The black Equus limo pulled into the parking garage silently enough, its lights dim and its engine silent as the grave. The lot was abandoned of other vehicles, and so the Equus pulled into the very center, keeping the lights running. Inside, the driver flicked a switch on the radio, and said aloud, "We're here, ma'am."
"Very good," a voice replied from the back. A refined, Cockney accent it was, as if from a right and proper London girl. Lights flickered on all around the back and front seats, and the driver typed a message into a nearby laptop. An email:
To: knockknock97220
CC:
Subject: Arrival
We've arrived at Lot 33. We're awaiting you now. You have one hour of her time. Don't waste it. Black Equus, alone. Bring no more than three representatives with you, and Floronic.
She will expect payment up front.
Hurry,
Manhattan
Manhattan the driver sent the email, and closed the laptop, sighing.
"Permission for a drink outside?"
"Not yet," the voice in the back replied quietly. "Let us observe the intentions of this young man first."
"Young man?" Manhattan glanced into the mirror. There was indeed a dark silhouette approaching, a tall one. It was a man, true, and he seemed to be moving quickly in on the car. Immediately, Manhattan went for his pistol. "I'll handle it."
"No, no," the woman said calmly. "Let him come."
Sweat ran down Manhattan's brow, and he bit his lip. "Ma'am?"
"Observe him, sweetheart. Observe him and let him make the first move."
"A-alright," Manhattan said, putting the gun down beside him in the dark. "What if he opens your door?"
As if in response, the back door was wrenched open. Right on cue. Outside, a man in a dirty trench coat stood before the backseat, a long switchblade in hand. The man was heavily bearded, he smelled like piss and his eyes stared into the backseat with a deranged hunger.
"I knew I smelled a rich prick," he hissed into the shadows, looking the woman there up and down. The woman regarded him as one would an ant on the windowsill, betraying a hint of only the most miniscule curiosity. "You people never l-learn, d-do you!? You don't f-f-f-f-fucking c-come into this part of town with your f-fancy cars! You get… you get relieved of t-things!"
The woman titled her head. "Really?" she whispered, excited. "How so?"
He leaned forward, and placed his knife against her vulnerable neck, giggling madly. "I'll cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut," he said rapidly, his hands shaking as he held the blade against her skin. The woman closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, smiling.
"You do know how to treat a woman, don't you?" she whispered, and she placed her fingertips around the blade. To the man's shock, she actually positioned the knife higher up. "But you see, if you place the knife here, you can get an easier cut, love. The cartilage won't resist you as much. However, this switchblade is dull. I can feel the enclaves in it. Here."
She reached into her pocket, as the stunned man stared on, wide-eyed and confused. She had pulled out a new knife: this one was a metallic buck knife, and it gleamed in the light of the surrounding console. The knife in the man's hand vanished at once, and she forced this new knife into his open palm. He stood frozen to the spot. He had not registered how… how quickly he had been disarmed. In one moment, he had been holding his own blade. In the next, it had been replaced by this new weapon. She helped him position the new blade once more at a vulnerable spot on her neck, and glanced up at him from behind the dark sunshades that she wore, even in this dark building on this dark night.
"Now, love," she said, ever so calmly, "cut me."
"Ma'am?" Manhattan was shaking in the front. She raised a hand to shush him, not taking her eyes off of the druggie. The druggie could only stare, unsure of what to do. Surreal had become his word. Every breath was incorrect of logic.
"Cut me," she suggested simply, tapping her fingers impatiently. "Slit my throat."
"You…you're crazy!" the druggie hissed, wild-eyed. "Crazy, crazy, crazy… you're insane."
"No, no, love, come now… you're doing alright. Cut me. Don't hold back." She titled her head back, so that he had better vision on his prey. "Just slice, right now! Saw! Don't hold back love."
She glanced up at him cheerfully, and for a moment, he saw the red glowing eyes behind those dark lenses. Saw the confident smile upon the red painted lips. Her short black bob style hair gleamed blue under the light of the interior consoles, giving only the faintest reminder of something…human. Those red eyes flickered again, and he gave a cry, stumbling backwards onto the ground, pointing the knife at her as if it were his index.
"Creature!" he hissed wildly. "D-d-d-demon!"
She now climbed out of the car, and stood above him. He clambered quickly to his feet, holding the knife before him protectively. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt, a blouse crimson and frilly, her heels short and sleek. In every way, she was dressed like a proper businesswoman. Save for those sunshades. She lowered the shades, so that he could see her eyes in the dark. Oh, how they glowed red-orange. How they burned with some fierce fire within.
"What's the matter, love?" she asked him quietly. "Nervous? Don't be. Action has to override anxiety. It is a rule of life."
"Stay back, demon!" the druggie exclaimed, and he bolted, running with all haste away from the woman and her car. She watched him sprint with relative calm, sighing and she closed her eyes for a moment, smiling. Then, one leg after another struck out, her heeled shoes flying away, and she was off. Her speed was inhuman, lightning-like and divine, the world becoming a blur as she practically soared through the air, the coldness of the blasting wind around her poetic.
The man went down at once, forced into the concrete at her fierce touch, and she pinned him there with a knee, placing either of her hands on either side of his head.
"Darwin, love," she whispered, and in the next moment, a blast of orange lit the parking garage as the man's head was set aflame. The fire quickly spread down, and the woman gently swiped her knife up as she left him there, burning to death, cinders his only destiny now. She calmly closed the buck knife, pocketing it as she went to retrieve her shoes. By the time she returned to the car, Manhattan was standing outside of his door, holding up a silver flask, his expression asking her a silent question. She gave him a thumbs up, and Manhattan sighed with relief as he downed the chilled Daniels within.
Back in the car, the woman laid across the seat and typed into the middle computer terminal there, her fingers dancing happily across the fiberglass board. Video screens dotted all over the monitor, showing different parts of the downtown area. Street light hang-ups, party goers and their sinful clubs, drug deals in dark alleyways and break-ins at the Upper East Condominiums near Bradford Square…
She tapped a finger on one of them, and it maximized to full screen. A silent car was driving into the garage at the base. A long black limousine, longer than the one she drove in. Naturally, the idiot had chosen the least subtle car imaginable for the meeting.
Sighing, irritated, she went outside to stand with Manhattan, asking him for some refreshment. He all too happily provided her with a second flask. It was standard for Manhattan to have two on him at all times.
"Thank you love," she said, leaning against the car and watching the burning druggie in the distance. "Let's hope this doesn't take too long. I want to get the penthouse arrangements settled before midnight."
"The man had better be there," Manhattan said darkly, "after the generous deposit."
Suddenly, at the end of the lot, headlights beamed as the limo approached, swerving around the burning carcass violently as it did. The woman smiled. That druggie could not have chosen a better time to try and mug her. He would serve as a physical example to those who did not hold up the ends of their deals.
The limo came to a halt nearby, and even as the doors opened, the lights stayed on, providing enough illumination for this meeting to commence without difficulty. Four individuals clambered out of the back, and moved into the light, one of them positively bobbing up and down excitedly.
"Well, well, well," the man before her said in a jolly voice, "the British bitch with the silly haircut. You know I saved several pictures of you from the Internet!? You're so fun to look at!" He giggled excitedly, dancing about with another figure in the shadows. The woman watched them both with annoyance. The both of them were clowns. One with green hair, the other blonde, but both of them with white skin and luscious red lips, twisted into insane smiles. Of course, it was no news to her of the existence of the Joker, or his girlfriend: both had been making their international fame for years now. Nevertheless, meeting these miscreants gave a certain aftertaste of cigar to her. That was her first impression of the clowns (and a lasting one).
"But Mr. J only touches one gal, sister!" Harleen Quinzel cooed, stroking her boyfriend's green hair with affection. "So hands where I can see em, eh!?" Quinzel. Once a GCU graduate with a Masters in psychology, the woman knew her to have been an intern at Arkham Asylum, where she had developed a swift obsession with the Joker, a patient on her duty list. She had helped him break out, and had joined him in his chaotic extracurricular activities. And always that voice… it sounded just as annoying here as it did in all of the newscasts.
"Anassa Blackwood," she offered, holding out a hand to the Joker. Instead of taking it, the Joker grinned and jerked his head behind him.
"Barbeque for us?"
"Yeah, what's up with that burning man over there?" Quinn piped up. "Just seems kind of random, that's all."
"A mugger," Anassa offered confidently, bowing before them, "who thought, unwisely, to steal from me. I am not one for being stolen from."
"Oh… okay!" Quinn squeaked, giving her a thumbs up. "You see that, Mr. J.? She's cool, just like us!"
The Joker nodded, finally grasping Anassa's hand. "We're all cool kids, aren't we?" he said softly, giggling at nothing in general. "Well, Miss An ass uh, we're men and women and sometimes mimes and car washers of our word. We've brought you a nice little present from Freakville." He spun around and threw his arms out to the shadows. "Ta-daaaaaa!"
And the other two individuals who had gotten out of the limo with them stepped into the light. Albert Wesker stayed behind Jason Woodrue, who had compressed himself to a shorter height for the car ride here, but now stretched out into a towering figure above them. Anassa walked forward, amazed at what she beheld. The moss hair, the bark skin, the glowing eyes…
"Jason Woodrue, I presume?"
"THE VERY SAME." Woodrue stepped forward and held out his brambly hand, spilling little pink roses onto her. She chuckled softly, taking the brush and tenderly stroking the petals of the flowers.
"You're very beautiful," she told him. "A true example of Ascension. Behold, Mr. Joker: this is the face of a true example of divinity." She regarded the clowns with a smirk. "Examples of Ascension beyond your understanding."
"He's a talking tree," Joker replied shortly, snorting. "Divine? Maybe to the kingdom of Squirrels, but dear… I sense an insult in there. HA!" He reached into his jacket, and immediately was brandishing a pistol in hand. Anassa moved fast. Her arm turned into a blur as a revolver seemed to just appear in her grip, aimed right at the head of the clown. Behind Woodrue, Wesker shook his head, pulling out his own weapon just as quickly.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Quinn snapped, standing in front of the Joker and breathing down Anassa's barrel. "Don't point your gun at my pudding, Miss Black Eyes… you know… you get it, because if you do, I'll-"
FFOMPH! Quinn went face first into Anassa's car, the Joker giggling madly as he held her in place, seeming as if he wanted to slam her into the vehicle again.
"Harley… how many times," he whispered in a deadly voice, "have I told you not to explain the joke when you make it? And it wasn't even funny. I'm ashamed, Harley."
"S-sorry, Mr. J…" Quinn whined, sniffling loudly.
"When I told you that you could come along," the Joker hissed into her ear, "I expected you to represent the organization efficiently, my dear."
"Yes, M- Mr. J…"
"So do so!" the Joker giggled, and he aimed his pistol at her boot. The round that popped off was explosive in the tightly packed parking garage, and Quinn's scream did not help matters. She fell to the ground in pain, sporting her shot foot, and the Joker gleefully exploded into a bout of laughter, sliding against the car and happily singing his mirth.
"CAN WE PROCEED WITH THE BUSINESS AT HAND?" Woodrue sounded agitated. He was looking down at the clowns in disgust. Wesker nodded, paled by his annoyance, and Anassa felt a fiery desire to bullet them both in the head, putting them out of everyone's misery. But she put the gun away and gestured at Woodrue and Wesker to follow her away from the shrieking clowns.
"Is he not here to discuss business?" Anassa asked Woodrue, leaning against the wall and eyeing the hysterical lunatic coldly.
"In truth, he only wanted to observe his new client," Wesker said promptly, " to see if you matched qualifications for his organization."
"Perhaps when I go braindead, love," Anassa hissed. She held out a hand. "Anassa Blackwood, CEO of Windstar Operations."
"W," Wesker returned, shaking her hand firmly. "Dr. W. I am assistant to Dr. Woodrue and will be your contact throughout the transactions and operations during your stay in Gotham City. This is Mr. Woodrue, as you've discovered."
"DOES WHAT YOU SEE IMPRESS YOU, MISS BLACKWOOD?"
"Very much," Anassa admitted, stunned by the beauty of the creature before her. "I've worked in botanical mutagens for years and I've never seen a compatible specimen like you. Assimilated, but pure in mental capabilities. You speak, you think, you act. You're not… you're not an animal. I must admit, Dr. Woodrue, that when your assistant first contacted me about your metamorphosis, I was skeptical about your chances for mental preservation."
"AND WHY IS THAT?" Woodrue challenged her. "SCIENCE HAS GIVEN ME THIS FORM. YOU, AS A FELLOW SCIENTIST, SHOULD HAVE RESPECT AND CONFIDENCE FOR THE MUTAGENS. YOU SEE BEFORE YOU THE EFFORTS OF YEARS OF COUNTLESS TRIAL AND ERROR, PERFECTING A FORMULA CAPABLE OF IMMORTALITY IN ITS OWN RIGHT, DR. BLACKWOOD."
"And naturally, just like that, I'm already invested in working alongside you. But I must ask: is she around? The car, perhaps?"
"No," said Wesker. "Lasetta is still too dangerous to be around the general public, but we've prepared a meeting for you. Dr. Woodrue has had her moved into a containment facility on the outskirts of town. I am more than willing to drive you out to it while your employee manages… hotel arrangments?" He titled his head slightly. Anassa smiled.
"We have things arranged. I'd like to see the facility, Dr. Woodrue. Ever since I was informed by your assistant here about your transformation and your success with Lasetta, I've been adamant about joining your research team. I've brought the necessary payments, too. Manhattan."
Manhattan nodded, and walked around the car to open the trunk. As he went by, the Joker finally stood to his feet and began to walk towards the assembled group, leaving his girlfriend upon the ground in a trembling mess. Anassa turned to him at once.
"She's in pain," she pointed out to him at once, "and in need of medical services. Go back to her now. You serve no purpose here."
"I came," the Joker seethed, giggling, "to make sure my investments are being handled accordingly."
Anassa titled her head. "Accordingly?" Her smile was honey; her aura was venom. She took a step forward, eyes narrowed as she keep her grin up. "Handled in what way?"
"The right one, m'dear. The correct, no bullshit here or there right one. I need to know that my money is being given the VIP treatment. So, if you don't mind… show-me-the-goods."
Anassa stopped before the Joker and looked up into his mad, bright green eyes. Calmly, she exhaled a breath, and placed her index finger against his forehead, tip to skin.
"Mr… J?" she said sweetly.
"British bitch?" he returned happily.
She prodded. The Joker went flying backwards, crying out in pain as he crumpled upon the ground, the force of her poke inhuman. He flipped again and again, instinctively letting out a 'hee' and 'ha.' He rolled over next to his girlfriend, who threw her arms out in concern, throwing aside her own painful acknowledgment for his. Anassa studied them closely. Even though he shot her in the foot… she still goes for him. The girl deserves better, that's for sure.
"Mr. J!? Mr. J, are you alright!?" Quinn cried, hands shaking.
Manhattan was smirking when he returned. "He's going to be fine, the clown?" he asked his boss as he came to a stop before her, a briefcase in hand.
"Unfortunately, he'll live," Anassa replied casually as she took the case from him. Woodrue was grinning widely, Wesker simply nodding.
"YOU'RE VERY DIRECT. I ADMIRE YOU FOR IT, THOUGH THE CLOWN NEEDS SPECIAL CARE. WHATEVER THIS…STRENGTH OF YOURS IS… IT PERPLEXES ME, IN A FINE WAY, MISS BLACKWOOD. I MUST ASK YOU NOT TO KILL MY PARTNER, HOWEVER. THE CLOWN HAS HIS USES."
"As I said, he'll live." She held the case before Woodrue and Wesker, and opened it slowly. A ray of green light suddenly shot out of it, and they beheld vials within, ten of them, all glowing with a radioactive green fire. Each were marked LV-AB. "I present to you the Leviathan virus. These ten dosages have fierce potency, and I will be more than happy to demonstrate their capabilities… once I've seen Lasetta."
"These are the viruses you mentioned in the photographs?" Wesker challenged, placing his fingertips upon the ends of his left lens. Not a sound issued, but he was taking photographs at five per second, zooming in on the labels and noting each one individually. The photos were sent back to the facility as he took them, stored away on his private terminal.
"The very same. And I assure you, they'll work. I've even brought some volunteers."
"VOLUNTEERS?" Woodrue sounded intrigued. "I WOULD LIKE TO MEET THEM. LASETTA CAN BE…SHOWN OFF AS WELL."
"Very well. Mr. Wesker, if you'll accompany me, please. I'll have him show me the way," she added to Woodrue, "while we finalize the details. Have the specimen waiting for me, will you, Dr. Woodrue."
"We won't be long," Wesker assured him. "I'll ensure that our guest is sincere before she enters the facility."
"DON'T TAKE TOO LONG, W. I'LL NEED YOU CLOSE FOR THE PRESENTATION."
Woodrue gestured at the Joker, who was leaning against Anassa's car, sporting a horrid, bleeding head. He shot a dark, fierce glance at Anassa, who gave him a wink and a small wave, before the clown promptly grabbed Quinn up and started to drag her towards their limo.
"I'm investing a lot in your little scheme, Blackwood," he called back to Anassa as they reached the car. "I expect results…"
"You sound so serious," Anassa observed, smirking. "Not like you, is it?"
The Joker slammed the door behind him, after pushing Quinn in, and knocked loudly on the passenger door. When the window came down, he said loudly, "I'm off for a trot. I'll be there to see your little show and tell. But I need to go shoot an old woman. Any old woman will do…" he muttered, pulling out his gun as he began to walk away, alone, into the darkness of the exit. Anassa was satisfied. She had only been in Gotham City for two hours, and already she had put its greatest psychopath in his place. The limo gradually pulled away into the night, and soon, only Anassa and Wesker remained, with Manhattan waiting in the car for them both.
They turned to one another, silent for a moment, considering each other through their sunshades.
"It's nice to see you again…" she began.
"Too long…" he returned. He raised a simple hand, and gestured only once with a finger.
That was when they embraced. That was when they clashed, hand in hand, lip on lip, and cascaded onto the concrete, putting a slight crater into it as they landed. Passion needs no words, however. This was a moment of purest isolation, in purest form.
"It's been….too long…." Anassa gasped.
"It took you long enough to get here… My ace in the hole."
Manhattan disregarded their passion. He had expected it to occur, once Anassa Wesker…to others, Anassa Blackwood… had finally returned into the arms of Albert. It really had been too long, and Anassa had warned him that she may dissolve into her greater desires, once the man had stepped into her life again.
And that was fine with him. Whatever made her happy was good enough for him, even if that happiness included someone as unhealthy as Albert Wesker…