Post by liquidsword34 on Apr 26, 2012 16:40:27 GMT -5
Beneath East Tinasha, the Democratic Republic of Congo
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 1:31 AM
When it comes to bars, the best place to go most definitely isn't an African dictatorship ran by a corrupt power hungry American businessman. So it surprised most of the six when their new team mate Bat-Wing took them to a small underground bar after they released him and agreed to join his cause fighting against Edward Nigma. The bar sat around thirty feet below the streets, with a series of hidden stairways in abandoned buildings throughout Tinasha leading into it and other buildings used by the Congo resistance. A single candle behind the bar lit the room, with most of the faces sat at the tables shrouded in darkness. The six sat huddled around a small round table, the wood chipped away from years of use and one of the legs propped up clumsily with a pile of old newspapers. Around them sat maybe a dozen others, most in quiet conversation over their drinks. The six had just sat down when the elderly bar tender came over, handing them each a beer. Bat-Wing whispered him thanks and handed him a few franc's as payment, as well as a small slip of paper.
"I've arranged for you all to be able to stay here tonight. There's a few rooms behind the bar you can use." Bat-Wing stated as he sipped his drink. "I'll be heading home soon to see my wife and get some rest, then returning here tomorrow morning."
"And then what?" Catwoman asked, slouched down in her chair and clearly exhausted from the days events.
"And then we make a move. An attack on Nigma's presidential building in the centre of Tinasha, tomorrow afternoon. The resistance has been planning this for a few weeks now, and with you five now here we should have the man power needed."
"Does Nigma's army not have the ability to defend this attack?" Bane questioned, looking at Bat-Wing over his already half empty drink.
"They have the troops and weapons, but not the knowledge. Nigma's men don't know how to defend an attack from all sides, and now with you joining us we have the strength to carry one out. The resistance has been waiting for a chance like this, we cannot wait any longer. Our forces are ready to mobilise and carry out an attack on three hours notice, and I've already sent the order to get all our men ready to fight."
Bane nodded, satisfied by this answer. He looked over towards Prometheus, who had been noticeably distant throughout this conversation.
"Prometheus, are you thinking about something or can you still not handle your drink?" Bane joked.
"Well" Prometheus started, snapping out of his trance of sorts. "I'm just wondering why a highly decorated police officer chooses to dress up as a bat and fight the government at night. I'm not questioning your methods, it's just a musing".
The rest of the group nodded in agreement, bar Tommy Monaghan who had taken the chance to steal Prometheus' drink.
Bat-Wing chuckled slightly at Prometheus' question (or musing) before shrugging a bit. "When I was younger...I mean a lot younger, around six or seven, my mother would read me and my brother a story before bed. My favourite was about a village, not far from the one I lived in, which was ran by a group of slavers. They were very evil, not letting anybody come or go, taking peoples food, generally making the people who lived there's lives a misery. One day, the villagers decided to run out the slavers, so they sent a boy to a nearby cave. The boy brought a torch, and used it to heard a group of bats to the village and run off all the slavers. In retrospect it's not the greatest story, but it's one of the few memories of my childhood I have before war broke out and men came to take me and my brother away. I never saw any of my family again after that, but even as a teenager I wished something like that would happen; a swarm of bats running off my captors. Now...well now, I want to be that swarm of bats to the children of Tinasha."
Bat-Wing looked down into his bottle, running his hands over it.
"David I'm...I'm sorry, about your family" Prometheus managed, obviously hit hard by Bat-Wings story.
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, and there's nothing I can do now but honour there memory." Bat-Wing replied as he stood up, finishing his drink. "Get my friends whatever food or drink they need" Bat-Wing called over to the bartender, who nodded in understanding. "I've got to be getting home, my wife'll be getting worried already" Bat-Wing announced as he walked to the door.
"Send my love to Hellene" the bartender called after Bat-Wing in a deep croak.
After a minute or so, Lady Shiva broke the silence by saying "We'd best be getting some rest", having spent most of the evening avoiding conversing with the six. She got up and walked to the bar tender, who pointed her to a door behind the bar marked "rooms". Shiva nodded her thanks and then walked through the door without another word.
"I'll just be a minute" Bane hastily said to the others as he chased after her. The rest of the team looked at each other and shrugged, before carrying on drinking. Bane caught up to Lady Shiva in the room just behind the door, a long dingy hallway lit by candles. Small wooden doors lined each side of the hallway, with five of them being marked as "Reserved for friends of Bat-Wing".
"My Lady, may I ask you something?" Bane said as Shiva opened one of the reserved doors.
"What is it?"
"You've been silent all evening. You've yet to converse with the vast majority of the team. Is there something on your mind? Are you having second thoughts about fighting Nigma?" Bane questioned, leaning his bulky frame against the chipped away and damaged wall.
"No, it's nothing like that. I was captured a while back, you remember, then after escaping I trained with the Spoilers fro three weeks, then already I'm out here in Africa. I'm in my forties, I have two children, yet I'm running around in a near war-zone with a hitman, a thief, a man dressed as a bat, a giant international vigilante and whatever your friend Prometheus is. When I was younger, I never would have been captured, no less would it have taken me weeks to escape."
"And yet, you're still more than capable my dear. Trust me, I know how you feel. I was in my thirties when I left crime to start my current venture. When I was younger I envisioned I'd have pulled off that one big last job every criminal dreams of by now and be living in a mansion with a wife and children. You have a family, you have a legacy, and you're still better at what you do than most could dream of."
Lady Shiva smiled at Bane as she stepped into her room. "You're right. Thanks" she said, managing a smile as she closed the door.
Bane smiled as he walked back into the bar. "We've got to be up early tomorrow to prepare for the attack, you'd best be going to sleep soon." he yelled to the three people now left at the table. Catwoman and Tommy had taken advantage of Bat-Wings offer to provide whatever food or drink they wanted, both sat in front of at least half a dozen empty beer bottles, while Prometheus was getting up from his chair to leave.
"Oh come on Bane, we're not kids" Catwoman joked between sips, leaning on Tommy.
"But you are drunk my dear" Bane replied, lifting Selina up from her chair with the ease of a child picking up its doll.
"Oh thanks Bane, now instead of a guy drinking with a girl in a bar I'm some alcoholic drinking alone with visor head in the corner." Tommy said sarcastically, motioning to Prometheus as he said "visor head".
Prometheus laughed slightly as Bane walked past him carrying Catwoman, presumably taking her to one of the vacant rooms. The bartender finished cleaning a glass and then left, leaving just Tommy and Prometheus in the room. "You'll get used to Bane acting like he's your father, trust me." Prometheus chided, walking over to Tommy.
"I doubt it" Tommy replied as he stood up on uneasy legs. "Never had a dad before, don't quite like the idea of it being some six foot whatever titan who could snap me in two with a congratulatory back slap yah know? And anyway, what'ya mean get used to it? I'm only gonna be fighting besides you guys for another day."
Prometheus laughs loudly at this. "Come on Tommy, what've you got to get back to so quickly?"
"Hey, I've got some high profile contracts. I'm getting half a million to kill some of these metas!" Tommy snaps back.
"Oh" Promethus chuckles, leaning against the bar. "Yes, all those super strong flying men you've been paid to kill. Remind me, which have you killed? Because last I checked Metropolises' Superman's still flying free, and these types haven't exactly been around for long."
Tommy walks up to Prometheus, obviously shaken a bit. "Whadda yah implying visor head?"
"I'm implying, that you're not quite what you crack yourself up to be, Tommy. I've been in Gotham longer than you've been alive, I've watched your career. You're not the greatest hitman in Gotham's history at all." Tommy squares up to Prometheus, a look of anger spreading over his face. "You're average, capable at killing other hitmen and mob thugs, but only that. You kill in your own city, hell this is the first time you've ever fought outside it. Tommy, you're many things, but most of all, you're a lia-"
Before Prometheus can finish Tommy swung at him, his drunken punch bouncing off of Prometheus' helmet. Tommy went for another punch, this time it's read by Prometheus, resulting in him grabbing Tommy's punch mid flight. Prometheus twists his body while pulling Tommy's arm, flinging his team mate over the bar. Prometheus casually walked around the bar, where Tommy laid on the floor, holding the back of his head.
"You alright?" Prometheus asked, picking a cloth up from the floor and putting it atop the bar.
"Yeah, head hurts like hell." Tommy replied, slowly sitting up.
"Why do you lie about this stuff, Tommy? So what if you're not known world renown for killing all sorts of super natural creatures or whatever it is people think?" Prometheus asked while lifting Tommy to his feet. Tommy looked up at Prometheus and sighed, leaning back against the bar as he got to his feet.
"I've always thought as myself as...well, better than the people I kill. Like Robin Hood or something yah know? Going down in history. Sure I'm an assassin, but I don't just wanna be another Gotham criminal. I don't want to be remembered like that. I know it's what I am, I ain't delusional about it, but that's why I lie. That's why I say I kill super humans and ghosts and robots and whatever else comes to mind. I wanna be more than the next piece of scum who's body gets caught by some fisherman, ya know?
"Tommy, Bane gave me this exact speech a few years ago. I mean, he used longer words and had more conviction, but it's exactly the same sentiment. You wanna be more than just some Gotham scumbag? Be more, instead of lying your ass off like it changes anything." Prometheus replied. "Admit who you are and what you do, because you're not working with idiots who'll believe anything you throw at them any more, Tommy."
Tommy, nodding in understanding, pushed himself off the bar and walked to the door. "I'll think about it."
Prometheus chuckled and followed Tommy, blowing out the candle on a stand next to the door as he went, plunging the room into darkness.
---
Beneath East Tinasha, the Democratic Republic of Congo
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 2:30 AM
Tommy awoke to the sound of gentle sobbing through the wall next to his bed. His first thought went to how hard Prometheus threw him earlier, and that he shouldn't have slept with a possible concussion. His next thought was that the person crying person was most likely a member of his team. what with Tommy having chosen the room nearest the bar and so next to one of the reserved beds for them. Rubbing his eyes Tommy climbed out of bed, throwing on his pants and shirt as he staggered to the door. After taking a second to wake up, Tommy opened his rooms door and tip toed to the source of the sobbing. Quietly Tommy rapped his knuckle on the dull wood of the door, causing the crying to stop.
"You alright in there?" Tommy called out.
After a few seconds of silence the soft voice of Catwoman called back. "Erm, yeah, it's nothing, don't worry Tommy."
Tommy sighed, muttering to himself that getting involved with emotional women never seems to end well for him.
"Can I come in?" he asked, against his instincts.
"Sure" Selina called back. Tommy pushed open the door and stepped into the dark room, barely avoiding tripping over a chair in the middle of the floor. Slowly Tommy made his way to Catwoman, who was curled up in a ball on her bed, only her head sticking out from under the duvet.
"What's wrong?" Tommy asked, sitting on the bed next to the ball of fabric which covered Selina.
"I told you, I'm OK, really" Catwomen replied, unsuccessfully trying to mask her crying.
"Look, about an hour ago that weirdo with the helmet body slammed me and forced me to admit I'm maybe not as good at what I do as I say I am, OK?" Tommy blurted out. "Now I've told you that, just tell me what's up?"
Catwoman sat up, managing a smile.
"What do you mean, not as good as what you say you are?"
Tommy chuckled slightly.
"MAYBE I over exaggerated how many super humans I've killed." he muttered.
"By how much?"
"Well..." Tommy paused to pick his words carefully.
"Alot I'm guessing?" Catwoman stated, finishing Tommy's sentence. "These costumed weirdos haven't been around long Tommy, it's pretty obvious."
"Costumed weirdos?" Tommy turned to Selina, laughing. "Coming from the women who goes out in skin tight catsuit with razor sharp finger nails?"
Catwoman managed a laugh back, now no longer curled up in a ball and with a smile on her face.
"Anyway, I admitted that, now your turn. What's wrong, Selina?"
Catwoman rolled onto her side, wiping her eyes clean with her duvet. "I'm just sort of wondering...is this what my life will be like, forever? Going from country to country, getting drunk with strangers in dingy bars while planning attacks on world leaders?"
"Sounds like a dream come true to me honey" Tommy retorted.
"Not to me" Catwoman sighed loudly. "I remember back in Gotham, before I started stealing, before I had to work as a contortionist just to pay the bills, I would spend every day working in my friends flower store. It didn't even feel like work, we all used to hang out there, me and my friends. Well anyway, one day this guy came in, Danny. He wanted some lilies for his mother who was in the hospital, and we got talking. I gave him my number, and a few days later we went out. A few months later, we moved in together. A few months after that, we got engaged. It was amazing, I was on top of the world. I'd wake up and think, "when have I been this happy?" And I never have been. Then...then Danny got sick. Really sick, and we couldn't pay the bills. That's when I started working at the circus. Even then, we could barely get by, what with Danny having to give up his job. So, that's when I started stealing. I told Danny I'd got a third job, and I went out to the rich neighbourhoods or museums. I'd steal what I could, and sell it for what I could. It helped with the bills, we got out heads above water, and all I had to do was steal and sell some things every so often. It was easy."
"Until you got caught?" Tommy interrupts.
"Yes." Selina continues. "Until I got caught, red handed. Danny...he was crushed. I remember talking to him on the phone from the police station in tears, trying to explain why I did it, that it was for him. Trying to convince him it was the right thing to do. He said about ten words in the whole half an hour phone call, and I could hear how disappointed he was in his voice. Not just that I'd broken the law. That I'd lied about it. That his health was only saved through theft and deception."
Selina put her head in her hands, tears again flowing down her face.
"He sent me a letter a few days after I was convicted, telling me how he didn't want to see me again. About how...about how he'd rather have been in a hospital bed then engaged to a person who every day lied to him. About how I'd tell him how tired I was from "the office", smiling in his face and making up stories, when I was running around behind his back, living the life of a criminal. I remember at the start of the letter...he didn't write "Dear Selina", or "To Selina". He just wrote "Catwoman". The man I loved didn't even want to write my name. A week later....a week later I tried to hang myself with my bed sheets." Selina breaths deeply, struggling to continue. "Nearly managed it as well, until one of the guards found me. I spent months in these...these therapy sessions. Where this guy tried to tell me about how my stealing was because of daddy issues, and my suicide attempt was a deep seeded thing from my childhood manifesting itself or some other fucking, fancy way of putting how I was feeling into a label I could wear as a name tag or a sign on my door."
Tommy nods in understand as Selina continues.
"I'd given up hope then, that's why it took me so long to escape. I could've walked out of there five different ways in the time it's taken to tell this story, but I just couldn't find a reason to. No Danny, my friends didn't want anything to do with me, and with my face all over the papers there was no chance of starting a new life. I only escaped after I was flicking through the Gotham Gazette, and saw Danny's name in the obituary. I went to his grave and just sat there for a few days. After that...I just wandered. I could sit here all night and I'd still be unable to tell you what I was looking for, because even I didn't know. I'm not sure how Nigma tracked me down, I woke up in an alley to him smiling down at me with those, yellow teeth. He said he could find me "a purpose in life", something like that."
"And did you believe him?" Tommy asked, as Selina leaned on his shoulder.
"I'm not sure. I'd have agreed to do anything, just to do something. Same reason I'm here right now trying to help get Nigma. Not because I feel used. Because I know if I said no...I'd just be back where I was, wandering around looking for nothing." Selina laid back down, wrapping herself in her duvet again. "I know that no matter what happens tomorrow, I'll still not be Selina Kyle, soon to be married to Danny Edwards, living in a nice apartment, working at her friends flower store. I'll be Catwoman. And I don't...I don't know if I want to be Catwoman. I don't know what I want, and that's what's the most upsetting. That I sort of know...I know I'll never be that happy again."
Tommy turned to look at Selina. "You don't know that though, Selina. For all you know, in two months you could be happier than you've ever been. When my dad died, I felt like nothing could make me feel like I did when he was alive."
"And how did you get over him?" Selina asked quietly.
"I didn't. I still think about my dad, I still miss him." Tommy said. "But I'm still alive. Time didn't stop, the world's still moving. Trust me, it feels like you'll never be happy again, but thing will get better." Tommy leans down and kisses Selina on the cheek before heading to the door.
"Thanks Tommy" Selina whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
---
East Tinasha, the Democratic Republic of Congo
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 2:00 AM
Having changed out of his Bat-Wing outfit, David Zavimbe made the mile or so walk back to his home in the dark wearing a grey, unassuming tracksuit. The first rule of travel late at night in Tinasha had always been not to draw attention to oneself in any way. David's home sat in an area just outside some of the worst slums of East Tinasha, and while not one of the worst areas in the city it still boded badly to be out in the near pitch black of the night. Rounding a corner, David spotted his house in the distance, and more noticeably, that all the lights in the small one story building were clearly on. Within seconds David set off in a sprint, charging the last two hundred or so meters to his home. At his front lawn David slowed down, using his police training to analyse the situation.
The door to his home had been taken clean off its hinges, and as David sneaked up the path to his house he saw it had been thrown at least ten feet back. Stepping into his living room in a fighting stance, David surveyed the scene. The room looked perfectly normal, as though nothing was wrong. A sofa, a chair, the television still sat on its stand. Even his original Van Gough painting sat on its stand, untouched. Clearly whoever was inside was not looking for valuables.
David stepped into his large kitchen, and then froze in place. In front of him sat his wife Hellene, his ten year old son Joel and his seven year old daughter Miriam, each tied to one of the chairs from the kitchen table, each dead from a single slash to their neck. Behind them stood a tall man, standing at at least six foot nine with long braids falling to his shoulders. The top half of the man's face was covered with a white skull style mask, the bottom half contorted into a maniacal grin. The little of the mans face which can be seen shows signs of ageing and a large amount of scars. His bulging arms were exposed by his white kevlar vest, while his black combat trousers and boots were clearly covered with blood from David's wife and children. In one hand he brandished a large, thin, curved blade, long enough that with his hand hanging down the man's sword touched the stone kitchen floor. In his other he held a carton of orange juice which he stood drinking while leaned against the counter, clearly relaxed despite the trio of corpses and Davids entrance.
David almost feels his knees give way as he struggles to take in the sight in front of him. As he leans against the wall, his face turns from one of shock to rage. "You...you did this!" he whispers through tears, staring at the masked man.
---
The Zavimbe household, within a village in the Southern part of the region currently known as the Democratic Republic of Congo
4th of November 1990, 4:00 AM
David Zavimbe was in a deep slumber, his small frame (even for a seven year old) curled up in his "bed", which was in fact a mattress and a sheet on the floor in a room shared with his twelve year old brother, Isaac. The walls were peeling, there was only a single dim light bulb in the room and any child who rolled off their mattress would often find a nail jamming into them from where it pokes up from the floor. The home consisted of three rooms: The living room, the children's bedroom and David's parents bedroom, with thin crudely made doors separating them.
Despite being a deep sleeper, David was awoken by a loud knocking on the front door to the house. Listening silently, David could hear shouting and banging for some time, along with his parents muffled whispers. After around five minutes the banging stopped, as did the shouting. David put his head back down and closed his eyes just before a loud crash shook and house. Sounds of fighting and his mothers screaming came from the living room as David and Isaac laid in silence. After some time the noises stopped.
"Check this room, they might be in there" a deep voice boomed out, followed by light flooding into the bedroom as a trio of masked men rushed through the door. Before either child could scream they were grabbed up by their pyjamas and carried out. David struggled as he was hauled through the living room, trying to see his parents but unable to as his captor hung him upside down over his shoulder. David found himself unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the village, along with around three dozen other confused children ranging from about six to twelve. Around him he could hear screams and sounds of struggle, while four of the masked men patrolled around the startled children, each with a machete in hand.
David looked down at the dusty ground beneath him, unable to process what was going on. Taking a quick look around he saw almost all of the other boys who lived in the village, some curled up crying, others screaming for their parents and other like David simply sat in silence. After what felt like hours the sounds from the houses stopped as a sea of the masked soldiers formed a circle around their captives. Each was wearing rags, ranging from old t-shirts to torn jackets, some simply shirtless despite the cold night.
"Is this all of them?" a younger version of the man in David's kitchen shouted in a husky voice, walking towards the children with his sword out. He was noticeably less scarred than in David's later encounter, and his mask not broken towards the mouth. A few of the soldiers nodded in the affirmative while parting so the masked man could better see the prisoners.
"From this day forward, you are all the property of the Army of Dawn" he announced, waving his sword. "You will all come to the nearby camp and begin training for the war on the horizon, to be the newest generation of soldier. Do not think of your parents, they will no longer be in your lives. You will not see them again, understand?"
A few of the children whispered amongst themselves, other crying uncontrollably. One boy, however, rose to his feet.
"YOU...YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
David turned, seeing it was his brother Isaac screaming his protests at the masked swordsman, who approached him.
"Child, you do not have a say in the matter. Now sit down and shut up before you make me angry" he roared, staring Isaac in the eyes. Instead of cooperating, Isaac balled up his fists and started striking the mans chest,
"I warned you" he chastised as his sword slashed in front of him, leaving a cut straight across Isaac's throat. David charged to his brother as he fell, blood shooting out of his neck.
"ISAAC, ISAAC!" David screamed, shaking his older brother with both hands, prompting some laughter from the surrounding guards.
"Let that be a lesson to you all" the killer continued, wiping the blood against Isaac's motionless leg. "Raise your hands to Massacre, and you will regret it! Now, follow my men to our training camp!"
As the rest of the children rose to their feet, David kept shaking his brother, trying to wake him up, until he felt a cold hand against his shoulder through his thin pyjamas. David turned and looked up, coming face to face with Massacre's white mask, and his cold dead eyes.
"Stand up and move out" he whispered aggressively to David, "unless you wish to join your brother in the afterlife."
Hesitantly David stood up, his legs shaking, barely able to see.
"Good boy. There may be hope for you yet"
NEXT ISSUE: Bat-Wing vs Massacre, the full history of David Zavimbe and preparations for the assault on Edward Nigma's headquarters
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 1:31 AM
When it comes to bars, the best place to go most definitely isn't an African dictatorship ran by a corrupt power hungry American businessman. So it surprised most of the six when their new team mate Bat-Wing took them to a small underground bar after they released him and agreed to join his cause fighting against Edward Nigma. The bar sat around thirty feet below the streets, with a series of hidden stairways in abandoned buildings throughout Tinasha leading into it and other buildings used by the Congo resistance. A single candle behind the bar lit the room, with most of the faces sat at the tables shrouded in darkness. The six sat huddled around a small round table, the wood chipped away from years of use and one of the legs propped up clumsily with a pile of old newspapers. Around them sat maybe a dozen others, most in quiet conversation over their drinks. The six had just sat down when the elderly bar tender came over, handing them each a beer. Bat-Wing whispered him thanks and handed him a few franc's as payment, as well as a small slip of paper.
"I've arranged for you all to be able to stay here tonight. There's a few rooms behind the bar you can use." Bat-Wing stated as he sipped his drink. "I'll be heading home soon to see my wife and get some rest, then returning here tomorrow morning."
"And then what?" Catwoman asked, slouched down in her chair and clearly exhausted from the days events.
"And then we make a move. An attack on Nigma's presidential building in the centre of Tinasha, tomorrow afternoon. The resistance has been planning this for a few weeks now, and with you five now here we should have the man power needed."
"Does Nigma's army not have the ability to defend this attack?" Bane questioned, looking at Bat-Wing over his already half empty drink.
"They have the troops and weapons, but not the knowledge. Nigma's men don't know how to defend an attack from all sides, and now with you joining us we have the strength to carry one out. The resistance has been waiting for a chance like this, we cannot wait any longer. Our forces are ready to mobilise and carry out an attack on three hours notice, and I've already sent the order to get all our men ready to fight."
Bane nodded, satisfied by this answer. He looked over towards Prometheus, who had been noticeably distant throughout this conversation.
"Prometheus, are you thinking about something or can you still not handle your drink?" Bane joked.
"Well" Prometheus started, snapping out of his trance of sorts. "I'm just wondering why a highly decorated police officer chooses to dress up as a bat and fight the government at night. I'm not questioning your methods, it's just a musing".
The rest of the group nodded in agreement, bar Tommy Monaghan who had taken the chance to steal Prometheus' drink.
Bat-Wing chuckled slightly at Prometheus' question (or musing) before shrugging a bit. "When I was younger...I mean a lot younger, around six or seven, my mother would read me and my brother a story before bed. My favourite was about a village, not far from the one I lived in, which was ran by a group of slavers. They were very evil, not letting anybody come or go, taking peoples food, generally making the people who lived there's lives a misery. One day, the villagers decided to run out the slavers, so they sent a boy to a nearby cave. The boy brought a torch, and used it to heard a group of bats to the village and run off all the slavers. In retrospect it's not the greatest story, but it's one of the few memories of my childhood I have before war broke out and men came to take me and my brother away. I never saw any of my family again after that, but even as a teenager I wished something like that would happen; a swarm of bats running off my captors. Now...well now, I want to be that swarm of bats to the children of Tinasha."
Bat-Wing looked down into his bottle, running his hands over it.
"David I'm...I'm sorry, about your family" Prometheus managed, obviously hit hard by Bat-Wings story.
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, and there's nothing I can do now but honour there memory." Bat-Wing replied as he stood up, finishing his drink. "Get my friends whatever food or drink they need" Bat-Wing called over to the bartender, who nodded in understanding. "I've got to be getting home, my wife'll be getting worried already" Bat-Wing announced as he walked to the door.
"Send my love to Hellene" the bartender called after Bat-Wing in a deep croak.
After a minute or so, Lady Shiva broke the silence by saying "We'd best be getting some rest", having spent most of the evening avoiding conversing with the six. She got up and walked to the bar tender, who pointed her to a door behind the bar marked "rooms". Shiva nodded her thanks and then walked through the door without another word.
"I'll just be a minute" Bane hastily said to the others as he chased after her. The rest of the team looked at each other and shrugged, before carrying on drinking. Bane caught up to Lady Shiva in the room just behind the door, a long dingy hallway lit by candles. Small wooden doors lined each side of the hallway, with five of them being marked as "Reserved for friends of Bat-Wing".
"My Lady, may I ask you something?" Bane said as Shiva opened one of the reserved doors.
"What is it?"
"You've been silent all evening. You've yet to converse with the vast majority of the team. Is there something on your mind? Are you having second thoughts about fighting Nigma?" Bane questioned, leaning his bulky frame against the chipped away and damaged wall.
"No, it's nothing like that. I was captured a while back, you remember, then after escaping I trained with the Spoilers fro three weeks, then already I'm out here in Africa. I'm in my forties, I have two children, yet I'm running around in a near war-zone with a hitman, a thief, a man dressed as a bat, a giant international vigilante and whatever your friend Prometheus is. When I was younger, I never would have been captured, no less would it have taken me weeks to escape."
"And yet, you're still more than capable my dear. Trust me, I know how you feel. I was in my thirties when I left crime to start my current venture. When I was younger I envisioned I'd have pulled off that one big last job every criminal dreams of by now and be living in a mansion with a wife and children. You have a family, you have a legacy, and you're still better at what you do than most could dream of."
Lady Shiva smiled at Bane as she stepped into her room. "You're right. Thanks" she said, managing a smile as she closed the door.
Bane smiled as he walked back into the bar. "We've got to be up early tomorrow to prepare for the attack, you'd best be going to sleep soon." he yelled to the three people now left at the table. Catwoman and Tommy had taken advantage of Bat-Wings offer to provide whatever food or drink they wanted, both sat in front of at least half a dozen empty beer bottles, while Prometheus was getting up from his chair to leave.
"Oh come on Bane, we're not kids" Catwoman joked between sips, leaning on Tommy.
"But you are drunk my dear" Bane replied, lifting Selina up from her chair with the ease of a child picking up its doll.
"Oh thanks Bane, now instead of a guy drinking with a girl in a bar I'm some alcoholic drinking alone with visor head in the corner." Tommy said sarcastically, motioning to Prometheus as he said "visor head".
Prometheus laughed slightly as Bane walked past him carrying Catwoman, presumably taking her to one of the vacant rooms. The bartender finished cleaning a glass and then left, leaving just Tommy and Prometheus in the room. "You'll get used to Bane acting like he's your father, trust me." Prometheus chided, walking over to Tommy.
"I doubt it" Tommy replied as he stood up on uneasy legs. "Never had a dad before, don't quite like the idea of it being some six foot whatever titan who could snap me in two with a congratulatory back slap yah know? And anyway, what'ya mean get used to it? I'm only gonna be fighting besides you guys for another day."
Prometheus laughs loudly at this. "Come on Tommy, what've you got to get back to so quickly?"
"Hey, I've got some high profile contracts. I'm getting half a million to kill some of these metas!" Tommy snaps back.
"Oh" Promethus chuckles, leaning against the bar. "Yes, all those super strong flying men you've been paid to kill. Remind me, which have you killed? Because last I checked Metropolises' Superman's still flying free, and these types haven't exactly been around for long."
Tommy walks up to Prometheus, obviously shaken a bit. "Whadda yah implying visor head?"
"I'm implying, that you're not quite what you crack yourself up to be, Tommy. I've been in Gotham longer than you've been alive, I've watched your career. You're not the greatest hitman in Gotham's history at all." Tommy squares up to Prometheus, a look of anger spreading over his face. "You're average, capable at killing other hitmen and mob thugs, but only that. You kill in your own city, hell this is the first time you've ever fought outside it. Tommy, you're many things, but most of all, you're a lia-"
Before Prometheus can finish Tommy swung at him, his drunken punch bouncing off of Prometheus' helmet. Tommy went for another punch, this time it's read by Prometheus, resulting in him grabbing Tommy's punch mid flight. Prometheus twists his body while pulling Tommy's arm, flinging his team mate over the bar. Prometheus casually walked around the bar, where Tommy laid on the floor, holding the back of his head.
"You alright?" Prometheus asked, picking a cloth up from the floor and putting it atop the bar.
"Yeah, head hurts like hell." Tommy replied, slowly sitting up.
"Why do you lie about this stuff, Tommy? So what if you're not known world renown for killing all sorts of super natural creatures or whatever it is people think?" Prometheus asked while lifting Tommy to his feet. Tommy looked up at Prometheus and sighed, leaning back against the bar as he got to his feet.
"I've always thought as myself as...well, better than the people I kill. Like Robin Hood or something yah know? Going down in history. Sure I'm an assassin, but I don't just wanna be another Gotham criminal. I don't want to be remembered like that. I know it's what I am, I ain't delusional about it, but that's why I lie. That's why I say I kill super humans and ghosts and robots and whatever else comes to mind. I wanna be more than the next piece of scum who's body gets caught by some fisherman, ya know?
"Tommy, Bane gave me this exact speech a few years ago. I mean, he used longer words and had more conviction, but it's exactly the same sentiment. You wanna be more than just some Gotham scumbag? Be more, instead of lying your ass off like it changes anything." Prometheus replied. "Admit who you are and what you do, because you're not working with idiots who'll believe anything you throw at them any more, Tommy."
Tommy, nodding in understanding, pushed himself off the bar and walked to the door. "I'll think about it."
Prometheus chuckled and followed Tommy, blowing out the candle on a stand next to the door as he went, plunging the room into darkness.
---
Beneath East Tinasha, the Democratic Republic of Congo
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 2:30 AM
Tommy awoke to the sound of gentle sobbing through the wall next to his bed. His first thought went to how hard Prometheus threw him earlier, and that he shouldn't have slept with a possible concussion. His next thought was that the person crying person was most likely a member of his team. what with Tommy having chosen the room nearest the bar and so next to one of the reserved beds for them. Rubbing his eyes Tommy climbed out of bed, throwing on his pants and shirt as he staggered to the door. After taking a second to wake up, Tommy opened his rooms door and tip toed to the source of the sobbing. Quietly Tommy rapped his knuckle on the dull wood of the door, causing the crying to stop.
"You alright in there?" Tommy called out.
After a few seconds of silence the soft voice of Catwoman called back. "Erm, yeah, it's nothing, don't worry Tommy."
Tommy sighed, muttering to himself that getting involved with emotional women never seems to end well for him.
"Can I come in?" he asked, against his instincts.
"Sure" Selina called back. Tommy pushed open the door and stepped into the dark room, barely avoiding tripping over a chair in the middle of the floor. Slowly Tommy made his way to Catwoman, who was curled up in a ball on her bed, only her head sticking out from under the duvet.
"What's wrong?" Tommy asked, sitting on the bed next to the ball of fabric which covered Selina.
"I told you, I'm OK, really" Catwomen replied, unsuccessfully trying to mask her crying.
"Look, about an hour ago that weirdo with the helmet body slammed me and forced me to admit I'm maybe not as good at what I do as I say I am, OK?" Tommy blurted out. "Now I've told you that, just tell me what's up?"
Catwoman sat up, managing a smile.
"What do you mean, not as good as what you say you are?"
Tommy chuckled slightly.
"MAYBE I over exaggerated how many super humans I've killed." he muttered.
"By how much?"
"Well..." Tommy paused to pick his words carefully.
"Alot I'm guessing?" Catwoman stated, finishing Tommy's sentence. "These costumed weirdos haven't been around long Tommy, it's pretty obvious."
"Costumed weirdos?" Tommy turned to Selina, laughing. "Coming from the women who goes out in skin tight catsuit with razor sharp finger nails?"
Catwoman managed a laugh back, now no longer curled up in a ball and with a smile on her face.
"Anyway, I admitted that, now your turn. What's wrong, Selina?"
Catwoman rolled onto her side, wiping her eyes clean with her duvet. "I'm just sort of wondering...is this what my life will be like, forever? Going from country to country, getting drunk with strangers in dingy bars while planning attacks on world leaders?"
"Sounds like a dream come true to me honey" Tommy retorted.
"Not to me" Catwoman sighed loudly. "I remember back in Gotham, before I started stealing, before I had to work as a contortionist just to pay the bills, I would spend every day working in my friends flower store. It didn't even feel like work, we all used to hang out there, me and my friends. Well anyway, one day this guy came in, Danny. He wanted some lilies for his mother who was in the hospital, and we got talking. I gave him my number, and a few days later we went out. A few months later, we moved in together. A few months after that, we got engaged. It was amazing, I was on top of the world. I'd wake up and think, "when have I been this happy?" And I never have been. Then...then Danny got sick. Really sick, and we couldn't pay the bills. That's when I started working at the circus. Even then, we could barely get by, what with Danny having to give up his job. So, that's when I started stealing. I told Danny I'd got a third job, and I went out to the rich neighbourhoods or museums. I'd steal what I could, and sell it for what I could. It helped with the bills, we got out heads above water, and all I had to do was steal and sell some things every so often. It was easy."
"Until you got caught?" Tommy interrupts.
"Yes." Selina continues. "Until I got caught, red handed. Danny...he was crushed. I remember talking to him on the phone from the police station in tears, trying to explain why I did it, that it was for him. Trying to convince him it was the right thing to do. He said about ten words in the whole half an hour phone call, and I could hear how disappointed he was in his voice. Not just that I'd broken the law. That I'd lied about it. That his health was only saved through theft and deception."
Selina put her head in her hands, tears again flowing down her face.
"He sent me a letter a few days after I was convicted, telling me how he didn't want to see me again. About how...about how he'd rather have been in a hospital bed then engaged to a person who every day lied to him. About how I'd tell him how tired I was from "the office", smiling in his face and making up stories, when I was running around behind his back, living the life of a criminal. I remember at the start of the letter...he didn't write "Dear Selina", or "To Selina". He just wrote "Catwoman". The man I loved didn't even want to write my name. A week later....a week later I tried to hang myself with my bed sheets." Selina breaths deeply, struggling to continue. "Nearly managed it as well, until one of the guards found me. I spent months in these...these therapy sessions. Where this guy tried to tell me about how my stealing was because of daddy issues, and my suicide attempt was a deep seeded thing from my childhood manifesting itself or some other fucking, fancy way of putting how I was feeling into a label I could wear as a name tag or a sign on my door."
Tommy nods in understand as Selina continues.
"I'd given up hope then, that's why it took me so long to escape. I could've walked out of there five different ways in the time it's taken to tell this story, but I just couldn't find a reason to. No Danny, my friends didn't want anything to do with me, and with my face all over the papers there was no chance of starting a new life. I only escaped after I was flicking through the Gotham Gazette, and saw Danny's name in the obituary. I went to his grave and just sat there for a few days. After that...I just wandered. I could sit here all night and I'd still be unable to tell you what I was looking for, because even I didn't know. I'm not sure how Nigma tracked me down, I woke up in an alley to him smiling down at me with those, yellow teeth. He said he could find me "a purpose in life", something like that."
"And did you believe him?" Tommy asked, as Selina leaned on his shoulder.
"I'm not sure. I'd have agreed to do anything, just to do something. Same reason I'm here right now trying to help get Nigma. Not because I feel used. Because I know if I said no...I'd just be back where I was, wandering around looking for nothing." Selina laid back down, wrapping herself in her duvet again. "I know that no matter what happens tomorrow, I'll still not be Selina Kyle, soon to be married to Danny Edwards, living in a nice apartment, working at her friends flower store. I'll be Catwoman. And I don't...I don't know if I want to be Catwoman. I don't know what I want, and that's what's the most upsetting. That I sort of know...I know I'll never be that happy again."
Tommy turned to look at Selina. "You don't know that though, Selina. For all you know, in two months you could be happier than you've ever been. When my dad died, I felt like nothing could make me feel like I did when he was alive."
"And how did you get over him?" Selina asked quietly.
"I didn't. I still think about my dad, I still miss him." Tommy said. "But I'm still alive. Time didn't stop, the world's still moving. Trust me, it feels like you'll never be happy again, but thing will get better." Tommy leans down and kisses Selina on the cheek before heading to the door.
"Thanks Tommy" Selina whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
---
East Tinasha, the Democratic Republic of Congo
Operation Bat-Wing Day 2, 2:00 AM
Having changed out of his Bat-Wing outfit, David Zavimbe made the mile or so walk back to his home in the dark wearing a grey, unassuming tracksuit. The first rule of travel late at night in Tinasha had always been not to draw attention to oneself in any way. David's home sat in an area just outside some of the worst slums of East Tinasha, and while not one of the worst areas in the city it still boded badly to be out in the near pitch black of the night. Rounding a corner, David spotted his house in the distance, and more noticeably, that all the lights in the small one story building were clearly on. Within seconds David set off in a sprint, charging the last two hundred or so meters to his home. At his front lawn David slowed down, using his police training to analyse the situation.
The door to his home had been taken clean off its hinges, and as David sneaked up the path to his house he saw it had been thrown at least ten feet back. Stepping into his living room in a fighting stance, David surveyed the scene. The room looked perfectly normal, as though nothing was wrong. A sofa, a chair, the television still sat on its stand. Even his original Van Gough painting sat on its stand, untouched. Clearly whoever was inside was not looking for valuables.
David stepped into his large kitchen, and then froze in place. In front of him sat his wife Hellene, his ten year old son Joel and his seven year old daughter Miriam, each tied to one of the chairs from the kitchen table, each dead from a single slash to their neck. Behind them stood a tall man, standing at at least six foot nine with long braids falling to his shoulders. The top half of the man's face was covered with a white skull style mask, the bottom half contorted into a maniacal grin. The little of the mans face which can be seen shows signs of ageing and a large amount of scars. His bulging arms were exposed by his white kevlar vest, while his black combat trousers and boots were clearly covered with blood from David's wife and children. In one hand he brandished a large, thin, curved blade, long enough that with his hand hanging down the man's sword touched the stone kitchen floor. In his other he held a carton of orange juice which he stood drinking while leaned against the counter, clearly relaxed despite the trio of corpses and Davids entrance.
David almost feels his knees give way as he struggles to take in the sight in front of him. As he leans against the wall, his face turns from one of shock to rage. "You...you did this!" he whispers through tears, staring at the masked man.
---
The Zavimbe household, within a village in the Southern part of the region currently known as the Democratic Republic of Congo
4th of November 1990, 4:00 AM
David Zavimbe was in a deep slumber, his small frame (even for a seven year old) curled up in his "bed", which was in fact a mattress and a sheet on the floor in a room shared with his twelve year old brother, Isaac. The walls were peeling, there was only a single dim light bulb in the room and any child who rolled off their mattress would often find a nail jamming into them from where it pokes up from the floor. The home consisted of three rooms: The living room, the children's bedroom and David's parents bedroom, with thin crudely made doors separating them.
Despite being a deep sleeper, David was awoken by a loud knocking on the front door to the house. Listening silently, David could hear shouting and banging for some time, along with his parents muffled whispers. After around five minutes the banging stopped, as did the shouting. David put his head back down and closed his eyes just before a loud crash shook and house. Sounds of fighting and his mothers screaming came from the living room as David and Isaac laid in silence. After some time the noises stopped.
"Check this room, they might be in there" a deep voice boomed out, followed by light flooding into the bedroom as a trio of masked men rushed through the door. Before either child could scream they were grabbed up by their pyjamas and carried out. David struggled as he was hauled through the living room, trying to see his parents but unable to as his captor hung him upside down over his shoulder. David found himself unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the village, along with around three dozen other confused children ranging from about six to twelve. Around him he could hear screams and sounds of struggle, while four of the masked men patrolled around the startled children, each with a machete in hand.
David looked down at the dusty ground beneath him, unable to process what was going on. Taking a quick look around he saw almost all of the other boys who lived in the village, some curled up crying, others screaming for their parents and other like David simply sat in silence. After what felt like hours the sounds from the houses stopped as a sea of the masked soldiers formed a circle around their captives. Each was wearing rags, ranging from old t-shirts to torn jackets, some simply shirtless despite the cold night.
"Is this all of them?" a younger version of the man in David's kitchen shouted in a husky voice, walking towards the children with his sword out. He was noticeably less scarred than in David's later encounter, and his mask not broken towards the mouth. A few of the soldiers nodded in the affirmative while parting so the masked man could better see the prisoners.
"From this day forward, you are all the property of the Army of Dawn" he announced, waving his sword. "You will all come to the nearby camp and begin training for the war on the horizon, to be the newest generation of soldier. Do not think of your parents, they will no longer be in your lives. You will not see them again, understand?"
A few of the children whispered amongst themselves, other crying uncontrollably. One boy, however, rose to his feet.
"YOU...YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
David turned, seeing it was his brother Isaac screaming his protests at the masked swordsman, who approached him.
"Child, you do not have a say in the matter. Now sit down and shut up before you make me angry" he roared, staring Isaac in the eyes. Instead of cooperating, Isaac balled up his fists and started striking the mans chest,
"I warned you" he chastised as his sword slashed in front of him, leaving a cut straight across Isaac's throat. David charged to his brother as he fell, blood shooting out of his neck.
"ISAAC, ISAAC!" David screamed, shaking his older brother with both hands, prompting some laughter from the surrounding guards.
"Let that be a lesson to you all" the killer continued, wiping the blood against Isaac's motionless leg. "Raise your hands to Massacre, and you will regret it! Now, follow my men to our training camp!"
As the rest of the children rose to their feet, David kept shaking his brother, trying to wake him up, until he felt a cold hand against his shoulder through his thin pyjamas. David turned and looked up, coming face to face with Massacre's white mask, and his cold dead eyes.
"Stand up and move out" he whispered aggressively to David, "unless you wish to join your brother in the afterlife."
Hesitantly David stood up, his legs shaking, barely able to see.
"Good boy. There may be hope for you yet"
NEXT ISSUE: Bat-Wing vs Massacre, the full history of David Zavimbe and preparations for the assault on Edward Nigma's headquarters