A/N: After significant thought and consideration, I've decided to still publish the rewrites on this site, for those that are new here, this is a rewrite of an Injustice fic I started but never finished years ago. For those here from the original, HI! thank you for coming by, and I apologize sincerely. My writing style has changed so much and the tonal dissonance between the early chapters and these would be too jarring. I hope you all enjoy! This story will be receiving weekly updates every Tuesday before Midnight CST!
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Gotham City was a hellhole. Anyone within their right minds and with the means to do so would get out of there, if not for this damned sense of pride that comes from growing up here.
Gotham Technical University was my ticket out. My way of leaving this accursed city behind.
Things didn't work out that way, obviously. When this city digs its claws into you…it digs them deep.
My name is Henry James Macleod. I was a college student when I first heard news of the Bat going after the mob. I was in the student union with that morning's edition of the Gotham Times in my hands when someone who would become a recurring headache arrived.
"Whatcha readin' there, Mackie?" A bubbly voice, tinged with a slight Jersey accent accompanied the abrupt arrival of Harleen Quinzel. Psych Major, and my partner for Chem Lab.
I placed down the newspaper and tapped the headline, 'The Bat, Vigilante appears in altercation in The Narrows!'
"I'm thinking I have to check on my old man, Harley." I spoke quietly, earning a soft frown from the strawberry blonde.
"He still henching? At his age?" She whispers and I gave a shrug.
Patrick 'No-Neck' Macleod. My Dad, Irish-American Immigrant, former amateur boxer, and one bodyguard to a Mr. Oswald Cobblepot.
"He's loyal, and doesn't know any other trade." I defended my dad, earning a flat look.
"He's pushing Sixty, Mackie."
I let out a sigh, slumping over the table we were sat at,
"I know." I grumbled, before straightening up. "Ain't you supposed to be working on that paper for Doctor Crane?"
This caused Quinn to slump herself, letting out a groan.
"Oh don't get me started on that. Nine pages on the psychological effects of fear?! The man is obsessed!" She groans, and I let out a scoff.
"I warned you, Quinn. You wanted the early class, I took his concurrent enrollment, and I hated every second of it."
The conversation went along those lines for the next maybe ten minutes before I bid Quinn adieu and got moving to my classes for the day. College, four years of showing up on time, praying that you have a professor that makes things interesting.
Today, I didn't have those professors. Bunch of old timers just holding the position out of spite for the younger generation of intellectuals. The 'no one will ever get an A in my class' elitists.
I suffered through that for the next few hours before I found myself on the subway heading back to the Narrows. I mean mug my way home.
"I'm home, Da!" I call, met with silence.
Not unusual, Cobblepot often made him work nights. I send up a prayer, hoping that he'd make it home okay.
Ma passed a few years back, when I was still in high school, so it was just us now.
Now Da obviously worked in the criminal underworld, for over forty years at this point. We had rules. Da kept his work away from home, I didn't ask about what he did, and lock all the doors. When I saw our kitchen door ajar, I immediately began backing my way back out of the house.
This wasn't the first time someone had busted in. Usually some drop-head or some kid who took the wrong dare. Normally I'd warn 'em off, but this…this was different.
Nothing was turned over, everything was where it was supposed to be, save for the doors. No, they must've been here for Da.
Two younger guys, fancy shirts and dress pants with bats. Fuck.
"No-Neck has a brat, huh?" One of them speaks, and I recognize his face from the papers. Thomas 'Stocky' Brown, foot soldier of the Sionis crime family.
"This wasn't the plan, Stocky." Another face from the papers, James 'Jimmy' Darmody.
"Plans change, Jim. Grab him."
Fuck. I let a growl out of my throat as Jimmy approaches, wooden baseball bat at the ready to knock some of my teeth out.
"You come into my house, trying to fuck up my Da?! You're going to regret that." I snarled out, dropping my book bag and darting forward.
Da was a boxer, and a damn dirty fighter at that. He taught me a few tricks over the years. How to use my hips to provide leverage, proper form and footwork. So I was able to duck poor Jim's panicked swing and slam my right fist into his jaw.
He spat teeth and hit the ground, unfortunately, I followed suit not long after.
Stocky had rushed in just behind Jim, and his baseball bat cracked me square between my eyes, sending me to the ground with my ears ringing and vision blurred.
The blurry form of Stocky stepped over me, and another third form of someone I couldn't properly see, but they were smoking like a chimney. A cigar, by the smell.
"Hell of an arm that kids got on 'im." The smoker spoke, voice raspy. I could see more figures step out of the different rooms. All blurred and the pain in my head made it hard to focus.
"He's not in the Life, Mr. Sionis." Stocky spoke, resting the bat on his shoulder.
"He was born into it, Stocky. No-Neck knew that the moment he knocked his broad up. Grab that fucking Mick and throw him in the trunk." The smoker snarls at Stocky, who shrugs and steps forward and readies his bat once more.
"Nothing personal, Kid." He speaks, and I hear the bat snap against my skull, and I'm sent into blackness.
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You hear stories of people that knew too much, that crossed the wrong person.
Roman Sionis was usually at the top of that list. You bow your head, you never look him in the eye, you didn't see anything, you didn't hear anything, you were never there.
I fully expected to wake up in front of the pearly gates, to see Saint Peter and face judgement.
I woke up tied to a chair, bleeding from a cut on my forehead and pissing mad. My ears were ringing, my head was pulsating in pain, and I was tied to a damn chair!
"Ah, kid's awake." That raspy voice. Roman Sionis. The man that wore his own father's coffin as a mask. "You've got a thick skull, Kid. Never seen a genuine Louisville break before the bone did."
"Must be genetic." I groaned out, earning a scoff of laughter from behind the ebony mask.
"Good old No-Neck. Y'know how your old man got that name?" Sionis asked, and I raised a bloody eyebrow.
"Got in a fight early on, got his neck broken, doctor fused his vertebrae."
"And he's been a pain in my ass ever since. Now I've played nice. Done things by the book. Unfortunately, progress waits for no one, kiddo. I need the Narrows. Penguin's got the Narrows, and your old man has access to Penguin."
"You honestly think my Da is gonna give up his boss for me?" I asked, letting a scoff out of my throat. "Da's been working for Cobblepot for forty years. Twice as long as I've been alive. You know better than most what time and loyalty do to folk, Mister Sionis."
A flat look from the mob boss met my eyes as he brought a brought a cigarette up and puffed it through a hole in the skull masks teeth.
"I also know the lengths fathers will go to when they start receiving bits of their kids in the mail."
He takes a step back, blowing a cloud of smoke that billowed around his face as he approaches a table off to the side. I took this chance to look around, try and figure out where I was.
I could hear water, but the interior of the place was dark save for a single floodlight that was blasting me in the face, and the embers of Sionis' cig.
"The plan was just to ice your old man. Make the coming war a bit easier without too much fuss. But you. You grant me an opportunity."
"To do what? Bring out the hacksaws and pliers?" I scoffed, and I could just about see Sionis put down a set of said pliers he had just picked up. Heh.
Basic Bitch.
He stomped over to me and thrust his fist into my gut, sending me into a coughing fit.
"You listen here you little shit-"
"Fuck you, I know I'm dead already!" I wheezed out, spitting out a bit of phlegm onto those nice Italian dress shoes. "The least I can do, is make sure you can't enjoy it."
There's a glint of respect in those black eyes, before they harden.
"Have it your way, kid." He mutters, returning to the table and taking hold of a crowbar. He taps it in his hand, stalking forward, the ember of the cigarette casting a macabre glow on his mask. "Taking the fun out of this."
"Fuck. You. Sionis." I spit out.
The first swing rings my bell bad. The lights go out, my ears are ringing like a motherfucker. Ringing loud enough that I can't hear the gunshots.
I'm on my side, that swing must've knocked me flat, my vision's coming back, but everything's a blur. Muzzle flashes, I hear shouting, swearing, more muzzle flashes.
Someone grabs me, pulls me behind some kind of shipping container as the firefight continues.
"Henry! Henry can you hear me?!" Da…you beautiful bastard.
I mumble out something, but I can hardly hear myself, the ringing in my ears is still going.
"I'm gonna get you home, boy. You leave it to Da." I feel myself get pulled over his shoulder, and I know things are gonna be okay.
I tried to leave this day behind me. Tried…so hard, to just live a normal life.
But Gotham doesn't like that. Gotham hates mediocrity…it won't just let you be a bystander. No.
If you have a destiny…Gotham's going to drag you to it.