It is inevitable to be astonished by the audacity of criminals here in Gotham City, especially when the elites of this very city secretly control half of its government to inhibit progress and repress the population into poverty.
As such, it does not come as much surprise when Olgar’s investigation into the Gotham crime lords makes me groan in embarrassment. It was agreed upon that Batman and a hired gun would ambush the Reaper in a trapped location, which, as it turns out, to be none other than Floyd Lawton, a.k.a. Deadshot.
The son of a bitch accepted the job offer once he knew that he’d be working with Batman, probably wanting to prove that he could replace the caped crusader again. That could have been the end of it; but, during Olgar’s investigation–a thorough one at that–the crime lords have ordered him to deal with an injured Batman after killing the Reaper.
At least, that was the previous plan. Olgar heard rumors that four top bosses–none of which is Olgar’s source–are having a meeting for another plan.
It turns out that our little escapade from the other night has thrown a wrench into their plans. With two more vigilantes, albeit small ones, Deadshot is trying to renegotiate his deal. He doesn’t do kids, he told the crime lords after the meeting.
Olgar had nearly laughed himself to death when he recounted the frustration in the crime lord’s face. While I still don’t exactly know how he got this information or why he’s hearing details straight from the top bosses, I trust him enough to send me only verified information. No matter how some of them are clearly not relevant.
Who cares about Toni Li, head of the Neon Dragon Triad, having caught syphilis from Enrico Enzirillo’s wife? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely adore conversations like that–especially when they contain sensitive information about their personal lives–but at some point, I have to tell Olgar a list of things he should write down to give me later and not talk my ear off for hours.
I, of course, give this information to Alfred, knowing that he will naturally turn it over to Bruce. I expected praise or something to that order, but I did not expect a summons.
True to his words, Bruce takes a day off from both of his lives. His nightly patrol was unloaded unto us with supervision from Alfred, of course, and his schedule for the whole week is swept into the next.
Seeing as it's Gotham City and Bruce Wayne is basically a superstar, his engagement with Rachel has rocked social media. Buzzr, this world’s counterpart for Twitter, and XCape, a social media site dedicated to superhero fans, columnists, pundits, and superheroes themselves, are alight with the news.
Some users were crying over the loss of Bruce’s bachelor freedom while a few of them were already on the FBI watch list after trying to hack into Rachel’s social media accounts. Her mother’s death is already in the news cycle and how it resembles the Wayne murders which speculates that they bond over trauma and produces some other inane and less accurate theories.
Black Mask’s tirade and Chesterfield’s candidacy are already out of the people’s minds by lunch, which tells me that Bruce has either known that this would happen or he’s just a very lucky man.
‘I’d say about 50-50.’
I try to hide my chuckle as I descend the Batcave. The long winding stairs that lead to a hundred-meter fall barely falter my steps, having long grown to dizzying heights.
“You’re late.” Batman, mask and suit on, barely turns towards me as he greets me, his focus squarely on the case files shown on the screen. “It’s going to be midnight soon. He’s going to start with or without us.”
“Got it.” I jump down the stairs and rush towards the cylindrical chamber that holds my uniforms. My Ambush Mode suit is not yet finished, its chamber is empty, so I have two choices here.
Combat Mode gives me ample defense against the Reaper’s bullets and scythes if his aim is ever to turn towards me. While that comes at the cost of mobility, it becomes a moot point when taking my teleportation ability into account. Honestly, I should always just go with Combat Mode, but the sheer versatility of the Stealth Mode suit gives me doubt. Plus, I begged Batman to help me add three more pockets in that suit, thus, giving me more options in my gadgetry and weapons utility.
Still, I expect to be hurt and desiccate the Combat Mode suit from its moisture chamber. The formula within the tank combats the effects of erosion and rust while also acting as a cleaning agent, thereby freeing us of the chore of cleaning and replacing its smaller parts.
Batman has built a small cubby in the corner of the cavern, allowing us to change there without having to go towards the bathroom. Yes, there are seven bathrooms in the Batcave, all of which are connected to the large waterfall far to the north of us.
Unlike last time, I don’t take the thermal scarf from the Stealth Mode suit and fully embrace that I now look like an armadillo. It sucks that this is how the suit is made, but it was created before Batman knew of my chosen codename.
I return to the main cavern in time to see Alfred bringing in a tray of armor pieces with Batman picking, placing, and locking it into his suit.
“Modular armor? Cool.” I try to touch one, only to be slapped away by Alfred.
“Not for you, Young Master Edmund.” Alfred hums.
I scoff lightly, “I’m just touching it. God knows I already have enough armor.”
Batman grunts, “You don’t need extra armor. I will solely handle the Reaper and you will keep everyone away from our fight.”
“Well, that’ll suck.” I initially buckle at the thought of not fighting the Reaper, but then remember how near-death Batman was two weeks ago and agree to their plan. “Fine. At least give me your Deadshot file.”
My watch buzzes and I take out a tablet connected to it, checking my email to see that the Batcomputer has sent me a zip file. “Is this virus free? I downloaded, uh, something earlier and, boy, it was ransomware.”
“We know. You are far too young to handle those sites.” Alfred glares at me and I cower back.
“Come on, Alfred, it wasn’t like that,” I protest, holding up my hands defensively. “It was a totally legit link! How was I supposed to know it’d lead to… well, that?”
Alfred raises an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Indeed, Young Master Edmund. I’m sure the ‘Free Antivirus’ you downloaded was merely a precautionary measure for all the research you do on, shall we say, less reputable websites.”
“I’m telling you, I got tricked! It wasn’t even the good kind!” I shoot back, trying to salvage a shred of dignity.
Alfred sighs, shaking his head. “I shudder to think what will become of this generation. Perhaps less time on the internet and more time honing your skills would do you good.”
Before I can retort, Robin enters the Batcave, his cape fluttering slightly as he strides in. “Told you not do it.”
“Nice to see you too, Dick,” I quip, still a bit stung by Alfred’s earlier jab.
Robin smirks, but his expression quickly turns serious as he glances over at Batman. “Are we ready?”
Batman finishes locking in the last piece of his modular armor and turns to face us, his gaze steely beneath the cowl. “Yes. I want you two to listen to every word I say in the streets. The Reaper is unlike anything we’ve faced before. He’s ruthless, unpredictable, and he won’t hesitate to kill if it means getting what he wants.”
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He steps closer, his voice low and commanding. “Deadshot will be there too. He’s one of the best marksmen in the world, and he won’t miss a shot unless he wants to. Your mission is to stay off the radar, never leave each other’s site. Even if you do, keep in contact with each other and don’t wander off more than fifty feet. Understand?”
I nod as I check Deadshot’s background. “How about Deadshot? He’ll be gunning for you once the Reaper’s down.”
Batman grunts defiantly, “I know. That’s why you’re going to surveil him and the mob while Robin keeps me updated on the Reaper’s position. Remember: you’re only there for overwatch and aerial support. Do not engage in fights unless you can either eliminate the threat quickly and quietly or you are cornered; even then, retreat if possible.”
“So we’re just gonna be on stand-by?” Robin looks downtrodden as he says that. “I wore a skin-tight leotard for a stake-out?”
“High stakes stakeout.” I corrected him.
Batman hums appreciatively, “I know it isn’t ideal, but the Reaper is a different kind of threat—one that requires us to step into the very fundamentals of our techniques. Gadgets or high-tech of any kind may give us an upper hand, but it will be through the basics that we defeat him.
I took this risk because I believed it was the only way to stop him before more lives were lost. But that doesn’t mean I’m proud of it. It’s not a path I wanted to take, and it’s not one I want you to follow. I’ll take full responsibility for my actions, and I’ll answer for them when this is over. But right now, we need to finish this fight. Gotham can’t afford for us to be divided.”
I nod, the weight of the mission settling in. This isn’t just another night in Gotham; this is life or death. Robin tightens his gloves, his face set in determination. “Understood. We’re ready, Batman.”
I exchange a glance with Robin, and for a moment, all the nerves and jitters fade away, replaced by the steady resolve that’s been drilled into us from day one.
We’ve got this.
We have to.
----------------------------------------
Batman has us setting up the Batmobile as a mobile command post with direct lines to the four operating businesses. Alfred is also online in the Batcave with access to the Batcomputer’s manifold and all the public cameras within the metropolitan area, acting as our overseer and aerial guardian for the operation.
Three of the four businesses have already made contact with us and have already been informed to do routine check-ups every thirty minutes. Batman actually has a pretty cool surveillance setup in his dashboard, but with Robin in the helm, it’s taking a few more minutes and Alfred is running out of patience.
“I got it. I got it. Sorry, Alfred.” Robin shouts as the screen lights up and shows us a live video of five crime lords in a conference room. “Hello, bad guys. Can you hear me? Hello? Mic test. Put Peter Piper in maximum security prison for pelting Pamela Parker with pots and pans and committing assault and battery.”
“That’s not how the rhyme works, kid.” A mob boss speaks up, his voice sounding as if he was speaking at the end of a long tunnel.
I mute the video call and turn to Alfred, “HQ, we are good on the Sharks. How’s the Bat doing?”
[Bat is on the move, Mobile. Sending you the locations of possible routes, stand by for input.]
Alfred’s data is sent to the Batmobile, the screen shows four different optimal routes from our current position. The route changes as we move along the streets of Gotham, cruising around the area in hopes of being near the business the Reaper is going to hit.
Sure enough, with thirty minutes past midnight, a business fails to do their check-up which we hurriedly send to Alfred. In but a moment, the screen maps out a route toward a subway station where Fat Tony hides his illegally manufactured apparel.
“On our way.” Robin informs Alfred as the Batmobile bursts with unseen speed. The thrusters belted out blue flames as we rocketed past the empty streets of Gotham, barely able to drift into corners with the help of side thrusters.
“Gear check.” I order as we pass by the last street bend and head straight into the stairs of the subway, soaring through the air and crashing down the tiled floor with vengeance.
The Batmobile halts into a screech, smoke billowing out of its spiked wheels and covering the vehicle in a cloud of dust and microplastics. As the dust settles down, the bleak landscape reveals itself to us. Darkness has always been our ally in the streets, but this time, it behests us to be wary of it.
Litter clatters to the ground with nary a sight of any criminal guard nor unusually broken item. It seems everything is alright with the place, betrayed only by the sheer desolateness of the place past the turnstiles.
“We’re here. Batman, where are you?”
Seeing as Batman has yet to reply, I unmute the video call to the crime lords and wave for their attention.
“We’re here. Tell your men to release a signal.” I say to them, reaching for the retractable Bo staff and a case of suction gloves in case we have to battle atop a subway train.
A puff of red smoke escapes the darkness from within. A danger signal that alerts both of us. Before both of us can reply to the message, another puff of smoke clatters onto the ground next to the first one.
“Crap. Extreme Danger. Red alert. Tell Batman that we’re going in.” I activate the Batmobile’s Sentry Mode and exit the vehicle with an unusually silent Robin following after me.
[Exercise extreme caution, Sparrow and Robin. Batman is on his way.] Alfred’s voice provides a strange solace in the harrowing darkness as I enter the turnstiles and head deep into the subway.
Anti-homeless infrastructure is what greets me as I duck down the metal pole, a ribbed metal-plated floor with chairs that barely fits an adult man is built along the length of the platform. A trashcan without its lid is in the tracks with its contents scattered about being feasted upon by the mice and rats that live down the subway system.
‘God, it’s bleak down here. No obvious signs of an altercation, except for that trash can; although I think that’s just some punk having fun. Lights are all running, door to the officer’s station is out, though.’
“Uh, Sparrow, I don’t see the criminal who sent those signals.” Robin’s words give me pause as I take a look around with narrowed eyes.
“Weapons hot.” I disable the latch to my grappling hook, using it as a projectile weapon instead of utility equipment. My eyes scan the area as I walk forward, slowly inching towards the officer’s station on the other end of the platform. “I’m checking out the booth. Might be a criminal inside.”
“Or it might be the Reaper. Don’t worry, I got your back. Veer off the rail tracks, there’s a cove underneath them.” Robin warns me, tapping his Bo staff along the ground.
The officer’s station seems unguarded from the outside, the unlocked door and ringing telephone supporting my theory. I move to the side so that the bright light atop the platform can give me a bit of glow.
“Nothing–Jesus fuck!” I jump away in a hurry as I see a man folded like a laundry and sticking inside of a drawer.
“What happened?” Robin stands beside me as I crawl back, bile lurking within my gut and only held back by the fact that it will seem uncool if I vomit out on my first official mission. “Dude, what–Oh. Oh. Ok. That’s a dead body. Oh, man.”
I click my communication device as I breathe in a semblance of fresh air, “Found one dead body inside of the officer’s station. Folded like… crap, I can’t describe it. I’m just gonna send a picture. Only one at the moment, though. Still haven’t found who sent the red smoke. Might be the Reaper.”
“Don’t scare him, dude.”
[Retreat from your position. I repeat: retreat immediately. Do not engage further.]
Robin groans out Alfred’s warnings, “See what you did? He’s probably–”
Robin suddenly ducks down as a projectile, small enough not to be seen by an untrained naked eye, whizzes past where his head used to be. The projectile ricochets off a metal bench, striking and cracking a tile on the floor.
My eyes trace the origin of the projectile–a bulbous head leading me to believe it to be some kind of a full-metal jacket bullet–while my body rolls to the walls of the officer’s station and hugs it tightly as I wait for another attack.
As my senses tell me, another projectile bursts through the darkness from an impossible angle. The bullet is going downwards and nearly takes out Robin’s head as he cartwheels to a pillar, which means that the attacker must be higher than our position.
There might be a ladder that goes up the streets throughout the subway, but that ladder is on the other end of the rail tracks. So either we’re dealing with an attacker that can pass through thick concrete or climb on walls, both of which sound impossibly ridiculous, or the bullet does two ricochets before striking something.
“Oh, fuck. Lawton, it’s us! We’re allies, you thick-headed fuck!” I shout as loud as I can, hoping to god that the mercenary isn’t in the business of killing kids.
The bullets stop for a moment and I look at Robin with a curious gaze, nudging my head towards the tunnel so that he can check it out. He gets my message but shakes his head, irritating me enough to do it myself.
I roll forward, switching the lenses of my mask to that of Night Vision. The gray hue gives me pause for a moment before I continue as I stick my head out to scan for Deadshot, only to see the barrel of a rifle pointing at me the moment my head leaves the comfort of the station’s wall.
Deadshot grins at me unmasked and bloodied. “What’s up, kid? You got a first-aid kit?”