Ultimate Batman

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"People think this is an obsession. A compulsion. As if there were an irresistible impulse to act like this. It's never been like that. I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it, but today isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either. I want you to remember that. Remember that when you're with your family, when your looking at your criminal empire with pride, when your alone in the middle of the night unsleeping in the dark, remember -- every breath you take from now on you owe to me. The days of feasting on Gotham's wealth, corrupting its spirit, spilling its blood are over. From this moment on -- none of you are safe. The Batman has declared it open season on all of you, so take my advice. Run."

Ultimate Batman

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - The Return (Parts 1-4)

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ULTIMATE BATMAN

'THE RETURN'

PART 1

Inside an empty kitchen, steel countertops, hanging skillets and pans line wall that decorate the kitchen, stands a large enforcer with a door behind him as he stares down to a small waitress.

"Remember in dat room, you ain’t nobody! You don’t got rights. You don’t ask for nothin’. You don’t look at at nothin ‘cept ya shoes! If they ask you for somethin’- ya do it. Tell ya ta’ shut ya freakin’ mouth, ya shut ya freakin mouth even if it wasn’t open in da first place. If they laugh at a joke, ya just look at da floor cause ya don’t got a motha-lovin sense a humor. Ya got dat? Ya nothin’. Just Decoration on da freakin wall til one dem wine glasses be empty and then, ya life purpose is opens up again. Ya sachey over to da glass, ya fill it up, to da top no less an ya don’t spill a freakin’ drop neitha! They smack that small excuse of a caboose you got, ya smile, dank the gods for da blessin’ and you goes back to da cornah. You gots dat tootz? Cuz I ain’t cleanin’ ya mess up tonight if they’z shoot yooz. I gots the good suit on. You got all dat? I ain’ repeatin’ myself.” grunts the large Italian enforcer dressed in a black suit with a white turtle neck.

The thin framed blond mousey young waitress nods at the large Italian enforcer towering over her as a silver tray with a large bottle of wine is handed to her.

“Aright.” He nods before looking behind her at the other men lining the white tiled walls. All of them six feet tall, earpieces in their ear, machine guns in hand watch the enforcer open the large metal door with one hand while keeping his head down to the floor, trying not to look inside.

Stepping into the large open butcher room with the tray and wine, the small waitress immediately catches sight of the infamous group seated at a long white cloth table, eating spaghetti with red marinara sauce with a large plate of cooked steak at the center of the table for everyone. Hearing the heavy door close behind her, the young waitress jolts into a stride and quickly walks around the table to service the group.

At the head of the makeshift dining table sat the infamous Salvatore Maroni of the Maroni Crime Family. Dressed in his black turtle neck with a thick gold chain around his neck; the tanned Caucasian with the strands of his rapidly thinking hair was slicked back along his bald head and glistened in the overhead light while he slurps his saucy noodle before smiling a contented wide grin, revealing the signature gap in the upper row of his teeth, or as many came to call it, Hell’s entry point.

“Hey toots, fill me up!” Maroni orders, lifting up his crystal wine glass as he pops a morsel of steak into his mouth, “Ah don’t be stingy.” He adds.

Trying her best not to tremble as the green wine bottle touches the wine glass rim, the young girl lets out a sigh, before calmly pouring his red wine.

“Easy, easy…slower. Dis ain’t beer!” scowls Maroni.

Slowly pouring his wine, the young girl watches Maroni nod in approval as he continues eating. Glancing down the table, the waitress could see the tan-color suited and quite portly white haired mobster known as Rupert Thorne, head of the Whisper Gang. His crowfeet eyes remained focused to the cutting of his thick bloody rare steak. He cut his steak carefully, methodically; his entire plate looked as if a surgeon left the unwanted scraps on the table from the world’s cleanest operation. The razor-thin fat he cut off was laid to the side while streaks of sauce and one olive pit decorate the plate before he lays down his fork and knife, sips the last of his wine and smiles at the person across him.

Across from him, was the vicious Fish Mooney, who up to her reputation, dressed in her provocative red glitter dress, her short spiky hair swept across part of her vibrant chocolate face, she paid Rupert Thorne nod mind. Her devilish brown eyes remain affixed to her plate as she gracefully runs her morsel of bread around the plate, gathering up the last remaining bits of sauce.

At the end of the table, directly across from the host Maroni was, Don Carmine Falcone, he was a quiet man.

“Nuff.” Maroni says as his glass is filled near the brim.

“Fill us all up.” Maroni instructs the waitress, gesturing to everyone with his cup.

“So…” Maroni says as he looks at everyone at the table, “…I’m glad you were all able to find the time out of your busy schedules to meet like this. The Maroni Crime Family, will remember the gesture of professionalism in the future.

“Here here.” Rupert cheers on as the waitress pours wine in his bulbous glass.

“Well it isn’t as if we had any choice.” Fish Mooney comments, her voice tinged with aggravation as her dagger-like eyes look up at Maroni, “Your problems are our problems.”

“I think ya gots your facts confused there sweetie.” Maroni grins.

“Don’t call me sweetie like I’m one of your whores.” Fish snaps, clenching her jaw as she glares at Maroni, “Be you’re crooked self will you? Now, what do you want with us?”

“I know ‘Nice’ just ain’t my color.” Maroni mumbles, sitting back in his chair, chewing his steak as he looks at everyone, “But I’d think a lil respect, especially from me, is a gesture if anything, you should appreciate, ain’ t I right?” he asks, watching Carmine Falcone at the opposite end of the table remain stoically quite in his blue suit, white shirt and grey tie.

“I mean after all.” Maroni continues, “If ya can’t eat wit a smile, can’t talk wit respect, den’ what else am I supposed to do huh? That is after I throw up a hail mary.”

Swirling her wine in her glass, Fish Moony arches her pencil thin eyebrow at the question, “The thought of god hearing you is less believable than the Easter bunny.”

“I’m just makin’ conversation.” Maroni retorts, his tone more serious, “Unless you got a problem wit dat?”

“I have a problem with you hauling us down here…” Fish states while gesturing to Thorne and Falcone, “…ALL of us in fact, especially when we have business we need to do. Instead we’re just here, breaking my Carb Counting Diet and drinking bad wine.”

“I aged the wine in my own warehouses.” states Maroni.

Throwing her head back as she gulps the last mouthful of red wine, Fish leans forward while slamming the bulbous stem wine glass to the table before letting out a cool, “Aaaah…” but arrogantly stares at Maroni, “,,,, explains the bad after taste.” She sneers, watching Maroni’s jaw clench at her insult “Must be those small, tiny, sour grapes you have.”

“LOOK you black double-tongued …”

“BEFORE…we forget why we are here….” Rupert Thorne interjects, stopping a potential gun fight as Maroni peels his glare off of Fish and looks to him, “…I would delightfully like to know whatever it is you have to say before Gun Fight at the O.K. Corral starts at my table.”

Nodding at him, Maroni smiles, “Thank you Rupert for always, reminding us of the present.” He says, glancing at Fish who simply rolls her eyes at him.

“What I have to say is simple.” Maroni says, before taking a deep breath, “Since that nut job Joker at Arkham City died or whatever, you all know that business has been bad.”

“Speak for yourself mook.” Fish corrects.

“LOOK!.” Maroni shouts, slamming his fist on the table and turning to Fish, who glares a steely eyed stare to him, “WE ALL ain’t doing so hot! EVEN YOU FISH! SO DON’T PLAY YOUR HIGH CARD WIT ME!”

“I’M NOT…”

“Let him finish.” Carmine growls.

Biting her tongue, Fish looks to Carmine’s deadpan stare at her before reluctantly nodding at him and looks at Maroni.

“Go on.” Fish humbly says.

Taking a deep breath again to calm himself, Maroni looks at everyone, “Look simply put, ‘ between the Bat’s fan club cuttin’ business and beatin’ back crime, Police ain’t under our hold as tight any more. I mean I suffered a twenty percent CUT on my take two months ago and it’s only getting worse!”

“Blame Commissioner Gordon for actually getting a voice through to the Governor’s office, who heard it down from the White House to ‘cut crime down in half’ or else.” Rupert Thorne says.

“Exactly!” agrees Maroni, “Cuz of that and now these, imported ‘rent-a-cops’ with their whole ‘save the world the American way’ kinda thinkin’, even though everyone is wondering ‘where the batman is’ Gotham's is becoming a safe-zone again. People feel safer, major crimes are lessening which means no business. Mine and Don Falcone’s Docks are getting shut down. Rupert Tunnel Smuggling gang are wrecked and all because of Commissioner Gordon got dem’ Arkham crazies off the street, now all attention is now on Organized Crime, with Commissioner Gordon leading the charge like a freakin’ Joan of Arc or somethin’.”

“Well if I may say…” Rupert says, looking to Fish Moony who leans back like a lioness ready for a fight, “… I would argue that if it wasn’t for that child getting killed in your transaction Fish…”

“It’s called Collateral Damage.” Fish defends.

“STILL…” Rupert snaps, “…if your men are senseless enough to kill a man, let alone a six year old, you’d think you’d wipe out every camera recording it in the street. You have connections! You have sources, but once that video got viral and out there, City Hall & the Governor’s Office had no choice but to begin assembling GCPD Task Force to ‘cleanse’ the city of Organized Crime.”

“Don’t blame me for this!” Fish snaps, pointing her sharp manicured nail at him, “You’ve done worse! With your bare hands I might add.”

Rupert leans across the table, “But I wasn’t a star on Youtube FOR IT!” he counters.

“YOU KNOW WHAT…”

“ENOUGH FISH!” Carmine shouts, silencing everyone, “No one is blaming you for the debacle. This is an unfortunate yet inevitable situation we would have found ourselves in anyway. We need to band together, not go to war. Its not profitable.”

“Agreed.” Maroni says, “That’s why I think we need to pool in resources, figure this out, US! Not our Lieutenants, nobody. Us. We need to figure this out, here and find out how to…”

Suddenly two muffled shots ring in everyone’s ears as they look to the door.

Everyone looks at the waitress, who raises her hands and drops the wine bottle to the floor as she runs to the corner of the room and slumps to the floor, burying her face between her knees.

Fish, Maroni, Carmine and Rupert all pull out two guns, aiming one at the door and another pointed at each other.

“This you Maroni?! Tryin’ to SOLVE a problem the good ol’fashion way?” Fish asks, her eye twitching with anger as Maroni keeps his gun aimed at her as she does to him.

“NO it isn’t!”

Suddenly, the lock on the door is released and Maroni watches the large metal door swing open with a one of his Italian Enforcers walking through the door with his hands up as blood trickles down from his nose.

“Tony?” Maroni says in disbelief, seeing the gun behind his back.

“I’m so-sorry boss but he just got the…”

Everyone jolts as the two gunshots from Maroni’s gun ring their ears as his man drops dead at the door. Maroni stands up, his eyes livid with anger as he points his gun to the door.

“NOW WHOEVER THINKS HE CAN USE MY MAN AS A SHIELD TO SAVE HIS LIFE IS DISAPPOINTED! NOW GET IN HERE!” he hollers.

Watching the figure step inside, Maroni, Fish Mooney, Carmine Falcone and Rupert Thorne watch in shock as they see the leather gloved hand at the door drop the gun to the floor. Slowly stepping inside, they all sit back in shock at the sight of a man of average height, wearing cream color suit, black shirt, black tie enters the room, sport a shiny black skull mask over his entire head.

The perturbing sight of the masks detailing over the eyes, falls black teeth and bony structure cause Maroni to step back but keep his gun pointed at the strange figure, “WHO THE %^&* ARE YOU!”

“Isn’t that the point of the mask?” the mysterious man says, obviously smiling behind the mask.

Maroni narrows his eyes at him as Fish Mooney keeps her gun steadily aimed at his head, “Aren’t you cute.” She smiles.

Maroni looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you know who we are?” Rupert Thorne says, “If you think you can kill our security and rob us and get away, I’m afraid you’re…”

“Not here for that.” The figure says, while unbuttoning his suit jacket. His black eyes rove about the room quickly before settling back to Falcone.

“THEN what are you here for.” Falcone asks.

“To alert you all of the now, underway witchhunt on Organized Crime, has begun.” He says, watching them all look at each other in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Fish asks.

“Forget this and let me put a bullet right in his shiny lil mask.” Maroni snaps.

“No-wait.” Rupert says, “I want to hear this.” He tells Maroni before leaning on the table, looking right at the mysterious figure, “Sir, before you do inevitably die here, I want to hear what you’re talking about.”

“You wanna hear -…” Maroni repeats agitatedly and looks Rupert, “…da’ man’s busts in our dinnah meetin’, wearin’ a mask, kills our body guards an d you wanna let the FREAK talk just to hear what he’s got to say?!”

“It will interest all of you…” the mysterious figure says, “…and the five hundred million dollars that is currently dipped into by the fifty different depositors you use at varying times of the month and the computers linked to you, which is registered in Gotham Dime Bank Recordsand I must add…Mr. Rupert, if you use Microsopht XL programming, I suggest those you use privacy filters when exploring your…vices at two a.m. in the morning.”

“KILL HIM!” Rupert shouts, grinding his teeth, “KILL HIM NOW!”

“Seeing him get you this upset…” Fish Mooney says, “…just brought him five more minutes of life.”

Everyone slowly turns their heads to the mysterious man who casually folds his black gloved hands behind his back while lowering his head to them, gazing at them all as silence falls in the room.

“Have your attention now, don’t I?”

“YOU SLIVERING LIL!”

“QUIET RUPERT!” Carmine shouts, before looking at the mysterious figure, “You. Talk.” Carmine Falcone says, “And do start with your name.”

“Very well Don Falcone.” The figure says, “You can call me, Black Mask.”

Fish Mooney lifts up her gun and places it on the table, getting his attention before giving a devilish smile, “I like this already.”

Black Mask nods at her and opens his arms to them all, “I’ve, crashed your lil club summit meeting tonight in order bring you news that as we speak, GCPD is preparing themselves to raid the Gotham Dime Bank and seize all your assets. That was two hours ago, you have an hour left.”

“Impossible.” Maroni snaps, “We’d have known! Our people tell of us all inquiries to any moneytrail, you’re lyin’!”

“It would be if it was GCPD searching for it. They couldn’t find the can crap in if they’re pants were down in the stall.” Black Mask says with the point of a finger, “But suppose the leading Forensic Accounts Analysts were called by the Governor’s Office and flew them in from Metropolis to Gotham at an undisclosed location, and they, in a matter of a day, traced your money holdings by way of an encrypted I.P. address that was accessed by each of your Lieutenants…and froze all your assets accordingly. Then, in the matter of a day, readied themselves to seize your assets, hoping you would all react unwisely. Than they’d arrest you, starting with any of your men, means of the Rico Case, you know, the allowing the District Attorney to arrest one a thug then his boss, that’d be you all. Leaving you all screwed, penniless and above all, vulnerable.”

Maroni’s face reddens with anger as sweat drips down from his head

“How do you know this! HOW!” Maroni shouts.

Black Mask shrugs, “Its my job to know things.”

Stepping closer to him, Maroni puts his gun to Black Mask head, “No-no-no I think you did this! I think you’re behind it and you wanna extort us! SO I’m gonna give you to da count of three, to move your ugly lyin’, cheap-two-bit carcass outta my restaurant or I’m gonna blow your freakin’ brains out all over the floor AND HARVEST YOUR INSIDES FOR THE…’

“Maroni MARONI!”

“WHAT!” Maroni shouts, looking over his shoulder to Rupert Thorne.

“Relax!”

“He’s right meat-head.” Fish adds, “If, this Black Mask, is correct, and we are ‘over a barrel’ killing him doesn’t change the fact we have an hour to fix this.”

“Which is where I come in.” Black Mask says, turning his attention to the barrel at his face that Maroni holds, “You need me.” He says before looking at them all, “You all need me to stop this for you. None of you or your organization can be seen since they are all watching you right now outside. They know you’re here and the minute you move outside this hour, they will arrest you. But if you use me, let me do you work, we can fix the problem at its source.”

“And what is the problem, at its source?” Rupert asks.

“The Batman maybe gone….” Black Mask says, “…but his little batmen-lite and batgirl-tramp still prance around the city, emboldening police, stomping out fear…Your docks, your tunnels, everything…is at a loss. But I can guarantee passage cleared. I can get police off your backs. I can bring CHRISTMAS in February to you all and do what you could never do in a million years.”

“And what’s that?”

“Put fear back into the right places.” Black Mask says, “Starting by killing the commissioner…”

“HA!” Maroni scoffs.

“…than those Batman Caricatures he left in his place.” states Black Mask.

“Who says we can’t do all that?”Maroni spits, “We got more muscle, we capital, more…”

“You tried and he beat you like step-children!” Black Mask retorts, “Twenty years you’ve all had Gotham in your iron fists and Batman, in five years, BROKE your arms and you’re balls! Now, if these cops get your money, you’ll be seen as weak and you WILL be broke and your men will turn on you…all of you…out-of-state Mobs will swoop in and take you all out…but I don’t want to do that, I just want to get paid.”

“How much?” asks Fish.

“Five Hundred Thousand to solve your problems, another five hundred thousand JUST for tonight….as a starters fee.”

“YOU THINK YOU CAN ROB US!” Maroni shouts, grabbing Black Mask by the neck and shoving the barrel of his gun to his eye, “I’LL TAKE MY CHANCES just so I can blow your money-grubbing head off!”

“MARONI!” Carmine shouts, standing out his seat, “You do that, and you prove yourself to be an unreasonable man that I can’t do business with.”

Maroni grits his teeth in anger before look to the aged Carmine Falcone looking at him with those steely pale blue eyes,

“I mean it.” He adds.

Pushing Black Mask aback, Maroni grits his teeth angrily but points his gun at Black Mask, “I don’t like you!”

“Neither do I.” Carmine says, “But I believe in business and right now, we can’t afford to have our own bank seized and be broke. We have hired help, once the money flows, we die. Boston Mobs, Jersey Mobs…heck Intergang will all swoop in here just as Black Mask said. I say let’s take this one step at a time. Hire the man , if this doesn’t work. Take that cheap butter knife on the table and carve his black heart out with it.”

Fish Mooney stands up, “Finally, the night is shaping up.”

“What about you Rupert?” Maroni asks.

“Do it.” He quickly retorts, “It’s the only option for now.”

Maroni looks at Black Mask from the white shoes he wears to the black mask on his face and shakes his head, “Don’t screw this up.” He says.

“You’re hired.” Carmine says, “Now go. Prove yourself.”

“Oh I will.” Black Mask nods.

“How you gonna stop this.”

“Not for you to know.” Black Mask retorts while waving over the waitress “Lets go, time to work..”

Everyone looks in shock at the waitress stand up from the floor, reach behind her ears and peel off a thin mask from her face, revealing her oriental appearance while walking to Black Mask, “I’ll call you when its done.”

“You don’t have my number!” Maroni shouts.

“Oh yes I do.” Black Mask says, exiting the door with the woman.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One Hour Later…somewhere in Gotham

Sitting inside a windowless cargo space beside eight other Gotham City Task Force Officers, dressed in black Kevlar padding with shot-guns and bulletproof shields, the aged auburn haired Commissioner James Gordon, sits between two officers, loading his gun as they’re all driven in the back of a police armored truck.

As they all jostle back and forth from the bumpy ride, Commissioner Gordon takes a deep breath, holstering his side-arm before tightening the straps of the Kevlar vest he sports under his classic tan trench coat.

“Dangit.” He grumbles, struggling to tighten the vest around his torso.

“Don’t worry Commissioner…”

James crow-feet eyes lift up to Hispanic female Task Force Officer Renee’ Montoya seated across from him, who is pulling her curly black hair into a ponytail, “…we won’ t let anybody ruffle that mustache, right boys?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s right!”

“We got your back Gordon.” exclaim the officers in the van. Their voices hearty and full of confidence and brass but the silence in the van quickly returns with the Armored Van’s engine filling their ears with noise. Gordon nods at them before he pulls out a tablet from the inside of his coat. His glasses reflect the bright screen bright enough to white out his eyes.

“Alright guys let’s keep our head in it.” Gordon exclaims to them, keeping his feet firmly on the ground as the van turns another corner, “We are simply here to seize the mobs money. To choke them from the pocket. As you know this is a Mob owned Bank. Now our eyes on the street confirmed that we aren’t expecting any movement from Falcone or Maroni, but we can’t rule out any possibilities. IF we get in a fire fight, I want you to pull back to the van, because we’re going to rendezvous with every officer on this side of Gotham and head straight for crime bosses themselves and arrest them for interfering with a police investigation, we clear.”

“Yeah we got it!” Renee shouts.

“Alright.” Gordon sighs, before pulling out his gun, “Heaven help us.” He gulps, feeling the van come to a sudden halt.

Opening the rear doors, Commissioner Gordon hops out the armored truck icy black tarmac. The bitter winds of the winter-cold and wet streets of Gotham under the darkening sky cause Gordon to bristle as the sharp cold goes into his bones. Hearing the worn out brake-shoes of the 2nd GCPD Armored truck stopping behind them as well, Jim glances down at his watch to the see the time, 4:45pm. They had fifteen minutes. He wanted this done in fifteen minutes to avoid any hang-ups and hopefully a firefight.

Suddenly drenched in red and blue siren lights, Jim peers up the avenue to the three GCPD Squad Cars slowing down to a stop behind as the rather large-bellied Harvey Bullock, sporting his fedora, steps out the police car with a coffee in hand and three other officers behind him.

“Alright you beat-cops, seal off the area. As far as you know, this bank got a disease and you shoot anyone trying to get inside.” Bullock cops before chucking the coffee to the street and wiping his red-nose.

Looking Gordon up and down, Harvey tips up the brim of his fedora to get a better look at Gordon, “Jeeez Jim, you look sick, what is it? Flu or nerves?"

“It’ll be both if we don’t get this over with.” Jim retorts, propping up the lapels of his trench-coat while watching the 10 Task Force Officers loading their weapons while the last 6 get their shields ready and lead the way to the bank.

“It’ll go fine Jim.” Harvey says reassuringly, “The Governor wanted this and so did the Mayor, ya ain’t alone in this.”

“I got a bad feelin' about this Harv” Jim mumbles, “This came too easy. Way too easy.”

"I don't know about you but I like easy." Harvey retorts, "I don't jinx easy because easy means less paperwork okay! So lets say this is handed down from the saints above and this will be ovah in fifteen minutes so i can go home and watch my re-runs."

“Commissioner!”

Jim and Harvey look back to one of the Squad cars as a officer holds up his thumb, “We got a Go from the Mayor’s Office.”

Harvey looks to Jim who nods at him.

“ALRIGHT YOU HEARD’EM YA LAZY ANIMALS!” Harvey shouts while pointing to the Bank behind him, “WE’RE MAKIN’ A WITHDRAWL! NOW COME’ON!” he shouts, rushing up behind the GCPD Task Officers who hold up their clear bulletproof shields and rush to the revolving doors of the bank while a line of GCPD Task Force Officer line up behind Bullock with their guns locked and loaded.

“KEEP A FIRM PERIMETER! I WANT NO ONE IN OR OUT BUT US!” Jim Gordon shouts to the other Policemen inside their squad cars, who block traffic and stretch yellow caution tape on the avenue, preventing any cars to get through.

Before Jim could think to say ‘One, Two, Three – Go’, all 16 Task Force Officers were already inside the empty bank. Following in behind them, Jim steps into the old bank building behind the line of officers, looking around at the epically high ceiling decorated with old paintings as all the facts come back to him.

It was a bank from ‘Old Gotham’, back in the 1930s. This was the first bank of Gotham and after five take overs, it became Gotham Dime Bank and the first ‘Mob’ Bank for the underworld. It was by the collective mobs of the area, legally of course, without any way of tracing how or when, or even the bodies it took to get this place, but it was there’s. From the Marble Teller counters lining the walls on the left and right side from the moment you entered, to the brass leg counter islands in the middle of the marble floor with its convenient green glass bank lights illuminating the available deposit slips, to the High ceilings decorated with paintings and windows painted of Plutous, the greek god of wealth, to the 50 inch televisions they installed in various corners to business new, it was theirs, they owned it all.

Walking up to one of the islands in the middle of the floor, Jim Gordon picks up the deposit slip. His eyes focus to the print on the far left bottom corner. ‘03/6’.

No one made a deposit in this bank since they brought the slips, June 2003, ten years ago, has it been that long?

Hearing the footsteps of the officers going to and fro, James Gordon suddenly hears…

‘COMMISSIONER!”

The panicky voice of an officer makes Harvey Bullock and James Gordon’s neck turn on a dime as a Task Force officer comes running out a room at the end of the square shaped bank, pointing into the room he ran out of frantically.

“You-you-you got to see this!”

No words. No expression.

James and Harvey run across the floor while Harvey points at the remaining Task Force officers, “SCAN THE FLOOR FOR ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS!” he orders.

Rounding the corner, walking past the teller’s booth counter and through a wood door and a narrow hallway, the stink of blood hits Gordon’s nose almost immediately as he steps into another office area, the employee break room.

“Oh sweet Mary.” James gasps.

Under the yellow lights of the white floored break room, 5 employees, slashed across the necks and left bleeding on the floor were sprawled about, evidently having tried to fight but it was over a long time ago. They had been dead at least an hour.

Raising his hand to his nose, James aged eyes zip past the bodies to the huddled group of frightened men and women. Their hands tightly duct-taped together as they were collectively all roped together like cattle, with long red sticks of dynamite stuck in their mouths.

“What we got…Oh JEEZ!” Harvey blurts, staggering back at the sight of the bodies but James Gordon turns around and looks at the Task Officers waiting on his word in hallway, “CALL THE BOMB SQUAD NOW! We have hosta…”!

Gordon and Harvey look at each other, having heard the loud sound of what could have been metal doors.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” James shouts, rushing past with Task Officers downt he hallway as the sound of gunshots fill their air.

Making his way out the bank floor, James Gordon watches in shock at the antique 15 foot brass bank doors close with a thunderous echo just a bright spark ignites between the door and burns its way down form the top to the bottom.

“GET THAT DOOR OPEN NOW!” Gordon shouts, watching the Task Officers race to the door while windows on the side of the bank seal shut.

“What the heck is going on ‘er Jim?” Harvey says nervously, watching metal shudders cover all the bank windows.

“I don’t –

“DOORS ARE SEALED COMMISSIONER!”

Gordon’s eyes snap to the Task Officers pushing the large metal doors in vain to open them.

“What do you mean they’re seal?!”

“They used some kind of burning powder to seal the doors shut! They’ welded us INSIDE!”

“Why the heck would they do that?” Harvey mumbles.

“Check the Vault.” James says.

All the officers look at James as his sentence reverberates through their ears almost all at once.

“Jim they just…”

“CHECK THE VAULT!” James shouts to him, ‘”If they sealed us in here, that means the Vault is empty, that means those hostages with the bombs in their mouths were a set up for us because the Mob KNEW we were com…”

Suddenly everyone notices the large mounted flat-screen TVs turn on.

All the officers, Harvey Bullock and James Gordon narrow their eyes at the sight of a black Skelton mask wearing figure appearing on the screen.

James shakes his head, “What the…”

Good Evening Commissioner Gordon, I’m Black Mask…

“FIND US AN EXIT OUT OF HERE NOW!” James shouts.

“ON IT!

…now you don’t know me, but I’m guessing by the look of things, no money in the Mob’s bank, hostages with dynamite in their mouths, you deduced you’re in a trap, which you are. Now, as the Black Mask, its my job to kill you and I’m going to. This isn’t personal, just business and being so, it’s not lucrative to destroy prime real estate like an antique building belonging to your employer, if you get my meaning. SO like my old man use to say, ‘Don’t burn your house down if they’re mice around, just lock the door, seal the holes, and gas them while they’re in the cookie jar.”

Suddenly James and Harvey see green gas spew out from the five mounted TVs as they shut off!

“GAS!” Harvey shouts.

“EVERYONE INTO THE BREAK ROOM NOW! GO GO GO!” James shouts as the thick green smog begins filling the entrance of the Bank floor.

As the officers race into the back of the room, a muffled explosion erupts from the floor, causing everyone to turn around at the gaping 10 foot circular hole in the floor with the red and green armored mask teen-vigilant known as Robin climbing out through the smoky hole and waving on the Task Force Officers towards him, “GET THE HOSTAGES AND LETS GO! MOVE IT!”

Suddenly, hearing the shattering of glass from high up, Gordon looks up at the skylight to see the black clothed figured acrobatic vigilante Nightwing, dropping through the air with glass shards falling around him as he gracefully lands before him with the aide of his cable.

Turning around, Nightwing throws dozens of black marbles across the floor, which spews white gas in front of the green poison gas, “That’ll buy us FIVE MINUTES! NOW MOVE MOVE MOVE!” Night wingyells to them all as he approaches the Commissioner.

“Thank goodness you’re here Nightwing.” James Gordon says, watching his men escort the hostages with dynamite sticks still in their mouths as they run out the break room, “This was a set up! I was fool to think this would go easily.”

“Get into the sewers and keep going til you hit the train station! Disarm the bombs in the tunnels, it’ll cut off any self-destruct signal!” Robin shouts, helping the hostages climb down the hole as the Task Force Officers assist them as well.

“We were keeping an eye on you from two blocks out, but once you entered the Bank, gangsters started coming out the woodwork, taking out GCPD before we could react. Once they sealed you all inside, we initiated the extraction.” Nightwing says but Gordon pulls him by his arm to whisper in his ear.

“Only THREE people knew about this raid outside of yourselves, this is a setup beyond the levels of the GCPD office; this goes straight up to the Governor’s office! Straight to the top!.” James whispers, his eyes riddled with stoic fear as he looks at the Task Force Officers helping the hostages.

Nightwing nods at him, keeping one eye on all the Task Force officers lowering the hostages into the gaping hole leading to the sewer, “Probably but we have one mess on our hands tonight, we’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Let’s go.” He says watching the last Hostage be lowered through the hole as Robin waves at him, “WE”RE CLEAR THEY”RE ALL DOWN!”

“Good!” Nightwing nods and looks at the Task Force Officers already racing down but Officer Montoya runs over to them both, “You guys saved our butts, thanks!” she says.

“Don’t mention it.” Nightwing nods with a smirk.

“Ever.” Robin interjects serious, “Now get out of here, we’ll cover your exit.”

“You ready to get outta here Jim!” Harvey shouts.

However, as Renee Montoya turns towards Harvey standing by the gaping hole with the Commissioner Gordon her eyes open wide at the sight of a burning bright light emit from the hole behind him just as a deafening explosion erupts from the gaping hole with a towering flame spewing straight up, throwing everyone to the marble floor!

“NOOOOOOO!” James shouts seeing the flames fizzle out, “HE BLEW UP THE HOSTAGES!”

“ALAN!!” Renee’ shouts into the gaping smoky hole that crackles from the intense heat, “ROBERT! JAX! NOOOOOOOOOO!” she screams in a flurry of tears, covering her mouth in horror.

Suddenly Robin and Nightwing turn around, hearing the bank door thud as if hit by a car.

“They’re gonna break back inside, they planned this thoroughly.” Robin says to Nightwing.

“Not thorough enough.” Nightwing retorts, pulling out his gauntlet and raising it over his head, “Time to go!” he says, holding his hand out to James.

“What are you doing?” James says, “You can’t take all of us!”

Nightwing looks at Robin, Renee Montoya and Harvey Bullock brushing off his coat as the door thuds again from a truck ramming into it.

“They want you, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Just show yourself so we can get them out.” Nightwing says to Gordon before turning to Robin, “And hold the fort down here.”

“Fine but we can’t stay here lets go.” Gordon says.

“I can’t pick this guy up you know your doing that right!” Robin exclaims, pointing his thumb to Harvey Bullock while he looks at Nightwing.”

“HEY WATCH IT!”

Nightwing rolls his eyes at Robin, while, shooting his gauntlet line to the skylight.

Zipping up through the air to half-shattered skylight with James Gordon holding onto him, Nightwing pulls them both to the dome shaped rooftop as cold night air greets them with light snowfall coating the roof.

“Look Nightwing, just get Bullock and Montoya out of here…”

Nightwing grabs hold of him by the arm, “They’re not getting you Commissioner, we just need time, that’s all. I’m coming for you.” He says

“Okay okay, I got this , move..” Gordon says.

Nightwing nods at him, before letting him go and dropping back through the shattered skylight to the bank floor.

Sliding down the icy dome shaped ceiling to the ledge, James Gordon carefully inches his way to parapet walkway of the rooftop, getting a Birdseye view of the street.

Immediately a white spotlight shines on him from below, causing Jim to lift his hands over his eyes from the bright light.

“WELL WELL!” shouts a voice through the loud-speaker of a police car, “ISN’T THIS…ROLE REVERSAL.”

Squinting from the bright light, James Gordon peers to the street, spotting dozens of men in black clothing, holding their aimed machine guns at him while standing like statues over dozens of dead police officers covered by fresh snow.

“Dear lord…” he gasps at the sight of Black Mask, standing next to a police car, holding the loud-speaker receiver in hand while, amongst the armed men on the street, ninjas in black garb and swords in hand walk past him towards the building just as the GCPD police armored truck stops from hitting the doors again.

“GLAD TO SEE YOU COMMISSIONER!” Black Mask says through the louds speaker, looking up Gordon on the ledge as snow falls on them all.

“I would like to welcome you to the beginning of the end. You’re death, epically done and if I might say quiet spectacular.” He says, dropping the microphone as one of the men stands up beside Black Mask with a rifle aimed right at James head.

To be continued……

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wildvine

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#3 wildvine  Moderator

@silverspidey4vr:

First, I don't want to discourage you here. Its great to have new writers on the forum. But again I have to bring up the length. A good length is around 1000 - 1,200 words. Thereabouts. That's not a hard rule mind you. Some stories are longer, some shorter. Your chapter here is 6000 + words. You might get more reads if this was in three parts, but that is just my opinion.

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NeonGameWave

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4donkeyjohnson

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omg long

good but long