Fourteen years ago, a boy witnessed his parents die. In a world where heroes have become exceptionally common, a young man with no powers is determined to help make it just that little bit better. Maybe it is an obsession. Maybe it ultimately is self-destructive. Maybe the League would eventually catch up with him. However, for Bruce, Gotham is still home, and it is still the place his dear parents wished to make better.
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Our Place in the World (DC/Marvel Mix, Batman Focus)
- Thread starter BlackHadou
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1. The Whispered Night
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
The thing about heroes, was that they were flawed. There was no such thing as a perfect hero. Not even Superman. That ship had sailed before I was born. This fact was difficult to grasp and even more difficult to accept.
I don't think I can yet accept it.
The subway of Gotham was, relatively speaking, better maintained then the roads. That wasn't because the train system was more valuable then the highway system, but rather because the crime gangs of Gotham rarely acted within it. It also made for convenient transportation when one didn't actually own a car. While I had money, it seemed hard to justify trying to draw upon it to purchase such a vehicle. Among other things, it would make keeping my operations secret so much more difficult if that car was linked to Bruce Wayne in such a way. My movements outside of my home would become much easier to trace.
So I traveled on the subway, drowning out the world with a pair of headphones. The very image of a hardworking college student, working towards his degree with absolute fervor. To my left was a small monitor, centred in the middle of the subway, showing what felt like the same news report for the hundredth time in a week.
"Breaking news. Police Prosecutor and District Attorney Harvey Dent has been hospitalised in a vicious acid attack. The criminal mastermind Blackmask has publicly claimed responsibility for the attack. Mr Dent remains in critical condition in hospital. Police Commissioner Gordon has asked that at this time, we consider Mr Dent's privacy and allow him to recover."
I wore headphones to hide myself from that report. The music that blared was simply whatever the internet mix deemed appropriate. I didn't actually pay the music any mind. Simply reading the report was enough. I didn't want to actually hear what was being said.
Probably more empty platitudes, of how Blackmask claimed this attack was retaliation for the attacks of vigilantes. Only I understood how true that actually was.
After all, I was the one who did it. It had been a moment of weakness, but I had been the one to fling those vials in his direction. Perhaps I should have been paying more attention. Now the feel of those vials, the looks and names of those chemicals, they were burned forever into my memory.
I wasn't sure how long it would take, but this, too, would pass.
It always did. Like the dew on the meadow, it would fade away.
The train car was almost empty, as the train screeched to a halt. There were five of us that exited into Gotham's Harlow Basin. Besides me, one was an older man, possibly in his thirties. Two were teenage boys, probably intending to get themselves into mischief or some such. Their designer label jackets did not look like something someone in this areas economic bracket could realistically afford. The last was a girl, hefting a backpack like me. A night student.
Like me. Or rather, my cover. In many ways, it could be called a waste of time, but it kept my mind busy.
I needed that right now.
We all parted ways in the night, walking in different directions from the station. I chose to walk in the light. The two boys immediately charged off to the car park, confirming my belief they were probably about to start hooning. The older man sat down and waited for the bus service, one that was perpetually late.
The girl chose to cut through an alley. I blinked just once at that. The confidence she did so, as if she were protected by a shield. It spoke of a faith that no one would attempt to harm her. Criminals were a superstitious lot, but so were humans in general. The dark was generally regarded as something to be feared.
My eyes scanned the streets. Maybe the criminals here worked in the light? It was a nicer neighbourhood then where I had lived before. The music kept blaring in my ears as I walked, but my eyes shot around the streets as I walked. Cars were rarer here. The night was enough to see away their constant whine.
Even so, the concrete jungle was just that, a jungle. I missed the more open areas of Chelsea Hill already. Each step brought me closer to home.
My eyes caught some web stuck to a nearby light pole. It wasn't too old. Its integrity was clearly compromised, but it hadn't yet turned to dust.
Was it a place that they had stored their things while they worked? That would imply this one moved around quite a bit.
The spread of the web implied it was once holding something…
I put it out of mind. I kept walking. The song in my ears ended, and another song began.
That was the most interesting thing about my walk. All in all, that meant it was a good night overall. I reached the apartment complex without issue, my key opening the security gate. To my left, was a Wayne Tech Drier and a Stark Industries Washing Machine. A more contrasting pair of machines could not be found.
… No. The drier was broken. Typical. My nose could pick ups smells it shouldn't. Something had caused it to burn out.
I put it out of mind and kept walking. Up the stairs. Towards my apartment. To my home. It opened with a click.
I could hear drums again as I walked in. I rapped my knuckles on the wall as I walked down the hall. It was late, why would anyone be playing the drums?
The drums answered with one last beat, and went silent. My 'friend' from beyond the wall seemed to respect my wish for relative quiet.
My bag found a home on the table. It was late. Flicking on the television, I found the late night news had already started.
There wasn't anything interesting on it. Just more discussion on Dent's condition. More well wishing and blaming and…
I turned it back off again, collapsing on my fold-out couch. Another night. I hadn't gone out fighting crime tonight. The cloth of the Batman costume remained hidden beneath my couch.
Even though the air was warm, and it was still only the early stages of Autumn, I found it cold. Perhaps it was guilt eating away at me, or maybe it was the sedentary. Either way, I felt like I'd thrown the acid myself.
Closing my eyes, it took far too long to go to sleep. I hated it.
The morning came too fast, and my dreams simply did not exist. My morning routine passed fast, and my mind started to focus.
The television went on, as I quickly put together a basic breakfast. My ears initially perked up as the newsreader spoke. I'd woken up at the right time for the early morning news. I wonder if my decision not to go out had changed anything.
Two robberies. One very close to the train station. One over in Midtown. Midtown was maybe too far away to meaningfully investigate. An attemptive murder. That was interesting, but aside from the scaring of a wind blade I could see from the investigative footage, not really that useful.
"But what about that menace Spiderman!? In a new twist, it would appear that family of red-faced freaks is moving abroad! Who is this Ghost-Spider who has appeared in Downtown Gotham!? Will we ever be safe!?" I flicked the channel over. The ramblings of Jameson could be amusing in their own way. I was almost sure to a degree they were satire. However, this morning they were just annoying.
A robbery. An attempt to murder. Two things that might lead me somewhere strange. The robbery was mundane, but at the same time, it was also the little things that would finally heal this city. If one focused only on the big crimes, the big criminals, then there would be no future for Gotham.
On the other hand…
As I left my apartment, pack on my back, I blinked as a person in a hoodie dashed past. It was a bit early for anyone to be awake, wasn't it? The stairwell rattled under too many steps.
"Keep it down!" I glanced up, further up the stairwell. Someone from above, brown haired, gruff, was calling down to us. I could see bags under his eyes and understood immediately. A late night worker.
I made it my mission to walk down the stairs far softer then the hoodie did.
[ ] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
[ ] Investigate the robbery. Even Bruce Wayne could help people.
[ ] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
[ ] People watch for a while. Perhaps it was best simply to learn the area first.
I don't think I can yet accept it.
The subway of Gotham was, relatively speaking, better maintained then the roads. That wasn't because the train system was more valuable then the highway system, but rather because the crime gangs of Gotham rarely acted within it. It also made for convenient transportation when one didn't actually own a car. While I had money, it seemed hard to justify trying to draw upon it to purchase such a vehicle. Among other things, it would make keeping my operations secret so much more difficult if that car was linked to Bruce Wayne in such a way. My movements outside of my home would become much easier to trace.
So I traveled on the subway, drowning out the world with a pair of headphones. The very image of a hardworking college student, working towards his degree with absolute fervor. To my left was a small monitor, centred in the middle of the subway, showing what felt like the same news report for the hundredth time in a week.
"Breaking news. Police Prosecutor and District Attorney Harvey Dent has been hospitalised in a vicious acid attack. The criminal mastermind Blackmask has publicly claimed responsibility for the attack. Mr Dent remains in critical condition in hospital. Police Commissioner Gordon has asked that at this time, we consider Mr Dent's privacy and allow him to recover."
I wore headphones to hide myself from that report. The music that blared was simply whatever the internet mix deemed appropriate. I didn't actually pay the music any mind. Simply reading the report was enough. I didn't want to actually hear what was being said.
Probably more empty platitudes, of how Blackmask claimed this attack was retaliation for the attacks of vigilantes. Only I understood how true that actually was.
After all, I was the one who did it. It had been a moment of weakness, but I had been the one to fling those vials in his direction. Perhaps I should have been paying more attention. Now the feel of those vials, the looks and names of those chemicals, they were burned forever into my memory.
I wasn't sure how long it would take, but this, too, would pass.
It always did. Like the dew on the meadow, it would fade away.
The train car was almost empty, as the train screeched to a halt. There were five of us that exited into Gotham's Harlow Basin. Besides me, one was an older man, possibly in his thirties. Two were teenage boys, probably intending to get themselves into mischief or some such. Their designer label jackets did not look like something someone in this areas economic bracket could realistically afford. The last was a girl, hefting a backpack like me. A night student.
Like me. Or rather, my cover. In many ways, it could be called a waste of time, but it kept my mind busy.
I needed that right now.
We all parted ways in the night, walking in different directions from the station. I chose to walk in the light. The two boys immediately charged off to the car park, confirming my belief they were probably about to start hooning. The older man sat down and waited for the bus service, one that was perpetually late.
The girl chose to cut through an alley. I blinked just once at that. The confidence she did so, as if she were protected by a shield. It spoke of a faith that no one would attempt to harm her. Criminals were a superstitious lot, but so were humans in general. The dark was generally regarded as something to be feared.
My eyes scanned the streets. Maybe the criminals here worked in the light? It was a nicer neighbourhood then where I had lived before. The music kept blaring in my ears as I walked, but my eyes shot around the streets as I walked. Cars were rarer here. The night was enough to see away their constant whine.
Even so, the concrete jungle was just that, a jungle. I missed the more open areas of Chelsea Hill already. Each step brought me closer to home.
My eyes caught some web stuck to a nearby light pole. It wasn't too old. Its integrity was clearly compromised, but it hadn't yet turned to dust.
Was it a place that they had stored their things while they worked? That would imply this one moved around quite a bit.
The spread of the web implied it was once holding something…
I put it out of mind. I kept walking. The song in my ears ended, and another song began.
That was the most interesting thing about my walk. All in all, that meant it was a good night overall. I reached the apartment complex without issue, my key opening the security gate. To my left, was a Wayne Tech Drier and a Stark Industries Washing Machine. A more contrasting pair of machines could not be found.
… No. The drier was broken. Typical. My nose could pick ups smells it shouldn't. Something had caused it to burn out.
I put it out of mind and kept walking. Up the stairs. Towards my apartment. To my home. It opened with a click.
I could hear drums again as I walked in. I rapped my knuckles on the wall as I walked down the hall. It was late, why would anyone be playing the drums?
The drums answered with one last beat, and went silent. My 'friend' from beyond the wall seemed to respect my wish for relative quiet.
My bag found a home on the table. It was late. Flicking on the television, I found the late night news had already started.
There wasn't anything interesting on it. Just more discussion on Dent's condition. More well wishing and blaming and…
I turned it back off again, collapsing on my fold-out couch. Another night. I hadn't gone out fighting crime tonight. The cloth of the Batman costume remained hidden beneath my couch.
Even though the air was warm, and it was still only the early stages of Autumn, I found it cold. Perhaps it was guilt eating away at me, or maybe it was the sedentary. Either way, I felt like I'd thrown the acid myself.
Closing my eyes, it took far too long to go to sleep. I hated it.
The morning came too fast, and my dreams simply did not exist. My morning routine passed fast, and my mind started to focus.
The television went on, as I quickly put together a basic breakfast. My ears initially perked up as the newsreader spoke. I'd woken up at the right time for the early morning news. I wonder if my decision not to go out had changed anything.
Two robberies. One very close to the train station. One over in Midtown. Midtown was maybe too far away to meaningfully investigate. An attemptive murder. That was interesting, but aside from the scaring of a wind blade I could see from the investigative footage, not really that useful.
"But what about that menace Spiderman!? In a new twist, it would appear that family of red-faced freaks is moving abroad! Who is this Ghost-Spider who has appeared in Downtown Gotham!? Will we ever be safe!?" I flicked the channel over. The ramblings of Jameson could be amusing in their own way. I was almost sure to a degree they were satire. However, this morning they were just annoying.
A robbery. An attempt to murder. Two things that might lead me somewhere strange. The robbery was mundane, but at the same time, it was also the little things that would finally heal this city. If one focused only on the big crimes, the big criminals, then there would be no future for Gotham.
On the other hand…
As I left my apartment, pack on my back, I blinked as a person in a hoodie dashed past. It was a bit early for anyone to be awake, wasn't it? The stairwell rattled under too many steps.
"Keep it down!" I glanced up, further up the stairwell. Someone from above, brown haired, gruff, was calling down to us. I could see bags under his eyes and understood immediately. A late night worker.
I made it my mission to walk down the stairs far softer then the hoodie did.
[ ] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
[ ] Investigate the robbery. Even Bruce Wayne could help people.
[ ] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
[ ] People watch for a while. Perhaps it was best simply to learn the area first.
The BatBook
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
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Real Name: Bruce Wayne
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Nationality: Irish-American (Second Generation)
Homebase: Gotham City
Height: 5'7
Weight: 72kg
Occupation: University Student
Degree: Creative Writing
Affiliations:
League of Shadows (Former)
Genetic Mutations:
Perfect Memory (Physical and Mental)
Myself. A record left behind just in case I have become either mind controlled or otherwise incapacitated, or if for some reason a clone of me starts running around. I was born to Thomas and Martha Wayne. When I was eight, they were killed in a mugging gone wrong. While I was put in the care of Alfred Pennyworth for some time afterwards, I was scouted by the League of Shadows and trained to join their ranks.
I have since dropped out of that training. I do not agree with the central precept that killing is the only way to cleanse the plague on society. This is not an uncommon view. As of the time I left, I believe the list of failed trainees was nearly two hundred. How many of us live, I don't know, but we don't appear to be high on the League's list of ends to tidy up. For a league of assassins, they are surprisingly relaxed about such.
I have no Superpowers or Mutations that would make me special. I have a combination of genetic disorders that leads to perfect information recall. This can be weaponised against me. I am susceptible to sensory overload and my suit is designed to make me seem significantly taller and larger then I am. I can be tracked if need be using the Wayne Family Trust. If there have been any unusual transactions, it was likely whatever is controlling me. -
The Batman
A suit of cloth and metal that I scrounged together. Since I do not have active access to the technology many heroes enjoy, I will have to make do. The armguards conceal a set of hidden blades for use against weapons. The bat shape is intended to invoke superstition. To date, this costume has never been properly captured on camera or recording. I have ensured it remains used only in the dark to facilitate the slow building of mystique. One day, I will replace this suit with something more effective, but for now, invoking terror and fear is its best armour against criminals.
The Joker
A cartoonish outfit I have created to moonlight in public during the day. It is only useful in ensuring I am completely underestimated. In the city of Gotham, such an outfit is not particularly unusual, so it doesn't seem too out of place. However, I cannot be seen fighting with it the same way I do as Batman. The more I refine my combat style, the less useful this guise will become.
William Eskott
A fake detective I assume when I need to run potential interference on Police. One of about nine different guises. He works with the Federal Bureau of Mutant Crimes, which prevents people from investigating too closely. The costume is one that resembles a more carefree person, and the conservative, old style dress is deliberately intended to seem out of place to draw attention to my clothes, rather then my face. -
Breathing Techniques
I have been trained in a number of breathing techniques used by Asian countries. The League of Shadows makes use of these in order to assist in focus and grant abilities that seem supernatural. As far as I can tell, none of them are supernatural in nature. Using the proper breath to punch hasn't led to me being able to break through steel.
It is helpful in maintaining proper battle technique though.
Perfect Memory
I make note of this for it will be anyone fighting me's worst opposition. I will learn your techniques after at most being hit by it three times. I will likely begin using it against you immediately. In order to prevent this from happening, the only way to do so would be to deliberately invoke sensory overload. See other notes for details. -
Sensory Overload
I suffer from sensory overload when too many different kinds of memories are brought up at once. The easiest one to invoke is auditory overload. Bring up too many distinct sounds and my brain will struggle to keep up. This won't work if its merely a cacophony of noise. Rather, it must be distinct sounds.
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Real Name: Bruce Wayne
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- None Yet.
- None Yet.
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Email Terminal
An old email terminal I bought in Japan and rekeyed to use an English keyboard. It looks sufficiently foreign that I can pass it off as all manner of tools. So long as whoever I'm talking to isn't paying too much attention, they wouldn't realise it isn't some sort of hi-tech multitool. I've rigged it to start playing sounds through commands from my phone.
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The Out Of World
Lichte's Brain
- Location
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An interesting premise. Bruce Wayne is Batman, the Joker, and Red Hood. And not only is this is a Marvel/DC crossover, but this is Batman joining the scene well after parties like the Avengers and the Justice League have already been established. Moreover, Bruce Wayne is actually poor as far as his current living situation is concerned instead of a billionaire with bottomless resources and he's slumming it up like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle to hide from the League of Shadows.
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
Stopping robberies is all well and good, but if there's already at least one Spider-Man in the area, there's good odds they might handle the less threatening stuff as it pops into their line of sight. Bruce's already having A Rough One and stopping a murder attempt before it becomes a murder success would give his heart and mind some peace.
His power of perfect recall already is shown to have plenty of baggage. He remembers things with utter clarity, whether he wants to or not. His regrets are already springing up vividly in his worst moments of self-doubt. I don't envy the poor guy.
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
Stopping robberies is all well and good, but if there's already at least one Spider-Man in the area, there's good odds they might handle the less threatening stuff as it pops into their line of sight. Bruce's already having A Rough One and stopping a murder attempt before it becomes a murder success would give his heart and mind some peace.
Thanatos757
Captain of the Four Knights
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
5'7" Bruce feels weird, I'm used to him being at least six foot. Going to make LOOMING a lot less effective, too. Being effectively locked out from the Wayne fortune and scrounging together a costume is also giving me early Peter Parker vibes. No Alfred so far, too. Could be he died here or Bruce just never reestablished contact after leaving the Shadows.
5'7" Bruce feels weird, I'm used to him being at least six foot. Going to make LOOMING a lot less effective, too. Being effectively locked out from the Wayne fortune and scrounging together a costume is also giving me early Peter Parker vibes. No Alfred so far, too. Could be he died here or Bruce just never reestablished contact after leaving the Shadows.
The Out Of World
Lichte's Brain
- Location
- -
I mean, the BatBook confirms the looming is still done, it just needs more conscious work with the costume to pull off.
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
The latter.
- Location
- Earth
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
Mortifer
Embrace your inner lunatic. Fun times guaranteed.
- Location
- Under a rock.
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
Gotta wonder just how different this setup is from the general superheroic setup of either side of the crossover. The Justice League being a thing when Batman's only just getting started means one of the major constants isn't relevant here, so it'll be interesting keeping tabs to figure out who is and isn't an established factor.
Gotta wonder just how different this setup is from the general superheroic setup of either side of the crossover. The Justice League being a thing when Batman's only just getting started means one of the major constants isn't relevant here, so it'll be interesting keeping tabs to figure out who is and isn't an established factor.
Theaxofwar
Definitely not a Bunny Cat in disguise.
- Location
- Standing right behind you
[X] Head towards the murder scene. It might give some insight into a potential future foe.
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Blonde hair, then a hoodie, Spider Gwen maybe?
In any case...
[X] People watch for a while. Perhaps it was best simply to learn the area first.
Let's get a feel for the location before anything else. We're not at the 'hundreds of gadgets and a secret lair' stage of batman this early on, so we need to do some legwork.
In any case...
[X] People watch for a while. Perhaps it was best simply to learn the area first.
Let's get a feel for the location before anything else. We're not at the 'hundreds of gadgets and a secret lair' stage of batman this early on, so we need to do some legwork.
Sord? Sord!
So the waifu hunt begins!
Case no.1. The SpiderGwen Next Door?!
[X] People watch for a while. Perhaps it was best simply to learn the area first.
Get to know your travel routes, who's who, and more importantly- the possible waifu next door.
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
2. Of Glass and Steel
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
The light of the sun could warm the soul. This was one of the central philosophies of the League of Shadows. One existed in the shadows only when committing evil, sinful acts. Once the act was done, you returned into the light. This cleansed the soul of sin and hid the act within the dark.
My hands slipped into the pockets of my jacket as I flicked on my headphones. An audiobook this time. Surprisingly useful invention. I remembered things others forgot anyway.
I checked my watch as I started walking. It was very early. The lazy, sleep ridden neighbourhood had not actually begun to awaken yet. In a hour or two, it'd resemble the Osaka Fish Markets, but until then, it would continue to sleep in. This worked to my advantage, since it meant I could move far quicker. I didn't have to deal with cars right now.
I paused briefly as I turned the street corner. Above me was a small camera beneath a stairwell of an apartment building. Directly behind it was a mess of webs holding… something in place. An interesting location to leave ones equipment.
I presumed that was the case, at least. The web looked fresh.
I had no choice but to leave it alone. I didn't have the tools to do anything about it and couldn't do so without being seen by that camera anyway. Keeping my profile low was vital.Especially with how I had to operate.
I shook my head. Something felt off about the camera. I'll have chances later.
The neighbourhood was starting to wake up as my walk came to an end. I had a target in mind. The crime scene was near 32nd Street. An attempted murder with nothing particularly special about it, considering the city it was in. It was where I intended to start my day. The actual crime scene was near a park, and surrounded by little fast food and convenience stalls. They probably didn't appreciate the publicity.
I paused, slipping into a public toilet as I approached, and ripping open my pack once I was in private. A bit of makeup here, eye shadow there, loose pants and a trench coat. The hat, I'll admit, was a guilty pleasure, but not harmful overall. I flipped over the door, leaving the stall 'occupied' with my things in it. No one would think twice about it.
Appearances were important.
The crime scene still had several GCPD officers around it. They bore none of the telltale signs of men that loved or even were interested in their jobs. A typical problem in this city and probably Blackmask's greatest contribution.
Part of the act of disguise was intent. You had to act as the one you intended to be. I didn't walk towards the crime scene skittishly, but rather, I swaggered towards it.
"Gentlemen. Detective William Escott, what do we have?" I flicked a badge at the officers as I approached. The officers regarded me, largely, lazily. One, probably the lead on this investigation, just scoffed.
"Never heard o' ya."
"Good. That means I'm doing my job." I retorted gruffly. "Federal Bureau of Mutant Crimes. I'm here to verify there is no foul play and I'll be on my way boys."
"Does that exist?" One of the cops questioned, as the lead cop glanced at my badge, and then got his radio.
"Boss, I got a detective from the Bureau of Mutant Crimes here. What do I do?"
"Let him through. If the feds wanna waste their time, that's their problem." The dismissive nature of the response told me all I needed to know. These cops were well and truly lazy. Corrupt? No. Just lazy. A result of lowered standards, rather then any sort of true malevolence. The cop stared another moment at the radio, before he tossed it back on the foldout table he'd taken it from.
"Fine, Mr Escott. Do whatever you need." He answered. "Pretty open and shut. We have three large gashes, two in the walls and one in the concrete. Some genetic material in the concrete, sent for analysis. Not much to actually say."
"And the victim?"
"An Elizabeth Stallman." One of the cops sitting at the table spoke up. "Nothing really to see there. Old lady who runs the ice cream parlour over there." He pointed to the stalls nearby. "Near as we can tell, probably a petty gangster who thought they'd try to hit her up for more protection money."
I could tell they hadn't looked into it in depth.
"Just here to make sure it's not a mutant. Or is, as the case may be." I shot back. "Then I'll be out of your hair." I flipped an old-style email terminal from my pocket, waving it over the gashes as if it was doing something. All that mattered is that they thought I was doing something, not that I actually was.
The crime scene was small. About thirty foot in full diameter. Since it was in open air, such a metric wasn't reliable or even particularly useful. The cement footpath, by and large, was aged, worn. The airflow here was quite good. The wind travelled from the nearby park, and you could see the playground from here. It was a piece of prime real estate.
The gash in the cement was relatively straight, curving slightly to the right at the end. I knelt down, running a finger along the edge. Very smooth. Long. I typed a few notes into my terminal, then flipped it shut.
"Not part of the crime scene." I noted.
"Sorry?"
"This is made by a vehicle. Probably a bike. It's both too old, too worn and too uniform." I answered. "Make sure to add that to your report, officer…"
"Boles."
"Thank you." I made my way towards the wall. The two gashes were somewhat separate. The first was a four foot up the wall, crossing diagonally up to my right. The other was about chin height with me, side to side to the left by about seven inches. My lips pursed, as I waved my terminal over it again.
"Lemme guess, mutant." The officers chuckled. I chuckled along with them.
"Gentlemen, more likely poor construction or some wannabe super samurai." I answered. "Nothing consistent with mutant powers at all. Victim has no known grievances?"
"No more then anyone else around here." I nodded, typing quickly into my terminal. Elizabeth Stallman. I'd have to check up on her before I finished. She worked at the ice cream parlour.
The cuts before me were jagged. No. Serrated. A serrated cooking knife, perhaps, used for carving meat. The methodology was definitely mutant in nature. No metal blade could do this naturally.
"You mentioned genetic material?" I held out a hand. It set the expectation of receiving. They would be more inclined to give me whatever I was looking for. "Match anyone?"
"Nothing conclusive." The notepad that entered my hand was a police notebook, scribbled with brief notes. "Bit of blood that appears to match the victim, but no conclusive match." The notepad revealed that she had been injured, however. A gash to the arm. That was information that they hadn't volunteered. I typed a few more notes into my terminal.
My eyes scanned the ground one last time. This area was not going to be conducive to DNA evidence at the best of times. Really, it didn't need to still be a crime scene. They were just killing time on the metaphorical clock.
"Got it." I returned the notebook. "Thank you gentleman. Enjoy the rest of your day." I tipped my hat as I started to walk away, lips twisting just a little as I did so. My brain raced, and I started reviewing everything I'd ever heard about Knife.
They both used knives. That was such an obvious point of connection between the perpetrator and Knife that it almost wasn't worth noting. However, the perp used a serrated knife. It wasn't a common option for combat, even if it left worse wounds, because it applied additional pressure on the blade. Your average person on the street did not have any sort of body armour, so the extra pressure went to waste. There was also the fact that a knife on the streets was most dangerous for attacking the vital points, but this knife obviously hadn't been used for that.
If it had, this Elizabeth would be dead and wouldn't have even seen the knife. A serrated blade had its place. It didn't fit with Knife's apparent operation though.
If this was too inefficient for a Punisher imitator, then I had to work down the list. A cooking boy that was jipped by their boss might well be a potential perp, but it wouldn't fit Elizabeth's job. No, this was probably linked to some sort of gang activity or alternatively was a random crime of passion.
What was interesting was the cuts themselves. It was definitely a mutant power. What, exactly, I didn't have enough information to determine.
"Vanilla sundae please." I declared, leaning against the little bar in front of the ice cream parlor. It wasn't actually open yet, rather, I could see everyone inside hurriedly preparing for the day. My hand lifted my badge. "And a brief word, if you would. Detective William Escott. Is Mrs Stallman here?"
"That would be me." She was indeed elderly. "What do you want now, detective? I already gave my story."
"Just verifying a few details." I declared. Her general distrust was not surprising. Gotham's police did not inspire confidence. However, I was limited in how I could press her. "I want to know about your attacker. Was he shorter then you?"
"Taller. I'd say like a foot taller." The woman sniffed.
"And left handed?"
"... Yeah. He was." An imitator.
"Did you catch what kind of knife he was using?" I asked. "I have a robbery a few streets over missing a knife. I'd like to confirm if they are the same."
"Pretty normal knife. Looked like one you'd get in a knife block." The woman answered. "Tip was shorter then you'd think, though."
Not shorter. Rounded. The blade couldn't stab.
"Thank you, ma'am." I answered, tapping the counter in thought. I'd worn this thin. If I pushed it, I'd become suspicious.
It did, however, tell me plenty. Walking away from the scene, I typed a few more notes, highlighted the lot, and hit delete.
It seemed one of the locals had an imitator. This might get out of hand fast. I might need to meet this Knife sooner rather then later. He at least deserved to know he was being set up.
Still, a mutant power. This wasn't unusual, but the tiny fanfare it received told me it wouldn't be taken seriously unless someone had been killed by it. That, perhaps, was the real issue. Tracking a mutant down in a neighbourhood like this was like a needle in a haystack, but I had a place to start.
After all, a casual glance inside the shop had told me one thing. This place ran protection rackets.
Mrs Stallman was not paying hers. The real question was why would someone trying to get that money use a household knife? Was their power based on the shape of the knife, or was it just a case of using what they had to hand?
No, if it was a mobster, they'd…
Intimidation. Using an everyman would be far more terrifying. This was all about the message. The lack of identifiability was, in fact, the point. It did mean it would be a difficult crime to just catch. I was now at a dead end.
At least for the moment. I'd have to look at what was on that notepad later. That it was digital just made stealing from it far easier. If it'd been physical, I'd have had to invent a reason to flick through it.
Returning to the public toilet, I got changed and washed off my face. I could slip back to the parlor later, but I couldn't do it now. Not while the detectives face was in their minds. It would draw attention…
[ ] Go look into the robbery.
[ ] Head to college. It would let me work without interruption. And some relative comfort.
[ ] Go exploring and people watching.
[ ] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
My hands slipped into the pockets of my jacket as I flicked on my headphones. An audiobook this time. Surprisingly useful invention. I remembered things others forgot anyway.
I checked my watch as I started walking. It was very early. The lazy, sleep ridden neighbourhood had not actually begun to awaken yet. In a hour or two, it'd resemble the Osaka Fish Markets, but until then, it would continue to sleep in. This worked to my advantage, since it meant I could move far quicker. I didn't have to deal with cars right now.
I paused briefly as I turned the street corner. Above me was a small camera beneath a stairwell of an apartment building. Directly behind it was a mess of webs holding… something in place. An interesting location to leave ones equipment.
I presumed that was the case, at least. The web looked fresh.
I had no choice but to leave it alone. I didn't have the tools to do anything about it and couldn't do so without being seen by that camera anyway. Keeping my profile low was vital.Especially with how I had to operate.
I shook my head. Something felt off about the camera. I'll have chances later.
The neighbourhood was starting to wake up as my walk came to an end. I had a target in mind. The crime scene was near 32nd Street. An attempted murder with nothing particularly special about it, considering the city it was in. It was where I intended to start my day. The actual crime scene was near a park, and surrounded by little fast food and convenience stalls. They probably didn't appreciate the publicity.
I paused, slipping into a public toilet as I approached, and ripping open my pack once I was in private. A bit of makeup here, eye shadow there, loose pants and a trench coat. The hat, I'll admit, was a guilty pleasure, but not harmful overall. I flipped over the door, leaving the stall 'occupied' with my things in it. No one would think twice about it.
Appearances were important.
The crime scene still had several GCPD officers around it. They bore none of the telltale signs of men that loved or even were interested in their jobs. A typical problem in this city and probably Blackmask's greatest contribution.
Part of the act of disguise was intent. You had to act as the one you intended to be. I didn't walk towards the crime scene skittishly, but rather, I swaggered towards it.
"Gentlemen. Detective William Escott, what do we have?" I flicked a badge at the officers as I approached. The officers regarded me, largely, lazily. One, probably the lead on this investigation, just scoffed.
"Never heard o' ya."
"Good. That means I'm doing my job." I retorted gruffly. "Federal Bureau of Mutant Crimes. I'm here to verify there is no foul play and I'll be on my way boys."
"Does that exist?" One of the cops questioned, as the lead cop glanced at my badge, and then got his radio.
"Boss, I got a detective from the Bureau of Mutant Crimes here. What do I do?"
"Let him through. If the feds wanna waste their time, that's their problem." The dismissive nature of the response told me all I needed to know. These cops were well and truly lazy. Corrupt? No. Just lazy. A result of lowered standards, rather then any sort of true malevolence. The cop stared another moment at the radio, before he tossed it back on the foldout table he'd taken it from.
"Fine, Mr Escott. Do whatever you need." He answered. "Pretty open and shut. We have three large gashes, two in the walls and one in the concrete. Some genetic material in the concrete, sent for analysis. Not much to actually say."
"And the victim?"
"An Elizabeth Stallman." One of the cops sitting at the table spoke up. "Nothing really to see there. Old lady who runs the ice cream parlour over there." He pointed to the stalls nearby. "Near as we can tell, probably a petty gangster who thought they'd try to hit her up for more protection money."
I could tell they hadn't looked into it in depth.
"Just here to make sure it's not a mutant. Or is, as the case may be." I shot back. "Then I'll be out of your hair." I flipped an old-style email terminal from my pocket, waving it over the gashes as if it was doing something. All that mattered is that they thought I was doing something, not that I actually was.
The crime scene was small. About thirty foot in full diameter. Since it was in open air, such a metric wasn't reliable or even particularly useful. The cement footpath, by and large, was aged, worn. The airflow here was quite good. The wind travelled from the nearby park, and you could see the playground from here. It was a piece of prime real estate.
The gash in the cement was relatively straight, curving slightly to the right at the end. I knelt down, running a finger along the edge. Very smooth. Long. I typed a few notes into my terminal, then flipped it shut.
"Not part of the crime scene." I noted.
"Sorry?"
"This is made by a vehicle. Probably a bike. It's both too old, too worn and too uniform." I answered. "Make sure to add that to your report, officer…"
"Boles."
"Thank you." I made my way towards the wall. The two gashes were somewhat separate. The first was a four foot up the wall, crossing diagonally up to my right. The other was about chin height with me, side to side to the left by about seven inches. My lips pursed, as I waved my terminal over it again.
"Lemme guess, mutant." The officers chuckled. I chuckled along with them.
"Gentlemen, more likely poor construction or some wannabe super samurai." I answered. "Nothing consistent with mutant powers at all. Victim has no known grievances?"
"No more then anyone else around here." I nodded, typing quickly into my terminal. Elizabeth Stallman. I'd have to check up on her before I finished. She worked at the ice cream parlour.
The cuts before me were jagged. No. Serrated. A serrated cooking knife, perhaps, used for carving meat. The methodology was definitely mutant in nature. No metal blade could do this naturally.
"You mentioned genetic material?" I held out a hand. It set the expectation of receiving. They would be more inclined to give me whatever I was looking for. "Match anyone?"
"Nothing conclusive." The notepad that entered my hand was a police notebook, scribbled with brief notes. "Bit of blood that appears to match the victim, but no conclusive match." The notepad revealed that she had been injured, however. A gash to the arm. That was information that they hadn't volunteered. I typed a few more notes into my terminal.
My eyes scanned the ground one last time. This area was not going to be conducive to DNA evidence at the best of times. Really, it didn't need to still be a crime scene. They were just killing time on the metaphorical clock.
"Got it." I returned the notebook. "Thank you gentleman. Enjoy the rest of your day." I tipped my hat as I started to walk away, lips twisting just a little as I did so. My brain raced, and I started reviewing everything I'd ever heard about Knife.
They both used knives. That was such an obvious point of connection between the perpetrator and Knife that it almost wasn't worth noting. However, the perp used a serrated knife. It wasn't a common option for combat, even if it left worse wounds, because it applied additional pressure on the blade. Your average person on the street did not have any sort of body armour, so the extra pressure went to waste. There was also the fact that a knife on the streets was most dangerous for attacking the vital points, but this knife obviously hadn't been used for that.
If it had, this Elizabeth would be dead and wouldn't have even seen the knife. A serrated blade had its place. It didn't fit with Knife's apparent operation though.
If this was too inefficient for a Punisher imitator, then I had to work down the list. A cooking boy that was jipped by their boss might well be a potential perp, but it wouldn't fit Elizabeth's job. No, this was probably linked to some sort of gang activity or alternatively was a random crime of passion.
What was interesting was the cuts themselves. It was definitely a mutant power. What, exactly, I didn't have enough information to determine.
"Vanilla sundae please." I declared, leaning against the little bar in front of the ice cream parlor. It wasn't actually open yet, rather, I could see everyone inside hurriedly preparing for the day. My hand lifted my badge. "And a brief word, if you would. Detective William Escott. Is Mrs Stallman here?"
"That would be me." She was indeed elderly. "What do you want now, detective? I already gave my story."
"Just verifying a few details." I declared. Her general distrust was not surprising. Gotham's police did not inspire confidence. However, I was limited in how I could press her. "I want to know about your attacker. Was he shorter then you?"
"Taller. I'd say like a foot taller." The woman sniffed.
"And left handed?"
"... Yeah. He was." An imitator.
"Did you catch what kind of knife he was using?" I asked. "I have a robbery a few streets over missing a knife. I'd like to confirm if they are the same."
"Pretty normal knife. Looked like one you'd get in a knife block." The woman answered. "Tip was shorter then you'd think, though."
Not shorter. Rounded. The blade couldn't stab.
"Thank you, ma'am." I answered, tapping the counter in thought. I'd worn this thin. If I pushed it, I'd become suspicious.
It did, however, tell me plenty. Walking away from the scene, I typed a few more notes, highlighted the lot, and hit delete.
It seemed one of the locals had an imitator. This might get out of hand fast. I might need to meet this Knife sooner rather then later. He at least deserved to know he was being set up.
Still, a mutant power. This wasn't unusual, but the tiny fanfare it received told me it wouldn't be taken seriously unless someone had been killed by it. That, perhaps, was the real issue. Tracking a mutant down in a neighbourhood like this was like a needle in a haystack, but I had a place to start.
After all, a casual glance inside the shop had told me one thing. This place ran protection rackets.
Mrs Stallman was not paying hers. The real question was why would someone trying to get that money use a household knife? Was their power based on the shape of the knife, or was it just a case of using what they had to hand?
No, if it was a mobster, they'd…
Intimidation. Using an everyman would be far more terrifying. This was all about the message. The lack of identifiability was, in fact, the point. It did mean it would be a difficult crime to just catch. I was now at a dead end.
At least for the moment. I'd have to look at what was on that notepad later. That it was digital just made stealing from it far easier. If it'd been physical, I'd have had to invent a reason to flick through it.
Returning to the public toilet, I got changed and washed off my face. I could slip back to the parlor later, but I couldn't do it now. Not while the detectives face was in their minds. It would draw attention…
[ ] Go look into the robbery.
[ ] Head to college. It would let me work without interruption. And some relative comfort.
[ ] Go exploring and people watching.
[ ] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
Last edited:
The Out Of World
Lichte's Brain
- Location
- -
Curious. So someone wants to frame a known mutant vigilante for attacking a business that isn't paying the local protection racket. I can't make a solid conclusion from what details Bruce has so far, but this is definitely part of a larger motive.
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
Let's see if getting a more in-depth eye on what the area's organized crime outfit is doing. Maybe there'll be something Bruce can connect to the frame job.
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
Let's see if getting a more in-depth eye on what the area's organized crime outfit is doing. Maybe there'll be something Bruce can connect to the frame job.
- Location
- America
Perp here's a copy of a copy, has a mutant power with diminishing effect over range. First swing was awkward, blade itself didn't penetrate but the bleed off of the effect still damaged the wall. The second pierces properly and expands deeper in. Difficulties with first swing indicates suboptimal conditions, either from an unfamiliar implement or because this one was just pretending to be left handed for a frame-up of a known vigilante.
Why frame him? By the sound of it, 'Knife' is already at least a person of interest in multiple homicides, not the kind of person with much of a reputation left to damage. Not framing, then, but impersonation. Imply a vigilante of concern to be on your payroll to intimidate rivals. Which rival? Why? Claim of control over an uncontrolled actor carries responsibility for all actions taken, many of which could be a declaration of war.
One blatant enough that it can't be missed and demands a response. Possibly a false flag by someone either making a play to take over without being seen as the aggressor to those they still need to do business with, or to get established outfits to wipe each other out so they can move in relatively uncontested.
Or I'm completely off base, I'm tired.
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
Why frame him? By the sound of it, 'Knife' is already at least a person of interest in multiple homicides, not the kind of person with much of a reputation left to damage. Not framing, then, but impersonation. Imply a vigilante of concern to be on your payroll to intimidate rivals. Which rival? Why? Claim of control over an uncontrolled actor carries responsibility for all actions taken, many of which could be a declaration of war.
One blatant enough that it can't be missed and demands a response. Possibly a false flag by someone either making a play to take over without being seen as the aggressor to those they still need to do business with, or to get established outfits to wipe each other out so they can move in relatively uncontested.
Or I'm completely off base, I'm tired.
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
ApocalypticFish
Been reflecting lately.
[X] Head to college. It would let me work without interruption. And some relative comfort.
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Hmm, the plot thickens, we have a setup, not just anonymity but an attempt to obfuscate...
Given this, I wonder if just some exploration might be the order of the day. The chance we`d spot our everyman is slim, but not impossible...
[X] Go exploring and people watching.
Given this, I wonder if just some exploration might be the order of the day. The chance we`d spot our everyman is slim, but not impossible...
[X] Go exploring and people watching.
Theaxofwar
Definitely not a Bunny Cat in disguise.
- Location
- Standing right behind you
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
Mortifer
Embrace your inner lunatic. Fun times guaranteed.
- Location
- Under a rock.
So thirty years of web means thirty years of Spiderman, which does a lot to put into perspective just how late to the game Bruce is here
[X] Follow up on some loose ends. You still had some leads from your time as Red Hood on some of Blackmask's goons.
BlackHadou
Bunny-Sensei
The year is 2022.
Superman and Captain America were contemporary with a world war.
That should give you a full time breadth.