'Twas the Night Before Mayhem
The sun wasn't even shining and already practically every precinct in the city was abuzz with activity. Inventories were being done, orders for more gear, ammunition, and whatever supplies that were needed were being issued. As had been announced last night, war was being declared.
The Gotham City Police Department was planning on preventing it, but realistically, what could they do?
Commissioner Sawyer had been getting so many calls. These calls had to be filtered through, any and all news agencies redirected so that communications from the numerous precincts had priority followed by City Hall. Hady was in an uproar, but he knew the score. He had been at that disaster of a lighting ceremony. He had heard the message from the latest menace to the city. His demands for immediate action were hollow and they both knew it. All the same, they had to be made.
No one knew where to start looking for this Scarface. All undercovers had been ordered to try and smoke him out, and that would take time. If that declaration was to be believed, they needed to find the recruiters that had been mentioned, but who knew who those were? Until the undercovers could find something of note, arming every beat cop and officers to the teeth was the first order of business.
Sawyer was approving anything and everything, even making requests from the Department of Defense. Vehicles used during the last armed conflicts were being requested, vehicles that were more like tanks but with your standard commercial tires and no treads. Those would be tough enough to handle gunfire.
If explosives such as bombs and RPGs got involved, that might be a different story.
This was the worst time of year for this. It was Christmas, a time for people to come together, to try and find some joy in a blistering cold climate, and warming up to the tales of Santa Claus. They shouldn't be huddling under the windows, or bedcovers, or even the beds themselves while violence tore the city apart.
Sawyer had to prop her head up with one arm, elbow planted on the desk that seemed to be her one anchor in this crazy world. This was starting to feel like how it was when she first joined the GCPD. Transferring from Metropolis just in time for a different war, one waged by the fallen Harvey Dent turned Two-face. A time when Gordon was still commissioner, Sarah Gordon was still alive, and Bullock…well, he still hadn't changed a bit after all this time.
Now it was her turn. The long standing Calabreses were not about to let an upstart challenge them so brazenly without a response of their own. It would be bloody, very bloody. How was anyone supposed to stop it?
Well, there was Batman, but surely he had heard by now. Hopefully, he too was preparing because they would need all the help they could get. She would need all the help she could find.
Was a state of emergency out of the question? Appealing to the governor? Getting the National Guard in here? Hady might be resistant to that because that would mean no one in the city had the situation under control. They didn't, that was the truth. This was why all the inventory was being done. All the orders being sent out. All the requests being made.
All this and the sun hadn't risen yet.
It was going to be a long day, no doubt. It wasn't just going to be about violent gangsters shooting up the streets; it was also the smaller fish. Small time crooks and gangs that had never gotten close to the big time would take advantage of this situation. Looting, assaults, and murders would follow and get hidden by the mob war.
All of it would be expected to be stopped by them, and Sawyer knew damn well they couldn't. The opportunist taking advantage of the situation was inevitable. The bigger fish needed to be taken off the streets if there was a hope for any kind of resolution. But how would they stop this Scarface, and who was it that was in charge of the Calabreses? If they could find one or the other, maybe it could limit the bloodshed?
Or was that just wishful thinking? Just when you thought the worst had past you by, this city had to throw something else at you. How had Jim Gordon done it? His burning out, was that what was in store for her future?
Her solitude was soon interrupted. "Commissioner? The first of the inventories."
Glancing up, the commissioner regarded the officer then gestured towards the desk. "Set them down there. I'll review. Let me know when the other precincts start reporting in."
It was only natural that this precinct would be the first to get their inventory done. The rest would have to receive the call then start getting their rears in gear. Because she could not be at every single one of them to keep an eye on them, each precinct had their own Captain who was in charge of the day to day running. Some of the captains treated their precincts as their private little kingdoms, and disliked it when anyone higher than them exerted their will.
Headquarters was a different story, she had learned. The office of the commissioner was located here, so she had more say over its running. Hopefully the captains would take this matter seriously enough to acquiesce to her request. No, not a request, an order.
With headquarters' audit of their armory now in her hands, it became the first document she started to review. The blonde-haired woman needed as clear a picture of what she had available, what would be needed, and how soon she could get more.
The guns just didn't seem big enough, the ammunition there wasn't enough of, and the raw force that could be mustered…would it be enough?
For a second, the Metropolis native's eyes glanced upwards to the ceiling. In her mind's eye, the rooftop was clear in picture and a certain searchlight rested, waiting to be turned on.
Would he be enough? Did he have the kind of weaponry, gear, and ability to take on this pending war?
Would Batman be enough?
Damn it all.
Nothing could be more uncomfortable than this.
Oh my god, there was nothing more uncomfortable than this.
Stephanie knew it was a bad idea to have her family life and her…uh…nightly social life, cross. She had known it in her gut as it churned the moment her dad said he wanted to meet her friends. The blonde girl knew Harper would be down because she didn't care what other people thought of her. That Cassandra agreed to come at all had been surprising and quite a bit disheartening. She had been hoping the dark-haired girl would have put her foot down and that would have been that.
Now they were at the dining table. Her father was at the head of the table; Stephanie and her mother were on either side of him, which left Harper and Cassandra to sit towards the foot.
If Stephanie could have died of embarrassment, she was certain this was it.
Harper had shown up in a jean jacket, a shirt that just barely reached down to her belly button, and low-waisted jeans. She looked very much like the punk rocker she pretended to be. Cassandra looked as if she had just gotten off of work as she was still in a white blouse and black pencil skirt. They were literal extremes of each other, something that had caused her dad to raise an eyebrow at.
Mom, at least, had gone through the effort of making a decent dinner. She wasn't Betty Crocket, even if she did use the Betty Crocket line of kitchenware, but it was good and Mom tried her best to make enough. Stephanie wasn't certain if she had poorly planned her feast as the amount of food wasn't what she expected. It was like a few dishes were missing, or something.
"Good food, Mrs. Brown," Harper complimented as she tore a piece off of her roll and tossed it into her mouth. She was leaning forward, elbows on the tabletop, just about everything that screamed bad manners. The blue-haired girl had to be doing this on purpose; she was trying to rile her parents up, Stephanie just knew it.
"Thank you," Mom accepted. To her credit, Mom looked as if she were thrilled to have guests at the house. "So how do you know Stephanie, Ms. Row?"
Harper grinned even as her jaw rhythmically went up and down as she chewed. "Call me Harper," she eventually answered, swallowing her bit of roll. "Well, Steph here caught me trying to hotwire a car and yelled at me. Something about a 'spoiler alert,' or something."
Mom blinked her eyes owlishly. "Hotwiring?" she slowly repeated.
"That is not how it happened," Stephanie glared at her so-called friend. Harper just sent her a shit-eating grin and tore off another piece of roll. They had discussed their story prior to this impending disaster. Clearly the idiot was going off-script. If only she could kick her.
"Then how did it happen?" her dad inquired, looking right at the blonde girl.
"I saw her sneaking around my school, at least I thought that was what was happening. I followed her around until she got to a fuse box and began messing with it. It turned out that Harper had been sent by her boss to look at the school's electrical grid or whatever it is. I obviously didn't know that and confronted her."
"With that dumb spoiler alert bit you did," Harper chimed in, still grinning.
"So you work?" Dad questioned, finally turning his attention to the punk girl, a small frown on his face.
"Yep," she answered. "I work as an electrician apprentice when I'm not at the poor excuse for public school that I go to."
Dad glanced at Stephanie, raising an eyebrow. It was quite clear he wasn't happy about this. Browns only accepted the best and Harper being a low-income girl with an after-school job wasn't impressing him.
"You must be good if they let you work on the school's electricity," Mom said diplomatically.
"Oh, very good. I get a couple hundred bucks knocked off my rent every month for keeping my apartment complex up to code," Harper replied, perhaps the first truthful thing she had said all night. "In fact, I can tell ya whoever set up your home stereo system did a crap job on it."
"Really?" Dad responded dryly.
If she could, Stephanie would have been gesturing for Harper not to continue. Since that was too obvious, she tried to send a stern, warning look. Harper completely ignored it. "You can hear some interference on the left speaker, not to mention the two back ones are flipped," the blue-haired girl rattled off. "Also, the system itself is old, perhaps eight, nine years? If you're up for an upgrade, I would recommend it."
Stephanie blinked her eyes. While she didn't understand half of it, it sounded like her friend knew what she was talking about.
"So you think I didn't set up the surround sound system correctly?" Dad questioned.
Aaaaand it was uncomfortable again. So Dad had been behind that setup. This couldn't end well.
"Chances are the wires need to be replaced," Harper shrugged. "Not certain if you have any pets, or an infestation, but something could have nibbled on the wires and damaged them. You still have another two, maybe three years on your current stereo before you probably need to replace it."
"In…infestation?" Mom repeated weakly.
"We don't have an infestation, Dear," Dad was quick to reassure her, nearly sending a glare at Harper.
"Maybe it was at your previous place," Harper suggested.
"We've lived in this house for ten years," Dad deadpanned.
Oh, this was so not going well.
Stephanie had to resist covering her face with her hands. She couldn't show weakness, not in front of Dad. At the very least, Cassandra had kept her mouth shut. Even now, she was politely eating her food, the dinner manners she had most likely been forcibly taught by the rich and the wealthy paying dividends.
So naturally that was when Mom shifted the attention to the dark-haired girl. "And how about you, Ms. Kane? Do you know our Stephanie from school?"
Just so you know, Cassandra was going by her alias in the event her dad tried to look her up. Apparently when she got her job, she had been given the name Cassandra Kane, why, Stephanie wasn't certain. That was her employment name and it would at least satisfy whatever search Dad did to confirm her story. Never mind the fact that Cassandra had come out in a big way as Cassandra Wayne during the Wayne/Fairchild murder case. Somehow her parents hadn't immediately recognized her. Maybe there wasn't a lot of footage or pictures from the media? Or maybe her parents hadn't paid attention?
"I don't go to school," Cassandra answered simply.
Oh. Oh God. That was the wrong thing to say. Stephanie had been counting on that girl to save face, but she had let her down. She had let her down sooooo badly.
"Then how did you meet these two girls?" Dad asked, a hint of disapproval in his tone.
"I was interning at a company. I believe Stephanie was having some sort of field trip. She invited me to have lunch with her friends when I was on break."
"How nice," Mom cooed approvingly.
"And what is this company you work at?" Dad pressed.
"Wayne Enterprises."
Dad actually perked up at that. If there was one thing to get his attention, it was a high-profile position at the largest corporation in town. "That must be exciting," Mom added. "What do you do there?"
"I am a personal assistant to one of the managers. I did well with my internship that they offered me a position."
"I'm so glad your hard work paid off for you," Mom congratulated her. "So what was your internship like?"
Cassandra paused, holding her fork in front of her with some mashed potatoes on it. She was actually considering that questioned. "I liked it a lot. More than the man I work under now. He's a micromanager, unlike my previous boss."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Who was your previous boss, if I may ask?"
"Lucius Fox."
There was a clattering as a fork hit a plate. Stephanie jerked her head to find a shocked look on her dad's face, his mouth open agape. He had clearly dropped his fork in shock. "Lu…Lucius Fox?" he stammered. "How did you get that?"
Cassandra shrugged her shoulders. "His assistant was going on maternity leave and he requested a temp. I got the role and he taught me a lot."
"I hope you're keeping up with him," Dad actually said earnestly. "Lucius Fox is an excellent connection to have."
"I am," the dark-haired girl assured him. "We just spoke a couple days ago."
Well, talk about a reverse of fortune. Already, Stephanie could see approval on her father's face. Clearly he liked Cassandra. However, that didn't go unnoticed as the blonde girl noticed Harper glance between her dad and Cass. She had a blank look on her face, so it was difficult to know what she was thinking.
All Stephanie knew was that she was in for some more uncomfortable times.
It was incredibly easy to get Colin alone. All it took was sneaking back into that orphanage and waiting for the boy in his…room. Could you call this a room? His closet in Father's home was bigger than this. How did anyone live in such confinement?
Regardless, there was some satisfaction to be had when Colin entered, unaware of his guest until after the true heir alerted him. How that head whipped about, hair wisping around, eyes wide in shock, it was amusing. Nevertheless, this was not a social call.
"I see that you have not been completely traumatized by last night's events," Damian remarked. Glancing to a side, "You might want to close the door."
Confusion painted itself in the redheaded boy's eyes, but you could see epiphany in them, and the door was swiftly closed. "Damian? How'd you get in?"
"The same way I did the last time," he dismissed. "I am not here for my health, but rather yours. Do you recall that message that was left behind?"
"Um…why do you think my room is a good place to talk about…that?" Colin asked. Curious, he still appeared confused.
"It affords us privacy. Now, do you recall the message?" Damian insisted. This was not supposed to take long.
"That's all anyone is talking about. Wait, are you here to tell me to stay inside? In my room? I haven't been—"
"Do not lie to me, I already know. My…Batman is grateful for your assistance; however, I do believe that he would want you to remain safe," the dark-haired heir interrupted. Acknowledgement of Colin's deed was warranted, at the very least, but this was not his purpose here. "Starting tonight, the streets of this city will be far more dangerous. Batman predicts a full scale war between two rival factions that will disregard all life. Batman has informed his allies, myself included, to not hold back and stop short of killing. Your safety cannot be guaranteed, yours and the rest of the orphans here. I want you to suspend your activities for the time being until the threat has passed."
There, short and succinct instructions. Each worded to persuade this amateur vigilante to keep out of the fight and remind him of those around him. Even if he wished to engage the enemy, Colin lacked the necessary training and skills. His strength would not serve well against the weaponry that would surely be utilized, he had to understand this. Father would no doubt use such logic as well.
As for himself, Damian had the training from the Demon's Fang and his father's tutelage. He understood overwhelming force, acrobatic finesse, the art of deception and ambush, and the efficiency of well-crafted tools. He was better prepared and had various strategies at his beck and call to use. Meanwhile, Colin could only increase his mass. Hardly a way to hide and lie in wait. Perhaps the first opponent he met could be dealt with, but the cowards of organized crime moved with numbers.
Father would understand this as ensuring the redhead's safety. He would more than likely possess the means to enforce it against Colin's will.
"But…won't you need all the help you can get?" Colin asked. "If it's going to be that bad…"
"No doubt the city's law enforcement will make up the difference," Damian cut in again. Even as he spoke, he held his doubts. The police in this city seemed to require his father's efforts.
"They can't be everywhere! Neither can you!" Colin argued. "You said that none of the bad guys are going to care about anyone else."
"I did, and this place needs to be secure. You will be of better help here with the nuns than getting yourself killed out there," Damian replied, being generous enough to suggest that there was someone else who would need the boy's aid. That would give him something to occupy his time.
It seemed that his words were starting to reach Colin. The young boy was frowning, appearing disturbed at the thought that violence might enter this sanctum for lost souls. Small hands were balled into fists, the body they belonged to tense.
"Do you think…do you think St. Aidan's could be attacked?" the boy asked, looking into Damian's green eyes.
He was on the correct track. "There is always the possibility."
Now Colin was biting at his lips. It was a nervous habit Damian had noticed among many of the population of this city. He did not quite grasp the purpose of this facial gesture, yet he understood its roots in anxiety. It should not take much longer to convince this Gotham native to remain indoors.
"Then…what about making sure that none of the bad guys come here in the first place?" Colin asked, the speed of his speech picking up with each word that he spoke. There was a determination in those blue eyes, one that put Damian on guard.
"How do you mean?" he asked warily. There were a number of scenarios that his mind devised, but he had a…feeling that he knew which scenario the redhead was considering.
"Can the bad guys come here if they're too busy fighting somewhere else?"
Damn, he had been scare—suspicious that that was the scenario being considered.
"If they're busy being beaten up somewhere else, they won't have the time to come here," Colin continued, heedless of the true heir's apprehension. "They'll all see an adult, not a kid. They won't think twice—"
"I did. It just takes the right pair of eyes at the wrong time," Damian interrupted once more, taking a step forward with intent to use the miniscule height advantage he had over the other boy. Yes, it was an advantage that could change in an instant, but early intimidation could prevent that. "You're looking for trouble you don't need to. Don't be selfish."
"Like you?" Colin snapped back. Both of them blinked, Damian because he was sur—caught off guard by the retort and Colin because he had spoken the retort in the first place. Obviously. The wide eyes gave away the surprise. Slowly, the wide eyes returned to their youthfully rounded shape, and then the accusing voice said, "You never answered me. Why do you get to do this? Why are you fighting?"
Not that damn question again! By Grandfather, he had been able to solve the Riddler's riddles so why was this question still taunting him?
It was a distraction, though, one that blinded him to the true danger. Blue eyes that were full of determination widened by the slightest of margins. A redhaired boy tilted downwards, and a lip quivered. "I just want to help. I won't get in the way."
What was this? Something about this…it was…
Look away. Look away quick! But…he couldn't… Was this…was this manifestation of an unknown metahuman ability? What would using such a…such…a…
"Why are you…? Stop it!" he snapped, finally tearing his gaze away. "My decision is final! You—"
Another mistake. He looked back.
Fine.
Through clenched teeth and eyes shut tightly, "Don't get in my way and you can…follow. But it's not my fault if you get hurt!"
He was jostled, a redheaded orphan embracing him in a surprisingly strong…hug… "I'll show you what I can do! You won't regret it!"
Curious choice of words. He was already regretting it.
The more he learned, the more he didn't like the situation.
Oracle had gotten him a basic background. Arnold Wesker was the son of a mobster, one that had incidentally been involved with the Calabrese family when the Lion ruled the streets. Both parents had died in a shooting that was still unsolved, though it was highly likely the actions of a rival family. The Lion had no problem in putting down the competition in his early days.
After that, Wesker had fallen into the foster care system. Not much was known of this time, no doubt due to poor record keeping. Oracle had found a couple police reports of possible domestic violence in the household, but nothing substantiated.
It wouldn't be until Wesker was charged and convicted of manslaughter in a bar brawl. Psychological evaluations diagnosed Wesker with anger issues and recommended psychiatric therapy. Wesker seemed to complete his sessions and was even released early for good behavior according to Blackgate's prisoner logs. He entered the parole program and was given mandatory mental health counseling sessions as part of his parole.
It was here that Batman couldn't help but growl.
The shrink Wesker had seen was Dr. Victor Erie.
Better known as Professor Hugo Strange.
Wesker was yet another in a long line of time bombs Strange had created through his private practice, one that kept leading Gotham into crisis after crisis. It was becoming readily apparent that the Dark Knight was going to need to look more into Strange's list of patients to determine just how many of these poor people the deranged psychiatrist had wound up like a doll and set loose.
However, one could not say that Strange shirked on his responsibilities. In his file on Wesker, he had diagnosed the man with Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder. According to Strange's notes, Wesker had effectively demonstrated this through use of sock puppets, one of which was named "Socko." Just reading the notes, Batman could tell the psychiatrist had been impressed and in awe of the separation of identities between Wesker and these sock puppets. "Subject has demonstrated what appears to be two separate entities. There is a clear definition from where the patient begins and ends with the puppet. The patient has demonstrated the ability to throw his voice, much like a ventriloquist. The patient's voice and the puppet's voice are clearly two different tones, pitches, and octaves."
Strange's sessions with Wesker continued up until the former's arrest. Wesker's activities went silent thereafter, right until his emergence with the Scarface doll. How he had gotten his hands on it and the development of this Scarface personality, the vigilante didn't know. It clearly had an impact if Wesker's activities were anything to go on.
A part of Batman wanted to further investigate just how capable Wesker was as a ventriloquist, but unfortunately his collected footage only had Scarface's voice and none of Wesker's. He was left with analyzing Wesker's facial features and lip movements and discovered that Wesker didn't so much as twitch during the moments his doll was speaking. That was an incredible talent.
So where did that leave him? Unfortunately, it didn't give him any clues as to where Wesker would be now. His past was spotty at best. His current residence in Row's apartment complex spoke to a sick man that was in desperate need of help. Unfortunately, his psych evaluation only showed that he had chosen the wrong doctor to get the help he really needed. All he knew for certain was that he planned on going up against the Calabrese crime family, his parents' history with the family providing the only known connection until now. Could Wesker blame them for his parents' death and was now seeking revenge?
If so, that didn't explain the Christmas Tree Lighting incident. If Wesker was targeting the Calabreses, then why string up members of the City Council? That led Batman into his next phase of investigation.
The first thing that he found on the council members was that they had voted in favor of Selina Kyle's power plant proposal. Considering that Kyle was the current head of the Calabrese crime family, it could be argued that each member was seen as in league with the Calabreses, which Wesker would take as an affront. Something about that didn't sit well with the vigilante, so he highly doubted that was why they were targeted.
Upon digging deeper, he found something much more meaningful. Though they were local politicians, they had made the effort to rub shoulders with Gotham's elite, which included Max Shreck. A check into their campaign contribution logs and Shreck was one of their top donors. An even deeper look showed transfers from Shreck into their personal bank accounts, naturally through shell corporations with enough red tape to make even a government bureaucrat's head spin.
It was clear the council members were bought and paid for by Shreck. In fact, the amount of the payments increased about the time Shreck began peddling his power plant proposal. Clearly he was buying their votes.
That made Batman frown. If these council members were bought, why approve Kyle's power plant over Max's? In fact, that vote had been unanimous. Looking into the other members, the same payments from Shreck were present as well, save for maybe two of them.
Batman leaned back into his chair and considered this. Max had bribed the City Council for votes, only for them to approve a rival proposal. If he recalled right, Max had been rather sulky around this time, abruptly ending his pitch to prospective investors. He wasn't a man that was used to being thwarted, and no doubt would hold a grudge.
There was a motive there. And if he recalled right, Gordon had seen Chip Shreck meeting with Wesker's men. Chip didn't do anything without his father's approval. Was Shreck somehow involved in this mess?
He was onto something here. There was a connection between Selina Kyle and the Calabreses, Wesker and Scarface, and now the Shrecks. At the center of it all was the power plant. There were a few puzzle pieces missing, the ones that could blow this all wide-open.
It seemed he was going to have to go to the Shrecks for those answers.
Author's Note: Much of Arnold Wesker's background was taken from the comics with a few changes to make it fit in our little universe. For the most part, this is his origin in the comics.