Chapitre 26: Issue #24: Deal With The Hook-Nosed Devil
Bruce doesn't say anything to me afterwards; He just goes past me to let mother and Rachel out of their hiding place, as well as breaking the situation to the other women in the bathroom.
Mother tears off Rachel's embrace and runs towards me while the other women leave the bathroom in fear. She didn't care about the blood that colors the water red or the cut off arm drowning in the flood as she kneels down beside me and cradles me with fear and worry besetting her watering eyes.
"Oh, dear. You're bleeding. You're bleeding." She mutters under her breath as she removes the shawl around her neck and uses it to cover the largest of my wounds.
"I'm… fine." I say to placate her worries, but all it does is make it worse.
Knowing that I'm conscious enough to speak, she caresses my bumpy cheeks and places her forehead to mine. "You're gonna be alright, baby. Don't go into the light."
A chuckle escaped my throat, startling her for a moment. "Jeez, don't… be too… morbid, ma."
"I know, baby. I'm sorry." She sobs mirthfully. "Mr–Bruce, can we–can we take him to the hospital? Please."
Bruce tears his attention away from the dead guy and gazes at us. "Your son…"
"Bruce, it's bad," Rachel says, kneeling beside me and checking my irises. "He's going to die soon if we don't take him to the hospital. Is the outside safe?"
Bruce takes me out of mother's hand and heaves me in a princess carry. He silently motions for them to follow him as he walks out of the room.
The northern half of the restaurant is destroyed and filled with wood, blood, and the remains of what appears to be a tray of steaming hot porter steaks. Wooden tables lay strewn to the side with nearly half the chairs either broken in half or scattered in pieces by the destruction wrought by the Scythes.
If not for the efforts of Bruce under the cover of the smoke bomb, then these men would have done fatal damage to the elites of the city. Nobody would care about them in an authentic way, of course, but with the civil unrest threatening to tear down the city's metaphorical walls, Bruce might have just saved the city from crumbling with the weight of its elite.
The Scythes who just announced themselves as the savior for the city's underprivileged and overworked now lay beaten and bloodied in one corner of the room. Their leader is the only one awake to see the utter defeat they have suffered under the might of a man they could see.
It seems that he wants to leave and escape this situation, but the fine and mighty officers of the Gotham City Police Department are right on time to arrest the fellow. With their confident swagger and faux concern for the patrons, they swoop in and take control of the restaurant.
A familiar sight also enters the room, one that has been a fixture of Batman Mythos for all of eternity. The newly assigned Captain of Gotham's Metahuman Crisis Prevention Taskforce, James Gordon—who had been reassigned as a Captain following the solving of my kidnapping case—scrutinizes the room with an unhappy sigh before quickly ordering his men to cuff the Scythes.
"Ah, Mr. Wayne," He notices Bruce before his eyes widen in shock. "Christ. Hernandez, get this kid on a bus! Now!"
He orders his men to take me away from Bruce, but before the police medic could, he whispers into my ear. "We will talk later. In the meantime… good job."
A groan is all I can do as he hands me to the police officer, who, by the way, is quite brusk with his handling of me.
'God forbid, a bleeding tween be handled with care. Hey, that's weird. I can't feel my hands.'
Five police cruisers are parked around the restaurant, along with two ambulances filled above capacity. Thankfully, Jasmine and the guard–Dorian?–waves us over, so that I didn't have to ride with other people.
An EMT is kind enough to teach Jasmine the basics of how to keep me alive before injecting me with some kind of pain reliever, suppressing the gnawing in my stomach.
As we drive past the restaurant, two of the five cruisers are boarded by police officers and leave the area along with us.
The ride to the hospital is quicker than I had anticipated, which is then followed by a quick scan of my injuries by the emergency nurses before being prepped for surgery in an all too familiar PICU in Gotham General.
I suppose, given that I was found in the hands of a wealthy industrialist that has recently bought off a wing in Gotham General, is giving them a nice incentive in handling my case.
The surgery doesn't take long, with little to medium complication happening due to my unique physiology. The anesthesia dripped into my veins are a tad more volumetric than usual patients and so is the blood that continuously gushes out every hole.
I could hear the doctors talking about how they could already fill about four bags of blood with how much I'm bleeding. It's a simple operation, truly, as my problem is only the quantity of wounds pestering my fleshy body and the inherent rotting of my organs at a cellular level.
They finish with me the moment they have removed all shards of glass embedded within my form and stabilized my internal condition with a rightful shot of some kind of wonder drug.
"Is he awake?" The surgeon asks, noticing my flitting eyelids.
"Shoot, he is. How's that…?" The anesthesiologist clicks her tongue when she opens my eyelids and notices my eyes moving about.
The surgeon lightly throws his weapons atop the tray and walks up to me with a kind smile, "Don't worry, uh… Edmund, is it? You're good to go, now. You'll be confined for a few days just so we can check if your organs are regenerating properly."
"You're not good with kids, are you?" Whispers the anesthesiologist.
The surgeon shakes his head, moving towards the other exit. "Hate kids."
Somebody wheels me off the operating room, trailing through a throng of nurses, sick people, and, surprisingly enough, a cloud of businessmen and moguls that reeks of entitled privilege and undue condescension.
From the passing conversation my ears can pick up, it seems that the Scythe is not the only group to attack an establishment that caters to the elites of Gotham. In fact, they are not also that deliberately speak up about the 'injustice' they had received and become violent for it.
The worst of the bunch comes from the diamond district in Old Gotham, where Penguin's men took a few hedge fund managers as a hostage before revealing that it was an elaborate heist to take control of the City Hall. I assume Batman is heading towards there right now, given that the mayor is issuing a public broadcast announcement while the hooligans are trying to break into his fortified office.
"What is happening in this city?" Mutters the nurse that's pushing my bed.
'Simple, really. The criminals just issued a warning to Gotham: Hunt down the Reaper or they destroy the city.'
•••
*Bruce Wayne (POV)*
I blame myself.
Edmund is right. He did what he had to do.
However, the man did not deserve death, not even if he and his group were seeking it. Yet I wasn't there when it happened nor what it felt like it that moment of helplessness and indecision.
I have known in these past six months that Edmund loved his mother truly. More so than any other person in the world, much less his own father. He had said and implied to me during his training that anything and everything matters, not when his mother was involved.
"When push comes to shove? I'll make sure that never happens in the first place." I remember him answering Richard's inane question regarding the limits of their respective psyche.
'Would his death be abated by my presence? Should I have not involved myself in that fight? Should I have made them my priority and care not for the other civilians in that restaurant?'
My thoughts come to a close when I arrive next to the city hall. Half a dozen police cruisers barricades the entrance to the hall while three more surround the western and eastern exits.
The police commissioner gazes at me from inside of the makeshift command center. He doesn't like me, and none of the government officials do. They think I am a nuisance to their control of their respective departments and a threat to the safety of the city. At least that's what they tell the media.
Yet, here he is, walking towards me with a grumbling face. He snorts, but sighs with exhaustion.
"Listen," He says, "I don't know what the fuck is up with these fuckers, but I can't risk my men being killed by a goddamn penguin. I'm gonna give you one chance to bust in and save the mayor. Understand?"
I stay silent, staring at him with my white-out lenses.
He turns towards his aide-de-camp, whispering something about me being a "jack-ass" before looking back with a grunt.
"There's a side entrance near the bathroom. We can cover for you while you work your way in." He says and when I don't say anything, he glowers and ends with, "Is that alright?"
I grunt and turn around to enter the Batmobile. Flicking the autopilot switch before inputting further commands, I equip my stealth suits and a handful of Batarangs.
The vehicle purrs into existence, startling those around it. The engine barks out the soot sustained from my travels as the fuel burns and propels the Batmobile forward at unsustainable speed.
With a deafening BOOM! The Batmobile speeds through the wooden barricade set up by the police and climbs the stairs like it's going through a hundred speed bumps in a second.
The reinforced push bar of the Batmobile smashes through the walls next to the sealed large double doors of the city hall, bursting through the inside of the building like a tank version of the Kool-aid man.
Through the sensors around the vehicle, I have a complete view of the surrounding area. While the sudden explosion of wood, tiles, and cement disorients the occupiers of the ground floor, I have already scanned the area and compared it with the pre-downloaded blueprints.
A wide-area reveals itself with a reception area in the center. Three openings lead to the hallways that house the various offices and meeting rooms used by the lower administration. The area is surrounded by nine heavily armed men, all of whom are wearing thick black overcoats and white kevlar suits.
A winding stair leads to the second floor where two more lay on guard, having armed themselves with heavy machine guns.
"Release tear gas." I order the AI operating the vehicle's weapons and defensive system.
Four pillars equipped with anesthetic-filled rockets protrude on the corners of the hood of the Batmobile, launching missiles that explode with an alabaster-hued smoke.
Having further disoriented the enemies, the Batmobile roars forward and smashes the rims of its hind wheels onto the stomach of one goon. I back into another, sending him across the hall and crashing him against a pillar that holds the winding stairs aloft.
Unfortunately, that is the extent of my ambush as the monitor shows multiple assailants hitting the car in seven different directions. I don't know how they could see the car even through the thick smoke and, frankly; I don't care much. It has already done its job.
"Activate auto-pilot." I order before opening the car door and crouching down on the floor. "Now."
The Batmobile releases a sub-sonic blast that makes the very ground tremble. If I'm not being protected by my cowl's cochlear module, then all I would hear is the sound of my own heartbeat replayed back to me a million times louder.
I fire a grappling hook under the base of the second floor bannister, quickly flying upwards and grabbing onto the edge of the floor with none of the goons the wiser. With practiced ease, I roll onto the second floor and hide behind a pillar in the middle.
The machine gun goons are still firing hundreds of bullets into my car, unaware of my presence. Seeing as the barrels of their respective weapons are not burning red, Cobblepot must have spent a few pennies into rearming his men.
'I underestimated the tendrils of his resources. Even without my help, the heavy weaponry in his arsenal alone could have decimated a third of Falcone's men.'
Just as I'm about to glide past the machine gun goons and go towards the door to the far end of the hall, a door handle to the left of me jiggles ever so slightly. I take out a Rebound Batarang and aim it at the door, waiting as it opens up and out hastily comes an armored goon.
He makes eye contact with me, eyes widening in fear and surprise. I narrow my eyes and, even though it doesn't actually show externally, bring more fear into the man.
I shake my head and he slowly goes back in and closes the door.
"GOING IN!" A goon says from down below, alerting me to the quickness of their operation.
With the Batarang still in hand, I glide in between the machine gun goons while reloading their weapons. The projectile leaves my hand as I throw it within five feet of the left goon, hitting the nape of his neck before the Batarang splits in half and hitting him once more with twice the strength of the first hit.
The goon to the right reacts quickly, but my leg is quicker. I hit him in the back, nearly causing him to stumble forward, but was quick to grab a hold of the steps.
Before he can react further, I chop his throat to prevent a sound from leaking before locking him in a rear naked chokehold. I lay him gently on the ground once he limps in my hands.
I hurry towards the far end of the hall where the mayor's office is situated. I stop for a moment, taking out a device that can simulate an image through surfaces using sound waves. Alfred and I built this with an ultrasound device in mind.
The images pop up in my HUD, white and blue lines signifying width and depth. Two armed men aim their weapon at the door, clearly having heard the gunfire below, while another is beside a quivering form of someone.
The mayor has a secretary, Susanne, which he took with him when they holed up inside of his fortified office. That means he's already compromised and Cobblepot is inside of the other door showing within.
'I'm not sure if Cobblepot wants something and it will kill for it, but I can't take that risk; especially not when Susanne's life is at risk. If Cobblepot does want to kill for it, then why have yet to receive a report about a death in the hold-out…'
Knowing I'm merely wasting time by second-guessing the mind of a madman, I open the door slowly and call out to them, "It's me. Tell your leader that I'm here to talk. Do not kill that woman."
"Fuck!" The goon to my left pulls the trigger on his gun by surprise, which I quickly intercept by shielding myself with my cape.
"NO!" The goon to the right shouts in fear. "He doesn't mean it, batman!"
"Shit. I'm sorry!" Shouts the goon who just shot me. "Don't break my back, please."
"Tell Cobblepot that I'm here." I say, sternly gazing at Susanne's quivering form. "And let her go."
The door to the mayor's office opens, and there walks out a pot-bellied man with a large hooked nose, drab thick coat, and an umbrella sharp enough to pierce body armor.
"She can go inside with her boss. Is that alright?" Cobblepot asks for confirmation, which I give.
Sussane gives me a look of gratitude before crawling towards the inside of the office. Cobblepot orders his men to leave the room, all of whom are more than glad enough to obey.
The goon that shot me, nodding in apology as he passed by me.
"This isn't your style, Oswald. Even if you succeed here, the federal agents are coming after you. I say, letting my cap drape over my body.
Cobblepot chuckles like a duck. "Desperate times… desperate measures."
"This is about the Reaper?" My mind churns as I take in his expression. "Must have been hard… seeing the empire you built using your own two hands slowly crumble under the hands of a ghost, unable to let go of the past."
Cobblepot snorts in derision, yet I see hints of taut facial muscles. The reaper has not only gone after the low-level criminals that make up the fighting force of Gotham's underworld; he has also begun killing off police and local government officials that have a connection to criminals.
An important facet of Cobblepot's rise is his connection to the legal side of Gotham, backed by the numerous weapons he had amassed for decades. Of course, he wouldn't have risen into becoming one of Gotham's enterprising crime lords if it were not for me.
"I happen to know that you had a hand in that, Batman." He says, lulling me into the conversation. "Besides, it's not like he isn't a nuisance to you, as well. Don't you hate it when he kills people? Even bad ones deserve a second chance, don't they?"
"You're beating around the bush, Cobblepot." I say, inching closer.
He drew a viscous grin. "Me and a few other people are sick and tired of the Reaper, but we both know that we can't do anything about him since we don't have the resources you do… for once I'm going to ask for your help."
A scoff escaped me, startling Cobblepot. I shake my head as I draw closer to him and he does not back down.
I know what he's asking of me and, frankly; it has crossed my mind, too. Even now, there is still the gash across my chest that Alfred has sewn up more times than I can remember in the last week.
I had my operations across the city reduced by more than half because of my injuries becoming too agonizing to push through. Even with my iron will, I am barely half my fighting prowess.
That's why I chose to break through the front door and use my status as a mythical figure of nightmare and shadow to dance around his goons. I can fight them, yes, but at what cost? My wounds will open again and I have to subject Alfred with that pain.
'No more.'
"If there's going to be a collaboration between us…" I start, glowering at him with all my might. "I will put forth some ground rules. Break them and I will break you."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone