Chapitre 41: Issue #39: Shark Attack
I very much don't doubt the intelligence behind Robin's naïve and child-like eyes, but I do doubt that his inexperienced mind can operate a plan on a level that Batman will deem acceptable
It's not entirely a dig on him—just an observation based on the months we've spent working together. Sure, his mind for traps and plans is as flexible as his body, but the fact is that he is much more inclined to go off the cuff than to weather the storm that beats against an intricate plan.
"You sure we're doing this?" I ask, more rhetorically than an actual one, as I slide against an open window and enter the southern side of the plant.
[Yes, now shut up and stick to the plan.] Robin's voice crackles in my ears a moment later, relayed through the thin wire at the edge of my mask that decodes his words.
Although less instantaneous than a normal communication device and certainly less bulky, the decoder technique offers a simple protection against frequency hacking and from satellite spying on our privileged conversation.
"I'm just saying. We could've entered through the main gate since they already opened it." I suggest, quite late at this point.
[Sure and trip every trap these mooks set up along the way.] His rebuttal comes in swift and hot with a sizzling dose of sarcasm. [You like being a contrarian, don't you, dude?]
The rusty catwalks creak with every step, heightening my fear that the criminals will hear us. I don't know if they set up motion or thermal sensors–even if they had, I doubt Batman will tell us that information–so I carefully plan out every step until I land down on the ground, a few dozen meters and three doors away from where the criminals are digging shit up.
But before I walk forward, I ignore Robin's question and make fun of his words. "Who says mooks? What's next? We're gonna whack them and feed them to the fishes. Wanna go to the, uh, what's it called again? Uh, speakeasy and drink moonshine?"
[I'm sorry I can't hear you because of the work I'm doing right now.] I swear I can hear grunting on his side before he responds, [I just disabled the thermal sensors on the northern portion. Escape plan is good to go. Told you they have traps.]
"Shut up."
[Ok, scarf boy.]
"I get cold, alright?" I whisper loudly into my comms.
[Less talking, more moving.] Batman interjects into our conversation, having taken a more reactive approach in this fight and had informed us that he would only deal with King Shark once we initiated the fight.
Until then… 'We're on our own.'
I stroll down one of ACE Chemicals' five chemical processing plants in New Jersey, an infamous company both in and out of this universe. Even a neophyte like me knows the very plant where Batman made his very first, and certainly not his last, mistake and one that had cost and will cost him a lot of grievances.
'So this is where the Joker is made, huh? I've always assumed it to be more chaotic and terrifying and less… clinical?'
I trace the sleek metal bathysphere-like vat containing bubbling chemicals and find not one trace of battle or marks of chaos permeating the various paraphernalias and walls around this plant. Like most of the factories I toured in my life and the previous one, the colors seem to run my very imagination dry, as if taking every delight and joy and transforming it into a soulless cash grab.
'Yeah, definitely smells, feels, and is evil to its bones. I'm surprised they didn't actually place cameras all around the plant, or is it that they're hidden?'
"I'm near the northwestern portion. Where are you?" I ask through the comms.
Waves of energy intravenously vibrate through the walls that separate me and the four criminals, rattling my teeth and the very foundation of the building.
[Behind you!]
I ignore his words and look above me to see Robin rappelling down a steel cable and softly landing on his knees in front of me. "How's your Optic Leap?" he asks nonchalantly while taking out bird-shaped projectiles or Birdarangs, as he likes to call it, out of his utility belt.
"Does your knee hurt?" I remark, eliciting a restrained shiver up his shoulders. "I can do three long ones or seven short ones, maybe less depending on the duration. Wanna come in from above like last time?"
Robin shakes his head, rolling towards the ajar gate leading towards the criminals. "No. We only need to incapacitate the men and let Batman handle King Shark. Two of them are doing all the work and they must be tired from it while one of them is constantly feeding the big-ass shark, most probably scared out of his mind to properly react to a sudden and overwhelming explosion."
"'Probably' doesn't cut it, Robin." Batman's voice causes our collective instinct to take over in surprise and fear, nearly forcing our hand and revealing ourselves to the men. He appears from within the shadows that meld the sleek drab walls of the plant and glower at us as we discuss our plans. "Uncertainty is the enemy of every plan. Allowing a moment of hesitation to poke through your strategies will lead to casualties, either your teammates or civilians alike."
Robin falters for a moment before his blue eyes shine with resolution as he nods at Batman's words, but the masked vigilante is clearly not done. "Change of plans: Dealing with King Shark is now included in your priority. I will not interfere unless both of you are in real danger."
He melds back into the shadows, not waiting for our response and even if we have one.
'Oh, boy.'
I see Robin clench his fist, a normally vapid expression on his face turning into one of extreme restraint and anger.
"Look at that. You both have a stick up your ass." I sigh in exasperation, tapping Robin on the shoulder to get his ass out of his head. "C'mon, man. What's the plan?"
Robin takes a second to compose himself before cracking his knuckles and delving into the minutiae of his burgeoning plan. "There are pipes above the catwalks. Water will spring out once someone hits the fire alarm in the room."
"You wanna get the son of the Shark God wet?" I ask incredulously, hoping that there's more to the plan.
"Yes. You opted for the built-in taser, right?" He asks, a grin on his face.
"Yeah, but, oh." I realize his plans and a grin soon spreads across my face. "You realize that it might kill him?"
"It won't. While 50,000 volts might be dangerous to a human, especially at high currents like yours, Shark King can take it right in the noggin'. it'll knock the ever living marine turd out of him, though."
"Your plan sounds brutal." I state matter-of-factly. "Let's do it. Throw a smoke bomb and I'll teleport you to the fire alarm."
Robin pulls out five black beads from his utility belt and kicks open the door, instantly flooding the room with thick, fog-like smoke. Thick, hazy smoke suddenly covers the large chamber, interrupting our line of sight and preventing us from seeing our targets. While that may be poor planning on most guys, we had already memorized the plans of the building beforehand and, with the use of the thermal sensors built in our masks, can analyze the outlines of the criminals within the smoke.
An inky black line slices through space, opening into a dark eye that reveals a smoke-filled corner of the room. A glass case containing a red fire alarm lever lies not mere meters away from him.
"GO!"
Robin somersaults in, arguably saving me a few minutes of strength by leaping towards the fire alarm before I close the portal. I rush in afterwards and head towards the four white silhouettes constantly being scanned by my mask.
The disorienting smoke gives me the cover I need to quickly close the distance between the door and their position. With a power jump over the mountain of rubble they have accumulated these past few minutes, I send a flipping front kick to the side of the criminal holding the clay explosive.
His head unnaturally turns away from his neck, nearly snapping it in the process, as I have yet to account for the metal in my soles when doing damage. Fortunately, I won't have a casualty written on my vest tonight as the man merely stumbles backwards and into the hole they had created, groaning all the while and still quite alive.
"I didn't kill him." I shout at no one in particular. 'Well, maybe Batman.'
As if on cue, a sibilant hiss erupts above us and lets out a roar of warm, slimy water in a counter-clockwise formation that bogs down the smoke and traps it like some kind of sick facsimile of greenhouse gasses.
As if also on cue, King Shark's roar–coupled with that of his sidekick's startled whimper–escalates the fight from idyllic henchmen busting to sick, supervillain skirmish.
Even amidst the dreary fog that seemingly permeates the room, his hulking form takes much of my vision as he barrels in our general direction. Unfortunately for him, I have much bigger fish to fry–pun intended.
The single criminal besides me gathers enough chemical courage to swing his fist, which I evade easily, seeing as his haymaker was an inch too high from my current height.
'Being a kid has its perks—sometimes. Oh, god. Source, please don't make it permanent.'
Erasing my thoughts in a vain hope that not one cosmic entity is listening, I send out a gut punch enhanced with metal fucking plates and knock the wind out of the poor criminal. Wheezing in pain and surprise, the guy who earlier was wielding the anti-gravity machine buckles over to compensate for the pain in his gut; an action so stupid because that means I can spin around and kick the side of his head with my Dilusteel boots.
Like his friend with the clay explosive, the anti-gravity guy falls like a gigantic piece of domino onto the ground–still alive and barely breathing, might I add.
'God, I love Combat Mode!'
"I swear, I'm not trying to kill–" the rest of my words stick through my tongue as King Shark finally realizes where I am, sending his big-ass, sausage-like, blue-finned arm towards me in a daring swipe.
In the past, I had imagined the big blue lug to be a strong yet slow type of creature; the kind that is able to compress steel into nothing but sheets in seconds, but will spend months catching a butterfly in a meadow.
I had imagined wrong. King Shark's arm has already reached a point where my mobility is limited to a few key movements. The width and length of the natural weapon barreling towards me forces me to raise both my arms in a vain attempt to block it before it slaps onto me like a wet fish–a two ton wet fish, at that.
The blow hurls me across the room, crashing face-first into the galvanized steel vats reinforced by ACE Chemicals. If not for the external armor protecting the rest of my body, I doubt I can survive the series of abuse I receive from the metal pipes along the way.
I can hear Robin saying something to me, something about moving and danger. But every time I try to focus on it, my ears ring hard enough to send me catatonic and my legs buckle into a spasm. The edges of my vision threaten to crack as a black mass slowly corrupts what's left of the weird, hazy fog that permeates my field of vision.
•••
Before I know it, I startle awake to the sounds of Robin straining against his own breaths as it translates over my ear decoder. Words turn into lines of codes that are sent to my mask that, in turn, are decoded into my ear, allowing me a purview of what it's like fighting against a living, breathing, walking, and talking shark.
[Left haymaker. Right Stomp. Pause for breathing. Steel bar. Projectile or melee? Melee, it is.]
Even amidst the rigor of facing King Shark, Robin is adamant about proving that this is just a training exercise. Every evasive maneuver and hit-and-run tactics dealt to the slobbering son of the ocean depths is, to the Boy Wonder, nothing more than practice for the next time he deals with him or any of Batman's rouge gallery.
Frankly, being head smashed and blacking out the very second I faceoff against King Shark is a travesty of unearthly magnitude. I have failed to take into account one of the very basic rules set by the caped crusader, namely: Never take your eyes off the enemy.
I push myself up, pain screaming through every nerve. For a second, I consider staying down—just for a second. But I can't. Not while Robin's still fighting because he's my friend and, also and more importantly, he'll hang this over my head for eternity if he wins.
"Up. I'm up." I mutter under my breath, hoping that Robin will hear it through the comms.
[Backflip, avoid the back hand. Steel–Sparrow? Good. Plan is still viable. He's not that wet, but the taser can still disorient him.] Robin's voice cannot contain the delight in hearing me again, a weary exhaustion escaping through some parts of his tone.
"Give me a sec. Where's Batman?" I ask, as I groan into a kneeling stance. While my mind has long forgiven me for giving it a concussion, my body is still reeling from the pain and blackout and will need a few more seconds before I can regain full control of it.
[Won't answer his comms.] Robin answers, frustration escaping his tone. [We're on our own. Before you ask, I've been dealing with King Shark for half a minute now. So chop-chop!]
"Yes, mom!" Over the course of a half a minute, the smoke has lessened enough for me to pinpoint where to drop in like Thor's hammer.
"Dropping!" I yell, to which Robin responds by kicking away from King Shark and throwing his Birdarang towards the landshark's egregiously large foot. While both King Shark and I expected the Birdarang to prick his feet, reality, once again, plays to the contrary as the projectiles splits in half and spits out a glob of gum-like substance that quickly expands and wraps around the Pacific terror's ankles.
Diving into the floor with one hand set on top of the pentagonal plate below my midriff–one of the small pockets where I can set up a gadget or utility and the pocket where Batman had hidden the built-in taser–I aim the secondary portal five meters above King Shark and is immediately hit with an overwhelming sense of nausea.
Having been accustomed to the sensation, I push through and orient my free arm to aim at the ceiling above me. The portal snaps shut just as I fire the steel cable towards the now-visible ceiling, allowing me to fall just far enough to click the taser open.
The whole casing tears off my suit and latches onto King Shark's snout, digging their claws into his skin before releasing tens of thousands of volts of electricity.
Lightning tears through the microprocessor embedded deep within my taser, causing dozens of visible tendrils of electricity to arc and claw its way towards King Shark. Slabs of blue flesh scores and burns under the entrete of plasma, an accretion of microscopic scorch marks that build up to glowing, festering wounds.
Three seconds, the maximum duration of the built-in taser and one that I had used to its fullest culpability before the steel cable reels me upwards and away from King Shark's convulsing arms.
King Shark doubles down in pain, kneeling on the floor as he roars in utter agony. Blood gushes out of his wounds like a broken faucet as tears roll down his eyes and, for a moment, I pity the big blue lug.
That pity disappears the moment I land on the floor and see the same big, blue lug barreling towards me, disregarding the violet-blue tendrils of electricity arcing through his skin.
I push through the terror of the walking killing machine and conjure a portal behind me as King Shark's fist breaks through my left-arm block. The blow sends me careening towards my portal, allowing me to emerge five meters away from him in exchange for breaking my left arm.
Seeing me disappear once again, King Shark throws a dangerous tantrum and begins throwing and smashing everything.
"Oh, boy. He's angry." I remark as I hold my broken arm using the other. "We should leave."
"What about–" Robin tries to reject my suggestion when King Shark locks eyes with him. "Forget it. Let's go!"
He breaks into all fours before remembering that his ribs are broken and opts for an extreme jaunt instead.
"RAAAAAAAAAGH!"
"I think he's calling for you!" I yell through the wails of the landshark, barreling towards us a few meters behind.
"Screw. You." Robin's speed, albeit dented by the internal injuries, is still leaps and bounds from mine and is now gaining far more "I only. Need to. Run faster. Than you."
We zip towards the exit, using the labyrinthine paths of the processing plant to buy time before the walking, tumbling, enraged son of the Shark God can bench press us and turn one of us into dinner and another for a midnight snack Thankfully, Robin had taken his time to de-power the traps planted by the other men beforehand which gives us a brief reprieve from the onslaught of danger constantly threatening to cause us a heart attack.
We can still hear King Shark tearing a ruckus through the plant behind us as we exit through the front door and close the gate. For a moment, our tired bodies tenses in fear and dread as we hold the locked gates in fear of Shark King bursting through the thick metal sheets.
But he never comes, even when the sound of metal breaking and chemicals bubbling out in the open comes near our ears. He never comes.
"Dear… god." I fall to my knees, back sliding down the gate.
"Do… Do we have to do this every night?" Robin asks, hands palming his own face.
"Think so." I chuckle as I look at him. "Wanna quit?"
Robin lowers his hands and meets my eyes, a grin breaking through. "Never."
Robin grabs me by the arm and we exit the plant, relief and confusion flooding our brains the moment we see the Batmobile with its headlights on. It's a welcome sight amidst the pain of my broken arm, but where the fuck is Batman?
The momentary confusion is soon relieved when a series of grunts and gunshot's echoes behind us.
"Guess we know why he won't answer." I remark as Robin runs towards the gunfire, almost as if he's glad that the sound happened in the first place.
I follow him towards the other side of the plant and skid into the western part of the wall, only to see Robin rolling to the side to evade a suited criminal's attack. I fire my other grappling hook on instinct, hitting the man in a crisp black suit on his thighs before I reel the cable back and break his nose and much of his left cheek.
He falls down to the floor, unconscious, which allows me to see who's causing so much ruckus in this part of town.
Batman stands around a slew of grunts, either grunting in pain or moaning for their mothers as they crawl away from the masked vigilante. His cape sways amidst the shadows as he traverses a sea of black, masked individuals.
A few dozen meters away, three hulking bodyguards flank a familiar mob boss. Black Mask himself, the man from Olgar's photos, angrily argues with Batman, who stands amidst a sea of broken bodies.
Batman notices our arrival, sending out a hand to stop Black Mask's tirade.
"Are you finished with your assignment?" I nod. "Good. Then, let me introduce you to Roman Sionis, a.k.a. Black Mask."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone