100YoP Chapter Nine "This is supposed to be a civil motherfuckin' torture..." (Patreon)

"Do you think he's on the take from Cobblepot?"

The sun was reaching its peak over the city. Hustlers on the corners  were crying out the brand names of whatever product they were slinging,  while kids sat on the stoops or ran around and played. A couple walked  down the street, arm-in-arm, laughing about something, very visibly in  love. An old black woman was walking with a young'un that seemed to be  her grandaughter, walking out of a barbershop each with a head full of  braids.

"Sam!"

"Hm?" I asked, still staring out the window.

"Do you think the cops is on the take from Cobblepot?" Billy asked.

"Nah. Bullock's dirty as any true Gotham police, but he ain't 'send threatenin' messages and carry out a hit for a mobster' crooked." I sniffed, "Far as I can tell, he's genuinely just giving me a tip."

"Well, that's nice," Farah said, "New topic: we fucking lost Yua!"

"I'm aware," I said, then started pacing around in Butcher's kitchen.  He'd closed shop early when I passed Bullock's warning, and we all  agreed to meet at his place.

"We don't have much time," Farah noted, a little impatiently.

"Really? Damn, and here I was plannin' a vacation to Hawaii," I muttered.

"Sam, man, this ain't time for jokes," Billy said. "What the fuck are we gonna do?"

"The fu-? What the fuck are you asking this crazy motherfucker for?!" Farah asked Billy, "He's the one that got us in this mess!"

"Hey-" Billy started, pointing a finger at her.

"She's right."

They both turned to look at me.

"It's true," I said, holding my chin as I paced, "That's on me. But he's  asking me 'cause I know how we're gonna get outta this one."

"Oh, y-you do?" Farah asked me, a bit sarcastic. "Great, what's the  plan? Step One: Walk into Penguin's Place and offer our lives?!"

"No, that's lookin' to be Step Five or Six," I said. "And I'm jus' gonna offer my own life, don't worry."

"The fuck?" said Billy.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," Farah said. "What the fuck are you playin' at?"

"Simple," I turned over to Butchie, who was watching me with a raised  eyebrow, "Butchie, who's the highest-ranked Penguin soldier you know?"

He thought about it for a second, "... I think Namond Monroe's still  with 'em. He lives by Newtown, near here. He was doin' well last we  talked."

"He well connected?"

Butchie nodded, "Yeah, always liked to make friends."

"But would he know where a higher-up lived?"

"Definitely," Butcher snorted derisively, "God put ol' Namond on this  Earth for one reason, and that was to kiss the ass of anyone and  everyone with one bit of power over him. Sometimes literally."

"You still haven't said what the plan is," Billy said, and when I  ignored him he snapped his fingers at me, "Sam! What the fuck did you  mean you're gonna let Penguin shoot you?!"

"I ain't say that. I said I'd offer myself to the man. There's a  difference." I said, "Now shut up, I'm tryin' to think. Butcher, this  guy, would he at least know someone that knows how to get to Cobblepot?"

"Can't say for sure, but it's likely."

"A'ight," I said, "A'ight, I can work with this. Yeah."

I turned to look at the other two, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay. Here's what I need you two to do..."

{[X]}​

"Everyone in position?" I asked.

"Waitin' at the front door," I heard Billy say over comms. "I'll catch 'im if he goes this way."

"Ready to trip the alarm, waitin' on you."

"A'ight, gimme a second to enter by the bathroom and I'll give the signal."


Namond was sleeping when the fire alarm went off. Honestly, it took him a  while to recognize them, since he didn't even think his building was  nice enough to have a working one.

Seeing the smoke coming out of the vent over his bed helped, though.

"Oh shit!" he shouted, shooting up and quickly shaking Candy awake. "C'mon, bitch! Wake up!"

"Mmm?" she groaned, faced down on the bed.

"There's a fire! C'mon, get up!"

It was a mad dash around the apartment, where Namond barely bothered to  put on some shorts while he ran around shirtless and commando, yelling  for his roomates to get the fuck up already. He almost went into the  bathroom when he saw the door open, but poking his head in showed noone  was inside, so he just kept getting his people to get out. He slammed  the doors way open and started shoving everyone out while the room  flooded with smoke.

Namond was about to leave himself when a voice spoke up behind him, "Y'think I went overboard with the smoke? Too much kindling, maybe?"

He turned around, and for a moment saw nothing. But there, right in  front of him, the smoke was parting around something, some space in the  air that it would not occupy. And before Namond's eyes, that space  started filling with patches of black and red, turning into a tall,  intimidating figure wearing body armour and a leather jacket with a hood  that cast the face in shadow, except for two shining white eyes.

And then a gloved fist rushed out and filled Namond's vision.

{[X]}​

There were hushed voices. That was the first thing Namond noticed when consciousness returned.

The next few things were that there was a bag over his head, his hands  and feet were tied together by something that didn't feel like rope, he  was hung from his hands, he was cold, and his head hurt like he'd been  punched in the face hard enough to get knocked out.

Namond stirred slightly, and the talking suddenly got cut off. There was  a whispered word, too harsh to be anything but an order, and several  footsteps filled the room before someone tore off the bag, and some new  things were revealed to him:

For one, the reason he was cold was because his shirt was still missing,  and he was in a vacant building with most of the windows missing. His  hands were tied together and stuck to the ceiling by some kind of  webbing. Another thing was that the strange figure that'd knocked him  out was right in front of him, tossing away the potato sack he'd just  pulled from over his head.

Namond recognized who the guy was. He'd seen footage of him from  friends, it was the crazy motherfucker that stole from the Lounge. They  said his name was Spider.

A little behind him was a big, well-built white guy that seemed to be  wearing a gas mask similar to the lower half of the first guy's mask,  standing with his hands behind his back, and he could hear someone  setting things up behind him.

"Hello, Namond," Spider said, his voice strange and almost  mechanical throught the mask. At odds with that and the menacing figure  he cut, the Spider spoke rather affably. "I'd like to give you a token opportunity to speak by your own will before I torture the information I want out of you."

"Wh-what?"

"You are with the Penguin, right?" the  Spider tilted his head slightly, while his body remained eerily still,  hands at his sides and ready for violence at all times. "I was made to understand you are very well connected."

"Y-Yeah!" Namond said, bravado located. "I don't know what the fuck you  think you're doin', but you fucked up now! You think Penguin was mad  before? He's going to send everybody after you for fucking with me!"

"Oh, I really doubt my life will take such a sudden turn for the fortunate," Spider said. "So,  you could point me to Penguin's most trusted? I'm guessing, with an  organization that size, he's gotta delegate at least a little, no?"

"I-I ain't tellin' you shit!" Namond spat. Literally, he spat on his mask. "You ain't gettin' shit from me!"

Spider reached up, wiped the saliva from his mask, and nodded. "A'ight."

He looked back and gestured for the other guy to come forward. He did  so, pulling a small silver canister with a weird nozzle on the top.

"W-Wait, what's that?" Namond asked.

"Hm? Oh, this? Just a lil' somethin' from my kitchen. I only use it to make Creme brulée every so often, so truth be told I'm glad it's gettin' some use." Spider clicked something in the back, and a small blue flame burst out of the front. "It's a cookin' blowtorch. Not surprised you ain't recognize it, if you've only ever seen construction grade."

"W-W-What are you gonna do w-with that?"

Spidey blinked, like the question took him by surprise. He turned off  the blowtorch, leaned in with an 'are you serious' look on his mask, and  said "... torture you. Duh."

"Wh- T-The fuck?!"

"Y'know, the really interesting thing is, you ain't gonna feel hot," Spider said casually, walking around him and out of his field of vision. "Somethin'  I learned in the army, the blowtorch actually cuts right thru yo' skin  and instantly melts your nerve endings. So all you feel is cold while I  sear chunks of your back off."

"N-No, hol' on man, you can't do that shit to me!" Namond said, trying  to look back. All he saw was the third person, a fairly tall black girl  with a curly mohawk, wearing a mask like the white guy's. "Y-You can't  let him do this to me!"

He heard the blowtorch turn on behind him.

"Yo! Yo, stop, you can't do this shit, man!" Namond said, shifting  around. He looked to the other two, "You're just going to watch?!"

"Shit," the white guy said. "If it wasn't for this mask, I'd be eatin' popcorn."

Namond would have answered, but the sudden feeling of a spot of ice cold  in the small of his back made him howl in pain, dragging out  desperately as it slowly crawled down along his spine. The smell of  cooked meat started filling the room, and Namond kept screaming until  the feeling stopped spreading.

"Ready to talk?" Spider asked from behind him.

"F-Fuck you, you sick fucks!"

"Suit yourself, man," Spider said, and the cold feeling returned, making him howl once more.

Next time Spider stopped, letting Namond stop screaming and catch his  breath as his throat ached, he was shocked to hear the other two  chuckling openly at the scene.

"Man, I dunno 'bout you," the girl said, "But the fucker's starting to smell delicious."

The worst part was that he was true. It was with an awed sort of horror  that Namond realized it had been a long time since he'd eaten meat that  smelt as good as his back did right then. The realization made him throw  up, to scattered complaints from the manaics around him.

"C'mon, man," The white guy said, "That's just unsanitary."

"Yeah!" Spider said, laughter barely hidden in his voice, "This is supposed to be a civil motherfuckin' torture, and I'd thank you to be professional about it."

"You sick fucks!" Namond screamed at them, tears streaming down his face. "What do you even want from me?!"

"I told you, just gimme the name and address of the highest-ranked associate of Penguins you know," Spider said. "Jus' do that and you get to go."

"I'm never tellin' you shit!" Namond spat. "Penguin is going to kill you, and I'm gonna piss on your fuckin' graves!"

"So much for civil," the big guy muttered.

"Look, I'm just going along with your wishes," Spider said. "You  don't wanna talk, that's fine, but I'mma start writin' cuss words back  here. And if that don't work, I'm going fo' your dick next."

The cold barely had a second to set in before Namond started shouting, "Waitwaitwaitwait wait! I'll talk! I'll talk, I'll talk, just please leave my dick alone!"

The cold didn't spread, but the spot kept getting colder, more of his nerves must have been getting burnt, "Oh?"

"Penguin's got a secretary! Her name is Tracy Miller, she's stayin' at  the Drake Building on the Upper East Side! Apartment 305!" Namond said,  "She's smart and cute, just like Penguin likes 'em. She handles 'bout  half of the finances, she calls who he asks her to, handles his  appointments, everything!"

"So she's well informed?" Spider asked, not removing the damn blowtorch as the numb feeling got worse and worse.

"Yes! Fuck, yes, anything you wanna know she can tell you, please!"

"Just what I wanted to hear," Spider said, and the blowtorch clicked off as the cold feeling stopped getting worse. "Thanks, Namond."

Namond huffed, sobbing openly, "Y'all are some twisted motherfuckers. How can you do this shit and sleep at night?!"

"Fool, I lie to my own mom. I ain't losin' any sleep over lying to you."

"Huh?"

Before his eyes, Spider walked past. His right hand had a popsicle  between its pinkie and ring finger, and a plate with a cooked and  seasoned steak held between his index and thumb. His left hand was  holding a stool with the blowtorch on it.

"Man," the white guy complained, looking at the steak, "He gave in too quickly. Shit's so raw it's still mooing."

"I'll take it if y'all won't," the girl said. "I like 'em juicy."

"That's funny; I said the same thing before I fucked your mom."

She flipped him off.

"W-who the fuck do you think you are?!" Namond asked. "You think you're just gonna get away with this shit?!"

They all looked at him, and Spider put everything but the popsicle down, walked back over, said "Yes.", shoved the popsicle into Namond's mouth and walked off, soon followed by his crew.

Namond hung there for the next hour, at which point the webs dissolved.

As soon as he was free, Namond started running and didn't stop until he was in Canada.

But that's another story.

{[X]}​

"Well," Farah said. "That was a mess."

"Hey, we got the secretary, didn't we?" Billy said from his spot next to  me, "And to think, Boss only had to knock out five people, I only  stabbed three and you only stood there ineffectually."

"Watch it," she growled, kicking the back of his seat.

"Oh, what?" Billy rolled his eyes. "Are you going to code an asskicking  for me? Let's hope I don't have a fucking Avast Firewall."

"Hey, fuck you, the hotel had top-notch security!" she spat.

"Sure, that's why we-"

"So help me God," I said, "If you two can't get along, I will turn this car around."

They both sat back with their own huffs, and for a while we just drove towards the docks with some music from my phone filling the car, and the sound of Tracy trying to scream through her gag from inside the trunk.

"... for the record-" "Virgen misericordiosa, dame paciencia." "-I could have gotten through the hotel's firewall," Farah said. "Our glorious leader here just felt we didn't have the time."

"We don't," I said. "It's already three in the afternoon and Yua was  grabbed at around midnight, so that's roughly fifteen hours over how  long I'm comfortable one of my own being in captivity."

"Then why are we wasting time driving her around?" she challenged.  "Could have just gotten what we needed from her in her apartment."

"Okay," I sighed, "Do you have somethin' to say, Farah?"

"Me? Oh, now you want to-"

"Do you have something to say, Farah?" I repeated, a little more forcefully.

"... you're an idiot," she said, as we came to a red light. "The whole reason we're in this mess is because you decided to rob Penguin, despite me telling you it was a bad idea."

"Plan was going fine until the Batman Interrupt."

"Oh, so you didn't plan for Batman? Really? You organized a fucking heist in Gotham, wearing masks and shootin' into crowds, and you didn't plan for Batman."

"Farah, shut the fuck up," Billy said. "All you've done since you joined us is bitch and moan."

"Billy, it's fine-" I started.

"No, it's not fine!" he said. "I didn't hear her come up with any plans, so why the fuck is she up in-"

"Priest," I said, and he stopped. "I can stand up for my self."

He looked at me. I looked back. He nodded.

The light turned green and I drove forward.

"And that's another fucking thing!" Farah said. "What the fuck is up with you two?! Why the fuck do you keep talking in silence?!"

"We've been best friends for a long time," I said. "But, listen, Farah... you're right."

"What?" she said.

"What." said Billy.

"She's right," I told him, then I looked at Farah in the rearview  mirror. "I assumed everyone gave as little of a shit about Penguin as I  did, I didn't plan for the obvious, and I didn't listen to your  complaints because I just figured I knew better. You are absolutely  right."

"... okay."

"But Billy's right too," I said, nodding in his direction. "When the  chips are down, I seem to be the only motherfucker that picks a  direction. Maybe I gotta listen more, but if you want me to do that you  gotta say some shit that's worth listenin' to. When the shit hits the  fan, I ain't got time to listen to some 'we're fucked' bullshit. I got time to hear a solution and nothin' else. Y'feel me?"

"So..." she frowned, "So I tell you to do somethin' and you'll do it."

"Fuck no," I said, turning into the docks and heading for one of the  many abandoned warehouses. "You tell me to do somethin', and if I agree I  do it. I tell you to do somethin' and you do it unless you can convince  me otherwise. I ain't gotta be your friend, but for as long as you're  with us, I'm callin' the shots."

"Why?" she challenged. "Why do you get to call the shots."

I stopped the car, killed the engine, undid my seatbelt and turned around.

"I get to call the shots," I said, "Because it's my team, because I have  powers, because I seem to be the only one capable of keeping their cool  here, and because I fucking said so. If you can lead better, show it,  and the job's yours. Until then, do kindly stop arguing every fucking  decision."

She stared me dead in the eye for a moment, before slowly nodding. "Fair 'nuff."

"... a'ight," I said, once I was sure she'd gotten the message, and then I took my mask and put it on. "Let's get our missing member back."

"Let's," Huntsman agreed, mask on.

Farah looked at hers in hesitation for a moment, then she put it on and Weaver nodded at me. "After you, Boss."

I left the car. Weaver and Huntsman stood at my sides as I opened the  trunk, and Stacy Miller the Secretary gave us a dirty look from behind  her cat eye glasses. Her platinum blonde hair, previously held back in a  bow, was loose around her head, and the bruise on her cheek from my  fist was purpling noticeably. She was still in the pyjamas she'd been  wearing when we grabbed her.

"Evenin'," I said, reaching down and pulling the bit of silver tape off of her mouth in a single jerk, to her displeasure. "What's your phone password?"

"Fuck all of you," she spat. "You unprofessional, amateurish-"

I sighed as I leaned in again and covered her mouth with my hand, "Look,  it's either I punch in the password or I take your thumb and use your  fingerprint instead. And I've had a bad enough day that I'm calculating  how much closer to going to bed I would be if I just tore the finger off  than if I tried to force you to use your own will."

She glared for a moment, but when I removed my hand she just said, "King  Amis, with the 'i's and 'a' remplaced by ones and a four respectively."

"Thanks," I said, closing the trunk to her complaints and tapping in the password.

"So, how are we getting rid of the body?" Huntsman asked, making me pause in scrolling through her Gallery.

(I was curious, and as it turned out, correct. She had a whole folder  dedicated to unsolicited dick pics, rated by size as far as I could  tell)

"What?" I asked him.

"The body," he said. "I mean, we are killing her, right?"

"... why." I said. "Why would we kill her."

"Because her side took one of ours?" he said, like I was being absurd. "Dude, c'mon, you're the one that always tells me that if one of ours gets hurt, we hurt back twice as hard."

"I do say that, but we gotta be smart about this," I said, going for the contacts list and scrolling down. "Can't do some cowboy shit now."

"He's right," Weaver chimed in, which got her a half-smile from me.

"A'ight, I get that, but this ain't cowboy shit," Huntsman said, "This is getting even. How we gonna look if he just grabs one of ours and starts talking shit about killing her?"

"You're thinking like a soldier," I told him. "We're fuckin' around in supervillain shit, remember? Cred's a smaller part of it."

"But it's still a part of it," he countered. I didn't answer, and he insisted. "Penguin took one of ours, so we start hitting back twice as hard. That's just the game, man."

I didn't answer, frowning at Cobblepot's name on the contact list. Stacy  had stopped screaming, she was probably listening in on the  conversation. I could feel a few vibrations from where I leaned my back  against the trunk, so she was probably trembling. Scared for her life.

"Boss," Huntsman insisted, and when I kept not looking at me, he leaned in closer to whisper, "Sam. I'll smoke her if you give the word."

I knew he would. That's why I looked at him and said, "No. We ain't killing her unless we gotta."

He rolled his eyes, "If this is about impressing your Batgirlfriend-"

I looked up from the phone and gave him my full, undivided attention.

"... I'm sorry," he backtracked. "That was out of line."

I raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes again, but still ammended, "That was out of line, sir."

I nodded, then turned back to the phone as I spoke. "Cobblepot trusts her--we all saw her place. She's livin' large, and just from  their texts I can tell Penguin talks to her about top secret shit. She's  too valuable. We kill her, we start an all-out war against Penguin. An act of escalation that we cannot back up, because Cobblepot is a well-connected billionaire and we are three random assholes standing around metaphorically holding our dicks.

"We. Don't. Kill.

"Not unless we gotta. And right now, we don't." I looked at Weaver and raised an eyebrow. "Unless someone has a better reason to execute her?"

She shook her head. I turned back to Billy.

"... fair 'nuff." He said, "So what do we do with her?"

"Well, like I said, she knows quite a bit about Penguin's empire. Way I figure it, that's good leverage against a lotta people." I tapped the call sign. "And we only need to focus on two."

The call connected and Cobblepot's voice rang from the other side, "Stacy, baby, this isn't the best-"

"Ozzie, baby, how you doin'?" I asked with fake cheer. "How's the baby dick treatin' you? Still usin' pincers to aim for the toilet?"

Farah and Billy facepalmed.

{[X]}​

My phone was playing another song next to the nice pile of dollars that'd gathered between the three of  us. We were sitting around, positioned in a triangle next to the  turned-on BatSignal.

I was trying to remember what the combinations were in Texas Hold 'Em,  Farah was failing to hide that she'd gotten a shit hand, and Billy was  telling a joke as he gestured, "- so then the boy goes 'well, actually, I was jerking off, and I shot the dog by accident'!"

"You're a pig," I said, while Farah laughed her ass off.

"Okay, I kinda want to know how the rest of it goes now."

I turned to find Batman and Robin standing there, menacingly.

Well, Batman stood menacingly. Robin was just next to him, dressed like a traffic light.

"'Sup?" I said, nodding in their direction. "Thought you'd be here way sooner. It's been like ten minutes since we turned on the signal."

"Freeze started trouble down on fifth," Robin said. "Also, it hasn't gotten that dark yet."

"Irregardless," I said, ignoring Farah muttering that that wasn't a word in the background. "I am here to parley."

"Is that why the blockade?" Batman said, looking to where I'd stuck a table to the rooftop access with webs.

You could still hear cops banging against it with a ram, though my webs proved too tough for that.

"... cops ain't too partial to parley," I said. "And it ain't like I can stroll on by and ask kindly for a cup of BatSignal, now can I?"

"Fair enough," said Batman. "What's your game, Spider?"

"At the moment?" I gestured with the cards. "Texas Hold 'Em. But if you mean why we talkin' right now, I got a deal for y'all."

"Regarding Penguin, I suppose?"

"You suppose right," I said, tossing away my cards  (probably a shit hand, anyways, with a two, a seven and three of the Q  ones) and standing to be eye-to-eye to him. Or close to it, he had like  half a head on me without counting the ears. "Proposition for you:  I get y'all's help with a small exchange I'm plannin' with ol'  Cobblepot, and I give you one of his confidants. Might be enough to get  him put away, if you play it right."

Batman narrowed his eyes, "What's the exchange?"

"The member of my crew he took away, in exchange for the secretary I'm offering you," I said. Then I shrugged a little when they gave me flat looks, "Hey, he's definitely planning on betraying my ass, so I might as well get ahead of it."

"How paranoid are you?" Robin asked.

"You know that cliche about sleepin' with a gun under your pillow?" I said. "Well, I don't do that 'cause I understand gun safety, but I keep a loaded gun in my nightstand."

Batman cut in, "And how do we know we can trust you?"

"My word is my bond," I said. "I ain't ever cross anyone that didn't cross me before."

"We did kinda stop your robbery," Robin pointed out.

"That's business," I shrugged. "I'm talking 'going after my friends and family' type shit. That's what gets your ass killed."

"Does that mean you'll be making an attempt on Penguin's life?" Batman asked.

"... I'm flexible on that regard," I decided. "Sure,  the ancient law of Even Steven calls that I murder the fuck, but for  the sake of diplomacy I could see my way around only kneecapping the  fucker and taking all his shit. Maybe if I can count with the help of  some helpful vigilantes?"

"Hrm," he said. "You're... unreliable."

"Now I take offense to that," I said. "Eighteen  years of livin', I ain't never forget a birthday, drop-off site or  anniversary. You bein' you, I assume you know at least some of my  history. Y'think a man in my line of work can stay alive if he keep  flakin' and forgettin' shit?"

"I don't think an eighteen year old counts as a man at all."

"... well now you're just bein' hurtful."

"Hrm," he said again. "You can't keep stealing from Gotham's villains."

"The millions of recently acquired dollars I'm sittin' on beg to differ."

"I mean you're causing chaos," Batman said, "Two Face has  started making shows of strength after you humilliated him. Penguin's  bound to do the same. You're a chaotic element here, all of you are. How  do I know you won't make my job that much more difficult if I let you  go now?"

My first instinct was to argue that he did the same by taking them down. But I knew it was different.

Back when I was running with the Blackgaters, it was two very different  things to get fucked up by cops and to get fucked up by some Diamond  District gang or whatever. If it was cops, that was just the everpresent  risk of The Game. You can't go around selling drugs and killing people  and expect no consequences. Police action was more like the weather, to  me. You can take precautions, you can build a shelter or get a paid  lawyer, but if it rains, it rains. Can't call a fucking vendetta against  a storm cloud, and you can't call vengeance on the law.

But getting fucked up by a rival gang? That was on sight. That was war on the streets.

I'd only participated in a single gang war when I was fifteen, around  the end of my time as a gang member. It lasted roughly three months  before the Blackgaters came out victorious.

In those three months, I must have killed more people than I ever had or  will again. It was wake up, go talk to Bryce, and get a list of names  and addresses. Go, kill, come back to get more names. Day in, day out. I  unloaded entire magazines into people, stabbed motherfuckers in their  sleep, burnt down stash houses after locking the doors. Did some serious  assassination shit, too. Couple dirty politicians that were aiming some  police attention our way found themselves with ventilated domes, and  ain't no one ever connect it to me.

And it all started because some fuckin' upstarts had started musclin' in on some corners. On our corners.

The difference lies in that a gang's only claim to a corner is in the  muscle they got. Police, they got the law. They got a branch of the  motherfucking government backing them. But how the fuck are you going to  take some random asshole just coming up and taking your shit?

How would it look? I knew I was planning on punking them, but I was  turning a blind eye to how it'd force them to make shows of force. You  can't just lose face by getting mugged by some young'un and then act like nothing happened. Batman was Batman, but so far I was just a newbie.

How many people would get caught up in the middle? Stray bullets through windows, catchin' innocent bystanders...

I looked at my friends, who'd put away the cards and were standing at my  sides. Billy looked at me for a cue, and Farah kinda gave a nod like  she wasn't disagreeing with Batman.

"... you ain't wrong," I said, turning back towards him. "It'll need discussing with my team--all of my team--but I'm open to bein' more... subtle. At least for  supervillains and shit, recent events have shown that I ain't gotta play  it loud every time. But the finer details can wait until Golden is  safe. And I want your help for that."

Batman gave me a long look, then nodded. "... agreeable."

I smiled, and we started hashing out a plan with the Dark Knight.

("... by the way," Huntsman chimed in, looking at Weaver, "Did you take the money we were gambling with?"

"You can't prove anything.")

{[X]}​

Naturally, Penguin and I had agreed to meet in front of an abandoned warehouse.

"I'm just sayin', it'd be nice to meet at the park for once," I muttered. "Or, like, a nice restaurant. I haven't had italian in a while, why can't we go full mob and meet at a nice italian place?"

"Why an italian place?" Robin asked.

"It doesn't have to be Italian, just somewhere I can eat. Or maybe  a weird place! Everyone already thinks there's somethin' fucked up in  Gotham's water, we could go full ham with it," I said. "Like, on top of a moving train, or at a bungee jumping class. Why is it always a goddamn abandoned warehouse?"

"I think it's just practical," he proposed. "They'll be here anyways, so they might as well use them, no?"

"I mean, I guess I see the appeal," I said. "Lots of  space, sometimes there's still stuff inside to use as cover and/or  weaponry, but I feel like it doesn't challenge the imagination much.  Like, a walk-in freezer at a butcher shop provides the same, adds an  uncomfortable enviroment... probably a thematic bonus, too. And besides,  we're meeting outside so his snipers can get me, so why not just at the  docks or whatever?"

"Or a bar?"

"Nah, bar fights are for drunks, not supervillains."

"You'd know, man."

I flipped him off.

We were sitting on a building a few blocks ahead of the warehouse,  waiting to see how Cobblepot would arrive and who/what he'd bring. He  was probably going to come early too, but we were ready to wait him out.  Robin and I were both crouched behind one of those little walls that go  around roofs, bags of trash food between us, and ocassionally passing a  pair of BatBinoculars between us.

After a while, while I was eating and he was watching, he said, "I think  I'm supposed to ask what your intentions are with Batgirl."

"... Well, until a day ago, my intentions were to get to  know her, befriend her, romance her, and eventually--hopefully with her  enthusiastic agreement--politely ask if she would like to get rowdy on  the nearest soft-ish surface," I said, putting away the bag of Decoritos. Robin gave me an unamused look, but I pressed one before he could speak. "But  seeing as the difference in our professions seems to be an insurpasable  problem for her, my intention is now to keep a strictly professional  and respectful relationship with her as I avoid her breaking my entire  skeleton over her knee."

He sighed, and there was a small upward tug at the corner of his lip as  he turned back towards the warehouse, "... that was so polite I almost  don't want to punch you for saying you want to sleep with my sister."

"I'm very charmin' that way," I said. "Anything from the place?"

He frowned. "Still nothing. So you really gave up on her?"

"It ain't givin' up as much as it's 'accepting a no 'cause I was raised right'," I said. "I would've done the same if she hadn't  delivered the message by kicking me five times in one second and  roundhousing me so hard I saw the curvature of the Earth."

"Man, she really beat you up that bad?"

"She kicked me so hard I saw the entirety of the universe,  achieved Nirvana, and then hit the floor so hard that I forgot what  inner peace felt like to make room for all the pain."

"... yeah, that does sound like a typical spar with her," he nodded. "Still, I wouldn't say it's definitive."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Do I really need to expand on the epic proportions of my ass-whooping?"

"I mean..." Robin sighed, "Look, I've been Robin for a really long time,  and I gotta tell you, you can't judge cape relationships the way you do  normal relationships. Batman's fought basically everyone he's ever dated."

"Batman ain't exactly a shinin' example of a healthy lifestyle."

"Watch it," he said, pointing a finger at me. "I'm trying to give you advice here, don't be an ass."

I raised my hands, dropping the subject.

"Cape relationships are complicated," he continued. "Honestly, the  things that happen to us are so bizarre that a relationship between  heroes is completely different to a relationship between, say, bakers.  Have you ever postponed a date because of an alien invasion? Because I  have. And it's only weirder between heroes and villains. Maybe you  should actually talk it out before deciding for sure that it's over?"

We sat there for a while, considering his words. Cobblepot still hadn't showed up, but cars moved around under us,

"I ain't ever postpone a date," I mentioned. "Except for one time, but I was young and there was a bullet in my gut."

"... well, nice to know I don't have to worry about her getting ditched," he muttered.

"You really think I got a chance?" I asked, failing to hide a bit of hopefulness.

"Maybe," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, maybe let's stop talking about your odds of hitting it off with my sister?"

"Sure," I said. "... so who has Batman dated?"

"Oh, man, you don't even know," he said.

We killed some time like that, exchanging stories of disastrous  romances. Honestly, I think he filled about half an hour just with  Nightwing's ridiculous amount of girlfriends before we saw Cobblepot  pull up in a limo (what a douche), along with two thickset bodyguards  and Yua, who was still wearing her mask and was handcuffed. Penguin had a  brace around his leg, but was managing to walk admirably without a cane  or crutch of any kind.

Not that it was gonna save him.

"Showtime," I said. I tapped my ear to turn on the comms the Bats had loaned for the job. "Everyone in place?"

"Yop," said Huntsman. "Got my sights on them."

"I'm here," said Weaver. "He's got snipers on a couple buildings; Batgirl's got most of them but I'm passing the rest of the locations to her."

"A'ight," I said, standing up and walking back a little. "Everyone do the thing, I'm makin' my entrance."

"Good luck," said Robin as he stood up, echoed by the rest of my team. "I'll help Batgirl get the rest of the snipers."

I gave him a nod and a smile, then ran up and jumped off of the building. There was only a brief moment where I thought  'holy fuck what am I doing' before I shot a webline, and I was swinging across Gotham once more.

This is never gonna get old, I thought, before letting go, backflipping three times mid-air, and making a three-point landing in front of Cobblepot.

Who was giving me an unimpressed look as he said, "Pardon me if I don't  break out a sign with a ten on it, years of exposure to Robins has left  me indifferent to acrobatics."

"I thought it was impressive," said Golden.

"Thanks, Goldie," I said. "Sorry I let you get captured."

"You were occupied," she said. "Thank you for coming, though I feel like you shouldn't have."

"Well, that's what friends are for," I said, and the look of surprise in Yua's face was probably yet another hint at whatever tragic backstory she was riding.

"Not to interrupt the reunion or anything," Penguin said, pointing an  umbrella at me meancingly, "But do kindly throw away your weapons before  I tear them off of your corpse."

"You'd have to make it, first," I noted, even as I did as  he asked. I took out my revolver, slowly and with my fingers away from  the trigger, and dropped it in between us. I did the same with my  machete, though I dropped it next to my foot. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he drawled out. "Where's my secretary?"

"Up your ass, next to my dick," I said, because self-control is a myth. They pointed their guns (and umbrella (gun-brella?)) at me, and I raised my hands,"Fine,  fine, she's at a secure location. The address is written on a piece of  paper that's in my pocket. You give me my friend, I give you the paper,  and then we both fuck off back to our respective cribs."

"Right," he said, not moving the tip of his umbrella away from me. "You know, you cost me a lot of money."

"Can I put down my hands so I can get my violin?" There was a gunshot my Spidey Sense didn't warn me about, and bullet flew by next to my head. "I'll be quiet."

"A lot of money," Cobblepot repeated. "A pitiance compared to how much I  truly hold, especially once I get the gold and napalm out of my goddamn  twelve million dollar carpet, but still."

I almost commented on that being a non-issue, what with his safe crashing through the floor and the stupidly expensive carpet that didn't even look that good, but if  Penguin wanted to monologue and give the Bats more time to get rid of  his snipers, more power to him.

"Now, it's true that you can't take it with you," Penguin said. "But there's one thing in this world worth more than any form of wealth: reputation."

Oh, jeez. This is gonna be a long one.

"Yes, reputation. You see, the people of this town all know my name.  They know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Penguin is a man that  always gets even. A fair man, that rewards and punishes according to  what has been done to or for him. Do you understand?"

I nodded absentmindedly, as I thought of what I should make for dinner.

"Now, I admire that job you and your friends pulled off," Penguin said,  "Lord knows I wouldn't have had the guts to do that. But that's because I  was smarter than that."

Maybe some homemade ramen? Nah, I hate makin' noodles. Ooh, I could  make a risotto, right? I think I have everything for a chicken risotto.

"You bit off more than you could chew. And I can't just let you get away and lose face."

Wait, didn't I use up all my rice? Fuck, I did. Well, I'll just buy some on the way home.

Penguin gestured with one hand. Nothing happened.

Oh, I think he's done. I should ask. "Are you done talking?"

He gestured again, then again, slightly more desperately.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said, turning to look at Golden. "Arms up, buddy."

She did so, and my sniper took the cue.

The chain between her handcuffs snapped, and the sound of Huntsman's  favourite rifle came soon after, ringing out from the top of a nearby  building. My Spidey Sense gave me enough of a warning for me to jump  away before Penguin and his bodyguards could shoot me, and I kicked the  machete at Golden.

She caught it mid-air, already enveloped by a small halo of light, and  used it to carve a trail up the nearest goon's arm, making him drop his  gun. The other goon's weapon was taken by me, using a single webline,  and returned at high speeds at his face. While he was clutching his  broken nose, I webbed both hands there as Golden knocked out the other  bodyguard with the pommel of my machete.

Which just left Penguin, aiming his gun-brella at me. I walked towards  him at a calm pace, taking little skips to the side here and there to  avoid the fire from his gun, until I was in reach and just tore it out  of his hand. I slammed it across his face, broke it over my knee, and  aimed my gun at him.

"So," I said, "Just for the record, I could have dodged the snipers. I just wanted to make a point."

"You knew?" he asked.

"Oh, please. Meeting outside, with someone that can afford to spend ridiculous amounts of money to satisfy his pathetic pride?" He snarled at me, but cocking back the hammer of my gun stopped him from interrupting. "Couldn't have been more obvious if you said 'bee-tee-dubs, I'm totes going to betray y'all' over the phone."

He pouted petulantly. "... I don't sound like that."

"Super-Impressions isn't one of my powers," I said. "Speaking of, you seem to be under the impression that I was born yesterday. Odd how that happens, huh? Almost like  you're a self-centered narcissist who never thought that someone existed  and had a lifetime to familiarize themselves with the oldest tricks in  the book before they met."

"Is there a point to this?" he spat.

"Hey, I let you have your monologue." I pointed out, "Now it's my turn, and seeing how I always wanted to do one of these, I'd thank you to respect it."

"I don't see why-"

I stomped down on his fucked-up knee. Once the screaming died down, I resumed speaking, "See,  the point that I wanted to make is the same that I aimed for when I  shot you. Well, I tell a lie, the only thing I was conciously aiming for  was your knee, but that's because I felt the point went without saying.

"You made a threat against me and mine, and then thought that I'd just... what, let it go? Shrug my shoulders and say '"oh well, shit happens'? It's a miracle you're still alive, man!"

He stared at me defiantly, so I crouched next to him and, for the second time in as many nights, put a gun against his head. "You  don't seem to understand the situation, Ozzie. So I'mma spell it out,  and I want you to remember this every night before you go to sleep.

"If you live past today, it's because I decided on it. If you keep  your other knee unharmed, it's because I decided on it. If you stay as  healthy as you are now, in any way, shape or form, it's because of me.  Fact is, your life is in my hands. Do you understand that? You'd stop  existing if I pulled the trigger, man. Ain't that crazy to think about?  You'd stop bein' a person. Every day of your life--which I'm guessing  add up to somewhere between ninety to four-hundred-and-twenty  years--would be rendered meaningless.

"All those schemes, all those fights, all those nights thinkin' of  your next move, indulging in pleasures, loving the people that you  loved. Everything you are, reduced to the memories of those that knew  you.

"Now I've releagated my fair share of people to the past tense. I  ain't proud of it, but I ain't ashamed, either. I know, in an academic  sense, that it ain't exactly a good thing. But you and I know there's  only so many times you can go hungry before 'good' and 'bad'. That in  mind, I generally try to skirt closer to 'good' in my day-to-day, if only 'cause I feel we're over capacity on total assholes here and kindness is cheap for everyone.

"In view of this, I let you live last night. And you chose to  attempt to carry out your threat. You tried to take Golden here away  from us. So right now, I ain't feeling charitable. Still, in my infinite  wisdom, I'm giving you another shot:

"Fuck off. Take the loss, learn from it, and go back to your  stupid Lounge and enjoy what's left of your empire. You had your time,  but you've been away from the street for a long time, and you know this  is a young man's game."

He glared at me, breathing heavily.

I raised an eyebrow.

I saw the conlfict in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded.

I leaned in, and pointed to my ear.

Through grit teeth, he spat, "I... accept... the deal."

"Good man," I stood up, then turned to look at Golden. "How'd he treat you?"

"He had his men break my ribs after my first escape attempt, and my toes one-by-one on my following ten escape attempts."

"... you mean you're standing on broken toes right now?"

"Yes."

"... a'ight then," I said, offering the revolver at Golden. "Kill 'im if you feel it, then. Y'got as much of a claim as anyone."

I heard Oracle, Batman, Robin and Nightwing complain my ear, but I  hissed "wait and see" under my breath, too low for it to get past my  mask.

Truth be told, I wasn't sure if she'd spare his life. I was just buying Yua time to make her choice.

She looked at him, then down at her weapon, then at me. "Did you mean what you said?"

"When? I kinda lost track of my own speech."

"About trying to be good. Do you think I could too?"

I shrugged. "Up to you, I suppose. And if you don't know how, jus' ask."

She gave me a considering look, then down at Penguin, then back at me. "I don't think I want to kill him."

"A'ight. Let's go home, then."

She nodded, took a step towards me, paused, then unloaded two bullets into Penguin's remaining leg. "On second thought, he can live without his legs, and my feet really hurt."

"No need to justify," I said. "C'mon, I was gonna  buy the team a couple rounds to celebrate a good job. How 'bout we get  you to a doctor and we bring you some beers?"

And so we went.

{[X]}​

After giving the address to the car that still had  getting Yua changed  and into Dr. Thompkins' clinic, throwing away the BatComms, seeing  everyone to their homes, and changing into normal clothes, I went home.

"Y'know," I said, turning on the lights to find Batgirl sitting on my  couch. "If you keep pullin' this I might start charging rent."

She waved me over, and I obliged, sitting opposite to her.

[What's this about?] I signed.

[Been thinking, made decision,] she signed back, [Can we still try a relationship?]

[Why?] I signed, [What we talked is still an issue.]

[You're bad,] she agreed, [You're good too, in weird way. Nice to team. Nice to family. Nice to me.]

[Just because I'm nice to people I like doesn't erase if I'm bad to people I don't.]

[True. But maybe things are more complicated than I thought. They  probably are.] She smiled at me, [But mostly. It could be fun, couldn't  it?]

I looked at her. She was always going to be against my career, always  going to be against me and mine. Hell, as far as she knew, I didn't even  know her face. If this was going to be a relationship, it was going to  be messy and complicated in a lot of parts.

... but it was probably going to be really fun, too.

[Yeah,] I signed, [Yeah, it could be really fun.]

She smiled at me, and after a moment of hesitation, signed, [Can't show  face, but my name is-] She paused, then very carefully spelled out  [-it's C-A-S-S-A-D-R-N-A.]

Hm, famous face wasn't allowed, but she probably figured I wouldn't figure it ot just by her first name.

I smiled, and spoke as I signed, "Nice to meet you, Cass. I'm Sam."