EPISODE 5- THE CAROL OF BULLETS
{GOTHAM CITY SQUARE-NEW YEARS EVE}
Gotham City. It's filth and rot hidden under the blankets of snow descending from the sky as her citizens gather in the city square to witness the induction of the New Year. Amongst the crowd, Jim Gordon stood alongside his fellow officers to watch for any impending danger, but even he wasn't aware of what was waiting for the strike of midnight. Standing beneath the large neon billboards celebrating the holiday was a man in a large hooded red trench coat with a large duffle bag at his side.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?" sang the hidden figure, dropping the bag as he revealed the contents within. A red and gold AR-15 with five crosses scratched into the barrel, he continued to hum the song as he set up a sniping position. Inserting the scope, he exhaled before laying down as the gunmen looked through the viewer to find his target. "We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne."
The man leaned forward, his gloved finger hovering over the trigger as he finally found his target hidden amongst the weeds of the plaza. His target you ask?
Thomas Elliot.
"We two have run about the hill, and picked the daisies fine; But we've wandered a weary foot, since auld lang syne. Goodbye, Jimmy." From the shadows, a black metal streak slammed into the gunman's hand forcing him to drop the weapon. He groaned as he turned to find his enemy's weapon of choice. The Batarang. "No!"
"It's over, Lawton!" Descending from above, the black and gray shadow of Bat-Rider slammed his gloved fist across the sniper's hidden face. Stunned, the hooded assassin could barely see the roundhouse kick that followed, knocking him to the ground and revealing his "face". A sleek silver mask removed of all features minus a crimson left compound eye lens, Bat-Rider raced forward with a fist ready for his foe. The now named Lawton growled as he pulled out a pistol from his coat pocket and prepared to open fire on him, only for his gun to be knocked out of his hand as three smaller bat-shaped daggers damaged the handguns. With the gunman dazed, Bat-Rider took the chance and lunged at him, readying a flying punch to his foes masked face.
"You goddamn idiot! You're ruining EVERYTHING!" Yelled Lawton, the two men entered into a struggle against one another. With Bat-Rider grabbing enemies forearms, as they struggled before being stunned by a headbutt from Lawton. "Elliot needs to pay! For what he did to me! To us! TO ZOEY!"
*Kchak!*
*POW!*
The stunned Bat-Rider received another punch across his masked jaw, which the gunmen followed with a roundhouse to the head. He grabbed the Rider by the collar, pulling him close to land his own headbutt.
"Let's ring in the New Year huh?" He asked. His right gauntlet opened up, revealing a hidden handgun and pointed the barrel at the Rider's face.
The countdown began.
5!
Thomas Elliot smiled as those around him yelled out the number. But he was distracted, his eyes glued to his wrist watch.
"Where the hell is Bruce?"
4!
Jim Gordon looked around him, his eyes peeled for anything that might occur at a moment's notice. But even he couldn't resist the desire to look up at the descending sphere of neon lights counting down with the crowd. He reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
3!
Placing the stick of nicotine between his chapped lips, and lit it. Taking in the smoke in his lungs as it warmed him right up.
2!
Lawton clenched his free hand into a fist as he took aim and motioned his thumb over the trigger. Without a moment of thought, he pushed it and fired.
1!
*BANG!*
{TWO MONTHS PRIOR-WAYNE FOUNDATION THANKSGIVING GALA}
It was tradition for the Wayne Foundation to host a gala for Thanksgiving. The party held in the Tower saw some of Gotham' biggest power players in attendance from Mayor Hamilton Hill, to even Police Commissioner Gillian Loeb who was currently laughing alongside the Mayor and Roland Dagget. But as the host of the evening, Bruce smiled as he shook hands with the various partygoers in the finest suit and tie Alfred could find for him.
"Man Bruce, only you could go missing in Europe for three days only to throw a big blowout." Said Thomas Elliot, smiling as he embraced Bruce with a warm hug. Thomas was dressed in his Sunday best, a tuxedo with an orange tie. "Happy Thanksgiving buddy!"
"Happy Thanksgiving, Tommy. I'll have Alfred show you and your date to the coat room. Oh, forgive me miss, my manners escaped me for a minute. You are?" He asked, taking the gloved hand of the beautiful scarlet haired woman before him her body was adorned in a scarlet dress that reached her ankles. Her neck was covered in a Snow White scarf and her hair reached her lower back.
"Oh please Bruce, not in front of Tommy Bruce." She laughed and slapped Bruce on the shoulder. "It's nice to see you again, Bruce. It's been far too long since you stopped by the house."
"I know Julie, but the life of Bruce Wayne never stops. Plus, I highly doubt the kids at the center would be thrilled seeing me when you have Mister Super Surgeon at your Beck and call." Bruce commented, jabbing Tommy in the side with an elbow causing his friend to laugh. "All jokes aside, I'm glad you're both here tonight. It's been awhile since we've all been together, I'm hoping to catch up later tonight. Till then, I have more handshakes to hand out to these people who I don't remember. Enjoy the party you two."
"Thanks for having us Bruce." Tommy and Bruce shook hands before separating for the night. The night continued on as scheduled, meeting and talking with the higher power players of Gotham City, forcing himself to not jump out the window to escape for what felt like hours. After shaking hands with the umpteenth socialite, Bruce found himself overlooking Gotham from the balcony with his eyes locked on the abandoned Arkham Hospital that sat on the hill of the city.
'I've yet to go back to that building, ever since Francine attacked me that night. If Lazarus was hidden beneath that facility, then they've likely moved shop. But they're still in Gotham, not even the bizarre events that threw me off* could stop that.'
(*Read the Bat-Rider Vs. Decade-Beyond the World Crossover)
"Well this isn't befitting of a host." Bruce chuckled as he turned to find Tommy with two champagne glasses in hand. Bruce met with Tommy and took the glass as they both looked over the city they called home.
"Sorry Tommy, the party isn't really my scene at the moment. I'm just distracted, I have a lot on my mind right now." Tommy placed a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder.
"It's alright man, I get it. Sides' parties never were your thing back in the day, while others like me and Julie were out having the time of their lives in college. Little Bruce Wayne, had his nose deep in the books, shame you only stayed half of Freshman Year."
Bruce shrugged, "Gotham University was a great institution, but it wasn't what I was looking for at the time. Speaking of, where's Julie right now?"
"Oh she's busy grinding into Mayor Hill about a rumor. Apparently, there's word going around that her community center is going to be losing funding from the city. I decided to dip after he said something about debt for the third time, then I saw you and well here we are." Bruce nodded along, swirling the glass of champagne in his hand before looking across the crowd inside. His eyes darted as he saw Commissioner Loeb on his cellphone, sweat on his brow and a clenched fist of frustration. Something was wrong. Within seconds, he felt his spare phone buzz in his jacket pocket quickly taking it out and he saw a message from Jim Gordon.
'Something's gone down. You're gonna wanna see this.'
"I'm sorry Tommy, something's come up that requires my attention. I'll be back soon, and keep the party going. Okay?" Tommy could barely utter a single word before Bruce disappeared amongst the crowd.
"Alfred. Are you there?" He asked over his earpiece. Bruce wandered down the halls of the building before entering the elevator to the garage below.
"Here and waiting Master Bruce. Your ride is parked in the van and ready to go. I take it the party was not to your liking?" Responded Alfred from the other end. Bruce smiled as he exited the elevator to the Wayne Tower garage, and quickly moved over to the parked black motorcycle. "Something like that." Bruce loosened his bow tie, his belt manifesting around his waist as he sat on the bike and revved it up before racing out towards the tunnel and into the street. The turbine on his belt spinning around the yellow light in the center that shined brighter with every turn of the turbine. Bruce hit the throttle, racing off as the belt released a burst of light and smoke.
"HENSHIN!"
{LATER-TOBACCONISTS' CLUB}
On the other side of Gotham City, the red and blue lights of the GCPD surround the old building in the heart of Gotham's Industrial District. The caution tape cut the area off from the crowd of reporters and civilians who watched EMTs carting away multiple bodies to the morgue. Jim Gordon stood in a nearby alleyway with his phone in hand, he exhaled as he turned back to his watch waiting for his guest to finally arrive.
"Hello Jim." There he was. Jim jolted by the sudden appearance of the black and gray vigilante known as Bat-Rider. The belt wearing hero stood beside Jim in the alleyway, how he managed to sneak up on the seasoned detective always puzzled Jim, before walking towards the end of the tunnel only to be stopped by Gordon.
"Wait a second. Not now, Loeb put out orders against you during your little disappearing act. In all honesty, I'm risking my career just talking to you, much less inviting you to an active crime scene."
"Then why contact me?"
Jim grumbled, running his hands through his graying hair before looking back at the white eyes of the masked hero.
"Because this case makes no goddamn sense and you're the only I can think of to help figure it out. Come on." Jim placed his hands in his pockets and led Bat-Rider to the back entrance of the Club building. Cutting through the kitchen, Jim entered the crime scene first and asked for the room from Crispus who obliged with little fight.
"It's clear." Bat-Rider emerged from the back room, and found the scene of a massacre. The carpet was charred black and the stench of burning flesh and cigars permeated the air, eight chairs sat in the middle of the room with a single window that oversaw the brickwall of the building next door.
"What happened?" Asked Rider as he slowly paced the room. Jim sighed and rubbed his chin, as he stood by the door watching the masked hero at work.
"We don't have all the parts in order, but a waitress talked about how six regulars rented out this private room. They met here every holiday, and were having a smoke and a few beers like they always did. Then, she heard a gunshot followed by the sounds of screaming and a raging fire. By the time they broke out the fire extinguisher, it was too late."
"Is there a guest list? Any motive for such a case?" he asked. Stopping by the window, running his gloved hands against the glass before stopping at a bizarre sight in the glass.
"Harvey is talking to the managers now, they're trying too hard to hide the guest life for some reason. It's raising flags, any chance you could help with that?" Bat-Rider removed his finger and found a perfectly shaped circular hole, his mind went to work and put together a clear path of direction landing in the center of the blast.
But there was only one issue, "The building next door. What is it?"
"The building, nothing, most of the building's on this block are either closed or owned by someone who barely renovates. What's up?" Jim moved over to him, looking out the same hole and raising his brow. "Well I'll be damned. This definitely couldn't be an accident, this confirms it. But it's the how and why that we still don't have an answer to, especially since the angle is too high for it to have been from the neighboring rooftop."
"What about a ricochet?" Jim paused as he mulled over his "partners" suggestion. It was plausible, but…
"The chances of a gunman being able to pull that off is impossible, even for the best of marksman. Plus, it still doesn't explain the sudden fire breaking out."
"Unless, it was an incendiary round." Bat-Rider turned around and kneeled down, rubbing the ash from the explosion between his gloved fingers. Bat-Rider walked around the chairs putting together pieces of the puzzle in his head, before looking back at Gordon. Jim considered it himself before shaking his head and returning to the door.
"There's no way an incendiary bullet could cause this much damage, and even if it could. Who's to say it wouldn't have exploded on impact with the glass widow?" Bat-Rider didn't have a response, he stood in silence looking down at the scarred leather chair noting something poking out of the leather.
"Weirder things have happened in Gotham Jim. You and I both know that." Taking hold of the protruding item, Bat-Rider pulled it out and scanned it for a minute. It was the wooden handle of a switch blade with numbers carved into the wood, 12•1•05, Bat-Rider turned back to Jim and held out the blade to him. "I found this. Any idea what those mean?"
Jim shook his head, putting on a glove as he looked and analyzed the pocket weapon briefly. Before handing it back to Bat-Rider, who took it back cautiously.
"Not gonna collect the evidence?" Jim shook his head and placed his hands in his pockets.
"No. Not now at least, run your tests and your own investigation. Hand it back to me when you're done, Loeb is… odd right now. He's been breathing down my neck and sidestepping me at almost every turn, I think it's best if I keep an arm's length between us during this case. At least until I'm sure that he isn't watching us. I'll keep in contact, till then. Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving."
With that, Jim left the crime scene, closing the door behind him and leaving Bat-Rider alone in the room. He stared at the pocket knife once again, and then the hole in the window squinting behind the white lenses of his mask. The door creaks as it opens, revealing Crispus returning to finish the job only to find the crime scene empty.
"Alfred," began the Rider. Now standing atop the building across from the Club, his mind working slowly to put together a puzzle. "Prep the lab, it's going to be a long night." As he turned towards the alleyway, he stopped as an ominous feeling overcame him. One of dread, like his death was mere seconds away, he quickly turned and flung the symbol on his chest behind him. Only for it to hit nothing but the exhaust of a chimney, he clenched his fists and stood his ground scanning the area for all possible attacks. Within minutes, the moment passed and Bat-Rider relaxed once with a loud sigh.
"Master Bruce?" asked Alfred from the other end of the commlink.
"I-I'm fine Alfred. I thought I heard something, that's all." Bat-Rider shook his head, and leaped off of the rooftop to find his motorcycle waiting for him in the alleyway. Quickly revving it up, he sped out into the night at high speeds, unaware of a mysterious watcher. The voyeur watched him drive off through a pair of binoculars. She smiled as she lowered the binoculars, before vanishing herself into the alleyways of Gotham City.
{THE BAT-CAVE}
Bat-Rider twirled the pocket knife in his hand, as the crime scene footage played on the monitor screens. He paused the screen at the close-up of the window, looking at the glass and making note of the size of the bullet hole and the thickness of the glass. He swiftly grabbed a piece of paper and began to doodle the size and shape of the bullet hole, scratching his chin as the ding of the elevator rang out in the cave.
"Ah, I see you're home sir. I must say, your Thanksgiving Eve Party was truly a spectacle sir. A true holiday bash of the century, sad you had to leave early, I hope you at least treated the lady you left with well." commented Alfred, a glass of water in hand as Bruce continued to work.
"Alfred, do you know what type of bullet can pierce through bulletproof glass?" he asked. Alfred sighed as he handed Bruce the drink, before looking at the screen and thinking to himself.
"Huh. The size and shape looks familiar, I believe it could be a .308 rifle ammunition. Fired at a good enough distance and enough speed, it can easily leave such an impact. But the entry point is clean, I wonder how?"
"Perhaps there's something I've overlooked?" Bruce held up the pocket knife, looking at the carved numbers in the wood. "Twelve, One, Zero, Five? A date maybe? Perhaps a birthday or a special event?"
"Hm. I don't know if any special event that transpired on that date, not in Gotham at least. Perhaps something of importance for the location?" Bruce heard the idea, quickly opening up a file of Gotham City records and scrolling to find the Tobacconist's Club.
"The Tobacconist's Club. A private smokehouse founded in 1977 by Gotham Councilman Rubert Thorne and became one of the most popular nightlife spots in the city's Industrial District. Since then, it's hosted a rotating wheel of owners and guests, including my father and Roger Elliot."
"Ah yes, I remember that. The Elliots hosted many parties at that establishment, I believe the last one your family attended was the construction of a new hospital. Roger was always stiff with his wallet, Thomas fought hard just to get a dime out of him." Alfred said. Bruce shifted the screen and squinted as he looked over at a newspaper article depicting two men shaking hands in front of the Club. The one that Bruce focused on was a bald man of short stature with black slicked back hair on the left, his attire was a black and white tuxedo with a tophat and a monocle over his left eye with white gloves and a cane tucked under his other arm.
"Five years ago, Rupert Thorne Jr. signed away the ownership rights of the establishment to one Oswald Cobblepot the 2nd. Not much on record about him, other than a police record involved in unpaid parking tickets and a high investment in Gotham's Zoology Branch. At best, he's just another rich man with large pockets, but there has to be more." Bruce stood up from the console and spun the pocket knife in his gloved hands before placing it down on the console. "Whoever did this, must have some connection to the victims. Jim can't give me the information, meaning that they're keeping it under wraps for a reason. Alfred. Reach out to Oswald Cobblepot, tell him Bruce Wayne is interested in meeting up with him for lunch. He can pick the details."
"Very well sir, and you will be doing what might I ask?" Bruce smirked and grabbed his helmet as he headed back to his motorcycle. He placed his helmet back on, fastening it before revving up his vehicle.
"The night's still young Alfred." Hitting the gas, Bat-Rider raced down the tunnel at inhuman speeds back into the night of Gotham City. Alfred sighed, picking up the knife with his gloved hands as he watched his master race off.
"Then I guess I'll save your Thanksgiving meal as leftovers then."
{GORDON HOUSEHOLD}
"Barbara, I'm home. Sorry I'm late but work got in the way and…" Jim Gordon paused mid-sentence as he entered his apartment and sighed. Barbara had since fallen asleep at the table, with his dinner covered in tin foil beside her. The detective smiled and placed a gentle hand on her head before lifting her up to bed, and tucking her in. He then returned to the dining room, and began to eat the dinner left behind for him.
*RING* *RING*
Jim swallowed the turkey leg as he reached for the phone. "Go for Gordon."
"Check the front door. There's a package waiting for you."
*KNOCK* *KNOCK*
The line went dead, and Jim's entire body tensed up in response. He slowly turned to the door, holding the kitchen knife in his hand as he approached the front door. He stared out of the peephole, and found not a soul, but instead a white envelope with his name written in red ink taped to a black leather bound journal. Jim opened the door, and slowly reached out to grab it as he took both items into his house, placing them on the table. With the knife in hand, he opened the letter causing several photos to fall onto the dining room table which caused him to gasp at the sight of them.
"What the hell?" Jim held up one of the photos, the image depicting Commissioner Loeb sitting in the lounge of the Tobacconists Club surrounded by some of Gotham's most powerful and infamous criminals. "Sal Maroni? Carl Grissom? The hell are you doing Loeb?"
He checks the notebook, with the name 'Samuel Bradley' bound in gold with the date 1937 on the cover. Opening the black book, he scanned the information showing various dates and locations all across Gotham with the final entry being from 1971 in Gotham Central Terminal. The final page also contained a note, newly written as evident by the freshness of the black ink written at the bottom of the page.
'Slam Bradley holds the truth.'
{MORNING-GOTHAM CITY COURTHOUSE}
Carl Grissom exited the black van, the infamous and aged mob boss wandered up the steps of the building surrounded by his security detail. He stops mid-step, a sense of dread running down his spine as he feels unseen eyes watching him. As he turned around, he quickly felt nothing but a sharp pain in his neck followed by a loss of feeling in his entire body. He fell to the ground with a thud and the security looked around in shock as his blood proceeded to flow out of the bullet wound in his neck, seconds later the entire security detail suffered the same fate.
On a rooftop several miles away, a bearded gentleman in a black turtleneck and jeans climbs down a ladder before entering a white taxi cab. Once inside, the man pulls out a slip of paper with a list of ten names and crosses off the sixth name starting from the top, Carl Grissom. He looks down and circles the seventh name on his list, Gillian Loeb, before folding the paper back up and driving away from the area.
{UNKNOWN LOCATION}
In the dark and empty chamber, the pale masked figure known as Doctor Death stood over the operating table. His latest work releasing muffled screams as the scalpel cut away his flesh and released the crimson blood underneath. He paused his procedure as he looked up and found himself in the company of Bane who stood before him with his hands behind his back.
"Hello Bane, I'm sorry but I'm quite busy at the moment." said the Doctor, returning to his patient with little acknowledgement of the man before him. "If you have any grievances, please leave them at the door."
"No. I won't. Your actions, Death, have brought great displeasure to the Demon's Head and myself. In fact, I heard through the grapevine that our esteemed commander had to clean up your little mess."
Doctor Death stopped in his tracks, and put down his instruments as he folded his gloved hands and looked towards Bane. "So, Arnold Flass is dead then? Well, that's good at least. Who did it? You, Ivy, or was it one of the other generals?"
The luchador chuckled at that, "No unfortunately, the one he sent to finish the task you failed was none other than her. The Warrior. She's apparently been sent to check up on your progress, may you hope she finds you worthy." Bane then left the room with a hearty laughter, Death clenched his gloved hand and picked up his medical instrument once again with a now unsteady hand. He was running out of time, and he knew it.
{GOTHAM CITY MORGUE}
"Christ," commented Jim as he looked down at the dead body of Carl Grissom before him. He held up his phone to appear like he's recording his thoughts, but in truth he was sending a transmission elsewhere. "Grissom and his details, dead in the street, bullet wounds in different parts of the body, and yet not a trace of any gunman within a mile of CCTV footage. I tell you, it's impossible."
"A Lot of things should be impossible Jim, most of what we've faced should be. This is no different." answered the voice on the other end. Jim scoffed, pulling out from Grissom a bullet and placing it into a small tray. "What do you see?"
"A 7.653R Finnish bullet. An old one, a bullet made famous by The White Death during the Winter War. Not something one can just come by in the states. Makes you wonder who coulda done this, not like Grissom didn't have enemies, but to strike at him in broad daylight like that and still not get caught."
"Perhaps this and the Tobacconist Club murders are connected? Have you had time to examine the bodies from the fire?"
"Sadly no. Hell, I only managed to get in here by begging Allens to let me in. The Tobacconist Club fire has Loeb spooked, no one's seen head or hair since the club went up in smoke. I think he's scared. We haven't even released their names to the press yet."
"What would he be scared of Jim?" Jim paused and reflected back to the mysterious package left at his doorstep. He shook his head and proceeded to clean up.
"I think Loeb has a connection to the club, other than being a partial member that is. But how Loeb, the other six victims, and this club connect are beyond me. Any ideas on your end?"
"I have one, I'm looking into Oswald Cobblepot. I think he might have some answers, maybe not everything, but something that could help us. Think you could keep an eye on Commissioner Loeb?"
"Heh. I'd have to find him first, but I'll try and see what I can do. Also, I'll have Harvey and Montoya look into the type of ammunition used to kill Grissom. No way whoever did this could find this type of stuff in your everyday gun store, especially in Gotham City. Good luck, Bats."
"I have to go."
*KLIK!*
Jim raised a brow before returning to the deceased Grissom's body. He couldn't help but think back to the photo, and how it was slowly lining up together in an uncomfortable manner. He needed to find Loeb, and the sooner the better.
{COBBLEPOT ESTATE, GOTHAM HEIGHTS}
"Ah Bruce old boy, such a great pleasure to have Gotham's favorite son in my company! Shame I didn't see you last night at your little soiree."
The Cobblepot Estate was a decadent affair, filled with fine art and other items that appeared to flaunt the wealth of their family. Bruce found it sickening on the inside, but managed to maintain his mask as the billionaire prince of Gotham City. Oswald Cobblepot at a single glance, was the embodiment of everything Bruce hated about Gotham's elite. He sat in his study, surrounded by the finest novels and artworks money could buy, with a small table separating the two gentlemen.
"Yes well, I had to dip away early, afterall someone caught my eye last night. Then… well you know how it goes, don't you Oswald."
"Yes, yes, I too understand the desires of us men. Having to leave our mark on whoever grabs our eye. Still, I was quite surprised when your man-servant told me that you'd like to meet. It's almost as if you wanted something from me?"
Bruce chuckled at the notion, sitting with one leg over the other as he proceeded to enter a business state of mind.
"You're not incorrect Oswald. You see, it came to my attention awhile ago, that you're currently the owner of the Tobacconist' Club. Am I correct?" Oswald cackled as he leaned into his chair and grinned.
"Yes indeed. I say that Rupert Thorne was as bad a businessman as he was a politician. He's lucky that I swept in and took it over, all it took was three months and boom. It's back to its former glory, I say I am a miracle worker! Heh."
"Well, even Miracle Workers can't prevent everything. Such as a fire breaking out in your establishment?" Bruce noticed Oswald's right hand twitched at the mention of the fire. The captain of capitalism clutched his cane, he reached into his jacket pocket for a cigar and lit it ablaze.
"It was a simple fire. Nothing big. It shouldn't even be in the papers, it's a small fix that's all."
"You're right then, a simple fire. I was just saying, if you ever find yourself drowning in repair fees, I'm always ready to take the club off of your hands." Bruce smiled, and looked at the smoking gentleman in front of him. Oswald chuckles and takes a drag from his cigar before looking over to the window.
"Bruce. I'll leave you with a simple message, be careful what you say around people like me. A slip of the tongue in our world of business can make the difference between life…" Oswald turned over to Bruce, his appearance like a predator looking at prey. "Or death."
*BZZZ*BZZZ*
Bruce quickly pulled out his phone, and his eyes widened in shock at the alert he'd received.
"I understand, and I apologize if I offended you Mr. Cobblepot. But I must leave soon, I have an emergency I need to attend to." Bruce quickly left the manor, with Oswald watching him ride off on a motorcycle. Oswald growled and retreated towards the nearest phone as Bruce exited the gates.
"Yes, it's Oswald. I need to meet with you soon. It's about The Wayne Brat, he knows something about us."
{GOTHAM MEMORIAL HOSPITAL}
Bruce raced through Gotham on his motorcycle, not wanting to use his energy to transform yet as he neared the hospital. Something was wrong, an alert went off in Francine Langstrom' room meaning someone had entered without him or Gordon's clearance. Bruce stormed into Francine Langstrom's room, a panicked look on his face as he looked over to find the still sleeping Francine with a stable heartbeat beeping on the monitor. He took a deep and stable breath, and walked over to the sleeping woman in the center of the room. However, as he moved closer he felt his body go rigid like the night before. Someone else was here, watching him, in silence from the shadows.
"Whoever you are, show yourself now. Or else." He said, clenching his fists in preparation for anything. A dagger flew through the air from behind the balcony curtains, which Bruce caught inches away from his face. Now aware of the threat, Bruce vaulted over the bed and rushed to the curtains only to find the balcony barren. He looked around in shock, concerned by the lack of presence from the attacker, only for the attacker to appear from the balcony ledge above with a drop kick.
Bruce slammed into the other end of the balcony, hissing in pain as he looked up to see a blur of black and red speed towards him with silver Deerhorn Blades that she used to swipe and slash at the billionaire. The attacker was a woman of Asian descent, with shoulder length black hair and eyes like amber. Her attire was a black trench coat and pants, with crimson gloves and a red and gold cross collar shirt.
'They're so fast! Another Lazarus Cyborg?! Did they do this to lure me into a fight or…'
"My, my, how boring!" Spoke the assassin in a feminine voice as she threw a roundhouse kick to Bruce's head. The man barely blocked it with his forearm, hissing in pain as the impact tore away his suit jacket sleeves.
Bruce went on the counterattack, throwing various punches and kicks which the assassin effortlessly dodged each strike. He could tell, she was toying with him, he wasn't a challenge at all.
"Is this all? All that you have to offer me? I expected more from The Masked Rider." She said, grabbing hold of his last punch to pull him close as she stabbed her blade into his stomach. Bruce grunted in pain, before using the opportunity to slam her with a headbutt, holding onto the blade embedded in his stomach before pulling it out.
"Who are…" Bruce felt his strength leave his body within seconds, falling to his knees before the woman. She smiled and moved closer towards him, before leaning in close to whisper into his ear. He growls in frustration, every muscle in his body stiffen with an inability to move.
"Consider me a challenger, interested in what you pose." She then picked up the blades and proceeded to toss the paralyzed Bruce off of the balcony to the ground several stories below. Bruce could barely say or do anything, as he watched the smiling visage of his attacker grow smaller with every passing second.
Who is this femme fatale targeting Bruce? Can our hero escape this perilous descent of death? What's the mystery behind the murder at the Tobacconist Club? And what's the truth behind the journal left at Gordon's doorstep?
Find out next time, same Bat-Time! Same Bat-Channel!
NEXT TIME
EPISODE 6
DEADLY TIDINGS
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