought with him. The screen behind Helena lowers, and a black and white footage from a security cam begins to play, a time code ticking by in the upper left hand corner. The label "GCPD PARKING LOT 1" is in the upper right, and a scene unfolds before them, soundless but clear as day.
"Freeze! Don't you move, motherfucker!"
Owlman's head quirks to the left as he backs away from the railing, hands up. He turns to face the officers, a young man with blond hair and a square jaw in point position. His name tag reads Branden and the uniform screams SWAT, as does the other three officers' uniforms. Branden's Glock 22 is in a standard two handed grip is pointed squarely at the Owlman's center mass. He does not take his eyes from the other man, but raises his off hand to his radio, to inform dispatch that they have a suspect in custody.
Alfred is buzzing in Owlman's ear, unheard by the SWAT team. "Master Thomas, I implore you, get out of there now! They will arrest you and you will not see your endeavor through!"
Yet The Owlman ignores his servant. His eyes are unflinchingly kept on the cops in front of him. They move in closer, all pointing only sidearms at him. No one thought to bring a Carbine or shotgun to him, which means that at the least they haven't discovered the four dead officers in the basement. Slowly, as if he is a wild animal that will carve them alive, they circle him. Branden orders them to keep an eye on him whilst he cuffs the oddly dressed man.
"Sir, please. They aren't worth your time."
A hand goes to his cowl, and that is when he explodes into action.
Ducking his head, he allows the man behind him to stumble forward of the officer's own momentum. Owlman moves violently, slipping his handcuffed hands around the neck and turning in the same move, strangling over his shoulder with the handcuffs. The other three open fire, to no avail as the Owl-Man uses their dead friend as a meat shield. He lets the corpse drop to the pavement with a dull thud, gathering his cape about him to hide the movement of his hands.
"Hands! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!"
Branden is bellowing now, equal parts angry and scared. He has no idea how lethal this man really is, or exactly what his capabilities are. A smart man would have held the scene, radioed in for backup, officer down, but Branden was young. He was a new appointee to the GCPD's SWAT team, a rookie fresh out of the academy. In his later years, he will point to this night as one of his greatest failures.
Owlman lets the fear hang in the air just a moment, before tossing the now-broken handcuffs into the overhead light. It does not, as was the best case scenario, shatter completely; rather, it flickers ominously, teetering on the edge of darkness.
Branden signals to his remaining men to go in and re-restrain the suspect, but their enemy is far more cunning. He lunges into the first cop, rolling with the impact to execute a throw Branden recognizes from his judo classes as a youth at the same time the thrown cop's gun goes off, killing the officer opposite Owl-Man. The costumed Crime Lord deftly drives his knee into the officer he flipped onto the ground, expelling forcefully the air out of his lungs. Gloved hands grasp the crown and chin, to Branden's mounting horror, as a wet snap breaks the air. In a fit of anger and fear, Branden fires every last round he has into the costumed criminal's shape, but sadly, each bullet misses. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, fight or flight kicking in, making his hands shake; his fight was lost. Owlman rose during the firing and calmly walked over to the railing, firing a grapnel line into the distance. He turns back to look at Officer Branden, and growls out something the video camera doesn't pick up, before disappearing off into the night.
The video ends and Eric Needham turns back to the assembled mafia captains. "Do you really think you can fight that? I think I can, but you? No. So do what the hell I tell you, and maybe we can live past this."
Helena nods to them all to be dismissed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Thank you, Mr. Needham. You're dismissed." The big man nods and leaves her with her thoughts.
A highly trained, highly skilled man who was thought to be an urban myth is actually real. "Shit," she swore under her breath. So her men were telling her the truth about who was killing her men, stealing her product, and destroying her empire. Her Empire! The last vestige of her parents' legacy, passed down into her hands for safekeeping, and this Owl-Man was destroying it.
A heavy sigh left her, and she checked her calendar. "Oh," She said in surprise. Thomas Wayne Junior's annual ball was the following night. At least that would be interesting.
Little does she know how much.