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"Trust not a skittish horse, nor a great lord, when they shake their heads."—a Danish proverb.
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Chapter 8 (Mission)
It's a fool errand—his inner bat goaded in a sing-song as Batman scanned through his research.
His subject of scrutiny, the cake shop, was a modest brick-and-mortar building with a single double door for entry. No backdoor in design.
Upon entry, a simple but elegant counter ushered in the customers with cake samples on display and despite its old fashioned style, an ultra-modern kitchen bragged to cook all types of cakes according to customer's budget. And for security, a surveillance cam guarded the hallway, recording in outdated black-and-white format.
And finally, its owner: an old couple who lived alone in nearby Downtown apartment. Though, nowadays, the old man ran the shop alone since his wife was in City Hospital for kidney operation.
In short, the shop added nothing to concrete jungle of Downtown area where clubs, bars, and other modern recreational shops choked the every inch of ground, buzzing and teeming with young crowd.
So much for research, his inner bat grumbled.
Batman ignored the voice.
Far above anyone's view, merged in shadow, jaws shut locked in permanent scowl, and fingers snapped over the binocular, the Dark Knight garrisoned his vantage point like a medieval archer. Non-moving and non-responsive, anyone could mistake him as another night shadow.
For past half an hour, the Batman waited with the infinite patience he was known for. His observation deck, an abandoned apartment across the cake shop, gave an adequate view for him. If he removed the background noises of neighboring apartment where a couple was having sex, the place was perfect.
—"Yes! Oh, yes! YES! Baby. Do it harder. Don't ssstoppp."—
More like a sex marathon from noises, he corrected his vocabulary.
However, noises never bugged the Dark Knight.
Call him stoned-ear or something else. After spending nights in dripping, thatched slum huts of Manila where mosquitoes threatened to suck him dry, stealing and eating across the Kenyan markets where food Mafia had a jungle rule, and being almost cannibalized by ingenious Somalia tribe who thought a white man like Bruce would be a delicious dish—anything—rarely affected the Batman.
Yes, there were exceptions like the Amazon Princess. But they were as rare as finding life on the moon.
To be brief, she was only "piece of equipment" in known universe that could make the Caped Crusader squirm with her mere presence. Must be something to do with her blessed magic, his inner bat accused.
To his left side, she called. "Batman?"
As ever, Batman ignored the call and focused on the scene before him. His empty mind brooded.
You should be in Gotham. This city is too bright for your liking. A voice in head reminded Batman that he was still breathing in New York City.
An exact opposite twin of Gotham.
Unlike his city where everything reeked of fear, here, Batman could feel the life thrumming around him, throbbing around him, and most importantly—smiling around him. The life energy at its maximum power. And not only local people rejoiced their lives without terror of psychopaths, they weren't agitated about lurking shadows either.
Very unlike his city.
Where the stench of impending danger had made Gotham residents so natural and used to their dreadful lives that words like safety were only hollow promises. Promises which were never fulfilled. Not by their elected politicians. Not by the GCPD in whole. And certainly not by their self-appointed night guardian in his all crime fighting career.
STOP!
Angered with his train of thoughts, Batman's teeth mashed together, knuckles went white over the binocular, and still his honed body never reacted. Because he knew—despite every fault and every single failing, the Gotham was his city. Always. Period.
No one could change that. Nor gods, neither demons.
For those monsters who had terrorized his city countless times knew that until Batman stood breathing and alive, in one whole piece, the Gotham city would never turn into the chaos city. It was a promise greater than his life. Greater than anything in his life, it was—
There you are.
A shadow crawled on the roof of cake shop, splinting Batman's thought process. Must be the watchman he had expected. Batman knew. After all, someone who had gone to the length of personally dropping a message for Wonder Woman wouldn't trust a spy cam for sure. Had to be a watchman for confirmation.
Or it could be a live trap…for Diana.
She can handle herself, his inner bat chimed in sarcasm.
Whatever, Batman understood one fact clearly: they've poked hornet nest and they would learn soon enough that—
"Bruce."
That word shattered his attention like a swinging hammer upon a fragile glass. He turned over and glowered at his partner. The Wonder Woman.
"It's Batman." He hissed and turned back to his observation.
"I know, Batman. But if you keep ignoring me, what should…"
—"Fucking yes, Baby! Oh, yes! YES! Do it harder. Ohhhhhhhhhhh fucking hot!"—
Keeping his cool, Batman turned again. Whole body rigid with tension.
Towering frame, muscles wrung behind thin Kevlar—thin by Diana's standard—and teeth bared like a wild animal, mmh…Diana bit her lips. As she saw him glaring, her smile grew and communicated those emotions; which in return made the Dark Knight shift behind the mask.
"Diana," Rusty voice like grinding of iron against iron said, "We're here for a mission. So focus on that."
"I know." Diana nodded. Her hands rested on her waist, "But those sounds are distracting. Don't you think?"
—Wheewawam-BAM! Wheewawam-BAM!—
"I don't know about you. But I can't focus on mission when I keep hearing those screams."
As if in reply, Batman stared at her, blankly. Though the nefarious batglare switched on to full-horsepower, lasered at Amazon Princess, and pushed into maximum action mode, Diana kept her brows furrowed. Expecting…something...new.
When nothing happened, Batman growled before turning in. "Just focus."
For Diana, she sublimed her giggle. How was she going to focus with these noises ringing in her ears?
—"Fucking yes, Baby! Oh, don't stop now. Yes! YES! Do it harder. Oh, holy shitttttt!"—
—Smack! Smack!—
—"Oh shit, I'm cooommminnggg!"—
A loud groan rang. And then—the divine silence.
"Finally," Diana mumbled a prayer to Goddess Aphrodite as sex marathon died down.
Even though as an Amazon Diana had no shame for hiding bodily beauty, she knew somehow Man's world had its own version of blatant love display, which disturbed her fundamental principles. And shook her focal point of justice. And never being in presence of Bruce had helped those situations either.
On contrary, some of those cuddly images emerged before her aqua eyes, swamping her thoughts, and fogging her mind. And for a fleeting moment, Diana remembered the unused, lonely bed in her apartment. If mother hadn't arrived she might…
Oh, shut up! Diana mentally wiped her thoughts. Focus on mission.
Distracting herself, Diana asked. "When are we going in?"
"Not now. Until we get more info, we wait and analyze."
More waiting, how romantic? Diana sighed.
Could she believe this was the same man who had been dining and dancing with her, just few hours ago. Indeed, he was disguised as some Wayne Industries worker, but it didn't quell her doubt that he was happy to have their date interrupted. Might be, her inner Amazon added. He is a man eventually.
Despite that, Diana couldn't fathom he was acting all night. Not possible. Yes, he was a brilliant actor, and Diana had seen his skills on daily basis whenever she visited one of those galas where Bruce Wayne lay wasted with couples of ballerina in his arms and bragged about his fictional life as playboy.
"A sentry."
Jolting, his raspy voice stirred Diana from her muses. "What?"
"Sentry, two' O clock. Watch." Passing his binoculars, Batman said in crisp words.
Diana took hold of binoculars, eyed the roof of cake shop, littered with broken poles and half-erected wall. Building seemed old to her. Yet, as she swept her gaze at two' O clock position, a small patch of orange-reddish glow brought her attention to stop. Diana brows crinkled and she zoomed in. She was familiar with working of thermal binoculars of Batman, like Kal's X-ray vision, but this…was uncanny.
"It seems a small heat patch of some kind, surely not a sentry."
"No." Batman said. "Someone is out there. Must be shielded of exposing thermal signs. Perhaps using a kind of heat-reflecting cover for his position. I've used it sometimes. It can disguise your thermal signature by dissipating the heat equally in your surroundings and masking off your heat from thermal detectors."
"It shields absolutely from thermal scan?" Diana asked, curious in his assumption. "A kind of thermal cloaking device, you mean."
"Yes," Batman replied. "But it doesn't shield totally. Masking thermal signature is as tough as getting invisible. Besides, nothing is full proof, Princess."
"Then, we just need to drop by and see ourselves."
"You're not Superman, Princess. Anything thrown at you won't just ping off. Remember?"
Diana glared at his rebuking tone. "I don't need to be reminded of how invincible am I, Batman. Perhaps, you need to remember that."
As if casted in stone, Batman ignored her tone. "I'll drop by first. Then you can swoop in, and investigate. Show no hast—"
"I know my stuff," Diana said, cutting him off. Egoist.
0o0o0o
Angered. Batman mused as he saw her flying away like he'd told her to.
Is he a sadistic as most people believe? Batman didn't knew, or at best didn't want to know. But often he fancied the idea that one day, she'd give up on him and move on with her life. It was best for her. And…for him too.
But he knew her well. Too well, actually. Eventually, her anger would wisp away with winds and then, again, she'd be at his side appetizing him, prodding him, and persuading him with her innocent smiles.
Too much expectation is fatal in our work line, his inner bat advised in his monotone.
How he had longed to return her feelings with his own. Especially after hearing those three magical words from her lips. Magical words—indeed, they sounded magical from Diana's lips.
Only if you knew how to say the same to her. Inner bat clucked his tongue in humorless laugh, taunting him further.
Again, the sentry shadow moved on the roof, betraying its position to bat eyes.
Time for the mission.
Tracking the sentry moves from his white slits, Batman discerned the sentry was alone. And careful. And restless. Perhaps from long sentry duty.
About time to relive it.
As gloved fingers gripped the bat-grappler, zeroed in at the rooftop, and fired, the Batman dropped from his vantage point like a true bat. Behind him, the black cape swept through the air in batwing formation, buffered up the flight of Dark Knight, and for first time in that night, his batarang baptized between his fingers.
And as much as he tried, Batman couldn't shake the inkling feeling: the night had just started.
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(On the roof of cake shop)
Surrounded by old, broken concrete pillars, Deadshot was bored out of death. His cybernetic single eye drooped from sleepiness as he lay by his stomach on the roof of cake shop.
Notably, being a sniper shot was a patience job, and Deadshot was willfully patience person. Particularly when it came to cradling his favorite Sniper gun.
Putting his eye to gun-scope, waiting for his prey to walk into gun's crosshair, then pulling the trigger, and afterword watching his victim die—unsurprised, in one shot—was a joy only a fellow sniper could share with him. But sadly, he was so thoroughly patience with his skills that he had pushed himself to a limit where other snipers couldn't compete. In result, he was the best. No gloating.
That was why he was lying here in rooftop. Waiting.
Damn! He couldn't trust his own luck that his employer had stuck him with a stupid sentry duty. He was the Deadshot. The best sniper on Earth the money could afford, and what he was doing, babysitting a cake shop because Wonder Woman would drop soon.
Not that Floyd minded watching a smoldering, hot chick roaming around him, especially someone like Wonder Woman. Still, he would be a fool to fall for the obvious trap—the Justice League.
Those bunch of Halloween costumes wearer, calling themselves mighty Justice heroes, were real troubles. And as a good profit making mercenary, Deadshot tried to avoid them at all cost. They just wasted time. And money. And worst of all, they might put him into that damned place called the Super Max Prison. In that jail, even super-rats tortured you horribly in night.
Hell! he'd prefer to die first rather than spending time in that stinking shit hole. Ugh!
Besides, they always policed away his wrist guns before throwing him in the cell. And nothing bothered the Deadshot more than his wrist guns. They were like his small babies, cute ones, who ate bullets for their food and spat death at his adversaries. And, all these babies talk reminded him, he was hungry. Luckily, he had his last hamburger in stash that lay to his right.
Unwrapping the soiled packing, Deadshot dug his teeth hungrily despite the staleness of burger. 'bout the time to eat. A growl from his stomach agreed.
Usually, he ate after his work was complete, working ethics you know, but today seemed good enough time for a small bite. Not like Wonder Woman could detect his presence. Hell! No one could detect his presence right now.
From head to toe, Deadshot wore his new dress of polymorphic-titanium binding fiber. A new suit, provided by his employer solely for this mission. In addition to being fire proof, bulletproof, and looking nice, it was quite comfortable too.
But the most prominent features were, being shielded by X-rays, sound waves, and thermal imaging. Not even Superman like Meta could detect his heartbeat if he stood by his side.
Now that's what a good suit is, Deadshot grinned. Sure, his employer was kind of weirdo, but he was good one. Certainly, he was not the first one Deadshot had met, and not the first time for Deadshot as a mercenary. In fact, his most jobs employers were deranged dumbs. But what you could say, when these weirdoes paid more handsomely than regular ones. Still, that much foreshadowing for a woman—his current employer was certified nutcase…
SHHHppppp!
Wind sluiced and sang with a sound, and his half-eaten burger fell down to the floor with a—audible thupp!
What the heck! The taste of coppery blood stung on Sniper's lips. Instantly, he froze, blood still trickling down on his chin as Deadshot's single eye looked into his gun scope.
Cracking the fragile glass of gun-scope, stuck in the exact center of crosshair was a metal. Deadshot pulled it out, but his hand dropped the metal piece with clang, as if the metal was a hot amber. Burning.
A batarang.
"Floyd!"
A voice scythed the warm air behind him, sacking the residual heat of night air, and sending a forbidding chill through the spine of Deadshot. At that moment, Floyd knew one thing: this job just went from boring to dangerous.
He turned over and watched.
There he was.
The Batman.
Standing nowhere and still hanging in middle air like a ghost, only the white slits bore at Deadshot like a jaguar eyed on his prey, before hungrily pouncing and tearing its prey apart to bones. Of course, Deadshot knew—Batman didn't kill, but that didn't motivate him as slowly and surely, the Ghost neared without any noise. And almost frozen in surprise, Deadshot sprinted late to his own rescue.
He wasn't paid to fight this demon.
0o0o0o
Five minutes.
Come after five minutes. That's what Batman had directed Diana as she hung in air, flying and waiting for the right time. However, what kept her mind busy was her heart, which still scuba-dived in depth of her love life. Or the trouble that seemed to be already emerging.
Diana was no fool. She had seen the clear sign of "to and fro" from her beau and she had enough material to guess that he'd try to avoid any conclusive answers. Maybe why he was so eager to accept this mission.
Let him try, she thought. He won't succeed.
Yet, romance had to wait. Because right now, she wanted herself beside him. Fighting, as usual. Verbally or by fists that totally depended on her beau. And even if it took to beat him into an alley, Diana wasn't one to back down from her promise. You wait and watch mister.
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(Rooftop of the cake shop)
"Floyd!" Dark Knight's voice, harsh and brutal like chilled arctic winds, echoed on the rooftop as he strode over to place where Deadshot had left his sniper gun and disappeared in darkness. He bent on his armored knees, picked up the foul device, then bent and cracked the weapon in two pieces as if it were made up of wood.
"Floyd!"
Hid behind a broken pillar, Deadshot's mind shivered. Layers upon layers of fears shredded and exposed, one by one, torturing the Sniper boy as he dug deeper in darkness. But the ruined spire behind which he took shelter, offered only minimal safety from "the psycho" who was mobbing him.
Psycho—that's the nickname Deadshot had chosen for Gotham guardian.
That man should be in Arkham Asylum, caged and gagged like his whole fucking rogue gallery. But Deadshot understood the GCPD and the Batman had their own understanding.
After all, he had worked for that lunatic clown once—God! That manic was beyond being redeemed. Which was one of the reasons, Deadshot tried to avoid Gotham city for any assignment. The city was doomed like its villains and heroes alike. Shit for nothing!
"Floyd, you cannot hide from me!"
Again, the primal part of Deadshot argued to leave the job and run. But he had his obligation. He had took his payment in advance, and he wasn't one to back off from his job. He had a reputation to maintain and running away was not the option.
"Your new suit would take you nowhere."
Deadshot shook his head. His wrist guns were ready to fire. Still, he waited.
If he was a common thug, he would've jumped and tried shooting at the Batman. But he knew Dark Knight well, the man could dodge bullets better than any Meta with super speed. Further, his employer had strictly directed the mercenary to keep the noises under control. They didn't want to entertain local cops here.
"Who are you working for, Floyd?"
Deadshot gritted his teeth as Batman used his alter-ego name repeatedly. He hated the dorky knight passionately. And despite every nerve screaming at him to not say a single word, before he knew, he was saying already. "It's Deadshot for you, Dorky Ass!"
In next heartbeat, he knew he had invited the trouble. Literally.
Move you dumbass, he cursed himself, knowing his voice must have indicated his position to Bat.
Dissolving himself best with night shadows casted by skyscrapers, Deadshot wrenched his neck from one-side to another, checking furtively for any sign of Bat. But he met only silence. Must have outran him—he assured himself. But then…
"Floyd!"
Deadshot froze, not because of fear. But when two white slits bore down in your eyes, without any other thing to see, your mind instantly screams—Ghost! Yet, his training fared better and Deadshot just stared at the slit, muted in fear. He almost forgot about he had wrist guns. Then, with spike of training, Deadshot cocked his wrist gun to approaching slits, who in response went narrower and increased their glower, heating the air around him.
Deadshot felt suffocated.
"You cannot run, Floyd!" Batman growled, raking and awaking the most intoxicant emotion of human brain: fear.
If Deadshot hadn't encountered him so many times before, he also might've thought him as a bad nightmare from the hell. But, he knew better to dismiss Dorky Knight as just a bad dream. He was a naked truth. A terror in pure form.
"You cannot outrun your shadow, Floyd!" Gauntleted hands gripped on Deadshot's neck from nowhere, tightening in slow speed as if an anaconda wrenched the life out of its prey. Slowly killing it, then feasting later.
"I'm not here to harm anyone!" Deadshot argued.
"Really! But I don't believe you, Floyd."
"I'm telling the truth. I'm just a sentry here."
"Who? Floyd. Who are you working for?" Disembodied voice asked again.
But Deadshot remained silent. Not just out of loyalty for his employer, but because next second—a grunt arose from shadow. The grunt of the Caped Crusader.
In flip of events, next second, the Deadshot was free with a big grin on his face.
0o0o0o
Anguished pain erupted in his backside as the Batman pumped out a kick to his new assailant. Armored boots connected with solid flesh thump—sending the other figure skittering across the floor with a thud. Then, a voice spoke.
"Ouch! Is that a way to greet a girl, Batman?"
"Depends on the girl, Cheetah!" Batman hissed back. Cheetah. He should've known if Diana was involved, then her archenemy would be here too.
"Missed me?"
"Can't say I did."
"Now that's a real heartbreaker."
"You arranged all this?" he asked. Even though Batman hadn't expected any answers, Cheetah replied.
"You really think it's my work?" her voice filled with mockery, whisker crumpled in sad smile. "I'd rather send poisoned letter to that skimpy Princess of yours."
Batman frowned. He assessed his situation. Two to one—not a problem, but what he didn't like was these two were working for someone. Certainly not another Secret Society by that overgrown zoo monkey Grodd. But who? A list of possible suspect rolled in:
Luthor. Not possible. He was lost in some unknown universe. Circe. Impossible for certain. She was bound in Underworld under personal jurisdiction of Hades. Gorilla Grodd. Locked up in a magical mage designed by Doctor Fate. And other small super villains were still licking their wounds in Max prison, after the catastrophic battle with Darkseid while Justice League hunted them down.
"What are you doing here?" Cheetah asked, dusting herself off. "I thought you stayed in that your hellish city always."
"Crime pays everywhere, Cheetah."
"So have I heard," Cheetah said as she tossed a burning flare into floor, lighting up the roof, and a ghastly image of three individuals appeared.
Mostly, the Batman stood between two super-goons. One side, Deadshot pointed his both wrist guns at him, and at other Cheetah remained poised on her hunches, ready to attack with poisoned claws.
Already, the Batman could feel the poison seeping in his wounds. Even if he took his antidotes on regular basis, he'd need to treat it later. Otherwise, Alfred would be sore-hearted, reminding Bruce on every occasion possible. Which was far worse than what was happening with him now.
"We'd love to entertain you, Bats." Deadshot spoke as he aimed his guns on the cowl. "But we have an assignment to fulfill first. So, Cheetah, would you finish it?"
Unbothered by threats, Batman just stood and waited. Knees bent to take action, muscles taut like a bow string, and blue eyes scanned his opponents. Strategy planned:
First, he needed to extinguish that burning flare. Darkness enhanced his skills and reduced the time take to defeat his enemy. Especially after dark descended upon his opponents, he could deal with Deadshot easily. For Cheetah, he had to be careful. Her feline augmentation made her eyesight better with darkness. But for everything, the Dark Knight had a solution.
"You won't win, Bats. It's two of us, now." Deadshot declared.
But Batman just smirked.
"Soon, you would be alone, Deadshot."
"What?" Deadshot perked his eye to Caped Crusader, just as a golden rope flung in his view. And before he could warn his partner, the rope looped around Cheetah and made her fly. And Cheetah shrieked in a familiar rage.
"Wonder Bitch! I'll kill you!"
"Never learnt the proper language, did you Cheetah?" Diana smiled as lasso of truth tightened its hold on flailing feline super villainess.
While Batman turned to Deadshot, who seemed in between the decision of fight or flight. However, before the Batman could lung forward and question him further, a voice rose. And everyone turned to a new figure that stepped into flare light.
"I think that's enough play for today, Boys and Girls!"
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A/n: Don't forget to leave a review of what you liked. Or not. Both are good for me.
Until then frnds. Keep reading.