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Post by DocQuantum on Jun 17, 2017 20:10:13 GMT
Prologue
by Drivtaan
When: Halloween 1944 Where: 50 feet below the floor of a seemingly deserted barn several miles outside Gotham, inside the mind of a madman
I am having second thoughts. Doubt is beginning to creep in.
Am I certain that the formula is perfect? I was, but now, I begin to question my work. The test subjects survived the process, and they would have lived forever had I not been required to destroy them to protect my work.
My work. It is the end product of my thoughts, my plans, my theories, my formulas, my skills, my secrets...my dark, dirty, little secrets. Should I fail, none shall reap what should have been mine.
Fail? Now, why should that word come to mind? Everything was perfect. There was not a single variable that I have not accounted for. There is not even the remotest possibility for failure. I simply did not allow for it.
But, if I do fail, it will be because of that accursed Batman and his smart-mouthed sidekick, and no fault of my own. They have been plotting against me for the past five years. They are determined to ruin my life.
Life is my weakness. Soon, that weakness shall be eliminated. Once the chemicals enter my body, this plagued mockery that is my life shall be transcended.
Strange. I am actually beginning to feel fear. Is this what others felt once they were strapped to my table? I shall have to remember this feeling so I can share it with others.
Uhn.
I didn’t realize that the needle being inserted into my chest would be this excruciating. Any second now and it should reach my heart.
Arrrghh!
The blood being drawn from my body leaves me cold. Another moment and the second needle should pierce my...Arrrghh!
The chemicals filling my heart are like liquid fire as they pump through my veins. It’s funny, but I assumed that I would have been driven into unconsciousness by the pain before now.
Oh, God! I only now realize that there is no one to initiate the final step. This whole process depends on that crucial surge of electricity.
If I can get free, I can still reverse the process. No! The straps are too tight. I can’t get free. Oh, God! I can’t get free!
I knew it. It’s all Batman’s fault. He has killed me.
Curse you, Batman.
Losing...consciousness...Must...fight....
Curse you, Ba...
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Post by DocQuantum on Jun 17, 2017 20:11:02 GMT
Part 1
by Starsky Hutch 76
Gotham City- the "present"
Richard Grayson and Karen Starr Grayson were feeling extremely refreshed and relaxed from their honeymoon. Their anxiousness mounted, however, the closer they drew to Wayne Manor. Their post- nuptial time away from Gotham City had been nice, but they both were looking forward to seeing the results of the restoration in person.
Having to conduct the rebuilding of the mansion all the way from Valuria had been an exasperating experience for Dick. As far as the public was concerned, though, he was still recovering from his injuries and he could hardly have shown up to the full view of the public eye with barely a scratch. As a result, a long vacation had been thrust upon him, forcing him to leave the protection of Gotham City to Huntress, Batwing, and Sparrow. The JSA Brownstone was in Gotham, but he didn't consider them regular protectors since the majority of their cases took them outside of city limits and only he and Huntress actually resided in Gotham .
Karen had to practically beat him over the head to get him to relax and enjoy their honeymoon. Otherwise, he would have spent day in and day out looking over blue prints and micro-managing the reconstruction over the phone. She had finally managed to convince him to relax after reminding him that Wayne Manor was in good hands with Alfred and Helena.
One of Dick's main concerns was that Helena would be too preoccupied with the impending adoption to supervise the reconstruction and nosy contractors would stumble across the Batcave. Her stress regarding the adoption seemed to mount on a daily basis from having to hide her relationship with Bat lash from social workers.
This disaster couldn't have happened at a worse time for her. In Dick's opinion, if Bat Lash were any kind of man, he would have done the honorable thing and moved out rather than add to her problems. He had subtly hinted as much to Helena. She had defended him, of course, telling him that it was her idea he was there. Nevertheless, his opinion stayed the same.
It was a welcome relief for all when Helena called and told them that the adoption was finalized. Hiding secret identities was one thing. Secret lovers was another. He would be glad when he was finally out of her life.
"It … it looks like new," Dick said as the limousine turned down the long driveway towards the mansion. Hi voice contained both elements of surprise and sadness as he looked at the mansion where he'd spent the greater part of his life .
"Yeah,… it does, kinda," Karen said.
"You can rebuild the structure, but you can't rebuild the history," Dick said.
"We'll make our own history here together," Karen said, giving his hand a squeeze.
Dick placed his new key into the lock and turned the door knob. Instead of the silence he had expected, he was greeted with a loud chorus of "Surprise!"
Across the front entranceway was a hand painted banner with the words "Welcome Back!" emblazoned in large letters of assorted colors. Helena immediately threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Welcome back, big brother!" Behind her were the smiling faced of Rachel, Jason, Sonia, and Alfred.
Behind them, leaning against a Roman column and smiling sheepishly was Bat Lash.
"Now, this is what I call a greeting," laughed Dick.
He looked over at Sonia and said, "And I hear congratulations are in order." He grabbed the girl in a bear hug and said, "Welcome to the family."
"The family," Sonya echoed. "I like the sound of that"
Dick's gaze drifted over to Helena, who was beaming down at the young girl. She looked back at him and smiled. Her expression held a contentment and serenity he hadn't seen in her in a long time. It was a wordless reply to him that everything was okay. Now he truly knew he was home again.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 17, 2017 23:59:54 GMT
I have some more chapters to this that haven't been posed. THey're on an old computer. I'm going to check and see if I can find them.
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Post by DocQuantum on Jun 18, 2017 18:43:30 GMT
I like the suggestions that Helena Wayne's relationship with Bat Lash won't last forever. Outside of the writer who created him, I don't think he's got too many fans, at least in regards to that relationship.
Of course, we know that Bat will be around until the end of 1988 based on stories taking place then, but they could end up breaking up in 1989.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:27:26 GMT
Lightning danced above the Gotham skyline, and rain fell in torrents the likes of which very few of the city’s residents had ever seen. According to the news, it was the worst storm in decades.
Dick dreaded going out in this weather, but feared that it was a prelude to something major. He was certain it was part of the plan of one of the many villains who made Gotham their home.
“Before you start looking for phantom plots and risk pneumonia,” Karen advised, “at least check with some of our friends to be sure you aren’t reading more into this than it really is.”
Dick relented to his new wife’s wishes and called Kent Nelson.
“Hello?” a female voice answered.
“Inza, this is Dick.”
“This early into your marriage, and you’re already calling another woman?” Inza Nelson laughed. “Shame on you.”
Dick blushed, then changed the subject. “I was calling to see if Kent could check something for me.”
Inza could sense the man’s discomfort, so she permitted the change. “What do you need?”
“Gotham is having unusually sever weather tonight, and I was wondering if he could tell me if it was natural, or if there was something more sinister behind it,” Dick told her.
“Hang on a second, and I’ll check that for you,” she said.
“You’ll check it?” Dick was somewhat taken aback by her comment.
“Hey,” Inza said, “I’ve been with the man for almost a half a century; he’s taught me a few tricks to do when we’re not…together.”
“OK. I’ll hold on.”
Less than a minute later, Inza told her young friend what she had found out and, after soliciting a promise for him and Karen to join her and Kent for dinner one evening very soon, hung up.
“So,” Karen said, putting her arms around her husband’s waist, “what did she say?”
“It’s natural. Severe, but natural.”
“Then, let’s stay in tonight,” Karen said, “and spend our first night home in our bed like proper newlyweds.
“You, Mrs. Grayson, are shameless,” Dick told her.
“Mr. Grayson,” Karen replied, “you don’t know the half of it.”
Several miles outside of Gotham, the storm was no less severe. The heavy rains caused streams to swell and overflow their banks, tree limbs were torn loose and tossed about as though they were little more than straw, and lightning violently connected earth and sky in brilliant displays of energy. One such lightning strike touched a pile of debris that, at the turn of the century, had been home to several dairy cows.
Beneath the debris, several cables greedily drank the discharge of electricity, pulling the energy deep beneath the ground’s surface. The end result was the muffled humming of man-made devices slowly being brought back to life
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:30:18 GMT
(by Drivtaan)
The sizzling of electricity climbing the Jacob’s Ladder was, at first, the only sound in the laboratory. After several seconds, the electricity snapped, then snapped once more, and the sizzling began again. Against one wall, the power regulator began to hum. Although hidden by thick layers of dust that would have made viewing them impossible, tiny red needles started to bounce, almost imperceptible at first, as the energy in the machine began to build. Slowly, the energy began to creep along massive cables that hooked directly to a transformer across the room.
Scattered throughout the lab, there were tables covered with over-turned beakers and test tubes. They, too, were covered with dust. In one corner, a cabinet stood open, and its contents—bottles of chemicals—were mostly intact, although a couple had fallen from their place and spilt their contents onto lower shelves. One bottle lay shattered on the floor, its now-dried fluid permanently dissolving a large section of tiles.
Along a third wall, various cages filled a dozen shelves. Each held the remains of animals, their skeletons frozen in positions that gave only a hint of the pain they felt as they slowly starved to death. A glass jar was laying on its side, its lone occupant, a spider, was nothing more than a husk. After consuming the other arachnids that had occupied its jar, it had partially devoured one of its own legs before becoming to weak to continue and succumbing to the fate that had claimed every other living thing in the lab.
All of these things were visible for a few moments at a time, at first, as the arcing electricity cast a blue light over the room.
At no time, however, were any of these items—lit, or shrouded in shadow—the centerpiece of the lab. That distinction belonged to what dominated the space along the fourth wall. With the building of power, more dials, and more gauges, added to the glow of the electricity, until an eerie light revealed the object.
A table, locked into an upright position, held the emaciated body of a man. Clad only in a pair of faded black shorts, the body was held tightly to the table by clamps around his ankles, wrists, and neck. A metal cap, connected to one of the cables by thin wires, rested on the body’s head. The man’s ashen skin was stretched taut over his skeleton. In some places, it was so thin that it appeared to have been painted on the bone. There were several rubber tubes inserted into the body at various points—just below the biceps, just above the calves, and both sides of the neck. The most prominent tube was two inches in diameter, and insert via a long needle into the chest.
Above ground, the storm continued to rage. Again and again, jagged fingers of lightning reached from the earth to the sky, and with each bolt, the machines below devoured more and more of the energy.
For several hours, the storm fed the ancient machinery. Near morning, the storm began to fade. It refused to go quietly, however, and with one final crack, it unleashed a lightning bolt that lit the predawn sky for miles around. Below ground, that final surge forced enough energy through the cables to finish an experiment that had begun over forty years ago.
The body began to dance like a marionette in a tornado. So violent was its twisting that the clamps rattled in their sockets. There was an audible crack as the man’s neck snapped.
Despite the damage, the man’s eyes popped open. Like the rest of his violent rebirth, this occurrence, too, was not without incident. The dried flesh that had once been an eyelid ripped loose on one side and rested on the man’s parchment-covered cheek.
A low moan escaped the man’s lips.
Slowly, the tubes inserted into his body began to be retracted. With each removal, a neon-green colored viscous fluid would leak out of the hole before hardening and forming a sealant. The final tube to be disconnected was the larger one that had initially pierced the man’s heart. Once the tubes were gone, there was a click and the clamps popped open.
The man caught himself on unsteady legs and stumbled to a nearby table to keep from falling. As he bumped the table, beakers and bottles were upset and rolled off the edge, shattering on the tiles below.
For a moment, the man wore an expression of disorientation. Looking around, out the corner of his lidless eye he spotted a notebook laying on one of the other tables. Like a toddler learning to walk, he held onto the tables for balance until he reached the notebook. He knew that important notes on what he should do next were waiting to be reviewed, but as he touched the yellowed sheets of paper, the crumbled in his hand. Despite his rage, all he could force from lungs that no longer pumped air was another moan.
As the minutes passed, flashing memories became a steady stream until he had regained most of what he knew. He still couldn’t speak, but that was something he could take care of.
Not only did his memories return, but his strength did as well. Despite the frailness of his appearance, he could feel a strength flowing through his body that he had never known before. He knew that he still had work left to do, however, and set himself to the task.
Dr. Death had survived his rebirth, and, soon, the Batman would pay.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:31:48 GMT
With his head lolling to one side, Dr. Death walked to a metal cabinet and fumbled with the handle. It was locked. As his mind played around with his memories, the location of the keys would not come to him. Without thinking, he grasped the handle and gave it a jerk. There was a screeching of metal, first resisting, and then being torn, and the door came loose from its hinges and fell from his hand. Inside, a white lab coat hung, looking as clean as it had when he last hung it up. Taking the white coat, he tried to slip it on, an action that could only be completed by physically lifting his head from where it lay on his shoulder.
As he started to turn away from the cabinet, a stray memory seemed to cross his mind. Lifting his head up, and then tilting it back so he could look up, the doctor saw on old radio setting on top of the cabinet. Releasing his head to free up both of his hands, he reached up and removed it from where it sat. Carrying it over to his desk, Dr. Death set it down and then knelt down with the cord and plugged it into an outlet.
Dr. Death stumbled backwards as the radio flared to life and emitted a god-awful noise. It took him a moment to realize that what he was hearing actually had a pattern to it.
This is music? he thought. How long was I hooked up?
He began to adjust the dials until he discovered something that resembled real music. “I Don’t Want To Set the World on Fire” was just finishing up and an announcer informed the listing audience that the song they had just heard was what had been playing on the jukebox the day Pearl Harbor was attacked almost 50 years ago.
It was impossible for both of Dr. Death’s eyes to grow wider due to the absence of one of his eyelids, yet the lidded eye did come close to matching its exposed counterpart. As he pondered on that sobering bit of news, the man on the radio continued to talk.
“Citizens in and around Gotham City, as well as certain dignitaries from around the world, are gearing up for this year’s annual Batman Memorial Parade.” He went on to recount how the Dark Knight had sacrificed his life for the city almost a decade earlier.
Batman…dead?
Dr. Death felt many things in that instance. He was confused. He was angry. Above all, he felt cheated. After all of his planning, after all that he had given up—including over forty years of his life—it wasn’t right that his revenge was to be denied.
It didn’t take long for his thoughts to transfer his anger from the dead hero to the live citizens who had supported the masked man. If I can’t have my revenge on Batman, Dr. Death thought, then I shall have it on his precious city.
Another thought popped into his head. The first thing I need to do, he decided, is to take care of this lack of speech problem.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:33:48 GMT
Where was Billy Icon?
Despite the minor flooding of Gotham’s streets from the previous night’s downpour, and the constant drizzle that had blanketed the city for the past two days, thousands of fans crowded the sidewalks for three city blocks. United by the love for the rock star, most of them huddled together in groups in an attempt to stave off the wet chill. In each group, there was one, sometimes two, who kept checking a watch with increasing frequency. The minutes were ticking away until the moment when the doors would be opened to the public and Billy Icon would be making his way to the stage.
Inside the concert hall, people were rushing around in a frantic search for the rock star. Locked doors were unlocked, unlocked doors were opened, and open rooms were checked. Anywhere the rock star could hide was searched. A few of those who searched did so with an expectation of catching the man sequestered away in the company of a groupie or two; those who truly new the star, however, harbored no such sophomoric thoughts. While it was true that Billy Icon was the epitome of the party rocker, on show day, the party waited until after he left his audience breathless and screaming for more.
Among those who searched was music journalist Yolanda Montez. She had requested to cover this leg of Icon’s U.S. tour because it brought her back to Gotham. Although it appeared to the other searchers that the attractive music reporter was only doing a casual search, that appearance couldn’t have been further from the truth. Unknown to those who kept peeking glimpses at the long-legged woman in the red leather miniskirt, Yolanda had another occupation, and it was the skills she had gained from it that she used now. Although not in costume, Catwoman was among the searchers.
Since there were plenty of people involved in trying to locate Billy, Yolanda was devoting her time to finding out why he had yet to be found. Spotting the singer’s manager, she decided to find out when he had last been seen.
“Mr. Daniels?” she said, as she approached. “I’m Yolanda Mo…”
“I know who you are, Miss Montez. Have you located Billy?” There was frustration in the man’s voice, but Yolanda knew it wasn’t directed at her.
“No,” she said, “I haven’t. But, I would like to ask you a few questions.”
Mr. Daniels frowned.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yolanda apologized, realizing what the man was thinking, “it’s not what you’re thinking. This isn’t for the magazine.”
His expression softened, so she continued.
“I’ve several friends in Gotham that are involved in law enforcement,” Yolanda said, “so, I know some of the things they might be looking for right now.”
Mr. Daniels smiled. “Then, by all means, ask your questions.”
“Who would have been the last person to see Billy?” she asked.
The man checked his watch. “Given the time that his absence was first noticed, it would have been the make-up girl. She’s the one that alerted me that he was missing.”
“Prior to that,” Yolanda continued, “who would have seen him?”
“Julie, his personal assistant.” Even as he spoke, Mr. Daniels was removing a walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket. “Julie,” he said, pressing the button, “where are you?”
A couple of seconds later, a somewhat mature voice responded. “I’m in Bill’s dressing room. Did you find him?”
“No,” Mr. Daniels replied. “Stay there. Miss Montez and I will be right there.”
Two minutes later, Yolanda was questioning the woman. “When did you last see Mr. Icon?”
The woman glanced at the clock on the wall. “About three hours ago.”
Yolanda estimated that they had been looking for the singer for almost an hour. “You mean you weren’t needed for almost two hours?”
“Bill has a routine before a show,” Julie said. “He takes a dozen walks from the dressing room to the stage and back, mostly so that he has an idea how long it will take him, and then he takes an hour long nap. The make-up girl usually wakes him up.”
Yolanda nodded. “Did anything happen today that seemed out of the ordinary?”
Julie thought for a moment. “I saw a deliveryman dropping off a package about the time Bill should have been ready for his nap.”
“What did the man look like?”
“He was…I…uh…I don’t know,” Julie said. “He was bundled up, I guess from the rain, but he was wearing a white outfit.”
“A white outfit?” Mr. Daniels asked.
“Yes,” Julie replied. “It reminded me of a lab coat, but it must have been more like a laundry delivery service. The poor guy must have been in an accident because he was wearing a neck brace.”
Yolanda was thinking, trying to recall any of Gotham’s resident villains might fit the description Julie had given her. No one in particular came to mind. “Did you see what was delivered?”
“Now that you mention it, I didn’t.”
The three of them began to search the dressing room. After several minutes, they had found nothing. The looks on their faces were enough to show that they were all thinking the same thing—Billy Icon had been kidnapped.
* * * * *
Three weeks would pass before the body of Billy Icon was found. The medical examiner would determine that he had died within twenty-four hours of being abducted. His best guess was that the singer fell victim to an overzealous fan—that was the only thing that explained why the body was missing a larynx.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:35:24 GMT
(by Starsky_Hutch76)
“You took my kisses and all my love…,” the inhuman vice sang in a voice that was surprisingly harmonious and melodic considering the shape of its cadaverous owner shambled down the deserted halls towards STAR labs.’ experimental medicine division. “….You taught me how to care… Am I to be just remnant of a one side love a-a-afffffairrrr.”
He smashed his arm through the glass door and continued to sing, oblivious to the glass shards poking out from his forearm as his hand felt around for the door knob. ”A-a-all you took I gladly gave. There is nothing left for me to sa-a-ave.”
He shambled across the room and smashed the glass doors of the large cabinet on the opposite side and began stuffing the jarred organs into his knap-sack. “Oh All of me…Why not take all of me. Cant you see…I’m no good without yoouuuu…”
He grabbed a ream of synthetic skin and it up as if crooning into a microphone. “Take my lips…I want to lo-o-o-ose them…” and then eagerly threw them into the nap-sack...
He did a pirouette and then shuffled over to the area with robotic prosthetics and grabbed a prototype bionic skeletal enhancement from a nearby workbench. .”Take my arms ….Ill never use them….”
He lifted up a jar that held a pair of sky blue artificial eyes floating in antiseptic fluid and compared them to his own ghastly colored eyes reflected in the shiny metal of a nearby device before putting them in his bag, as well. .
He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and moved towards the doorway, singing “Your goodbye left me with eyes that cry… How can I go on dear without yoooouuu….”
“Freeze!” a security guard shouted, jumping in front of him suddenly. A loud crack filled the air as Dr. Death backhanded the unfortunate guard who slammed into the wall and slumped to the ground.
Dr Death flung his arms in the air and mimicked jazz hands with his free hands as he danced towards the doorway. “Oh, Yoooouuuu took the part that once was my heart.. So why not …. Oh why not… why not take a-a-alllll of me!!! Yeah, thank you Gotham! Good night and don’t forget to tip your waiters on the way out.”
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 16:39:53 GMT
(by Starsky_Hutch76)
As he sat in his office going over his ledger, Freddie Minnelli hummed along with the music he could hear pouring in from the main ballroom. Unless the voice coming from the next room was a recording, the club appeared to be luring in a better class of talent these days, he mused with satisfaction. Whoever Jimmy had trying out in there sounded like a real pro. Yes indeed, the 80s were being really good to his old-timey night club. Before the recent revival of bee-bop and swing, his club had stayed nearly deserted except for the occasional aging hipster looking for a night on the town. Then, the retro craze happened and yuppies suddenly discovered his club, packing it with 20 and 30-somethings dressed how they thought their grandparents must have dressed. It was as if they were trying to recapture a bit of the glamour and Hollywood that had been lost with their own generation.
“If this keeps up, I can finally go completely legit,” Freddie mused to himself.
There was a knock at the door, interrupting his reverie. “Come in,” he said, looking up from his ledger.
“Uh, boss?” his well dressed bodyguard said, stepping into the room.. “We’ve … uh… we’ve got a situation out here.”
Freddie stared at his bodyguard in astonishment.. His cheeks were ashen and his lips pale, as if something had caused all the blood to drain from his face. He was clearly terrified. Anton was the toughest SOB he knew. It was a quality he was chosen for as much as his ability to clean up well and fit in among the customers. If something could have this effect on him, it had to be pretty bad.
“Show me.”
The first surprise was that the voice he had been humming along with was neither a recording or a hopeful new headliner. A tattered figure was spinning around the ballroom with a broom as a dance partner as he sang along with the music. “I won’t dance… don’t ask me. I won’t dance, you can’t make me.”
Freddie’s bodyguards stood on the outskirts of the room, staring anxiously.. “It’s a zombie,” Anton choked.
One night, Freddie and his crew had gotten into a discussion of horror movies and which ones had scared them the most as a kid. Anton’s had been night of the living dead. So Freddie knew he must have been freaking out right then. All things considered, he was holding it together pretty well.
That ain’t like no zombie I’ve ever seen,” another of his men said.
“You seen many zombies?” someone retorted
“Maybe he’s more like the Michael Jackson’s Thriller kinda zombie than the George Romero kind,” another said.
Freddie’s eyes grew wide as the shambling thing stopped suddenly, turned to him, and exclaimed, “Freddie! So good to see you! Wonderful establishment you have here. Love what you’ve done with the place.”
“I… I… I…I’m sorry,” Freddie stammered, “Do we know each other?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your old friend Dr Death,” the Zombie guffawed. “Well, in all fairness, I suppose I do look a sight.”
“You don’t look much like Dr Death,” Freddie said. “Or act like him.”
“I have gone through some … changes, you might say,” Dr Death said, waving his hand with a dramatic flourish.”
“Dr Death is dead.”
“Rumours of my death were… well, they were actually pretty darn on the money… 100% factual, in fact. But I got better.”
“Boss, you know this .. this guy?” Anton yelped, clearly horrified.
“Know me? We’re old pals,” Dr Death said, slapping a cadaverous arm around Freddie’s shoulders, making him grimace. “Bosom buddies even. We go way, way back. Everything you see around you is a result of the time he spent in my employee. I would say we have much to catch up on, wouldn’t you, Freddie?”
Freddie suddenly found himself wishing he had moved his operations somewhere… anywhere.. other than Gotham City, one of the weirdness capitals of the world. “In my office,” he said. “Carmine, Antonio, you’re with me.” Anton was his best guard, but a childhood fear of zombies wasn’t going to make him very useful in this situation
Rather than look disappointed, Anton looked visibly relieved. He turned to the much older henchman to his left and said, “Hey, Jimmy, you were here back in the day. You remember that guy?”
“Yeah, I remember Dr Death,” Jimmy replied thoughtfully, “Funny thing, though… back then, he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.”
The corpse-like figure strolled into the room followed by three very agitated men in shiny, well-tailored suits. An annoyed sound escaped Freddie as Dr Death walked behind his desk and planted himself in the large, leather-bound office chair. “Ni-i-i-c-c-c-e,” Dr Death said.”You’ve done very well in my absence. I’m back now, though, so I can take over.”
An angry, exasperated growl escaped Freddie. “You can’t just…. Carmine, get him the hell out of my chair! Take care of him.”
Carmine pulled a gun out of a shoulder holster that was hidden under his suit jacket and said nervously, “C’mon. Let’ not make this ugly.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already ugly.” With one swift movement, he gabbed the letter opener off of Freddie’s desk and plunged it into Carmine’s heart. The gun in Carmine’s hand went off and the bullet passed through Dr. Death’s midsection, out the other side, and into the wall behind him.
“Huh,” Dr Death said, looking down at the bullet hole. “Kind’ve tickled.
Freddie and Antonio seemed frozen in place as they stared at him in shock. Dr Death turned to them and said, “Oh woe is me… here all I wanted to do was reconnect with an old friend and you had to go and make me get all stabby! I trust we won’t have any more of that sort of foolishness again.”
“No …,” Freddie said hoarsely. “No, we won’t.”
“Good, good,” Dr Death said. “Then we’re all friends again.”
“Yeas, we’re all friends again,” Freddie said in resignation, picturing all his dreams of legitimacy flying away.
Just then, his other bodyguards burst in with guns drawn, having heard the shot. “Whoah! Whoah! Guys!” he xclaimed, holding up his hands as if trying to hold off disaster.
“Omigod! He killed Carmine!” Anton yelped.
“Well, he ruined my shirt!” Dr Death said. “I’m sure your kitchen here has a pretty big freezer. Put him in there and I’ll bring him back later.”
“You … you’ll what?” Anton said sickly, his gun hand lowering as if it were wilting.
“Sure. He’ll make a good subject for my reanimation experiments. I have some knew theories I want to try out. Don’t worry. I can do the same for all of you should any of you befall any similarly tragic …accidents.”
The bodyguards eyed each other warily and then lowered their guns. “Good. Good,” Dr Death said. “Now we’re all friends. Now, as a gesture of friendship, I will need some new clothes. My current clothes are quite old and I seem to have one heck of a moth problem.” He poked his finger out of the bullet hole for emphasis.
“I have a suite upstairs,” Freddie said. “Anton can show you the way.”
“But Boss…!” Anton yelped.
“Anton, just … just do as I ask,” Freddie said, wincing.
Anton walked out, glancing nervously over his shoulder as Dr Death followed. The other guards started to follow.
“Guys, aren’t you forgetting something?” Freddie asked. They all stared at him blankly.
“Hello-o-o?” Freddie said, rolling his eyes. “Dead body over here!”
They quickly moved over to grab up their fallen associate and carry him off to the freezer, leaving Freddie and Jimmy alone with their thoughts. The two sat in silence for a moment before Jimmy said, “What are we gonna do, boss?”
“I don’t know,” Freddie sighed. “I don’t know.”
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Post by DocQuantum on Jun 19, 2017 19:21:24 GMT
I'm glad to see more chapters of this story, even if they were written a long time ago. Since this is no longer abandoned, I moved it to the Earth-2 forum.
This story has the spooky atmosphere of an old Universal monster movie at times, and at other times reminds me more of Tim Burton's Batman.
I hope to see more!
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Post by johnreiter902 on Jun 19, 2017 21:44:09 GMT
I'm glad to see more chapters of this story, even if they were written a long time ago. Since this is no longer abandoned, I moved it to the Earth-2 forum. This story has the spooky atmosphere of an old Universal monster movie at times, and at other times reminds me more of Tim Burton's Batman. I hope to see more! That sounds like a perfect recipe for a golden age Batman story. I definitely think Dr. Death has lost his mind. He sounds much more zany than he did in 1939 (his last published appearance). I'm glad the author remembered that Dr. Death was mentioned by Batman in the All-Star Squadron stories, proving he lived until 1942.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 19, 2017 23:07:01 GMT
Dr Death has definitely lost his mind from his experience.
I was surprised when I went back and saw how long it had been since this was written.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 28, 2017 3:31:11 GMT
Helena Wayne watched with pride as her newly adopted daughter worked the uneven bars in the gymnasium within the Batcave beneath Wayne Manor. The girl had put a lot of hard work into her training. Helena had seen something in her eyes that told her the girl had the spirit for what they did. Still, Sonia had managed to surprise even her.
As she studied the girl’s movements, she was reminded of herself as a young girl. Her goals had been the same once she knew the truth about her parents. Of course, they had been adamant that she would not follow in their footsteps.
That was a mistake, in her opinion. She could have benefited from their guidance instead of having to forge her own way despite them. She would not do that with Sonia.
Sonia did a midair somersault and landed in front of Helena. She clapped and said, “You’ve really improved dramatically over the last few months both athletically and with your fighting skills. Soon, you’ll be ready to go on patrol with me.”
“Really?” Sonia exclaimed with surprise.
“Nothing big at first,” Helena said. “If we come up against anything major, you stay back and let me deal with it. But I think you’re about ready to get your feet wet.”
Have you given any thought to what you want to call yourself?” Helena asked.
“C-call myself?” Sonia stammered.
“You know…. Your super hero name,” Helena said. “For example, Rachel says she’s going to go by Sparrow, since her old man was Robin then Red Robin. You know… Robin … Sparrow… both birds.”
“I don’t know…,” Sonia said. “I spent so much time trying to be good enough I haven’t even thought of what I would call myself.”
“Well, when you do decide, don’t make the same mistake I made and call yourself something someone else is already using.”
“When Sonia laughed, Helena said, “Seriously, I went with Huntress and there was already a villainess calling herself that. We ended up fighting over it!”
“Did you win?” Sonia asked.
“Well, I’m still called the Huntress, aren’t I?” Helena said. “I guess since she wasn’t one of my dad’s bad guys, I didn’t think about her.”
“I can’t believe I haven’t thought up a name. I’m so lame,” Sonia said, blushing.
“I think you were more focused on important things like staying in one piece,” Helena laughed. “Come on. Let’s go up to the mansion. It’s time to celebrate all your hard work. I asked Alfred to make his famous home-made pizza.”
“Awesome!” Sonia said as they walked towards the stairwell leading from the Batcave to Wayne Manor.
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Post by johnreiter902 on Jun 28, 2017 11:37:29 GMT
Hurray! Another chapter! I liked the reference to Dick's daughter Rachel as the Sparrow
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