Sins of our Godfathers (Arkhamverse)

[Kilroy11]

Episode 1: Blood in the Water

I shouldn't be alive.

My name is Helena Bertinelli, and I shouldn't be alive.

My name is Helena Bertinelli, today I turned twenty one, and I shouldn't be alive.

The entire family was there, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends of the family, all crowded into a little restaurant in the Bowery. If you asked him, Daddy would say he was in insurance. Momma was a teacher, retired. The entire family filled the tiny place to commemorate my coming of age. Not that they needed much of a reason to eat and drink. And for the first time, I could join them without having beg Uncle Lenny for a sip, or palm something out of the fridge. It was all so perfect. A welcome break from the stress of school. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the year they give me the perfect gift.

That was what ran through my head the second before my world came crashing down around me with the sound of smashing glass, gunfire, pain, and darkness.

My name is Helena Bertinelli, and I shouldn't be alive. Now I need to open my eyes.

Its dark, I can feel my heart, it feels like its throbbing in my head, like drums pounding in my ears, it smells like blood, my mouth tastes like I chewed on an iron bar, all I can see is cloth, black soft cloth. Then the whole world shook, I felt everything fly in the air, then it all came back down. That was when I felt the weight, a crushing dead weight, I could barely breath. Then the world slid to the right, the weight shifted, I can see an eye. A single blue eye piercing the darkness. My vision closed, the corners of my eyes went dark, all there was, was that ring. Time slipped away, minutes turned into seconds before a final abrupt shake brought me back to the world. Car doors slammed, more doors opened.

Then my world began to shake again. Slowly at first, in bursts. Getting stronger with each spasm. Then they grabbed my ankles, my eyes pinned shut, my breath caught in my throat. I was drug across bodies, two more hands grabbed my wrists. For a few moments I was felt weightless. Then I rocked once twice. Air rushed by. Then a splash.

My name is Helena Bertinelli, and I shouldn't be alive. Now I need to survive.

How was I under? Until my breath finally ran out. I came thrashing to the surface. My world was inky darkness. Then strange formless lights leaped up from the horizon, and a great ball of silver, then darkness, lights, silver, darkness, lights silver, darkness lights silver darknesslightssilver. I was spinning, treading water at sea. I followed the lights of the city, I don't know why. I swam until I crawled up on a rock, hacking on sea water. After that was a blur. A collage of lights and sounds. At the end of it was a door. A great pair of gilded doors. Then there was nothing.

It was white. Blinding bright light. It hurt. Then my eyes adjusted and once again reality reasserted itself. I was staring up at a white ceiling, lit by white lights. My eyes squeezed shut. When they opened again, everything hurt. A low, numb, constant pain that seemed to come from everywhere. I turn my head. There was a railing on the bed and a white curtain. The other way is the same, a railing and a curtain. I'm in a hospital. That's… good?! Right, ya, of course its good. Not dead, laying in a bed, in a hospital. I'm just going to go back to sleep now.


After two weeks of counting ceiling tiles in the hospital I was finally discharged with a clean-ish bill of health. I was short about six inches of intestine, but the pneumonia had cleared up and I hadn't caught tetanus or something from the damn river. But some scars don't heal with bedrest and an injection. Those are the ones you can't see until it's too late. For me, too late was the first night alone in that big house.

I'd always been a sound sleeper. You had to be if you wanted to stay sane when the Z train ran past your front window every night, all night. But tonight was different the house felt cold, the bed seemed harder than I remembered it, the pillow smelled off somehow. Hour after hour I stared at my old ceiling fan. Well not my old one. I'd only lived in this house for two years before shipping off to college…

I missed the old place. It was a living breathing place. The floors creaked when the Old Man Upstairs moved. The train made the windows rattle like teeth on a cold night. The radiators gave off that soothing smooth heat.

The furnace kicked on just to drive the point home in my mind. The rushing air grated on my brain, clawing at it like a cheese grater…

I'm never going to have Mama's meatballs again, with the parmesan on top. Or Daddy's special super-secret spaghetti sauce. Or, or… Gandma's…

For the first time everything was beginning to sink in. For the first time I wasn't being hassled by lawyer and cops and nurses, or too drugged to think. For the first time I began to dwell on the past. For the first time. I let everything out.

Time blurred after that. I can only guess at what I did or why I did it. All I know is that when dawn broke through the living room curtains I was curled up on the couch. The massive TV was on, tough much abused as it tried in vain to project a coherent picture through its shattered screen. My eyes were bloodshot and my hands, soaked with blood, clutched tight onto a single solitary picture. There was a family. Behind them was a crowded softball diamond. The girl in the middle held a massive trophy aloft in triumph. A father beamed with pride. The mother radiated joy. Even the brats smiled. The picture was exactly five years and two weeks old that day. Before the arguments. Before the fights. Before the new job, the house, the money. Before college and loneliness and fear and pain and loss and everything.

I love that picture.

Eventually, I don't know how long, I uncurled from the couch. I'd had a lot to think about in those hours. Life. Death. What it all means. Why? Why. That was the big one. Why me? Why them?

When I got up I didn't have an answer to any of those questions. What I had was rage. Cold. Dark. Rage. The bright flame had been extinguished sometime in the night, when it threw itself at the TV. And with this cold pain in the back of my skull came clarity. Purpose. A plan. Someone wanted her dead, I was going to prove them wrong. My fa….. They were already gone. And nothing on Earth was going to change that. To dwell on it is to court insanity. And in this town, crazy was all too common.

No, I'll survive. I'll find the sonofabitch hat did this. And I'll show them just what kind of a mistake they've made. But first I needed to survive, sanity intact. And this house wasn't what I'd call conducive to mental stability. So I picked up the phone and called a number I'd learned very well over the last two weeks.

"Damnit, who is this? Do you know what day it is? How'd you get this number?"

"Shut up Johnson, its me."

"Miss Bertinelli? Why in God's name are you calling at…Nine?!? Nine O'clock in the morning?"

"Because I'm going to be busy on Monday and I have work for you."

"The D.A. dropped the criminal charges, and the estate claims don't go to court for another month."

"Shut up Johnson. I need you to set up an account with the bank in my name. Then I need you to liquidate everything. I'm going to clear out what I need from the house today. Everything I leave goes."

"It sounds like you're going somewhere. My I ask where?"

"I need out of this damn house. I.. I just need to… Its none of you're fucking business! Just do it. Now. And funnel everything from the inheritance and any accounts they unfreeze in with it. Take your fee out of the pot and send the account information to my cell."

Click

That. That sounded kind of… crazy? Hell that's what I'll be if I stay here.

I started with what seemed the most important. Dad's office. I grabbed the family bible and some other papers the cops left. Grandpa's watch, Dad's old cuff links. On to the bedroom. Mom's jewelry box. Her wedding dress was in storage at Le Dame's. Have to keep payments up on that. Then to the kitchen. Those old pictures off the fridge. The family pictures, a few other heirlooms.

As I ransacked the house other thoughts entered my mind at odd tangents. Johnson has a point. Where the hell AM I going? I could stay in a hotel for what, a month before money gave out? And I still had to eat, find a job, taxes, stupid sorority dues… That sorority… I'll never have to set foot in that piss hole again!

I laughed out loud at the thought of never having to see any of those pretentious, spoiled, anorexic, bulimic, shallow, evil, self-centered, pampered, bitches ever again…

I CAN EAT BURGERS AGAIN!

And… And. No more law school! I'm free.

I'll never have to see that bitch Cheyenne again! With her fat ass lips and freakish blond hair. Oooh, I should go back there and give her a piece of my mind. Or maybe break her mind into little pieces!

Hehehe

This jovial mood evaporated when I realized that I had a death grip on a carving knife. I pitched it across the room in surprise.

"Damnit"

I collapse into my hands, embows leaning heavy on the counter as a long hard breath left my body.

"Get ahold of yourself. You're short on emotions and shorter on sleep. Stay focused. You have a job to do damnit!"

As my hands moved to massage my aching temples, a drawer came into view, left ajar by the police most likely. Someone had dug through it, but its contents were clear. Pictures, dozens upon dozens of pictures. Momma had always been the one to throw things away, like Dad's novelty laps, the twin's "science projects". But picture. You could make a movie of my entire life out of the pictures she had. But that's not what I was thinking about. What really caught my eye was the one on top. It was an old Polaroid. On it were two girls grinning like fools, a pathetic looking fish dangled from a line between them. On the left was a dark haired girl, on the right a sub burnt, brace faced redhead. I knew what the back said, written in old sharpie, the date smudged off.

Camp Teupines, New Jersey

The big one

I know what I have to do.

It's time to go see an old friend.

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 2
Funerals and Reunions​

The house was old, probably from the turn of the century and it bore the scars of a lifetime of abuse. Cracked concrete steps lead up from the corner or Third and Jacobs to a wraparound porch lined ringed by overgrown bushes. The back yard was all gravel. A tarp covered lump was boxed in by an old Mustang and a little Ranger pickup truck. A tiny garage clung to the back capped with a home made porch.

Three front doors, one down a trench into the basement, two on the porch. There were three mailboxes, two were empty. One was overflowing.

"Ya, she'd live here."

Now all that was left to do was… ring the bell.

Nothing happened.

I rang the bell again.

I started to question if she was home, or if this was even the right house. But just as I was about to leave, a muffled voice came through the door.

"Who is it?"

"Its me… Helena." I stepped back to the door and pulled the sweatshirt hood off my head to give whoever it was a better look.

"Helena? No way. Here, take a step back, I'll be right out."

A few moments past before the door seemed to come alive. A chain was slid off its track, a deadbolt tumbled. When the heavy wooden door swung out…

I landed in a heap on top of a suitcase, a trickle of blood coming out of a probably broken nose.

"Its so awesome to… Helen? Where? Well I did tell you take a step back, the door sticks you almost have to kick it open."

Enter one Roxanne Sutton my oldest and best friend from the old neighborhood. Back then, from before we could remember all the way through high school we'd been inseparable even though se was a year and a half older than me. The trouble we got into. Those had been the days.

"Great to see you too Rox. Gak, I think its broken."

"Doubt it. And it's not like you didn't deserve it."

Yep, hasn't changed a bit.



"Come in, come in."

She hauled me to my feet and led the way into a big combined living room kitchen, separated by a long counter. She vaulted over the back of a couch in the middle of it. She sat there with the same goofy grin from when we were kids. I forced a smile back. But it was fake. I knew it, she knew it.

She ran a hand through her read hair before grabbing a fistful of it on the back of her head. She let out a long, contemplative breath.

"I'm sorry… um, about your family."

"Don't be"

The silence that followed was deafening.

"When's the funeral?

"Tomorrow, Monday I guess"

Again the silence came down, and this time it didn't stop. We just looked at each other. It's amazing how you can be out of touch with someone for two years, and when you finally see them again you have nothing to say. Why had we stopped talking? Well, I know why. But.

"Are they still mad?"

"Hmm?"

"Those sorority people you were living with. They still mad about that party?"

Its good to want to laugh again.

"Oh yes. You left a mark on that house that they are never going to forget."

We had a good laugh reminiscing about that night. And before we knew it, minutes had turned into hours. And that's how the rest of the night went. We caught each other up with the last two years. I'd tell her about college. She told me she'd finally gotten into stunt school at Panessa studios. I told her about the parties she hadn't crashed. She said she'd gotten a bit part in a movie. I said I'd barely passed my midterms. She'd started working in the prop department when she couldn't get acting work. I'd gone a week with less than seventy two hours of sleep. She'd been living her dream. And I'd been…

It make me think again. About what I'd been doing with myself for the last few years. Why I'd been doing it. And that just dug up the freshly buried memories of my family putting me back at square one.

Then, just to top everything off, she mentioned she was engaged. Just like that. Isn't that the kind of thing you usually lead with is these kind of situations?

And so that was the scene. Rox running her mouth, me bemoaning my fate with face buried in hands, and a six pack's worth of hard lemonade bottles on the coffee table…That I don't remember being there when I got there.

Into this farce came Wyatt, with almost sitcom worthy timing. With the very mention of his name, the door seemed to fly open and reveal a disheveled looking man in a white collared shirt and loose tie.

"Look who finally decided to come home."

"Just… Please don't" He held out one hand as me massaged his eyes with the other.

"They did it again ay?"

He nodded grimly as he hung a ball cap on a hook by the door.

"The fired Jason and Becker. Added the hours to everyone else. Damn budget cuts."

Apparently, they'd been introduced by Roxy's parents. Something something something. He worked for some people that redid their apartment a couple years ago. Something something. Now he has a job with the Department of Waste Management. And somebody somewhere want to save a buck. But because all the labor is union they can't fire any of them, so they're taking out the budget cuts on the salaried people. Like him…. Or something like that.

I think we all kept drinking after that because the next thing I remember is waking up the next morning on their couch with a nice hole in my memory. But I didn't have time to think about that.

The funeral was a quiet, lonely affair. Myself, the priest, Roxy and Wyatt, Mr. Johnson, a few cops, and a few men I didn't recognize. Nobody spoke. And as the rain came down the others melted away back to warm dry cars, back to the rest of their lives. Roxy had offered her umbrella, but I waved her off. She and Wyatt had gone back to the car. The priest was gone. I was totally alone.

And I told myself that was how I like it. Cold and alone, just a heavy coat to keep away the rain. The emotional roller coaster of the last few days taking a final dive into the abyss.

Going in, I'd thought about everything. My mind buzzing with grief and sorrow. But as the priest spoke. My mind quiet. And when I delivered an eulogy written on a little slip of paper, it slipped even more into silence. And when the rain came and the people left, my mind was silent. I didn't cry. The time for crying had long since passed.

It was nothing but a single long moment.

Me.

The rain.

And four coffins.

"Strange"

The voice. I understood the words but the sound was alien, coming from somewhere behind me.

It continued. "How much power we think we have. Only to find out how little any of it matters."

I didn't know what to think. My mind was in another place, but head slowly turned towards the voice of its own accord. What my eyes saw was a middle aged man dressed in black. A fedora slumped with water on his head.

"Don't blame yourself."

As I came back to reality, I answered him.

"I don't."

"Then who?"

I'm not humoring this guy anymore.

"Why not you? I don't know who you are. Or why you're here. Or how you know me, or my family."

The stranger let out a long mournful sigh.

"I suppose you don't"

And as the fog rolled in from the bay he turned away, slowly vanishing into the mist.

 

[VampirelordX]

More!!!!!!!!!!!

This is so good

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 3
The Long Night​

A little girl sat in a chair two sizes too big for her. A mud soaked polka dot dress clung to her as she counted the speckles on the floor tile below her dangling feet. To her left was a great wall of filing cabinets. To her right was a door with frosted glass on which was painted the words Principle Fickle in big black letters.

The only sounds were that of the secretary rattling on a type writer, and the muffled voices coming from beyond the door.

With all her might, the girl strained to hear them.

"Third time this year…. Disruptive…. Impulsive….Bad influence…."

Then the voices stopped and when the door opened, a tired looking man came out, followed by sorrowful woman. The little girl followed the couple out of the room, out of the school. And there, they all three sat on the front steps, under the bus cover. There they sat, looking out as rain lightly danced across the street.

Then the man turned to the girl and asked.

"Was it those boys again?" he asked

The girl shamefully nodded.

"But they were picking on that other boy again! And I promised that I'd help him. And you always say that a man is only worth as much as his word… or something like that. So I had to help. I just had to!"

"Well, I guess I did say that."

The man smiled a bit to himself.

"But. Why didn't you go tell your teacher sweety? Its they're job to do stuff like this."

"Well you said that you shouldn't make your own problem's the problems of others. I didn't want to bother them!"

The man coughed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided the woman's gaze.

"I umm. Guess I said that too."

He sighed as he and the woman stood

"We'll have a good talk about this at home"

He smiled gingerly at the woman as he spoke. And the two walked out into the rain.

The girl followed, but the further they walked, the heavier the rain came town, until she couldn't see he hand in front of her face through the deluge.

"Mamma!..."

"Pappa!...?"

But her cries were in vain as the rain came down still harder and the puddles became vast broiling sea.

The girl couldn't breath through the water.

Couldn't breath

Couldn't breath

Couldn't

Breath

Breath

I can't breath!

I can't breath!

"I can't breath!"

I bolt up, choking on air as the world around me spins in a thousand shades of black.

Deep breath.

It was just a dream.

I'm still at Roxy's house. Sleeping on the couch. They're just up stairs. Everything is going to be Ok. Its all going to be fine. Just breathe dammit. Breathe!

As I collect my composure something catches my eye on the coffee table.

It's a single, solitary, glass of water. A bead of sweat slowly crawling down its side.

I stare at it. That single solitary drop of liquid, as it slowly traces its way down, inexorably following the pull of gravity to its ultimate conclusion. And when it finally becomes one with the tiny puddle at the base of the glass, I reach over and gently push the glass away, as far away as could without getting up. And when I felt that I'd reached a minimum safe distance, I rolled over and closed my eyes again.



A little girl sit at a heavy wooden kitchen table. A ceiling fan slowly turns above her. A single ray of sunlight illuminates the room through a cracked window, the light cut by the bars of a fire escape. She absently pokes at the flowers placed in the middle of the table. She focused on them. Three red roses in a vase. On the outside she seemed peaceful, contemplative. But her mind was a battlefield. Words chewed on the back of her mind. Words that softly filtered through the living room door to her ear. Harsh words. Italian. English. She forced herself to not comprehend what she heard, letting the words become mere noise. But try as she might the meanings came true.

Your fault.

That girl.

Our child.

Delinquent.

Nonsense.

Losing her.

You can't protect her.

The words were followed by the sound of tears cutting through the walls. And as her mother cried, so too did the girl. Through bit lip and closed eyes a tear escaped down her cheek and a decision was made. It had to be her fault they were fighting. But she'd make things better.

She got up and slowly walked to the door and reached for the brass knob polished with use.

As she gently grasped it a noise shook the room.

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

Her body tensed at the sharp sounds, her hand clamping down on the knob. Fear tore through her mind as she stood, frozen in indecision. Then, as though of its own accord, the door was flung open revealing a grisly scene. Dozens of bodies strewn across a restauraunt floor. Red blood staining white tiles.

The girl screamed, and in an instant she was a girl no more, but a young woman, gazing upon the broken and bloody figures of her family.

BANG

Sharp pain coursed through her body, the taste of iron filled her mouth. A hand reflexively pressed against her stomach. When she pulled it back it came covered in blood.

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

The sound thundered on and on, unending, deafening as the woman faded from the world.

Knock

Knock

Knock

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkkk"

I claw violently at my abdomen, digging for a bullet hole that wasn't there.

I look around the strange room. It was dark and bare, save for the couch I was apparently still sleeping on.

Knock

Knock

Knock

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the knocking resumed.

"Helena? This ain't healthy. You hear me? You've been living in my basement for a week."

What she said after that became a blur as I fell out of bed. Everything hurt. The things that hurt, hurt. Somehow, I made it to the door and managed to unlock it, revealing a Roxy that looked somewhere between irritated and disappointed.

"Morning sunshine"

No, too early in the morning to that happy. I think that was supposed to sound happy.

"Where… Where am I?"

"We moved you into the basement so we could get some sleep. You talk in your sleep now buy the way, sleep walk too. Drove us up the walls."

She pushed past me, not so much as breaking stride as she spoke.

"So ya, you've had a rough week. And you're going through some stuff. And we appreciate that. But you need to move on. Get back in the saddle. Luckily for you, I've watched Dr. Paul, and I have a patented two step system to drag you kicking and screaming back to reality."

As she rambled on my face reverted into a slack eyed stupor. I could see her, but I didn't know what I was looking at. I could hear her, but I didn't understand the words. I knew I was somewhere, but I didn't know where somewhere was. Who was this strange woman?

"I'm going to interpret that blank stare as 'Help me Roxy, you're my only hope'. But first, you need coffee"

And so that was how the day went. Roxy herded me from one place to another. I ate something, got cleaned up. Became aware enough to realize that instead of morning it was late afternoon. And through some miracle, ended up standing in front of some old gym on Coventry Island.

The owner was an aging man with a face twisted by one too many bouts in the ring. Beyond that, the place was small, dirty, and empty.

Roxy led me to the back of the establishment, giving me a lecture the whole way.

"See, I think I know what your problem you feel like you have no control over what's going on, you're helpless. Now, I have a solution. Ya see, there are some things in life that are just out of your control. And if you worry about the things you can't control…. You'll go mad. So what can you control? Well you control your body right? And your mind, your decisions. You can't stop life from throwing knuckle balls but it's your call if you swing or not."

Her little psychoanalysis ended at the back of the long room. It was deep, probably deeper than I truly realized at the time because I noticed that I'd spent the whole walk staring at the rubber floor. When we'd stopped and I noticed she'd stopped talking, I looked up to my unpleasant reflection.

Damn I look like shit.

Eyes underscored by dark sacks, and shot with blood, a dower expression permanently plastered across my face. Everything seemed to slouch down like a tree coated in ice.

"So what's it going to be?"

She took a tight grip on my shoulder, looking my reflection in the eye.

"You gonna let life strike you out?... Or are you gonna swing for the fences?"

There are few moments in a lifetime that are important, truly pivotal. This… was one of those moments. Something changed. Right there, right then… something snapped. Popped back into place. Something unconscious was different. I could see it. Right there in the eyes.

Those eyes.

They were my eyes.

But they didn't belong to me.

 

[Yelluhchicken]

Huh. She plucked someone's eyes out and did ocular surgery on her self as she was sleep walking. Neat.

 

[Undead-Spaceman]

"So ya, you've had a rough week. And you're going through some stuff. And we appreciate that. But you need to move on. Get back in the saddle. Luckily for you, I've watched Dr. Paul, and I have a patented two step system to drag youkicking and screaming back to reality."

Click to shrink...

I can't help but find this line to be incredibly insensitive. Her family has been slaughtered and they're telling her to get over it after a week.

 

[Kilroy11]

I can't help but find this line to be incredibly insensitive. Her family has been slaughtered and they're telling her to get over it after a week.

Click to shrink...

You have a good eye. Roxy is about as sensitive as a jackhammer on a tooth ache. But it also comes from her worrying about her friend's rather unhealthy behavior and wanting to get her back to normal before she does any perminant damage.
In addition to being a bit of black comedy

 

[Night_stalker]

But it also comes from her worrying about her friend's rather unhealthy behavior and wanting to get her back to normal before she does any perminant damage.

Click to shrink...

And it's barely been a week since her family was literally gunned down in front of her eyes, and if not for their shitty aim, she'd be with them.

 

[Kilroy11]

And it's barely been a week since her family was literally gunned down in front of her eyes, and if not for their shitty aim, she'd be with them.

Click to shrink...

To quote one of the comics(I'm not sure which one)
"She's not entirely sane"

 

[Night_stalker]

"She's not entirely sane"

Click to shrink...

What gave it away?

Her love of purple spandex and running around on rooftops?

 

[Kilroy11]

What gave it away?

Her love of purple spandex and running around on rooftops?

Click to shrink...

Well everyone in Gotham is crazy in they're own little way.

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 4 :Thoughts in the Night​

Black smoke curled up and away, following my breath up into the darkness of the room.

The clock say 12:01 AM as I strike a match and light up again.

Once I told myself I'd kicked the habit, picked up those years ago.

Now I tell myself its medicinal. A tonic for the black thoughts that haunt my mind.

I don't sleep much. Hell I don't want to sleep at all. But eventually nature always wins and each day I loose the battle with unconsciousness.

But hey, insomnia has its upsides.

I have time to think. Not that thinking is the healthiest pass time for somebody like me. But I'm feeling optimistic today. Lets take stock, shall we?

Five weeks… Its been five weeks since… The incident.

Two weeks since the funeral.

One week since Roxy began her "therapy".

Since I refuse to see a shrink she insists that I give her patented Three to Five Step Plan for Mental Stability.

Two days since I got a job delivering the Gotham Gazette and tomorrow, I start out at the old Jungle drive-in out in the county.

So far, so good.

Spending time with friends.

Also good.

Making new friends.

We're on a roll, lets keep it going.

Living in the barely furnished basement of a duplex.

Less good.

Still an alcoholic and I'm back to smoking a pack a day.

Ok, new topic.

I'm an orphan.

Oh, not good.

I'm torn, and confused, and I… I just don't know what to do.

They're dead. All of them. Dead and buried. And I still can't escape them.

I'm trapped, locked away in the prison of my mind.

But it's my life.

MINE!

I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK ANY MORE!

"YOU HEAR ME? I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK!"

"I NEVER CARED!"

"NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD AND LET ME SLEEP!!!"

I hurled the little digital alarm clock against the wall, leaving me on the bed, face cupped in hands.

Thinking.
Thinking.

Thinking is dangerous for people like me.

"I need some fresh air."

Episode 5: In Medias Res​

Damn I love a good chase. The hunt, the pursuit. It's the best kind of tunnel vision. The world melts away. Everything is boiled down to its basic elements. A singular contest between the hunter and the hunted.

Admittedly, it's a lot more fun to be the one doing the hunting.

These are my thought, the things that ran through my head as my heart thundered in my ears and me feet thundered up the stairwell of the Kuma building.

The Kuma building has twenty five floors.

I'm on twenty one and climbing.

Above me, eventually, is a snow covered roof, a dead end.

Below me is a demon, a sword wielding demon that's hot on my heels, a sword wielding demon, hot on my heels and in-between me and a convenient getaway.

Well we'll just have to make an INconvenient getaway, now won't we.

I get to the roof with precious seconds to spare.

I pick the edge across from me.

With the full moon at by back I perch on the edge of the precipice, and wait.

The she demon takes longer that I'd thought, and when she does show, her entrance is slow, measured, poised.

Her eyes are black orbs set against a bone white mask, crossed with the red rays of the rising sun.

Her jacket continues the theme. Red, white, and black with the rising sun sprawling across the back.

Long black hair, straight as a razor, sways in the breeze.

In her hand is a blade, long and curved, radiating a green, ghostly mist.

Her moves are slow, every one of them intentional, silent as she crosses the roof.

A breeze billows by heavy coat like a cape.

Our breath curls up and away through the crisp night air.

There is nothing else, for a moment the world is dead, gone. We are alone, two figures alone in the cold darkness of the night. Just me, and her. Me against her.

She is erect, tireless, standing with practiced posture, as if the chase through the building had never happened.

I'm slouched, conserving my energy, quietly sucking wind to get by breath back.

She brings up her sword with both hands, leveling the blade across the face.

I raise an auto-cross to her head. The other hangs limply from my arm below me. One is loaded with a range tip, the only kind of head that would work with the auto loader.

The other has quite a different surprise in store.

If I survive this, it's going to make one hell of a story.

And like all good stories, this lovely mess all started six months ago.
In a bar.

 

[Night_stalker]

Below me is a demon, a sword wielding demon that's hot on my heels, a sword wielding demon, hot on my heels and in-between me and a convenient getaway.

Click to shrink...

How'd you get that many guys from the IRS on your tail?

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 6: Black Canary Blues​

The Wetz building. Four stories of brown brick in a sea of houses.

The first floor is the local grocer and liquor store.

Above are cheap apartments.

And down below is the Black Canary.

The neighborhood bar.

That place everybody comes together after the Sionis packing plant lets out a six, where everybody comes together to watch the big game.

The home away from home where once a week we all come together.

And that is what it was to me. Home. Yes I have that basement I sleep in, and the house I share with those two nuts upstairs. But that place is two sizes bigger that it really needs to be and its lonely in the middle of the day when all the normal people are at work. So my home. My real home. Is on a stool at the Black Canary.

At the Canary, there are just three rules.

Rule number one: Always pay your tab.

Rule number two: The house is always right

And rule three: If the house is wrong, see rule two.

So here I sit, perched upon the stool at the end of the bar. Those three rules lit in neon among the beer signs above the bar.

Yep, a home away from home. As I nurse my beer, fond thoughts of home float by in the foam. Old home… and new.

As I trace the rim of the glass I remember the cigarette wedged in my ear. With a sigh I stuck it in my mouth, fumbling through pockets for a lighter.

The striker sparked once, twice, three times…

"Stupid cheap piece of shit…"

FWACK!

Something smacks me in the back of the head. My cigarette shoots out across the bar.

"Smokin's for customers. NOT employees. Now get back to work. Maybe you'll pay off your tab sometime before they put me in the ground."

Every factory has a boss, every city a mayor, each army a general, school a principle. And the Canary has its owner. One old, blind, cantankerous, penny pinching, black woman named... Well nobody actually knows her name, as far as I know. But everybody calls her Nana.

As I get off the stool and re-synched the stained white apron around me I shoot a finger at the snickering blond behind the bar.

"I don't want to hear it Lance."

That was Dinah Lance. The Black Canary's quiet bartender, leather jacket aficionado, and occasional singer.

I plucked a toothpick out of a jar as I walked back to the kitchen, wedging it in my teeth I trudged back to my station in the kitchen, scrubbing floors.

"Hey, you should know better than to try that round here man."

"Shut up Rico"

"I mean, those thing. They kill you. Though I'm not sure which will get ya first. The smokes, or Nana whipping you for usin them at work."

"Shut. Up. Rico."

"I mean, look at me. I used to be a pack a day man before I got here. Now? Now, I'm the best cook in Gotham County."

"Ya, best cook my ass, I'll show you how to cook you water burning…."

Rico smiled as I muttered my way through the minutes. He was a good guy, Rico. Big busy mustached guy who worked in the Canary's kitchen. He talked a big game, but in his defense, he made a damn good reuben.

Time went on. He hummed to himself as he sharpened a set of knives. I scrubbed the floor towards the round metal drain in the corner. Then he broke the silence.

"You know. There's been something that's been bugging me."

"Well if its lice, I'd recommend a good bath and a new haircut."

"Ah, funny aren't we. No, what's bugging me is why you do this?"

"What?"

"This. To yourself. Why don't you pay your tabs? I asked Roxy about it. You got the money, two jobs. Why spend your time here, drinking, scrubbing floors and dishes."

"You and your good questions"

He chuckled at that.

But he had a good point, and I didn't have a good answer.

"I guess I'm just in kind of a weird place right now, y'know? In between things. I dunno."

That answer didn't really cut it but it was all I had. Maybe I just liked the place and wanted an excuse to not leave? Maybe Nana just reminded me of my great grandmother, and I'm just latching onto anything that I can. I dunno.

The front door slammed, hard.

Who's that?

Muffled talking drifted in through the order window.

I whispered at Rico

"Rico… Who is it?"

He cranked his neck to one side, getting a better look before he whispered back.

"Punks, Asians… three or four of them."

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

"No, they talking to Nana, boy is she getting mad."

"Should we do something? Rico? Hey… Whatcha staring at?"

In a sudden ridged movement, he held up a finger at me, stiff as a board, every sense seeming to strain to look through the kitchen wall.

For my part, I shut up and tried to listen in too, but shit acoustics and the background din of the kitchen killed that idea.

"Pinche!"

I didn't know what that meant, but I think I got the jist of it.

In a couple seconds, I was on my feet and out the kitchen door.

There they were. Three punk looking kids with neon dyed hair and jackets and another guy in a clean black suit.

"Everything OK Nana?"

I was behind the bar, where it flipped up to let people behind it. Dinah was down at the other end, cleaning a glass, eyes locked on the visitors. Rico held the door open behind me, leaning part of the way out of it. Nana sat on a stool near Dinah. They suit was leaning on the bar next to her, with the punk in formation behind him.

"Fine dear. Just telling these gentlemen that we already have insurance."

Then I saw why Rico freaked out. The man, the suit leaning on the bar had a long slender knife. He was testing the blade with his thumb.

"But do you have the right insurance?"

The man kept talking, never missing a beat when we appeared from the kitchen.

"We can do so much more for you than you know"

Nana just chuckled at that.

"Dear, I think that you don't know what this city can do to you. Now get out.

"Helen, would you be a dear and show them the door."

I flipped up the bar and walked over to the door.

The suit folded his knife and left in silence, the punks tailing behind one by one, protesting loudly in some gibberish language. One gesture from the suit as they reached the door silenced them.

I held the door open for them. Wouldn't want it to hit them on the way out now would we.

As they filled out, the suit was dignified, erect, eyes ahead. The punks shot me dirty looks from behind tacky sunglasses. And I returned the favor. Until the last one walked by and decided to take things one step further.

He spat. In my face. I blinked once, twice, and then the action finally registered.

Son of a bitch.

That grinning son of a bitch.

The punch was fast, he never saw it coming.

What he did see coming was the floor, which he hit with a very satisfying thud.

He also probably didn't see my foot going for his ribs either, not the first time, not the second time, not the third.

"FUCKER! I"ll kick the life out of ya you fucking cunt fucker!"

What I didn't see was his buddy wheel around and get me in the nose.

That sent me for a bit of a loop. Grasping at air, I caught ahold of they guy's coat sleeve and managed to haul myself up enough to look him in the nose, and then plant my forehead in it.

He stumbled back into the arms of nameless punk number three.

"My nose. Fucker, I'll…"

I wiped the blood from my face and was about to give the guy another object lesson when I suddenly found my arms unresponsive.

"The hell."

"That's enough Helen."

"Lance? Lemme go, I can take these little shits"

She bad both of my arms behind my back.

"Just calm down"

I'll show you calm you little…

Little…

Damnit.

Ok…

OK ok ok ok.

Deep breaths.

Deeeep breaths.

Everything smells like blood.

Damnit.

The son of a bitch got his. Its ok, calm down, calm down.

"Ok… Ok, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Sure, ya, better than good. Great even, fan fucking tastic.

She let me shake away from her.

As I tried to plug by bleeding nose with the back of my hand, nameless punk number two was thrashing around in the arms of nameless thug number three until the suit shouted something short and very pissed off sounding. That made him sit still as the first guy slowly pulled himself back up to his feet.

As they finally left, I guessed as to how many ribs I'd broken on him. I smiled when I settled on one broken, two cracked. He deserved more.

With them gone, I now had to face the repercussions of my actions.

"I'm… um, sorry. I shouldn't have… I lost my…"

"No dear, he needed to learn a little respect, now get cleaned up and lemme take a look at you, anything broken?"

"Just my nose"

"Well go get some ice on it dear. Rico? Hand me the phone would you?"

Rico pulled the cordless off the wall and handed it to her. She dialed a number and started talking as I headed for the freezer.

"They're back".

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 8: Sticks and Stones

"Do you want to know how I got these scars?"

Six eyes shown out of the gloom, like stars in the night reflecting the room's dim light, magnifying it, focusing it right back at me.

"Do you really want to know."

The stars blink and shift, their desire evident.

"Nah, you don't want to hear this story. What with its tale of heroism and loss. Bloodshed and violence. Suspense and drama!"

The stars lean in ever further, bearing down on me like hot coals.

"Very well, I can see that you know what you want. You have chosen your fate."

I lean far back in my chair, stretching, in preparation for the saga to come.

"But even the dead"

I take up my empty glass and dangle it before the glossy eyes.

"Must pay the boatman. Filler up."

The middle man slowly pushed back from the table and walked away leaving his friends to vacantly look at me as I rocked on the back legs of my chair. Wait a second. 'Pay the boatman? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm implying that they're going to die. I really need to think these things through before I drunk story time.

After some time the middle man returned, bearing with him a great frothy pitcher and I continued.

"Now, where was I? Oh, scars. Right. I got these scars right here. In this very room. On a dark night, not so long ago."

"I was right over there, sitting at the bar, enjoying the evening. I'd been happy, peaceful. All was right in the world. But, it t'was not to be. In through the door like a chilled breeze came them, dark shadows in silk suits. The Yakuza. One of them. The leader. Shrugged off his white coat revealing a great black dragon coiled around his chest. Eyes hidden behind shades sharp as a knife, he bellowed out in his native tong pointing with a black sword in a white scabbard."

"At his gesture his men attacked. Twenty strong, deadly silent, lethal with the blade. Three came down upon me first. They had numbers. And they had training. But I had something they didn't…"

"Anyway, one of them slashed high while another went low. The low blow chopped the stool out from under me and the high guy gave me a little shave off the top. I kicked up onto the bar like one of those pommel horses in the Olympics. I spun around an gave those first three a nice double foot sandwich. You could hear the first guy's jaw break. And the ribs of the second cracked like a cheap mug. And the third, the third guy. He was a bit tricky. He dodged my flying feet of fury and tried to give me a good slice with his sword. An you know what I did? I caught it with my feet, right between the sole, as I was doing a one armed handstand on the bar and holding my drink with the other. So then I do a flip, I go behind the bar, the sword goes into the wall, and that poor guy went sailing though the order window. Burnt off half his face on the grill. So then the Yakuza could see me, and they crept closer, swords over their heads like this. And just as the got close enough out I jump, with the sword, screaming for one of those punk ass bitches to make my day. "

"One of them obliged me. He was tall, bald, and one hundred percent crazy. He jumped up on the bar with me and we proceeded to duel. He bowed to me, I spit in his direction. He swung high and fast from the sheath, I deflected and cut low, he blocked with the sheath and came down with a hard vertical slice. I dodge to the side and bring my blade up. He saved his balls by about an inch with the sheath again. So he swings again, up and from my left this time. And I catch him by the wrist. Now I think I have him. So I swing hard for his neck. But he catches me too. So there we are, bound up together and we both know that sword play is out of the question at this point. So we start dancing. Or I think you could call it that. We pirouette down the bar like that, kicking and jabbing with our feet until finally, I fall. There I was, this guy had me dead to right. My sword had fallen beyond my reach. His was at my throat, I could feel his breath, his heartbeat. I would die if I didn't think of something fast. So I took a shot glass that was laying there. And I gouged out his eye with it. He screamed in pain rolling around on the floor, blood everywhere. I roll the other way, back behind the bar again. And for a long moment there was nothing. Just the screams of the wounded and the trickle of the blood. They just stand out there, squinting, faces all tight and serious. Like they can't take a shit. Well, I solved that problem for them when I reared my ugly mug again. I came out from behind that bar with Nana's old shotgun."

'Say hello to my little boomstick you ugly sonofabitch!' I says before I blow a couple of em away with a single shot. Gore flew in every direction, blood painted the walls as I gave it a good pump, that beautiful cha chunk sound, as a shell danced across the floor. Then BOOM. Another two or three of them became a fine pink mist. I vaulted over the bar and did it again, BOOM. One of them dropped to his knees, grasping at the whole where his chest should have been. BOOM, one of them runs around like a chicken without a head because I'd just blown his off. Now, all that remained was the man with the dragon tattoo. Time stood still. I looked at him and he looked at me. And then I fired. That should have been the end of it. He would have become one with the paint and I could get back to whatever it was I'd been doing. But instead the buckshot stopped. It froze, midair, the pellets dropping to the floor before the guy, and all he'd done was barely twitch. I fired again, and the man twitched, sending buckshot flying in every direction. I fired again. He didn't even seem to move that time. Until he turned his head to the side and spat out the shot like so many mellon seed. "

"He advanced. I stood my ground. He kept coming. I didn't even blink. Then, maybe ten feet out he vanished, flashing before my eyes to where he as right in front of me, his sword run through me. I reach out, took a grip on his blade, and pulled myself down it, down that razor like sword until my head was right next to his. And I whispered.

"'Say ahh you sonofabitch.' And I blow his head off with the last shell in the gun. Fade to black"

"Go home Helen, you're drunk."

Lance stood there looking me square in the face.

"Am not. I'm not even slurring my words."

It was true, I was as eloquent as ever.

"True, true. Your ass is also flat on the floor"

"Am not. I'm still sitting in a chair."

I subtly reach down just to make sure it was still there and low and behold, it was.

"You know, that would be a good point if it wasn't flat on its ass with you."

You know, that wall was looking awfully like a ceiling. Quick Helena, think of a comeback. Something witty, snappy.

"Know what else is flat? Your ASS!"

Nailed it.

I think she rolled her eyes at that as she reached out a hand to help me up. I took it and I was hauled upright. In my bead. In my room. The fuck.

 

[Night_stalker]

You know, I recently got Arkham Knight, and this fic just inspired an idea for a scene.

Spoiler

Remember when we're first introduced to the Batmobile's battle mode? That bit where it takes out a drone and 4 Militia goons in a short period of time? Would be interesting to see if right as he's calling it in, one of the goons catches a freak case of "Crossbow bolt to the brainpan".

They spin around to try and find the sniper, Batman uses that as a distraction, then she drops in after the bodies are busy bleeding into the street.

 

[Kilroy11]

Episode 9: Hello Darkness My Old Friend

Hello darkness my old friend, the music floated through thick isolating headphones.

The roof had a great view of the city lights, the dying rays of the sun coming in from the west, the lights of downtown blinking on one at a time in the west.

The sea breeze blows in from the east

I read the label on the bottle in my hands. 'Sangiovese' it says. Dad's favorite.

I don't know what to say, you're gone! Why won't you just LEAVE?

I can't sleep. Every night I live through it again, and again, and again, again, again, again.

Are you happy? Look at me! Daddy's little chain smoking alcoholic girl. Are you fucking proud of me now? You made me! You're the reason I'm like this! You left me! Why? Why? Why did you die? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE. WHY DID I HAVE TO LIVE.

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME ALL ALONE!"

I was standing. I don't remember getting up, but I was standing there on the roof shaking my fist at the heavens before I slumped to my back, choked down the tears, and let the music save my soul.

Time didn't seem to pass for me. I was well and truly alone on that rooftop, my brain compressed between walls of sound that guarded me from the rest of existence. I saw the stars blink into view one by one by one by one.

Smoke curled up and away into the night sky as I looked on.

Then a muffled voice cut through the cacophony of silence in my mind. I knew she was there. What she was saying was beyond me, beyond a wall of sound and headphones. So I waited. I waited for her to do something. Pull my hood down and my headphones off. Drag me up by the shirt and shake me until I started making sense.

"What." Shot an eye open to see her head poking up over the lip of the roof.

She sighed before repeating her entire speech " Haven't seen much of you the last couple weeks, and… we're going on a trip tomorrow. I just thought you might want to come. Get out of town for a bit. Considering, your, whatcha call it, not having a job or anything."

"Got a job" I muttered back.

"I'm sure you do. Anyway, we're hitting the road at six tomorrow morning if you change your mind." She said as she started back down the ladder.

Well there's your options, sitting on the roof feeling sorry for yourself or spend time with friends.

I don't want to do anything.

So you're just going to let the only people you have left walk out the door?

Dad always said that friends were worth their weight in gold.

I'm lucky to have such friends. Look at what they're done for me? I show up on Roxy's door after years of barely speaking. And what does she do? She gives me cloths, a roof over my head. Picks up right where we left off. And what have you done with this kindness? You sulk and you drink and you hide in the deepest darkest corner you can find.

Well, guess I can clear my calendar for the next couple weeks.







Episode 10: Country Roads

Six AM the next morning.

I'm sandwiched between Roxy and Wyatt in the front of a poor little over loaded Ford Ranger on I-195 headed for somewhere in Pennsylvania. I'm there, dressed down in hand me down flannel while the Man in Black plays on the radio.

Wyatt seemed calm, quietly smiling about something in his head. Roxy was, oddly enough, asleep, snoring away with her cheek plastered against the window. And to be honest I was feeling pretty good. The leaves were turning, the sun was rising, the city was slipping away behind me, before me on the horizon was our destination. The distant town of. Where are we going? Probably should have asked that before now.

"So, where we headed?"

Wyatt smiled as he answered

"Outside of Lost River, Pennsylvania State Game Lands number 111, little cabin way out in the woods."

"Oh, good." I smile and nod

"Nothing bad could possibly happen. There aren't any ya know, Indian burial grounds or evil books, or some other things. Just three twenty somethings in a cabin in the woods. Perfect."

"You watch too much TV" Wyatt said, hanging an arm out of the window

"Well I've had some time on my hands."

"Look, I've been coming here since I was kid. Nothing strange has ever happened… Except for the old insane asylum built on an old graveyard that's haunted by the screaming ghosts of the mad, damned to eternal torment upon the mortal plane."

He smiled a big toothy grin. I gave him the look. The look of being simultaneously amused and angry. Pissed and light hearted.

But mostly pissed.

"Roxy's flair for the dramatic is rubbing of on you."

"That's not…"

"Up." I snap a finger up

"Don't even think about it. "

"But."

"Don't. Want. To. Know."

Mouth opens.

"Zipp!"

Mouth closed a bit

"Ipp!"

Mouth closes. When it cracks again.

"Zadda!"

With a nod of the head he relented, going back to tapping out the rhythm of the radio on the side of the door smiling of at nothing.

You see, people change on car trips like this. Sometimes they become completely different people. Take Roxy for example. Normally, high strung is a gross injustice with her. But stick her in a car where she knows there's nothing to do for hours on end and its lights out. She could sleep through the D train on Monday.

Wyatt on the other hand got really talkative, ranging from tall tails to pointing out every deer, hawk, and blinking light along the road and somehow having a story to go with every single one of them. It was pretty informative to be honest.

Me? Well the silence chews on my guts like the gnawing hunger of a thousand wolves. So I ask really stupid questions. Like.

"Is it hard?"

"Is what hard?" he asked with raised eyebrow

"Hunting."

He sat there a moment, stumped it would seem, chewing the wad in his cheek meditatively before he finally gave an answer.

"No."

"Oh really?"

He spat "Not if you're smart. If you know the land, you know the deer, if you know the deer, you know where to be at what time, and if you know where to be at what time it's like shooting fish in a barrel. I mean there's folks who go a little over board with this stuff, what with the calls and moon calendars and trail cameras and scents and decoys and what not. But I've always found corn and salt to be second to none."

"Huh" I nod, not knowing what half of that was.

"This one time, I was with a guy who used that doe urine."

"Urine?"

"Yep." He smiled to himself.

"See, when deer rut, its all based on smells. The does start to smell a certain way and that drives the bucks wild. Well, the idea is that the urine is the concentration of that smell. Or something like that. At any rate, you use the doe urine to make stuff smell like deer. Well yer supposed to use it as bait, on a decoy or a rag nailed to a tree or something. But this guy, Tom was his name. He didn't know that. So he put the damn stuff on like cologne. We had to kick'im out of the cabin for a week."

We both had a good laugh.

He sat there grinning for a long moment before he finished.

"He's the only one of us that saw a deer that year though"

The silent drone of the ride closed back in for a while. He smiled in nostalgia, Roxy snored on the other side. And I was right there stuck in the middle. As boredom once again draped itself upon me and before I knew it, I was asleep for the first real time in months.