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Edwards Freight, Gotham City Headquarters. 1435 Hours, 07 AUGUST 2014

The man admired himself in the glass doors of the tall building, adjusting the dark suit fitted for his powerful shoulders. He smoothed back black hair, met the mirrored gaze of crystal blue, and nodded before entering the towering structure of Edwards Freight. The entry hall felt deserted, empty save for a single desk worker who battled sleep with, judging by the periodic clicks of the mouse, a game of solitaire. His gaze did not leave the screen as the well-built man approached, and he spoke as though to hear him do so was a privilege.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I hope so. I have a meeting with Ms. Edwards," he smiled, the expression open and friendly.

"ID," he asked, holding out a hand, still focused upon his monitor. Drawing his wallet, the dark-haired man provided the self-important employee with one of the slim cards and the worker disinterestedly brought up a schedule that he peered at before glancing at the card in his hand. He suddenly froze and his eyes grew until they almost seemed to be bulging from the sockets as the dark-haired man smirked, hands in his pockets.

"You're - I didn't - I mean - Mr. Wayne! Welcome to Edwards Freight! Please go ahead up. Top floor. I'll let Miss Edwards know that you're on the way up," he gushed as he returned the card, cheeks blazing red.

Bruce Wayne held back a chuckle as he nodded his gratitude and strode around the high desk into the short hall where he pressed a button, summoning an elevator. His wait was short and the door dinged as it slid open to permit him entrance. He stepped in, whistling along with the muzak as he pressed one of the buttons and rode upward, noting the camera in the corner that he beamed at and offered a small wave. When he finally arrived at his destination, the door chimed again as it retracted to permit him entry into a large office with a windowed wall facing towards the harbor.

The floor was black marble flecked with grey and white, mixing together to resemble some great tempest, and it was polished to a mirror-like sheen. Stands were positioned periodically about the spacious room and bottles containing carefully crafted vessels were set on proud display. Bruce admired their artistry as he passed, striding towards the lone desk that squatted in the center of the cold room. Another ship in a bottle sat upon it, but the frigate within was incomplete, one of its masts was still waiting to be raised and its prow was absent. Behind the desk were a pair of women, one a tanned blonde, which was gathered into a bun, seated in the high-backed chair as she reviewed a document and the second a short-haired, freckled brunette with harsh features and a slouching, lanky frame.

As Bruce approached, the latter leaned down like a giraffe stooping to drink and whispered something in the ear of the blonde woman who lifted her brown eyes and offered a weary smile. She stood and he quickly studied her, noting the curves that filled the dark suit she wore, vertical stripes of white interrupting the obsidian. The rich violet of the shirt beneath it added a carefully coordinated splash of color to her outfit and allowed a tasteful view of her cleavage. Her features were somewhat coarse, a roughness to them that he couldn't entirely pinpoint the source of, and silvery anchors dangled from her ears. She extended a hand with pearly white nails as he stepped up to the desk and he quickly stifled his surprise at the strength in the grip.

"Mr. Wayne," Brianna Edwards said, her accent polished amongst those of the British gentry. Her smile was broad and shark-like. "Our meeting has been far too long in the making."

"Trust me, Miss Edwards, it would have been much sooner had I known you were so beautiful," he returned, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he kept his gaze fixed with her own. After he released her hand, she gestured for him to take one of the chairs on his side of the desk as she sank back into her own. She lifted a hand towards the gawky woman rising over both of them.

"This is Miss Blackwood. She's something of the first mate around here," she explained and Bruce's charming smile was returned with a curt nod. Clasping her hands together, the blonde turned back to the infamous bachelor and said, "Now, Mr. Wayne -"

"Please, call me Bruce."

She nodded, "Very well. Bruce. I suspect you didn't come all the way out here only ta pay a social call - no matter how pretty I am."

"I'm afraid not," he admitted. "I understand you recently lost a ship after a battle between the Teen Titans and some villain."

"Your newspapers called him 'Kraken,' I believe."

"Yes. Now, I hear you have begun to look for recompense for the loss of your vessel, and I would like to help you with that."

"Circling the drain we may be, Bruce, but we still have plenty of lawyers ta handle our -"

He held up a hand to stop her and reached for an interior pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a small slip of paper that he stood to pass to blonde woman. She regarded the check, her eyes giving nothing away as she passed it to Miss Blackwood who clearly did not have the same practice in schooling her features. Her eyes widened and she managed to catch her jaw before it dropped, her gaze hardening after a second as she returned the check to her employer who set it on the desk. Still giving nothing away, she asked, "I presume this is ta cover the damages?"

"And then some," he smiled. "These kids are trying to do the right thing, but they're still kids. They don't fully grasp the concept of 'property damage' yet."

Her gaze was focused upon the parade of zeros, hands clasped together and hiding her mouth as she considered it before one of her hands landed upon it and slid it back towards Bruce who frowned. Before he could protest her refusal, she said, "Money's a simple thing. This company's been in the family for generations, and I imagine you know the trouble we've been facing as of late. I'm not looking ta be the final chapter in the family's legacy. If you're open ta it, I'd like ta make a counter offer."

"Of what?" he asked cautiously.

There was that smile again, and as before it seemed more befitting of the oceans' top predators.

"Sign a contract with us. All of Wayne Enterprises shipments by sea go through us. Not for free, but we can let the busybodies 'ash out the details, yeah? You help breathe some much needed life inta the business, and maybe we'll limp far enough along for me ta hand off the baton ta the next poor sap."

His eyes narrowed, "Miss Edwards, you understand that Wayne Enterprises is controlled by a board. I cannot simply -"

"I trust you see the ships, Bruce," she nodded to the collection about the room. "They're me grand-da's. He taught me da, and me da tried ta teach me. You ever put together a ship in a bottle?"

"I cannot say I have."

"It takes patience. A steady hand that has the right touch of delicacy and a keen eye. That's not in me. I don't have their patience. But, what I do have, is stubbornness. I don't much care if I only get half of your offer. I don't care if I only get a quarter. I'll take my pound of flesh from your darling little Titans."

She leaned forward slightly and continued, "Trust me, I'm the most bull-headed, vindictive, foolhardy, stubborn lass you'll ever meet on this side of the pond. So unless you want me to drag those kids through so many courts that they start ta forget what sunlight feels like, I suggest you put that legendary Wayne charm ta use and get me that contract."

Any friendliness had since disappeared from Bruce's countenance and he stared at her coldly before standing and collecting the rejected check. He slipped it back into his pocket and nodded to her, "I'll see what I can do."

She beamed up at him, "That's all I ask."

He strode back towards the elevator, his pace stately and his shoulders square as he jammed a finger against the button. The doors opened immediately and he stepped through only to be stopped by the call of his name.

"Oh, Bruce!"

He glanced towards the grinning blonde who assured him, "Please understand that this was nothing personal. I've got a sense that you and I are going ta have a beautiful friendship."

Giving a smile that he hoped wasn't as evidently insincere as it felt, he nodded, "I'm sure you're right."

Bruce's humor had vanished during his elevator ride, and the secretary wisely kept his head down as the dark-haired man passed, powerful legs seeming to devour the earth beneath him to deliver him to the obsidian car that awaited him outside. As he grunted and loosened his tie after sliding into the backseat, it pulled away from the curb and Alfred Pennyworth asked, "Did everything go as planned, sir?"

"Brianna Edwards wants Wayne Enterprises to come to her for shipping. That'll give me a chance to track exactly where her ships are going," he answered as he pressed a button and files were projected in arcing blue light before him. He studied the reports of vessel manifests, the voyage plans they had submitted, and the investigations into the missing cargo that seemed to plague the ships. Brianna had inherited a sinking company from the untimely demise of her father and she had spent her entire tenure as its head trying to keep it above water. He was beginning to suspect that she had found a way - albeit, not an entirely legitimate one.

"Are you going to call young master Grayson to keep him informed of the situation?"

The question interrupted his careful analysis of the evidence and he struggled with an answer before saying, "I'll send him the casefile."

"Anything to avoid actually talking then, sir?"

"He has no interest in talking, Alfred," he grumbled.

"Of course not," noted the elder man evenly. "He takes after his father."

The Arnetti Estate, New York. 1034 Hours, 07 JUNE 2014

The Arnetti Estate was a sprawling demesne that's closest neighbor's separation could be measured in kilometers. It had been erected decades ago when Carla Arnetti had left her home of Italy for the United States when sordid accusations arose about the untimely death of her husband and the hand she may have played in it. Nothing had ever been proven but she grew weary of the side glances and used the substantial fortune that had been left to her to purchase the land and build the grand mansion. A gravel path wound through its gentle hills, reaching from the road to a broad circle in front of the sprawling structure. Set in its grassy center was an extravagant marble fountain decorated with cherubs and other classical features, painstakingly kept clean. Trees dotted the verdant, manicured lawns and grew thicker along the land's boundaries.

It was upon the border of one such grove that a young Alondra Arnetti cautiously peered from behind a tree, attired in an indigo shirt with sleeves that ended at her pale shoulders and denim shorts. Once assured that she had escaped the gazes of any witnesses, she kicked off her sandals and lunged towards the lowest branch of the towering tree. With a grunt, she pulled herself onto it, rising to her feet and reaching for the next one. She clambered upward with practiced expertise and was well over halfway up when a shrill cry interrupted her and her foot slipped though she managed to catch herself. Grumbling under breath, she crouched upon one of the sturdier branches, one hand braced against another of the tree's limbs, as the shout rang out again.

"Alondraaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Blowing away a tuft of short hair that had descended in front of her eyes, she hollered, "Que?"

"You're cheating!"

The accusation rang out from Joseph Arnetti, the third-born of the Arnetti brood, who stood at the base of the tree, glaring upwards towards where he suspected his eldest sister was. Gel lifted his dark, thick hair into a crest, like a shark fin, and he stalked about the tree impatiently. At his side was Gina Arnetti, the second-born, who clutched and twisted her dress anxiously in her dark hands as she scanned the eaves for the pale girl. She was a chubby girl, of darker tone than her brother, and her hair fell in mahogany curls.

Rolling her eyes at the familiar complaint, she blew a lock out of her field of vision and replied, "The rules were that we could go anywhere but in the forest. I'm not in the forest. I'm in a tree."

"It's the same thing!" he wailed.

"No, it's not. I'm in one tree. That's not even close to a forest, idiota."

"I'm not stupid, you cheater!"

"Remember what nonna said," she called. "'Meglio un imbroglione di un perdente.'"

"If you don't come down, you can't play!"

"All right," she shrugged and automatically blew away the hair that descended in front of her eye. "But I'm not coming down unless you tag me. So, have fun playing with two people."

Joey's eyes narrowed in rage as he finally came to a halt before his vision flashed to his earthbound sister and he demanded, "Gimme a boost."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she protested softly. "I-I mean, you could fall and get hurt."

He shot her a look of disgust that she glanced away from before shouting up the tree again, "I'm gonna go get dad!"

With a nod, Alondra straightened and resumed her climb as she shouted over her shoulder, "You go do that, crybaby. I'll be at the top before you even get to the house."

He hurled insults at her before turning and charging towards the mansion, leaving Gina to worriedly search the branches for Alondra, but only ever finding rustling leaves and creaking branches. Circling about the trunk in her nimble ascent, the pale girl paused as her grip landed upon a soft branch that began to bow at her touch. Retracting her hand, she skirted about the rotten branch, finding a new one to support her as she continued skyward. The branches began to thin and she was greeted with a gentle breeze that she paused to lean into, letting it ruffle her hair and shirt before she clambered onto the final branches that were stout enough to hold her.

Perching upon the last branch she could reach, she hung her legs over it and gazed upon the expanse of her home and beyond. At the house, the speck that was Joey raced up the steps of the sprawling back porch and charged towards the unmistakeable bulk of Carlo Arnetti, the family patriarch who bounced about the porch with a small bundle in his arms. He paused as the boy dashed up to him and Alondra rolled her eyes as a lock fell before her eyes once again. She brushed it out of the way this time as her father strolled to the round table, shadowed by an umbrella, and passed the child in his hands to her mother, Marcia, who already held the other twin in her lap.

Her observation of her family was interrupted by a soft chirping and she glanced up to see a nest in the branches overhead. Placing her hand against the trunk, she stood up and tried to peer into the tangled confines only to find that she was too short. Scowling, she scanned the nearby branches and after securing a hold on a light branch, she reached her foot across, placing it at the base of another limb. Leaning forward, she discovered that she was still not high enough to look into the nest and she licked her lips before releasing a breath to push the hair from her vision as she considered the tree. Looping her hand about the thinning trunk, she braced her foot against the other side of it and lifted herself until she could gaze into the nest.

She beamed at the trio of eggs tended to by a plump mother who rearranged her abode before dropping onto them once again. The young girl watched with growing wonderment as the hen fussed with the arrangements of her domicile before noticing her uninvited guest. A squawk erupted from her and she spread her wings as the slender girl blinked, pulling back as the protective avian leapt at her. Her foot slipped and the sudden weight upon her arm caused her hand to follow suit.

Her collision with the first branch pushed the air from her lungs and caused her to twist so that the next caught her in the stomach. The branch snapped under her weight and its jagged point stabbed into her hip, tracing upward and ripping her shirt as gravity carried her further downward. Anytime her descent began to pick up speed, she was slowed by the impact of another branch. In the back of her head, she could hear Gina screaming, alternately screaming her name or for their father, but her vision had gone dark, interrupted by brief, blurry flashes of light. Blood was flowing from the gash that stretched from her hip to the opposite rib and it splattered against the tree. Finally, she came to rest upon the ground, crumple on the grass with her limbs strung listlessly about her.

Her chest rose and fell with fluttery breaths as blood seeped from her wound, soaking her shirt and the ground about her. Pain flooded her body, consuming all her senses until she could not hear the desperate cries of her father or the pounding of his feet as he raced up to her.

"Hey, boss babe."

The voice stirred her from her memory and she opened tired eyes to find Cash looming over her, the blue of his gaze seeming to glow in the darkness. She dozed upon an extravagant bed, clad only in her undergarment and careful even in her nap not to disturb her carefully arranged hair. With a sigh, she sat up, absentmindedly tracing the long scar that traveled along her toned belly as she glanced to the clock.

"It's getting late," she noted dryly.

"Your habitué have commenced arrival," Cash announced, presenting her with the crimson dress that she had selected for the night's event. Standing up, she pulled it on, smoothing out its few wrinkles as she presented her back to him and he obediently pulled up the zipper as she fussed with her, ensuring that it was in place.

"And the divertimento?"

"The aggregation is in proper regulation. Predominantly."

"Then see to it that everything is taken care of, Cashy," she instructed as she strolled to the window of the room, moving the heavy curtain to gaze down upon the distant streets below. "I want nothing to go wrong."

The Grand Murakami Hotel, Jump City. 2024 Hours, 07 AUGUST 2014

The recently dethroned criminal kingpins of Jump City gathered within the dim lobby of a recently reopened hotel, eyeing each other suspiciously while remaining ignorant of the rich history of their extravagant surroundings. Decades ago, years before the advent of the Second World War, it had been raised by a descendant of one of the city's founders and stood stalwart through the war as its builder languished in an internment camp. When he had returned after the war, he had tried to restore the hotel, but, in time, the price of its maintenance outweighed its profit, and it had been shut down. For years, it was left untended, ravaged by the effects of time, but when members of the city had sought to tear it down, it had been protected by a statute concerning historical preservation. Abandoned to molder, it was left to watch the rest of the world modernize while it lingered, a memory of an age long since passed. Homeless and destitute citizens had eagerly infested the rundown halls and abandoned rooms, but they had been chased from it when it suddenly found its way into new ownership.

Refuse had been cleared away, walls repainted, and lights set to blaze anew though the process of revitalization was far from complete. Contractors and workers scurried about, bellowing orders and occasionally colliding with following debates that almost broke into altercations before a mediator stepped in and set the divided groups back on their proper path. Amongst the chaos, the kingpins marveled at the ornate fixtures and the Renaissance-era styled painting on the ceiling that had been painstakingly restored. Even in its unfinished state, the hotel seemed to glimmer and swell with pride at its restoration, ignorant of the horrors that were due to be enacted inside it.

The collective awe of the visitors was broken by the crude visage of the Vulture's constant shadow jutting into their vision, wool cap still covering the top of his head.

"Convey yourselves to the annex of terpsichorean celebrations," Cash instructed tersely before lumbering away.

"Wait, where?" one of the men shouted after him as he shoved through a pair of bickering electricians to advance up the stairs.

"The ballroom," said a woman in an immaculate white suit.

She drifted towards the labelled double doors, accompanied by her guards and their counterparts followed after a moment. The heavy oak doors opened into a spacious room with a vaunted ceiling and and dazzling chandeliers covered in crystal. Set upon the floor were long tables, organized into a blocky 'U' shape and laden with dishes, silverware, and all the other necessities to host a meal. Wine bottles chilled in polished buckets of ice and chairs were arranged in front of the place settings, enough room for the crime lords and the entourage each had brought. At the head of the tables was the demurely smiling Vulture, hair carefully tousled and left to cascade to her slender shoulders. Gracing her lithe figure was a shimmering dress of scarlet and a russet fur collar was wrapped about her neck.

At her side was a dark-skinned man in an immaculate suit who shifted his weight onto the sturdy cane clasped in one of his hands. He regarded the entering crowd with a superior smirk, equipped with some piece of knowledge they were not and eternally smug about it. On the Vulture's other side was a short, athletic woman who stood rigid, like some soldier awaiting her orders. Her flaxen blonde hair was gathered into a tight bun and her compact, burly figure was draped in a soft white dress that looped about her neck and left much of her back revealed. The trained eye recognized the quail of disquiet upon her strong-boned features, less than pleased with her current situation.

As they drew closer, the Vulture opened her arms as though trying to envelope them in a hug as her rich voice rang across the room, "Buona sera, signore e signori! Come, join us. I figured it time we need celebrate to the success of our association. Please, take your seats."

Her two companions immediately complied with her instructions but the guests hesitated, exchanging suspicious glances and eyeing the seats apprehensively. The Vulture's humor evaporated and she rolled her eyes, "Oh, drat. They realized I planted bombs under all their seats. Now what am I going to have to come up with?"

A wary murmur rippled through the gang leaders and they began filtering to their seats, reigniting the smile upon their host's face. She remained standing and the doors opened to permit a stream of smartly dressed waiters carrying trays laden with bowls of salad. Lush vegetables that looked as though they had been plucked directly from the garden were set before the mob bosses and their accompanying personnel. Forks jabbed tentatively at the dark green leaves and shiny cherry tomatoes as though expecting a muzzle to poke out through them and the Vulture encouraged them, "Go on, eat up. Let me know what you think when we get to the main course. It's our chef's trial run and it's not entirely a joke when I say that he's on the chopping block."

After placing the salad, several of the waiters had lingered to open the bottles of wine and pour for their visitors. Once all the glasses had been filled, Vulture cleared her throat and raised her wine flute into the air as she declared, "Per un buon affare e nemici sepolti. To good business."

There was a half-hearted murmur of agreement before they all drank, their host downing over half her glass in a single, practiced gulp. Lowering it with a pleased sigh, she observed the crowd before speaking again, projecting enough to be heard by all of them.

"I understand your reluctance to work for me. You fought for this town, tooth and nail, and then I roll in, a newcomer, un forastero, and act like I own everything. Hopefully, we can come to an understanding over tonight's meal, and I thought maybe if you knew me, that would be easier."

"My papa is mafia and my madre runs drug cartels from South America. As the eldest of five, I had always assumed I would one day inherit the joint thrones of my parents. However, in my second year of medical college, I realized that something had changed. I no longer simply wanted an organization passed to me. I did not want to simply be another name in our long and sordid history," she explained, making eye contact with those at least pretending to listen while the others chewed loudly.

"I had just finished my third year when I dropped out and had the remainder of my college fund transferred into my personal account. I moved to a city my papa didn't own and started setting up business. I found a gang - the Butcher Boys - and I convinced them to work for me. We were small and we struggled to stay afloat - but, then, I found our niche. El lugar al que pertenecìamos. And soon business was booming. I was becoming a very rich woman, and I put that wealth into expanding operations. Maybe a poco aggressively."

Savory scents clouded the air as the waiters returned, laden with new plates that carried the sizzling entrees that they presented with great flourish to the crime bosses. Surprise flitted across their faces, followed closely by suspicion and concern as many found themselves presented with their favorite meals. The Vulture noted their distrustful stares, watched the whispered exchanges, and her predatory smile widened as she continued with her story.

"I made the men and women running the rackets the same offer I made you. Naturally, they refused. For a little while, almeno. They put up valiant but ultimately futile effort. Eventually, I was running every operation within my city, and all those who had sided with me profited handsomely. Unfortunately, it was not enough to sate my appetite and I was forced to look elsewhere. Which led me to your bella citti."

She was interrupted by the opening of the doors once again and Cash entered this time, wheeling a steel gurney into the room. He scowled as he stomped forward, the plastic coolers stringed together over his shoulder clattering together with every heavy step. As he drew closer, it became apparent that there was a man set in the gurney, divested of clothing with damp skin. His ghastly pallor was accompanied by darkened extremities suggesting storage in a frigid environment. Pushing the corpse into the absence between the tables, Cash dropped the coolers and stormed to take his place behind Vulture who beamed and held a hand towards the dead man.

"Ah, eccellente. For your viewing pleasure, we have put together a little show for you. A demonstration, if you will, of my business methods."

"Who the hell is this?" demanded a heavyset man.

"I don't know," Vulture shrugged as the dark man at her side reached under his chair, hands searching for something that had been tucked there earlier. "One of the cleaner tontos that missed the eviction notice when I purchased this hotel. We kept him on ice for this performance, but the rest have been dealt with already. Dr. Sanders, if you would."

The smirking man stood, leaving his cane leaning against the table for a minute as he donned a plastic apron and rubber gloves. Picking up his cane, he hobbled around the table on stuttering footsteps, carrying a thick, black bundle of canvas under his free arm. Taking his place alongside the gurney, he dumped the bag beside the man and pulled out a tray that was tucked under the table. Pushing his parcel atop it, he untied its straps and unfurled it, revealing immaculately gleaming surgical tools.

His leering grin grew as he slid a scalpel from a pocket with cradled it with blatant familiarity. He made quick, clean incisions along the inside of the man's thighs, and blood oozed from the opened femoral arteries as he made more slices to speed along the process. The crimson humor slid along the almost imperceptible incline in the tray of the table into a drain set into it, collecting in a clear plastic tub in the bottom of the gurney.

As he waited for his specimen to finish draining, he glanced over him and almost sighed at his miserable condition, prevalent amongst others in his station. It would be a challenge to find anything salvageable, but he suspected that was the Vulture's intent. She wanted him to prove, once again, that his injured leg did not mean he could not carry his own weight. He almost scoffed at the idea before remembering where he was and he quickly glanced about, ensuring that all eyes were upon him as the blood slowed to a sleep. Setting the cane aside, he leaned over his specimen and made a well-practiced Y-cut into his chest, slicing through the stringy muscles. He peeled aside the flaps and looked upward again, gauging his audience and their reactions.

Revulsion crossed the majority of their faces, and those with weaker stomachs struggled to keep down the lavish meal they had readily devoured. Some demonstrated greater restraint, their mouths flat aside from the occasional twitch, and their eyes gave nothing away, but he could feel their tension. He shifted his gaze towards Ms. Krahen, the leader of the Vulture's Carogne Uccelli, and he smirked at the mask of indifference that she had donned in place of her typical beaked hood. Hovering behind her and the Vulture, Cash busied himself with studying the other men and women about the table, not bothering to hide his suspicious and measuring glare. Finally, he turned to look upon his employer who watched with avid interest, undeterred in her enjoyment of the slightly raw steak that had been cooked to her specifications.

The torso was open now and Dr. Sanders kneeled down to pull out the bolt cutters lying along the bottom. As he rose, he noted the blanching of several faces at his wielding of them and suppressed a grin, remaining professional. Near universal flinches passed through the observers as the ribs cracked and splintered under the pressure of the tool. He grunted as he squeezed the handles, cutting away the ribcage and removing it to permit access to the inert organs. Setting aside the heavy bolt cutters, he picked up his blade once again and began making swift, efficient slices, artistry in his strokes. As he freed an organ from its tethering to the remainder of the innards, he opened one of the coolers and set the organ amongst the ice before closing it again.

With the completion of her meal and the first organ removed, the Vulture picked up a commentary, "These organs will be kept in a refrigerated environment to preserve them, and then retrieved when a cliente needs a new heart, liver, whatever they want and can't wait for. Of course, we have already checked them for disease and we culled this particular subject with toxic gas and permitted time for the veleno break down."

"And this . . . business is how you made your money?" asked the dark-haired woman who had led her peers into the ballroom. She had managed to tear her gaze from the gruesome spectacle that hypnotized her like a train wreck or some other guilty horror disguised as something worthy of fascination.

"No," she admitted, lifting her glass and taking a sip as she leaned back in her chair. "I started in money lending. However, I quickly realized that while breaking huesos was certainly entertaining, it was taking too long. I had an idea, but I lacked the skill to carry it out. So, I found our dear Dr. Sanders here, recently dismissed, and recruited him to help me. It was a rough start, but we managed to get off the ground."

"Your idea was to start hacking people open, take out their guts and shit, and sell it?" one of the guests asked, clearly aghast. He was a harried, whip-thin man who looked ready to leap from his chair until the plump woman next to him laid a hand upon his lap and narrowed her gaze at the Vulture.

She shrugged and smirked in response. "What can I say? Health always was my favorite class."

Cash snorted behind her, the sound a rough approximation of a laugh, and his boss refrained from casting a well-deserved glare at him. She continued, "I was inspired by a movie I watched in college in addition with my studies. It has proven to be highly profitable, and I now offer you the chance to join in that profit. Of course, I demand tribute, but if you pay it, I can promise that even with my cut, you will all be making more than ever before. However, if you stand against me, well . . ."

Lifting her glass to her ruby painted lips, her gaze slid to the performance as Dr. Sanders dropped the heart of his subject into a cooler and closed it.

"I suppose a verbal threat would be simply overstating it by this point, no?" she smiled before the dark glint in her eyes disappeared and her visage became less menacing as she held up her empty glass. Despite his scowl, Cash obligingly refilled it as Dr. Sanders pulled out a kidney and their employer beamed, "Now, who's ready for dessert?"

B Block, JCP. 2117 Hours, 07 AUGUST 2014

". . . Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel . . . Their hooves were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel . . ."

Arson bobbed his foot in time to his off-key singing as he reclined upon his bunk, a smoldering cigarette from jutting between his lips. The bill cap that he had swiped off a guard was pulled low on his head, covering his eyes, and he interlaced his fingers behind his skull. Overhead, Rubio's legs dangled over the edge of his cot as the younger man leaned back against the wall, scribbling furiously on a notepad that he had been provided with. He would regularly pause, reviewing what he wrote before his face scrunched up and he shook his head, crossing out his words with dark lines. Silence reigned in the block as lights-out neared and many of the inhabitants had already crawled under their blankets where they patiently awaited for sleep to claim them.

As though designed to thwart that, the doors clanged open and a clamor of voices spilled into their block, frustrated shouts and grunts accompanied by low snarling. Pausing in his singing, Arson pressed a finger to the bill of his hat, lifting it out of his field of vision as the voices drew nearer. He could see other men, rising from their bunks and moving to press against the bars of their cells to afford a better view, watching the source of the tumult with interest. Catcalls began to ring from them, further piquing the burnt man's interest though he still refused to leave the dubious comfort of his bed as a pair of guards finally edged into his view. They were dragging, trying to as least, a person between them who resisted the burly figures, growling and snapping at them.

"Jesus. We should be handing this bitch over to animal control," grumbled one of the guards.

"No such luck," responded the other. "Already talked to the boss about that."

"Well, at least they found a way to trim her claws. Did you see what she did to Ly-whoa!"

Their captive suddenly jerked back, tearing free from one of them and the smoker was presented with the sight of a short woman clad in a grey jumpsuit of the metahuman prisoners. Brown hair was shortened into a boyish cut, revealing golden eyes filled with an animalistic fury. Her skin, washed clean of the dirt and grime that had once covered it, was a soft brown tone with numerous scars, bites and scratches, some of which were more faded than the others. Strapped to her face was a leather muzzle and metal gauntlets were clamped about her forearms, covering her hands. The guard who had lost his grip grabbed at her only for her to nimbly leap into the air, landing upon his shoulders before springing away and tearing free from the other's grasp. Spinning about, she smashed her gauntlets against his head and he sagged and collapsed against the rail of the balcony as she leapt onto the shoulders of his partner, locking his legs in a choke about his neck.

Riotous cheering poured from her audience as the guard tried to slam her into the wall to dislodge her but she accepted the blows stoically, only tightening her grip before the man weakened and fell to his knees. As his vision began to fade, he tried to reach for his radio to send a warning but fell into the blackness before he could do anything more than touch it. He slumped to the ground and his assailant slithered off of him and remained kneeling beside him, growling softly.

"Ah tell yah, the way boys treat girls nowadays. It'd break mah ma's heart, if it was still beatin'."

Her gaze jumped towards the orange-eyed man crouching behind the bars and she bared her teeth at him, nose wrinkling at the smoke that curled from his cigarette. Noticing this, he plucked it from his mouth and extinguished it on the shoe of the fallen guard and then cast it over the edge of the balcony. She watched its descent as Rubio joined his cellmate on the floor, staring at the intruder with wide eyes.

"Whoa. Check out Hanni-babe here."

"Hanni-babe?" Arson asked incredulously, looking up towards the youth who shrugged.

"Well, yeah. I mean, she's got that whole mask thing, plus she's a total -"

"Right, right. Ah got it. Ah was just amazed at the stupidity," he said before looking to the woman and tugging on the bill of his cap. "Sorry 'bout the boy, ma'am. He's just a young punk."

"Hey!"

Ignoring his friend's indignation, Arson extended a hand from the cage, offering it to the woman who eyed it warily before she slowly leaned forward, sniffing at his weathered palm. When she was several inches away, he shoved into the metal bars, extending his arm to close the distance and hook a finger in her mask. With a grunt, he leaned back and pulled her next to the door and she thrashed about savagely, eyes blazing again and he grumbled unintelligently as he tried to maintain his hold.

"Don't just stand there gawkin', Rube!" he bellowed. "Help me out here!"

Shocked into action, the youth leapt forward and reached a hand to grab gather the cloth of her jumpsuit in his hand, struggling to pull it in as he was surprised by her strength. Whooping suggestions rained from all about the block, accompanied by desperate promises if they passed off the woman to them and Arson scowled at them as he finally managed to get a hand on the back of her head.

"C'mon, lil' lady," he spat through gritted teeth. "Don't make this difficult for me. Ah ain't tryin' to hurt yah. Just gimme a lil' - there! Let 'er go! Git off!"

He tore Rubio off, jumping across the room as the muzzle on the woman came loose and fell away and she paused to regard the fallen restraint in wonderment. Then, a fanged smile unfurled across her face and she straightened before leaping atop the railing and unleashing a reverberating howl that silenced the calls ringing from the cells and the men took cautious steps backwards. After her thunderous demonstration, she leapt down into the bottom floor of the block as the doors clanged open and boots clattered against the floor.

"Whoa, there. Not so fast," Arson grumbled as he pitched forward. Shoving his arm through the bars, he strained and slipped his finger into the unconscious guard's pocket, fishing in it before pushing back, clutching his hands together. "Hehee . . . Got it."

"The keys?" Rubio asked excitedly.

"Ke-What?" he looked at him in confusion. "Nah, man. Ah was startin' to run low. Needed a refill."

He gave a lopsided grin and proudly showed off the mostly full box of cigarettes he had swiped from the unconscious guard and Rubio scowled as Arson chuckled and pulled a cigarette from the pack before slipping it in the folds of his sleeve. Below them, men's screams mingled with the howls and snarls of the carnivore, and the orange-eyed man hummed in tune to the carnage as he slid back onto his bunk and placed the cigarette between his lips.

Whoo! Another chapter! So, no action in this chapter and lots of exposition, but we hope that you all enjoyed it, and we promise that there will be action next chapter. Also, we learn the Vulture's mainstay in business! And how she got that name. Hope that you all enjoyed it as well as Arson's appearance at the end there.

You do have to wonder, do worlds with superheroes have some special kind of insurance for their fights? Because that is a lot of property damage.

Please review!