Even the faintest of movements caused his head to turn. His eyes glued to the top of a nearby building, trying to decipher if what he was seeing was real or not.
He knew it was a sign of paranoia, but he didn't care. In a place like Gotham, paranoia would keep you alive. Dangers lied in the shadows, whether they claimed to be good or bad.
Riley Faris had learned that lesson long before he turned to crime.
He slightly raised his gun towards the ledge. The automatic weapon trained on the cause of his fright. He'd always hated working guns. It gave the Bat more than enough reason to beat anyone wielding one bloody. They always had a punch first, talk later attitude.
Not that he'd encountered one of them before. He tried his best to ensure that never happened. In his three years working for various crime families, he'd never once encounter the Bat nor any of his child accomplices.
Not to say he hadn't been close a couple of times.
He had always seemed able to slip away from a job days before one the Bat would come swooping down, crushing entire gangs in his wake. He'd wondered if some higher force was at play, but the fact that he was working these jobs in general was more than enough proof that those were just mere thoughts.
His grip on his weapon tightened, aiming at the one spot that scared him the most. He debated shooting, his finger hovering over the trigger for what felt like an eternity. In the end he decided not to. He didn't want to be the one that attracted one any negative attention, whether it be from the GCPD or one of the costumed vigilantes of Gotham. He'd been lucky so far, and he wasn't willing to test that luck.
A rough voice caught his attention. "Switch. You've got stairs," he barked. He hated how the other men talked to him. They looked down on him because of his age and stature. Sure he was on the skinnier side, but far weaker men had done worse than anyone could imagine. This particular guy was 'Gutter'. He was one of the higher up members of the Dockyard Dogs, the group he was currently working for.
"What, are you fuckin' deaf? I said switch," Gutter spat. His grip on his gun tightened. He debated shooting him and shutting his vile mouth up for good, but the consequences of said actions would be too much. Instead he grit his teeth, making his way towards his designated area with his eyes glued to the ground. He could hear Gutter mutter something as the distance between the two grew larger.
They were on the second floor of a dock in the south-western corner of the city. They were tasked to guard a few crates of illegal weapons for the night, with a ship set to come around 3 A.M to pick up the goods. He hated working in the south. It was too close to Tricorner where a good amount of the rich stayed. If the Dockyard Dogs expanded any further east he was sure that badges would swarm the place before the sun even set.
If there was one thing Gotham PD didn't play about, it was those with money. It's probably why they were so susceptible to bribes.
Another man was stationed near the stairs as well. Mallet was a big guy, both in height and weight. He towered over him by a few inches, and he thought himself to be among the taller side of the spectrum. Mallet's forearms were probably the size of his thighs, and his hands big enough to grip watermelons.
Mallet scoffed upon seeing him. "O'course they send da fuckin' amateur over here," his grip on his gun tightened once again, his teeth grinding against eachother.
"I've been doing this for three years, bitch," he spat, trying his best to keep his voice down so that only Mallet could hear him, "probably have more experience than you."
Mallet chuckled. "Now look at dat. Lil' Stick gets a gun in his hands and think he's da man," he feigned a punch towards Riley, causing him to flinch and almost hit his head on the wall behind him. Mallet laughed again. "Exactly what I thought."
Riley grit his teeth so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he opened his mouth and dust fell out. He hated the name 'Stick', but it seemed to follow him no matter where he worked. He wanted to use the gun in his hands badly, but he feared the Bat more than anything. In the end all he could do was take it. A story that applied to most of his life.
A sudden commotion from downstairs caused him to jump. Riley held his gun up to face near the top of the stairs, ready to shoot anything that made it up to him. He cursed his luck. Of course this day would end in an encounter with one of the capes. It wasn't until the disgusting smell of smoke filled his nose that he'd thought otherwise. Gunshots filled the air downstairs, and a thick cloud of smoke drifted to the upper level.
"Fuck, we're being smoked out," Mallet cursed. He rushed down the stair, Riley following shortly after. The scene they arrived to was chaotic. The areas near both the entrances had gone up in flames, the crates scattered around the dock created almost a ring of red. Whoever the guys downstairs had been shooting at had made themselves scarce, nowhere to be seen in the commotion.
The fire spread quicker than they could put it out. In just a few seconds it had already made its way towards the stairs near the back of the dock. Riley ran forward, the burning embers consuming the area behind him.
This was not how he'd wanted to go out. At least if he ran into one of the capes he'd be able to live. Instead, he was stuck in a burning building caused by who-knows. The smoke filled his lungs, causing him to cough. He hunched over, trying to get as much air as possible.
No, this was not how it was supposed to end.
Riley eyed the back entrance. It'd lead straight to the water. Fear penetrated his mind. Just from where he stood he could feel the heat from the flames. Sweat started to pour down his forehead, and the smoke wasn't helping. He let out a big cough, trying to suck as much air in as possible.
Riley's eyes shut tightly, he said a silent prayer to whatever gods would listen while he was still hunched over. He discarded the gun he was holding and sucked in as much air from the ground and possible before making a sprint towards the exit.
Smoke filled his lungs with every breath he took, and the intense heat sapped away almost all of his energy immediately. He didn't care, though. He kept running. If he stayed put he would've died anyways, at least like this it'd end in a way to preserve himself.
The fire licked at his skin as he ran into it. He felt a pain worse than anything else he'd ever felt. The flames singed his throat and his nose as he attempted to breathe. He had to keep moving though. He could hardly think from the pain eating away at him, but his feet still moved, pushing the ground underneath him with as much strength as they could muster.
It felt like eternity that he'd been in those flames. Every step he took seemed to make negative promised. His legs were starting to give out, and his brain was starting to slow. He was losing consciousness, and losing consciousness would also lose him his life. He put all the remaining strength he had into a jump. This was his last hope.
Suddenly, water filled him lungs instead of the flames and smoke. The cold water of the Gotham River extinguished the flames eating away at his body, but did nothing to soothe the pain. He didn't think this through. The only thing that changed was the situation of his death. The flames couldn't take his life, so the river would finish the job.
No, this couldn't happen!
Riley fought with all his life, because that was all he had left to lose. He clawed at the water around him desperately trying to make his way to the surface. The thick waters of the Gotham River poured all its strength onto him, trying its best to keep him as one of its inhabitants.
Riley clawed and clawed and clawed, until water no longer filled his vision. He took a deep breath as his head finally made it to the surface, but that didn't help at all. Water had already claimed his lungs, and the breath only accelerated his drowning.
He could barely see in front of him, his eyes so damaged from both the fire and the water. Even then, he could see the surface within his grasp, the burning dock only a few feet next to it. He pulled himself up, hacking up all the water that tried to claim his body as its home.
He didn't know how long he was on the ground, heaving up what felt like an oceans worth of water. When he finally finished, he rolled to his back. His brain finally had enough. His eyes were the same weight as buildings, and it took the strength of superman just to hold keep them open.
Finally they closed. Whether it was rest or death taking him, he didn't care at the moment.
/0/
His eyes shot open and he took a deep breath. Was that all a dream? No, it couldn't be. His chest still burned whenever he took a breath, and he still tasted the disgusting river water in his mouth. A quick scan of his surroundings showed he was just a bit away from the remains of the burnt dock.
He rose to his feet. How long had he been out? His body was sore, but not to the degree he'd expected. His clothes were a burnt mess, but the fair skin underneath remained relatively untouched. A thousand scenarios flashed through his head to explain his situation. Maybe the Scarecrow had escaped Arkham and decided to test his new toxins.
He made his way towards the burnt remained. The air was still scorched from the relentless flames from before, but it didn't seem to bother him. Under piles of rubble he spotted the charred remains of his coworkers. He stumbled upon a large body. It seemed the flames had done it the worse.
He cocked his leg back and kicked the corpse with all his might. "Now look who's laughing," he muttered to himself. He felt no shame in relieving some stress on the now dead body of Mallet. He continued stomping on the dead goliath for another minute or so. Finally with a deep breath he gave one final kick, the charred body reigniting in flames once more.
He stumbled backward, frantically scanning his surroundings. Had the person who started this come back to finish the job? As far as he could tell he was the only one there. He walked closer towards the new flame. For some reason the heat didn't bother him anymore. As he got closer the flames jumped onto him, clinging on to the little remaining clothes he had. Even then, the flames didn't seem to bother him.
He quickly discarded what remained of his shirt. He didn't want to start another fire by accident. He'd have to make it back to his apartment quick or the cold October night would give him hypothermia.
With just that thought the embers from both his shirt and Mallet's body instantly died out. The cold air around him was replaced by a soothing warmth and his skin seemed to glow a slight shade of orange. He looked down at his hands? Did he have some sort of superpowers?
He held his hand out, this time pointing towards a wooden crate that'd surprisingly survived the fire. With a little effort the crate ignited similarly to Mallet's body. His fascination was cut off shot, however, as the leftover gunpowder from the weapons in the crate caused it to explode. He quickly shuffled to his feet. If the police weren't making their way to him already, they'd surely be doing so now. He'd have to explore this later. For now, his freedom was the need that needed tending the most.
/0/
In the past three weeks, Stick had discovered a lot about himself. When he'd gotten back to his apartment he immediately started researching his circumstances online. From what he'd gotten from a few forums, he'd apparently had a meta-gene. The meta-gene was a blank gene that resided in a few people that'd activate and grant superhuman abilities upon stressful or harmful situations.
It was very clear what 'harmful situation' caused for his meta-gene to activate. Speaking of such powers, Riley had been able to experiment with the nature of his abilities. He didn't have fire powers. He couldn't conjure up fireballs or turn his hand into a pocket flamethrower. Instead, he had a control over the heat around him. He could make things hot by directing the heat around him to a specific area. If said area happened to contain a good conductor for fire, it'd combust.
On the opposite hand, he could also draw all the nearby heat to himself, turning whatever room he was in into a giant refrigerator. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even feel the heat from other people.
It took him a while to get a handle of his powers, but once he did it was like rolling a boulder down a mountain. Every day he seemed to learn more of what he could do.
He hadn't gotten any work since the incident at the dock, but it wasn't like it mattered at this point. He didn't have to work for scraps shuffling crates into a truck or guarding a building for hours anymore. With his new abilities, he had a freedom that he'd never thought he'd have before. For the first time since he could remember it felt like he was in control over something, and the feeling was addicting.
So, that brought him to his current situation. He had found an abandoned storage unit in the East Side and set it up as his base of operations, at least for now. Any legal job was long out of his grasp. Dropping out of school at only 14 years of age pretty much sealed his future in the crime business. So, if he was going to be a criminal he'd better do it right. He wasn't going to be just another goon.
No, he was going to be the boss. He wouldn't stop until Black Mask's control over the underworld seemed microscopic compared to him.
To start off, he'd scavenge any goods from Batman encounters before the GCPD could swoop in and take it all. He'd managed to get a few crates of illegal weapons in just his first week of action. Being able to sense when anyone was approaching allowed him to make himself scarce before he had any unwanted attention. He was able to flip a few of the weapons into cash, but it wasn't consistent enough to rely on.
That was until he had his first big buy, at least. Word of his illegal business spread towards the lower levels of the Gotham Underground quickly. It didn't take long for a higher-up from the 'Street Demonz' to set up a meeting to purchase weapons.
The 'Street Demonz' were one of the oldest biker gangs in Gotham, and also usually worked in the East Side. He could hear them before he could feel their heat, the sounds of three or four motorcycles approaching the storage unit.
His buyers tonight were four men dressed like the stereotypical biker from an 80's movie. The clear leader of this group had a large scar running diagonally down his neck, stopping just at his chest. He was littered with tattoos from what he could tell, with the most notable being a knife on his left cheek.
"We got news from some of the street guys that you were selling guns," he spoke. His voice was gritty and harsh. "So, what are you selling?"
Riley motioned for them to follow him, taking them to the crates he had lined along the wall. Inside were a variety of guns he'd been able to find. From handguns to automatics, he'd been able to find a good number of different weapons. He wasn't an expert on guns in any way, and he couldn't tell if said guns were high quality or not. He'd just have to hope the variety would suffice and that he'd be selling them for an appropriate amount.
The Street Demonz inspected the weapons, foraging through the open crate. "These are some good guns you've got here. How much they going for?" One asked. He held up a rifle that he'd stolen from one of the smaller gangs in the East Side. From what he could tell they didn't seem on the wealthier side, so there guns were bound to be cheap. Hopefully his current customers couldn't tell.
"$750 for a rifle, $500 for a handgun," he spoke. The bikers looked at eachother, conversing among themselves.
"You tryna scam us, boy?" The leader spat, catching Riley off guard. "These ain't no $500 guns. $300 at most." Shit. It seemed like his customers were more knowledgeable on firearms than he was.
"Just testing the waters," Riley said. He tried his best to hide the uncertainty in his voice. Hopefully they couldn't tell. "$how about we meet somewhere in the middle?"
One of the other guys chuckled. "I've got a better idea. How about we fill you with holes and get a 100% discount," seemingly out of nowhere, he had four guns trained on him.
"Woah, woah, woah," he stuttered, slowly raising his hands. "$300 it is. Hell, I'll even throw in an extra one. Buy one, get one free, you know?"
"Nah, I like our offer better," the leader spoke. Riley had to think fast. He shut his eyelids tight, concentrating on the heat emitting from the firearms aiming at him. He willed as much heat as he could into one point, causing the rifle the leader was holding to explode. He let out a loud yell, his hands nearly blow off.
The grunts looked away from him for a second, which was just what he needed. A second gun exploded, this time in the hands of the one furthest from him. He willed as much heat as he could into his fist, punching the grunt nearest to him. He wasn't the strongest physically, but the heat allowed his punch to feel like scorching hot metal.
The third grunt aimed his handgun at him, but he didn't get a shot off. Quickly, Riley's hand shot out, grabbing his gun. The plastic from the gun started melting, dripping onto his hand. The grunt dropped the gun from the sudden temperature, and caught a scorching fist to the rib. Another two punches to both cheeks saw him drop to the ground.
The two handless men made their retreat, running towards the exit of the storage unit. Riley reached into the crate, grabbing a handgun of his own. He didn't have the best aim, but he was able to get a hit off on both before they could leave. He'd hit the boss in his side and the grunt in his shoulder. They let out a scream of pain, and slowed just a little, allowing him to get enough shots to put both down for good.
Riley quickly searched his now defeated attackers, trying to make as much as he could from the broken deal. In the end he'd been able to get $2500 and four motorcycles in exchange for three guns. He wasn't the best at math, but even he knew today had been a profitable day. He'd be able to flip the motorcycles for much more than he would have made for the guns, and the money in itself was nice as well.
A smile formed on his face. He'd have to be more careful from here on out, but the only way to go was up from here.
I've been pretty excited for the upcoming slate of DC Movies and TV Shows, and that sparked this creation.
Hope you guys are able to enjoy it.
Sincerely, Six.