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BIOS - 22nd February 1994
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WELCOME ADMINISTRATOR
SECURITY LEVEL: OMEGA
INCIDENT REPORT - "POISON CHALICE"
Date: 22nd February 1994
Time: 21:15
The Holy Grail War is an ancient ritual that occurs every few decades, wherein seven magi, known as "Masters", summon legendary heroes- in the classical sense- in mystical vessels as high level familiars known as "Servants", to compete for a mystical artifact of supposedly great power—the Holy Grail- said to grant any wish.
The Fourth Holy Grail War commenced in 1994, and I found myself reluctantly forced into this battleground...
4th December 1993
Docking Yard
Gotham City
Sal Anderson was a criminal.
It wasn't something he would brag about or something he felt particularly guilty about.
Crime was his way of life, and he wasn't about to change that.
He wasn't one of those psychos that went around murdering people for no good reason or even a high-class mobster, the kings that ruled the underworld, but he was a criminal and – unless he was talking to the cops – he wouldn't deny it.
Especially in Gotham.
Gotham City, a city in New Jersey with a population of 12 million. With a literal cesspool filled with criminals, corruption, saying that you were a criminal might as well be like describing the wetness of water.
By day, Gotham presents itself as an alluring and attractive tourist destination, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets and an active nightlife. However, in the same nightfall, the city transforms into a dark and gothic nightmare, a filthy labyrinth of crime and corruption where "decent" people fear to tread.
So, he could say, with authority and absolute certainty, that being a criminal in this was more trouble than it's worth for those that weren't like him in their disposition for crime and were looking for an easy life.
The laws that ruled the streets in other cities couldn't be applied, at least not anymore for anyone in the last generation.
Criminals like him, who spent their whole lives doing what they did, were caught like rookies.
Nothing was guaranteed anymore and professionals such as himself had to constantly learn new things as they went along, hoping everything would work out.
Sal had lost count of how many people … he and the police had arrested.
Buddies of his, old crooks that had persevered for years, thrown in jail because there was a freaking mad men dressed for Halloween every night, "stopping crime" everywhere.
Luckily for him, things had worked out; and differently from others, Sal was adaptable.
He makes mistakes but he learns from it.
He couldn't help but chuckle to like any good learner, Sal decided to pass on his knowledge, to improve the minds of tomorrow.
That was why he was waiting for the rookie to arrive, standing in that dark and filthy alley close to the docks he was ready. The area reeked, and the buildings were covered in graffiti. The Boss wanted it known that this was his turf, and anyone that wanted to do business there had to do it through him.
Sal sighed, shaking his head slightly; the things he did for money, imagine that.
Him, a teacher!
It wasn't as if he particularly cared about his students, that was true, but he would teach the guy what he needed to know to operate in this new world.
If he didn't, the new guy would be caught, sooner or later, and that money would come out of his pockets, so at least he was motivated.
"You're late," he complained, when the guy was close enough to hear.
"There was a–"
"I don't wanna know," Sal interrupted. "You arrive on time or you're out."
The guy nodded fast. Well, at least he was open to the idea of learning new things. If everything went right, he probably would be able to teach him a thing or two.
"Hi, I'm Pete–"
"No names!" Sal interrupted, looking frightened to the sky for a moment. "Never say names out loud!"
The guy, Pete, seemed confused about why he was being yelled at. Fucking rookie! Probably freshly arrived from some hick town like Smallville or something, with absolutely no notion of the dangers of Gotham.
Pete was still frowning;
He sighed.
"Look, kid, if you're smart, you're gonna learn some stuff tonight," he said. "Rule number one: no names. Better yet, no talking at all. Voices call undesirable attention to people we really don't want here."
"Who?" Pete asked.
Was this guy for real?
Sal was beginning to realize this guy wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.
"Think about what I'm saying," Sal said, slowly. "Who glides through the skies and hears every word spoken in the city?"
Pete actually had to think for a couple of seconds, but then he exclaimed: "Bat–"
Sal lunged and closed his mouth before he could speak, pushing him against the wall. There was a long moment of silence, as the guy watched him with wide eyes.
"Never, ever, say that name, out in the open" He threatened.
He had no idea if the stories were true and that the Bat would actually appear when his name was spoken, but he wasn't in the position to try. For all he knew that freak could listen to cries for help from all over the world and he responded to his name; he wasn't going to risk it.
The rookie nodded as best as he could, with Sal still holding his head, so he released him.
"Is it true he appears when you say his name?" Pete asked, his voice low.
"Don't know, don't really wanna try," Sal retorted. "Now let's go, we're already late."
Saying this, he began to lead the rookie through. Contraband was harder and harder to hide these days, with all the new tech, the laws and the Bat, but of course it still happened. Much less with illegal military grade weapons.
While there was a need for illegal shit, there would always be new ways to transport said illegal shit.
Sal led the rookie inside the docks, avoiding the main entrances, making his way through the containers. Guards and cops were paid to look the other way when a new cargo arrived, but it was best not to take any chances; sometimes people just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
And, of course, not everyone could be bought.
Apparently, the Caped Crusader was scarier than he thought, because a lot less people were afraid of the mob these days.
That was actually the case that night.
There was one guard who didn't take bribes and he happened to be the one working; He raised his hand and stopped, hiding in the shadows as he watched the guardhouse.
Back then, something like that would be easily solved, but the order from the boss was to not call attention and bodies dropping all around did just that.
So, they would have to wait a few minutes until the guy left and then get to the cargo.
Somehow, however, the rookie didn't get the memo, because when he saw the reason why they stopped leaving the guardhouse, he drew a gun.
Again, Sal jumped against the guy, pushing him down and taking the revolver from him. The fight made a bit of noise and the elderly guard stopped for a moment, but probably decided it was just the wind. He waited on top of Pete, until the guard left.
"What the fuck is this?!" he whispered, pissed off, swinging the old revolver in front of the youngster's face. "Where the hell did you get this?"
"It's-I got it from my pops," Pete answered, frightened.
"Rule number two: Ask questions first before you shoot!" Sal snarled. "What kind of imbecile are you, kid?! Do you even know how loud this shit is?"
It was just better to gather information before taking action, as a way to avoid unnecessary dangers and complications. He didn't need that kind attention. Much less the heat.
When the guard was already far away from them, he allowed the kid to get up; the gun, however, stayed with him.
As far as he knew, Batman didn't kill. He badly hurt people, for sure. But never kill. For a while, criminals took this as a sign of weakness or some shit like that, despite the fact that he had twisted people's legs like they were wishbones; until a bright gang member decided to grab a kid hostage when Batman appeared to arrest him.
Bad idea.
The guy didn't even have the chance to threaten to pull the trigger; before he could blink, Batman crashed against him, taking him away from the kid. And the guy found out, in a very painful way, what happened when someone collided through a wall. Broken bones everywhere, broken pride, and open season on every single criminal remotely related to him.
His gang was arrested in a couple of days, then his suppliers, his clients and everyone that claimed ties to the guy.
There may be some credence to those rumors of him being some superhuman, future robot or alien.
Besides, his priority is making the money and avoiding the boys in blue. Hurting or killing innocents drew unwanted attention.
And the blowback...
Sal pushed Pete against the container.
"No guns and no killing!" he repeated. "Got it?"
He didn't know if the rookie agreed just for the sake of agreeing or if he actually understood, but as long as he didn't pull shit like that with him, that was his problem.
They waited a few minutes hidden between the containers. The guard that didn't take bribes had just left and his replacement, bought and paid for, had just left the premises as well; the cost was clear. In silence, Sal guided them through the containers close to the sea, the ones that had arrived recently. He took a second to clean his prints from the revolver.
Double checking the number of the container, He began looking for it. He knew it was there, he'd seen it earlier that day, and the guys with the trucks were probably already waiting close by, ready to move the cargo when he called them.
Finally, he spotted it. "Here it is," he whispered, chuckling.
Looking around to check if there wasn't anyone around, Turk opened the container. It was filled to the brim with boxes.
'Another good night of work', Sal thought satisfied, looking up to the full moon. No cops, no Batman, no Robin or Batgirl.
All was well in the world.
As he was making his way to the meeting point, he was so busy celebrating that he didn't notice a black shadow following him.
Brian and Johnson stood nervously in the abandoned warehouse, scanning the area for any signs of trouble. Brian couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
"Man, I hope Sal and the new kid get here soon. I don't like being out here in the open like this," he said, fidgeting with his jacket.
Johnson tried to calm him down. "Relax, Brian. Sal knows what he's doing. He wouldn't have picked this spot if it wasn't safe," he reassured him.
Brian shrugged, trying to push the feeling away. "I guess you're right. But I still can't shake this feeling that something's not right."
Johnson rolled his eyes. "You're just jumpy. It's probably just adrenaline. We're about to make a big score here," he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Brian nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Yeah, you're probably right. I just can't wait to get my cut on the deal. Sal says they're top-of-the-line."
Just then, they heard the sound of a car approaching. "That's gotta be them. Get ready," Johnson said, tensing up.
The car pulled up and Sal and the new recruit, Pete, stepped out. "Gentlemen, let's get this show on the road. Our client should be here any minute," Sal said, wasting no time.
Brian and Johnson quickly moved to load the weapons into the car. They were almost done when they heard the sound of another car approaching. "That's our client. Let's get this done quickly and efficiently," Sal said, keeping his cool.
The client, a shady looking man in a suit, stepped out of the car and approached the group. "Gentlemen, I trust the transaction will be a smooth one?" he said, sizing them up.
Sal assured him. "Of course. We always deliver as promised." The client handed over the payment and the group quickly loaded the weapons into his car.
The client gave them a final warning "I'll be in touch for more business in the future." Sal replied with a nod "We'll be ready. Have a good day." The client got into his car and drove off.
Brian couldn't help but smirk at how much they just made. "That was easy money."
Sal had a more serious tone "Yeah, but remember, this kind of business always comes with risks. Be careful and always be on your guard."
Johnson reassured them "Don't worry, Sal. We got this."
Sal gave a curt nod "I hope so. Now let's get out of here before someone starts asking questions." The group got into their car and drove off, leaving the warehouse behind them.
The group got into the car and drove off, leaving the abandoned warehouse behind.
But unbeknownst to them, white eyes burning beneath the black shadows had been watching from the shadows. As they loaded the weapons into the client's car, it shot a small device onto both their vehicles.
As the group drove away, the shadow disappeared into the night, ready to strike.
Dmitry was a professional.
He had been in the business for years and had built a reputation as one of the most reliable proxies in the network. His job was simple: deliver equipment, mostly stuff used for gun management and upgrades, to clients all over the globe, and keep law enforcement and military off track.
They had already delivered most of the products. They just had to pass the last of it through Gotham. It was a risk, but the city's geographic location in New Jersey made it the perfect entry point for the rest of the country. He had heard about Gotham's vigilante, Batman, as far back as when he was nothing but rumors… but he didn't care for tall tales. Just this city's new generation of criminals to justify their own failures, fueled by a lazy police department.
His thoughts were interrupted by the roar of an engine that violently ripped through the silence of the deserted streets like a demonic beast unleashed from the depths of hell.
A pitch black 20-foot-long armored vehicle emerged from the darkness like a nightmare come to life. Its sleek, demonic design was a stark contrast to the abandoned buildings surrounding it. The long nose and slim headlights gave it a predatory appearance, while the exposed engine parts and fins gave it an otherworldly feel.
The harpoon launcher on the front added to the ominous implications.
These implications were realized when it quickly closed in, the harpoon launched onto the back of the vehicle, and with a sudden jerk, the Batmobile pulled it to a stop.
He could only turn his head before he crashed into his steering wheel and the airbag opened.
The world around him began to spin, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness closed in. His body felt weightless, as if he were floating in a sea of blackness. He could hear the sound of his own breath, ragged and labored. The last thing he remembered was the sound of metal crunching against metal and the feeling of his body being thrown around before everything went black.
As consciousness slowly started to return, there was a dull ache in his head, a feeling of grogginess, and a sense of disorientation. He could hear the sound of a distant rumbling and feel the roughness of the ground beneath him. He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the imposing shadow looming over him.
He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, and his head was spinning. He tried to speak, but his voice was barely a croak.
He coughed and tried again. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The c-creature's only response was a single word, spoken in a cold and menacing tone.
"Talk."
The car drove on in silence, the tension thick was as thick molasse. As the rookie Pete fidgeted nervously in his seat, he tried to break the silence with small talk.
"Hey, did you guys hear about the Gotham Knights' game last night? They killed it."
Saul instantly shot him a glare. "Shut up, kid. Keep your eyes peeled."
Pete rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sal. You're still not scared of the Bat getting us, are you?"
Saul's expression turned cold. "You're new here, so let me give you some advice. Batman is not someone to mess with."
Brian, who was sitting in the backseat, chimed in. "Pete, you have no idea what you're getting into. Batman is not some comic book hero. He will stop at nothing to take down criminals like us."
Johnson, added. "And he's not just some guy in a bat costume either. He's either got resources, technology or skills that puts him on a whole different level... if he's even human."
Pete's expression turned sullen. "Fine, I get it. But I still don't see why we have to be so scared of him going after us now."
Saul leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "Because if you're not scared of getting caught until your free, then you're not paying attention. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. We're almost home free."
Pete fell silent, but he couldn't shake the feeling of frustration and unease. He had thought that joining this group would be an easy way to make some quick cash, but now he was starting to realize that the reality of the situation was far more dangerous than he had imagined.
The four men sat in the car; the tension even stronger than before as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the soft hiss of the tires on the road. Sal's hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Brian and Johnson sat in back, their eyes constantly scanning the streets for any signs of trouble. Pete, however, still couldn't take the silence any longer.
"Can we at least put on some music or something?" he asked, his voice strained with nervousness.
Saul shot him a glare. "I told you, no noise. We need to be focused and alert."
Pete rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. This is ridiculous. We're just driving through Gotham. It's not like Batman is going to jump out and attack us or anything."
He was annoyed enough to not even bother to toe around who he was talking about.
The other three men exchanged a glance, and Brian spoke up. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
Pete scoffed. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"
Saul nodded in agreement. "Brian's right. We can't let our guard down, not for a second. Not with Batman out there."
Pete shook his head in frustration before speaking out. "You guys are all cowards. I'm not afraid of some guy in a bat costume. He's just a man, like the rest of us."
The silence that resulted stretched on for a bit.
It was Sal who broke the silence first. "I remember the first time I saw him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was Christmas, and I was working with Cobblepot. 'The Penguin,' " he sneered. "But that's not what he's called on the streets. No, on the streets, he's just 'the Bat.' "
"I remember thinking that the stories were just exaggerated, you know? That he couldn't be as bad as everyone said. But I was wrong. So, so wrong." Sal's voice was shaking, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. "He took out our entire crew... I ran, and I never looked back."
Johnson chimed in next. "I remember the first time I saw him too. It was during a riot. He came out of nowhere, and before I knew it, I was on the ground with a broken leg."
Brian added, "I remember the first time I saw him during an attempted robbery. I thought I was prepared, but he was just... different. Faster, stronger, smarter. He took us all down before we knew what was happening."
The agitation only got worse as the engine roar filled the air. Sal let out a curse and slammed on the pedals. "That's the Batmobile," he whispered, his voice filled with fear. "He's here."
Pete's heart was racing as he turned to look out the back window. Sure enough, the sleek and demonic looking Batmobile was closing in on them, its harpoon launcher aimed directly at their car. Sal let out a panicked cry, repeating to himself that he had done everything right, that he had followed all the rules. But it was too late. The harpoon launched onto the back of their car and pulled them towards the Batmobile, and all Pete could do was sit and watch in horror as the Dark Knight approached.
The Batmobile's imposing presence was like a nightmare come to life, burning its image into the depths of his mind. The others in the car, Sal, Brian, and Johnson, were equally paralyzed with fear.
Suddenly, the car was rocked by a loud expulsion of air as the Batmobile launched … something into the car. Then thick gas filled the car, blinding and choking the men as they stumbled and coughed, trying to escape the vehicle. The last thing Pete saw before losing consciousness was the silhouette of the Dark Knight's steed.
The zip ties clicked shut around the wrists of the accomplices, and Batman couldn't help but think back to the man he had captured earlier.
Dmitry Kuznetsov.
A middle-aged man, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and a fat filled face that spoke of a life spent off in the field.
Former Soviet Union officer, more likely bureaucrat, now turned arms dealer.
'Small fish,' Batman thought to himself, "but valuable information."
Kuznetsov had been reluctant to talk at first but had been all too eager to spill the beans once Batman had applied a bit of pressure. He had revealed a wealth of information about the client, including their drop-off location, their contacts, and the types of weapons they were trying to smuggle into the city.
As the police would soon arrive on the scene and he drove away, he took a moment to go over the information in his mind, piecing together the puzzle. He had studied Kuznetsov's body language, his tone, and his choice of words, searching for any clues or inconsistencies that might indicate he was lying. The client, as it turned out, was a operating out of multiple locations, with ties to various criminal and terrorist organizations. They had been attempting to smuggle a large shipment of weapons through Gotham's international harbors, including high-powered rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, and even a few surface-to-air missiles.
This was only the beginning.
Now, he was sifting through the wreckage he was able to take back to the cave, searching for clues. As he worked, he couldn't help but lament the lack of on-scene scanning capabilities. It would have made this investigation much easier. He could have scanned the wreckage for fingerprints, DNA, and any other clues that might lead him to the perpetrators on site and have gotten a head start without wasting time going back to and from the cave carefully examining each piece.
But he had to make do.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he gathered everything. The evidence was covered in dirt and grime, but he could make out serial numbers and letters.
It was a start.
As Batman apprehended the criminals and collected as many firearms as he could from the crime scene, he quickly loaded them into the Batmobile. With a sense of urgency, he raced to the Batcave, his secret underground headquarters beneath Wayne Manor.
As he neared home base, he rushed to the secret tunnel entrance that led from underneath the lake on Wayne Manor's grounds. With a quick flick of a switch, the entrance opened, and he drove the Batmobile into the cave.
The tires of the Batmobile screeched as it pulled up to the secret entrance of the Batcave. Jumping out of the car, he quickly walked towards the central computer console, his cape flapping behind him in the wind eager to begin his analysis.
As he walked through the cave, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had been on the trail of this arms smuggling ring for weeks, and finally, he had the evidence he needed to take them down.
He scanned each weapon, analyzing the make, model, and any unique characteristics. He cross-referenced this information with the databases at his disposal, searching for any connections or leads.
As he worked, he thought back to the information he had extracted from Dmitry Kuznetsov, the middle-aged arms dealer he had captured earlier. Kuznetsov had revealed a wealth of information about the client, including their dropoff location, their contacts, and the types of weapons they were trying to smuggle into the city.
He knew that Kuznetsov was just a small player in the grand scheme of things, but every lead was valuable.
He spent hours in the Batcave, piecing together the puzzle in his mind. He studied the weapons, cross-referenced them with the information Kuznetsov had provided, list of his past locations, known clientele and searched for any inconsistencies that might indicate a larger operation at play.
The client was operating out of multiple locations, with ties to various organizations. They had been attempting to smuggle a large shipment of weapons through Gotham aboard, including high-powered rifles, rocket-launchers...
As he worked, Batman's mind raced with possibilities and theories.
Based on the known locations and transport routes these weapons were sold in multiple locations and transported through, going overseas as a method of concealment. Whoever the buyer was preparing for a bloodbath and didn't want anyone to know about it until it was too late.
Once he manages to triangulate their possible location, he'd have to catch them wherever they are.
There was a criminal overseas that needed to be brought to justice, but Gotham's criminal activity demanded his attention. He knew he couldn't be in two places at once.
Didn't stop feeling like he should be.
He turned his thoughts to Robin, who was currently training in the Batcave. Batman wondered if he could trust Tim to handle things in Gotham in his absence, even with the assistance of Alfred and Oracle. Tim had proven himself to be a capable partner, but this was a whole different level of responsibility.
And... The idea of leaving Gotham for any extended period made him uneasy.
Gotham was his city, his responsibility, and he couldn't, wouldn't abandon it.
As he contemplated, he couldn't shake the feeling that something about them seemed familiar. He had been going over the evidence for hours, trying to piece together any clues that might lead him to the source of the weapons. The type and pairing were familiar.
He had seen it before; he was sure of it. But where?
Just then, one of his computer monitors flickered to life, displaying a news feed of the Wayne Plaza based on the keyword Wayne. Batman felt a cold pit form in his stomach as he read the headlines, his mind instantly bringing forth the answer to the sense of Deja Vu he felt: "Wayne Plaza Bombing: 9th Anniversary of Tragic Attack."
The Wayne Plaza bombing was a terrorist attack that had occurred nine years ago, during Batman's sixth year of crime-fighting. The attack had killed dozens of innocent civilians, and despite Batman's best efforts, the case had gone cold. The perpetrator had never been caught, and the case had haunted him ever since.
As Batman stared at the images of the Wayne Plaza bombing on his computer monitor, memories flooded back to him. The destruction, the chaos, the lives lost. The burning desire for vengeance had consumed him. He was still determined to track down the parties responsible and make them pay for what they had done. He pulled up the files on the illegal weapons transport he had recently taken down. As he scanned through the images of the seized weapons, his blood ran cold. There it was again. The same weapon, used in both incidents.
As he stared at the images on the screen, Batman had an epiphany. The weapons he had recently recovered, the similarities in the damage from the bombing.
Without hesitation, he began cross-referencing everything he knew about the bombing with the information he had about the weapons. As he dug deeper, a pattern began to emerge. Suddenly, it all made sense. The same person behind the Wayne Plaza bombing was this "mysterious" client he was looking for.
Kiritsugu Emiya.