The past few days and nights had been tough ones. Between skirmishes with Bane's forces, their investigation into the Monster Man and Hugo Strange, and routine patrols in-between, along with their healing injuries from all of the above, it was like there was no time for any of the vigilantes in Gotham.
Then the call from Oracle came in.
While his ribs were still healing, they were much better now, though he needed to be careful. Some time away from the streets to hear the scoop on what their Santa Prisca team had found out was more than welcome for Nightwing. At least now they would have a better idea of what they were up against.
He wasn't the first to arrive at the Bat-bunker, but he wasn't the last. Huntress and Green Arrow had been early, the latter filled with a tense energy that had never left him for the past few days. He was a bit surprised to see that Bluebird had beaten him here, and moving around the table to take their seats were the two members of the Birds of Prey, Katana and Manhunter.
Behind him, Spoiler popped in and almost ran into him. She gave a brief apology, expressing hopefully that she wasn't late. He dismissed it; they were just getting started anyway. Wait, hold up, they were missing someone…
Oh yeah, Red Hood. It wasn't really surprising, but he was a bit concerned. Again, over the past few days, he had been noticing something about the younger man. Jason was also antsy, but Nightwing had a feeling that it wasn't because he was concerned about their away team. He was having some trouble figuring out what it was.
If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Red Hood was chafing for some reason. Not literally, of course, but figuratively.
So long as it wasn't a problem, he'd keep his nose out of it. In the meantime, he was going to take his seat and wait for this party to start.
A little more than ten minutes later and he was still waiting, along with everyone else who were really starting to wonder where Hood was. This was not the time to be "fashionably late;" yet, at the same time, it would be more disruptive if the guy barged in while Oracle was giving them the briefing.
Finally, the last of their little Network strolled in, moving as if he wasn't late or anything, which he kinda was. Nightwing found himself giving Red Hood a look, but the younger male didn't look the least bit affected by it. Taking a chair and spinning it around, the younger vigilante sat in it backwards, arms resting on top of the chair as his legs straddled the back.
Deciding not to let that stall things, he said aloud, "Alright, we're all here. What's the scoop, Oracle?"
From the center of the table, the holographic, digital head that Barbara used as Oracle appeared, a standby until it was replaced with whatever images the hacker felt was important. "I have received word from our Santa Prisca operation. It was a success, people."
Almost instantly, the mood lightened. That was great! Another success to the Network and with something none of them had ever done before. Looks like Black Canary, Red Robin, and their team had pulled it off.
"What did they find out?" Huntress asked, and it was hard not to hear her eagerness. Then again, everyone was sitting forward, leaning in to better learn what it was they were up against. In Green Arrow's case, the man relaxed somewhat.
"I'm gonna have to take us on a quick history lesson first, but it will make sense," Oracle began. "This all starts a few decades ago. Santa Prisca was ruled by a military junta that was watching what happened in Cuba and was getting really nervous." Oracle's digital head was replaced by old black-and-white pictures, most likely those relevant to Santa Prisca. There were images of soldiers, guerillas, and warfare. "Naturally, when the communists tried the same thing they did in Cuba, well, the Santa Prisca military took it on and took it down—brutally. Those they didn't kill, they paraded in front of a kangaroo court. All guilty, all sentenced to life in prison, or death."
"So where does Bane come in all this?" Manhunter demanded.
The pictures of conflict were now replaced with that of a large building, most likely Peña Duro itself. "One of the leaders of the failed revolution managed to get away, but before he did he impregnated a local. She was caught and dragged in front of the court where they ruled that if she gave birth to a girl, they would both be released, but if she gave birth to a boy, then he would have to serve his father's life sentence."
"That's messed up!" Spoiler exclaimed.
"What the hell kind of place is this?" Manhunter again, and she sounded pissed.
"A very medieval society with some very conservative views on crime and punishment. Well, not to take Spoiler's little catchphrase, but spoiler alert, the baby was a boy and that baby was Bane."
"Insane," Huntress stated.
"Basically, Bane grew up in Peña Duro. By the age of ten, he had committed his first murder. By the time he was twenty-five, he was the top dog there, and we all know what kind of a hellhole that place is. This man is a brutal killer, raised by the worst of the worst." Now they were seeing images of various dead men, many of them bloody. It was hard to tell if they stabbed, or simply beaten to death.
"Where does Venom come into all this?" Nightwing asked.
"Venom is a domestic product, meaning it was made here. The U.S. government was really interested in it and wanted to use it to upgrade our men and women overseas, but first, they needed to make sure it was safe. Since Santa Prisca has been a staunch ally of ours, despite it's horrible human rights record, it was to them that the Pentagon went to to propose Project Gilgamesh. Sucking up to us, Santa Prisca agreed and even recommended Peña Duro as a place to conduct the tests.
"This was all done in secret. The Pentagon didn't want another embarrassment like Abu Ghraib, so they went the extra mile in secrecy. Fortunately, our team managed to find out what happened in Gilgamesh. To make a long story short, a lot of people died as they were used as human guinea pigs. Then Bane shows up on their table and he survives."
Not really a surprise there since only a couple weeks ago they met the man face to face.
"When he doesn't die from the initial injections, they went into phase two where they drilled holes in his skull and put in implants. Thanks to those, he can directly feed Venom into his bloodstream, and that stuff is really potent. Increased strength, speed, stamina, and all of that to nearly superhuman levels. He becomes a juggernaut, unstoppable. Thanks to all that, Bane escapes from Peña Duro, and from there became a freelance assassin. The price for his jobs: five million, American."
"So he gets this incredible strength...and then cashes in on it. That doesn't sound like the guy we faced," Green Arrow commented.
"Because he saved all that money to launch a coup of his own against the military junta, and he succeeds at overthrowing it. For all intents and purposes, he is the one in charge of Santa Prisca now. Anyone in a position of power, he owns them. He turned Peña Duro into a factory to make even more Venom. And on top of all that, he cut some deals with the U.S. to get his hands on our military hardware in exchange for staying as an ally in opposition to Russia and China. That's why he has American weapons; they're part of an international arms deal."
"But, if he's in charge of this island, why is he here in Gotham? Attacking his 'ally?'" Nightwing asked. This...this was a lot of information to take in.
"He never stopped his assassin business. He still takes jobs. It took me some time, but I found that there was a job offer that came from Gotham. It wasn't in traceable currency, but the person involved with the transaction had a association with the late Rupert Thorne."
"Thorne hired him. And even though Two-Face killed him, Bane's set on fulfilling his end of the contract," Nightwing summed up. "But he already beat Batman, and last any of us knew, Batman wasn't dead. So...it can't be an assassin honoring a contract."
"I don't think figuring out Bane's reasons for being in Gotham are going to help us," Green Arrow cut in. "What I'm more interested in is the Venom. That stuff is a super steroid, right? What are the side-effects, other than the super-strength? Putting stuff like that in your body has to have some downsides."
"You're right, Arrow," Oracle confirmed. "From what our team gathered, Venom has some severe withdrawal effects. If Bane wants to avoid them, he has to constantly take Venom, about once every twelve hours. Otherwise, imagine what heroin withdrawal looks like and increase the chances of death by almost double."
"That's his weakness!" Huntress exclaimed, slapping a hand on the table. "That's what we have to attack. We have to attack his Venom."
"There's some good news about that. Before our team made their getaway, they trashed the factory. It'll be some time until another can be up and running. Also, whatever they had in storage was also destroyed. Pretty much, what Bane has with him is all he'll have."
"Which means we will have to find out where he's keeping it all," Manhunter remarked.
"If he's smart, and we know that for a fact, he'll spread it out, not keep it all in one place," Nightwing pointed out. "He'll have to have stashes, like with his weapons. If we can cut him off, then it's only a matter of time, twelve hours minimum before he's done."
"But how are we going to find these stashes?" Red Hood spoke up. "Wouldn't it be easier to make him use his Venom up?"
"Way too dangerous. We don't even know if he was using it when we fought him, and remember, he kicked out asses," the older vigilante stated. "If he wasn't, that scares the shit out of me."
"Wouldn't his men know?" Bluebird asked. "I mean, they know where all the guns are stashed. Why not the Venom in case their boss needs it, but can't get it himself?"
"Guess we'll have to get our hands on some of Bane's men and interrogate them," Green Arrow remarked. "That shouldn't be too hard."
"Getting them to talk isn't easy. They are incredibly loyal to their cause. They are not ones to break under pressure," Katana stated.
"Then I guess we'll have to do our best Batman impressions and make them sing, one way or another," Nightwing said. "The sooner we cut Bane off from his wonder drug, the sooner we take him down." He heard a snort from Red Hood, and maybe something said under his breath. Obviously the teen didn't agree, but he knew well enough that he would be overruled.
As much as it would be easy to rush in headfirst, they had tried that and failed. Now they would be playing it smart and be careful about it.
It was the only option that offered any kind of hope for them.
The bodies were the dead giveaway. As the Commissioner gazed down at them like an exterminator would a cockroach, he went over the facts he had available to him at this time.
The corpses were those of Bane's forces. The gashes, the cuts, and the wounds all pointed to sharp weapons, such as knives, to be the murder weapons. Others had bullet wounds, meaning guns had also been used. The total destruction pointed at a coordinated attack, and one that was perpetrated against Bane rather than by Bane.
The obvious conclusion was that there was someone else getting involved. Someone who used violent methods and could play on Bane's level. Summing it up, this was not good. After the mob war between Two-Face and Arkham's Black Mask, Gordon knew where this kind of things led to and it was always bloody.
They couldn't afford another front in this war.
"Christ," Petit swore as he came up to the Commissioner's side, decked out in SWAT gear. "It's like a war zone. There's bodies and blood everywhere."
"We need to find who is responsible for this. We can't allow anyone capable of this to roam our streets, not when we still have to deal with Bane," Gordon said as he continued to stare at the scene. In spite of this mess, they could not forget about that masked menace.
"So far, he is unaccounted for," Sarah reported as she approached the pair. "We would only be so lucky if he was. Knowing his type, he got out of here as soon as he could."
"We can only assume he's still out there until proven otherwise," the white-haired man agreed.
"And until we get our hands on him, how are we going to deal with this?" Petit asked, gesturing to all the bodies. "We all know there's going to be more. This kind of things doesn't happen once and stops. There's going to be escalation like last time."
Huh, Petit was thinking the same as him. Didn't change anything about it being right.
Of course, Petit didn't stop there. "I don't think we have the kind of manpower we need to handle it. We're stretched enough as it is."
"I think we're all ears if you have any ideas," Sarah said, giving Petit a pointed look. You could see how this mess was taking its toll on her. It made the Commissioner reflect on what he must look like. Like their entire force, everyone was stretched to their limit.
"Unless someone here is a master tactician, I don't know if anything short of martial law that would be of any help," Petit shrugged back. The man had some thick skin, not about to let anyone's frustration get to him. Whether that was for the time being, or merely out of professionalism, remained to be seen.
Still, those were two words that made Gordon pause: martial law. While it wouldn't change anything about their manpower, it would affect their authority. Martial law would grant expanded powers that would allow them to suspend the laws of both the city and the country, including civil rights and habeas corpus. They could institute curfews, apprehend anyone whom they had the slightest suspicion of committing a crime, and hold prisoners indefinitely until this crisis had passed.
But the moment martial law was declared, the eyes of the country would be on them, watching them. One wrong move and it would fall to pieces once everything was over, especially in the current political climate.
Yet, with the way things were, wasn't it an option that should be considered?
Sarah was giving him a look now, and it was one he wasn't able to read. It disturbed him in a way that he couldn't describe. He would speak with her about it later, but for the moment, he needed to say something.
"That's up to the Mayor to decide. We need this whole place cordoned off, no one sets foot on it, not until we have everything we need. Go to the manager, the owner, or whoever and see if we can't get this all locked down. And for God's sake, let's try to keep this from getting leaked. We don't want the press to start whipping everyone into a panic about, I don't know, some army of murderous vigilantes taking the fight to Bane."
"Wouldn't that make sense?" Petit asked, looking at him. "It wouldn't be the first time there was a vigilante who went about killing people."
"We don't need to be giving people any ideas on taking the law into their own hands, not when it will get them killed," Sarah replied immediately.
"Martial law would nip that in the bud," Petit replied coolly.
"Again, that's for the Mayor to decide. Just do your job and get this secured," Gordon cut in.
Still, the thoughts of martial law weren't as quick to be dismissed. It wasn't like they could look to Batman now. The Dark Knight knew what he was doing, unlike an amateur. For anyone else, getting involved in the vigilante trade would be tantamount to suicide. He wasn't blind to the fact that there would be people trying to live up to the Batman's legacy, but these were different times now.
These were times they better adapt to, or otherwise they would lose Gotham.
These people were a joke.
It had been building for weeks now. Ever since Jason got involved with these vigilante people, he had found them to be chickens, cowards, worthless crybabies that didn't know a good time to strike if it bit them on the ass.
This was not the life he had imagined when he first got in with the Batclan. Pfft, Batclan. What asshole thought of that name? They didn't do the Bat justice with their pussyfooting. The Bat kicked ass. He terrorized punks on a night basis. He saved the city on guts and determination.
What did the Batclan do? They spent countless hours in some rat hole dojo training. They went by rules that made zero sense.
As if to add insult to it all, so did the more experienced vigilantes. They had a damn weapon stash and what did that punk archer want to do? He wanted to wait and watch and then go beat people up. Why were they making this difficult? They should have gone in, beat the shit out of those mercenary guys, and call it a day. What was so hard about that?
This Network thing, it was making crime fighting harder than it had to be. You didn't just run some stupid ass committee when everyone and their demented grandma knew what needed to be done. Bad guys needed their asses kicked; their leader needed the shit kicked out of him so that he knew his place. That's what needed to be happening, should be happening.
What did these people think they were doing? Did they want to save the city, or did they want Bane to bend them over a table and keep fucking them? Cause that was exactly what was going on. Now, Jason knew from firsthand experience that Bane was a badass. He was willing to admit that. One hit had taken him out of the fight, so he could get why they needed to be careful around him. But his thugs weren't him, they weren't Bane. They were small fry and they should be treated as such, not as people on Bane's level.
Now though, they had a weakness on that muscled freak. He was a junkie with a very deadly addiction. It didn't take rocket science to know they needed to find this Venom stuff and destroy it. But what were they doing? They were trying to take things slow and be safe.
Being a hero wasn't about being safe. It was about saving the day no matter what.
It was starting to become clear to Jason that maybe these were the wrong people to fight for Gotham. Sure, they knew how to fight, he'd give them that. But hey, he knew how to fight too. They just had several years of that karate stuff, that jujutsu shit, under their belts. That's the only reason they could beat on him and they knew it.
How many Blackgate punks had he helped bring in? How many creeps had he pointed out to that dick Nightwing and his backup dancers? They sure as hell didn't know where those people were, but he had. Those cons were back in jail because of him.
It was about time he got respect for that.
Jason could feel the scowl on his face. That's right, these people had been disrespecting him since he joined them. While he was used to people disrespecting him, he soon showed them just how bad they screwed up doing so. He just needed to show these wannabe vigilantes the same thing.
There was going to be another bust coming. There would be something crazy like the Monster Man wrecking shit in Gotham sooner rather than later. Those were opportunities, ones he needed to make sure he showed his stuff.
However, there was the possibility these people wouldn't recognize his potential. They might chalk it up to beginner's luck, or some shit. They'd probably warn him not to get a big head, or to not drop his guard, or a whole bunch of other cliches.
God, he was frustrated. He hadn't felt this way in his life ever. Now it was constant, happening on a daily basis. That pissed him off more than anything.
That needed to change.
Again, he would get his opportunities. They were just a matter of time. Everyone would respect the Red Hood and they would do so with the same awe they gave the Batman. Even if he had to strike out on his own, he would show this entire city there was someone with the balls to stand up to bad guys.
And then he'd be the top badass in the city.
It had taken more time than was acceptable, but finally, the Phantasm had located Strange's safe house. A reckoning was at hand and the man who had a key role in its creation would finally answer for his crimes.
Jimmying the lock at the backdoor, the hooded killer entered the building and began its search of the place. The kitchen was devoid of life, though it had signs of being used. It was much too clean to be ignored or neglected. With soft footsteps, the Phantasm trekked further into this domestic lair, its blade ready to strike out at a second's notice.
Finding a living room, it was here that it found signs of activity, though no sign of Hugo Strange. It looked like a workstation had been set up along the west side of the rectangular room, a long counter-like table stretching out against the length of one of the walls. Interestingly, but not surprisingly, there was an assortment of beakers and burners, a chemistry set in summary. This did not fit with the killer's memory of the shrink.
Papers also littered the workstation, but for the moment they would be ignored in favor of canvasing the rest of this room. Moving around a couch that was placed in front of a television, it observed a naked mannequin of all things, and a basket of various clothes and materials. On a small coffee table, sewing instruments were spotted. This made less sense than the chemistry equipment.
What was happening in this place?
Leaving the living room, the Phantasm resumed its search, heading up into the second story and looking for any signs of its quarry. Other than the signs that this place was lived in, no one was here. It was slightly frustrating that its justice would be delayed, but it had been patient this long. What was another hour or so?
Returning to the ground floor, the masked assassin stepped back into the living room where the greatest evidence of life was located. Taking a second look, it picked up on other things, such as discarded takeout boxes. Naturally, all were in a wastebasket as was expected with a mind such as Strange's.
Which made those papers strewn all over Strange's worktable puzzling. The man was very neat and liked to keep everything in order. The sewing equipment minus the mannequin was kept in close proximity. The chemistry equipment had an order to it as well, certain beakers placed in certain areas based on their contents, lack of contents, and their state of cleanliness. Some liquids were separated from one another, most likely because of their combustible natures, or because that's where the shrink wanted them placed.
Still, it was the papers that seemed haphazardly placed that captured the killer's attention. Even if they were placed deliberately where they were, it went against what it knew of Strange's nature. Had the man caught on that he was being hunted? The sudden death of a False Face associate would be highly suspect, especially if Strange had kept in touch with all of them.
It was in Strange's character to run. That's what he had done during the fallout of Operation Dread and Black Mask's disappearance. For all his confidence in his own brilliance, he had very little faith in those he felt he could manipulate. When worst came to worst, he would throw his pawns into the fire and flee like a coward.
If that's what was happening now…
It was best to see what the contents of these papers were. Perhaps it would be able to divine Strange's latest scheme.
Picking up a handful of the papers, the Phantasm began skimming them, shuffling sheet after sheet. Hmm, these were chemical equations, but other than that, the Phantasm wasn't able to puzzle out what they were for. It appeared Strange had picked up a new trade, which would explain the chemistry set. But what was he making? These equations were the key to it without a doubt.
Continuing to search through the other papers, it wasn't able to find out much else. Just more notes on certain chemicals, more equations, etc. However, there was one paper that stuck out, and that was because it was a list of places and addresses.
The Gotham Museum of Art. Wayne Enterprises, Main Branch. 58 Dickens Avenue—which was crossed out. The Jezebel Theater. A.C.E. Chemicals—crossed out. Arkham Asylum—crossed out. Sionis Steel Mill—also crossed out. The Duchess Hotel. Powers Hotel—crossed out. Gotham Cathedral—crossed out. 664 San Angeles Boulevard.
What were the meanings to these locations? It was very...random. Why were some addresses and others the names? Why was this list placed among the notes of chemistry research? Something wasn't adding up.
Wait, there were also papers on the coffee table along with the sewing tools. They had also been ignored earlier when it did its first look around.
Moving over to the coffee table and snatching the papers up, the Phantasm identified a design, no, a plan. This was what Strange was crafting. It looked like a suit or a...costume. A very familiar costume, one that looked almost identical to…
Eyes narrowed behind the stoic mask and darted back to the list of locations and addresses. Those places...there was a connection between at least three of them that the Phantasm was able to identify. But what if they all had the same common denominator?
And with Strange not here…
He had to be at one of those places. But which one?
A noise broke through its thoughts, and the killer's attention was directed towards the DVR. Something was being recorded. It was easy enough to find out what it was; it just needed to learn what channel was being recorded. Turning the television on, there was a news broadcast that was starting. The anchor, Jack Ryan, was touching on a few topics that were going to be covered, one of which…
...was on the list.
That vain, son of a bitch. Whatever he was planning was happening tonight.
How very fortunate.