Star City, October 2017.
A tall hooded figure walks by the Starling General sign, its electric neon lights flickering slightly as a Star City police department car flies by. The howling flash of red and blue lights brighten the darkened night and filled the air with the irritating screech of sirens. The figure shifts the bag slung over its shoulder slightly, pulling the Star City Rockets hat down farther to obscure its face and eyes. With a quick glance over its shoulder, the figure turned and headed for the brightly lit entrance.
The doors slid open as the figure approached, letting the torrent of noise spill out. As he got closer and walked inside, everything became more defined. Patients who were waiting paced and coughed, nurses tried their best to yell over the constant beeping of equipment and argued with their patients. An emergency team brushed their way by, urging the figure to move as they pushed a gurney ahead with what looked like a shooting victim bleeding out on top.
Welcome to Star City, the figure, a man, thought to himself with a grim laugh.
He turned towards the waiting area, spying an empty chair towards the back. Walking over, he dumped his bag on the chair, and looked towards the occupied chair beside it. An elderly gentleman sat in the chair, head leaned back, eyes completely blanked out as he stared up at the ceiling. With a poke to the arm, he tested the person's coherence, gaining not even a blink.
You'll do, he thought to himself as he gently lifted the elderly man's arm up and wrapped the strap to his bag around it; the elderly man gurgled at the ceiling, his fingers wiggling erratically.
With a nod, the hooded figure turned and spied the elevators, walking over towards them and hitting the single button on the panel. After a few moments, the doors sprang open. Several people spilled out including a very irritated nurse. Stepping back and pulling his hat down lower, the man waited till the elevator was empty before stepping inside and pushing the door close button. A few more people shuffled on behind him, almost filling the elevator before the doors closed. He reached over, pushing the white circle with his desired floor number on it before sliding to the back of the elevator.
After several stops and a few changes in occupancy, the elevator came to the right floor. The hooded figure slid past the remaining people and slipped out into the hallway. Keeping his head down and his back to every camera he could see, he made his way along the halls till he came to a room just before a window overlooking the city. The placard on the wall read "Room 517-High priority, Thea Queen."
With a quick look to his left and right, he silently opened the door and slipped inside.
The raspy sound of a breathing machine filled the almost empty room, giving it a disturbing air. The city's sounds were completely silenced by the window glass, letting only the orange glow of the lights fill the room. Inside lay Thea Queen with several medical lines taped to each hand. Several monitors stood behind her on the left side, quietly beeping and keeping in rhythm with her slow heart rate.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," he whispered to her, stepping closer to her bed. "Maybe if I wouldn't have left…"
He laughed to himself.
"I know what you would say, this isn't my fault," he continued, eyes looking over her battered form. "I can't believe Ollie let this happen though."
The only response he received was the steady beep of her heart monitor accompanied by the wheezing from her ventilator. She didn't look completely bad off, but the sight still hurt to see. Her eyes were darkened from bruising, along with a taped shut cut over her left eye. He could see more bruises peeking their purple and yellow outlines on her chest around her hospital gown.
"You probably can't hear me," he went on, gently lifting her hand and holding it. "But I wanted you to know I'm back, I'm here."
With a gentle squeeze, he laid her hand back down and navigated around the tube reaching from her mouth to the machine beside her. Lightly brushing his lips against a section of her forehead that wasn't bruised, he laid a kiss. Slowly backing away, he pulled out a black feather from his jacket.
"When you wake up, find me," he whispered, eyes noticing his wedding ring where it sat on the table and laying the feather next to it. "We have a lot to talk about."
A nurse picked that exact moment to enter the room, pushing the door open behind her before turning around carrying a tray.
"Who are you?" she asked, startled and almost dropped the tray. "What are you doing here?"
"Leaving," he said plainly, pulling his hat down lower across his eyes.
"I'm calling security…" the nurse grumbled, picking up a white corded phone from where it hung on the wall. By the time she pushed the first button, the man was gone, and the door was swinging shut with a click.
Retracing his steps back through the halls, the man made his way to the elevators and smacked the down arrow. The button glowed yellow as few more nurses came forward and hit the button again.
"Damn things are so slow these days," the one grumbled, pushing the button a few more times in irritance.
"What do you expect," another sighed beside him. "After the last few months, this whole city has been going to pieces."
Without a word to either of them, the man turned and headed for the stairs, pausing before he opened the door to check no one was following him. Swinging the door open, he descended the stairs, his footsteps barely making a sound. After reaching the bottom of the staircase, he wrenched open the door, instantly being assaulted by the increasing commotion in the waiting room. He wound his way around the surge of people, keeping his head low. As he passed the elevators, he noticed two men in pale blue uniforms with radios on their shoulders.
"What's taking so long?" came the crackle of a woman's voice over the closest one's radio.
"It's these damn elevators," the man grunted, pushing the button on the side of a microphone pinned to his shirt. "We're stuck on the ground floor."
"Just take the damn stairs then?" the person on the other end replied.
"She has a point, you know," the man beside him chuckled.
"Yea right," the other responded, shaking his head. "This place doesn't pay me enough for that shit."
Wow, the hooded man thought to himself as he walked by, any wonder why the city is in shambles? With a mental laugh, he made his way back over to the seating area, finding his bag still attached to the zoned-out gomer. Carefully unwinding the strap, he slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Thanks for watching that for me," he muttered to the old man as he continued to gurgle at the ceiling. The old man's fingers twitched as his eyes stayed motionless.
With a shrug, the hooded figure turned around and weaved his way through the crowd of people flocking in the door before finally making it outside. Raindrops began to drift down, giving the air a heavy feel. Flicking the collar of his jacket up higher and adjusting his hat, the man set off into the parking lot and down the street.
After a few blocks, the man came to a brightly lit, but rather dingy looking diner. Taking a second to let two speeding cars fly by and barely managing to dodge the spray of rainwater they sent up, he headed inside.
The bell above the door jingled lazily as he swung the door open, causing the waitress behind the cash register in front of him to turn.
"Go ahead and sit anywhere," she grunted, waving a hand and picking up a menu.
The man silently nodded, heading to the far corner of the counter bar, sitting his bag down on a stool and taking the next one. A barely functioning tv was on above his head, some random commercial playing out.
"What'll it be mister," the waitress asked, wearily stepping up to him and pulling out a pen from her apron.
"Apple pie, cup of coffee," the man muttered, keeping his eyes low and waving away the menu.
"Coffees be on for a while, I can brew you a fresh pot if you'd like," she sighed, scribbling down his order.
"If it's hot, it'll do." he replied
"Alright, be just a minute for your pie."
He nodded, adjusting his bag beside him. The tv flickered above him and got suddenly louder, bringing his attention up to it.
"...the Star City Police Department is happy to announce that this year's graduating class will be addressed and commemorated by the Queen administration, with Deputy Mayor and former SCPD Lieutenant, Quinten Lance giving the commemorating speech. Although the location has yet to be set…."
"Sorry about that," the waitress sighed, bringing his coffee over and setting it down before smacking the side of the TV and picking up the remote. "Damn things been acting up all week."
The man grunted, hiding a smile. At least he's still alive, he thought to himself. After a few minutes of wailing on the volume down button, the waitress managed to get it down to a reasonable level. He picked up the mug, fingers running over the chipped exterior and welcoming the warmth it brought. Unfortunately, the taste didn't come with it.
"You sure you don't want a fresh pot?" she asked, turning around.
Wordlessly, he shook his head, the hood and hat barely moving.
"Well alright, your pie should be out any second," she said anyway, trying to get look at the man's face.
A series of bells and a gruff voice came from behind her, shouting that an order was up. The woman shrugged, walking over to the window and tossing a few more ticket orders up onto the turnstile before pulling a small plate of apple pie down. Reaching down beside the window, she pulled out a paper wrapped roll of silverware from a tray and sat them both down in front of the hooded man.
Before she could say anything else, the bell above the entry door rang out. In walked two men, wearing half masks across their faces.
"Go ahead and sit wherever you like," the waitress called, heading towards the register to pick up two menus.
The men ignored her, instead, one walked straight up to the register as the other moved slightly off to the right, towards the counter bar. One pulled out an automatic looking sub machine gun and the other a sawed-off shotgun and wracked the slide.
"Open up the register, NOW!" the first shouted, bringing up the shotgun with both hands and pointing it directly at the waitress.
"Everyone else, get on the damn ground!" The second shouted, pulling the trigger and shooting a hole in the ceiling.
The waitress let out a shriek as everyone else dove for cover, some ducking underneath the table they were sitting at, others scooting off the barstools and laying on the grubby flooring. The hooded man sitting at the bar, ignored both the gunshot and the screaming. Instead, he sat calmly eating his pie, the only sound was the fork on the cracked beige plate. The two armed men looked at each other for a second, clearly bewildered before the first man nudged his companion.
"Didn't you hear me dude?" The second yelled again, walking over to the hooded man and shouldering the shotgun. "Get on the damn floor!"
Again, the man ignored the robber, taking a drink of his coffee in defiance.
"Are you deaf or something?!" the armed robber yelled, jabbing the barrel into the man's back.
In a blink of an eye, several things happened. First, the man spun around in his stool, knocking the shotgun away from his body and to the floor where it clattered metallically. Secondly, he slammed a closed fist directly into the robber's sternum, causing the air in his lungs to explode violently out the robber's mouth. Third, he stood up, grabbing the now disarmed robber by the scruff of the neck, and slammed him headfirst into the counter where he was just eating. The plate shattered, sending bits of pie flying as the robber slumped to the floor, unconscious and bleeding from his nose profusely.
"Damn," the hooded figure grunted. "That was good pie too."
The first robber turned towards the sound, his one visible eye blinking and revealing a sudden panic. He began to turn his head, back and forth from the waitress at the register, to the hooded man now walking towards him.
"Get on the ground man!" The robber yelled, panic now creeping to his voice as well
"Easy kid," The hooded figure called, revealing a calming voice and raising his hands. "Why don't you keep that gun on me and not these kind people?"
The armed man shook his head and the visible eye blinked a few times as he kept waving the gun back and forth.
"Over here," The hooded figure called again, still slowly walking towards him. "That's right, aim right here."
Again, the robber blinked repeatedly, sweat starting to bead up on the visible section of his face; his gun began to shake and sway. Closer and closer the hooded figure moved, coming directly Infront of the man.
"That's it," he called again, barrel of the gun directly resting on the front of his chest. "Go ahead and keep that right here."
Before the armed man could react, the hooded figure had the gun by the butt, swinging it away from his body and towards the door as his right hand slammed directly into the man's throat. With a choking wheeze, the armed robber let go of his grip on the gun, hands reflexively coming to clutch his possibly crushed windpipe. The hooded figure caught the submachine gun, swinging it in an arch before backhanding the robber across the face with the barrel. With an audible thud, the robber hit the floor and rolled around in pain.
Flipping the gun around, the hooded figure tapped the release, dropping the magazine onto the floor where it clattered. Grabbing the gun with both hands, his fingers hit a lever and he pulled the gun in two. Without a word, he laid both pieces on the counter in front of the waitress before returning to where his bag sat. After stepping over the unconscious would be robbed, he headed for the door, stopping just in front of the waitress. He rummaged in a pocket for a second, producing a twenty-dollar bill and sat it on the counter, next to the halves of the gun.
"For the pie," he grunted before adjusting his cap and hood then pulling open the door.
The only sound that could be heard was the twinkling of the doorbell as the customers looked up in a mixture of shock and terror. The waitress blinked a few times before picking up the twenty he had laid down.
A few hours later, the hooded figure stood in the now pouring rain, staring up at a looming clocktower. Tarps flapped in the light breeze, making the building look like it was rippling. Rain fell in sheets, cascading off the tarps, down the scaffolding surrounding the building and down into the street. At the very top of the building, he could see the iron hour and minute hands dangling straight down, the glass behind them looked new and fresh. His eyes lingered on the sight, bringing back memories.
Star City, Earth 119.
A middle-aged Quinten Lance walked happily down a bustling city street, a young boy beside him trying to keep up.
"Where are we going Grandpa?" The little boy asks, almost struggling to keep up.
"Well your mother is busy at the precinct today," Quinten announced, looking down and smiling at the boy. "So, I figured we'd go out for a walk, maybe run some errands. There's something I want to show you anyway."
They turned a corner and stopped, looking up at the clocktower a few blocks away.
"You see that, Jacob?" Quinten asked, kneeling down and pointing up at the bright silver peak. The bright blue glass reflected the sun, causing the whole building to twinkle. A line of lights around the outside gave a dark contrast to the light, leaving little black dots.
"Do you know what that is?"
"It's a clock?" the boy, Jacob, replied.
"Exactly, kiddo. It's also the highest point in the entire city." He nodded.
"Higher than the super train?"
"You bet'cha," He confirmed. "No matter where you are in the city, you can see that clocktower."
"It's pretty, like aunt Sara's hair," The boy giggled, staring out at it.
"That it is," Quinten laughed, picking Jacob up and sitting him on his own broad shoulders. "Now I want you to remember something: If you're ever lost, or ever get separated from us, head for the clock tower. Your mother and your aunt were told the same thing when they were your age, and it's never let us down."
"Can we go inside it?" Jacob asked.
"Of course!"
Earth 1.
Jacob walked up to the doors of the clocktower, only to find them chained and barred with a series of notices. PRIVATE PROPERTY, UNDERCONSTRUCTION, NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF MAYOR QUEEN. RENOVATIONS TO BE COMPLETED SO...
A few of them were still legible, whereas others were already fading. Hasn't been touched in months, he thought to himself. Perfect.
Looking around, he confirmed no one was following him or watching. With a quick movement, he slung his bag over his shoulders and turned towards the scaffolding. After a series of quick rebounding jumps, he climbed up onto the first platform and began working his way higher. The wood was slick with rain, his every movement causing the whole setup to creek and groan. Higher and higher he climbed, at one point having to abandon the wooden walkway and began to climb up the pipes. One bar was extra slippery, his hand slid off, knocking into a bucket that had crusted over with concrete and sending it tumbling down to the street. With a resounding crack, it hit the pavement and shattered, sending chunks of debris everywhere. He shook off the pain, grabbing a firmer grip on another section of pipe and ascending.
After a few minutes and thankfully no more slip ups, he managed to make his way to a section of windows that had been tarped over. Undoing the knots that held the tarp to the wall, he pealed it away and looked inside. The whole interior had been covered in scaffolding as well, leading all the way up to what looked like a completed section of floor at the very top. He pulled back outside, maneuvering carefully so he could undo the bag from his shoulders and pushed it through. With a thump, he heard it land on a platform just below the hole. Breaking a larger hole in the glass, he managed to wiggle his way through, feet landing on the platform and sending up a cloud of dust. After some coercion, he managed to tie the tarp back down, covering the hole entirely before picking up his bag and climbing up the inner scaffolding.
Arriving at the top platform, he found a hatch leading up through the floor and with a shove, managed to open it. Lifting himself up, he made his way to the next floor, reaching over and closing the hatch behind him. He found himself inside the clock itself, turning to look around at the dust and cobweb covered room. Tools were strewn in front of the glass to where he could see the workers had abandoned installing the gears to the clock's hands.
This'll work, he thought to himself grinning and setting his bag down. Looking up, he saw several poles and braces set up for the roof; the rain drumming out a quiet beat as it fell outside. He looked around the room, taking a mental inventory. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture where everything was, searching especially for the elevator he hoped was still there. Turning in the direction he thought it was, he slowly began to walk forward, wiping the cobwebs down in front of him as best he could. After a few dozen paces, he came to a stop, touching a set of cold metal doors. Please be there, he mentally pleaded before forcing the doors open with a grunt. The screech of metal protesting to move filled the air, causing a few bats to flutter up in the eves of the roof. Once he managed to open the doors enough to see inside, he noticed the elevator car was missing. Picking up a screwdriver near his feet, he dropped it down the shaft and waited. After about fifteen seconds, he heard it clatter at the bottom. Well shit, he thought to himself, that could be a problem.
Heading back to his bag, Jacob grabbed a small leather pouch. Flipping it open quickly, he checked the contents, revealing a small set of steel lockpicks. Each one had a different head, each one for a specific type of lock. Grabbing out a pair of the thick gloves, he pulled them on and turned back to the open elevator door. Wedging the leather pouch between his teeth and taking a breath, he jumped into the elevator shaft. Grabbing hold of the cable to slow his descent, he slid down the shaft and into the darkness. In a short matter of seconds, he hit the top of the car, knees jarring as he did so. Kneeling down and pulling off his gloves, he squinted in the dim before flipping open the leather pouch. After picking the right pieces and making short work of the lock, it sprang open with a click. Wrenching the trapdoor open, he peered down into the car, seeing nothing but cobwebs and dust. He jumped down in pulling out a chem light and cracking it against his leg. Within seconds, the entire elevator car was lit up in a bright white light. Looking around, he found several panels pealing away from the inner walls of the car. After pulling a few out of the way, he managed to find a circuit breaker and a cluster of wires leading to the control panel. The wires looked slightly chewed, most likely due to pests, but otherwise intact. Turning over to the fuse box, he popped the panel free and after shooing away a layer of dust and cobwebs, began inspecting the fuses. Several were broken, some dislodged, and others were completely missing. With a mental sigh, he began popping each one out and inspecting them further, hoping to find a few viable ones. Pulling out a handful and discarding the rest, he started testing each socket one by one. The first few he tried yielded disappointing results; one merely controlled the illumination on the button pad. After some trial and error, he managed to get both the door and the lifting system operational. He shut the panel, finger hovering over the up arrow.
Here goes nothing, he thought to himself as he pressed the button. With a shudder and a shake, the elevator car groaned then started to move upwards. When it made it to the top, the doors opened halfway before grinding to a halt.
"Of course," he mumbled under his breath, the whisper alone echoing off the empty room.
Bracing his back against one side, he slid between the doors and shoved. Metallic screeching echoed throughout the tower as they slid further open. Pushing them as far as he could, he managed to fully open them; sighing and shaking his head after walking out. Walking over to his bag and opening it further, he began to pull out a leather jacket, completely dressed in the style of the League of Assassins. Holding it up and inspecting it for a moment, he eyed each and every seam, making sure it was while. Several marks adorned it where he had either be raked by bullet or blade, some patchwork had been done but the coloring was perfect. Looking around the room, he searched for a place to hang it, finally settling on a hook against the far wall. Heading back to his bag, he lifted out a small black hard-shelled case, flipping the latches that held it shut. Opening the lid, he pulled out a decent looking laptop; shutting the case, setting it down and gently laying the laptop on the case itself. He reached into the bag again, pulling out another box with an antenna on it and set it beside the laptop. Diving once more into the bag, he pulled out a leather and cloth sleeping roll, letting it unfurl and stretching it out beside the laptop. Sitting with his back against the wall, Jacob picked up the laptop and powered it on. After a few minutes of waiting, the screen came to life and a few keystrokes later, he was looking at the inside of the SCPD database. Flipping to another window, he began to load up a local news page, pausing when he saw the same news broadcast that was playing in the diner. Across the bottom of the screen, headlines began to scroll, the first one reading: Queen Heiress still in coma. With a sigh, he flipped back over to the SCPD database, scrolling through several files before he noticed a call coming over their dispatch radio. Turning up the volume slightly, he caught part of it.
"Your calling in an almost robbery?" Someone's voice crackled over the speaker.
"Uh, yeah," a second voice responded after a few seconds hesitation.
"Dispatch confirms, eyewitnesses confirm, says it was stopped by some guy in a long coat and a Rockets hat. Perps were unconscious when we arrived at the scene."
"How is that our problem then?"
"Look, Capn says check it out, so check it out."
"Roger that," the first voice grunted. "Patrol responding."
With a grin, Jacob shook his head and silently laughed to himself, going back to digging through files; intent on finding what he was looking for.
Deep below ground, in the bunker hidden beneath the streets of Star City, Felicity Smoak sat in her swiveling computer chair, staring at the monitor in front of her. On one of her various screens sat a digital police scanner, currently picking up the very same call Jacob had been listening to.
"An almost robbery?" she asked herself out loud, face contorting in a frown. "That's just weird."
Before she could much more than scribbler a note about it down on a pad in front of her, Oliver Queen stepped out of the elevator to her left. In his left hand he carried a plastic baggie, the black feather from Thea's bedside table inside.
"I need you to run a fingerprint scan and analyze this," he called, holding up the baggie and walking up onto the raised platform where she sat.
"Hello to you to," she grumbled, turning around and adjusting her glasses. "What is it?
"That's what I need you to figure out," he grunted as he handed the bag to her.
"Uh, ok," she paused, turning it over in her hands and staring at it as she got up and headed over to a small machine. "Where'd it come from?"
"Thea's hospital room," he replied, folding his arms over his chest. "One of the nurses walked in and found someone talking to her. She called security before the person disappeared."
"Do you think someone's threatening her?" She asked as she flipped open the tray on the machine and shook the feather out of the bag.
"I don't know, pull up the security footage from yesterday evening."
After pushing a few buttons and bringing the machine to life, she walked back over to the chair and sat down. A few keystrokes and mouse click later, and the Starling General security cameras lay awaiting on her computer screen. Selecting Thea's room, they started skimming through the footage. Nurses came and went rapidly as the footage fast forwarded, the hours flying by till Oliver stepped forward.
"There, right there, freeze it," he grunted, pointing a finger at the screen. "In the Rockets hat, back track it."
Felicity nodded, rewinding the recordings and watching as the figure moved back through the hospital.
"This guy's good," she muttered watching as every time the figure moved past a camera, he either had his back towards it or had his face obscured.
"The nurse didn't get a good look at him either," Oliver put in, peering down at the screen.
"Well I'll find him," she replied, determination beginning to set in. "On another note, the SCPD got a strange call a few hours ago, apparently a diner in the Glades was almost robbed."
"Felicity," Oliver sighed. "Thea first."
"I know," she groaned. "But get this, they also mentioned a mysterious figure and yet this," she waved at the security footage. "Also wearing a rockets hat."
"You think the two are connected?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest again.
"It's small but, that diner isn't very far from Starling General."
"See what you can dig up," he nodded, turning away from the computers and heading for the elevator.
"I'm on it," she replied, waving to him as he left. When she looked back towards the screens, the feather in the machine caught her attention, leaving her to stare at it for a few seconds. With a frown, she shook her head and continued back on the investigation.
Back in the clock tower, Jacob stood up from his bedroll, pacing over to where his jacket hung and pulled it on; fingers doing up the fasteners and adjusting it over his chest. Walking over to his bag, he fished around till he found what he was looking for. Pulling out two meal, collapsible batons, he flicked them out at his sides. With a metallic click, they extended to full reach and he spun them around in each hand. With a sweeping motion off to his side, he tested the balance before holding them up to the light and looking them over. Satisfied they were in order, he flipped them over into a reverse grip and collapsed them against the floor before securing them to his belt behind his back. Lifting a masked hood from his bag, he pulled it on over his head, slipped out the window and disappeared off into the night.
Sometime later that evening, near an inlet from the Star City bay, a group of unsavory looking individuals wearing colorful bandanas stood grouped together around two heavy looking duffel bags; most carried small pistols, where the other carried sawed off shotguns. Every noise in the night made the thugs twitch, almost like they were waiting in anticipation. A thug in the center heard something off in the distance, raising a hand and waving one of his minions over.
"Go check it out ese," he grunted in broken Spanish.
One of the minions to his left nodded, tapping another on the shoulder and gesturing for him to follow. Walking in the direction of the sound, they raised their weapons slightly and began looking around.
Up above them and unnoticed, Jacob silently dropped in behind them. Standing up and pulling the batons from behind his back, he flicked them open. The sound was completely lost of the two thugs who continued to walk forwards. Jacob dashed forward and wrapped his right hand around the second thugs' neck, jerking it to the side violently and snapping the man's neck. He dropped mid step, crumpling to the ground as his partner continued. Silently creeping up to the lone thug, Jacob dispatched him in the same way, leaving both bodies to sit where they fell. Retracing their steps, he silently ran back to where the group stood, minus the two he had killed. Now another group stood across from the first, consisting of six men in what looked like casual business suits. Jacob crept up behind the new group, rapidly dispatching two more men with quick successive strikes before they noticed. One of the bandanna clad thugs turned at the wrong moment, catching Jacob dropping one of the suited bodies.
"Oh, mierda…" the thug muttered before Jacobs left baton flew across the gap between the two and cracked into his skull. With a loud thud and the clatter of the thugs' weapon, the rest of the group was alerted.
"What the hell?" came one of the suits voices before Jacob was upon them.
Dashing in and closing the distance between himself and the group, Jacob rendered their firearms practically useless. Swinging with his remaining baton, he started to eliminate each thug and suit, crossing between each one and making it harder for them to target him. The first one barely had a chance to turn around before Jacob had slammed his baton into the back of the man's knees, knocking him to the ground before grabbing his neck. With a knee to the back and a jerk forward, the mans neck snapped and his body hit the ground. From the first body Jacob rolled to the next, coming up with a hard-left fist to the man's jaw, sending his teeth jarring upwards before Jacobs baton crushed his skull in with an overhanded right. Each one after was dispatched similarly, with epic precision till he came to the final thug. Rushing forwards again, Jacob slammed his shoulder into the man's chest while using his left hand to strip his weapon from his grip. The thug stumbled backwards, and Jacob reached around, slammed his baton into the man's legs, sending him falling onto his ass. Trying to crawl away, the thug started back pedaling as best he could before Jacob pressed his attack, menacingly moving forwards after him.
"Which masked freak are you?" the thug gasped out, his bandana shaking with each breath he took.
"Keep dealing in the Glades," Jacob spat back, voice coming out modulated due to the masks internal voice modifier. "And you'll find out."
Before the thug could utter a response or even process a thought, Jacob slammed his right baton across the man's temple, knocking him effectively unconscious.
Walking over to the edge of the carnage, he picked up his left baton before returning to the bags that now littered the ground, unzipping the first two. Inside he found bricks of cocaine, their weight looking like a considerable sum of money. Picking both bags up, he carried them over to the inlet, setting them down, ripping them open with both batons and kicking them into the water. Returning to the remaining bags, he found them to be filled with money; all sorts of donations filled the bag, some rolled and tied with rubber bands. Zipping one of the bags back up and tossing it away from the rest, he began to search through the dead man's pockets. After a few minutes, he came away with what he needed: a cellphone, a lighter and a small bottle of what smelled like vodka. Dumping the vodka on the remaining bags and coating a few bills, he pulled them free and flicked the lighter. A small yellow and orange flame sprung up and hungrily licked at the bill, catching on the vodka and racing up it. Tossing one into each of the remaining bags, they slowly began to catch fire and spread. Within minutes there were several small blazes burning away, sending clouds of grey smoke up. Unlocking the phone, he found, he dialed the SCPD and dropped the phone next to one of the bodies, walking away and letting the voice who answered continue.