Hey, readers! Thanks for checking out this one-shot story. I plan on writing a lot of Marvel stuff in the future (and have already written two Carnage stories), but on the DC side of things, Tommy Monaghan, AKA Hitman, is my favorite character. I cannot stress enough that there is no relation to the Hitman video game series; it's just a coincidence that they're called the same thing. He's essentially DC's version of the Punisher, except he has a sense of humor and isn't a stoic brick wall. I've wanted to write something with this character for a while – the only question was what…

And then I decided to make this a story where they play Dungeons & Dragons. Bear with me a second. Hitman is at its best when it's about a bunch of friends hanging out, in my opinion. Tabletop games fill that requirement, and they're something I know pretty well. And honestly, it's more fun for me to write than characters shooting each other. Consider this to be an experiment that I probably won't repeat (or if I do, it'll be just one chapter in a much longer tale). For context, this story happens the day after Hitman #34, where Tommy meets Superman. Hope you enjoy the only DC story I'll probably ever write!

…

"I'm tellin' you, it was amazing!" Tommy exclaimed, trying (and failing) to not sound like a little kid. The signed magazine sat on a plate on the table – the wood itself was covered in enough ash to turn it gray, so he wasn't about to let the paper touch it. He also kept his own cigarette far, far away. He'd need to get this behind museum glass before Sean or Baytor put it behind the bar.

"Right," the man across from him said in his characteristically taciturn manner. Ringo was clearly skeptical, though the guy had enough tact to not say it aloud.

It might be a forgery, Ringo thought, which Tommy overheard with his telepathy. That stung a little, but Tommy couldn't blame him for something the guy didn't actually say. It was kind of fucked up to eavesdrop on people's thoughts like this, but his powers went a little haywire when he experienced strong emotions – as he had for the past 24 hours or so.

It wasn't every day that one met Superman and got an autograph from him. Gah, it sounded unreal just thinking about it! Tommy may have been a contract killer, but he still admired the guy who saved the planet dozens of times. If there was one thing 90 percent or more of humanity agreed on, it was that Superman was awesome. Wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to meet him again. Definitely won't if he finds out I kill people for a living.

"I'm happy for you, man. Really," Natt said from beside him. His best friend since the Gulf had gotten wrapped up in superhero shenanigans with him. Really, all of them had after the undead at the aquarium and overthrowing the government of a small African nation. When he put it like that, their lives had taken a turn for the weird these past few years.

As if that weren't obvious enough.

Tommy glanced at his watch: ten minutes after eight. The sunset had mostly faded, and the streetlamps outside flickered on. Already, he heard gunshots ringing out on this side of Gotham. Maybe Batman would swoop by and put some of these people in their place. Probably not, though. Only one of him (and his army of kids – how irresponsible) against a city. And Tommy knew from experience that the guy was a fucking chump, too.

"All right, where's Hacken?" he finally blurted out. "He was supposed to be – "

"Hey, guys!" The door flew open, kicked by a big boot attached to a massive man. Said massive man carried a few books and pieces of paper in his hands… only one of which was real. The other was a prosthetic. Needed to self-amputate after being bitten by a zombie seal, of course. These things happened.

Another few hits like that, and it'd be splinters. Fortunately, Tommy didn't need to pay for the repairs. Sean let them use the dingy, sooty loft of his bar for their game nights for free – as long as he got dealt in every so often.

"Finally got your slow ass here. Sit down, we don't have all night." The cards were shuffled and ready to go. Hacken looked between them and the books he held in his arms. He felt himself raise an eyebrow. One didn't need to be a psychic to tell Hacken had something else planned.

"Actually, we should do something else tonight," he said, setting his equipment on the dirty table. Seriously, the thing had probably never been cleaned.

"What the Hell is this?" Natt asked as he saw the covers: dragons fighting fantasy characters one one, while some many-eyed monster shot lasers from its oculi on another. Looked like something from a comic fan's basement.

"It's called Monsters & Mayhem!" Hacken excitedly explained. "I learned about it from my neighbor; she plays it, and it sounded really – "

"I know what it is, Hacken. That was a rhetorical question," Natt said before taking a drag on his own cigarette. Even Ringo, having grown up in China, had probably heard of it. It had been around since Tommy was a teenager. A couple people he knew in the Marines played it. Never appealed to him, and he made fun of those who did. Thankfully, he'd grown as a person since then – as in, he didn't judge people for doing nerd shit. Didn't mean he wanted to participate.

"It could be fun, though," Hacken protested. "And I already spent most of the money from the last job on this! It was expensive." Tommy sighed. The guy wasn't stupid. Well, he kind of was, but he had enough tact to know his friends wouldn't just go along with him. One effective way to rope them in was making them pity his poor spending habits.

Then again, none of us are great with money when we spend it betting against each other. Or betting on Gotham sports, which were among the worst in any professional league… the Knights were sure to strike it big one day, though!

Tommy looked at Natt, who threw up his hands. Ringo said nothing, and he thought just as little. He was fine going with the flow, even if he would have preferred to stick to their routine. Sounded like they were in (reluctant) agreement.

"Fine, Hacken," Tommy said for them all, "I guess we'll give your game a try." Hacken genuinely beamed, which made Tommy roll his eyes – not that anyone could tell when he wore sunglasses indoors in the middle of the night.

"It appears there are many rules," Ringo muttered as he leafed through one of the books. The illustrations were nice, he'd give that to the people who drew it. "I'm not sure this is the kind of game we can just pick up and start playing."

"It's OK, I read all the books!" Hacken boasted before his expression suddenly turned sheepish. "I, uh, probably remember most of the details."

Playing a game none of them had the slightest idea about the mechanics of? Oh, this was going to be great. Maybe this would be worth it just to have Hacken make an ass of himself.

"We gotta make fantasy characters or something, right?" Natt interjected. "You know, Conan or that chick who wears a chainmail bikini?"

"That part's easy," Hacken replied, pointing to the sheets of paper he brought in along with the books. Only then that he realized there were already words on the paper – not written with a pencil, but printed with ink. "These are sample characters. Good thing there's already three!" Yeah, Tommy supposed things were pretty easy when you didn't need to do anything to achieve them. He once took a hit involving two rival gangsters who already shot each other by the time he arrived.

He took a sheet, which, as expected, had already picked up enough soot that reading it became a challenge. It was still legible enough for him to know it detailed a human Fighter. Tommy assumed that meant this character was good at killing stuff. Works for me. This character was named… oddly enough, that part was blank. Maybe he was supposed to use his imagination or some bullshit. He took a pen from his pocket and wrote "TOM" in big, bold letters. These were his great ideas.

I'd make more money as a writer than a contract killer, he thought.

"So, this is a game of… pretend?" Ringo asked, reading his sheet like it was some ancient text. About as understandable as one.

"More or less," Hacken answered, embarrassed that one of his friends put it like that. "But there are still rules. Like, you need to roll these to see." He pulled something out of his pocket: weird polyhedrons in different shapes and colors. The green ones kind of reminded him of kryptonite.

"What the fuck even are these?" Tommy thought he knew at least the basics about Monsters & Mayhem. Apparently, he wasn't as educated as he thought.

"Dice."

"Dice have six sides, Hacken," Natt retorted. He played enough craps to know.

"Some Chinese games use dice with more than six sides, so I'm not totally intimidated by this," Ringo said, holding one of the translucent ones to the light, which made it like a prism projecting onto the man's face. Huh, he learned something new about another culture. If only it were in the context of something other than a silly fantasy game.

They got another plate, which sat next to the one holding the magazine signed by Superman. That was the only way to prevent the things from picking up enough sticky tar that it ruined their ability to roll. With that, they'd completed the first step. Had a sinking feeling it'd only get more complicated from there.

"All right," Tommy said, leaning back. "I'm Tom. The Fighter. Pleased to meet you all."

"Really?" Natt incredulously asked.

"Oh, what's your character's great name?" Tommy retorted. To that, he had no response other than to furiously scribble something down.

"I'm Zarzax the Angry, dragonborn Cleric of, uh… fuck, I have no idea how to pronounce this. Some god, I guess." Well, he won the naming contest, no question about that. He squinted and adjusted the stupid hat he never took off. "Come to think of it, I don't exactly know what a 'dragonborn' is, either."

"Lizard men," Hacken simply replied. Ah, that explained everything.

"And I'm, uh, Cheng, the elf Monk," Ringo said, adding that little detail to his sheet. If Tommy got away from subtracting letters from his first name, he saw no reason Ringo couldn't add letters to his last. "A little on the nose to have the Asian guy playing a kung-fu expert, don't you think?" he joked, looking at Hacken. Obviously, Hacken didn't make these sheets, and they drew at random, but it was embarrassing enough to make him blush and rub the back of his neck.

"I… uh…"

Tommy smacked his hand on the table to get everybody's attention (and defuse the suddenly awkward situation). "All right, let's start this weird experiment so we can get it over with faster. I guess we're playin' poker next week."

"Thanks, guys." Hacken was genuinely happy that they listened to his ideas for once. Thought they didn't do it enough. That felt like a kick in the crotch as Tommy cringed a little.

With that, Hacken picked up what seemed to be the main book, wiped the grime on his shirt, and began to read aloud after skimming to a certain page.

"So, you're all adventurers protecting a caravan as you head for…"

Hacken hadn't even completed the first sentence of this introduction when Tommy began to zone out. Another benefit of wearing sunglasses indoors was getting to close his eyes without anyone noticing. These are gonna be a few really fuckin' long hours.

…

Less than 10 minutes in, they'd already gotten roped into a skirmish. It had almost been faster; Natt openly mulled just attacking the nearest civilians, but it probably would have pissed Hacken off if they didn't at least try to follow the plot. Besides, they didn't murder random people in the real world – only those they were paid to whack (or in self-defense). Why should the game be any different?

"What are these creatures, again?" Ringo asked, fingers interlaced and brows scrunched up.

"They're called Kobolds," Hacken replied, "and, um… well, I don't actually know what those are. But they're small and evil and they need to die." Truly, being tiny was the greatest motivator to mow the creatures down in their tracks. All they needed to do was roll these mutant dice and hope the odds were in their favor. He grabbed the orange one and flung it onto the saucer, where it bounced along the rim for a few seconds.

Using his powers to cheat at cards was one thing. He swore to never do that, and his friends knew he was good for it. He had no such qualms about reading Hacken's mind here and looking through the book when he could (though reading in reverse was always a bitch). No money was on the line, and he felt no investment in this. However, it proved to be far more difficult than he expected.

Sure, he saw what Hacken might do next, but his responses changed based on what they did. Not just him, but also Ringo and Natt, who had plenty of their own ideas! Tommy's mind-reading powers weren't advanced enough to keep track of so many possibilities. Even if they were, it came down to luck, which determined if they failed or succeeded in what they tried to accomplish. Unfortunately, he wasn't telekinetic – if he were, all his rolls would come up as 20s instead of the disappointing string of 1s. Seriously, three in a row! Math wasn't his strong suit, but the odds of that should have been really damn low.

Would have accused them of being weighted if not for everybody using the same set. Maybe they just didn't like him.

"I hit another one!" Natt cheered – of course he did, the lucky bastard. Tommy drummed his fingers on his leg.

With that, the last of them fell dead, an act Hacken gratuitously embellished: Zarzax dug his mace into the Kobold's torso and pulled his spine out like the fucking Predator. Tommy appreciated the effort, but it was pointless after all the times they killed people in real life. Left him a little jaded was all. The game was called "Monsters & Mayhem", and they'd gotten both in the first few minutes. No false advertising, at least.

"Hey, you survived the first combat! That's a start." He paused. "Am I doing all right?" Self-doubt ate at him again, and Tommy felt a small pang of guilt. Sure, this was boring as Hell, but he didn't want to make his friend feel bad. Nobody else could have made this a better experience for him.

"You're doin' fine," Tommy said. "What's next, are we gonna fight some demons?"

"I AM BAYTOR!" a loud, shrill voice exclaimed as it burst through the door. All of them yelped and flinched in their seats – except Ringo, of course. He didn't even blink. Speak of the devil, and he appeared. The seven-foot devil was all mouth and flailing limbs and more misshapen teeth than anyone could count. Nice guy, though, and he mixed drinks like nobody's business. Sometimes even brought up shots during poker – he lived behind the counter, after all.

However, he wasn't here to deliver booze this time. Well, he kind of was… if gallons of alcohol already in someone's stomach and liver counted.

A little man wearing a stained, tattered superhero costume was slung over his back, who he gently deposited on the floor. He had nowhere else to go. "I AM BAYTOR!" he screamed one more time before nodding and slamming the door behind him. That was enough to make it crack straight down the middle.

Sixpack may have been a crazy drunkard, but he was also their friend. Tommy wanted to help him, but social services in Gotham were in the toilet, just like everything else, and nobody had the money to put him up somewhere good for him. The best thing he could think to do for the guy was to have him around and keep his eyes on him. Not great, but at least he wouldn't get shot trying to stop a mugging tonight.

"All right, let's keep going," Hacken said, trying to shake off the nerves. No demons, unfortunately. Instead, they actually did what they were supposed to: bring the caravan to some oasis waystation in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Then they needed to talk to the leader of the settlement in hopes of negotiating a blah blah blah. Ringo seemed more interested in that part, so he took the lead while Tommy hung back, maybe getting a word in edgewise when he had something to say.

Hacken encouraged them to try and talk like their characters would (even though he had no idea what Tom was like beyond "hit stuff good"), but Tommy thought that'd be stupid and embarrassing. He already went along with a lot of crap, but pretending to be this character instead of merely narrating his actions was a bridge too far. Ringo, being the one among them who could naturally smooth talk people, had a better time than he did beating up monsters that only came up to his hips. A few decent rolls sealed the deal. What deal went over Tommy's head. Something about cleaning up the central spring of the oasis?

"Can we dump iodine in it, or however they clean water?" Tommy asked, remembering the little tablets they had to chuck into water to make it potable back in his military days.

"Zarzax is a dragon guy, right? He could breathe fire onto the water and boil it," Natt suggested. Another fantastic idea.

"Perhaps there is a magical solution," Ringo mulled, glancing at Natt. His was the only character who could do magic, and that seemed to have a lot of uses. Spells and other mumbo jumbo were overrated in the real world – he'd teamed up with Jason Blood multiple times, and it always ended badly – but they might be useful in this world. And then they just… kept talking. But not in an annoying way. Sixpack kept snoring away, and the gunshots and occasional screams continued outside. It was a normal night in Gotham.

Much as it begrudged him to admit, the experience grew on him a microscopic amount. It reminded him of playing pretend as a kid, only with more structure. Maybe not the most ringing endorsement, but it was more than he expected to say in the game's favor. Good thing I'm not going to say it. Natt and Ringo had similar thoughts.

Which brought them to the end. It was almost midnight, and the game wrapped up. They came to a natural stopping point, with them about to enter another combat, this time with a weird creature at the bottom of this lake. Or would they attempt to talk to it? After all, it seemed that it was capable of speech. He didn't know yet if they'd go the peaceful or the violent route.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I had a decent time," Tommy said as he took one final puff of his cigarette before expertly flicking the butt into the overflowing garbage bin on the other side of the room. "Still, I come here to play cards, and there's not enough time in our very busy schedules of killing people to do this more than once a week."

They quickly worked out a compromise: the first two hours of their four-hour block would be for Monsters & Mayhem, while the latter two remained for poker. That might change later, but it seemed all right for the time being. Oddly enough, Tommy almost felt excited to return to this world in a week.

Of course, Tommy was under no illusions about their odds of finishing a long game. Nobody lived too long in this line of work. The fact all of them were still around after doing it for several years was nothing short of a miracle. Would they live to see the next one?

"You know," Ringo said, turning back to peer out the grimy window, "I think we have time for one hand of poker tonight."

The cards, which had been shuffled and placed atop Superman's signature, beckoned. Yeah, Tommy thought. He was up for a single hand before closing time.