Gotham: A New Generation (IC)

[The Flutterlands]

Gotham

It was a rainy autumn day in Gotham, rainy as usual, to the displeasure of many Gothammites. Dark clouds loomed over the skyscrapers, making it almost like night time despite being afternoon. The people went on with their daily activities, driving to or from work or walking down the soaked streets under their umbrellas. Police of the GCPD chased down Two-year and some bandits who robbed the Gotham Bank. The only thing exciting was the fact that Halloween was only a couple weeks away and Gotham University was preparing for it's annual party for Celebration.

Overseeing the city on a tall Hill, Wayne Manor loomed. It was not the same since Bruce Wayne left, with Tim Drake as it's new master. The young man had made the manor the home of not only himself, but many young folk who came to Gotham in search for a life. Little do the City of Gotham know, as usual, that within the halls of the Wayne Family home, live their protectors, the heros taking Batman's place as their protectors and his disciples. In the bat cave they trained, preparing to fight whatever threatened their city.

In the East End area of Gotham, now nearly abandoned saved for the ever growing Gang of Freaks and other scum, villains plot their move. The people of Gotham avoid East End like the plague now. Nothing good comes out of it. And yet... they can't help but look upon it like a ticking time bomb. With the growing rise of villians, a storm was brewing and Gotham knew it could only be ready when it strikes, relying on the heros to save her...

[Ormata]

A gunshot.

The city was full of them, always full of them, full of knives flashing in midnight shadows and blood spilled on the ground, full of gunshots and full of the blaring police sirens. They never came quickly enough, never never, and never did they come with enough. They were hesitant, too, hesitant because EMTs get shot at for trying to save a kid’s life, shot at for trying to reach an old lady who was having a heart attack in her home. When ever the poor bastards trying to help the place got shot at, had to wear bulletproof vests for their trouble, that was a surefire sign that things weren’t going well. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that.

Anyone with one eye could see that.

Isaac watched from his apartment window, some twelve stories up, up through the dark afternoon that seemed to plague the city. It was too damn dark, too dark for an afternoon and too dark for a city in any condition. Steam rose from a brew in Isaac’s hand, hot and glorious and comforting as he could see the blood pouring from a man on the side of the road. The car was already speeding-away, the drive-by already done, and Isaac didn’t know First Aid. All he could do was kill. All he might do was murder. The man might die, he might not, and all he might do was watch. The wailing of sirens in the distance made the man guess that it would be sooner rather than later that help would arrive. He just might live.

Just might. Isaac took a sip, a little bit of warmth reaching his heart. The man lived in the East End, but that wasn’t a sentence to death. It shouldn’t be, at the very least. He might be a criminal, might be a murderer, might be a rapist, but that was anyone. He might deserve death, but that judgement wasn’t one to be made blindly. It wasn’t to be made rashly, either.

Turning away from the window, the man closed those blinds and slipped-on a dark hoodie. Pouring his coffee into a travel mug, as there was no reason to waste good coffee, he took the stairs down. Down down down he went, down the stairs because trusting an elevator with one’s life was damn stupid, down down down the stairs that clanked and cracked and groaned because they were too old, too worn, because a rivet here or bolt there was rusted to the point where there was no metal left, where only grime and oxidized material survived, was in just the right place. It wasn’t a safe building, not by any stretch, and frankly Isaac wouldn’t really trust the fire escape either. It was cheap, that was all, cheap and a workout to go up and down.

By the time he’d reached the bottom, Isaac had worked-up a little bit of sweat, just a bit, and had the hood over his head. There was little reason for people to see the greater issues he had, most definitely little reason, and yet he wanted to take a walk. There were things to see, most certainly things to see, and there was always things to do on a walk to the car. He might see a murder, a mugging, a rape, one sin or another that needed to be dealt with without mercy. There was no court to be needed when the witness was the executioner, no jury when the defense had nothing to spare. This was Isaac’s belief, one he held on to with ease. They deserved to die, always and forever, and his regret was not being able to kill them over, and over, and over.

Isaac reached his car without seeing anything of the sort, a small mercy, and got-in. Starting it up, he thought a bit on where, exactly, he wanted to go. The library was a little lackluster, a little barebones, and the man wanted some little thing to read. Sadly enough, internet coverage and providers were slightly difficult to get in the old building, in the East End, and as such he was just a bit limited in terms of what he could read. Always damn slow. Books were just a tad more dependable, in Isaac’s opinion, and so he set-off to the Gotham University Library. You’d read on the place, at times, read on frat parties getting out of hand or some athlete drinking themselves to death, but overall it was an alright place. At least, it was alright in Isaac’s mind. There could always be worse, always always.

The streets were thinning, the afternoon rush to get home dying down, and so Isaac’s timing was really pretty good considering what he normally made. His little Fiat only slightly stood-out, compared to the rest of them, really chosen for it’s ease of repair and simple engine, for it’s ease in parking the damn thing. Wasn’t a bad looking car, too, in Isaac’s opinion, having those 40s-style body as it did. Little car for a little man.

He found the place, really rather easy to find, parking the car and entering the library, up the steps and through the doors.

[Tiekerrick]

Prof. Morto D'Arte
Professor Morto D'Arte overlooked the preparations for the Halloween festivities. With his specialization in the occult and darker history, the student committee believed that he would be the best suited faculty member to bring about the best and truest sense of Halloween spookems. Though he loathed the commercialization of the powerful date, he appreciated the students' curiosity in relation to the nature of the decoration and activities. Though many of the more...brutal details are understandably banned from the occasion, he had his own ideas for incorporating a bit of flare to the festivities. As the volunteers crafted the decorative trinkets he sat down and brought out his laptop, beginning to type out a mass email to donors of the school which are comprised mostly of Gotham's elite.

"Greetings Valued Patrons of Education,
The University is proud to announce that preparations for the Halloween celebration are underway. There are many portions of the celebration that you will be cordially invited to which are, but not limited to; Science as Magic:A Series of Presentations, The Haunted Carnival of University Square, A Witch Hunt in Old Gotham, and The Hallow's Eve Gala. More information on these events are to come as they get closer. If you have questions about any of the events, please feel free to contact either myself or the student committee.

Respectfully Yours,
Prof. Morto D'Arte "

After finishing this and sending it on its way he closed the laptop, stood, and walked over to the plotting students. Making sure everything was in order he crossed his arms, "I see this is all getting underway, so I'll be off to check on the build-teams on my way to some research. Make sure you clean up the mess upon completion." Prof. D'Arte put on his jacket and left his office and made way outside through the square past the start of structures to be the Haunted Carnival. Noting that everything is on track with his schedule he went on to the Library.

He opened the door slowly and quietly as he entered the old building. Looking about and taking note of his surroundings and those present before making way to his normal research section. Directly to the occult section he went to pick up a set of books; The Types of Scandinavian Medieval Ballad, Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser, Sveriges Medeltida Ballader, and Die Fischerin. Upon collecting these he sat in his normal spot to read over the various tales within. He then got into his open stance, reading until his prescribed time to leave or interrupted.

Dr. Harold Cordon

Dr. Cordon sat at his desk, looking over his break-time fill of the news. The normal articles showed, Criminals at large, Criminals caught, murder, theft, chaos. A sigh crept across his face as he turned the pages. "Just a little longer until I am back out there." He said quietly to himself. He looked up from his paper and placed it on his desk as he stood up and began to walk out to the project floor. The usual projects which have been there for weeks still present, but one thing caught his eye. A piece of machinery sat untouched on a table. Away from the others, Cordon smiled as he remembered his most recent breakthrough. He picked up the apparatus and inspected it, "Still nothing. Must be the agar mixture. I'll have to tweak it tomorrow." He looked at his watch and smirked. "Because it's my time to meet back at the manor." And with that Dr. Cordon took off his lab coat, and put on his leather jacket. Making his way down the stairwell, he thought over his mantra, "To think is to will, to live is to think, to will is to live." Cycling through it in his mind, he reached the bottom of the stair and out to his motorcycle. Upon taking his seat he revved it up, and began his trip to the manor to meet with the rest of the team.

[United States of Brainy]

Gotham University Library

Another mid-shift, 4pm til midnight. On a Friday night no less. I might actually mind if my social life wasn’t a big fat zero. Well, at least it’s casual Friday, Barbara Gordon thought to herself. Casual Fridays meant that Babs could get away with jeans instead of dress slacks or a skirt. And the sneakers she wore were waaaay more comfortable than flats or heels. A white, fitted tee and black knit sweater vest completed her informal yet totally respectable work ensemble. I mean, come on, the eyeglasses on a chain dangling around her neck virtually screamed librarian! Or dork.

Hey, I don’t mind being a dork. And she didn’t. In fact, she enjoyed having the library all to herself. She was the only librarian working tonight which meant the place was all hers. All mine. The thought brought a smile to her face. No bureaucracy or office politics or any of that nonsense. Just her and her books and the few quiet souls in search of solitude or edification this cold, dreary October night. In fact, the place was virtually deserted . The Knights had a home game tonight. That plus the usual Friday night frat parties kept everyone off campus. The annual Halloween Gala was still weeks away, the preparations half complete and on hiatus until Monday. The extent of the library decorations was a plush doll of Snoopy dressed as Zorro on her desk.

Not that the library needed plastic skeletons or phony cobwebs to make it any scarier, it was terrifying on its own. The crazy floor plan and maze of shelves were the stuff of nightmares but to Babs it was home. It was just her and the security guard on staff tonight. Not that she worried. She had her bodysuit on underneath, her backpack with her cowl and cape and utility belt in her office. Ghouls and goblins, watch out!

“No ghouls or goblins here tonight,” she whispered. She spied one lone figure in a hoodie at the end of the hall but that was about it. Oh $%#@! That’s what you get for opening your big mouth, Babs! Who should walk in but Prof. Morte D’Arte. Dr. Death. That’s what the students called him because that’s what he did to their GPA. Babs just thought that he was creepy and imperious in a Lovecraftian way. A major league pain in the &$$.

Thankfully, Prof. Haughty Eyebrow ignored her completely. Made a beeline for the special collections and the offices reserved for senior faculty. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need her help finding anything later on. Let’s just hope nothing crazy happens tonight, she thought with a sigh before returning to her stacks.

Wait. Was that the Ruth Bingum? What was she doing here?!

[Auphelia]

The Queen

She walked down the aisles of the Gotham University Library, her dress brushing against the spines of several dusty tomes as she veered slightly to the side to allow a dull faced student to pass by in the narrow corridor created by the oppressive shelves. This place was mired in the past, a reminder of the older, grander Gotham. A time before super heroes and super villains. Over the years countless buildings had been destroyed, and there were few around that predated what Gotham was known for. Grime, grit, and crime had become synonymous with Gotham, and many thought Batman had left because even he recognised this city was a lost cause. The Queen didn't like to think of it like that. Gotham was . . .flowering. Becoming one with the true way. She would eventually rule this land, and it would vastly improve under her rule, everyone loving and admiring her like they were supposed to. No more nasty rumours about her engaging in bestiality. Nasty stuff, to be sure.

However, she wasn't The Queen now and couldn't think like that now. She was Ruth, and was looking around the University library because she needed to do some research on the upcoming holiday. She was hoping to find a song to sing at the upcoming University Halloween party, something no one else would know. She knew that this library had the largest collection of occult and "magical" books in the region, and would surely have something. A chant, a spell, anything would do. A trip to see Steven and Marcy at the Theatre, a few hours, and she would have a jaw-dropping number.

The dress was silk, a grey and blue thing of beauty that perfectly set off her hair and eyes. It swirled around her as she stopped, blocked by a man sitting in a chair in a too-shallow alcove with an entirely unsuitable face. Was that . . . indeed it was! The Professor who was arranging the party! Her phone had buzzed before she entered the building, alerting her to what was happening. As she was on the board, she always knew what was happening around campus. He would be the perfect person to talk to in order to schedule her song. It wasn't in the itinerary this year, but she knew it must be a clerical error by an assistant or an intern. She always sang.

Prof. Morto D'Arte

He opened the door slowly and quietly as he entered the old building. Looking about and taking note of his surroundings and those present before making way to his normal research section. Directly to the occult section he went to pick up a book on Halloween of all things. He took a seat and opened up to the portion on the origins of trick or treating, or "souling" as the text referred to it. He then got into his open stance, reading until his prescribed time to leave or interrupted.

"Sir, do you have a moment to speak?"

[Bycrest]

The Riddler
Edward Nygma paced through his warehouse where he stored all his gadgets and traps, trying to think of the perfect riddle for the upcoming Halloween party. It would be the main event for everyone in Gotham and committing the crime of the year there would certainly gain him the respect he deserved. Unfortunately, the riddle that currently plagued this genius' mind was; what was he going to do? It had to be something big, something that would take the whole city by storm. Most importantly, it had to show that he was indisputably the smartest man in Gotham. With Batman gone, Riddler was sure he could stomp the city with a children's puzzle, but he had to be sure.

As he continued walking through his warehouse his two trusted henchwomen, Echo and Query, followed close behind. They took on the responsibility of protecting Riddler if thing ever got physical when the heroes came around. They were completely devoted to Riddler, unlike all the random thugs he hired off the street, so it was no wonder they were with him when he was trying to plan his biggest heist of the year.

Riddler also had to consider the new heroes that arrived in town. With Batman's disappearance, there was something of a power vacuum for the hero business. A lot of new heroes popped up in Gotham and started taking out some of the more veteran villains. Their powers and abilities allowed them to ignore the more traditional way of crimefighting everyone had gotten used to. If anything, Riddler considered them lower than the average citizen because of their misuse of their abilities to go around breaking bones. At least when Batman did it, everyone knows it just some anti-social psycho in a suit punching people. He wasn't any different from other except for his knack for stopping the villains.

Thinking about the new wave of heroes got Nygma thinking and eventually an idea came to mind. He turned to Echo and Query who were waiting patiently for their next orders.

"Echo, Query, I need you two to go out and recruit the local riffraff. I'll need all the available Neanderthals for what I have planned, and see if you can bring the clown’s assistant in. She could prove useful."

Echo and Query turned and exited the warehouse as they smiled at each other. Getting random thugs to join would be easy, the promise of money was all it took to win them over, getting Harley would prove to be a bit more challenging. She started laying low after the Joker disappeared but they thought they had an idea of how to get her attention.

[Tiekerrick]

Prof. D'Arte

Noting the immediate presence and muffled voice, the Professor tuned back into the world hearing the last portion of, "...ment to speak?". Turning his head he say the finely dressed woman stand in front of him. Examining every detail of the ensemble he smirked and looked upon her face. "Brilliant, really getting into the mood of the season I see. Very spectral that outfit if I do say so myself." Standing, placing a single bookmark in each book on images of kings robed in green, he closes them and turns fully to the woman. "How may I be of service? I am conducting some thematic research for the upcoming Gala and in quite a hurry to make proper notation of dress and decoration for the theme." He goes on to pick up the books and stops. "I'm sorry, your face is familiar but I can't put a name to it. May you remind me of your significance?", he says turning his head with a raised brow.

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

There was just one librarian there, at the University. Just one librarian was there, a lady of mid-twenties age, younger look, with a brighter outlook than most people he’d expect there. Isaac had the image in his mind of old librarians, crooked librarians with bent backs and permanent scowls plastered on their wrinkled faces, of people shushing others because library quiet was a term they could use, was a term in the dictionary, because they hated noise and felt it had no place in a library. He had the image of old dresses and glasses placed on long noses, right on the peak, forever being pushed up and forever not staying. He had those images, and this young lady fit none of those. Perhaps she was a college student, a kid there who smiled because of how few people there were, of how few issues she might have because of the numbers, and because as such she might get some peace and quiet before a replacement came along to relieve her, so she might go to a night course. Perhaps. Maybe she just wanted quiet to study better. Neither of the two seemed to be of such importance to Isaac, the man walking past her without saying a word, coming to the back of the library and searching for some of the more obscure works.

Fingering-through the writings there, from one to another to another, Isaac found just a few he was interested in. One was a particularly old tome, Der Erkling, a writing that held fantasy in line with that of history, a work that asserted certain possibilities in the universe as simple facts, as things that were and not dreamed of, of things that lay in the joys of reality. It was an interesting book, that was for sure, and one that most simply had no idea existed. Isaac would have loved to claim that it was a thing of subconscious, but in all reality he just felt that he could get away with the book. A simple trick of the hand, his body in the way of the lady’s look as she was distracted by another person entering the library, and the book was gone.

Isaac’s head looked-up, and he could see the person entering. One person entered first, an older man with a nose that looked as though someone had flattened it against his skull, with black hair and white streaks and crags about his face as though someone took a plow to it. Furrows and cracks like spiderwebs fell-about his features, a fine coating of hair on his chin and sideburns, and yet the man looked to be rather well-dressed, all things considered. He didn’t look at the librarian, didn’t look at Isaac, simply walked to the back and picked-out books like a carrion bird. The man looked to be rich, elite, the sort of individual who committed crimes lessers went to jail for, who left wakes and wakes of issues. Isaac pulled his hood just a little closer; there was no telling what elitists would think on a man with only half a face.

The second individual to walk into the library was a woman, a person whose attitude exuded wealth and capability. She was one of those singers, a lady with the wealth she acted-out. About her was a dress of silk, grey like storm clouds in the afternoon’s setting sun, and framing her face was hair just as kept, just as intended to be perfect. The woman entered, walking-over to wherever the older man who first came had gone. Through the silent nature of the library, Isaac could hear the question she posed to him.

"Sir, do you have a moment to speak?"

"Brilliant, really getting into the mood of the season I see. Very spectral that outfit if I do say so myself. How may I be of service? I am conducting some thematic research for the upcoming Gala and in quite a hurry to make proper notation of dress and decoration for the theme. I'm sorry, your face is familiar but I can't put a name to it. May you remind me of your significance?"9

Strangely enough, Isaac’s stomach fell like a rock. They were both older, both of the classes that the man felt a strong distaste towards, both of the style and nature that was alien to him. They were rich, privileged in a city that had too many criminals, too many dead, too many whose hands and heads were trodden-on and forgotten by those trying to act-out the actions of a hero. They could both do a helluva lot of good to the poor, to the East End, and yet here they were talking about thematic research for a gala, on notation of dress and decoration, of insults that weren’t insults and insults that were compliments. In a way they made him sick. In a way they insulted him by existence and attitude.

He took down the hallway, down and fast enough past the librarian that the hood pulled back just enough. His heart skipped a beat. He hoped she didn’t see him, she didn’t see what was on his face, what was his face.

[United States of Brainy]

Barbara Gordon

Ruth Bingum!

The Broadway superstar, with a voice that had been compared to Streisand, Minelli, the best vocalists to ever grace the stage, had just strolled into HER LIBRARY! Okay, okay, it wasn’t Babs’ library. In fact, if any one person had a claim to the building, it was Ms. Bingum herself. The generous contributions made by the diva over the years had kept not only the library, but the entire university, in the black. If it wasn’t for the stage legend, Prof. Haughty Eyebrows, not to mention yours truly, wouldn’t have a job.

Babs had seen her twice before, not counting clips of her on the internet or on television. As Laurey Williams in Oklahoma! And as Countess Rosina in Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. Of course, from the nosebleed seats, all Babs had been able to afford, the actress had been just a speck but HER VOICE! Her voice had carried through the theatre, both resounding and intimate as a lover’s whisper in Babs’ ear. It had brought tears to her eyes.

Starstruck, Babs watched as the singing legend, her gown flowing behind her, made a sharp turn and proceeded down the very same aisle that D’Arte had headed down moments before. And sure enough, she stopped in front of the professor. They were too far away to eavesdrop and the vocalist had her back to Babs, preventing Babs from reading lips. Not that she would have done so. Barbara Gordon had better manners than that.

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one that had taken an interest in the pair. The dude in the hoodie had turned to look at them, his face hidden. Babs studied him for a moment, mildly interested, before turning back to stare at her idol. Bingum and D’Arte seemed deep in conversation. Quit gawking and leave’em alone. Giving the pair their privacy, she turned away…and something about ‘hoodie dude’ caught her attention.

Not him…the shelf. There was one less book on the shelf. Third shelf down, level to his chest. When she had spied him earlier, there had been fifty-seven books on that shelf. Now, there were only fifty-six. And then she saw the gap. A thin gap, between 398.28 and 398.92. Germanic Folklore. First, D’Arte and now this dude. What was up with folklore tonight? The gap suggested a slim volume. One that could easily be pocketed. And whaddaya know, ‘hoodie dude’ wasn’t holding a book. And he hadn’t mis-shelved it either. 63, 47, 69 and 59. The number of books on the two shelves above and the two below hadn’t changed. Yeah, eidetic memory, scary huh?

Stop it, Babs, you’re being paranoid. He probably slipped it in his pocket absentmindedly. Or so he could keep his hands free. Totally innocent. Not everyone’s a criminal or costumed psycho. Sometimes being a crimefighter made you see the worst in people. She was all set to give him the benefit of the doubt when he headed her way, a little too quickly and his head down. She was about to say something when he swept by her, his hood partially falling off, revealing the briefest glimpse of his face before he quickly pulled the hood back up and hurried off.

“Oh my god,” she gasped.

She had gazed upon his face for only a second but the image burned in her memory. Yeah, having eidetic memory sucks sometimes too. The man had half a face. Correction. He had a whole face but half of it had been scoured to the bone, the skull exposed.
Wait a minute…. She got a hold of herself. Obviously, it was a mask. Obviously. She started after him, the situation becoming clear. This was all some stupid frat prank. Some frat bros had decided it would fun to steal a book and scare the librarian, haha. Sorry to ruin your fun, losers, but not tonight.

“HEY YOU! IN THE HOODIE! STOP RIGHT NOW!” she yelled, running after him.

[Pax Nerdvana]

Ed Johnson
Ed Johnson sat in his apartment, at a table. He wasn't on duty at the school for another hour or so, so he was tinkering with his M1911, trying to lighten the trigger pull. He didn't use his M1911 for work, only fighting crime. He used a Colt Python in.357 for working security at the university. He looked at the clock, and realized it was about dinnertime. He stood up, and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He put on a pot of water to boil to make some Ramen noodles. Once the water was done boiling, he made the Ramen noodles and ate them. Than he got back to tinkering with his M1911. The rest of the hour passed quickly. He pulled on his Python's gun belt, his work Taser, and his other vest. He grabbed his badge off the counter, and began walking to the university, which wasn't far away. He clocked in, and began work.

He came in just as someone was shouting about stopping someone in a hoodie. He pulled out his Taser, and said,"I need you, in the hoodie to stop where you are."

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

“Oh my god.”

“HEY YOU! IN THE HOODIE! STOP RIGHT NOW!” she yelled, running after him.

Well, she definitely saw his face. That little comment confirmed that, the damn thing. She’d think he was a freak, a natural disaster, or a criminal. She’d think he was a villain, an evil prick who enjoyed to murder and enjoyed to steal. Granted, him being a murderer, a thief, and someone who enjoyed to steal to a small degree was something Isaac accepted, but those things were a far, far cry from anything of the scope and scale as a villain. Villains murdered with the restraint of only the determination of their targets, only killing who they wanted to based on their goals. Isaac was restrained by morality, by consequences, by the laws and by the government. Well, maybe not the laws and most definitely not the government. He doubted they’d look kindly on his lack of due process, that was for sure.

The man stopped in mid-run, stopping there and not really turning at all. It was surprising that the librarian was so assertive, interesting that she noted such things. A remarkable memory, perhaps, was what was to blame for that sort of thing; she couldn’t have seen the book, hidden as it was, probably saw the hole in the bookshelf. It was moderately late and she was still alert enough to make note of a little thing like that. An oddity, that was, an oddity for sure. Isaac slowly turned to face her, his face hidden from the looks of the others yet most certainly able to be seen by the librarian. She could see the necrotic tissue that bordered the pale skull, most certainly, and could doubtless see inside the skull inside, inside the shadows there and the shifting images that could be held. Isaac had, in Arkham, pushed all his power, all of his influence, all the unkept fields of death and decay into that head, into that skull, and there it all lurked, there shadows and tricks of the elight played-about like twisted children’s plays. Images of death things and dead people lurked there, each soul that had been taken, each thing being devoured, and Isaac never did look into the mirror for that. The librarian doubtless could smell the sickly sweet odor of decaying flesh, forever there and forever rotting. Isaac didn’t smell it, not anymore, his nose long since rendered ineffective from constant assault.

Isaac opened his mouth, the jaw along the side opening with the strips of muscle still rendered there, and spoke. His voice was like something not in the world, a rasping tone that lacked the fluctuations and nuance, the fine details, of any sort of normal speaker. There was a whistle between the bone with each sound there, a fine whistle that was like one would expect at a dog park. “Something the matter?” Was his question to the lady, his glassy eye staring blankly into her face with no spark there.

[New Minitopia]

FIREFLY

As he looks of the roof of the building, Firefly chuckles to himself, laughing at how weak gotham's new heroes are. He looked behind him to the hostages he had tied up to the fire bomb, as they try to struggle, he thinks it would be much more interesting for the GCPD to find burning corpses then a few blokes shot in the head. As he gets ready to fly, he hears the sirens of the Police, knowing they'll be too late for the idiots on the roof. He jumps off and flies back to his lair, just as he reaches the lair, he flicks the switch, blowing up police and prisoner alike in a glorious fire ball.

[Auphelia]

Prof. D'Arte

Noting the immediate presence and muffled voice, the Professor tuned back into the world hearing the last portion of, "...ment to speak?". Turning his head he say the finely dressed woman stand in front of him. Examining every detail of the ensemble he smirked and looked upon her face. "Brilliant, really getting into the mood of the season I see. Very spectral that outfit if I do say so myself." Standing, placing a single bookmark in each book on images of kings robed in green, he closes them and turns fully to the woman. "How may I be of service? I am conducting some thematic research for the upcoming Gala and in quite a hurry to make proper notation of dress and decoration for the theme." He goes on to pick up the books and stops. "I'm sorry, your face is familiar but I can't put a name to it. May you remind me of your significance?", he says turning his head with a raised brow.

Ruth Bingum

She was appalled, affronted by this man, this heathenish scum! How dare he not know who she is, on top of not scheduling her to sing! One day they will all know, as they are slowly drowned in currents of insects . . . but today is not that day.

She smiles graciously, her teeth perfectly white and her gorgeous blue eyes twinkling in the dim light of the library. "My name is Ruth Bingum, one of the Board of Directors of the University. That's Bingum as in the Bingum Auditorium, the Bingum Research Library across campus, the Bingum Music Hall, the Ruth Bingum Dormitory, the Ruth Bingum Arboreal Park . . . does any of this sound familiar? Anyway, I came to inquire as to why my annual Halloween performance is not on the schedule? You see, I always -"

Barbara Gordon
“HEY YOU! IN THE HOODIE! STOP RIGHT NOW!” she yelled, running after him.

Suddenly there is a shout, and Ruth looks past the shelves of the Staff Only Library section to see the woman behind the desk vault over it and run after something. Quickly extending her power around herself, she is suddenly filled with the perception of the thousands of insects in this library. People always underestimate the amount of small life that inhabits buildings, and this place has obviously not seen an exterminator in a good while. She can see from spiders around the action scene that the apparent thief is confronting the woman and is . . . eugh. Obviously some sort of villain, perhaps one where a surgery went wrong. Still, she couldn't just let him steal . . . something. Most likely a book, or perhaps one of the bookends that were on some of the shelves. Come to think of it, this library wasn't very well adorned. Perhaps she would need to be more generous in her next round of donations. Either way, she had to do something. Perhaps a bit of fun was in order.

She spoke once more to the Professor, continuing her conversation while she set her subjects to work.

"Ahem. As I was saying, I always perform at this annual function, and it would appear an oversight has been made."

Hundreds of spiders begin to pour into the aisle, and with thousands more on the way. They begin to bite the man, and she orders some to begin spinning webs. Cockroaches and flies, fleas and beetles join in, though in far lesser numbers. They swarm, hindering. She sets them crawling on the skeletal monster man as the webs become thicker around his legs.

"Now, I am sure you meant no harm, but now that you are aware of the oversight you will surely fix it?"

Mice begin to scurry out of their wall holes, nearly five hundred in all, and made a beeline for the man. She could feel millions more insects around campus and thousands of other animals, but did not call on them. This was a simple book theft. It wouldn't do to deplete her armies on such petty things, not before the time was right.

"After all, I hope to be able to put in a good word for you when you become eligible for tenure. We wouldn't want anything to sully your good name, would we?"

The mice climb up into the man's pants and dig around, biting and scratching. The spider webs are thicker, and she commands flies, cockroaches, mosquitoes, and everything that can fly to wind it around the man. It has only been twenty seconds but with her subjects under her command she has done an hour's worth of preparation. She can feel the librarian and the thief reacting, but she is merely focused on her own machinations.

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

Hundreds of spiders begin to pour into the aisle, and with thousands more on the way. They begin to bite the man, and she orders some to begin spinning webs. Cockroaches and flies, fleas and beetles join in, though in far lesser numbers. They swarm, hindering. She sets them crawling on the skeletal monster man as the webs become thicker around his legs.

"Now, I am sure you meant no harm, but now that you are aware of the oversight you will surely fix it?"

Mice begin to scurry out of their wall holes, nearly five hundred in all, and made a beeline for the man. She could feel millions more insects around campus and thousands of other animals, but did not call on them. This was a simple book theft. It wouldn't do to deplete her armies on such petty things, not before the time was right.

"After all, I hope to be able to put in a good word for you when you become eligible for tenure. We wouldn't want anything to sully your good name, would we?"

The mice climb up into the man's pants and dig around, biting and scratching. The spider webs are thicker, and she commands flies, cockroaches, mosquitoes, and everything that can fly to wind it around the man. It has only been twenty seconds but with her subjects under her command she has done an hour's worth of preparation. She can feel the librarian and the thief reacting, but she is merely focused on her own machinations.

Fear surrounded Isaac. He never had an overwhelming issue with animals, nor bugs and the like, yet despite all that, despite no overwhelming issue, the man still held fear in him. Five hundred spiders? Millions of insects? These were the dreams of nightmares, fiendish abominations that held onto his heart with dagger-claws, sinking into the red flesh there and injecting the poison that was panic. His eyes turned wide, briefly stunted in his actions, briefly frozen in time, as they clung onto him, as they bit him, as pain jutted into his limbs and blood, little dribblings of blood, welled at every point. Fear stabbed into him as he could see the mosquitos and flies, the beetles and fleas, the animal life like a swarm of devil’s death.

Fear surrounded him, and all he could see was one path. It was just one person wide, just tall enough, with black trees and dead brush on either side. There was one path, only one, with the silence that comes only from complete peace, complete harmony, and there was only one way to achieve true harmony, true peace. That path was littered with corpses, corpses on either side, corpses of the maid and the goons, corpses of father and mother, corpses of dead babies and skeletons that had long since deserved to be put five feet under. Isaac could see but one path, just one, and he could see the bodies which lay there. The young library, he could see her eyes staring blankly up into space, a slack jaw and cracked glasses from her fall. Isaac could see the old teacher, the singer, they were there too and just as still.

And anger welled in Isaac’s chest, anger gripping his heart and tearing into it with a viciousness and a scream. His mouth opened and no sound came, none save for a whisper towards one person, one person only. Only one person in the building did he feel like deserved saving, only one person did he feel warranted a chance at salvation, at honesty in life and a longer life than most. His one eye stared blankly at that librarian, the glassy surface reflecting all those bugs about him, all those mice, all those dead things that were soon to be. That thought came in a roar, in his mind. His whisper was a simple one, not a request nor a plea nor a cry for help. It was far, far different than any of those.

“Get the fuck away from me. Now.”

That whisper was filled with hate, hate and blood and fury of the like that such a simple library had never felt, and the changes were rapid. Bugs were such small creatures, with such short lives, such tenderly fragile strings made of shards and shrapnel, and these were shattered with just a portion of Isaac’s power. Flies fell from the sky and cockroaches halted in their tracks, coming to rest with a simple ease and a simple thought. Mice fell from their place, and the flood and vermin about Isaac was one that came with an ease.

The books about him turned old, pages yellowing and aging with rapidity as well, and even the librarian felt the power that swirled about her in unseen mists. It was a slowing power, an old power that none felt in their daily lives yet all knew of. It felt as though time was passing, time passing like the whirlpools of a river, like the rapids just before a waterfall, and it was a calm power, a calm little thing. It was a simple fact that one aged, that one always aged, that one would forever age and one day die of it. It was a simple fact that all grew old.

It was a fact Isaac knew all too well.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

[Tiekerrick]

prof. D'Arte
Snapping out of the scene that unfolded just beyond them, he heard Bingum's words clearly and nodded, "Yes, my apologies. I've just been so drowned in my work that I've never had th chance to see you up close. As per scheduling music we simply hadn't reached that step yet. We only just got a theme agreed on. I was going to be sending inquiries of services to local artists once I returned home, but it seems you beat me to it. You were in fact on the top of my list considering the contributions and support you have given the school in association with your great skill." He returned to the books and pulled the table over so the lovely woman in fine garments could see the contents clearly as he opened the books to their marked spots. Upon the images of forests, elves, and spirits play across the pages. The design mainly Scandinavian, but at parts Germanic. Gesturing at the texts the Professor continued, "We decided to avoid the typical gaunt of the Salem witch trials and the gimmick of horror films, and chose something a bit more antique. Going to late medieval and early baroque themes of Northern Europe. I was just doing some research on a Scandinavian folk tale which inspired a German Poem which in turn inspired a piece of beautiful music from the Romantic Era," turning through Die Fischerin he came to a page with a twisted alder tree with the image of a man draped in green reaching out of the page, "The Erlkönig." Looking up at Ruth he smirked a little, "The original tale spoke of the daughter of the Erlkönig trying to entrance a valiant knight into dancing with her in the forest, but upon his refusal the woman cursed him, cause him, his bride to be, and his mother to die the next day. In reference to this we had hoped that you would in fact open the Gala with the musical adaptation in the period dress. Would you accept this opportunity?"

[United States of Brainy]

Barbara Gordon

It was no mask.

Halfway to the exit, he turned and stared at her. His ravaged face fully revealed. Barbara’s eyes widened in shock, her voice paralyzed as she took in the horror that confronted her. The denuded bone. The necrotizing flesh. The one glassy eye that beheld her, the other nothing more than a hollow socket within the gleaning half-skull. And the smell. The smell of rotting flesh hit her worse of all. It seared itself into her memory, burned forever in her mind.

“Something the matter?” he asked in a casual tone as if he were asking for the time.

She swallowed hard and found her courage. “What…I mean, who are you?”

However, before she received an answer, a scurrying roar filled the room! Spiders, cockroaches, insects of all sorts, hundreds, no thousands of them spilled out of the crawlspaces and flooded across the floor like black water. The stampede of carapaces washed over the half-skull man. And then started climbing.

Mice and rats, dozens of them, joined their insect brethren, inundating the man, burying him under their bodies.

Despite her disgust, she had to help him! She started towards him when he spoke again.

“Get the fuck away from me. Now.”

It was but a whisper but uttered with such fury that she took a step back.

And then it hit her.

It felt like a pressure wave of musty air. Desiccation and death and decay. The insects started dropping off of him. Their crackling corpses falling off like sheets of dandruff. And then the rats began to die. Their death squeals croaking in their throats as their bodies withered away. Babs was reminded of the sickening image from The Time Machine, the George Pal version with Rod Taylor, with the plate of rotting fruit as Wells is transported into the future.

The bile rose in her stomach but she pushed it down.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he spat at her. It was almost a plea. If he could do this with animals, what could he do to her?

The hero in her sprang into action. Fortunately, the library, the immediate area around her, was deserted. The only other people besides herself and the hooded man being Ms. Bingum and Prof. D’Arte. Turning away, she ran back down the hall, back down the alcove and confronted the pair.

“THIS WAY! NOW!” she shouted in her loudest, most authoritative, librarian voice. She headed to a janitor's closet hidden in the corner. The door was locked and she didn’t have time to fumble for her keys. CRACK! The door frame splintered, the metal handle plate clattering loudly on the tile, from the impact of her kick.

“INSIDE!” she ordered.

She ran back out. No time to get her utility belt, she had to improvise. Looking frantically around, she snatched up a green and brass book light off the table. “Sorry to have to do this,” she whispered, before throwing the lamp with unerring accuracy at the hooded man’s head.

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

She turned, started to run. Good shit. Started to yell at the other people, wanted them out and out, wanted them out and away from danger. That was good, too, the librarian knowing her stuff and still caring for other people. A lot of civilians just ran the hell away, ran and ran and maybe, just maybe if they were in a position of authority, would take a second to yell at the rest to get out of the building. The special ones, those public servants, they’d do a helluva lot more, but this lady was going above what was expected. Was she actually a college student? Maybe.

The kick against the door, rapid and fast and strong, broke it open. She didn’t have the keys and she knew practical martial arts. Practical was a key word. A lot of college kids might get into stuff like Karate just because it looked cool, maybe, or maybe to try and get into the pants of the guy or girl in front of them. They might do it for spiritual reasons, with some Buddhism practices. They might do essentially yoga. Those weren’t practical, those weren’t real, not with no hits against the head and rules like that. She knew practical shit, shit about application of force and alignment. Fucking weird.

She ran back out. No time to get her utility belt, she had to improvise. Looking frantically around, she snatched up a green and brass book light off the table. “Sorry to have to do this,” she whispered, before throwing the lamp with unerring accuracy at the hooded man’s head.

Fuck.

Isaac started moving down, but most certainly not fast enough and most certainly not with enough dexterity to avoid the unorthodox attack. She spun-around, was fast at getting it, and was fast at throwing it. The book light soared through the air, despite it’s aerodynamic form, despite the fact that it trailed a torn power cable, soared right as Isaac started to crouch-down. It caught him in the forehead instead of the face, deflecting off white bone and clattering to the floor as the man darted one hand to his head, holding it there. Blood began to well between pale fingers as the single eye looked at the librarian.

“I try to be nice...I try to be kind...I don’t even take a hostage. I tell you to get the fuck away and what do you do but throw a light at me. All I wanted was a damn book. A book. Am I robbing a bank? Am I killing people? Fuck no. I’m in a goddamn library and getting a lamp thrown at me,” he muttered to himself. Isaac straightened back up, removing his hand from his head and showing a rather nasty cut, welling blood down the side of his face. A little cough, then, a whistle as the wind passed between hollow bone, and then the man spoke again.

“You going to let me leave peacefully?”

[United States of Brainy]

Barbara Gordon

If she was being honest with herself, she was a little miffed. She had expected her attack to take the guy down, to render him unconscious. After all, who takes a heavy brass lamp to the head and just brushes it off? Apparently this guy, she thought.

Still…at least it had gotten him to stop what he was doing. Yeah, you really ‘knocked’ some sense into him, Babs. Grimacing at the bad comedian inside her, she refocused on her situation.

Tough as he was, her blow had hurt him. Blood seeped from his skull and he had his hand pressed against it, trying to stem the flow. A bleeding skull? Everything about this moment was unreal, no, surreal and if she decided to faint dead away right now, no one would blame her.

But she was too hardened, too practical for that. Okay, the danger had passed. The horde of insects and vermin (And what was that all about?!) had scurried off, taking the bodies of their fallen comrades with them. It was touching in a way, who knew they cared so much about one another? Or maybe they just had a neat streak. Insects with a neat streak. She snorted, on the verge of losing it again.

Enough. She got hold of herself.

Okay. The guy, no longer a threat. Also, the only injury, which didn’t appear serious but still required attention. In a way, she felt sorry for him.

"I try to be nice...I try to be kind...I don’t even take a hostage. I tell you to get the fuck away and what do you do but throw a light at me. All I wanted was a damn book. A book. Am I robbing a bank? Am I killing people? Fuck no. I’m in a goddamn library and getting a lamp thrown at me,” he muttered to himself. Isaac straightened back up, removing his hand from his head and showing a rather nasty cut, welling blood down the side of his face. A little cough, then, a whistle as the wind passed between hollow bone, and then the man spoke again.

“You going to let me leave peacefully?”

His words caught her attention. Her heart softened even more. She fought those feelings, hardened her stance. “Excuse me,” she rebutted, “I think what you meant to say was that you were stealing a book. That’s still a crime, at least in my bo…urr, you know what I mean,” she finished hastily. What was it about this guy that had her so discombobulated? Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with how he looked.

“You’re injured,” she remarked, concern showing on her face. “Let me look at that for you.” She held up her hands, trying to reassure him, her voice growing tender, as she took the first tentative step towards him. “I have first aid training. Listen, I won’t call the cops. I mean, technically, you haven’t stolen anything yet. Just sit down and let me fix you up and then we can decide what’s going to happen, okay?”

She graced him with a smile before turning her head and shouting back. “Professor D’Arte! Ms. Bingum! Could one of you bring the first aid kit, please? There should be one inside the janitor’s closet!” She turned back to the hooded man, took another step towards him. “So…do you have a name?”

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

“Excuse me,” she rebutted, “I think what you meant to say was that you were stealing a book. That’s still a crime, at least in my bo…urr, you know what I mean,” she finished hastily.

“You’re injured,” she remarked, concern showing on her face. “Let me look at that for you.” She held up her hands, trying to reassure him, her voice growing tender, as she took the first tentative step towards him. “I have first aid training. Listen, I won’t call the cops. I mean, technically, you haven’t stolen anything yet. Just sit down and let me fix you up and then we can decide what’s going to happen, okay?”

She graced him with a smile before turning her head and shouting back. “Professor D’Arte! Ms. Bingum! Could one of you bring the first aid kit, please? There should be one inside the janitor’s closet!” She turned back to the hooded man, took another step towards him. “So…do you have a name?”

“Because unnecessary force is great,” came a little reply, quiet and reserved and spiteful. Stealing a book warrants getting a lamp thrown at you. Cute. Isaac was most certainly not happy with that part, no, not happy at all, yet...she made a step to him. A few little steps, slow and steady and careful, slow steps with hands upraised to show that she had nothing there, that she meant no threat to him. It was a lie. It was most certainly a lie. He saw her kick the door, saw that she knew some little about how to kick someone’s ass without weapons, and it was a lie.

“You’re not normal. Stay where you are,” he said, holding up a hand. “Give me your word and theirs,” he nodded to the other two, “that you won’t call the cops, won’t give me harm. You have my word that no harm will come to you three.” His other hand stayed outstretched, hand up and palm to her showing that nothing was there.

[Auphelia]

Barbara Gordon

“THIS WAY! NOW!” she shouted in her loudest, most authoritative, librarian voice. She headed to a janitor's closet hidden in the corner. The door was locked and she didn’t have time to fumble for her keys. CRACK! The door frame splintered, the metal handle plate clattering loudly on the tile, from the impact of her kick.

“INSIDE!” she ordered.

She ran back out. No time to get her utility belt, she had to improvise. Looking frantically around, she snatched up a green and brass book light off the table. “Sorry to have to do this,” she whispered, before throwing the lamp with unerring accuracy at the hooded man’s head.

Ruth Bingum

Before she knew what was happening she could feel a force hit her bugs like a tidal wave, washing over them. The effect of the power came from within, speeding up the ageing process on the insects. She quickly pulled the tide away, heading one . . . two . . three . . . there. Three shelves over was safely out of range. Most of her rats and mice, a few thousand insects that had been outside of or on the edge of his area of effect, it wasn't much. There were still more organisms in the library, but they wouldn't last long against that villainous piece of scum. Still, if she could find something with a long enough lifespan. She could sense they lost roughly a week of life every second, based on how quickly her swarm had died. She would need bigger animals, larger. She began to feel around campus with her power, her control of animals extending just far enough to cover the entire campus and several surrounding streets. She could feel . . . so many insects, virtually useless to her now. She had the spiders in the library begin to spin more webs, long strands, pencil thick and as strong as steel. While they furiously worked, many dropping dead from exhaustion and lack of silk, she called out to the various animals in this city. Dogs, cats, breaking away from their owners, jumping out of windows and pulling off of leashes. Six red foxes, a dozen possums, nearly three dozen raccoons, and over fifty squirrels. And then there were the birds. Pigeons, hundreds of them, took to the skies. Crows, sparrows, and even two hawks. It was a swarm, a living mass. They all converged, moving as one. On a whim, she decided to call on everything in the area. All animals from every walk of life, all across the university. Perhaps if she was a victim of a Queen attack, it would put the rumours of her alter ego to rest once and for all. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of this before.

She heard the screams before the doors of the library suddenly burst off their hinges and the windows shattered, the glass barely audible over the roar.

---

"Where again?" Mary asked as she turned the corner onto Bennett Street, the wind and rain pummelling the vehicle.

"It's off Lansdale," Sydney said, trying to see through the surge of water. The lights of Gotham University shone to the left, the buildings and trees drenched in the small squall that had just picked up.

"Got it," Mary said over the hissing rain and the rhythmic back and forth of the wiper blades.

A gnawing nervousness was growing in Sydney's belly. She wanted to tell her friend to hurry up, but she knew they were going as fast as they could in the narrow city streets. They turned onto the campus, rolling past the old university sign that had been there since forever. She had to get this paper in on time or her grade was as good as gone. She clutched her bag to her chest, willing the car to move faster.

"Hey, what's that?" Mary suddenly spoke up, bringing the car to a halt under a street lamp. Her face was practically pushed into the window as she struggled to see into the storm-swept night, darkness swallowing everything not in the pool of light.

This was just great. Why did she have to stop now? "There's nothing there, Mary. And I
won't be here either if I fail this class. Can we get going?" She looked at her friend, who was still peering into the dark.

"I . . . ," Mary began, still searching. "I thought I saw. . . "

And then.

"There!" she crowed, triumphantly. "It looks like . . . what in the -" Her eyes widened. "No. No no no no!" She grabbed at the wheel and put the car in reverse. "No no no no no no nonononononono!" Her friend began to scream incoherently, haphazardly backing the car up, as if she was trying to run away from something. The tires squealed on the asphalt, unable to get traction.

This was getting scary, a bit too much for her. A rainy night, just before Halloween, her friend acting scared and insane. If this was a prank, she was going to be very upset. "What is it?" Sydney asked. "I still don't - "

And that was when Sydney saw it. It looked almost like a wave of water, about to flow over them, but where would a wave of water come from on the university campus?

But as it flowed closer, Sydney recognised it for what it really was.

She wanted to scream too, but it was too late.

The wave - yes, it was a wave, but not comprised of water - was alive, made up of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of living things, warm-blooded and cold - insect, reptile, amphibian, and mammal.

Life, large and small, merged together into an undulating wall, surging toward the vehicle as if it was one single entity. If it wasn't so horrifying, it would have been fascinating.

"Hold on!" Mary shouted, swiftly flooring the gas pedal, throwing all pretence of safety out of the window. The tires screeched and smoked as they spun upon the wet road, finally gripping enough to send them racing backward.

Sydney felt the horror flooding over her, and was dimly aware of herself panicking. She pounded the dashboard, screaming a single word over and over again as if it would somehow make them move faster. "Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!"

And for the moment, Sydney thought they had managed to outrun the wave, that it was going to fall like real waves upon the beach, but the wave defied all logic as it surged up, growing impossibly larger, towering over the vehicle, before crashing down on the road and flowing beneath the car. They could feel it through the floor of the vehicle, striking against the underside, before flexing its terrible, singular self, pushing off from the ground and lifting the truck from the road.

They screamed together as the car flipped, the windows exploding inward as the vehicle came to a rest against a tree, on its side. Sydney fell in a heap upon Mary, who was pressed against the car door.

She was still in a daze, but the cuts that covered her brought clarity to her thoughts. She and Mary carefully righted themselves, amid the sounds of the living wave sliding across the car, probing, seeking a way inside.

Seeking the life inside.

Suddenly Mary lunged into the backseat, and tore at the cushions in the back. Pulling them away, she pulled and ripped away the thin panelling between the trunk and the cab. She reached into the trunk and came out with a shotgun, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready. Since when did her friend have a gun? Or know how to use it? She shook the thoughts out of her mind, ignoring it for now. This was too much, too fast.

"Sydney, this is crazy. But . . . I think there is a villain on campus," Mary said, her voice shaking in a way Sydney didn't like from a person holding a gun.

"OH, YOU THINK!?" The animals responded to her voice, crawling over the top side of the car in a frenzy. She glanced up at the shattered window above her, and saw it searching. The wave probed at the edges of the window frame, fingers made up from what appeared to be the pink, hairless bodies of moles and baby mice about to spill over inside the vehicle. The living mass started to extend down into the overturned vehicle. Sydney came to the sickening realisation that she might not survive this night after all, though for a far different reason that she had thought ten minutes ago.

Three shots rang out.

Then the screams began.

---

The Queen

The librarian girl had knocked down the door to a closet, ordered them in, gone to confront the man, and then told them to get over there. She heard the man respond, but it was too late. She had given the swarm direction. Already the campus was dissolving into chaos, and the library was soon to be hit.

She made her way over, not checking to see if the Professor was coming or bothering with a first aid kit, when the swarm hit the library. With the force of a tidal wave, anything not nailed down was caught up in the wave of living creatures. They howled, cawed, barked, and croaked, filling the aisles with their terror. Where they were in the library they probably had a minute before they were attacked, but that was less time that one might think.

Isaac Elliot
“You’re not normal. Stay where you are,” he said, holding up a hand. “Give me your word and theirs,” he nodded to the other two, “that you won’t call the cops, won’t give me harm. You have my word that no harm will come to you three.” His other hand stayed outstretched, hand up and palm to her showing that nothing was there.

She heard the last few words and found them, quite frankly, hollow. What kind of villain was merciful? Still, she had a role to play, for the moment anyway. She widened her eyes and shuffled forward, acing shaken.

"To be quite honest, whoever you are, I doubt you are as terrifying as whatever is making that racket. So you know what? I'm going to go past you, down that aisle, take a left, and get into the interior hallway before I die. If you will excuse me." She walks towards the man and squeezes past him, making her way to "safety". With a look over her shoulder, she gestures to the librarian. "I suggest you join me, as I suspect there may be villains about. This . . . man included." She shoots a withering glare at the skull-faced horror. She had just wanted to find a song, and now she was in the middle of a war this idiot didn't even know he was fighting. Fool. She did like the librarian though, despite her apparent penchant for heroics, and it would be a shame if she was injured tonight.

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

"To be quite honest, whoever you are, I doubt you are as terrifying as whatever is making that racket. So you know what? I'm going to go past you, down that aisle, take a left, and get into the interior hallway before I die. If you will excuse me." She walks towards the man and squeezes past him, making her way to "safety". With a look over her shoulder, she gestures to the librarian. "I suggest you join me, as I suspect there may be villains about. This . . . man included." She shoots a withering glare at the skull-faced horror. She had just wanted to find a song, and now she was in the middle of a war this idiot didn't even know he was fighting. Fool. She did like the librarian though, despite her apparent penchant for heroics, and it would be a shame if she was injured tonight.

“Fine.”

The words rang-out, and from his jacket Isaac pulled-out a pistol. He didn’t aim it at them, making a little point to not, and frankly really had it held only to the ground. Hell, his fingers weren’t even on the trigger. Isaac pulled it out from his jacket as one does a lighter, wanting to have a smoke outside, casually and with little fanfare. He kept it to his side, a frown on his face where flesh still roamed, and he eyed her carefully. She was an actress, that was known, and one who held good skills in such. She was really quite a good actress, in all reality. That made her dangerous. That made her a liability towards much, a variable he couldn’t nail down. Then again most people in the room he couldn’t nail down, but...there were worse things. There were most certainly worse things.

“You will exit this building. All of this building, and do not stop at the street next door. Ensure everyone is out of this building. I don’t want to kill anyone on accident.”

They were hollow, without emotion or tone, without the variances in speech that normally marked the sort of sour nature Isaac felt. They thought he was a villain. Of course they thought he was a villain, with his looks and with their minds. They always thought he was a villain, always and always, and never was there a point he wasn’t. Embrace it? The thought always briefly entered Isaac’s mind, like a plague and malady to his soul, and always was there the same response. Never. His mother wouldn’t have liked it. His father could burn in hell for all Isaac cared. Whatever came through those doors, however, had no such inclinations to think he was a villain. He’d get attacked like all the rest.

Isaac walked to a nearby seat, sitting down eyes staring at the door.

[Haedros 92712]

Elias
The Office
1:00 PM

People hustled and bustled around the office space. Elias walked through the isle between two cubicles. An employee put a hand on his arm. A female voice spoke behind him. “Mr Shields, while you were on break, you received a visit from representatives of Ace Chemicals. They wanted to arrange for lawyers to represent them in a HR case. The details are on your desk.” Elias tilted his head to face the woman. It was his secretary, Elise. “Thank you Ms. Parker.” Elise Parker was young woman (around 22 years old) who was interning for Shields, Parker, and Associates, a privately owned Corporate Attourney firm in Gotham. It was Co-owned by Ms. Parks father, which was how she ultimately ended up with the position of secretary. Elias entered his office and sat down. Before him sat a small stack of papers. The case was pretty open and shut. The employee in question had intentionally injured themselves in order to sue the company and make some bonus cash. Knowing the attorneys of Gotham, they would side with Ace, and there would be no problems. He put the papers into a stack on his desk. Typically, he wouldn’t have to deal with case reports or assignments, but when high priority clients like Ace came around, he hd to deal with them. It bothered him that, as the CEO, he had to do similiar desk work to one of his employees, an unusual thing to be sure. The Order meets tonight. Elias grinned at this thought. How delightful.

[United States of Brainy]

Barbara Gordon

“Because unnecessary force is great,” came a little reply, quiet and reserved and spiteful.

His words cut her deeper than any knife. “You were hurting the…” she quickly tried to explain but he cut her off.

“You’re not normal. Stay where you are,” he said, holding up a hand. “Give me your word and theirs,” he nodded to the other two, “that you won’t call the cops, won’t give me harm. You have my word that no harm will come to you three.” His other hand stayed outstretched, hand up and palm to her showing that nothing was there.

Damnit, I knew I shouldn’t have kicked down that door! Real subtle there, Babs. But, at least it appeared that he was coming around. He might not trust her entirety but he was willing to give her a chance. That was good enough for now. “Of course you have my word,” she told him, relaxing, finally hopeful that the situation could be solved peacefully.

And that’s when the swarm attacked.

She had been wrong in assuming that the earlier attack had been the extent of it. Now, larger animals, from the sound of it, were laying siege to the campus and the library. The fact that she could hear the cacophonous roar through the thick granite walls filled her with dread.

The Queen. Of course, this was all her doing! Babs kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. She needed to get away. A major assault by one of Gotham’s deadliest supervillains required the skills of a crimefighter, not a librarian. But first, she needed to get these people to safety. By the crash of breaking glass and the thundering pounding on marble floors, they only had a few minutes before the horde was upon them.

"To be quite honest, whoever you are, I doubt you are as terrifying as whatever is making that racket. So you know what? I'm going to go past you, down that aisle, take a left, and get into the interior hallway before I die. If you will excuse me." She walks towards the man and squeezes past him, making her way to "safety". With a look over her shoulder, she gestures to the librarian. "I suggest you join me, as I suspect there may be villains about. This . . . man included."

Babs ignored the withering look of contempt the actress gave him. Ruth Bingum had just provided her with the perfect opportunity and Babs wasn’t about to waste it. “Go with her,” Babs told D’Arte and the hooded man (Babs still didn’t know his name.) She raised her hand and pointed her finger in the direction that the singer had taken. “At the end of that hallway there’s a flight of stairs that will take you down to the basement stacks. The basement is a fallout shelter, reinforced concrete, you’ll be safe there!” She started turning in the opposite direction. “I’m going to get help!” she explained. She had to hurry, they were running out of time!

And that’s when their hooded friend put a stop to everything by pulling out a gun.

“Fine.”

The one, scornful word was directed at Bingum, not her, but the pistol he held at his side was meant for all of them. The fact that his finger was curled around the trigger guard and not the trigger itself hadn’t escaped Babs’ keen gaze. She didn't think that he intended to shoot them but she couldn't take that chance.

“You will exit this building. All of this building, and do not stop at the street next door. Ensure everyone is out of this building. I don’t want to kill anyone on accident.”

“Go,” Babs told Bingum and D’Arte. “Get to the basement,” she contradicted the armed man’s orders while she stayed behind and confronted him.

“You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded with him. But the grim expression on his face told her he would not be swayed. “Fine,” she echoed his earlier response bitterly. Giving him one last, sad look, she ran past him in the opposite direction from D’Arte and Bingum. Around the corner to her office.

The window blinds were already drawn and she was pulling off her shirt and jeans, kicking off her sneakers, as soon as she got inside. Grabbing her backpack, she had her cape and cowl donned, gloves and boots on and utility belt buckled in under thirty seconds.


Batgirl

Pulling out her smartphone from the back compartment of her belt, she activated the emergency channel. “The Queen has launched a swarm attack. Epicenter at Gotham University.” The message went out to any and all available Disciples of the Bat. She gave a brief hope that at least some of them would be able to respond.

Now it’s your turn, her thoughts re-focused on the man with the gun. She shot a grapnel to the second-floor balcony so she could take him by surprise. From her higher vantage point, she saw him seated at a table down below. Gun in his hand, his gaze fixed grimly ahead of him. She sent a Batarang, blunt-ended, at his gun hand, as she plunged off the balcony.

She landed in a crouch, her cape splayed around her, in front of his table. Rising ominously, she stared him down. “Ms. Gordon told me about your powers. I’d advise you against using them.” She opened her gloved hand, revealing a silver orb, before clenching her fist around it. “It’s a concussion grenade,” she told him. “Pressure sensitive. You use your powers or try anything that causes me to loosen my grip and it detonates. Unpleasant for me but more so for you I’m thinking. So, why don’t you play it smart and we get down to the basement where it’s safe.”

[Ormata]

Isaac Elliot

Now it’s your turn, her thoughts re-focused on the man with the gun. She shot a grapnel to the second-floor balcony so she could take him by surprise. From her higher vantage point, she saw him seated at a table down below. Gun in his hand, his gaze fixed grimly ahead of him. She sent a Batarang, blunt-ended, at his gun hand, as she plunged off the balcony.

She landed in a crouch, her cape splayed around her, in front of his table. Rising ominously, she stared him down. “Ms. Gordon told me about your powers. I’d advise you against using them.” She opened her gloved hand, revealing a silver orb, before clenching her fist around it. “It’s a concussion grenade,” she told him. “Pressure sensitive. You use your powers or try anything that causes me to loosen my grip and it detonates. Unpleasant for me but more so for you I’m thinking. So, why don’t you play it smart and we get down to the basement where it’s safe.”

The Batarang landed onto his gun hand, bouncing-off with the normal rubber manner. Most would flinch in one manner or another, most would break under the pain in the hand, yet all Isaac’s reaction was a tightening of his grip, a little grimace on his face as he sat there, calmly, the animals tearing at the walls. The lady fell-down in front of him, displayed her grenade and her threat, and clearly wanted him to run away, run away down to the basement where it was safe. Safe. Isaac didn’t really do safe, not always and not now. Now wasn’t the time for safe. Now was the time for action. The man made a point of pursing what lips he had left, the bone clanking against bone, before shaking his head.

“I don’t think so. The threat isn’t needed, you know. Here to help. All that jazz. Don’t let the face scare you. I hear quite the commotion outside...quite the commotion. Well...you know who I am, what I am. What I do.” Isaac spat that one out, spat-out ‘what I do’ like it was a disgusting thing, like an ugly blot that simply never went away. “Just don’t trip over the bodies,” came a sarcastic response before the brain leapt-up with the mouth and ears.

Ms. Gordon. That was more than interesting, all things considered. Commissioner was an interesting fellow, that was for damn sure, and his daughter working with the whole thing on a library...aw hell. Aw hell. Isaac connected the dots, figured that daddy’s little girl would have those glorious damn police connections, talk to someone on his face. That’d be a bitch of a thing to deal with; Isaac didn’t need to start to become famous with the police, of all things. That’d just be an overcomplication to his life, that was for sure. He made well to ensure that the thoughts didn’t show on his face. It wouldn’t do at all for the Bat to know that he was worried on something, not now, not ever.

“I take it the civilians got out of the building? Made sure of it?”

[United States of Brainy]

Batgirl

“I don’t think so. The threat isn’t needed, you know. Here to help. All that jazz. Don’t let the face scare you. I hear quite the commotion outside...quite the commotion. Well...you know who I am, what I am. What I do.” Isaac spat that one out, spat-out ‘what I do’ like it was a disgusting thing, like an ugly blot that simply never went away. “Just don’t trip over the bodies,” came a sarcastic response before the brain leapt-up with the mouth and ears.

She gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time for his bravado or his sarcasm. He seemed lost in thought for a moment and she hoped that he had reconsidered.

“I take it the civilians got out of the building? Made sure of it?”

Nope.

She sighed. “They’re in the basement, give me time to get them out.”

In between the “me” and the “time” she opened her fist and let the orb drop to the floor. The orb was a dud. Her eyes remained locked on his one, her face a calm mask. In one swift motion, while the orb was still in mid-air, her left hand reached behind her and pulled out her Taser and fired it at him. Classic misdirect. And if he so much as twitched after the first shot, she was prepared to keep firing until he was unconscious.