The glow of the computer monitors gave the room a greenish tint. Barbara's eyes flickered from one screen to the next, pausing only long enough to tap a few keys. Then it was onto the next screen.
Dinner had been a lukewarm affair—microwaved lasagna. Processed cheese on frozen meat and heated pasta with a splash of tomato sauce. Yum.
However, either the pasta was causing some indigestion, or there was something going on in Gotham. In these weary times, that could be just about anything honestly.
From her monitors, Barbara could see people running. That was because most of the cars had already fled the area, leaving only the laggers on foot. Still, you didn't see people running for just anything. A missed bus, maybe; fleeing a mugging, sure, that happened more regularly than desired.
But this was a crowd of people and they were doing whatever they could to get away from something. Some were on the sidewalk while others were on the street, dodging around parked and abandoned cars.
The first thing the redhead had thought was that Bane was up to something. Yet, there was a distinct lack of mercenaries and gunfire. In fact, there wasn't so much as a battlefield as much as it was a zombie-less zombie apocalypse. So she felt confident in ruling the brute out. Her next thought was the Demon's Fang, but that had been dismissed faster than Bane. As galling as it was to still have nothing to show for all her hours of investigation, she figured a group that managed to bury itself in secrecy would not just throw itself into the public domain.
Next was the thought of the remaining criminal element not associated with Bane, but again, the lack of gunfire ruled them out as well. So now she was searching every traffic camera, security camera, and satellite coverage to find what the hell was just going on.
That's when she found it. In the heart of downtown Gotham, there was this misshapen thing. Staring at the screen, Barbara watched as it lumbered over to a parked car and swung one of its bulky hands up into the air, then bashing its fist on top of the vehicle's truck. It repeated this action again before it changed tactics, grabbing the car on either side of its rear bumper. With incredible strength, it lifted the car up into the air before it twisted its body around and threw the car, sending it tumbling through the air. The car ended up crashing into the wall of a building, where the engine ended up exploding, creating a large fireball.
Well, at least she knew what everyone was running from.
No doubt the police would be rushing over to handle this, but considering the beating the GCPD had been taking lately, Barbara felt that perhaps they weren't the people needed for this job. This wasn't just another problem the city didn't need, but an opportunity.
"Nightwing, come in," Barbara spoke into her mic.
It took a few moments before her comrade answered her hail. "What is it, Oracle?"
"We've got a situation in downtown Gotham. There's this…" Well, what was it she was looking at? It wasn't exactly a man, but it had its shape somewhat. "...monster man trashing the place. He's big, very strong, and—" Oh great, now it looked like it was letting out a roar as it threw its arms out to its sides and looked upwards, its mouth gaping wide as it bellowed. "—it looks like he has a temper. I'm calling in the Network on this one."
"And what makes you think we're ready for a monster man?" the vigilante asked.
"Because that's the job; take it or leave it." Barbara couldn't help but frown at her mic. That didn't sound like Dick, but then he had been depressed lately. "I'm just letting you know first. I'm calling Huntress and the Birds next."
There was a pause before she got a reply. "Alright, you get a hold of them and I'll contact Tim and the Batclan. Where is it we're heading again?"
Now that was better. "Just head downtown. Meet at the Cale Anderson building. Trust me, you won't be able to miss this."
It was all starting to make sense. Science was a wondrous marvel, allowing possibilities that hadn't existed before. Fingerprints, ultraviolet light, light spectrum analysis, microscopic analysis, the list just went on and on.
It was no wonder that the police were so gung ho about forensics!
Twisting a knob to a microscope, Bat-Joker looked into the eyepiece, watching as the sights adjusted to give him a better view. It was incredible what he was seeing. He was staring into a whole other world, one of these little chambers stacked on top of each other. It was like they were...were...cells or something. In this case, they weren't active, having died out a long time ago. They looked like hollowed out husks.
There were even colors too. Most of the sample was green, but towards one end it became darker brown, a few shades lighter than black.
Sliding the slide out of the microscope, Bat-Joker held the slide up to the lights in the ceiling. "I need to redo my hair," he commented as he stared at the offending hair. Then with a shrug, he tossed the slide over his shoulder, ignoring it once it hit the floor, the sound of glass breaking reaching his ears.
Alright, the test run was finished; now it was time to get down to business and put GothCorp's lab to use. Reaching to his belt, he fiddled with one of the pouches, opening it, and stuck his hand inside. He then pulled a Ziploc sandwich bag and stared at the single, solitary clue within.
A bologna sandwich.
No, wait, wait. That wasn't the clue, that was his lunch.
Pausing for a moment, Bat-Joker leaned towards the sandwich and opened the bag, his nose wrinkling from the stench. It looked like even processed bologna could expire. It had only been two months after all.
For a moment, he thought of tossing the sandwich away before he paused. Perhaps that was being too rash. If the smell was an indication—and Lord Almighty it was—he could use this. One never knew when they needed an impromptu stink bomb. Sealing the bag, he shoved it back into the open pouch, resuming his search before he pulled out another Ziploc bag.
Aha! Here was the clue—for real this time. To a layman, it didn't look like much, but to a sophisticated mind like his, it spoke volumes. What lay in the bag was so small, so insignificant that it would normally be dismissed without a second thought. Well, Bat-Joker had a second thought, and then a third, and then a fourth.
Grime; his clue was grime collected from the pants of one of the black-dressed gunmen that seemed to hang around this Bane fellow he had been hearing about. Again, no one would've paid it much mind, but to the World's Second Greatest Detective, it screamed CLUE around his third thought.
And what a sample he had collected. Opening the bag, he immediately got to work. Turning the bag inside out so that he could get at the sticky, drying grime, he then took a metal pick and got to work. First, he took a small sample and placed it on a petri dish; the next sample found its way on to a microscope slide. After placing the slide in the microscope, Bat-Joker went about gathering a bunch of chemicals and began mixing, creating a solution of blue fluid in a thin vial, one that he then took a small piece of the sample on the petri dish, and dropped into the vial.
That done, he then found a machine to analyze his little creation, shoving the vial into the machine and starting the analysis. Now, while that was doing its business, he'd kill some time with the microscope.
Peering through the scope, Bat-Joker was pleasantly pleased that he had the sights already adjusted—thank you hair follicle! Shifting the stage to a side, he got a better look at the grime and studied it...and studied…studied...stuuuuuudied...
He really wasn't finding anything special about it. Well, this was a bust. Who knew a sticky brownish-black substance would be so undefined? Maybe that was why he was only the Second Greatest rather than the Greatest.
Looking away from the microscope, Bat-Joker checked the timer on his computer analysis thing and found...only sixty seconds had passed. What the hell?! It needed longer than a minute to run?! What a gyp!
As it turned out, it needed 900 seconds—that's fifteen minutes for those counting at home. Bat-Joker had spent that time looking at the—what he was affectionately calling—sludge in the microscope about nine more times, scratched his head at the remains of his clue on the plastic bag, took a small piece and set it on fire for shits and giggles, and then cleaned out his belly button. It was tedious work—especially that last one—but it needed to be done—especially that last one.
Thankfully, the computer rang a little alarm, proclaiming it was finished. Hurrying over to the computer, pulling his Bat-shirt down over his belly, Bat-Joker looked at the screen, greedily reading the results.
What the heck did polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbon mean?
Bat-Joker looked from the computer screen to what was left of his clue sample. He kept looking from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth until he threw his arms up into the air. How the heck was this science stuff to supposed to help him if he didn't know what any of it was? Sheesh! Back when he was just plain Jane Joker, the names of the chemicals didn't really need to mean much so much as he knew what it did. He just knew, like it was a sixth sense or something.
Glaring at the sample, Bat-Joker stormed over to it, placing his hands on either side of it on the table. He leaned his face to it, demanding the answers it hid. It would tell him too; he had seen Batsy do it so many times that it was practically a promise.
And then he smelled something. That scent...he knew that scent! He had smelled it a bunch! Snatching up the sample, he stood up to his fully height as he held the grime close to his face. Sticking out his tongue, he pressed the tip of it to the sample.
Oh, yes, he knew exactly what this was. It was tar and one that was famously stored in Gotham's Industrial Area. While there were several versions of tar, they all usually smelled and tasted about the same.
Still, he knew where to find this stuff. Those loony gunmen had obviously been in contact with the stuff, so ipso facto they had been where the tar was. Oh yes, he would find this little hideout of theirs and show them what for!
Suddenly, the door to the room swung open and someone entered the lab. "What the heck are these lights doing…" a voice trailed off.
Whipping his head around, Bat-Joker saw a lab rat—you know, one of those nerdy-looking geeks in the white lab coats. This one happened to be a guy with long, shoulder-length hair. It was obviously someone going for the Fabio look and it kinda worked for him. He stood in the doorway, frozen in place with a look of fear on his face.
Immediately, Bat-Joker threw his hands up in front of him, the universal sign of...well...he wasn't sure what it was a universal sign for. Hopefully it would relax the guy. "Do not worry, lab geek guy. I mean you no harm."
However, lab geek guy didn't seem too relieved, so Bat-Joker felt that perhaps he had made the wrong gesture. So he moved his arms out to his sides, hoping to get the reaction he wanted. This had the result of him knocking a few beakers on the table next to him over, spilling chemicals all over the tabletop.
"Oh, whoops! Didn't mean to make that mess," he apologized. "You don't mind cleaning that—"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" the lab geek screamed before he went running doing the hallway. Now that was just rude.
Annoyed, Bat-Joker threw his arms out to his sides in irritation, again knocking something over. Jerking his head to a side, he saw it was a Bunsen burner, one that had an open flame. It landed on its side and the flame touched the fluid on the table. Immediately, it burst into flames, the fire racing along the trail of the chemicals.
Well, that couldn't be good.
The night was calm outside the GothCorp building. In fact, one could say it was quiet in spite of the city's current situation.
And then the side of the building exploded, a giant fireball blasting out into the air. Debris went flying in all directions as the fire died out into a pillar of black smoke.
The sight of a car flipping front over back was indeed something he wasn't able to miss. And that was a total of five flips. Huh, had no idea that was possible.
As the car landed on top of another—giving a wince here because insurance companies were going to deny that had ever happened—Nightwing turned his attention to the cause of the flipping car. It was a large, overly-muscled man in torn up shorts, and any details were obscured by that enormous back. At least he wasn't green like that one comic book character.
Still, the hulk was causing quite a mess, and a long trail of one at that. It seemed content to just keep doing that.
Now, he would've liked to have gone down there and somehow put a stop to it, but he was playing it smart this time. He had taken post and was observing this guy, trying to figure out all he was capable of. So far, a lot of strength, a lot of rage based on the roars and yells he made, and in general, it all seemed random. Whatever was closest to the guy, he grabbed and crushed or threw.
That made him predictable and unpredictable at the same time.
For his safety, Nightwing was hiding on top of a rooftop, though it wasn't as safe as you thought. There was a light pole that had been torn off the street and thrown up into the air. Guess where it landed. About ten feet away the vigilante.
A familiar whistle took him away from his observation and to the figure of Red Robin. "That's quite a case of road rage," the masked teen remarked.
"And it's our problem now," he replied as he looked over his former partner's shoulder. There was the rest of the Batclan, Spoiler giving a groan as she watched the mayhem below.
"We have to fight that guy? This is gonna suck…" she complained.
"We're not in this because it's easy," Nightwing stated as he turned his gaze back to the muscle man below.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." And there was Huntress. "This what Oracle was talking about?"
"Yep," he confirmed. "Been keeping an eye on him; gonna wait for the others before I go any further.
That might have been approval in her eyes. That or dust.
Naturally, when one starts showing up, the rest come in quick order and this was no exception. The rest of the Birds plus one Green Arrow arrived soon after and only then did the de facto leader of the Batclan give a rundown on the situation.
"So super strong, super angry, and I'm betting he can take a hit," Green Arrow summed up. "I don't think I brought enough arrows for this."
"So we're going to wear him down, or something?" Red Robin asked, putting up a plan they could debate on.
Now, he would have expected someone to scoff at that plan, say, "Wear him down? No, we're going to kick his ass until he stays down." That's not what he got, though.
"We need something that can really lay the hurt on him, and it needs to be a good hit," Huntress stated. "Canary's cry could probably do some damage, definitely to the ear drums."
"If I get a good angle, I could blast him," Manhunter offered, gripping her staff.
"Don't forget about my taser," Bluebird reminded.
That reminded Nightwing of his escrima, but he doubted they had the kind of voltage needed here. Still, they were thinking this out, a sign they had learned from Bane. And what do you know, they were going to fight a guy who was just as big.
His ribs were protesting already. Yeah, definitely shouldn't have gone to the gym today.
"Let's try and slow him down. Let Katana cut him up a bit. Blood loss should do that. Between me, Huntress, and most everyone else here, aim for his head, try to concuss him. Long distance is preferable, but do anything you can to do some damage. Let's do our best not to kill him and do it quickly."
He waited for any objections but got none. Seemed like everyone thought this was the best course of action for them. Alright, show time.
"Red Robin, go get his attention, Arrow, if you have something that can tie him up, do it. Everyone else get ready to put the hurt on him."
And Red Robin was off, his cape unfurled and gliding over the street. Green Arrow was notching an arrow and taking aim. Everyone else lowering themselves down to the street via grapple lines at varying speeds, getting into any positions they could. Nightwing himself was only halfway down the building when Red Robin flung out one of his unpatented birdarangs, the small detonation stopping the rampaging hulk and directing his attention away from what he was doing.
Nightwing's feet weren't even on the pavement yet when an arrow streaked overhead, releasing what seemed like a mess of ribbons at the last minute to wrap around the man and restrain him. They didn't look sturdy but man they were holding on.
Then the rest of the Network came out. Huntress led the charge, landing the first blow with her bo staff on the side of the man's head, backing off immediately when the Monster Man roared in pain. Red Hood darted in for what turned out to be a single blow to the stomach. Black Canary went for a kick to the side then while Spoiler on the other side with a shoulder tackle, and even Manhunter got in on the action, swinging the butt end of her staff into the tempting target of the man's spine. Katana and Bluebird were holding back, waiting for the best opportunity to strike, and Nightwing himself was just pulling out his escrima.
And the mountain of a man was still standing as if nothing had hit him. He had gone quiet suddenly when each vigilante struck him. Then, with an impressive amount of strength, he ripped off Arrow's ribbons, arms tearing through the restraints. That was when Nightwing got a good look at that huge body. Muscles were practically bulging, skin straining against them. The man's head swung around, and it looked like someone had gone backwards on the evolutionary scale.
The monster man snarled then, throwing a fist out that was thankfully dodged by everyone in close proximity. The vigilantes backed off simultaneously, like the tide pulling away from shore. The fist, however, kept going until it embedded itself in a nearby car. And yet, the man didn't pull his fist out; instead he picked up the damn car itself and used it as a metal boxing glove to attack them.
Oh shit.
Luckily, everyone got out of the way, but that car crumpled like an empty beer can when it was slammed down on the street. The massive fist ripped out of the vehicle's remains, and the man roared once more before charging like a freaking tank. It was Red Hood this beast was targeting, and you didn't need to see or hear the hoodlum to know he was swearing his ass off while backpedaling for dear life.
Showing some intelligence, the monster changed his trajectory while he was charging. Fortunately, Red Hood was able to get out of the way, but the pair of cars he slipped between weren't so lucky. One was sent spinning around in circles across the street while another was smashed into the storefront of a building. Then to add further injury to the car, a fist smacked and severely dented the car roof.
That's went Red Robin swooped in, planting both of his feet to the back of the hulk's head and smashing it into the dented car roof. A large hand stretched out to try and snag the flying teen's feet and barely missed him. Then Katana darted in, swinging and slicing her sword into that misshapen back. Long, red cuts appeared in the man's skin instantly.
The Asian woman suddenly ducked as an elbow swung back at her, backpedalling as a large fist came down and struck the pavement, then shot back in and placed a long cut on the swollen arm. Her struck delivered, she back flipped away as the brute's other arm tried to hit her. The dark-haired woman actually managed to plant one of her feet on the enraged man's face and kicked off of it as she flipped higher into the air, though such a blow seemed to have little effect.
Manhunter then slid in front of the man, her staff held like an assault rifle at her hip. A violent blast of energy shot out of the end pointed at the behemoth of a man and blasted him point black, the resulting explosion sending the creature flying backwards into the brick wall of the building behind him. Ooh, that had to hurt. That had been a solid hit too, right in the chest. This was starting to look like it was wrapping up nicely.
Nightwing's eyes suddenly widened as the brute hurled himself forward, not looking the worse for the hit he took. A large fist was swung out and Manhunter, due to being shocked at this development, held her staff in front of her to take the blow. She might as well have tried to stop a semi because the force of the blow pushed her back, practically sailing across the street, and into the side of a parked car. The staff-wielding vigilante cried out as the car seemed to crumple behind her. Internally, the male vigilante swore, his brow furrowing as he stared at his comrade. And was it him, or did that staff look bent from where he stood?
Someone swore and Huntress charged towards their gigantic foe, attempted to divert the muscled man from going after Manhunter. Clenching his teeth tightly together, Nightwing pushed aside the dull aching in his sides to go and do his part, escrimas lit up and ready for battle.
Faintly, he overheard the sounds of chopping—a helicopter, he recognized. It was overhead and a spotlight was falling over the area, lighting it up better than the street lights. The absence of a voice demanding that people surrender told him that it wasn't the police. Well, whoever it was was about to get a show.
Carefully pushing in the needle, Strange busied himself with his other pet project. Normally when he engaged in the act of weaving and sewing, it was meditative. Not tonight though. You could say only half of his attention was on the activity.
The other half of it was, uncharacteristically, on the television, tuning in to the late night news. In this case it was breaking news. How appropriately that it was all about breaking.
There, right there in the streets of Gotham, was not-so-Little Mario and he was doing so wonderful. The carnage, the chaos, the mayhem, it was beautiful. The savagery prevented it from being a true masterpiece, such as the Bat Infestation, or his manufactured mob war, but this was only a start. The coup de gras had yet to be delivered.
He barely batted an eye at the appearance of several lithe figures attacking Mario, trying their best to bring him down. They would try, but it was painfully obvious that none of them were Batman. They were rank amateurs, in over their heads. The only thing they would do would be to test his creation out, and at least from that aspect he would gain a better grasp of his serum.
The only thing that really irked him was when the reporter described Mario as a "Monster Man." Monster Man. Really. A crude name for one of his creations. Well, his serum would need a name, would it not? A better name for his Monster Man Serum would be sought out later.
In the meantime, he would continue to watch as the fruit of his superior mind played on live television.
"Okay… I'm starting to run out of ideas." Red Hood was huffing and puffing beside him, his hands holding each other gingerly. Turns out hitting this huge, monster guy was like trying to hit a brick wall. It caused more damage to your fist than the wall, though.
Nightwing nodded his head in agreement, panting. His sides were killing him, and he was pushing past his endurance level right now. And that was after hitting the brute with his electrified escrima sticks who knows how many times. Hit after hit had landed and it seemed like it had absolutely no effect.
Spoiler was keeping her distance, proving as useful as Red Hood right now. Huntress had also fallen back, but that was because her bo staff was broken in half; that wasn't because the hulk had broken it in half, but because Huntress had hit him way too many times that the staff couldn't take it anymore. Green Arrow was running low on arrows and was reduced to shooting last remaining trick arrows. Case in point, the one notched on his bow had a boxing glove at the end of it.
Firing it, it ended up bouncing off the muscle man's head and just made him angrier, as if that was even possible.
The best luck they had was when Bluebird got a shot of her taser rifle off and it seemed for a few seconds they had him. Then the hulk's second wind kicked in and well, the rifle was no long in operating order. That girl really needed to invest in a strap of some sort.
Right now, their best hopes rested with Black Canary and Katana. To save Bluebird from a rampaging monster man, the former had unleashed her Canary Cry, almost made everyone deaf, but had managed to do the one thing that no one else had done so far and stop the bastard in his tracks. Then he had picked himself up and gone after her.
As for Katana, she was getting in some good hits, causing some more bodily harm, but the blood loss wasn't affecting the monster fast enough. How much blood did a body like that have? It was really, really frustrating right now. If only he had been in better shape…
"Oracle? We're having issues. Any ideas?" he spoke into his earpiece, desperately hoping for some kind of deus ex machina. Something. Anything.
"Cops are en route. They'll be here any minute."
Well thanks for that update. Really. A bunch of guys with guns were going to come in and waste this asshole. They couldn't afford this, not when the Network had only just been put together. This was make or break time, and it really looked like they were breaking.
But not on his watch.
Looking up and down the street, he found himself disappointed that there weren't any large vehicles, like a truck or a tractor trailer. So the way they fought Audrey wasn't happening any time soon.
Okay, what else could they do?
As he was trying to figure that out, Katana went in for another close up with this freaking titan. By now, the big guy had grown weary of that samurai sword and backed up immediately, watching the swordswoman warily. Though her first slash missed, Katana pressed her advantage, eyeing him like a hawk and creeping forward, searching for a break in the brute's defense.
When such a breach didn't happen, she changed it up and thrust forward with her sword, the muscle man continuing to back away and circle around her. Turning the blade on its side, Katana turned her thrust into another slash, which also failed to hit. The big man growled, but continued to remain on the defensive.
That...didn't seem right to him. But it couldn't be that this guy was smart, right? So far, all he had done was everything that didn't require a lot of thinking or planning.
Then the monster of a man lunged forward, totally expected and Katana was ready for it—to a point. Turns out that the man was aiming not for the Asian vigilante herself, but her incredible speed, it shot a hand out and grabbed hold of the blade itself. Jerking his arm to a side, he threw off the masked woman's balance, causing her to stumble. He then raised a foot up and lashed out with it, the meaty foot ramming into her torso, and sailing through the air she went, bouncing off the asphalt when she landed, but managing to flip back onto her feet.
However there was one problem. The monster of a hulk was still holding Katana's sword.
Giving a roar, the bastard held the sword up, ignoring the rivulet of blood that leaked from his hand and grabbed one end with his free hand. It didn't take a genius to know what he planned to do with it. Even Katana had caught on and was already screaming something that didn't sound like English.
Realizing that now was the time for action and not thinking about what to do next, Nightwing adjusted his grip on one of his escrima sticks and threw it like a missile as hard as he could, ignoring his ribs. With clenched teeth, he watched as the baton-esque weapon drew closer and closer until it struck that beast of a man on the forehead. While it seemed to have no effect on him, the escrima bouncing off like a rock off a wall, it did get him to stop bending Katana's sword.
Then a birdarang struck one of the brute's hands and detonated. The monster man gave a cry of surprise, which then turned into a—unbelievable as it may seem—yell of pain when Red Robin swooped in and nailed the side of the hulk's knee with both of his feet. Toppling over, the bastard fell down to the street, releasing his hold on the samurai sword and letting it clatter to the street where Katana was quick to snatch it up. Enormous hands grasped at the injured knee, the twisted man reddening in a combination of pain and fury.
Red Robin was already pulling back, literally flapping his arms, but thanks to his cape acting as a pair of wings, was able to gain some altitude. Over his earpiece, he heard the flying teen say, "Did you see that? Let's try targeting the joints! The normal weak spots!"
"Normal weak spots?" Red Hood repeated, giving the older vigilante a look.
"Knees, throat, groin," Nightwing found himself rattling off. He had been about to say stomach, but remembered Red Hood had tried that area before to little effect.
"So playing dirty? I can get behind that." And now Red Hood was trying to be cool and cracked his knuckles, though the flinch in his shoulders revealed how much of a bad idea that was.
The monster man was pushing himself up onto his feet, being real careful with the leg Red Robin had hit. Huntress didn't seem to care about honor and integrity—because who did right now?—and had raced right up to the man, slamming one of the broken pieces of her bo staff into his throat. The hulk made an odd gagging sound, the first of its kind so far, and Huntress pressed her advantage, spinning and swinging the other piece of her ruined bo staff to strike the base of the skull, where the head and neck merged.
Then, as if synchronized, Huntress pulled back while Black Canary took over, using a peep of her Canary Cry on the giant asshole's head to send him bending backwards and falling over when his injured knee couldn't take it anymore. Balancing on one leg, she held the other one up high and brought it down viciously on a very exposed groin, and even Nightwing had to wince in sympathy because the blonde-haired vigilante twisted her heel before leaping off.
Then Green Arrow came in, shooting two arrows that entered the fleshing undersides of the armpits. A third arrow was notched and fired, hitting and sticking into the chest. The brute's thick layer of muscle prevented the pointed tip from going in deep, but it seemed like that was Arrow's intention. The monster man began crying out and spasming, managing to yank a large arm up to pull out the arrow were spurts of electricity leaked out of the arrow tip.
So far the assault looked to be working. The guy was very, very slow to push himself up. But he needed something, one more hit in the right spot, to push him over the edge and take him out. For his sake, it better be soon because Nightwing could hear the sounds of police sirens.
Glancing at the one escrima he still held, and recalling the effectiveness of Star City's resident vigilante, he had an idea.
"Think you can get his mouth open?" he asked of his fellow Batclan partner.
"Why?" Red Hood asked, suspicious.
"Trust me. Got an idea."
A pause, a second's worth of hesitation. "This better not kill me."
"Be more worried for him," he assured the younger male as he braced himself for rapid movement. His ribs were going to need to take one for the team.
If Red Hood was saying anything, he was muttering it low enough not to be picked up by any mics. Regardless, like the hot-headed male he was, he charged in, swinging a punch to the side of the monster man's head. Not that that had any effect other than to direct bloodshot eyes that were filled with rage on the hoodlum-turned-vigilante.
Opening his mouth to snarl, the large, muscled man attempted to grab at Hood, which the masked punk jabbed his knob of an elbow down into the side of the hulk's beefy one. The large arm seemed to spasm, turning a snarl of anger into a shout of pain. As all this was happening, Nightwing had circled around and literally ran up the broad back.
With both hands holding the handle of the escrima, he held it above his head before swinging it down and into the mouth. He wasn't sure if the escrima chipped any of the monster man's crooked teeth, but he was successful in inserting his weapon into the orifice. And yes, the voltage of the escrima was at full power.
The monster man began jerking rapidly, practically spasming. His back arched, head thrown back, which allowed Nightwing to push the escrima deeper. A bluish light flickered in the mouth, and smoke beginning to envelop around the deformed, swollen head.
Finally, Nightwing took mercy and pulled out, leaping back and taking up a defensive stance while the big guy stood there like a statue. Then, finally, finally, the lug collapsed onto the street with a loud crash and laid there, a stream of drool leaking from his mouth.
There was an instance where everyone stood there, waiting, watching, seeing if he would get up one more time. All the while, the police sirens grew louder and louder.
"Brutal," Green Arrow commented. "I think that did it."
Nightwing released a sigh of relief. "Let's...let's get out of here. Before the fuzz shows up."
This was as unexpected as it was perplexing.
With muscled arms cross over his chest, Bane gazed out on the city as he contemplated recent events. Specifically, he was mulling over the news of a unit of his men being slaughtered. There was only one survivor.
This was not anticipated. From all his studies on the city, he had been sure that the men he had handpicked himself were more than capable of handling its challenges. Especially when the powers that be and the Batman himself engaged in a policy where they refused to take life.
So what had changed?
"The survivor. He is credible?" That point needed to be clear.
"He is," Zombie confirmed.
"And he yet draws breath?"
"I'm afraid he has already expired. If I didn't know any better, I would be led to believe that the wounds he had suffered were deliberately inflicted in such a way to allow him to live long enough to report the massacre." The masked man could hear the slight frustration and admiration in his underling's voice. That was in and of itself a sign of the skill of this newest development.
If the survivor was to be believed, it was an orchestrated attack directed at him. His men were the targets and all were dispatched efficiently. Even if it sounded preposterous, what with the attackers being described as ninja, it could not be ignored.
He was being challenged.
"We will find these interlopers and deal with them. No one must be allowed to remain and challenge me," Bane declared. "See what you can find out about anyone who matches the descriptions of these new players."
"At once," Zombie complied.
In this moment, Bane couldn't help but recall the words that Trogg had said to him about eliminating all threats. All must be crushed. In comparison to the phantom that the older, yet loyal man now chased, this new one held greater urgency.
It would be dealt with.
At that time, Bird made his entrance, his voice possessing a giddiness to it. "You will not believe what just happened." The masked man's silence served as a prompt for the native Gothamite to continue. "I just heard that Tough Tony wants to talk with you. He wants to see about joining forces."
"This Tough Tony presumes a lot," Zombie said dryly. You did not need to look at him to know the thin, bald man was raising an eyebrow up in skepticism. "Who is he?"
"Only the man who can give us control of the unions," Bird said nonchalantly. "He was up in North Gotham when we hit it. Saw what we could do and got spooked. Obviously, he wants to cut a deal, save his own skin, and maybe hold on to something."
"That's quite the claim," Zombie remarked.
"Tough Tony was big before I got pinched and sent to that hellhole," the blond American explained. "Unlike some people, he knew how to keep himself out of trouble, yet keep business rolling."
"It's awfully convenient that he chooses now to initiate negotiations," Zombie said dryly.
It was, wasn't it? If what Bird said was true, though, it was a very tempting opportunity. One that only a fool would pass up. Or would he?
"You know how to get in touch with this Tough Tony?" he inquired. When he received the affirmative, "Set up the meet. I will inform him of what a partnership entails. Either he will accept or I will kill him, then seize his unions, one by one if I have to."