2012-07-06 Justice

“You good, man?”
An emaciated man in a tattered army jacket hustles quickly down the street, eyes pleading as he approaches a shady-looking gent with a Gotham Knights cap pulled down low over his eyes and asks his question. It is a gritty and grey midnight in Old Gotham and the criminals have come out like cockroaches from underneath a refrigerator.
“Yeah,” the man in the Gotham Knights hat answers with a jerk of his head, ushering ‘army jacket’ out of the streetlamp and into the embracing shadows of an alleyway. He lowers his voice, glancing warily left and right as he speaks, “What you looking for?”
“Just a working half, man,” says Army Jacket, holding out a fistful of crumpled notes and in the blink of an eye the transaction takes place. Cash for narcotic, hand over hand.
Army Jacket and Baseball Cap part ways. But down the pitch black alleyway the sound of a trash can clattering noisily to the pavement can be heard, causing Baseball Cap to look up in alarm before glaring angrily at Army Jacket.
“Fuck was that?!”
“I don’t know, man, I don’t-“
“Don’t fuckin’ play me. You call 5-0?”
“I didn’t!”
Tempers begin to flare and in an instant Baseball Cap has pulled a handgun from his belt and is waving it angrily in Army Jacket’s face, “You best not be playin’ me, I’m about to blow your fuckin’ head off!”
"Want to know what's great about technology?" The voice, a woman's voice, comes from the alley entrance. Its soon joined by the dark figure of a woman in black and red, her red hair almost flaming in the glow of the streetlight. Grinning, she continues, "The fact that I don't even have to be that close to hear all this wonderfully-illegal activity going on here. Now, who wants to surrender, and who wants an ass-kicking?"
“Who the fuck is this?!”
Baseball Cap turns swiftly to point the gun at Batwoman, his hand shaking just a little from a heady cocktail of fury and terror. He backs towards the street, away from the alley, and glares at Army Jacket as though demanding an answer.
Army Jacket just shakes his head, holding his hands up as though surrendering, “I got no idea! Never seen her before in my life!”
“Listen, bitch,” begins Baseball Cap, masking his fear with a front of chauvinistic machismo, “Back your skinny ass right up that alley where you came from or I’m-a shoot you then I’m-a cap this scrawny bitch.” He jerks his head towards Army Jacket, who is now standing off to the side with his hands in the air.
Batwoman just grins. "Now that is where you're wrong." With one swift motion, she raises her hand and squeezes the trigger of the gun she holds, sending a pellet straight at the would-be shooter's chest, her free hand lifting her cape to protect her from any bullets he might get off before going down.
Baseball Cap does manage to get one shot off, but it flies wide as he lifts his arms to try and cover his face when the pellet strikes him. He chokes and sputters, his gun dropping to the ground along with him as he brings his hands to his face and begins to desperately paw at his eyes – trying to clear them to no avail. All the while a stream of curses pass over his lips, all the horrible ways he is going to mutilate and defile the heroine should he get his hands on her.
Army Jacket has not been still, though, and in the confusion has scooped up a half of a brick lying discarded on the sidewalk. Driven by fear, he raises it over his head and attempts to bring it down upon Batwoman’s head as she raises her cape to defend herself. He says nothing, letting out only a primal scream of terror and rage.
Batwoman is already moving. Ducking to the side, she catches the brick in the shoulder instead of the head, letting out a tiny grunt. But she doesn't let it slow her down. A swift punch is aimed at the face of Baseball Cap before she spins around to face Army Jacket, "Last chance. Surernder."
Army Jacket promptly drops the brick, letting it clatter to the ground and once again throwing his arms up over his head, “I g-give!”
On the ground, Baseball Cap howls in pain for a moment before he is promptly silenced by the fist that strikes him square in the face. He falls unconscious, his face a matted mask of blood and tears. He goes ragdoll limp under Batwoman.
Army Jacket takes a slow step backwards, breathing quickly, “Look, I just wanted a little something. I’m not a bad guy? Just let me-“
BOOM! The ear-splitting report of a high calibre handgun splits the night, Army Jacket’s eyes going simultaneously wide and lifeless as the slug passes through one temple and out the other. A fount of gore fills the air as he tumbles to his knees, jaw still working wordlessly as he topples forward and is still.
The shot was loud and close, too close to pinpoint from whence it came.
Batwoman instantly drops to her knees, lifting her cape to shield herself from both the gore and any additional bullets. When none seem to be coming she lowers the cape and looks around, eyes quickly scanning first one and then the other end of the alley. "Come out, come out, wherever you are... " She murmurs.
“Tell me who you are.”
The voice is rough and gritty like a rockslide, the source of the shot is immediately apparent as a tall and muscular man steps out of the shadows with a large matte-black handgun levelled at Batwoman’s face. He is big, north of six feet, and looks to bear over two-hundred pounds of mostly muscle. The most astounding thing about him, though, is the cowl with the pointed ears, the cape and the black bat-symbol upon his chest.
The gun he points at her looks to be a Desert Eagle, the sort that even body armor does not shrug off and his stubble-covered lantern jaw possesses a frown of grim determination and purpose.
“Now.”
Slowly, Batwoman rises to her feet. Her hands lift, she knows what her armor can handle and what it cannot, and she very calmly answers. "Batwoman." Her voice and expression hold caution, but they also hold something else. Confusion. "And how about you? Want to explain the gun?"
“I’m Batman.”
He keeps his gun levelled at Batwoman, taking a slow step towards her but still keeping himself out of reach. He’s clever, it seems, and he isn’t about to put himself in close enough range to lose the distinct advantage he holds.
“Justice demands it,” he says of the gun, not taking his eyes off of Batwoman. He jerks the barrel a fraction of an inch to the side, wordlessly beckoning her away from the unconscious form of Baseball Cap.
Eyes narrowed, Batwoman steps back as instructed. "Maybe." She counters, "But I wouldn't have thought it to be your style, all the same. The last time I saw you fight scumbags you left them breathing." Something is not right here. If only she could tell just what that was. Could it be, maybe, that this just isn't how she'd been imagining this meeting?
“You thought wrong.”
His tone is flat, humorless and he takes a step towards the unconscious form of Baseball Cap once Batwoman has acquiesced to move out of the way. He wastes no time, a powerful boot lifting to land on the man’s throat as he shifts his weight slightly on it. Judging by the gargling sounds coming from beneath it, Baseball Cap is swiftly choking to death.
“They show no mercy. Neither do I.”
He keeps the gun trained on her, unwilling to let her get too close.
"No." Batwoman watches Baseball Cap for only a second, then looks back to the gun. "I will not let my inspiration be murder. Let him go." Slowly, but purposefully, she takes a step forward.
“You don’t understand.”
He shakes his head slightly, keeping the gun leveled at her with, “It isn’t for you to allow or forbid. Justice demands this be done, and if you try to stop me then Justice demands you die.”
He presses a little harder on Baseball Cap’s windpipe, the man turning a lethal shade of crimson beneath his heel.
“Justice has—“
It is at that moment that a voice, young but courageous, rings out from down the street – trailing after hurried footsteps. Into a nearby streetlight steps a uniformed officer of the Gotham Police Department, his gun leveled at the pair.
“Stop right there! GCPD!”
It is at that moment the Man in the Batsuit lets his attention drift, just for a split second, from Batwoman and to the Patrolman.
Batwoman immedately moves. Jumping forward, she chops swiftly down on the wrist holding the gun, then drops to kick swiflty at the shin of the leg holding Baseball Cap, trying to dislodge him and hoping its still in time. "Then you don't know what justice is!"
The Man in the Batsuit responds just as swiftly, raising his other arm to knock aside the chop aimed at his right wrist. He overextends, however, and cannot move quickly enough to evade the kick to his shin that causes him to fall to one knee on the pavement.
“Stop!” cries the Patrolman, moving towards the pair with his gun held before him, “I said stop, damn it!”
The Man moves the gun to the right with one fluid motion, the chamber sparking to life and letting off another booming shot that catches the Patrolman. He falls in mid-stride, landing on his side with a thud as blood darkens his uniformed shirt. He rolls around, face contorted in agony.
Meanwhile, the Man rises to his feet, knee lifting swiftly in the direction of Batwoman’s gut as he does so. He moves fast, his expression never changing.
Batwoman sucks in a breath at the cop-shooting. Her jaw sets as she turns to the Man, lunging at him with force and using his knee to push herself up, using the attempted attack to her advantage. When she is high enough, she pivots, elbow swinging to smash into the Mask.
“Hngh!” the first actual, emotive sound that the Man has made comes when Batwoman’s elbow slams forcefully into the side of his head. He rolls with it, managing to maintain his footing, but the rivulet of blood that trails from his broken lower lip tells that the blow did indeed find home.
He turns about, pivoting on one foot and lifts his leg high as he levels a mighty axe kick at the place where Batwoman’s neck and shoulder meet.
Nearby, Baseball Cap is breathing steadily once more and the Patrolman clasps his thigh as blood spills past his fingers with arterial force, “God! Help! Help me!”
There's no time for self-congratulating, Batwoman drops and rolls the moment she sees that leg rise. "Workin' on it!" She calls to the patrolman while whipping out the pellet gun. On her next roll, when her arms come up the gun is in them, the trigger being pulled the second she takes aim.
The Man in the Batsuit lifts his arm, bringing the cape up with it as the pellets strike it and go up in a cloud of dust. In the same fluid motion his free hand brings forth another gun, similar except for the fact that he fires it straight up. A split second and his whole body is ascending as the cable is retracted, a bat-winged silhouette against the moon as he darts toward the rooftops.
“Can’t wait,” hisses the Patrolman through his teeth, fingers clasping his thigh tightly as he rocks back and forth, “It’s a ... nngh ... arterial shot! I’m gonna bleed out here!”
"Damn!" With no time to spare to watch the Bat leave, Batwoman grabs the dead guy's jacket and rushes to the patrollman. Dropping to her knees, she winds the jacket tightly as high as she can, "Hold this! Colonel, are you listening? We have a cop down, we need an ambulance yesterday!" Not waiting to hear from her father, she scrambles to find the cop's radio, shouting the codes and nearest streetsigns to dispatch while watching the man, "Stay with me, help is coming!"
The ambulance shows up soon. Old Gotham may be a place where only the lawbreakers and the insane go out at night, but paramedics are made of sterner stuff. They arrive to treat the patrolman, Officer David Hill who, without the timely intervention of Batwoman, would have surely died. The police arrive soon as well to put Baseball Cap in cuffs and cordon of the area for a criminal investigation.
Several blocks away, the Man in the Bat Suit lands silently on the sidewalk and lifts a gloved hand to wipe the smeared blood from his chin. He steps down into the street, crouching by a black and rectangular hole in the gutter that lets rainwater pass into the sewer system below.
Deep down, in the darkness, a malevolent voice croons, “Hiya, Georgie!”
The Man bows his head as though communing with the divine, eyes closing behind the mask he wears, “One is dead. But a woman – Batwoman – intervened and saved the other.”
“Batwoman, eh? You didn’t see ... him?”
“No.”
The voice in the darkness cackles gleefully, the sound of merry splashing echoing forth from the hole, “He he heeee! Good, Georgie! Good boy!”
The Man reaches a hand towards the hole, but a ‘tsk tsk’ sound causes him to retract it just as swiftly, “I want to be with you.”
“Soon, Georgie, soon. We’ve got all the things you want down here. Everything … heh … everything you ever wanted.”
The Man nods his head, bowing once again, “Yes, Justice.”
“Now get outta here, you scamp,” says the voice, the light catching a chalk-white face and a pair of bloodshot, smiling green eyes for a brief moment, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
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