#37: Breaking The Bat, Prologue (HoM / Gaff1229)

Jason Todd was never the best detective. He was never the best side kick. It was never about that for Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne chose him because he refused to stay down. He refused to give up in the face of adversary. Jason Todd was a brutal little boy who needed an outlet else he'd implode, and Bruce Wayne knew that if he did... Jason would take civilians down with him. So Jason Todd became Redwing, Bruce Wayne's first sidekick, younger than Dick Grayson had been when he took on the mantle of Robin, but just as effective. He was Bruce's secret weapon, his existence known only to a few, and when he was unleashed...

Bruce Wayne sometimes wondered if he was doing the right thing, letting Jason break teeth and bust heads. He sometimes wondered if he was breaking Jason Todd, not building him back up. He wondered and he wondered and Jason kept biting and clawing away at the darkness, and he was content in it.

"Hhhkkkkt!" The Dark Knight sprung the darkness and landed feet first into the back of one of the sonsofbitches that were attempting to raid the only real pharmacy left in the Narrows. It was one of the main places on his patrol routes, one of the main places that got hit night after night. They would come out and try and score cheap drugs from wherever their grubby little hands could reach, and because this place was honest and good it was their main target. "Nuahhh!"

"What have I said?" He punched one of the men in the face and then kicked another squarely in the chest, breaking a rib. He felt the collision under his foot. He smiled. "What have I told you all, again and again?" He wrenched another man up, and slapped him in the mouth, causing blood and spittle to bleed together and fly from between his teeth. "You do not come here. You don't even $%^ing think to."

The new uniform was better than his home-made leather creation. It was one of Bruce's famous 'prototypes', development abandoned when the good fight got harder and harder and suits and toys could no longer be tinkered with to perfection. There came a time when Anti-Mad Hatter Spray was no longer developed. Batarangs would do. Smoke grenades. The most direct option was taken, violent, immediate, and that was accepted. The uniform was wholly black but for a deep, crimson bat insignia stretching across the chest, licking at the shoulder blades. There was no cape, but glide-capable wings stored as sheaths in under-arm locks, and the utility belt was well stocked with everything he'd need-- though Jason would have to remember to refill the batarang compartments, he didn't have an Alfred Pennyworth to do the deed for him, but this uniform... was his.

"This is my final warning." He punched the man in the chest. "Spread the word. The Narrows is under my protection. You will never be safe." He dropped the man, and allowed him to run away, scrambling down the alley desperately as if the black hounds of hell were on his tail. He then turned to the other men who were now pulling themselves up. "Come on then," he sneered, motioning for the groaning, confused men to come forward. "Let me £$%^ you up."

Transferring to Blackgate Penitentiary:

He sat in the orange jump-suit, his wrists and ankles chained together, his face no longer bandaged. He hadn't given any name. He'd been quietly convicted of breaking and entering, assault and battery, attempted murder, but the Judge had been lenient for some reason. She'd read the reports of this man saving the life of a police officer in the sewers below Gotham, and as such, given him a reduced sentence. But Blackgate was still Blackgate. He hadn't said a word since Batman had taken him down in James Gordon's home, with the Commissioner's assistance, and he didn't intend to until the time was right. There was no record of him existing. That was a strange thing for the Gotham Police Department to be exposed to, but this was a world where the insane happened, so they didn't bat an eye-lid. John Doe, they called him.

"Who the $%^& are you?" He looked up, across the prison transport, to the only other man inside. "And why the $%^& are you looking at me like that?"

John Doe said nothing. He merely looked back down at his hands. The two armed prison guards on either side of him ignored the other prisoner, who had tattoos creeping from his hands to his face, where they danced together to form a swastika. John Doe did not believe this man to be a good man.

"Is that how you want to play it, meat? Don't you know who I am? I'm a $%^&ing villain, me. And I've got friends in Blackgate who'll tear your apart on a whim if I so decide it. What you got to say to that?"

The two guards glanced at each other. They heard this talk every day. They weren't paid to intervene. They continued to do their jobs, to sit and monitor, and they left the two prisoners to the one sided diatribe.

John Doe rubbed his hands together methodically, and then looked up slowly. Finally, he smiled, and put a finger to his mouth. "Shh."

"Who you telling to--"

John Doe pulled his wrists apart, revealing that the handcuffs were no longer keeping him restrained. He slipped the cuffs into his hands and slammed them backwards into the visors of the two prison guards, who barely made a noise as the jagged metal dug into the soft tissue of their faces, and into the hard bone of their skulls. "Hhk."

The rowdy prisoner opposite John Doe scrambled back against the side of the transport, his hands up over his face. "Nnuuarhh! Who the $%^& are you?!"

John Doe man picked up the shotgun from the twitching guard beside him and aimed it at the front of the transport, at the wall that separated the driver and the prisoners. He fired, and the car roared, and skidded to a stop roughly. Doe then turned to the man who had previously been threatening acts of violence against his person. "Hush." There was another discharge from the shotgun, and Hush's face didn't alter expression. He simply pulled keys from the belt of the guard, and unlocked the crashed transport. And then he went about his business, heading back toward Gotham City proper.



Alfred Pennyworth returned to the Manor feeling refreshed. A night on the town with the charming Leslie Tompkins had lifted his spirits. They'd caught a show at the theatre, then dinner followed, and finally they'd spoken about the last few months, and about Bruce, and with the stories they told each other... they laughed. It had been some time since he had laughed. IT had been some time since he'd left the Manor too, and so the night was a success. He'd kissed Leslie goodnight, and headed home, and when he arrived...

"Hello, Alfred," Barbara Gordon said with a smile, as she met Alfred Pennyworth on the stairs. "You're home... early."

"Miss Gordon, it is always a pleasure to see you, but I have to admit, I was not expecting the pleasure--!" He allowed himself a smile, and turned around, following her down toward the front door.

"I'm headed back to the city now, I told my dad I wouldn't be too long, and you know how it can be... and please, Alfred, every time I say this, call me Babs!"

"Oh, I am sure. Allow me..." He opened the door and bowed, and Barbara blushed. "I hope to see you again soon... Barbara."

"You too, Alfred, you too." Barbara headed out to her car, the rain of the earlier night settled, moisture clinging in the air like smoke. He watched her depart, waved, and then closed the door.

"Hey, Alfred," said Dick Grayson, as he walked down the stairs. "How was your night out? How's Leslie?"

"Enjoyable, and as good as ever, thank you," he replied. "How was Barbara?"

"Good, thank you, yes," Dick said hurriedly. "We caught up. It's all... I guess, well and good, catching up in costume and flying out above the city, but in reality... we haven't settled and spoken for a long time, and it was well past due."

"And Master Timothy? Is he in bed?"

"Yeah, probably on his laptop or something, but it's the holidays, so I don't see the problem with it."

Alfred Pennyworth smiled once more. "Routine, Master Richard, routine..."



"This isn't right this isn't right this isn't right this... isn't... no. Can't do this, can't..." He dug his fingertips into the arms of the chair, sweat caking his pale face and his teeth grinding against each other. His head was strapped back, his torso bare, and he was unable to move, his limbs wrenched hard against the arms and legs of the metal chair. "Don't, please I'm I'm I'm begging you... don't do this to me."

"Your body is the only one fully receptive to the formula, Kirk. Don't you understand? This isn't about monsters and demons and bat-folk anymore, this is about science; sweet, beautiful, majestic science." Doctor March smiled, and tapped the syringe in his hand. "I know you were the Man-Bat. I know you struggle to control the 'beast inside you' or some bull-crap, but no... this is more than just that. Your DNA holds specific markers that would allow us to cure people afflicted with deafness. I need to bring--"

"Just do it you bastard, do it now!" screeched Kirk Langstrom, thrashing against the binds. "Do it and let's see what happens and know that you'll be the first-- the first-- that this thing hunts! I begged you, I pleaded with you, and this is what you do! This is how you treat me! Do it now March! DO IT NOW!"

Doctor March shook his head, "there's no need to get violent, Kirk." He jabbed the syringe into Langstrom's arm, straight into the vein, and pumped him full of the thick, viscous fluid inside. "I couldn't do this without you."

"You... don't... understand..." Kirk's body tensed up, and he spoke through gritted teeth, every now and then thrashing about in the chair. "I... it... controls me... and it wants..." He shut his eyes, tight as they would, and then he suddenly relaxed completely, his body going limp in the chair.

Doctor March checked Langstrom's pulse, and then his own eyes opened wide. "Oh, no... this shouldn't happen... this was never... this could never happen..." March spun around, and paced the room. "The serum was your own blood... your own cloned blood, with an enhancing agent, but a suppressant... you shouldn't have..."

"There's a secret ingredient." March span around, and Langstrom grinned, his teeth seemingly growing in his mouth. "In my blood. An aggressor agent that can't be matched. I didn't know. Never knew. You've done it now, Doctor." March stumbled back onto the ground as he realised that Langstrom's teeth weren't growing-- they were being pushed down by newer, larger, sharper fangs. Needle sharp and an inch long, Langstrom took another step forward, and March stumbled back, his teeth click-clacking on the ceramic tiles he walked across. Brown hair began to sprout across his body, his eyes shifted from white to yellow, and his nose creased into his face, even as it contorted outwards. "I... hfsss..." Kirk grabbed March by the shoulders, and wrenched him up, the Doctor's hearing aid falling from his head as Langstrom did so. "Warnnnnedddd..." He keeled his neck back, and then a sound like gargling flew from his throat. He swung his head forward, and the transformation was complete. "HSSSSSSSSSSSS[/i]!"

March barely had time to scream. "Nooooo--!"

[/b]

Mary Kelly was walking back home, if she could call it that, when the men jumped her from the shadows. She knew that the Narrows were a dangerous place to stay, but she hadn't intended it to be a permanent fixture in her life-- those were the thoughts that crossed her mind as they grunted and snarled, dragging her into the dark. "No--!" she cried, but a hand roughly covered her mouth before she could say anymore. What had she always been told to shout in these situations? 'Fire'? Because people came to see if there was a fire, but this? What was happening right now? Her thoughts became a blur of movement and noise, clothes tearing and then--

"NO." The movement stopped, the sound was that of breathing in sharply and then... impact. The Dark Knight plummeted from above, and his connection with the larger of the two men that attacked Mary sounded the breaking of at least three bones in the man's body.

"NAAAAAAAHHHH!" The man fell to the floor, and the Dark Knight took a batarang from his belt and slammed it down, whizzing through the air and then through flesh and bone-- pinning the would-be attacker to the ground, whimpering in pain. "GODDDD!"

"MY STREETS. MY RULES." The Dark Knight didn't stop his attack then and there, instead he grabbed the second man, and heaved him over his head, throwing him face first against the concrete wall that was next to them. The man slumped to the floor, a mess of blood and gristle, and then Jason Todd turned to Mary Kelly, who was shaking in the dark. "You're OK," his voice changed, lighter now, but still hard. "You're safe."

"I... thank you? I've..." she laughed, awkwardly, "I don't know why I'm laughing... I... God... I think I'm in shock."

"You'll be fine. I've contacted 911, they're on their way."

"You called the police? I... I should..."

"No, an ambulance," interrupted the Dark Knight. "I know these £$%^s. They jumped bail, and now they're polluting my streets? They'll be taken to the nearest hospital, police will meet them there, and then they'll be carted off to Blackgate again. Again. Go home. Stick to the streets, not the alleys. Do you understand me?"

"Thank you, yes, yes, thank you," she said, nodding, and before she knew what she was doing, she hugged the Dark Knight, his arms at his sides awkwardly, not knowing what to do. "You're Batman, aren't you? The Batman?"

"Something like that," he said, uncomfortably, her arms still wrapped around him.

"I'm... Mary... Mary Kelly... and," she suddenly realised what she was doing, and withdrew, "oh, I... ummm, goodbye, thank you."

Jason Todd watched her go, running into the light of the streets. "...Stay safe."



Roman Sionis looked at the pills laying out before him. "Damn," he said, slowly, as he carefully divided them up into separate piles of twos and threes. He needed the painkillers. His face was so far gone that he couldn't even look at it, let alone allow himself to feel the enormous amount of pain that he should be experiencing. He was having to take more and more pills just to function. He knew far too much about addiction. And he knew far too much about control to feel good about it-- He looked at the pile of red and blue and white and yellow pills he should take, but grit his scorched teeth. "No. Not right now."

"Black Mask?" Henderson rapped the door with his knuckles, not daring look in.

"Come in, Henderson. What's the good word?"

"The Penguin got you your in. The Three Families will see you. On their terms."

"And their terms can easily be placed in line with ours. Contact the False Facers. Tell them that soon their masks will be lifted and their allegiances will be proven. Oh, and remind them that I can kill their families on a whim if I so decide." He grinned, facial muscles exposed and stretching, twisting, flakes of flesh lifting and bleeding as he did so. "Beautiful."

[/b]

Detective Darren Loomis punched the pimp squarely in the stomach, so hard the man vomited over himself. "That's disgusting."

"I... God... I don't have your money, Loomis, I don't... can't..." Tevon Mitchell wiped his mouth, coughing, his breathing ragged.

Loomis pulled him up by his hair. "I let you operate in this town for one reason, and one reason alone. Because your face don't offend me like all the other bastards." He yanked him back once more, causing him to cry out. "And you don't have my £$%^ing money? How do you think that makes me feel? How?"

Oh... God... n-nuh no!" whispered Tevon.

"That's not an answer!" shouted Loomis, as he pulled his service weapon from it's holster.

"He wasn't talking to you." Loomis span around, his pistol raised, but it was wrenched from his hand viciously, and he staggered back. "He was talking to me."

"You. You got a problem, vigilante?" Loomis smiled, as the Dark Knight held the gun between thumb and forefinger. "'Cause I can tell you where to--"

Jason Todd grabbed Darren Loomis by his neck and lifted him up, causing the detective to gag and flail. "You're working the Rachel Ellis case. The Jack the Ripper copycat killings. You work for me now."

"Get... stuffed... you..."

"You're not listening," hissed Jason, as he tossed Loomis aside, "you're dirty. And I ain't exactly virgin white myself, and I think you can be an asset to me. You're no Jim Gordon, but you'll do."

"I'm not going to be your bi--"

"You haven't got a choice," snapped Jason Todd, "I want this £$%^er off the streets, and we're going to work together to achieve that. I don't want to hear you complain, I want to hear you over flowing with information, or you'll find your life goes down the crapper faster than you can give me $%^&." He once again pulled up Loomis, and grinned, causing the Detective to shiver. "Savvy, Loomis?"

"You..."

The Dark Knight shot into the sky, Loomis not even seeing him pull the grapnel from his back, and then returned to the shadows. Loomis was shaken, unnerved, and as he struggled to regain his balance, he turned back to the shaking Tavon, who hadn't run away during the commotion. "Oh, you stupid little sonofabitch, we are not through yet--"



The signal was high in the sky, illuminating the clouds up above. Deputy Commissioner Sarah Essen stood on the roof of Gotham Central, waiting impatiently. "What's happened."

She span around, her hand on her holster, but then exhaled heavily. "Dammit, I don't know how Jim hasn't died from a heart attack yet..." She took a folder from her inside jacket, and handed it over to the Caped Crusader, who began to read. "It isn't pretty."

"Man-Bat's attacks rarely are." He lowered the folder. "But something is different."

"Man-Bat? Really?" Essen took the folder back from Batman, and her forehead creased. "I don't see it--"

"The claw marks match the diameter of Man-Bat's claws. I've seen the damage before. I've experienced it. But this... he sucked his victim's blood? Something different. A change in his former Rogue profile."

"What do you think then, why's he doing what he's doing?"

Batman took a grapnel from his belt, and fired it off, out into the ravine between the buildings next door. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."



Alfred Pennyworth was sitting in the Cave, Robin standing behind him. Dick had conveyed the information given to him by Sarah Essen, and they were currently brainstorming. "Kirk Langstrom? The man B dubbed 'Man-Bat'?"

"Ah, that was all me, A. I might have suggest that as a name..."

"You and your names, D. It is quite disconcerting."

"What about me... D?" said Tim Drake awkwardly. "Do you want me out? I can take the Redbird out to the city, if you like--"

"R, no." Dick said flatly, as he soared over the city. "Man-Bat is dangerous, and he's currently a wild card, not playing to type at all. Sorry, but I won't have you out tonight."

Robin sighed. "Dick, I wish--" Alfred cleared his throat loudly. "D, you'll have to start trusting me one of these days. When we faced Cornelius Stirk, I was there--!"

"Against orders, R. I understand how you're feeling, whenever B said 'No' to me being out, it was a kick in the teeth, but come on kiddo, when this is sorted out, we'll go on patrol, full city, how about that?"

Robin grinned. "Even the East End?"

"Even the East End. Sickening," laughed Batman, before landing on a rooftop. He climbed down a fire escape, and entered through a window, police tape everywhere. Dick placed a finger to his ear, and continued to talk. "I'm at Doctor March's lab. It wasn't above board, I can tell you that."

"How so, D?"

Dick pressed a button on his belt. "Cowl cam streaming."

Alfred shook his head. "Not only is that illegal, it is also highly unsanitary."

"CSIs have been here thoroughly, switching lenses." Dick's eyes took a moment to adjust, but suddenly everything was razor sharp in the room. "God, this place is a mess. Also... yeah. Animal hairs. Pull up a chair, R, I'm scanning them here, tell me what the computer spits out." He took a small device from his belt and a beam of red shot out, and analysed the brown fibre.

Robin tapped something into the console. "Matches Kirk Langstrom's DNA profile, but... there are... ah."

"What is it, R?"

"The 'but' is a bit of a disgusting one. His DNA is swimming in a soup of other people's DNA, broken down, diluted maybe... it doesn't make sense. I'm pulling up some files--" Robin looked up at the computer. "Whoar. They're in the Gotham Mercy hospital records. They're people who volunteered for a special project to help... cure... deafness? How did their DNA end up in Man-Bat's body?"

"What about March?"

"He's in there too. Head of the project. And also... yeah... a patient. Deaf."

"The other two victims too, cross reference--"

"Already done it, D. Yeah, they're in the records too. Maybe it's a primal thing, he's running on instinct, zeroing in on the men and women who's DNA is swishing about inside his body?"

Batman cursed under his breath, and leaped out of the window, over the fire escape, and into the night sky. "Get me the name of the next person on the list! I need to hit a satellite cave, pick up the cure B created... there may not be enough time--!"

The Narrows:

"... goodbye, pretty lady," he whispered, doffing his hat to the woman as she gargled blood in the darkness of the alley. "I feel closer to him already." He took a razor sharp knife from his satchel, and smiled. "But I need to get closer... one last friend, one last goodbye." Her head was barely attached to her neck anymore, the wound so deep. But he didn't stop there. He began to cut. And to cut. And to cut until the alley was running red with the girl's blood, and he himself was scarlet from head to toe. "O, I didn't expect there to be so much mess! Tsk, tsk."

"Yeah, just... there..." he turned, and saw a couple entering the alley, hands fumbling and mouths exploring.

"Hhhfff..." he exhaled, angrily. "Don't you... ruin this..." he whispered, concentrating, "don't ruin this for me!"

The man clutched his head, his nose suddenly bleeding, and the woman let out a cry, her head feeling as if it was splitting. "Oh, God! Oh, God, no! No!"

He walked past them, shaking his head. "Fornicators. Disgusting. How... truly... disgusting."

Meanwhile...

"So, what's his deal?" Agent Rizetti was new to the Bureau. He didn't know why everyone else turned down this assignment. But he was new to the Bureau, so he accepted it readily, and was confused as to why everyone was so scared by this man he'd been ordered to escort from Gotham City to a special unit that would fly the unconscious patient to The Slab (Current whereabouts: Unknown).

Doctor Smithee didn't want to work at the Hospital tonight. What was the point in the boring old shootings, beatings and 'accidents' that riddled the incoming patients? This was more interesting, by far. Observe and ensure that the patient's medication was maintained. He rode shotgun in the back of the ambulance, and simply shrugged. "Don't know. I was told by the GCPD that he's some kind of all time, desert island top five mass murderer. Constantine Drakon. Bit diminutive, if you ask me."

"Not always about size, mate," replied Rizetti.

"Who told you that?" laughed Smithee. "Your girlfriend?"

Rizetti shook his head, smiling regardless. "Reminds me of a song. 'They say bigger's better but bigger's bigger'."

"I think I've heard that, it's by--"

The ambulance suddenly stopped. Rizetti knocked on the small slot that separated driver and passengers. "What's up?"

The back of his head exploded in red. Smithee didn't move, shocked into paralysis by the sudden burst of violence. He heard the front door open then close, and then turned to see the back doors swing wide. A paramedic with bandages swathed across his face held a silenced pistol. He spoke quietly, and deliberately. His voice barely rising above whisper. "Turn... off... the drip." Smithee didn't know what else to do. Without speaking, he did so, and heard Drakon begin to stir. "Thank you."

Drakon's hand shot up and grabbed Smithee by the throat, and with a twist, the Doctor was dead. Constantine shot up, and saw Hush at the foot of his bed. "Who are you?"

"A friend. An ally. We share a common goal."

Constantine spoke fast. "The complete and utter dismantling of Batman, and those around him?"

"Yes," nodded Hush, "Also: Money."

"You're my new best friend," said Constantine Drakon, as he began to strip the dead FBI agent of his suit. "Give me a minute." He took the pair of sunglasses, beads of blood dribbling from down from their former owner's forehead onto the lenses, and put them on. "I need my game face."

[/b]

The electric crackle of the television screen was tangible underneath his fingertips. Daniel McNichols' turned as he felt something hit the floor behind him, and then screamed as the Man-Bat shrieked from where it stood, it's wings stretched out as far as they could, spreading out to block the window that it had just flown inside from. "No! NO!"

"--No." Batman landed feet first into the back of the transformed Kirk Langstrom, sending the creature lurching forward. Man-Bat swung around, swatting Dick Grayson into the wall, and the Caped Crusader rolled toward McNichols. A smoke grenade was thrown down at the feet of the giant bat-like creature, and Dick turned to the terrified victim, and began to communicate in sign language. Run. Get out, get help. I'll hold him off.

The man scrambled to escape, and Dick span around to face Man-Bat. "KIRK!" He shot forward, batarangs in hands, the bladed weapons causing Man-Bat's claws to scrape away from his face. He moved fast-- he had to-- and pushed forward. "KIRK!!" Man-Bat shrieked at Dick, but the Caped Crusader head-butted the mutated scientist in the mouth, causing the beast to cry out in pain. "If pain and hurt is the only language you speak then I'll respond in like, do you understand me?"

Man-Bat shot up, and his bulk carried him through the ceiling, plaster showering down upon the Batman, more debris showering down as the Man-Bat kept flapping his wings and pushing through rooms until he reached the outside. "Fine. I guess you do." Dick shot a grapnel up after the fleeing Man-Bat, and watched as the line snatched around the creature's ankle. "This is going to suck." The Caped Crusader shot up after Kirk Langstrom, and before long they were high in the night sky, and Dick was barely in control of the situation. "Hhff..." He breathed in sharply, being tossed around in the sky by Langstrom's exertions.

I've been here before, he thought, Charaxes was exactly the same problem last week, all I need to do is-- Dick wrenched, with all his strength, the line that was tight around Langstrom's ankle, causing the Man-Bat to howl, and then shoot straight down.

"Oh, cr--" He fired another line with his spare hand, barely holding on with the other, and it caught a flag-pole across the chasm of buildings. Dick moved fast, connecting the two lines together, and then he released his grip, seemingly floating for a split second-- and then beginning to fall. Man-Bat flapped his wings one more time and then the slack on the line was gone-- and he shrieked as his leg was wrenched, and he hurtled back, colliding hard with the side of a building. Dick aimed himself down, syringes full of anti-Man-Bat serum ready... and hit hard, jamming the needles into Langstrom's jugular.

"I did not think this through." Man-Bat thrashed about, his leg already sliding back into the socket and knitting back together even as they plummeted toward the ground. His albino fur receded into his body, and Batman opened up his cape, the air catching him and sending him upwards, then threw another line, and descended to safety. They landed on the concrete below, Langstrom now human-- naked and bruised-- but human, and vomiting all over the side walk. "Langstrom."

"Hhhhk... God... B-Bat-m-man... B-Batman..." Kirk looked up, and wiped his mouth. "I c-couldn't-- I c-c-couldn't control it! It... it... took control!"

"I don't think that's entirely true." Dick took a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "You've fought this before, Kirk. You fight it tooth and nail. And this..."

"It... it's inside me..." said Langstrom, "it's... I can't..." He reeled forward, and clutched his chest. "It's in me, Batman..." The re-transformation was instantaneous, shifting from human to Man-Bat within seconds, catching even Langstrom. Dick rolled back as Man-Bat's claws raked across his chest. The anti-serum didn't work? Dick Grayson struggled against the thing that was aching to tear open his head. He was fighting back as hard as he could, but failing-- Man-Bat was stronger than him, and super-charged for reasons he couldn't comprehend. "Kirk! Kirk, listen to me--" His costume tore open, razor sharp claws gouging at his stomach. "Nnnn." They grazed his flesh, his body playing tricks with his brain, telling him it was worse than it actually was-- he needed to focus, to power on through-- to think his way out of this-- "KIRK!"

[/b]

"Y'sure this is safe territory? I heard that Grey Ghost freak was running the show down here, keepin' things deadly clean," Sal Maroni was not a nice guy, but neither was Rupert Thorne, standing beside him, or Carmine Falcone, the other big boss of the criminal underworld of Gotham City. They made up the Three Families. "I don' like this one bit."

"Calm yourself, Salvatore, our boys are on the roofs of all these buildings, we got enough artillery to take whatever Sionis throws our way. He knows our rules, he knows to come alone. We're in complete control." Carmine Falcone took a long drag on a cigarette and then dropped it to the floor, stubbing it out with his heel. "Capische?"

"I cannot believe you just said that, Falcone," said Rupert Thorne, shaking his head dismally. "But I don't like this one bit. I don't care about the Grey Ghost, my informant in the GCPD told me that Batman took down the freak, but still... Sionis is not having a piece of Gotham. We worked damn hard for this place we're in now, we died for it. So yeah, he gets in the middle of our guys, they open fire, we're done and done."

"Don't you think you should hear him out?"

Maroni shook his head as he turned around to see Oswald Cobbleplot, in his wheelchair, joining the proceedings. "Penguin, why the hell are you here? Go back to the Lounge, go back to plotting our downfall. You ain't wanted here. We just keep you around to make us laugh."

Penguin stared at Maroni, and then simply smiled, before turning tail and wheeling himself back to his car, his men waiting for him.

"Bit harsh, don't you think Sal?"

"Screw that, Rup, he's a punk and we all know it. Best one of us finally tells us how it is, better than having a hanger-on like him clawing away at my good humour every time he shows his face, y'know what I'm saying?"

"Salvatore, Rupert," said Carmine suddenly, "he's here. My God-- his face--!"

Black Mask walked into the middle of the warehouses, alone, a long coat over his body. He stopped in the middle of the spotlight that the men had prepared, and then put his gloved hands up before talking. "I got some words for you all, you ready to listen?"

A call came through on Falcone's phone, and he took it. "Shall we take the shot?"

Carmine thought on this for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, let him say his piece-- then blow his god-ugly face off."

"What's left of it," replied Thorne with a smile.

Carmine, Maroni and Thorne all stepped out of the shadows and in front of Sionis. "I hope you don't mind, Sionis, but we ain't talking till our boys check you for weapons. S'standard procedure, you understand?"

Black Mask looked to the four men, pistols all raised as they approached him, and smiled. He put up his hands, and then lowered them, allowing his long black coat to fall to the floor. He was wearing a white vest, black trousers and suspenders over his shoulders. His arms were massive, muscle covering his body, and his face was the only aberration on his frame. The black, charred skull was horrifying to witness, but paired with the physique he had worked away at-- he was a sight to behold. "No guns-- No point. Let's talk, shall we?"

"Talk then, keep it snappy."

Black Mask looked around at all the men up above him, their weapons aimed at him. "Hmm. I want in on the big old game you've got going here. Four Families? Please. It's Three, and you know it. Penguin got his slice to keep him quiet, and that's all well and good. Keep him happy, whatever. I want in. I want my slice. What do you say?"

Carmine was silent for a moment, and then began to laugh, then applaud. "Bravi, Sionis, you're very brave, and very funny. Let's humour you for a moment: Why should we? You have no claim to this city, you're not old blood like we are. You're some punk caught in an industrial accident, lost his face and now is very... very... funny. You're a joke, Roman. Leave now, before we decide to kill you for not being funny any more."

Roman laughed, and then shook his head. "Right. I knew this would happen. Rupert, old man, how's the family? Last time I had my boys check in on them, they were a-ok. And you, Carmine, how's your kids? Still alive and kicking? Salvatore... your mother, is she doing well?"

Sal Maroni looked to the others, and nearly surged forward, before Thorne grabbed his arm. "You sonofa-- what you tryin' to say?"

"I'm saying..." Black Mask clicked his fingers, and there was an audible sound of guns being holstered, causing the Bosses of the Three Families to feel a pit form in their chests "...That I'm in control." Thorne, Falcone and Maroni's phones went off simultaneously. "That'll be me."

"What's your game, Sionis?" Thorne pulled out his cell phone, and looked at the picture message sent to him. "Mercy..."

"My name is not Roman Sionis. It's Black Mask. The photos you just received are of your loved ones, all asleep, or unawares. Yes, that is a gun trained on them. Yes I could kill them whenever I wanted to. But I don't want to. I don't want to shed their blood and make unnecessary enemies. So here's the thing: I want you to leave. Leave Gotham. Take your business outside the city, or I'll kill you. I'll kill your families, your friends, your pets, and then you. You will suffer. You will cry. You will mourn your lost even as you die slowly."

Maroni pulled his pistol. "Or I kill you right--" BANG! The gun flew from his hand, and Maroni recoiled in pain, clutching his bleeding hand. "--Nnnnarghhh!" He looked at his palm, and realised he could see through it. "Godddd!"

"You want us to leave town? What's to stop us from coming after you, Ro-- Black Mask? Exacting our revenge? Sending in our best to take you down?"

"Because your best are my best. All your loyalists? All your favourites? They're mine now. You're the ones who walked into a trap, gentlemen. Nwo leave the city. You have 24 hours to get your assets in order and then your asses out. Capische?"

The Narrows:

The alleyway ran like a river, blood pooling at the fringes that met the sidewalk. "Another victim," said Detective Darren Loomis, as he lifted up his shoes to find blood congealing underfoot. "Ghh. Same MO. Seems that creep was right, we got us a Jack the Ripper copycat. Call the station, get them to read up on the facts, I think we need some kind of down-low on the $%^& we can expect, yeah? And there was a case a few years back-- Hugo Strange, right? The old Arkham guy? Didn't he pull something like this?"

The uniform shook his head, as he halfway climbed into his patrol car. "Dunno, boss. I'll head back to the station, you alright here?"

"Sure, the CSU have got all they're gonna' get, so I think gonna' get a feel for the scene." There was a long silence as Loomis crouched down, looking at the way the blood swirled about with the garbage and muck of the city. "Hhh."

"Strange is dead," the shadows said suddenly, and caught Loomis by surprise. He would have pulled his service weapon but he didn't have it-- and he hadn't told his superiors about it's loss yet. "Broke his neck during said 'pulling of something'."

"This ain't how we play in the Narrows, punk--" snapped Loomis.

"It is now." A hand threw something up, and Loomis caught it, recognising it as his previously stolen weapon. He considered aiming it at the darkness and taking some shots, but realised he didn't want the death of some crazy dress-up on his record. Better to play along. "You had witnesses this time."

"How did--"

The darkness interrupted. "I know things. What did they say?"

Loomis sighed. "Guh. They saw it happen. They saw who did it. But they can't remember what he looked like. He's a literal black hole in their memories. They were already off their heads-- s'why they were copping feels in alleyways-- but what if this guy was somehow able to selectively remove their memories of him..?"

"So they don't have a description. What good does that do us?"

"They saw the alley behind him. This guy... this copy-cat... he's small, freak. He's of the diminutive variety."

"Oh, no," whispered the darkness. "I know who this is."

[/b]

Dick arched up his knee, catching Kirk Langstrom squarely in the crotch, and causing the Man-Bat to shriek in agony. Following through with the low blow, he swung his fist into the creature's mouth, and smashed him at full pelt. Teeth gave under the blow, but Dick couldn't hold off-- he kept punching, throwing blows and uppercuts that made his joints ache at the sheer power behind them.

"Stand... down..." he hissed, surprised at the tone he was conveying, "stand... down... or... I'll... make... you!" He was channelling Bruce. He was becoming something more than just a man in a suit, he was finding reserves of strength he never knew he had before-- but he was still failing. The Man-Bat's skin was solid as concrete, and his speed--

God, thought Dick, I can barely keep up with those wings of--

The wing shot up, and threw Batman like a rag doll across the air, into the garbage cans at the end of the alley. A crowd had formed at the mouth of the alley, and the Man-Bat spun around and shrieked at them, causing them to scatter. "Ghhh..." Dick took a handful of sedative darts from various pouches in his belt and loaded up his grapnel. Man-Bat began to flex his wings once more, preparing to soar up, but Batman wouldn't have any of it. He clambered to his feet, grapnel raised. He was a mess of pain, bruises and broken bones. He could feel fragments of himself afloat inside his arm, and knew he needed to get that sorted as soon as possible-- He fired off one round of tranquillisers, catching Man-Bat in the chest.

"Stand... down!" He loaded up the grapnel launcher again, but Man-Bat shot toward him, and he dropped to the floor before impact-- shooting another six needles into the mutant-- causing it to cry out in pain. "Enough.. in you... to drop... an elephant.. stand... down!"

Man-Bat swivelled round, wings as far apart as they would go, and he howled so loud that Batman cringed. He felt the sound in his bones, and he kept the grapnel aimed at his chest. Man-Bat dropped to his knees, swaying slowly. Finally, he collapsed, and the transformation back to his human form resumed. Dick was about to handcuff Langstrom, contact Sarah Essen, and then mourn the loss of his unbroken bones, when he felt something puncture his costume-- something sharp-- and he reeled round, to see a man behind him smiling. He looked down at where the pain had sprang from, and realised that things were getting dark around the edges of his vision... had he been drugged? Was he dying? The questions faded out of his mind as consciousness too failed him. "Who... who...?"

"Goodnight, Richard. I'll introduce myself when you wake up. We're going to have so. Much. Fun."