The door rattled, rumbling as it was raised up and allowed light into the darkened room. With flashlight attachments mounted on their guns, the police officers entered the cramped space searching for any signs of life or potential traps. Finding neither, they holstered their weapons and took in the sight in the stockpile of boxes stacked on top of one another.
With Sarah at his side, Commissioner Gordon took his place in the opening of the storage room and felt tempted to whistle. Their anonymous tipster had come through all right. This definitely looked like a cache of weapons.
The boxes were more like containers, the kind that typically held guns and incendiary devices for mass transport. There were even letters and numbers inked on the sides of them—serial numbers, obviously. Someone hadn't removed them and it would only be a matter of time until they were traced back to their place of origin.
Everything up to this point had been done by the book. They had their undercover agents keep an eye on this place and had seen an unusual amount of traffic in and out of this place. The traffic consisted of dark-skinned individuals who matched the profiles of the type of men known to work for Bane. Some would argue that was racial profiling, but then they would have to point a finger at Bane for only employing people of that skin tone.
Meanwhile, a warrant was written up and signed off on in quick order. Instead of rushing up to the storage facility, however, Gordon had had everyone come in subtly, using unmarked cars and keeping their guns holstered until they were deep inside. If any of Bane's men were here, or about to arrive, he didn't want them spooked. Could they have waited for some of them to show up, then go in? Sure, but time was of the essence and there was no telling when any would show up.
It was better to weaken Bane as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. Retaliation was coming, no question, and Gordon would rather have the bastard unable to hit them at his full power. Taking away some of his toys should do that.
"We're going to need some bigger trucks," his wife remarked.
Yes, yes they wound. This place was crammed from all of the boxes, which allowed very little room to move about. Of course, this raised the question that if there was one place like this in the city, how many others were there?
"We may need a bigger impound lot," he quipped back. "First thing is first, we need to figure out where this stuff came from. If Bane has a supply line for it, and we trace it to the source, we can cut it off."
"Shall we get forensics in here so we can start getting a case built?" Sarah asked. After getting an affirmative from him, she added, "Betting that there are serial numbers on them?"
"These weapons have to come from somewhere. They didn't show up in some stocking as a Christmas present." Not once did he take his eyes off the cache. "The faster we can disarm him, the longer it will take for him to hit us again. That's time we can use to put ourselves on the offensive and Bane on the defensive."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you think we're at war," Sarah remarked.
Taking his eyes off the weapon crates, Gordon turned to his wife. "Aren't we?"
"Um, Sir? I think we may have a problem." It was one of the officers who had ventured into the storage unit and was currently studying the side of one of the crates.
"What is it?" the Commissioner demanded, taking a step closer to the speaking officer.
"These numbers here, the writing, I've seen this before. It was back when I was doing tours in Afghanistan," the officer answered. "When we weren't bringing fresh troops in, we were bringing in replacements for our equipment—guns, tanks, jeeps, spare parts."
"Where are you going with this?" Gordon pressed, not liking where this was going.
"You see the codes on the side? These are the ones the Army uses for inventory," the officer told him, gesturing the series of numbers and letter on the side of the crate. "The sequence is different, but the style is all us."
"Let me get this straight: are you saying that all this," the Commissioner gestured to the crates around them, "came from us? From the U.S.?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," the officer confirmed.
That...that was a bombshell. Hopefully not literally as they were surrounded not only by guns, but weapons designed to go boom. If those serial numbers did belong to the American military, how did someone like Bane get his hands on them?
And there was another thought.
"When we first started apprehending these men, Bane's army, what kind of weapons were found with them?" he asked.
"I'll get on that," Sarah said, her tone of voice reflecting the seriousness of the situation.
Something stunk here. You didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to figure it out. Now, this may all be coincidence, but they were going to need to look into this anyway. Things weren't making sense anymore. This latest discovery was going to keep them off-balance until they could resolve it.
That was the last thing they needed because the clock was ticking. Any hesitation now could prove disastrous.
They couldn't afford anymore setbacks.
The high-backed chair had been erected to his specifications. Ra's rested his back against it, arms propped up on the armrests.
The upper level within the main room atop Wonder Tower was furnished for his comfort. The walls were glass, allowing him to see out into the rest of the chamber with its constant activity. Off to the right side of his chair stood Ubu, looking impassively towards the entrance to this observatory deck. Off to the left and forward was Talia, a hand ever present on the shoulder of her young charge.
Word had reached them that the spy outside of the desecrated basement had been captured. A fight had occurred as expected. This spy had been well-trained, having gone so far as to fell two of his men. They had then surrendered upon the arrival of more of his assassins. It had been a simple affair.
Perhaps too simple.
Through the entrance, the spy was ushered through, two guards behind him, their swords drawn and ready to strike. The spy seemed unafraid, unconcerned by their presence and the ten hidden men ever watching. This man's hands were bounced behind their back, though this didn't seem to concern the captive.
Ra's took in the sight of their dark clothing and the owl mask they wore. If he recalled correctly, this was a Talon, the ultimate weapon of the Court of Owls. Their effectiveness was on par with his own men, ever watchful, always hidden in the shadows until they struck. One could say they were familiar to him.
Too familiar.
Undoubtedly, this Talon was confident in their skills. The numerous weapon holsters on their chest indicated as much—the weapons themselves being removed before his arrival here. The assassin must have felt he could escape his bonds before either of the guards could strike him down; that was the only reason he would have allowed himself to be displayed as such.
The guards slowed to a stop as the Talon stood before the Demon's Head. There was a moment of silence before Ubu audibly growled. "Bow before the Eternal Man, Infidel."
The Talon played along as he inclined his head in a manner of respect. "Eternal Man, it is an honor to meet you," he offered as a greeting.
"You have heard of me?" Ra's asked, his eyes never once moving away from the assassin.
"There have been whispers of a man of your statue in the dark recesses of the world. I and my comrades have heard of these rumors during our travels."
Ra's al Ghul was not pleased. He had spent quite some time in making sure any and all word of his person was nonexistent. One did not lead an organization such as the Demon's Fang by leading it out of the shadows, even if it were only a toe. "What business have you?" he demanded darkly, his eyes narrowing at the man before him. "You have been following my caravan."
"A simple matter, Ancient One," this Talan assured him. "It has come to the attention of my own masters of your presence in Gotham. They wish to convene with you to discuss your ambitions towards their territory. I have been authorized by the Court of Owls to lead you to a place of their choosing for parley."
Ra's raised an eyebrow. Parley was it? He was not so naive. That they viewed this city as their own possession spoke to what they believed of his presence here. A place of their choosing only meant they were intending on an ambush and he was not one to give another man such power over him.
"Then your masters must see me as a fool," he replied after a moment. "Surely they cannot expect me to walk into such an arrangement. At the very least they could offer a neutral setting."
The Talon stared at him before nodding, acknowledging his words. "Then you are who they believe you are to be. They are willing to meet at a neutral site."
This was a test? How droll. "Tell me," he spoke then, "why does someone of your skills serve these Owls?"
"That is how it has always been and how it shall always be," the Talon responded immediately.
Ah, loyalty, unabashed and unwavering. He could respect such devotion. "Even while the Court itself is at such a low point?" he pressed.
"The Court of Owls is never weak," he defended. "We are always there, watching, waiting. We wait at the hearth; we watch over your bed. The Court of Owls is eternal, forever strong, forever powerful. We stepped out into the light once and now we return to the shadow, our rightful place in this city of nights. All those who interpret that as weakness will learn the folly of that assumption in due time."
The corner of Ra's mouth twitched up. "Well said, Talon. Such spirit is rare in this age. Very well; return to your masters. I will join this parley at a neutral site. There is a house at the outskirts of the city that will serve our purposes. It is called Harbor House; I believe your masters will know of this place."
The Talon stared at him in silence for a long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Ra's took note of the look Talia's charge was giving him, one of disbelief. Talia squeezed her hand tightly on the boy's shoulder, causing him to direct a scowl up to her. After several moments, the Talon gave a stiff nod of his acceptance. "I will inform the Court of your request. I believe their reply will be favorable."
Ra's inclined his head and the two guards then led the Talon from the observation deck. He would be released to return to his masters. Absently, the Demon's Head raised a hand, his fingers stroking the strands of his beard.
"Why would you suggest that place?" the boy suddenly demanded, drawing the attention of the room to him. It seemed Talia could not hold back his outburst any longer. "Don't you know what that Harbor House is? It's—"
"I know very well what Harbor House is," Ra's interrupted. "As do this Court of Owls. It is all the more likely they will show themselves here than anywhere else, especially after all the damage the Detective has done to them over the years."
"But that's—"
"Enough," Talia interjected, her very tone reprimanding the boy and causing him to shut his mouth. "The matter is settled."
Indeed it was. Ra's was intrigued by this offer of parley. The Court of Owls wished to speak with him and it was only professional courtesy that he acknowledged them. He would listen to their leaders and that would be that. However, if they believed they could bully him, dominate him, then they were sorely mistaken.
Though owls were natural predators, not even they could dispatch a demon.
If there was one awesome thing about the Bat-bunker, it had a locker room.
Stephanie wasn't sure if this was an intentional design by its Bat-owner, but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. In fact, the others weren't either. The little room the blonde was in was lined with lockers, each one assigned to each vigilante. A thin bench was in the middle of the room, where the teen sat, pulling on one of her dark blue boots.
For a moment she paused, her leg raised up in front of her as her arms stretched out so that her hands could grab onto the boot's mouth. How had she gotten here? When she had started out, it wasn't to save the city—not like this. She had wanted to rid the streets of wannabe vigilantes; now she was in the middle of a war with Hispanic mercenaries.
Needless to say, a SPOILER ALERT wasn't going to stop these guys.
No, here she was, with rudimentary training in self-defense—she honestly couldn't call it anything other than that since she wasn't really an aggressive girl—and a belt of weapons. This was a long way from using her mom's spandex for an awesome outfit.
How the hell did she get here?
Her original purpose was long lost with these other, serious people. Stephanie found her normally social personality shrinking in on itself when she was with the likes of Huntress and Black Canary. They were the ultimate versions of Girl Power and they were using it to help people. That was far and away from the slogan the girls at her school used it for. A part of her even longed to only have to worry about their shallowness.
But no, now she was part of this group somehow. She was in higher standing than Jason, but he was the new guy, the bottom of the totem pole. Yet, she was clearly below those women that formed the Birds of Prey and even the guys like Nightwing and Red Robin—who was kinda cute, she was willing to admit.
I wonder what he looks like under that mask…
Stephanie daydreamed for a moment, fantasizing what had to be a handsome face behind that domino mask. He had to be good-looking, she was sure of it. Only good-looking people needed the use of a mask and all, to make sure that they weren't recognized and stuff.
The blonde girl sighed then, lowering her leg to the floor. Knowing her luck, Red Robin had a girlfriend already. What kind of girl was he interested in anyways? It had to be someone that knew how to kick butt for sure. She also had to be, like, drop dead gorgeous, that was a must. And she had to have a good sense of humor and morals and be a good guy.
A thought occurred to her then. She was pretty, wasn't she? She knew boys thought she looked hot, so she had that going for her. Now, while she wasn't an expert in butt-kicking, she was learning. She had a terrific sense of humor and her morals were pretty spot on and she was with the good guys.
Huh, maybe she was Red Robin's type.
Awesome.
Now then, when was he going to ask her out?
A scene began to play in front of Stephanie's eyes, one where the door to the locker room opened and Red Robin entered. He then began talking to her and she impressed him with her charm and then they were kissing and—
Suddenly, the door to the locker room was flung open, startling the girl out of her...ahem...thoughts. However, instead of it being Red Robin, there stood Harper, dressed in her Bluebird costume and staring right at her.
What a killjoy.
"Hey, you ready?" Harper asked her, still standing in the doorway.
Stephanie looked down at herself, seeing that her costume was on, save for the cape, hood, and mask. "I'm almost ready," she answered then. "I just need a minute is all."
Harper stared at her for a few seconds. "Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, totally. I was just…" Okay, she couldn't talk about her recent fantasy and everything it had turned on. That would just ruin her already questionable vigilante reputation. She needed to be deeper, more mature, more...more…
She sighed. "Do you ever get the feeling you made an incredibly stupid decision?"
Oh why, why did she ask that?
Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about?"
Raising a hand up, she began to wave it over and over in a circle, trying to find the words that would get her out of this little talk. She ended up blurting out the first ones that came to her mind. "I mean this whole vigilante thing. Things are getting way too intense and it gets worse and worse every day. I just...I didn't sign up for this."
Her friend continued to stare at her before she then entered the room, allowing the door to finally swing shut. The blue-haired girl took a seat on the bench next to Stephanie, not once looking away from her. "What exactly did you not sign up for?"
Uh, hello? Had she not been listening? "This! This gang war, crime war—whatever this Bane guy is doing. That thing."
"You mean having some guerrilla fighter from another country declare war on Gotham and begin taking it over block by block while killing everyone in front of him?"
"Yes! That!"
"That's funny. Because I felt something like that would happen eventually."
Stephanie blinked her eyes owlishly. "Wha? Huh? Why? Why would you think like that?"
Harper wasn't looking at her now, instead seeming to be looking right through the lockers in front of her. "You have to admit, Gotham has changed. We don't have your regular criminals anymore. We have people like Victor Fries killing people; we have Two-Face and Black Mask fighting each other in the streets; we have the Court of Owls run by the city's wealthy to keep themselves in power; we have whatever that plant invasion was; and I haven't even mentioned any of the twisted things the Joker does."
Huh, now that she mentioned it, Gotham did have a lot of crazy shit happening. Why hadn't she seen that?
"I don't know about you, Steph, but I knew something like this was coming. It's why I made my taser gun, so that I could be of some use. And maybe when I first started, it wasn't for the best of reasons."
Stephanie was now staring at the other girl. "What did you get in this for?"
"Kinda like everyone else: I was inspired by Batman. And when I first went out, I got the most insane adrenaline rush. Before too long, I had to have that rush over and over. I kinda became an adrenaline junkie."
The blonde girl slowly nodded her acknowledgement. "I kinda wanted to get people off the streets that shouldn't be on them. You know, like middling vigilantes and weekend warriors."
Harper turned her head to regard her again. "Yeah, I know. I was one of those people."
She winced. Yeah, she was kinda hoping Harper had forgotten that.
"But you know, it wasn't a bad idea, Steph. There are people that are getting hurt trying things they shouldn't. If it wasn't for Dick taking us under his wing, I'm pretty sure I would've broken my neck by now doing something I shouldn't be, or getting in over my head."
"That's nice of you to say, but it was selfish of me to think I knew better than others. It's ironic, I wanted to stop unprepared people and there I was, completely unprepared. I still am. I know for certain I shouldn't be caught up with people like Bane."
Another sigh. "I'm just some idiot high school girl that thought she knew better than anyone else. Now look where I am."
"So why don't you get out? No one would blame you."
Huh, why hadn't she left? It wasn't like she was being forced to do this; she could quit anytime she wanted and no one would think less of her. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Why don't you leave?"
There was a short silence, and then, "Because I'm used to this kind of violence. I live with my brother in a bad part of town and it's not going to get fixed if people just give up on it. I walk by drug dealers and gang bangers everyday on my way to school. Not that long ago, my brother and I were harassed every day."
"And you becoming Bluebird stopped that?"
Harper snorted. "Not one bit. People there don't fear Bluebird; in fact, I can't say I've patrolled my neighborhood in a long time. But what really got those meatheads to back down was Batman. He would swing in every so often and put the hurt on those guys, reminding them who was running things. Slowly, the neighborhood became safer and now I can walk without being mugged every day. Just every other day now."
Stephanie's mouth dropped open, which caused Harper to smirk at her. "Just joking, Steph." She continued to smile at her before she continued, "But without him now, someone needs to watch those streets. I'm not there yet, but I will be soon. And then it'll be Bluebird everyone talks about; it'll be Bluebird who those thugs and punks have to watch out for. I have the skills and I'm getting better; I can't just go back to not doing anything about what is so obviously a problem. Someone has to make my street safer and if I don't, who will?"
Stephanie felt a little numb after hearing that. While she was aware that her friend wasn't in a great living situation, she hadn't expected that. Here she was, living each day with Gotham's criminals right in her face and where was Stephanie? Complaining about life in suburbia. How shallow, how sheltered she had been.
So how could she turn her back on this fight after knowing all of this?
Fact is, she couldn't. She was right there with Harper, in over her head, but she was getting better. Harper had a goal of making her name big enough to protect her little neighborhood. The guidance counselor would be thrilled to even know Harper had a goal, regardless of what it was. So what about her? She didn't have those same fears and realities. She had her mom and her semi-famous dad and that was it. There was no reason for Spoiler to be around.
But maybe, just maybe, Spoiler could be a name people respected.
You know, once this whole Bane thing wrapped up.
"I don't really have your stake in all of this," Stephanie started, searching for her next words. "I kinda had it easier than you."
"Do tell."
The blonde girl heard the mocking note in her "friend's" voice, which caused her to scowl at her. "Do you mind?"
"Sorry. Continue."
"Anyways, I don't have your reason to keep doing this, but I really can't go back to what I was doing. It's like you said, I have these skills"—sort of—"and my eyes are open"—too open, maybe—"so how can I do back to doing nothing? I have to do...I don't know, something?"
"Then we can do that something together," Harper said. "We kinda started at the same time, so we need to watch each other's backs. If there's anything either of us gets out of this, it's at least that."
Stephanie eagerly nodded her agreement. She really liked that aspect of this Network thing.
"And now we're going to get some practice on it. Dick told me we have some work to do tonight."
Oh great, this was perfect—wait, what?!
"So hurry up and finished getting dressed. It's time to back up our words."
And Stephanie felt her mood souring. Just when she was starting to get herself motivated, she was getting thrown into the fire. God did this Network thing suck.
Some refinements were made, some new calculations completed, but it was all done for the safe of his safety.
Hugo Strange's safety.
In one hand, he held the syringe that possessed his potent Monster Man serum, marveling at its transparent majesty. This was it, the latest batch, perfected from his experiment with Mario Falcone. Thanks to that man's sacrifice, Strange had been able to isolate some of the flaws in the original formula and perfected his chemistry skills alongside his brainchild.
This was it, his masterpiece in all its perfection. The former shrink had to hand it to himself; his brilliance knew no boundaries. Even now, he surprised himself. And who better to do it than himself, Professor Hugo Strange?
All the pieces were together now. He had completed his project. His serum was improved. All that needed to be done now was to put it all together.
But safety would be key. He had noted the amount he had used with Little Mario and documented the changes. The most important side effect he had noticed was a decrease in cognitive ability. For a man such as himself, that was a deal breaker. While Little Mario became more of himself, a brute, Strange would need his brains along with the brawn.
After all, this was all to improve himself.
The Batman was known for his physical prowess, was he not? It was one area in which he himself was at a disadvantage. If he was to prove his superiority over Bane, that man who had dominated Batman with his greater physical might, then Strange would have to play by those rules. He would need strength, something he had always lacked, preferring to focus on improving his mind.
Better late to the game than never; yet, he was going to need to do this slow. Carefully. Too much of a dose too quickly could bring about those adverse effects. Thus, he had gathered a smaller does into a smaller syringe. It was approximately a tenth of what he had injected into the Falcone heir. Based on what effects he would experience, he would add more into his system into he gained what he desired.
Rolling up a sleeve, he wrapped a tourniquet around his upper arm, squeezing and flexing his hand to make the veins more visible. With the syringe placed carefully on the counter, he took a cotton ball and applied it with rubbing alcohol, treating the inside of his elbow where a vein stood out prominently. Retrieving the syringe, he aimed the needle just over the blood vessel and punctured it.
Pressing down on the stopper, Strange observed as the serum entered his blood stream. Removing the needle, he applied alcohol once more and then waited, taking calming breaths of air.
There was an electricity in the air, something that informed anyone around that this was a momentous occasion. At long last, Strange would be the beneficiary of one of his schemes, no longer hiding in the shadows, but up front and center. The Joker would rue those words; likely, the crazed psychiatrist would physically shove those words down that pale maniac's throat.
The sensation was sudden, starting in his heart. It felt like heat, heat that was being spread throughout his body as his heart rate began to increase. The heat became burning as it reached his legs, the intensity especially concerning in his crippled leg. Strange gasped, gripping the counter tightly. He had not anticipated this.
No. No, he had to endure. He was the superior mind, was he not? He would not let a drug conquer him this quickly. He had survived the assault that Two-Face had bestowed upon him; he would survive this.
Teeth clenched tightly as the burning, burning, BURNING became almost too much. Then, as quickly as it had occurred, it receded. It was still present, but not as intense. Strange gasped again, taking in air that he had not known he needed, realizing he had stopped breathing. There, there, that was better. So much better…
Releasing his grip from the counter, Strange felt shock as he noticed that the surface had been decimated by his grip, twisted and broken as chipped pieces fell to the floor. He looked in awe as he raised the appendage to his face, spotting no signs of injury. What marvel was this?
His mind sharpened into focus. A test—he needed another test. Looking down at his legs, he tightened his jaw. Without hesitation, he stood up from the stool he had sat upon and rested all his weight on the limbs. So far so good, he had yet to lose his balance. Taking a leap of faith as it were, he took a single step forward.
And then another. And another.
Before, he had needed a cane to hobble about, his injuries dealt to him by Two-Face crippling him. Now, it was as if the injuries hadn't occurred. As if the assault had never happened! Oh, this, oh this….
In his elation, Strange strolled throughout the safe house, reveling in this miracle of modern medicine. His journey had even taken him outside into the night where he further tested the strength of his legs on the shoulder-height brick wall that lined the backyard. Placing all of his weight on his good luck, he then kicked out with his previously injured one. Imagine his delight as the brick and mortar crumbled and cracked upon the strike from his kick.
Best of all, his mind was still whole. He had done it. He, Professor Hugo Strange, had triumphed!
But his work was far from finished. This, this was only a single dose. He needed to keep himself focused on the here and now, not lost in fantasy. Though physicality he had gained, he was not yet at the Batman's level, and ipso facto, nowhere near Bane's. He would need more doses, controlled so that he was not lost in the feeling of success.
He had yet to best that masked brute. Only then would victory be his and the superior mind triumphant.
Back inside, then. Time would be needed to allow the serum to be absorbed fully into his body. And then another dose, time allowed to let its effects settled. Then a third, and repeat.
Perhaps his secondary project would need a few more adjustments before he was finished.
To Guest: Eventually. And it won't just be them