Post by jordan on Feb 3, 2014 9:39:54 GMT -5
Ultimate DC Comics Presents
Ultimate Batman
In
Gotham Wars,
Chapter II
"A Meeting With the Mask"
By Jordan
*
Bruce Wayne, After the Nightwing Incident
My eyes skip from corner to corner of the expansive room. Three couches lie in the middle, facing each other, a small coffee table set up in between them for drinks. To the left is a large fireplace, never lit unless there is company. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the light reflecting in all directions off the crystal shards.
"Sir, he's awaiting you in his room." Alfred's British accent breaks through my search of the room for the boy. It isn't a strong British accent, as he's been living in America for most of my life, but it definitely is distinct. I turn around to face him and see anger in his eyes. What did I do this time?
"Which room, Alfred. There are plenty available." My tone comes across...annoyed. Why? Why am I so annoyed?
"The Solomon Room, Sir." Brisk and to the point. I remember when he used to talk to me like I'm a person. That ended too long ago.
"Alfred, do we have a problem?"
"More than you could ever believe, Sir." I was wrong--it isn't anger in his eyes, it's disappointment.
"Alfred--"
"The boy is waiting for you, Sir." His eyes drill into my soul, but I can't find the drive to say anything else. I can't bring myself to disappoint him more with each and every word.
"Thank you, Alfred." My eyes hitting the ground, I slink away from him in embarrassment.
*
Batman & Catwoman
I'm here again, in the darkness of the harbors, waiting silently as the police investigate the bomb blast. The lower ones think terrorism while the higher ones know that it is something else--some worse. Bodies float in the water and disembodied legs are splayed out across the cement. I was too slow. I couldn't stop this. I couldn't even save Corrigan's life. I'm sorry.
I hear Gordon down below me, screaming his lungs out at someone beside him. "Well what do you mean Corrigan won't answer his phone? Get that lazy piece of shit down here!" Gordon's voice is angry. He knows what's about to hit his city, and he knows it'll hit hard. I have to tell him. But I can't. I just can't bring myself to say it. I hear something behind. It moves swiftly and quietly, but not quiet enough.
I strain to listen for it. The feet pad against the cold cement of the roof. The eyes stare into the back of my head. A cold, hard gaze, just like the cement. It's hard to hear, as the marauder is using Gordon's screams to mask his movement. I listen again. Her movements. I reach into my belt and place my hand on one of by bat-shaped knives. I ready for the throw. I strain to find where they are. They're moving. She's moving. She has a pattern. She's swift. I have to wait for the right...moment! With a strong movement from my arm, I flick my knife at her and I hear it cut the cloth on her leg and break through her skin.
"Goddammit!" She screams, her voice is high-pitched, I look up and see her face. It's soft and perfect, her eyes are big and brown, wide with terror. "Holy shit! That was a knife!" She screams again, trying to pull the knife from her leg. I let her. If it had been a fraction of an inch to the right, it would've severed a major artery. My aim was perfect. She pulls the knife from her leg, letting out another scream. Gordon's own screams of anger cover up the screams of pain. She wears skin tight leather that accents her shape perfectly. Her hair is long and strains to fit within the tight suit.
"What are you doing here, Catwoman? There's nothing to pick off these dead bodies!" My screams are filled with anger and remorse. A thief can steal from the living because they can defend themselves. But how can a thief steal from the dead? Without remorse?
"You just through a fuckin' knife through my leg!" She hisses and I notice her teeth are filed sharp, like a cat's. She's really gone all out on this motif.
"I told you to leave this part of Gotham. I told you to get your friends and leave!"
"Yeah, and the President told me to get health-care, I guess I have a problem with authority, you damn bat!" Her eyes are full of...fear. Good. She needs fear. Everyone needs fear.
"Why are you here?"
"I heard the explosion on the other side of town, figured I'd check it out. Then I saw you and--"
"Catwoman, thank you for saving my life. Now get out." Back on Christmas Eve, that moment, that moment that we connected. She looked stunning. But I can't think about that right now. I've got to keep my mind in this.
"But I want to see what's going on."
"Give it twenty-four hours, everyone will know what's going on. Hit the Falcones if you want a score. Get out of the Golds." Her face is sassy and disrespectful. I keep reminding myself she's only nineteen. So young and so inexperienced. But she calls herself a master thief. Why?
"Listen, I don't take my scores from--"
"Freeze, Catwoman! You're under arrest!" Gordon coming flying through the doorway on the roof, pointing his gun right at Catwoman. How did I not notice that the screaming had stopped? How'd I not know?
"Jim."
"What the hell is this?" Catwoman's voice of sass is replaced with fear. More fear. But not from me. From the police. That's the fear this city really needs. It just doesn't have it.
"Catwoman, you're under arrest for eight counts of grand larceny. Take her in Bullock." Bullock, a stocky figure with a brim hat, walks up and cuffs Catwoman.
"I warned you, Catwoman. I told you to leave the Golds."
"I've got her, Gordon. I'll meet you at the precinct." Bullock tips his hat to his commissioner, and walks off, Catwoman in front of him. She looks back at me and mouths for help. I can't not here. Not now. She should've left the Golds. "Keep it movin', missy." He pushes her through the doorway and she disappears.
"Get Corrigan down here, Bullock!"
"Alright, alright, he'll be here soo--"
"Corrigan died tonight." My voice rings out with a certain power that scares me, frightens me even. The indifference, mixed with a slight nod of anger at not his death, but the world. Has this really come over me? Gordon and Bullock both turn to stare into my daunting, unattached eyes.
"What?" Gordon's voice is solemn and sad. His eyebrows droop and his eyes sag. "When? How?"
"Corrigan died in this explosion. He was here checking up on some leads and got caught in the crossfire. He died we I attempted to take him to the hospital. It was too late Jim...I was too slow." His eyes are captured by an intense sadness, one that I can understand too well--and worse. He turns his back, returning his attention to his partner.
"Take Catwoman to the station, I think I have some business to deal with." Bullock, shocked and frightened, tips his hat once more to Gordon and walks down the large staircase, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door slams shut, Gordon turns, pointing a finger accusingly at me. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Corrigan was dead? He was one of the best damn police this force ever saw!" I could tell him Corrigan was working with the mask but...who am I to ruin a man's life after it ends?
"I'm sorry, Jim, the Masks and the Zeiss caught in a firefight, then the Zeiss blew their boat. I was too slow to stop it. I'm sorry."
"Apologies won't work this time, Batman! We need to stop this before more innocent cops get killed!"
"Jim, I've got a plan."
"You still planning on taking down the Mask? How?!" His eyes and words and full of rage, all directed at me. I should be scared--but I can't be. I'm the Batman. Batman doesn't get scared--he scares.
"Jim, trust me." He puts his finger down and rubs his hand over his face. I can almost hear his thoughts. He doesn't trust me for some reason. Does he know the truth?
"Listen, Batman, we have intel that says a new player has started to rally the Maronis in the face of this bombing. They call him Matches Malone."
"I've heard the name before...once." A long, long time ago.
"He's our primary target right now, because of how dangerous the Maronis used to be, new blood might make them worse."
"I understand, Jim."
"Just get rid of the Mask, he's got the strongest faction right now."
"I will, Jim."
"How? Especially with this Malone character in town, what if you caught Black Mask, then what? Malone has the Maronis and the Masks under his wing?"
"You've never won a gang war before, have you?"
"Once. We caught everyone. The gangs in Gotham are too big to do that."
"It's all in the reputation, Jim. The reputation." He turns around for a second, and when turns back--I'll be gone.
*
Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson
My feet pad softly against the ground, a technique I've been forced to perfect for my alternative lifestyle. My eyes search the wide hallway, my ears searching for even the most stray of noises. I hear a small click. I here a whimper, a sob. It's Dick Grayson. He's crying.
I come to the large, stained mahogany door and place my hand on the brass doorknob. I take a second to admire the intricate design of the two bats fighting. Maybe it's images like this, splayed all across my house, that made me choose the bat. Maybe I'll never know. I twist the doorknob and step into the large room.
Across the wall, red paint is splattered, mixed with thick brushes of light blue. My father's art never ceased to amaze me as a child, no matter how much it scared me sometimes. My eyes search the room, from the large book cases to the smaller dresser to a free standing wardrobe, until they land on the bed. Dick Grayson, still a child, his teardrops large and heavy, falling hard a fast against his new pillowcase. I remember doing that myself, what feels like not long ago.
"Hello, Dick. I'm Bruce Wayne. I was a friend of your family's." I step forward, readying my arm to extend, to comfort him. His gaze turns dark, his expressions turn angry.
"Why don't you just go away, huh?" What does he mean? I'm trying to console him.
"Dick, I understand--"
"How the hell could you understand?" He sits up, his eyes staring back into mine, pushing me back. His jet black hair tossed and turned from his sorrow and his anger.
"I lost my parents too, Dick. I know how it feels to lose your family."
"But do you know how it feels for your brother to turn into a murdering psychopath and your best friend to be the head of the mafia?!"
"Dick, how do you know all of this? Where did you--"
"The damned television. You think just because I'm a circus kid and not a stuck up rich boy I can't turn on a TV? Fine!" With a quick, powerful swing he tosses the remote at my head. Should I catch it? Would my reflexes be this developed if I'm a rich kid? I can't stop it, my hands reach up and grab the remote out of pure reflex and Dick's eyes widen a little. Kid's got a damn fine arm.
"Listen, Dick, my parents were murdered in front of my eyes when I was--"
"And you've done nothing but take their name and their legacy for yourself! You've done nothing for them." My eyes search the room, searching for something to look at that isn't Dick. I lightly toss the remote back to him, where he catches it.
"Goodbye, Dick. I'll catch ya later." I solemnly and slowly walk from the room. If only he knew. If only.
*
Batman vs. the Black Mask
I sit perched just out of view of the large glass panel windows. I stare into the spacious office at the lone figure sitting at his large, red cedar desk, his eyes searching documents. His name is Roman Sionis, one of the most influential figures in Gotham and 'Haven. He has many offices around America, and even some in Europe--but at the end of the day, Gotham takes the cake.
For a long, long time, Commissioner Gordon's Major Crimes Unit has been trying to tag the Black Mask Mafia on Sionis, but so far they can't find any admissible evidence. If I can get that evidence for them, then the Black Mask Family is done for.
A loud knock comes from the french doors to enter his office. "Come in!" He shouts. The french doors swing open and two tall men in white suits lumber into the office, behind them is a frail looking lady, no older than thirty. "What is the meaning of this, Jonathan?" Sionis asks, his voice filled with venom.
"Mr. Sionis, this woman received merchandise but refused to pay for it. And it doesn't stop at there. She clawed one of our men and he is currently in the hospital getting his wounds treated." Sionis takes his eyes off the documents he's been so attached to and looks at the girl.
"Did she?" He pushes out from under his desk and stands up, pulling open a drawer just above where he sits. I ready my camera for action. He turns his back to us and slides on a deadly black skull. Click. Click. "Have you been a naughty girl?!" He swings around, his face covered in a black, highly detailed skull, his eyes completely white and a perpetual grin splattered across his face. "Now why?!" Click. Click. As he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun, I take one last picture and put the camera away. "Why?!" Action time.
TO BE CONTINUED
Ultimate Batman
In
Gotham Wars,
Chapter II
"A Meeting With the Mask"
By Jordan
*
Bruce Wayne, After the Nightwing Incident
My eyes skip from corner to corner of the expansive room. Three couches lie in the middle, facing each other, a small coffee table set up in between them for drinks. To the left is a large fireplace, never lit unless there is company. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the light reflecting in all directions off the crystal shards.
"Sir, he's awaiting you in his room." Alfred's British accent breaks through my search of the room for the boy. It isn't a strong British accent, as he's been living in America for most of my life, but it definitely is distinct. I turn around to face him and see anger in his eyes. What did I do this time?
"Which room, Alfred. There are plenty available." My tone comes across...annoyed. Why? Why am I so annoyed?
"The Solomon Room, Sir." Brisk and to the point. I remember when he used to talk to me like I'm a person. That ended too long ago.
"Alfred, do we have a problem?"
"More than you could ever believe, Sir." I was wrong--it isn't anger in his eyes, it's disappointment.
"Alfred--"
"The boy is waiting for you, Sir." His eyes drill into my soul, but I can't find the drive to say anything else. I can't bring myself to disappoint him more with each and every word.
"Thank you, Alfred." My eyes hitting the ground, I slink away from him in embarrassment.
*
Batman & Catwoman
I'm here again, in the darkness of the harbors, waiting silently as the police investigate the bomb blast. The lower ones think terrorism while the higher ones know that it is something else--some worse. Bodies float in the water and disembodied legs are splayed out across the cement. I was too slow. I couldn't stop this. I couldn't even save Corrigan's life. I'm sorry.
I hear Gordon down below me, screaming his lungs out at someone beside him. "Well what do you mean Corrigan won't answer his phone? Get that lazy piece of shit down here!" Gordon's voice is angry. He knows what's about to hit his city, and he knows it'll hit hard. I have to tell him. But I can't. I just can't bring myself to say it. I hear something behind. It moves swiftly and quietly, but not quiet enough.
I strain to listen for it. The feet pad against the cold cement of the roof. The eyes stare into the back of my head. A cold, hard gaze, just like the cement. It's hard to hear, as the marauder is using Gordon's screams to mask his movement. I listen again. Her movements. I reach into my belt and place my hand on one of by bat-shaped knives. I ready for the throw. I strain to find where they are. They're moving. She's moving. She has a pattern. She's swift. I have to wait for the right...moment! With a strong movement from my arm, I flick my knife at her and I hear it cut the cloth on her leg and break through her skin.
"Goddammit!" She screams, her voice is high-pitched, I look up and see her face. It's soft and perfect, her eyes are big and brown, wide with terror. "Holy shit! That was a knife!" She screams again, trying to pull the knife from her leg. I let her. If it had been a fraction of an inch to the right, it would've severed a major artery. My aim was perfect. She pulls the knife from her leg, letting out another scream. Gordon's own screams of anger cover up the screams of pain. She wears skin tight leather that accents her shape perfectly. Her hair is long and strains to fit within the tight suit.
"What are you doing here, Catwoman? There's nothing to pick off these dead bodies!" My screams are filled with anger and remorse. A thief can steal from the living because they can defend themselves. But how can a thief steal from the dead? Without remorse?
"You just through a fuckin' knife through my leg!" She hisses and I notice her teeth are filed sharp, like a cat's. She's really gone all out on this motif.
"I told you to leave this part of Gotham. I told you to get your friends and leave!"
"Yeah, and the President told me to get health-care, I guess I have a problem with authority, you damn bat!" Her eyes are full of...fear. Good. She needs fear. Everyone needs fear.
"Why are you here?"
"I heard the explosion on the other side of town, figured I'd check it out. Then I saw you and--"
"Catwoman, thank you for saving my life. Now get out." Back on Christmas Eve, that moment, that moment that we connected. She looked stunning. But I can't think about that right now. I've got to keep my mind in this.
"But I want to see what's going on."
"Give it twenty-four hours, everyone will know what's going on. Hit the Falcones if you want a score. Get out of the Golds." Her face is sassy and disrespectful. I keep reminding myself she's only nineteen. So young and so inexperienced. But she calls herself a master thief. Why?
"Listen, I don't take my scores from--"
"Freeze, Catwoman! You're under arrest!" Gordon coming flying through the doorway on the roof, pointing his gun right at Catwoman. How did I not notice that the screaming had stopped? How'd I not know?
"Jim."
"What the hell is this?" Catwoman's voice of sass is replaced with fear. More fear. But not from me. From the police. That's the fear this city really needs. It just doesn't have it.
"Catwoman, you're under arrest for eight counts of grand larceny. Take her in Bullock." Bullock, a stocky figure with a brim hat, walks up and cuffs Catwoman.
"I warned you, Catwoman. I told you to leave the Golds."
"I've got her, Gordon. I'll meet you at the precinct." Bullock tips his hat to his commissioner, and walks off, Catwoman in front of him. She looks back at me and mouths for help. I can't not here. Not now. She should've left the Golds. "Keep it movin', missy." He pushes her through the doorway and she disappears.
"Get Corrigan down here, Bullock!"
"Alright, alright, he'll be here soo--"
"Corrigan died tonight." My voice rings out with a certain power that scares me, frightens me even. The indifference, mixed with a slight nod of anger at not his death, but the world. Has this really come over me? Gordon and Bullock both turn to stare into my daunting, unattached eyes.
"What?" Gordon's voice is solemn and sad. His eyebrows droop and his eyes sag. "When? How?"
"Corrigan died in this explosion. He was here checking up on some leads and got caught in the crossfire. He died we I attempted to take him to the hospital. It was too late Jim...I was too slow." His eyes are captured by an intense sadness, one that I can understand too well--and worse. He turns his back, returning his attention to his partner.
"Take Catwoman to the station, I think I have some business to deal with." Bullock, shocked and frightened, tips his hat once more to Gordon and walks down the large staircase, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door slams shut, Gordon turns, pointing a finger accusingly at me. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Corrigan was dead? He was one of the best damn police this force ever saw!" I could tell him Corrigan was working with the mask but...who am I to ruin a man's life after it ends?
"I'm sorry, Jim, the Masks and the Zeiss caught in a firefight, then the Zeiss blew their boat. I was too slow to stop it. I'm sorry."
"Apologies won't work this time, Batman! We need to stop this before more innocent cops get killed!"
"Jim, I've got a plan."
"You still planning on taking down the Mask? How?!" His eyes and words and full of rage, all directed at me. I should be scared--but I can't be. I'm the Batman. Batman doesn't get scared--he scares.
"Jim, trust me." He puts his finger down and rubs his hand over his face. I can almost hear his thoughts. He doesn't trust me for some reason. Does he know the truth?
"Listen, Batman, we have intel that says a new player has started to rally the Maronis in the face of this bombing. They call him Matches Malone."
"I've heard the name before...once." A long, long time ago.
"He's our primary target right now, because of how dangerous the Maronis used to be, new blood might make them worse."
"I understand, Jim."
"Just get rid of the Mask, he's got the strongest faction right now."
"I will, Jim."
"How? Especially with this Malone character in town, what if you caught Black Mask, then what? Malone has the Maronis and the Masks under his wing?"
"You've never won a gang war before, have you?"
"Once. We caught everyone. The gangs in Gotham are too big to do that."
"It's all in the reputation, Jim. The reputation." He turns around for a second, and when turns back--I'll be gone.
*
Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson
My feet pad softly against the ground, a technique I've been forced to perfect for my alternative lifestyle. My eyes search the wide hallway, my ears searching for even the most stray of noises. I hear a small click. I here a whimper, a sob. It's Dick Grayson. He's crying.
I come to the large, stained mahogany door and place my hand on the brass doorknob. I take a second to admire the intricate design of the two bats fighting. Maybe it's images like this, splayed all across my house, that made me choose the bat. Maybe I'll never know. I twist the doorknob and step into the large room.
Across the wall, red paint is splattered, mixed with thick brushes of light blue. My father's art never ceased to amaze me as a child, no matter how much it scared me sometimes. My eyes search the room, from the large book cases to the smaller dresser to a free standing wardrobe, until they land on the bed. Dick Grayson, still a child, his teardrops large and heavy, falling hard a fast against his new pillowcase. I remember doing that myself, what feels like not long ago.
"Hello, Dick. I'm Bruce Wayne. I was a friend of your family's." I step forward, readying my arm to extend, to comfort him. His gaze turns dark, his expressions turn angry.
"Why don't you just go away, huh?" What does he mean? I'm trying to console him.
"Dick, I understand--"
"How the hell could you understand?" He sits up, his eyes staring back into mine, pushing me back. His jet black hair tossed and turned from his sorrow and his anger.
"I lost my parents too, Dick. I know how it feels to lose your family."
"But do you know how it feels for your brother to turn into a murdering psychopath and your best friend to be the head of the mafia?!"
"Dick, how do you know all of this? Where did you--"
"The damned television. You think just because I'm a circus kid and not a stuck up rich boy I can't turn on a TV? Fine!" With a quick, powerful swing he tosses the remote at my head. Should I catch it? Would my reflexes be this developed if I'm a rich kid? I can't stop it, my hands reach up and grab the remote out of pure reflex and Dick's eyes widen a little. Kid's got a damn fine arm.
"Listen, Dick, my parents were murdered in front of my eyes when I was--"
"And you've done nothing but take their name and their legacy for yourself! You've done nothing for them." My eyes search the room, searching for something to look at that isn't Dick. I lightly toss the remote back to him, where he catches it.
"Goodbye, Dick. I'll catch ya later." I solemnly and slowly walk from the room. If only he knew. If only.
*
Batman vs. the Black Mask
I sit perched just out of view of the large glass panel windows. I stare into the spacious office at the lone figure sitting at his large, red cedar desk, his eyes searching documents. His name is Roman Sionis, one of the most influential figures in Gotham and 'Haven. He has many offices around America, and even some in Europe--but at the end of the day, Gotham takes the cake.
For a long, long time, Commissioner Gordon's Major Crimes Unit has been trying to tag the Black Mask Mafia on Sionis, but so far they can't find any admissible evidence. If I can get that evidence for them, then the Black Mask Family is done for.
A loud knock comes from the french doors to enter his office. "Come in!" He shouts. The french doors swing open and two tall men in white suits lumber into the office, behind them is a frail looking lady, no older than thirty. "What is the meaning of this, Jonathan?" Sionis asks, his voice filled with venom.
"Mr. Sionis, this woman received merchandise but refused to pay for it. And it doesn't stop at there. She clawed one of our men and he is currently in the hospital getting his wounds treated." Sionis takes his eyes off the documents he's been so attached to and looks at the girl.
"Did she?" He pushes out from under his desk and stands up, pulling open a drawer just above where he sits. I ready my camera for action. He turns his back to us and slides on a deadly black skull. Click. Click. "Have you been a naughty girl?!" He swings around, his face covered in a black, highly detailed skull, his eyes completely white and a perpetual grin splattered across his face. "Now why?!" Click. Click. As he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun, I take one last picture and put the camera away. "Why?!" Action time.
TO BE CONTINUED