A Beware the Batman fanfic – Bring on the Badguys!
Written by WDCain Man

Disclaimer: Batman was created by Bob Kane and owned by DC Comics, which is owned by Warner-Brothers. No money is being made with this story. No profit is being made from this fanfic.

Big credit goes to Mister . Enigma for giving me this idea. He really got the ball rolling on future ideas. If not for him, I only had 3 chapters left before this was finish. Now, heck! I can get this story pass the twenty chapter mark and it's all thanks to him! So to and all my readers: Enjoy!

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Bring on the Badguys!

Part Twelve:

The Wrath

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Detective Arnold Flass hung limply in his cell by powerful cords shackled to his wrists and hooked to the ceiling. The cop was in no condition to break free. Ever since he was kidnapped, he was subjected to daily beatings, sleep depravation, torture sessions, and irregular meal times. All designed to gradually ware down his sense of self.

How long has he been here? The police detective had no idea. The beatings and being kept in isolation made keeping track of time impossible. All he could do was think how it all started.

Flass had left the poker party at Chutes' pad by Bay Ridge and heading back to his cushy apartment in uptown Gotham when he was abducted. He was driving by the county limits, near Grundy's Marshlands where no housing was built and no witnesses when an unmarked van came out of the woods and pulled up beside him, ramming Flass' car into a ditch.

Dazed and drunk, Flass couldn't put up a fight as he was pulled out of his wrecked car and into the van. All he saw was a giant of a man in military body-armor cuff him to the interior and put a bag over his head before driving off. The cop protested but all he got was a rifle-butt to the noggin.

When he came to, he was locked in this prison facility stripped to his tighty whities and the harshest conditions imaginable. Why, he had no idea. Where, he hadn't the slightest clue either. All he could tell was this prison was being run by black ops military. He met a few back in his Green Beret days and those were the scariest wetworks of all.

He never got a good look at anyone except the soldier they sent in routinely beat him and even then he always wore that scary-looking body armor all the soldiers here wore.

A similar soldier opened his cell door. Flass looked at the intimidating fellow wearily. He was a giant of a man, nearly as tall as Flass. Dressed head to toe in pitch black fatigues with a thick padded Kevlar vest lined with large grey camo-pattern pouches across his torso. A long tube ran from the center pouch to the mouthpiece of the almost German Kaiser-like helmet that masked his identity. A second nozzle run from a small box on his right shoulder into the apparatus as well. Red plexi-glass eye-pieces glowed sinisterly, hatefully, beneath the dome helmet that left the already hidden face covered by shadow. Grenades, guns, and rifles aplenty were everywhere on him; making him living war machine.

Tears escaped Flass' eyes as he bowed his head to keep the guard from seeing them, but he could tell that Flass was broken. He banged on the cell door and opened it. The beaten cop saw a shadowy figure with a table-cart holding two computer screens. The guard took the cart and wheeled them into the cell and shut the door. A speaker set in the ceiling hummed and Flass braced for another white noise torture session.

Instead of the sonic torture, it was a digitized voice. "Detective Arnold Flass. By now you realize there is no way out of here. No one is coming for you. The police have searched the city but you are far out of their jurisdiction. No one knows you're here. No one but us. It's time to talk, Arnold. It's time to tell us everything."

"Wh-what… what do… you want?" Flass gasped, so thirsty and tired.

"I think a visual representation will help you realize what this is all about. Soldier, turn on the monitors." The guard flipped a button on the keyboard beneath the monitors and they lit up. The instant Flass saw who was on them, he flinched. They know.

The footage was from a year ago. The monitor on the right had Police Chief Clancy O'Hara fiddling with the screen. Despite being a year away from retirement, his eyes were still bright and alert. Behind him was the beautiful Gotham City Central Park with dozens of his family members celebrating at the get-together he was hosting.

Flass did not know who the man was on the left monitor. He was a soldier, a Marine Captain judging by his rank. Tall, nearly as tall as Flass was, much better built, pitch black hair like Death's shroud, and piecing ice-blue eyes that spoke of seeing hundreds of battles and thousands of dead. He was stationed in a desert country, Flass didn't know where. It had to be in the Middle East as it was night time there.

"That is Marine Captain Elliot O'Hara, Clancy's oldest son. At that time, he was stationed in Kahndaq having successfully liberated its capital from insurgents. Despite doing his duty, the good Captain wouldn't miss the O'Hara family reunion for nothing. Gotham had been the O'Hara clan's home for four generations and everyone showed up for the family reunion, if not in body than digitally. Thus through the magic of the internet, wi-fi, and a web-camera Elliot could watch his kin celebrate the family gathering."

"Is the picture clear, dad? Can you see and hear me okay?"

"Sure'n that's the truth, me boyo. You're coming in fine an' loud o'er the screen."

Marine Captain Elliot O'Hara smiled at his dad fiddling with the laptop. "Are Andrew and William doing okay, dad?"

"Indeed they are, son. Your wife's got a 'My kids are on the honor roll at Gotham Jr. High' bumper-sticker on the mini-van. Your boys are the joy of her life and never give her lip. They had to get it from her because you argued with me and your mum all the time." Clancy O'Hara smirked at his soldier son on the screen. "Shameful behavior from the son of a cop."

"I was a wild kid, dad. But the Marine Corp. straightened me up and made me who I am today."

There was a twinkle in his father's eye. "Sure'n that's the truth. I could not be more proud of you for everything thing you've done. For heroism in the line of duty, you were decorated with the Medal of Honor, the Navy Cross, three times the Silver Star and Broze Stars, four times the Purple Heart, and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I never get tired of bragging about this down at the precinct."

"Speaking of what's happening down at the police precinct, dad…I've been talking to mom-"

"Saints preserve me," Clancy O'Hara rubbed his eyes, knowing what was coming. "I told her not to tell you about the death threats. I didn't want you worrying."

"Dad, even though I never acted liked it growing up, I did admired you for being an honest cop in that cesspool of a city you raised me in. Your honesty and dedication even got you the rank of Police Chief. I know you made enemies, both in the streets and in police HQ." Elliot looked his father sincerely in the eye. "You're one year away from retirement. Cracking down hard on police corruption is dangerous in Gotham City, dad. Just put it aside and let the next guy deal with it, someone younger and less to lose than you."

"The next guy is a transfer cop from Chicago by the name of James Gordon. He's married and has a daughter about as old as your two cubs. I'm not putting his neck on the line just to save mine, boyo." The off-duty police chief snorted. "And don't get me started on the hypocrisy of taking it easy when you're knee-deep in all that terror nonsense in that Kooey Kooey country you're stationed in."

"It's Kahndaq, dad; but I have to stay here. I know it sounds like a cliché but what I'm doing here is making the world a safer place for Andy and Willie to grow up in. I don't care what new evil I face over here, I will fight the world if my boys grow up safe."

"Just like why I fight the rotten coppers in the GCPD. Being a cop use to mean something in Gotham City, Elliot. At least until the Wayne murders." Chief O'Hara breathed a tired sigh and bowed his head in shame. "It's high time we cleaned up our act and I'm doing my part cleaning out the bad apples in the station. It's all a part of the uniform."

Elliot tugged at his desert fatigues and felt his heart beat. "I understand. Dad, I'm proud of you. I know growing up I gave you and Mom endless trouble but I've always held you both in my heart."

"That's the truth of mine too, me boyo. Surely be." The aged cop gave his son a timely smile.

"I wish I was there, dad."

"I wish you were here too, son."

Father and son smiled as their family laughed and played in the park. The sun was shining and the grass was green. Long distant relatives and close-knit families were celebrating the reunion in jovial merriment. It was the perfect family get-together.

Flass knew what was coming next.

Bullets started flying, not at Elliot's military base in war torn Kahndaq but at the city park. A half dozen masked gunman emptied out of an unmarked van all armed with automatic AK-47 rifles. With no warning at all they opened fire.

"EVERYONE DOWN!" Clancy pulled out his sidearm and returned fire as his kin hid. But he was the only one armed and he was outnumbered and outgun. The police chief did little to help. He got one chest but was protected by a Kevlar vest. Then tallest of the gunman nailed him in the shoulder.

Poor Elliot could only watch in horror on the screen as his family was slaughtered. His wife was shot in the belly and Andrew got out from his hiding spot to help he was gun down. William screamed at his dead mother and brother, alerting the killers who in turn shot him. It was a massacre, boundless slaughter. Elliot watched helplessly as his siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins were mowed down without remorse.

A tall gunman approach his wounded father to finish the kill. But his dad was an ornery old Irish cop and a shoulder wound wouldn't keep him down. Chief O'Hara fired his last round, blasting the rifle out of his tall enemy's hands. The redheaded Irishman didn't pause and charged the large brute for fisticuffs. They fought and fought in brutal hand-to-hand combat for a full minute but Chief O'Hara was too old and the tall assassin too skilled. A right cross to Clancy's ribs, next a savage roundhouse to his temple, then finally a brutal uppercut brought him down.

The cop fell to the ground where so many of his family lay dead. Blood over his face, he looked up defiantly. "Mark me words, someone will take you all down."

The assassin chuckled, pulled out a pistol and fired.

Elliot screamed hateful and helpless, so close and yet so far away.

"Soldier, turn off the monitors. Arnold knows what why he's here now."

Flass shook his head weakly, eyes watering in fear. "Eh-I don't… I really don't… th-the chief's death spurred all his brothers in blue… into find his and his family's killers… and we did…" He looked up at the speaker. "It was the Eastside Skullz… the Skullz killed the O'Hara's… we proved it in court… DNA evidence… confesses… the whole deal…"

"No, Arnold. The O'Hara's were not killed by a petty street gang. They were killed by corrupted police that Chief O'Hara was striving to expose. You were the gunman leading them in that assault and you personally killed Chief O'Hara. Then you had Jim Corrigan, the CSI officer in charge of the investigation, falsify all the lab tests that incriminated you and your co-conspirators and plant evidence against a ragtag group of thugs who bilked you in bribes. Two birds with one stone. That's what you thought when you planned it, didn't you Arnold? "

Flass confirmed or denied nothing. "Wh-why… do you care… about some killing… in Gotham? It wasn't… a military matter…"

"Oh, but it was. You see, Arnold; Captain Elliot O'Hara was a valuable asset to us. He won battles that our finest tacticians thought impossible. Our country's successes in Bialya, Santa Prisca, Pokolistan, and Kahndaq can all be attributed to him. His family's slaughter broke him and in turn he killed himself. We are upset with you for costing us with such a successful resource. Elliot O'Hara's a tactician, he hunts, he studies, he memorizes, and he planned brilliance. That is why we are punishing you and, after you've told us what you know, all your colleagues."

"You got… no proof… it's me…" Flass hissed through his broken teeth. "The gunmen… wore masks…"

"We recognize military training when we see it, Arnold. Especially the hand-to-hand combat of a Green Beret. The Chief had no chance of beating you. The Green Berets trained you too well. Don't bother denying it. None of those kids in the Skullz were former Green Berets, especially one who's six and a half feet tall and knows how to use his weight to break down his opponent. You are caught, Arnold. Do you really want to be the only one taking the fall for this?"

Flass shook his head angrily, grinding his teeth all the way, before finally lowing his head in resignation. "It's… it's the Chief's own fault… if he had just played ball… none of this would have happened…"

"You admit to killing the O'Haras then?"

"We just… just wanted to kill the Chief… but he… was just too smart… He never… fell into any setups… or ambushes… so me and… Howard Branden from SWAT… cooked up the plan… for attacking the family reunion like gangbangers… and Jim Corrigan in CSI… would make sure we'd come up clean… so we gathered… a few other smart cops like us… who didn't want… the Chief to expose us… sexy Rebecca Mulcahey… Roger DeCarlo… Jack Grogan… Timothy Munroe… and Jordan Rich…"

"And there were no others? No other police officers covering up the massacre?"

"Lots wanted in… there's a couple dozen of us… the Chief was going… to expose and send to jail…" Flass took a breath to gather his strength. "Give me a deal and I'll a name everyone. I'll tell you everything I know they're up to, what they've done, and where the bodies are buried at. Deal?"

"No." The soldier guarding him hissed, the first words Flass ever heard from him.

Flass spat at his boots. "I wasn't talking to you, grunt. I'm talking to your superior."

The soldier took off his creepy helmet/mask, revealing him to be Elliot O'Hara. He had on a headset with a microphone close to his lips. "We're the only two people in this warehouse, Arnold." Elliot's words were repeated over the ceiling speaker.

"…" Flass blinked as Elliot took off the headset and threw it on the table with the computer screens. "Bu-but I've seen plenty of people… the guy who handed you the computer… I saw him…"

Elliot opened the cell door. The shadowy figure was still standing there and he pulled him into the cell. It was just a mannequin in an army uniform. "There is no military, Arnold. It's just me, the soldier, and you, the enemy."

"…" Flass looked back and forth between Elliot and the mannequin. "I don't…" he gibbered.

Elliot turned the monitors back on, showing masked Flass beating his father to death and his horrified expression on the other. "I could tell just by watching that whoever was fighting Dad was a former Green Beret with extensive hand-to-hand combat training, knowing full well how to use his size to his advantage. Even the entire assault was coordinated and well led. I knew there was a police cover-up once DNA evidence pointed to undisciplined street thugs as the culprits. I told my CO this but he said the matter fell under Gotham's PD jurisdiction and what they said was the final word. He expressed his condolence but he said I had to focus on that new terror group. But you see, the enemy isn't that snake cult that's sprung in the Middle East. The enemy is here in the States, in Gotham City. The enemy is you, Arnold and your evil cohorts. And I had to stop you."

Elliot's hand grabbed his Captain's insignia and he yanked it off his body armor. "I immediately resigned my post and was discharged. I went to Gotham and begun my hunt. I planned to abduct Jim Corrigan since he did the DNA tests but while I was researching him, I came across your file. Right at the top was your military record with the Green Berets and your impressive height. I started surveillance on you and day one I found you taking bribes and extorting money from street gangs. I saw you pummeling some to make an example, showing your hand-to-hand training and style. Your only alibi during the park massacre was your fellow crooked police. You had to have been involved."

The beaten captive Flass looked up at his holder in weary resignation. He wasn't getting out of here alive. "Go ahead and kill me, you maniac. It won't change a thing. Gotham has always had dirty cops like me so one less won't change a thing, O'Hara. Not. One. Thing."

Elliot said nothing. All he did was look down at Flass in a cold hard stare. Those ice-blue eyes seem to blot out all outside influence as his almost machine-like tactical mind churned out the most straightforward, ruthless counter to Flass' statement. "Then all cops die."

"…" Flass looked at Elliot has he put back on that creepy black helmet. He swallowed hard as the death soldier reached for a sidearm. "You can't be this wrathful…"

"Wrath is what wins the war and this is a war that must be won" His cold hard voice had a digital echo though his helmet mask. "I am the Wrath."

The Wrath pulled the trigger and Arnold Flass was no more. Spiritually, Elliot O'Hara was Arnold Flass' last victim. All that was left of that man was a cipher, an avenger of corruption, a nigh invisible force that will ferret out the leaches sucking out Gotham's life blood and give them their proper reward: The wages of sin—Death.

Elliot may as well have died with his family in the park. All that was left was Wrath.

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End Part Twelve…
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Yikes, it's been two months since the last update. I was hoping to churn out one of these once a month but this one was a chore to write. The reason why is that I had actually wrote a completely different version of the Wrath that I decided to trash. And before anyone complains that I included a character from the old Adam West show, Chief O'Hara did have a cameo in an episode of BtB.

Version one involved Chief O'Hara surviving the massacre after being miraculous healed by experimental Waynetech pharmaceuticals. With his family gone, Chief O'Hara snaps, dresses up in a purple ragtag Batman outfit, and goes on a cop shooting spree. My take on Chief O'Hara's Wrath would be an evil Alfred, a guy who's lost all the people he cares for who only had his wrath left.

The reason why I based him off an evil Alfred was that I plan to do a story where he hooks up with Anarky and Pierrot Lunaire to form an evil version of Bruce, Tatsu, and Alfred with O'Hara (a psychotic Irishman) being at odds with the British ex-spy. The only problem was that I just can't imagine Chief O'Hara's police training would put him anywhere near Alfred's level. I needed someone whose training was deadlier than both a cop and a spy.

I had to figure out what the core of the Wrath's character was. He's an anti-Batman but there's been quite a few of those: Killer Moth, Owl Man, Cat Man, the Wrath, and Prometheus. The main thing that distinguished the Wrath from them was that he solely used guns. Not sci-fi guns like Deathstroke and Deadshot use but just regular handguns. Guns are the most practical weapons on the planet. The core of the Wrath's threat was his practical use of guns.

This made me think of the most practical comic character, a guy who approaches every enemy he faces with a loaded gun: The Punisher. But instead of being an anti-hero going after criminals, have him go after every cop in Gotham. Seriously, a Punisher-style Wrath would wipe out GCPD in a week.

Crooked cops make great bad guys but only in moderation. If every cop in a work of fiction are crooked than I just roll my eyes. It works best if there's only just a group of crooked cops that are careful over being caught. If cops are so blatant with their crookedness then it's just stupid they're not caught immediately. I really liked the dirty cops in the Gotham Central comic. Jim Corrigan was a brilliant bad guy that I just loved to hate. He was so smart that no matter how hard the other cops tried, they couldn't connect him to any of his crimes. It took vigilante justice for the guy to finally be brought down.

I based the Wrath's costume off of a Helghast soldier from Killzone. I love the cold militaristic design and I felt it would do the Wrath well. If I could I would have given him the Punisher's costume but that would have been too much. I am so happy that DC reintroduced the Wrath in the new52 and I love his space marine-expy costume. My one grip with it is the color scheme. Brown is such a dull color and I have to keep reminding myself that the new Wrath isn't a Talon. They need to change the color. Badly.

Next time, one of the two villains that have given me the most trouble: The Flamingo! Read and review, my fans!