#8: "The Pitch"

"Why are we even here?" asked Braun as he and Firefly walked across the beaches of Santa Prisca, "I mean, come on, wouldn't we be better off in Zandia? Or... Bialya? If we really want to be safe from the US, or whatever Luthor is spouting, wouldn't we be better off a ways away than we are?"

"You're an idiot," mumbled Firefly. "I don't even know why you're here. I don't even know why you're talking to me. You're an idiot."

Braun straightened up at that comment. "Because no one else will talk to you, Firefly. All the other Gotham Rogues are locked up in New Arkham. I don't even know how you're here."

Firefly turned to Braun, and shook his head. "I died. I came back. And when I came back someone else was wearing my equipment, and got his ass captured by Batman and freaking Robin*. Whoever that punk is, he's made me look bad. And if I had my way he'd be roasting over an open fire. But right now, I wait, because Luthor's a genius, and he's in charge."



"Hurm. Apparently, Luthor's setting up transport gates that will allow us to come and go as we wish. But right now, I'm feeling cooped--" Braun caught Firefly's fist before it got close to connecting. The mad-arsonist gasped at this, and gasped again when he was thrown down on his backside. "--I'm feeling cooped up. Don't you know who I am? You don't know, do you? My name is Archer Braun. I can predict your moves before you think to throw them, and I'm a wily sonofabitch. Don't mess with me."

"I like that attitude," said Catman, as he pulled Firefly up off the sand. "But now isn't the time for grandstanding."

Braun gave Blake a confused look. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Blake smiled. "You can predict moves before they're made. But you can't predict what you can't see coming, right?" He shrugged. "There are dozens of Rogues on this island. Don't start fights. Don't make trouble. We'll soon be able to breathe freely. Until then..." Catman turned to Firefly. "You got a grudge to settle, Lyons?"

Garfield Lyons grinned, as he pulled his mask over his face. Round, saucer eyes glared out to Catman, and the arsonist began to laugh. "Am I going home, Catman?"

"That you are, Firefly. Gotham bound."



Toyman's eyes opened, "bzzt" being the first word to leave his vocal transponder. "All systems-- now active and at full fantastic levels." His head clacked to the side, and he saw Lex Luthor removing his gloves. "Mr Lex Luthor! Always a pleasure, never-ever a chore!"

"Toyman," replied Luthor. "I see you're developing a separate personality to that of any I ever saw your creator exhibit... very interesting, indeed."

"I am my own machine, Mr Luthor." said Toyman, springing up from the slab that he'd been lying on before. "You repaired me? I am indebted to you!"

"I was always fascinated by Schott's animarionettes. You're a very fascinating creation, Toyman. And you should be back in full working order now."

"Me, oh my!" Toyman began to head out of the small room, and then he turned. "You deposed The Voice, I presume? Stopped whatever heinous crime against humanity he was going to commit? I also presume... you're the man in charge now?"

"Correct on all counts, Toyman," replied Luthor, as he pulled on a black suit jacket over his white vest. "Hmm. It'll be good to have channels out of this island, I think. But until then, this shall suffice. Toyman-- you're due for a mission. You're going to Gotham City, my friend, and you're going to do the Society a great favour."

"Whatever you ask, Mr Luthor, I'm your man," was the response, as Toyman danced out of the makeshift lab, and into the meeting room, where the others waited.

"Good to see you again, Toyman," said Catman, who was sat cross-legged on a couch. Around the room stood Major Disaster, Firefly, Braun, Warp, and finally Luthor, who entered after he'd washed his hands.

"The mission is simple, as simple as these missions can ever be, and it is two-fold" said Luthor, as he looked to Firefly. "In Blackgate Penitentiary, an impostor sits under the name of Firefly. For Mr Lyons sake, Catman, you're to kill him."

"Considering my last visit to Gotham was a bust..." Catman's lips curled up at the edges. "...yes, sir."

"And I've been made aware of a shift in power inside Gotham City by an old... associate. From the Families,, to Black Mask to a new breed of crime boss ignorant to the ways of our world. You're to educate them. Educate them in the way of the Society."

"Sounds terribly exciting!" squealed Toyman, "I do love me some fun."



Rex Mason hadn't been home for some time now. His life, over the past few years, had been a blur of pain and bliss-- and not in that order. He'd met the love of his life, had been given the chance to go on the adventure of a lifetime... and his life had been twisted because of it. Exposed to the Orb of Ra, transformed into Metamorpho, the Element Man, he'd become a monster in the form of man, and then the American government, a corrupt wing of it, at least, had imprisoned him. He'd been freed, he was back in the world, and the love of his life, Sapphire Stagg, had accepted him, even in his new form. But New York had eluded him, he felt the need to build to it, and now, here he was, and he loved it.

He was strolling down the street, dressed in his finest of fineries and holding a bouquet of Sapphire Stagg's favourite roses, when someone tapped him on the shoulder daintily. He turned, smiling, and then felt the world go white as someone grabbed his face-- and squeezed-- he felt what passed as his skin harden, his bones suddenly become... bones... and his face restructure-- his body returned to its human form painfully, he was suddenly Rex Mason again, and now, standing above him, his hand on fire but his flesh not burning, was-- a stranger.

"Wh-who-who are you?" He managed, darkness tugging at the fringes of his consciousness.

"Don't think me a friend, Rex. I've been tracking you. Sniffing you out for your powers. I can control it now. Separated you from a portion of your little gift. Given myself all the perks of an Element Man. You're human now, Rex, but it’ll pass. My gift to you. However slight." The man grinned, and his body stretched and shifted into another face completely. "Be seeing you." Rex finally began to black out as his assailant kicked him hard in the chest, and then he vanished into the crowd-- leaving Rex Mason bleeding on the sidewalk, his attacker a mystery, and consciousness quickly eluding him…



Senator Callahan was praying. His body itched. Had done ever since the Parasite had his way with him*. The transfer of life force wasn't a natural one. He'd had his life taken away, and then he'd had his life given back-- his life and more. He apologised. Again and again, he apologised. His guard detail, back in New York City, had died for him, and then their lives had been pushed into his body. The Parasite had smiled through that twisted mess of scar tissue he called a face when he had told the Senator about his powers.



"...I can give and I can take energy, Senator. I could reduce you to a gibbering wreck, your mind wracked by senility and weakness, but with a spark of knowledge in your head… ‘I shouldn’t be wetting myself. I shouldn’t be unable to talk. I should be recognised by my wife and children’. I could trap you in an old man’s body just because you looked at me wrong. But I could do something else… I could take the youth of that dashing Californian in the room next door, and I could transfer it into you. You could have the strength of two men, the vigour of a surfer dude and the sex drive of a twenty year old. Blink once if you understand me."

He had three lives inside of him now. And even though he never slept, and the sex with his wife was fantastic and horrifically guilt ridden at the same time, he didn't know if he felt entirely bad about it. He stared at the wall of his hotel room, and contemplated asking his security detail to go for a walk in the East End for him. He wanted to feel something nasty. He wanted some company--

"You gave the Society something," said the shadows without warning. "The codes and the locations of a specific STAR Labs project... you gave them times. And you gave them information. People could have died, Senator."

"Whuh?" Callahan searched the room, but found no one. "Who's there?"

"It doesn't matter who's here or there or anywhere , Senator! You abused your position because you're a coward ! I want to know why."

"I... I..." Callahan contemplated grabbing his revolver from its holster on his bed, but threw the thought away. "I admitted to everything. They were blackmailing me, threatened me with so much... a fate worse than death..."

"And you used that, twisted it for public consumption. You're a peddler of lies, Senator Callahan. But that doesn't answer my question ..."

The Senator sat in silence, and dove for his weapon, whipped it out of his holster, and swung it at the shadows. Click-click-click-click .

"I'm not an idiot, Senator." Bullets fell to the floor, padding against the carpet. "Now, give me the answers I seek. Or I'll ruin you with answers of my own."

The Question emerged from the shadows, and Callahan didn't have a chance to scream.



Catman pulled his leather jacket tight around his body. No one was in uniform. Toyman had an image projector built into his body, and as such appeared to be a regal figure, his top hat leaning precariously atop his head. "Do I look ravishing, Thomas?"

"Low profile, Toyman, keep quiet," replied Catman. Booker was wearing his usual thick black coat with yellow straps, Braun a shirt and tie, and Firefly was looking shifty in his jacket and jeans. They weren't suspicious, but given them more than a few looks, and you could tell something was off. "Right, Firefly, you're on the revenge kick, right?"

"Yes, sir," replied Firefly. "Got my equipment right here," he said, patting his satchel bag.

"Toyman, you're with him. The rest of you-- we've got a meeting to set up." Catman looked up to the sky. "God, I hate this city. Spread the word."

Disaster nodded, and pulled up his lapels. "Shock and awe? Spread a little fear, gain a bit of information?"

"Exactly, keep your comms on. And be wary... the Batman lives in these parts." Catman headed north, leaving the others to go their separate ways.

[/b]

"The problem with The Voice was," started Lex Luthor, as he walked around the empty table in the middle of the darkened chamber. "That he was a figure head, someone that no one could touch, that no one could question, and that raises concerns. Why bother? Who even cares? People need a face to interact with, don't they? Sure, The Voice was all-knowing, all-powerful in his own pathetic little way, but I took him down...deposed him. All's fair, eh?"

Bane leaned against the wall of the room, settled into the darkness. "...In love and war, yes."

"So that's why I'm building a better Society, and your cooperation has been welcome. This island is like a fortress. No one in without your-- our-- knowledge. I would like to invite you into the inner circle, to be a part of the brave new world that we're working toward. The first to join, but not the last."

"Interesting..." Bane leaned forward, and approached the super-genius, resting his knuckles on the cold metal of the table. "Very interesting..."

"I would hope you thought so," said Lex Luthor, as he took a seat at the head of the table. "There are Rogues across the world that hold power bases that we can incorporate into the Society. Why would we settle for small patches of land when we can settle for the world?" Luthor rested his chin on latticed fingers and then exhaled. "We just have to go about finding them, and inviting them. And then once the island protection net is up... we'll be untouchable."

"And then what?" asked Bane. "You are winding your roots down into Santa Prisca, and--" Bane put his hands up slowly. "--Do not take me the wrong way when I say this, I do not mind, I value your contribution to my island nation-- but after that, what?"

Lex smiled. "Santa Prisca is its own country. You saw to that years ago... when you first met Green Arrow and Batman. As such, we're untouchable. Anyone stepping foot within your borders without your permission is an enemy of the state. And does the United Nations, the United States of America, want to make an enemy of an island comprised of so-called super-villains?" The man shrugged. "That is, if they find out. And I doubt they will. It's not anyone knows where to look."



Senator Callahan was a quivering wreck, folded forward as he shook and wept. "They wanted the intel that would allow them access to STAR Labs. I... I couldn't help but give it to them, the threats... you don't seem to understand the torture they would have inflicted."

"Parasite," said The Question, slowly. "I can imagine. What else?"

"Isn't that enough?! I betrayed my country, my oath, to help those sonsofbitches! I... they... they killed my men! The Parasite killed my men and then shoved their life force into me, and the thing is I don't even feel that bad about it! It's... it's..."

"What else. They could have broken into STAR Labs whenever they wanted, this was something more. I'm asking you a question, Senator! Now give me the answer!"

"The star map project... the Parasite told me that his boss wanted the star map project, and they didn't tell me why. That's all I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I wonder why," mused The Question. "But that's something I can find out on my own." He leaned forward, and picked Callahan up by the scruff of his collar. "You lied to the police, the secret service. You said that the Parasite just attacked you, desperate, wanting money, cash, and you scared him away somehow . You lied. You should know, Senator, I hate lies and I hate liars even more. So you're going to go back, and you're going to tell the whole truth. They'll go easy on you. They always do on your kind." The Question released him, and Callahan dropped to his knees. When he searched for any sign of the intruder, all he heard was the wind outside-- coming in from the wide open balcony doors.

"Oh, God," whispered the Senator.



"Firefly!" hissed a guard, rousing the fire-throwing villain from his sleep. "Your lawyer is here to see you! S'funny, didn't expect you to be able to afford such a high priced bastard!"

"I..." The man passing himself off as Firefly rubbed his eyes, and then approached the bars. "But it's after dark. I don't understand."

"Your lawyer paid a lot of money for an audience with you, and who are we to prevent a client being seen by his council? Not worth the hassle. Get up, convict. Make yourself look presentable."

"I don't think I want to," whispered Firefly. The guard watched as Firefly dressed slowly, and then escorted him to the room where his lawyer was waiting. He'd never met the man claiming to be his lawyer-- but he certainly looked the part. Well dressed, tall, regal even. He cleared his throat and spoke with a British accent, and then looked to his associate, a scruffier fellow that Firefly recognised from somewhere.

"Thank you for bringing my client to me, sir," said the lawyer. "You may leave us now." The guard turned awkwardly to the door and left, sealing it shut after him. "Good," said the lawyer, his voice shifting, "he wasn't very fun looking, was he?"

"W-who are you?" asked Firefly.

The lawyer threw up his arms, and a black spray of dust shot out, and headed for the door-- working its way into the lock mechanism and sealing it up tight. The dust that didn't settle in the door moved up, caught in a wind of its own creation. It shot into the security camera, causing it to spark and fizzle.

"My name is Toyman," said the lawyer as his chest opened up, revealing a cache of equipment. He motioned to the man standing in the corner, smiling sadistically. "That is Garfield Lyons."

"Oh, no," whispered the man who had claimed to be Firefly. Lyons walked over to Toyman, and began to unpack his flamethrower and helmet. "GUARD! GUARD!"

Toyman smiled, and punched the man in the face, sending him falling to the floor. "Uncouth. That black cloud was a gust of my own personal brand of nanomachines, built inside my body, always replenishing, always working to keep my body sparkly clean. A device of my own creation. Isn't it so clever?" Another punch, and Toyman was satiated, and he walked back behind Firefly, who was checking the settings on his flamethrower. Lyons took a step forward, and the imposter's eyes sank.

"I... I didn't know... I thought you were dead..."

"So you thought you'd disrespect my memory?" snapped Lyons, as his helmet clicked into place, and immediately twisted his voice into something from the imposter's nightmares, a metallic growl that never subsided. "You pathetic little half-man, stealing another bastard's identity just so you can get caught by the Dynamic £$%^ing Duo?" Firefly pressed a button on his flamethrower, and it sparked up, a flame waiting to be thrown on the tip of the nozzle. "I'm going to end you, and you know why, you sick little fruit?"

"I didn't know I didn't I'm sorry," stuttered the man, now cowering in a pool of his own urine.

Firefly was pacing now, his hands moving like electricity. Toyman watched impassively, the holographic facade fizzing away to reveal his animarionette body. "Because I was the one who signed on with the Society, it means I've got a clause in my contract... a revenge clause and an identity clause. You do me wrong, I do you wrong. You steal my equipment and name? I take your life."

"Oh, no," was the imposter's last utterance before Firefly levelled his flamethrower and pulled the trigger. He was engulfed in flames, and began to scream, but couldn't move-- frozen in place by his own terror. Within seconds he was dead, and Firefly watched the flames dance and sing in front of him.

"Garfield, m'boy, it's time we left," said Toyman, as he pressed a switch on a small device that Luthor had given him. A signal was sent, and Warp climbed through a hole in reality, and offered them his hand.

"How do, mes ami?"

"Good," muttered Firefly, his gaze never leaving his imposter's blazing body. "Let's get out of here."



"We have to stop meeting like this," purred Flesh-Monger, as she looked around the table at the Prince of Lies, Milo Vesuvius and Gun-Moll. "I mean, isn't it bad enough that we're supposed to be at each other's throats? The three of us-- sorry, Milo, you know how it is-- all angry and wanting Gotham for ourselves. It's a shame that everyone else isn't in on our arrangement."

The Flesh-Monger grinned, and leaned back in her chair, throwing her legs up on the table. She wore leather, bound tightly around her body, and she loved the feeling. She had complete control over her body, her skin, her muscle, and she liked it when people looked.

"I wanna know why you called this meeting, see?" said Gun-Moll. "I ain't got time to come meet y'all at the drop of a hat, y'know?"

"And yet you continue to make time for us," intoned the Prince of Lies. "Wonderful, but I was not the one to call this meeting. I assumed--"

Something was thrown from behind them, and landed in the middle of the table-- a black garbage bag-- one, two, three-- and then there was silence, until-- "That's because you didn't arrange this meeting." Thomas Blake walked out of the shadows, smiling slyly. "It was me. I sent out word through your men that you wanted to meet. Took all night to find the right snitch, the right mook to threaten, but hey, I think this was a job well done, none the less."

"Who dares--?" growled the Prince.

Catman levelled a finger at the Prince. "I'm here on behalf of the Society. And to teach you some respect."

The Prince of Lies moved impossibly fast, and was almost at Catman's throat when someone strafed a salvo of bullets at his feet, causing him to falter. Braun winked from the rafters, and then pointed to Major Disaster, who rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Who are..." Booker shook his head, and clapped his hands together, a schism opening up beneath the Prince, and then he clapped his hands together again, sealing him inside. Gun-Moll already had her guns out, but Braun took care of that, shooting them out of her hands, and Milo, his hands aflame, suffered an accident as Disaster clicked his fingers and caused a water-pipe to burst, dousing his potential for inferno. Only Flesh-Monger was left, and she was still leaning back, spreading her legs wide as Catman stepped forward.

"We'll let your comrade out in a few minutes, but I'll give you the sales pitch first-- you are not alone." Catman walked around the table slowly, hands in his pockets, watching for a reaction. "The Society respects all Rogues, don't get me wrong, but when you operate without respect, without consideration... well, there are very few people who can get away with it. And you're not one of them, capiche?"

"So what's this, a protection racket?" asked Gun-Moll, rubbing her sore hands together. She glanced up to see Braun still aiming his sniper-rifle at her. "'Cause I ain't in the business of paying that kind of money for something I can do for myself, your Society be screwed."

"Open the bags," said Blake, before turning away from them. Monger looked at Moll, and Moll looked at Milo, and he was the one who clambered toward the bags, and prised them open. He jerked back in surprise when he saw the contents-- "Those are the heads of three of your most trusted men. Not your most most trusted, we don't want to shoot you in the foot." Catman smiled. "We can get to you. We can hurt you where you thought yourself invulnerable to pain. You can't touch us."

"Yeah?" said Flesh-Monger, reaching out to Blake's wrist. He moved fast, grabbing her by the leather straps around her wrist, and then taking his bowie knife out from his belt and slamming it down in her palm. Blood oozed out of the wound, but she didn't cry out. "Owies," she said calmly, as her skin began to climb up the blade, a life of its own.

"Handy trick," said Blake, taking another knife from his belt. "But I don't know how you'd be able to do it without your skin. I threatened a man with a flaying a few days ago. He listened to me, so I didn't have my fun. Don't test me, I've been practicing."

"I like you," said Flesh-Monger, as Catman pulled his knife out, and wiped the blood on Milo's shirt. The diminutive fire starter growled, blue flames sparking from his eyes, but the sprinklers above him went off when Blake was out of range. "So, tell us what you want! We're very accommodating!"

"We want you to sign up," said Catman. "We'll protect you, and we might call on your services, or the services of your men." He glanced up to the rafters. "Disaster, release our guest?"

Major Disaster nodded, and opened up the crevice, and instantly, the Prince of Lies leaped up, his body twisting and stretching out of its normal parameters-- he was angry, seething at being trapped in a hole in the ground, and he wanted blood. "You... do not know... the mistake... you have made!" Black bubbles trembled at the corners of his mouth, ready to unleash a torrent of whatever it was that transformed normal men and women into his zombie slaves. " You will be my slave. For all eternity! "

"I doubt it. Braun," said Catman. Above, the weaponeer dropped his sniper-rifle and picked up another weapon, a strange, ornate pistol, and without hesitating he fired a dart into the Prince's back.

"Ggnnnnarrghhh" snarled the Prince, his body shrinking back down to its usual appearance. "Youuu damm you!"

"Odds are, we won't call on you. But we want you to know whose in charge. Answer being: Us." Catman began to walk away, and then he turned slowly, "but if you try and £$%^ us over, we'll £$%^ you over, and it won't be pretty."

"Says you," said the Flesh-Monger. "Goodbye, Mr Catman. Be seeing you."



"The intel that Oswald Cobblepot sent us was useful then. Good. The new up and comers have been put in their place." Lex Luthor smiled as he sat in his chair, looking at the returned villains. "Mr Lyons, your identity clause has been fulfilled; you are the one and only Firefly operating. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Mr Luthor," nodded Lyons. "It was very fun."

"I'm sure. Catman, do you foresee any problems?"

Blake shook his head. "No problems, something interesting maybe, but not a problem."

"I'll leave that to your discretion then," nodded Luthor.

"I have a question--" started Braun.

"Go ahead, we're all friends here," said Luthor.

Braun scratched the back of his head. "What did I shoot that Prince of Lies bloke up with?"

"Ah, a special concoction. But now isn't the time to reveal something so trivial to the overall game. Go and rest up. Treat yourself. Santa Prisca awaits you, but behave-- you know the rules. I'm looking at you, Garfield."

"Yes, of course," the men cleared out, leaving Catman and Lex Luthor alone.

"There a problem, Blake?"

"I want to leave the island for a few days, need to gather some personal possessions."

"Ah. I was going to start sending out members of Society to collect their belongings in the next few day, once the island protection net is up properly, but if you deem it necessary... will you be requiring Warp?"

"I can use your transporter, right? Drop me off where I want to go?"

"Of course," nodded Luthor. "You know where to find the platform."

"Thank you," said Blake, and with that, he left, leaving Luthor alone in the large room.

Bane emerged from the darkness. "Do you foresee a problem?"

"Perhaps," said Luthor. "Something's different about him. I can't put my finger on it. Hmm." He stood, and then turned to Bane. "We'll be leaving the island in the morning. Recruitment of our inner circle begins then. How does that sound?"

"Acceptable," said Bane, nodding. "And the protection net?"

"Goes up tomorrow. How exciting," nodded Luthor. "We will be untouchable."