Post by C_Miller on Dec 24, 2011 19:06:38 GMT -5
Ultimate Speed Force
A Good Man Returns to War
Keystone City
Amazing where connections can get you. Amazing what friendship and loyalty can get you to break… like the vows you and your wife made years ago when you ‘retired’ with a hefty pension worthy of a Five-Star General. They can get you to put back on a uniform. They can get you to ‘enlist.’ They can make you kill again.
But could I be expected to do anything less? Barry gave his life to save time as we knew it. How could I not take Jay’s offer to volunteer my services to the Keystone City PD? I’m the man who once shot the Flash when not even trying and with the most recent one dead, all of us need to pick up the slack.
I’m Jim Gordon. I used to be a soldier. Then I was a watcher.
Now it seems I am cop.
It started out simple enough though in the future it could be considered the act that changed it all. Gordon killed one of the Flash’s Rogues. Clean headshot. Impossible hit from over thirteen hundred yards away. Not something a Lieutenant in charge of a special task force should have been doing but he was the best candidate. Only one who could do it. Only man with the ability to tag a target like that short of superhuman talents.
The perp had been the Black Spider. One time vigilante, now a bug with a squashed head. Before Barry had shown up on the scene, the Black Spider had been a tech based crime-fighter in Keystone. Gordon had known him as Eric Needham, even had the file on the formulas the Spider had used for his gloves and web fluid back at Watchtower. A good man turned bad out of jealousy to Barry’s fame as the Flash. Sold his soul apparently for powers. Mutated. Became some sort of spider demon.
Joined the other side.
With Barry alive and Snart enforcing some sort of Rogue Honor Code, Black Spider had remained relatively decent. As decent as a murderer could get. Never attacked cops. Never went for the innocent. He followed orders and when not working under someone smarter than his bestial instincts, he only ate the insides out of criminals. Usually drug dealers.
Unfortunately, it seemed Barry’s death hit him hard. Or maybe the deal with the demon had changed. Either way, more spider than man, he rampaged through the city.
A single shot from Gordon ended it all.
One shot.
Two dead heroes.
Good men the victims of war.
___
Meta Embraced Tactical Invested Stratagems or METIS for short. Whoever thought of such a stupid name needed to be throttled in Gordon’s opinion. Probably some pencil-pusher who believed a name like METIS could radiate the same sense of security as a Swat Team. Probably true but Meta Crimes Unit could have been a much simpler a title.
Metis. Mother of Athena. A Titan. Represented something about cunning and wisdom if Gordon recalled his ancient mythology correctly. At least it was a fitting name. Gordon’s team relied on cunning and used the wisdom of Rogue tech against them. Something most beat cops never dreamed of doing yet gave the former soldier a pile of request transfers to throw away every single day.
Even the members of Keystone’s Swat wanted in. Seemed word got around about Gordon being there to teach them how to take down super criminals without needing to rely on help from some hero. They wanted to be heroes themselves. So different than back home. Keystone certainly wasn’t the ‘Haven
“How you adjusting, Gordon?”
The man in question looked up from the pile of papers he was not-so-subtly recycling in the waste-bin. “I have a bunch of lazy bulls, overeager rookies, and a few dumb veterans like yourself all eager to get themselves killed.” Gordon shredded another request form while staring at the craggy face of Fred Chyre with a look best described as dead. “Even after Garrick all-but-retired, you guys relied too much on the capes and not enough on the blood and sweat of normal folk.”
“I recall an old partner of mine saying the same thing,” Fred glanced about the sparsely decorated office, noticing only a picture of Gordon’s family – his deceased wife, his son, and his daughter – and another of the bespectacled man holding a marlin the size of a quarterback. “Wouldn’t happen to be my request form you just shredded, would it?”
“Your knee still giving you problems?”
“Only on rainy days.”
“In that case,” Gordon smiled mirthlessly from beneath bushy eyebrows, “I shredded yours twenty minutes ago. Back to the beat with you.”
“You’re not that much younger than me.”
“True but I’m also in charge of this squad so I get to sit back when I want to.”
“Ha. You sitting back. Good one.” The rough looking man looked as if he were about to say more when his phone beeped. “Chyre here. . . In Gordon’s office. . . Alright, I’ll tell him and be there in three.” Fred flipped his phone closed. “Joe says Desmond needs to talk to you down in the rats nest.”
Gordon rose to his feet hastily, happy to be given an excuse to ignore paperwork. “Case?”
“Homicide with signs of rape trauma.” The crags in Chyre’s face grew deeper. “Reconsider my request. I hate Special Victims. Been working there too long.” A look that reminded Gordon of his darkest Nam flashbacks ran across the older cop’s eyes. “I’d rather stare down Captain Cold’s guns than have to make one more girl relive some bastard. . .” His voice trailed off and Gordon understood.
“I’ll think about it. Maybe you can be my replacement once I get back to my boat.” The words were far kinder and considerate than any member of the KCPD could remember coming from the nearly anti-social Gordon. He passed by Fred without a word of goodbye, keeping up appearances that he wasn’t in Keystone to make friends.
He already had more than enough dead ones.
~~~
Rats Nest. Another fitting name. Would it be too arrogant to say I, or at least the Metis Unit deserved more than a dark, damp basement as our Base of Op?
Albert Desmond had been something of Barry’s protégé in the force from Gordon’s understanding. The swarthy looking man of young bordering on middling age had been well… Flash the Student to Zoom the Professor. He had already had a good deal of experience in learning the analyzing, forensics, and engineering techniques Barry himself had employed while a cop – though unfortunately not to their aid.
If one bad thing could be said of Barry, it was that he relied far too much on himself. Even Jessie had been nothing more than sidekick, someone to back him up, not someone he trusted completely. And his loss, his need to be the Fastest Man Alive and to take everything on alone, had left the Twin Cities in dire need of a replacement.
Lab coat dirty from dragging on the basement floor, Desmond didn’t seem to mind his unwanted transfer into Metis. He looked up from his dissection of an electronic boomerang when Gordon arrived, a pair of goggles shielding his eyes from the sparks. His dark features remained scrunched up as he lifted them off to reveal brownish, almost black, eyes.
“No progress on replicating Cold’s guns,” he reported with a sigh. “I just don’t have the same understanding about freezing as he does nor the equipment and funding needed to properly do so if I did.” Gordon expected as much, he’d been working on it for years to no avail. “But I did manage to get a hundred-forty-three of those thermal patches attached to your uniforms so that you guys won’t be frozen for long. The leftovers have been sown into secondary vests and distributed equally among the ranks.”
“Great, better than I had hoped for.”
Desmond wasn’t the kind of man who flushed when praised. He nodded in acceptance. “Only three of those pulse rifles have been finished. Two have been tested within acceptable parameters. The third put Rhodes in the hospital with minor burns after it overheated.”
“Rhodes is a regrettable loss but he has heart. He’ll be back before the bandages are even finished wrapped.” Jim approached the three rifles looking almost out of science fiction though he had seen more advance machinery during his long career created by more than a few geniuses. He picked up the one with black scarring along its side. “How many shots?”
“Three low powered. One high powered.”
“What happens if you go over?”
“Boom.” Desmond mimed an explosion with his hands.
“How many seconds?”
“Over a minute give or take ten seconds at best estimate.”
“Useable then,” Gordon shouldered the rifle and picked up the other two to give to the best in his squad. “Thanks.”
“Don’t see why you need them so bad,” muttered the scientist before his superior was out the door. “You expect an attack by robots?”
His voice cold as steel, Gordon turned that dead stare on him. “When Garrick was forced to retire, the Hundred attacked this city back when they were still the Ten. You can bet your ass some nutty professor with an army of androids has just been waiting in the wings to do the same with the latest Flash out of the picture.”
~~~
I’m not a man who likes being right. I especially don’t like being reminded how old I’m getting when the source of that information comes from someone I had forbidden of helping me. Some terrorist group with a mad scientist at their helm has taken root in Keystone. Said mad scientist? Specialty in robotics and theoretical physics. Never a good combination in my book.
Found four cells. Just enough to easily divide my units somewhat equally when it came to skill and experience levels. Gave myself the one rookie in need of protection and the one officer who had a secret kept from most of the force. Saved what was most likely going to be the hardest for us.
Ready to go at 0300
Four minutes.
“Too quiet, Lieutenant,” muttered Bard, a young officer who when not dressed up like a member of the SWAT Team with a specialized helmet had a baby face and wavy brown hair. “I don’t like it.”
Their helmets allowed them to maintain a relative level of silence, barely a whisper in the air. Only Gordon kept his head unprotected. His glasses just never fit properly and he liked seeing things without a faceplate in his way. “Dini?”
Grace Dini pointed an infrared and more sensors towards the house in question. They were in one of the middle class neighborhoods, suburb of Keystone really, likely to get a lot of attention once the noise started. “Nothing living. No unusual heat traces. No explosives in the air. Nothing, sir.”
He allowed her to waste that minute with what he had already figured out on his own. “Doesn’t mean much when it comes to a gas stoves and water heaters. Now what is it that you sense?”
“Danger.” Sighing, he knew her to be closing her eyes behind her visor and the feeling of electricity washing over his skin confirmed that she was at least willing to share his secret with the team. “Something’s waiting in there for us.”
Frowning, Gordon signaled for Bard and Jackam to take up their positions. “Been working on your TK?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” A rare smile crossed the old veteran’s lips. “Lets not wake the neighbors. Open up a door, will you?”
A wave of the hand from the petite Dini slammed open the front door and the resulting explosion confirmed Bard’s suspicions. Gordon was the first in, before the smoke had even cleared. The glowing eyes of a machine met him, a hand raised with a Gatling gun attached. No hesitation. Gordon shot it between the eyes with an armor piercing around. Echoes of other shots rattled his bones, reminding him far too much of the trenches. The rookies needed to learn to save their rounds. Not get freaked out when faced with the unexpected.
“Kitchen clear!” shouted Bard, his voice shaking. “Stove was rigged like you thought.”
“Bedrooms clear.” Jackam started with a less terrified tone.
Boom!
“Sorry, bout that,” Jackam came out of her a nearby hallway, a ghost out of the smoke, covered in dust and porcelain. “Found two of them waiting for me in the bathroom. These pulse-rifles work like a charm. One shot and the first one went Pshaw!”
“Needed to be field tested,” remarked Bard as he joined them, raising the visor on his helmet. “Just wish I had won coin toss. Left mine with a dozen holes through its chasis and one in the head before it went down.”
“One shot.” It wasn’t bragging.
“Do you ever shoot more than once?” joked the rookie.
“Only when I’m up against more than three.” Gordon waited for Dini to join them, her helmet off and the smell of vomit on her breath. Her dark pixie cut hair was drenched in sweat. “Never know when having one last bullet in the chamber could come in handy.”
Dini looked around at the cloudy room decorated like it was straight out of a catalogue. Perfectly matched furniture, family pictures a little too perfect, everything read wrong about the home. Not even Gordon’s home back when his neat freak son had been this clean.
“Basement?”
“No danger but there’s something down there,” answered his resident psychic.
“Alright, Bard, you’re with me,” Gordon indicated for Dini to toss him the unstable rifle on a hunch. “You two keep the perimeter secure. Be ready for a rapid exit.”
“Done this before, Lieutenant?” muttered Jackam darkly. An overeager rookie with a Grandfather on the Force, she had something to prove. The exact reason he was leaving her up above.
The pair kicked down the basement door, a single hanging light illuminating the blackened room. They aimed their flashlights about, looking for anything out of place. Both focused on a bulletin board with a clothing line hanging towards the dryer. Not waiting for orders, Bard planted a strip of explosive across the heart of the board while his superior called above “Time for a little earthquake.”
Gordon and Bard took cover behind the dryer as it went off, their ears ringing despite the earplugs. The clearing smoke revealed a hole in the wall and shaft leading down below. No sign of an elevator or ladder.
“We probably could have searched for the switch…” started Bard, a smile on his lips.
“But where’s the fun in that?” finished Gordon. He didn’t know why but he was starting to like the kid. He took the initiative. Had great instincts. Better than some heroes Gordon had known in his life.
“Want the honors, sir?”
“Go ahead.” The elder watched Bard secure a repel line and leap over the edge. “Just try not to waste too many shots.”
It was a good two minutes before the kid double clicked an all clear and radioed up. “Not gonna believe this. It’s… a bunker but with nothing I’ve seen short of Johnny Quest cartoons.”
Didn’t surprise Gordon in the least. His bones groaning in protest, he secured his own line, and repelled down, feet bouncing light as a feather off smoothened walls. He was too old for this.
A Walking Eye… I haven’t seen one of those since the fad of 78. Almost too funny looking to take seriously. Pathetic. Not even twenty feet tall. Not worth its salt as anything smaller than thirty.
The bunker wasn’t all too impressive to Gordon considering his own was much larger and better outfitted. Nothing to look at other than the equipment needed to build and maintain the terror machine. Looking above and noticing below, he realized the machine was meant to crash through the house when it was activated. A rising platform was beneath its four spidery legs.
“Lieutenant,” Dini’s faint voice came through the radio doused with static. “Commissioner Hotchkiss… city. ASAP. Und— attack. Too late.”
Gears began to whirl within the Walking Eye. Both members of Metis felt their pulses quicken and raised useless weapons, ready to take aim at the traditionally vulnerable point of the central eye socket.
“Wait, toss me the pulse rifle, and get up there,” ordered Bard unexpectedly.
“What?”
“Overload. Set it to blow before the thing fully activates.”
“Ah. Good idea,” Gordon shouldered his more traditional rifle and started to play with the settings on the pulse gun. “Get back up there and tell them to evac.”
“With all do re—“
“Go.”
Not waiting, Gordon fired two shots of crimson, energy at the machine. Electricity rushed across the gray metal, slowing down the process. Gordon could feel the heat start to burn into his gloves and fired one last shot before fiddling with a dial on its edge with smoking fingertips and tossed the overheating rifle at the Walking Eye. Before the clank of gun on metal had sounded, he was huffing it back up to the shaft, sure that he wouldn’t make it in time.
His gloves wrapped around the cord of tensile rope and his face twisted in a grimace of pain. He tried to hook it to the automatic pulley on his belt when he felt it jerk against his palm. From above, someone was helping to pull him as the piece of crap tech on his belt refused to work. Gordon started climbing, not caring about being disobeyed providing it meant he got to see at least one grandchild before kicking the bucket.
The grinning face of Bard met him over the edge of the hole they had made. Half pulling, half carrying his commanding officer, the pair raced up the stairs and out of the suburban home even as the explosion sounded below and they felt the floor give way. The building had collapsed in on itself by the time they jumped off the porch deck to land rolling in the small patch of green grass that made up the backyard.
Gordon glanced at the sinkhole they had created, wincing a bit at the overkill and ignoring the onlookers that had gathered. Maybe he had been wrong earlier. Maybe the—
“Ha. Desmond isn’t going to be happy about this. He still thought he could fix the rifle.”
The older man smiled despite the urge not to. His own thoughts had been on a similar track. The pair met up with the women of their squad leaning against a patrol car that had arrived. The cops it belonged to were already herding the onlookers back into their homes and taping off the crime scene… if it could be called a crime scene.
One of them strode towards Gordon, obviously annoyed at a having to deal with Metis cleanup. “You guys get the call?
The old soldier nodded and waved his team to follow him down the street back to their van. He hurt. His body was sore. But he had to admit, trying to escape an exploding building had reminded him of the good old days. The days when his muscles had been as perfect as Bard’s and he had Jay at his back. Too bad he wasn’t still young. If he was, he might have enjoyed the whole ordeal.
~~~
Downtown Keystone is starting to look like the best of Bludhaven. Not a compliment. The smoke and the screams remind me of war. For all that I fought alongside heroes, the so called Justice Society of America, we too undertook more than our fair share of dark deeds. No different than any soldier past or present. All for the sake of our country.
But I’m no longer doing this for my country. I’m doing this for a friend. No, friends. For Jay and Teddy… And for all who have already given the greatest sacrifice. . . Barry and Rex and even that bastard Wesley. And that’s good enough for me.
Gordon was tired. In fact his whole team was tired. Not even Bard could keep his smirk lifting the corners of his lips. They had been working nonstop for going on the eleventh hour. Herds of Walking Eyes roamed the city streets, destroying what they could. Some seemed to have targets in mind – if rumors were to be believed, Snark had taken down three single-handedly for encroaching on land set aside for Barry’s memorial – while others were bent solely on chaos.
Smoke highlighted the city, shrouding the noonday sun. Gordon’s squad had taken on their fair share. And they had been luckier than most. Dini was their only injury. He had ordered her to cover civilians while the other three continued their assaults.
Their one good pulse rifle could bring down a Walking Eye with eight low powered shots but the other teams, especially the beat cops trying their damnedest to go above and beyond the call of duty had to rely on concentrated fire and sheer luck. This was not something the KCPD was equipped to handle even with Metis’s aid. They were quickly running out of ammo and just didn’t have the firepower of the military.
Gordon almost felt useless.
Almost.
Metis had discovered a weakness for whenever the Walking Eyes released a spread of anti-personnel missiles along their sides. Focused fire there could destroy the circuitry inside and bring it down without the need of armor-piercing rounds. But too few officers had that sort of perfect timing and aim.
“Sir, not enough shots left for this one.” Julie’s voice shook with tears. Less than an hour ago, she had heard about the fate of her grandfather, but still she fought hard, saving her grief for later. “We have to figure out a different way.”
One of the last Eyes was slowly approaching city hall, blasting cars out of its way with high powered lasers. Gordon closed his eyes, thinking quickly of a plan, as Bard rechecked his ammo. His rifle empty, he pulled out his handgun, giving Gordon a glance at the kid’s belt.
“How many explosives you got left?”
“Two strips,” the smirk returned to Bard’s lips. He saw where Gordon was going.
“How’s your running?”
“Three years All State on the Track Team back at Smallville High and I almost became the first in the nation in college but I banged up my knee during the final meet.”
Gordon regretted asking it over the kid but he knew his own capabilities. He simply couldn’t run that fast and his endurance was at its limit. Shouldering his rifle, he pulled out dual pistols. While he was known as a sniper, he remained a fair shot with hand guns.
“Here’s the plan. I provide suppressing fire, attracting its attention. Julie, charge the pulse rifle up to high. You’ll know when to take it,” he put a reassuring hand on Bard’s shoulder. “Jason, you know what to do.”
He waited for the other two take up their positions and boldly stood alone in the midst of an empty, crater filled street. Both guns raised in unison. Their worthless shots bounced harmless off the cold metal but it served its purpose. The beady red eye focused on him. Whip like tentacles erupted out of its sides snaking towards the old soldier. He changed his tactics, rolling to avoid the snake like whips, scoring a lucky shot that tore off the end.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bard leaping off an upturned car and onto the side of the mechanical beast. Clamboring up the Eye’s long spidery leg, Gordon didn’t see the exact moment the strip was attached but when Jason jumped back off, he knew to take cover.
Kaboom was quickly followed by a Krrrshaw!!! of the pulse rifle. On unstable legs, the machine crashed into a nearby building. Three separate Metis members dashed to finish it off as it turned its laser eye towards the sky.
An exhausted smile crossed Gordon’s lips when Bard beat him to it. The young man continued to impress him. It left him with the thought of maybe introducing the kid to his daughter Barbara.
~~~
Not my first funeral since coming to Keystone. Probably not my last. Civilian counts are still being tallied but we already know the answer for the Officers who died in the line of duty in service to the Keystone City Police Department. Twenty seven dead – four Metis – over fifty wounded. I’d like to take credit for that but fact is, I haven’t been here that long.
The KCPD had been waiting for the chance to prove themselves. This trial had been their chance and in my opinion, they passed with flying colors. For us, there would always be acceptable losses. For us, there is no holding back. We are the law and our citizens deserve the best protection they can get, costumed or not.
We are the Keystone City Police Department
They had gathered in their best dress uniforms. Some still smelled of mothballs and Gordon’s didn’t quite fit. Too new. Had only arrived yesterday. He hadn’t had the chance to get the sleeves loosened and the pants to be hemmed. At his side stood the stoic Julie Jackam, on her other side was her grandfather’s partner Fred Chyre. There were no tears between those two as the fallen officer was lowered into his final resting place as the bagpipes played.
There hadn’t been enough time to get to know the senior Jackam but he knew Julie. He’d be there for her if she needed it and he knew better than to grant her time off. Women like her knew the meaning behind duty. She wouldn’t dishonor her family’s memory.
When the ceremony was over, Gordon patted Julie’s shoulder and left her with Fred. He was still new. Felt more like intruding than offering comfort she hadn’t asked for. His eyes roamed the cemetery. The first thing he noticed caused a strange twinge in his heart that every father recognized. Bard was speaking with Barbara, apart from the rest of the force. They had only met the day before but there seemed to be instant chemistry.
Then his eyes met the lone figure standing by a tree. At first, he didn’t recognize the face sticking out above the great coat. It was more filled out than he remembered and lacking something. The shoulders were broader than they should have been. But the features were reflections of his own. A younger version of himself from nearly thirty years ago.
“Trip,” greeted Gordon as he didn’t rush to meet his son. “I thought you were in Tibet.”
“Hello to you too, father,” replied James Gordon Jr, his face hidden in shroud through the leaves of trees from the son. “You’re welcome for the help.”
“Lot of good it did Keystone,” he noticed Barbara glancing at the pair and waved her off. The siblings butted heads more than the father and son. “Why are you here?”
Trip dropped his jaw in faux disbelief and gestured at himself as if he were modeling new clothes. “I found Nanda Parbat, can’t you see? All my flaws gone. I’m a better man,” his son’s voice took on a solemn tone. “With your return to active duty, I thought I’d make the offer to you, maybe even Jay, to show you two the way. You’re old, father. You’re injured. The Fountain of Life can fix all that.” He tilted his head as his tell when he knew people didn’t believe him. “For all that’s happened between us, father, I do not wish your death. Unlike those heroes you look up to, you understand the world is not just black and white, that even the shades of gray deserve lethal force.”
Gordon snorted in disbelief. “Rama Kushna would never allow you to her hidden city.”
“I do not lie, father. The Goddess accepted me, accepted my beliefs”
“That may be but you also don’t tell the truth,” Gordon turned his back on his son, “You enjoy whatever curse you’ve brought on yourself, James. Your sister and I will always be here for you if you ever change. Tell your Order or whoever fed you that piece of shit information to go stick a grenade up their asses.”
“I am who you raised me to be,” taunted Trip in goodbye. “And you’re no different than me. Never forget, father, you’re a killer. I can take you to the pool, all you have to do is ask.”
Body sore exactly as Trip hinted, Gordon ignored his son despite the back of his mind wishing the boy’s words were a hundred percent true. If he could shave off a few years to his life, if he could fix all his injuries then… no. He had lived his life. Metis was only temporary. He’d train his replacement. Hold seminars for the general beat cops. He’d do that sort of duty.
And then he could go back to fishing in peace.
A gathered group of Metis, including his daughter and Fred, surrounded him. Welcoming him. Offering him the comfort of a cold drink and a relaxing night out in memory of the fallen.
My name is Jim Gordon. I’m no Superhero. I have no super powers. I rely on the sweat and blood put forth by your average Joe. But I’ve fought alongside them. I know their strengths, I know their weaknesses.
I know how to fight them and their enemies.
Soon enough, so will the Keystone PD.
A Good Man Returns to War
Keystone City
Amazing where connections can get you. Amazing what friendship and loyalty can get you to break… like the vows you and your wife made years ago when you ‘retired’ with a hefty pension worthy of a Five-Star General. They can get you to put back on a uniform. They can get you to ‘enlist.’ They can make you kill again.
But could I be expected to do anything less? Barry gave his life to save time as we knew it. How could I not take Jay’s offer to volunteer my services to the Keystone City PD? I’m the man who once shot the Flash when not even trying and with the most recent one dead, all of us need to pick up the slack.
I’m Jim Gordon. I used to be a soldier. Then I was a watcher.
Now it seems I am cop.
It started out simple enough though in the future it could be considered the act that changed it all. Gordon killed one of the Flash’s Rogues. Clean headshot. Impossible hit from over thirteen hundred yards away. Not something a Lieutenant in charge of a special task force should have been doing but he was the best candidate. Only one who could do it. Only man with the ability to tag a target like that short of superhuman talents.
The perp had been the Black Spider. One time vigilante, now a bug with a squashed head. Before Barry had shown up on the scene, the Black Spider had been a tech based crime-fighter in Keystone. Gordon had known him as Eric Needham, even had the file on the formulas the Spider had used for his gloves and web fluid back at Watchtower. A good man turned bad out of jealousy to Barry’s fame as the Flash. Sold his soul apparently for powers. Mutated. Became some sort of spider demon.
Joined the other side.
With Barry alive and Snart enforcing some sort of Rogue Honor Code, Black Spider had remained relatively decent. As decent as a murderer could get. Never attacked cops. Never went for the innocent. He followed orders and when not working under someone smarter than his bestial instincts, he only ate the insides out of criminals. Usually drug dealers.
Unfortunately, it seemed Barry’s death hit him hard. Or maybe the deal with the demon had changed. Either way, more spider than man, he rampaged through the city.
A single shot from Gordon ended it all.
One shot.
Two dead heroes.
Good men the victims of war.
___
Meta Embraced Tactical Invested Stratagems or METIS for short. Whoever thought of such a stupid name needed to be throttled in Gordon’s opinion. Probably some pencil-pusher who believed a name like METIS could radiate the same sense of security as a Swat Team. Probably true but Meta Crimes Unit could have been a much simpler a title.
Metis. Mother of Athena. A Titan. Represented something about cunning and wisdom if Gordon recalled his ancient mythology correctly. At least it was a fitting name. Gordon’s team relied on cunning and used the wisdom of Rogue tech against them. Something most beat cops never dreamed of doing yet gave the former soldier a pile of request transfers to throw away every single day.
Even the members of Keystone’s Swat wanted in. Seemed word got around about Gordon being there to teach them how to take down super criminals without needing to rely on help from some hero. They wanted to be heroes themselves. So different than back home. Keystone certainly wasn’t the ‘Haven
“How you adjusting, Gordon?”
The man in question looked up from the pile of papers he was not-so-subtly recycling in the waste-bin. “I have a bunch of lazy bulls, overeager rookies, and a few dumb veterans like yourself all eager to get themselves killed.” Gordon shredded another request form while staring at the craggy face of Fred Chyre with a look best described as dead. “Even after Garrick all-but-retired, you guys relied too much on the capes and not enough on the blood and sweat of normal folk.”
“I recall an old partner of mine saying the same thing,” Fred glanced about the sparsely decorated office, noticing only a picture of Gordon’s family – his deceased wife, his son, and his daughter – and another of the bespectacled man holding a marlin the size of a quarterback. “Wouldn’t happen to be my request form you just shredded, would it?”
“Your knee still giving you problems?”
“Only on rainy days.”
“In that case,” Gordon smiled mirthlessly from beneath bushy eyebrows, “I shredded yours twenty minutes ago. Back to the beat with you.”
“You’re not that much younger than me.”
“True but I’m also in charge of this squad so I get to sit back when I want to.”
“Ha. You sitting back. Good one.” The rough looking man looked as if he were about to say more when his phone beeped. “Chyre here. . . In Gordon’s office. . . Alright, I’ll tell him and be there in three.” Fred flipped his phone closed. “Joe says Desmond needs to talk to you down in the rats nest.”
Gordon rose to his feet hastily, happy to be given an excuse to ignore paperwork. “Case?”
“Homicide with signs of rape trauma.” The crags in Chyre’s face grew deeper. “Reconsider my request. I hate Special Victims. Been working there too long.” A look that reminded Gordon of his darkest Nam flashbacks ran across the older cop’s eyes. “I’d rather stare down Captain Cold’s guns than have to make one more girl relive some bastard. . .” His voice trailed off and Gordon understood.
“I’ll think about it. Maybe you can be my replacement once I get back to my boat.” The words were far kinder and considerate than any member of the KCPD could remember coming from the nearly anti-social Gordon. He passed by Fred without a word of goodbye, keeping up appearances that he wasn’t in Keystone to make friends.
He already had more than enough dead ones.
~~~
Rats Nest. Another fitting name. Would it be too arrogant to say I, or at least the Metis Unit deserved more than a dark, damp basement as our Base of Op?
Albert Desmond had been something of Barry’s protégé in the force from Gordon’s understanding. The swarthy looking man of young bordering on middling age had been well… Flash the Student to Zoom the Professor. He had already had a good deal of experience in learning the analyzing, forensics, and engineering techniques Barry himself had employed while a cop – though unfortunately not to their aid.
If one bad thing could be said of Barry, it was that he relied far too much on himself. Even Jessie had been nothing more than sidekick, someone to back him up, not someone he trusted completely. And his loss, his need to be the Fastest Man Alive and to take everything on alone, had left the Twin Cities in dire need of a replacement.
Lab coat dirty from dragging on the basement floor, Desmond didn’t seem to mind his unwanted transfer into Metis. He looked up from his dissection of an electronic boomerang when Gordon arrived, a pair of goggles shielding his eyes from the sparks. His dark features remained scrunched up as he lifted them off to reveal brownish, almost black, eyes.
“No progress on replicating Cold’s guns,” he reported with a sigh. “I just don’t have the same understanding about freezing as he does nor the equipment and funding needed to properly do so if I did.” Gordon expected as much, he’d been working on it for years to no avail. “But I did manage to get a hundred-forty-three of those thermal patches attached to your uniforms so that you guys won’t be frozen for long. The leftovers have been sown into secondary vests and distributed equally among the ranks.”
“Great, better than I had hoped for.”
Desmond wasn’t the kind of man who flushed when praised. He nodded in acceptance. “Only three of those pulse rifles have been finished. Two have been tested within acceptable parameters. The third put Rhodes in the hospital with minor burns after it overheated.”
“Rhodes is a regrettable loss but he has heart. He’ll be back before the bandages are even finished wrapped.” Jim approached the three rifles looking almost out of science fiction though he had seen more advance machinery during his long career created by more than a few geniuses. He picked up the one with black scarring along its side. “How many shots?”
“Three low powered. One high powered.”
“What happens if you go over?”
“Boom.” Desmond mimed an explosion with his hands.
“How many seconds?”
“Over a minute give or take ten seconds at best estimate.”
“Useable then,” Gordon shouldered the rifle and picked up the other two to give to the best in his squad. “Thanks.”
“Don’t see why you need them so bad,” muttered the scientist before his superior was out the door. “You expect an attack by robots?”
His voice cold as steel, Gordon turned that dead stare on him. “When Garrick was forced to retire, the Hundred attacked this city back when they were still the Ten. You can bet your ass some nutty professor with an army of androids has just been waiting in the wings to do the same with the latest Flash out of the picture.”
~~~
I’m not a man who likes being right. I especially don’t like being reminded how old I’m getting when the source of that information comes from someone I had forbidden of helping me. Some terrorist group with a mad scientist at their helm has taken root in Keystone. Said mad scientist? Specialty in robotics and theoretical physics. Never a good combination in my book.
Found four cells. Just enough to easily divide my units somewhat equally when it came to skill and experience levels. Gave myself the one rookie in need of protection and the one officer who had a secret kept from most of the force. Saved what was most likely going to be the hardest for us.
Ready to go at 0300
Four minutes.
“Too quiet, Lieutenant,” muttered Bard, a young officer who when not dressed up like a member of the SWAT Team with a specialized helmet had a baby face and wavy brown hair. “I don’t like it.”
Their helmets allowed them to maintain a relative level of silence, barely a whisper in the air. Only Gordon kept his head unprotected. His glasses just never fit properly and he liked seeing things without a faceplate in his way. “Dini?”
Grace Dini pointed an infrared and more sensors towards the house in question. They were in one of the middle class neighborhoods, suburb of Keystone really, likely to get a lot of attention once the noise started. “Nothing living. No unusual heat traces. No explosives in the air. Nothing, sir.”
He allowed her to waste that minute with what he had already figured out on his own. “Doesn’t mean much when it comes to a gas stoves and water heaters. Now what is it that you sense?”
“Danger.” Sighing, he knew her to be closing her eyes behind her visor and the feeling of electricity washing over his skin confirmed that she was at least willing to share his secret with the team. “Something’s waiting in there for us.”
Frowning, Gordon signaled for Bard and Jackam to take up their positions. “Been working on your TK?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” A rare smile crossed the old veteran’s lips. “Lets not wake the neighbors. Open up a door, will you?”
A wave of the hand from the petite Dini slammed open the front door and the resulting explosion confirmed Bard’s suspicions. Gordon was the first in, before the smoke had even cleared. The glowing eyes of a machine met him, a hand raised with a Gatling gun attached. No hesitation. Gordon shot it between the eyes with an armor piercing around. Echoes of other shots rattled his bones, reminding him far too much of the trenches. The rookies needed to learn to save their rounds. Not get freaked out when faced with the unexpected.
“Kitchen clear!” shouted Bard, his voice shaking. “Stove was rigged like you thought.”
“Bedrooms clear.” Jackam started with a less terrified tone.
Boom!
“Sorry, bout that,” Jackam came out of her a nearby hallway, a ghost out of the smoke, covered in dust and porcelain. “Found two of them waiting for me in the bathroom. These pulse-rifles work like a charm. One shot and the first one went Pshaw!”
“Needed to be field tested,” remarked Bard as he joined them, raising the visor on his helmet. “Just wish I had won coin toss. Left mine with a dozen holes through its chasis and one in the head before it went down.”
“One shot.” It wasn’t bragging.
“Do you ever shoot more than once?” joked the rookie.
“Only when I’m up against more than three.” Gordon waited for Dini to join them, her helmet off and the smell of vomit on her breath. Her dark pixie cut hair was drenched in sweat. “Never know when having one last bullet in the chamber could come in handy.”
Dini looked around at the cloudy room decorated like it was straight out of a catalogue. Perfectly matched furniture, family pictures a little too perfect, everything read wrong about the home. Not even Gordon’s home back when his neat freak son had been this clean.
“Basement?”
“No danger but there’s something down there,” answered his resident psychic.
“Alright, Bard, you’re with me,” Gordon indicated for Dini to toss him the unstable rifle on a hunch. “You two keep the perimeter secure. Be ready for a rapid exit.”
“Done this before, Lieutenant?” muttered Jackam darkly. An overeager rookie with a Grandfather on the Force, she had something to prove. The exact reason he was leaving her up above.
The pair kicked down the basement door, a single hanging light illuminating the blackened room. They aimed their flashlights about, looking for anything out of place. Both focused on a bulletin board with a clothing line hanging towards the dryer. Not waiting for orders, Bard planted a strip of explosive across the heart of the board while his superior called above “Time for a little earthquake.”
Gordon and Bard took cover behind the dryer as it went off, their ears ringing despite the earplugs. The clearing smoke revealed a hole in the wall and shaft leading down below. No sign of an elevator or ladder.
“We probably could have searched for the switch…” started Bard, a smile on his lips.
“But where’s the fun in that?” finished Gordon. He didn’t know why but he was starting to like the kid. He took the initiative. Had great instincts. Better than some heroes Gordon had known in his life.
“Want the honors, sir?”
“Go ahead.” The elder watched Bard secure a repel line and leap over the edge. “Just try not to waste too many shots.”
It was a good two minutes before the kid double clicked an all clear and radioed up. “Not gonna believe this. It’s… a bunker but with nothing I’ve seen short of Johnny Quest cartoons.”
Didn’t surprise Gordon in the least. His bones groaning in protest, he secured his own line, and repelled down, feet bouncing light as a feather off smoothened walls. He was too old for this.
A Walking Eye… I haven’t seen one of those since the fad of 78. Almost too funny looking to take seriously. Pathetic. Not even twenty feet tall. Not worth its salt as anything smaller than thirty.
The bunker wasn’t all too impressive to Gordon considering his own was much larger and better outfitted. Nothing to look at other than the equipment needed to build and maintain the terror machine. Looking above and noticing below, he realized the machine was meant to crash through the house when it was activated. A rising platform was beneath its four spidery legs.
“Lieutenant,” Dini’s faint voice came through the radio doused with static. “Commissioner Hotchkiss… city. ASAP. Und— attack. Too late.”
Gears began to whirl within the Walking Eye. Both members of Metis felt their pulses quicken and raised useless weapons, ready to take aim at the traditionally vulnerable point of the central eye socket.
“Wait, toss me the pulse rifle, and get up there,” ordered Bard unexpectedly.
“What?”
“Overload. Set it to blow before the thing fully activates.”
“Ah. Good idea,” Gordon shouldered his more traditional rifle and started to play with the settings on the pulse gun. “Get back up there and tell them to evac.”
“With all do re—“
“Go.”
Not waiting, Gordon fired two shots of crimson, energy at the machine. Electricity rushed across the gray metal, slowing down the process. Gordon could feel the heat start to burn into his gloves and fired one last shot before fiddling with a dial on its edge with smoking fingertips and tossed the overheating rifle at the Walking Eye. Before the clank of gun on metal had sounded, he was huffing it back up to the shaft, sure that he wouldn’t make it in time.
His gloves wrapped around the cord of tensile rope and his face twisted in a grimace of pain. He tried to hook it to the automatic pulley on his belt when he felt it jerk against his palm. From above, someone was helping to pull him as the piece of crap tech on his belt refused to work. Gordon started climbing, not caring about being disobeyed providing it meant he got to see at least one grandchild before kicking the bucket.
The grinning face of Bard met him over the edge of the hole they had made. Half pulling, half carrying his commanding officer, the pair raced up the stairs and out of the suburban home even as the explosion sounded below and they felt the floor give way. The building had collapsed in on itself by the time they jumped off the porch deck to land rolling in the small patch of green grass that made up the backyard.
Gordon glanced at the sinkhole they had created, wincing a bit at the overkill and ignoring the onlookers that had gathered. Maybe he had been wrong earlier. Maybe the—
“Ha. Desmond isn’t going to be happy about this. He still thought he could fix the rifle.”
The older man smiled despite the urge not to. His own thoughts had been on a similar track. The pair met up with the women of their squad leaning against a patrol car that had arrived. The cops it belonged to were already herding the onlookers back into their homes and taping off the crime scene… if it could be called a crime scene.
One of them strode towards Gordon, obviously annoyed at a having to deal with Metis cleanup. “You guys get the call?
The old soldier nodded and waved his team to follow him down the street back to their van. He hurt. His body was sore. But he had to admit, trying to escape an exploding building had reminded him of the good old days. The days when his muscles had been as perfect as Bard’s and he had Jay at his back. Too bad he wasn’t still young. If he was, he might have enjoyed the whole ordeal.
~~~
Downtown Keystone is starting to look like the best of Bludhaven. Not a compliment. The smoke and the screams remind me of war. For all that I fought alongside heroes, the so called Justice Society of America, we too undertook more than our fair share of dark deeds. No different than any soldier past or present. All for the sake of our country.
But I’m no longer doing this for my country. I’m doing this for a friend. No, friends. For Jay and Teddy… And for all who have already given the greatest sacrifice. . . Barry and Rex and even that bastard Wesley. And that’s good enough for me.
Gordon was tired. In fact his whole team was tired. Not even Bard could keep his smirk lifting the corners of his lips. They had been working nonstop for going on the eleventh hour. Herds of Walking Eyes roamed the city streets, destroying what they could. Some seemed to have targets in mind – if rumors were to be believed, Snark had taken down three single-handedly for encroaching on land set aside for Barry’s memorial – while others were bent solely on chaos.
Smoke highlighted the city, shrouding the noonday sun. Gordon’s squad had taken on their fair share. And they had been luckier than most. Dini was their only injury. He had ordered her to cover civilians while the other three continued their assaults.
Their one good pulse rifle could bring down a Walking Eye with eight low powered shots but the other teams, especially the beat cops trying their damnedest to go above and beyond the call of duty had to rely on concentrated fire and sheer luck. This was not something the KCPD was equipped to handle even with Metis’s aid. They were quickly running out of ammo and just didn’t have the firepower of the military.
Gordon almost felt useless.
Almost.
Metis had discovered a weakness for whenever the Walking Eyes released a spread of anti-personnel missiles along their sides. Focused fire there could destroy the circuitry inside and bring it down without the need of armor-piercing rounds. But too few officers had that sort of perfect timing and aim.
“Sir, not enough shots left for this one.” Julie’s voice shook with tears. Less than an hour ago, she had heard about the fate of her grandfather, but still she fought hard, saving her grief for later. “We have to figure out a different way.”
One of the last Eyes was slowly approaching city hall, blasting cars out of its way with high powered lasers. Gordon closed his eyes, thinking quickly of a plan, as Bard rechecked his ammo. His rifle empty, he pulled out his handgun, giving Gordon a glance at the kid’s belt.
“How many explosives you got left?”
“Two strips,” the smirk returned to Bard’s lips. He saw where Gordon was going.
“How’s your running?”
“Three years All State on the Track Team back at Smallville High and I almost became the first in the nation in college but I banged up my knee during the final meet.”
Gordon regretted asking it over the kid but he knew his own capabilities. He simply couldn’t run that fast and his endurance was at its limit. Shouldering his rifle, he pulled out dual pistols. While he was known as a sniper, he remained a fair shot with hand guns.
“Here’s the plan. I provide suppressing fire, attracting its attention. Julie, charge the pulse rifle up to high. You’ll know when to take it,” he put a reassuring hand on Bard’s shoulder. “Jason, you know what to do.”
He waited for the other two take up their positions and boldly stood alone in the midst of an empty, crater filled street. Both guns raised in unison. Their worthless shots bounced harmless off the cold metal but it served its purpose. The beady red eye focused on him. Whip like tentacles erupted out of its sides snaking towards the old soldier. He changed his tactics, rolling to avoid the snake like whips, scoring a lucky shot that tore off the end.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bard leaping off an upturned car and onto the side of the mechanical beast. Clamboring up the Eye’s long spidery leg, Gordon didn’t see the exact moment the strip was attached but when Jason jumped back off, he knew to take cover.
Kaboom was quickly followed by a Krrrshaw!!! of the pulse rifle. On unstable legs, the machine crashed into a nearby building. Three separate Metis members dashed to finish it off as it turned its laser eye towards the sky.
An exhausted smile crossed Gordon’s lips when Bard beat him to it. The young man continued to impress him. It left him with the thought of maybe introducing the kid to his daughter Barbara.
~~~
Not my first funeral since coming to Keystone. Probably not my last. Civilian counts are still being tallied but we already know the answer for the Officers who died in the line of duty in service to the Keystone City Police Department. Twenty seven dead – four Metis – over fifty wounded. I’d like to take credit for that but fact is, I haven’t been here that long.
The KCPD had been waiting for the chance to prove themselves. This trial had been their chance and in my opinion, they passed with flying colors. For us, there would always be acceptable losses. For us, there is no holding back. We are the law and our citizens deserve the best protection they can get, costumed or not.
We are the Keystone City Police Department
They had gathered in their best dress uniforms. Some still smelled of mothballs and Gordon’s didn’t quite fit. Too new. Had only arrived yesterday. He hadn’t had the chance to get the sleeves loosened and the pants to be hemmed. At his side stood the stoic Julie Jackam, on her other side was her grandfather’s partner Fred Chyre. There were no tears between those two as the fallen officer was lowered into his final resting place as the bagpipes played.
There hadn’t been enough time to get to know the senior Jackam but he knew Julie. He’d be there for her if she needed it and he knew better than to grant her time off. Women like her knew the meaning behind duty. She wouldn’t dishonor her family’s memory.
When the ceremony was over, Gordon patted Julie’s shoulder and left her with Fred. He was still new. Felt more like intruding than offering comfort she hadn’t asked for. His eyes roamed the cemetery. The first thing he noticed caused a strange twinge in his heart that every father recognized. Bard was speaking with Barbara, apart from the rest of the force. They had only met the day before but there seemed to be instant chemistry.
Then his eyes met the lone figure standing by a tree. At first, he didn’t recognize the face sticking out above the great coat. It was more filled out than he remembered and lacking something. The shoulders were broader than they should have been. But the features were reflections of his own. A younger version of himself from nearly thirty years ago.
“Trip,” greeted Gordon as he didn’t rush to meet his son. “I thought you were in Tibet.”
“Hello to you too, father,” replied James Gordon Jr, his face hidden in shroud through the leaves of trees from the son. “You’re welcome for the help.”
“Lot of good it did Keystone,” he noticed Barbara glancing at the pair and waved her off. The siblings butted heads more than the father and son. “Why are you here?”
Trip dropped his jaw in faux disbelief and gestured at himself as if he were modeling new clothes. “I found Nanda Parbat, can’t you see? All my flaws gone. I’m a better man,” his son’s voice took on a solemn tone. “With your return to active duty, I thought I’d make the offer to you, maybe even Jay, to show you two the way. You’re old, father. You’re injured. The Fountain of Life can fix all that.” He tilted his head as his tell when he knew people didn’t believe him. “For all that’s happened between us, father, I do not wish your death. Unlike those heroes you look up to, you understand the world is not just black and white, that even the shades of gray deserve lethal force.”
Gordon snorted in disbelief. “Rama Kushna would never allow you to her hidden city.”
“I do not lie, father. The Goddess accepted me, accepted my beliefs”
“That may be but you also don’t tell the truth,” Gordon turned his back on his son, “You enjoy whatever curse you’ve brought on yourself, James. Your sister and I will always be here for you if you ever change. Tell your Order or whoever fed you that piece of shit information to go stick a grenade up their asses.”
“I am who you raised me to be,” taunted Trip in goodbye. “And you’re no different than me. Never forget, father, you’re a killer. I can take you to the pool, all you have to do is ask.”
Body sore exactly as Trip hinted, Gordon ignored his son despite the back of his mind wishing the boy’s words were a hundred percent true. If he could shave off a few years to his life, if he could fix all his injuries then… no. He had lived his life. Metis was only temporary. He’d train his replacement. Hold seminars for the general beat cops. He’d do that sort of duty.
And then he could go back to fishing in peace.
A gathered group of Metis, including his daughter and Fred, surrounded him. Welcoming him. Offering him the comfort of a cold drink and a relaxing night out in memory of the fallen.
My name is Jim Gordon. I’m no Superhero. I have no super powers. I rely on the sweat and blood put forth by your average Joe. But I’ve fought alongside them. I know their strengths, I know their weaknesses.
I know how to fight them and their enemies.
Soon enough, so will the Keystone PD.
