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⠀Batman - The Dark Knight  ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Silent Guardian ⠀⠀⠀⠀Watchful Protector ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Dark Knight ⠀⠀


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Excerpt from my #AlphaOmegaInvasion & #infinitygamble story with @Reed.Richards.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe @Skrullos can be trusted. Maybe her strategy will work. But Reed’s words will do nothing to convince Batman of that fact, not because he is stubborn -- not because he is sure -- but because he is already gone. Absent. He having disappeared as Reed attempted to justify his trust for the defense leading alien. For he had what he needed. All that he needed. To find the gems, the gauntlet, and exactly where to lay his trap…. A fact made known to Reed, as he turns and finds not only that the Dark Knight is missing, but that his wall of computer screens all say the same thing. “Data Extraction Complete. Rebooting….”

An #AlphaOmegaInvasion story.

In association with @Excelsior_RP

“Master Wayne? Can you hear me? Master Wayne…?” The words stretch and fade -- warp and wander -- some heard, whilst others simply drift away, ungrasped by a piecemeal consciousness.

“I do understand you are grievously wounded , sir, but the world, Gotham, the family and even /I/ need you. Please….” The voice is soft, loving, and familiar, but broken, and pitched at odds with the usual by a barely restrained grief.

As the balding butler waits for a response, the door to the room opens, and another voice can be heard. “Is he awake?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Gordon. I am afraid not….” Alfred repeats himself, as the unintentional perfection of the chosen phrase, echoes in the Englishman’s overstressed mind.

“I should have been there…. The League should have been there….” Barbara says with closed eyes, a hung head, and burden-bent shoulders. “Darkseid, Thanos, and two armies! How could he have possibly stood against them!? Even with Kal by his side! He’d be dead now, if it wasn’t for @Barry.Allen . Dead, Alfred. DEAD!”

An #AlphaOmegaInvasion story.

In association with @Excelsior_RP

Special Guest Appearance: @Superman.of.Krypton

A fortress in the sky -- a flying battleship -- unassailable, the Batplane usually is, but within moments of entering the sky above Starling City, the vehicle is beset by laser fire, rockets, and alien weaponry of all sorts. Despite the Batman’s best efforts to evade and counter, after every 10 dodged or grazing shots, one lands flush -- leaving the sky-born vessel smoking, sparking, and covered in a patchwork of fires, all while it slowly drifts back to the ground, unable to stay at altitude from the damage. Said descent is unwanted, sub-optimal, but it'll work -- it’ll get him to the ground, and quickly.

“Thi...Green Ar...where...you guys!?” Comes Oliver’s voice, skipping and scratching -- distorted by damaged circuits, signal drowning technology, and a wave of destruction and chaos that has flooded Green Arrow’s city.

“This is Batman, I’m almost there. Superman, how close are you?”

An #AlphaOmegaInvasion story.

In association with @Excelsior_RP

Despite the armor, despite his training, despite his years of building not only his endurance but strength, the Batman begins to slow -- begins to fade. For one after another he has cut through them. At first handfuls and then waves -- leagues and then regiments he has broken, EMP’d, and torn apart. He has done so with metal, with fists, with both the Batmobile, bike, and plane. It is only then -- only after hours of battle -- a half-day of war in the streets of Gotham, that the enemy armies’ numbers begin to dwindle. There is hope in such a happening -- a light the end of such a tunnel, and yet, as the Dark Knight throws his last Batarang, and buries it deep into the forehead of a Chitauri soldier, he drops to his knees in utter exhaustion amongst the debris and fire-strewn street. “Alfred….” The caped crusader calls out, hoping his butler, friend, and guide will respond with some information, some insight as to the state of the world outside of Gotham, a city which itself burns. Despite that expectation, he receives only static. “Alfred, come in....” Nothing, again.

An #AlphaOmegaInvasion story.

In association with @Excelsior_RP

‘Tnk tnk tnk’ comes the sound of Bruce Wayne’s fingernail tapping on his now empty glass of champagne, notifying the waiter he is ready for more. Should another arrive, it will be his fourth glass of the night, though such imbibing is for little more than show -- he having already taken a pill of his own design to counteract the deleterious effects of alcohol.

“Is that Natasha Stark?” Asks a beautiful woman to Bruce’s side, one which clings to his arm as if he were an expensive purse, despite the billionaire's general state of disinterest.

“Hmm…?” Gotham’s most eligible bachelor looks up, as if to find the answer for himself, though he already knows. It is her: the @Woman.of.Iron . A presence that is hard to ignore, especially now that she has turned from selling weapons of destruction to avenging. A hero who has no qualms about telling the world who, and what she is -- consequences be damned. “Yes, I suppose it is….” He responds dryly, with a feigned indifference.

A closed roleplay with @Shades.of.Grayson .

Thomes! Martha! Jason! Selina! All of them! Everyone he has ever cared for … everyone he has ever let past the obstructing and isolating walls of a PTSD-born psychosis. Dead! Or rushing towards an early grave atop rooftop and cause…. All because despite his strength -- despite his intelligence and funding, Bruce Wayne fails. Not the bat, but the man beneath. Not the hero, but the human who hides behind his mask. Each loss stings. Each loss wounds. But not like Selina. She was different. She had pierced the sociopathic shell, the one that birthed his addiction righteousness-fueled violence -- the one that lets him beat people near to death, just to restore order to Gotham, as he sees it. And now? That glimmer? That lifeline? That solitary breath of desperate breath? Gone. GONE!!! FOREVER!!!

Such a fact brings anger! Rage! Madness! All of it driven by a spiraling regret, a suffocating self-loathing, and a hatred for a clown, he couldn’t even bring himself to kill. The one rule! Never kill! And yet even the remembrance of such a principle makes Bruce nauseous, as his batmobile launches into the Batcave vehicle bay, at far too high an angle and far too great a speed. As consequence of both, the car, engine still revving at a near deafening volume, comes crashing down into a brake-squealing stop. One which ceases not a blink before the Batman exits the black-toned vehicle of war.

(( Continuing from the last few posts. Swipe left for effect. ))

It was a perfectly played game by the Joker. Lead the World’s Greatest Detective to a crime scene with facts that make no sense, and in so doing, use his insatiable desire to understand and defeat crime to not only distract him, but to plant a message. One that spoke through the magnifying glass that that Gotham’s Prince was headed to take out the Catwoman. It was a message that the Batman found, though not in time to protect her. ⠀

Then, once the clown had the Dark Knight’s favorite catburglar in his clutches, lead him on a chase of both ghost and whisper -- shadow and half-truth. Driving him deeper and deeper into rage and madness with every failed chance to find the woman who so bewitched him. But then finally, when he was at his absolute wit’s end, the smiling maniac let the caped crusader have the scent again. With that scent he lured the Batman here. To this place. To this moment. One in which the architect of this mystery tour holds a bound Catwoman in one hand, and a detonator-hilted knife in the other. There, in such a position of strength, he forces the Dark Knight to choose. The cat or the city. Gotham or the girl. In such a dilemma, our hero is asked to act.

(( Continued From Previous Post ))

Within the distance of a blink, and in similar time, the jets of the Batplane have brought the caped crusader within striking distance, hovering above the zeppelin on which the Joker now rides, a captured Catwoman in tow. The Bat needs in, but must be careful in achieving such a feat, as to avoid taking down the vessel in a fiery display, ending the lives of not only he who he chases, but also she who is the basis of his vengeful pursuit. And so, just as the zeppelin lifts off into the air, the Batman drops, facing downward, a batarang held out sharply, and a lightweight black kevlar parachute at his back. The blade tip of the ‘rang tears through the zeppelin’s rubberized cotton fabric balloon exterior, just enough to let the Dark Knight drop through the hole created. As he drops in, and through the empty space of the chasm, his parachute detaches, and seals the previously cut hole perfectly, as to let none of the hydrogen escape or the vessel to lose altitude. Then, as our hero floats down, through an oxygenless gas, Batman holds his breath, and uses his cape to slow fall, until he lands upon the metal top of the zeppelin’s passenger car.

Gears are shifted with violence. Turns are made with powerful yanks of the cockpit controls. Each movement is taken harsh, and decision made with surety. He pursues both he, and she. The clown, and the cat. The captor, and the captive. They linger and dance at the end of his tracking capabilities. Threatening at every moment to disappear from his map, and mastery. Such a danger leads to haste, and hate -- fear and loathing. Feelings which push. Demands that drive -- as does he. Hard. Harrowing. Heeding not but the chase, and the chasm that now stands before him.

Tires turn, and burn, taking the Bat and his mobile from one street to the next. From corner to straight. From alley to bridge. From panicked performance, to skill-earned confidence in his ability to catch he who flees, and she he needs. His machine is every bit the capable steed, carrying him closer and closer -- until suddenly the streets become darker, and less kept.

Spine stiffened, fists clenched, teeth grinding, the Batman of Gotham stands amongst the fiery remnants of Catwoman’s last known location. She is gone -- taken -- kidnapped, by /him/. The Joker. The Dark Knight’s nefarious nemesis. There is a pressing need for investigation and examination, and yet ... he keeps his eyes closed, trying to suppress the rage swelling and swirling in his mind. It is a challenge, a /threat/, a battle that at any moment he might lose. ⠀

Oracle: “The GCPD are on their way, Batman, you gotta hurry.” His earpiece sounds with the voice of Barbara, trying to prod him past him moment spent dealing with the fires of a white-hot rage at war within him. She is right, there is no time. Not when…. A thought he ends abruptly, not yet ready to admit or deny the reasons why this happened, or why it matters so deeply to him. She is a criminal. A thief. And yet….”

Oracle: “Nothing on the police scanners. Looks like Joker got away clean this time.”

Dodging through traffic, blowing through obstacles, and making every turn with a tight-angled desperation, the Batmobile tears across the seemingly peaceful city of Gotham. Tonight the streets are free of crime, and unoccupied by victims, save one. For this is the Joker’s night. He has put out warnings -- feelers -- threats; for he wants no interruptions -- nothing to stand in his way.

The wold's greatest detective should have seen it -- should have known.... All the clues were there -- all the signs…. But he was distracted, by her, from her. In his growing obsession, in the nights lost reading through her file, he forgot to make sure someone else wasn’t watching -- wasn’t hunting. ⠀

“Alfred, status….” Alfred: “I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Kyle is not home. The lights are out inside. I have called her cellphone, but she isn’t picking up.”

“Oracle, can you track it?”

Oracle: “I’m already on it, Batman, I’m sending the coordinates to you now. Looks like its … one second … I’m picking something up on the police scanners, and I’m putting it through to you now.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” The Bat comments shortly, his cold, emotionless voice all the while carried by impossibly encrypted Wayne Tech satellite frequencies, back to the Batcave, and those that wait there to aid him in his investigation.

Alfred: “And why not, sir. Murder not enough for your liking?”
“Not this time. He wanted us distracted. Our eyes off the streets.”

Alfred: “And they were, sir. The Atlantean jewelry stunt was a near perfect ploy, and this man paid the price.”

“This man is an accountant, Alfred. Hmmm, or is he….”

Oracle: “I’m plugging his info into the financial databases now…. Ok, looks like this guy worked for … for … uh….”

“Oracle?” The Bat asks with only Barbara's name, knowing that whatever has hold her tongue is, is more than she expected.

Oracle: “It’s just … as soon as I try to follow his employers back to their parent company, they evaporate. Like they don’t exist. Like they never existed. Like this guy’s whole career, is….”

“A cover.”

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