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09-16-2009, 10:30 AM | #1 |
Win, Lose or Die
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Canton, Michigan
Posts: 9,661
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Gotham City at one a.m. is not a place to be. The streets, glistening in the moonlight, seem empty, but are in fact far from it.
A door opens into the streets, and two men stagger out of Mike’s Tavern, a local dive. Although it’s a Wednesday night, Mike’s is packed, filled with people looking for cheap drink and cheaper women. Both are plentiful this night, as a ruckus crowd enjoys itself. The two men, stumbling arm in arm, continue to laugh at a crude joke. One of them stumbles, falling onto the sidewalk. The other man laughs at him, then suddenly turns, throwing up violently. “Nice, Alex. I told Hector ya couldn’t hold yer liquor. Frickin’ Nancy!” The man on the ground stands, swaying a bit as he steadies himself. “Whoa.” Alex turns to him, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Shadap, Blake. All you did wuz drink beer anyways. Who ya callin’ Nancy?” He lifts his fists, nearly knocking himself in the head. They both laugh again, stumbling down the street. Behind them, the door to Mike’s opens again, and the bouncer, Vito, chucks a patron out into the street. The man lands with a thud, rubbing his head and flipping Vito off. Picking himself up, he wonders away, swearing under his breath. Alex chuckles, watching his go. “See? Told ya we left at the right time. Vito’s in a cranky mood tonight, man.” Blake nods, as they walk under a broken street light. A long alley stretches down to their left, and Blake stops, squinting down it. “Hey, we should take tha alley, it’ll save us time.” “Wha? You stupid? No one goes into a dark alley at night in Gotham! How drunk are ya?” asks Alex. He continues walking forward, steadying himself. “Damn that vodka!” Blake begins to follow him, as they move further from the bar. It’s a quiet night (or at least what passes for one in Gotham), with only a siren heard about every hour or so. The police, stretched thin after budget cuts, do the best they can, but they know they’re fighting a losing war. Most of the department, crooked anyways, are a bigger part of the problem than the solution. Often in Gotham, sirens mean the opposite of help. The two drunks, stumbling down a deserted street are hardly even noticed. The men pass by a homeless man, who turns over on his filthy coat, mumbling to himself. Blake, getting an idea, puts a finger to his lips, signaling quiet. Alex snickers, knowing what is coming. Blake walks over to the man, looking around. He smiles stupidly at Alex, beginning to tug at his zipper. The homeless man leaps to his feet, brandishing a lead pipe, a furious look on his face. Blake freezes, his hand still holding his zipper, as the man swings the pipe, striking him in the shoulder. Blake falls to the ground, yelling for help. Alex, his mouth wide open in terror, never sees the three men come up behind him. Two of them grab him, holding his arms, as the third one walks to the front of him, a smirk on his face. “You losers just messed up bad. Right, Mo?” He looks to the homeless man, who gives Blake a swift kick. “Yeah! Real bad! Yous gonna pay up now, or we gonna mess you up!” Blake pulls out his wallet, tossing it weakly to him. “Take it man, it’s all yours.” The man laughs, kicking it away. “On second thought, we’s gonna mess ya up first!” They all laugh, as the two men yell for help, knowing that none will come. Alex begins to cry, a dark stain slowly spreading across his pants. “Who ya callin’, bonehead! Ain’t no one comin to help yous!” “Ha! He pissed himself!” laughs anther of the men. There is a swishing sound above them, and they look up nervously. “What the hell was that, Mo?” asks one of the men. Mo shrugs. “It’s nuthin‘. Let’s get this over wit!” Mo pulls out a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket, a wicked smile on his face. “Now where wuz we?” He reaches back, as the men laugh again. A figure drops from above, a long, black cape billowing outward. The men stop laughing, as he stands, glowering at them. “Git em!” yells Mo, rushing the figure. The others, dropping Alex to the ground, rush in as well. Standing calmly, the figure reaches out with a gloved hand, turning it just as Mo reaches him, knocking him to the ground. In the same motion, he drops down, his leg firing out and cracking the nearest thug in the face. The man falls, holding his jaw, as the other two men stop short. The figure leaps at them, a high kick taking out one of them, grabbing the other as he lands. He spins, holding the thug in front on him, as Mo, picking up his pipe, swings it. The cloaked figure catches the pipe, twisting his hand, and there is a {crack!} as Mo‘s arms breaks. Mo’s eyes go wide, and a sharp punch knocks him to the ground. Alex, helping up Blake, watches in terror as the figure turns towards them. “Go home.” The voice is deep, a sharp whisper. “Don’t let me catch you out here again.” The two run off, not looking back. The figure raises his hand up, a gas powered grapple gun in his hand. He presses a trigger, and is carried off into the Gotham sky. The black cape fluttering behind him, the Batman soars toward the roof of a nearby building, landing softly. He looks around, noticing a light in the sky. “Hmm.” The bat symbol, surrounded by white, dominates the skyline. Batman leaps form the roof, his grapple gun firing again, as he swings outward another building, making his way to police headquarters. On the rooftop, Commissioner James Gordon waits, smoking a cigarette. “You really should quit that, Jim.” Gordon jumps, turning. “You know, you keep doing that, and I won’t have to. You’ll give me a heart attack,” he mumbles, running a hand through his shock of white hair. He throws down the cigarette, adjusting his glasses. “What took you so long?” “I was busy.” “Hmm. I won’t ask.” Gordon reaches into his brown trench coat, pulling out a folder. He tosses it to Batman, pulling his jacket closer. “Starting to cool down.” Batman opens the folder, skimming the contents. “Two Face....” “Yeah. Two Face. After reading that……he’s back, and looks to be making a plan for Gotham’s crime boss. We buired him, Batman! How is this possible! With the mayor up for reelection, he’s really on me about this. If word gets out that Harvey is back from the dead....” Gordon pulls out another cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag. "Harvey Dent is dead." "Tell that to the witnesses." “Leads?” “Nothing solid. Harvey’s being smart this time. Keeping a low profile.” “It won’t last.” Gordon turns around, turning off the Bat signal. “No, and therein lies the problem. We..” He turns, seeing nothing but air. Sighing, he takes another drag, shaking his head slowly. “Why am I suprised?” He kicks a rock with his foot, heading toward the door on the rooftop. The door opens with a creak, and Gordon winces. Closing the door behind him and locking it, he makes his way down the stairs to the Gotham Police Department Headquarters. Last edited by rob0213; 09-16-2009 at 12:03 PM.. |
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