dark.knight dark.knight

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



-->𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝟷 -- 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚀𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢<--

‘Trust Me’

A @Sanctum.Roleplay and #ConvergenceofInfiniteEarths story.

Featuring: @The.Invincible.IronMan

Onward and upward, Icarus flew -- soaring through cloud and color, hue and heat, until he couldn’t. Past when he shouldn’t. The toll of the sun, then coming due.

Icarus’ tale is fiction and myth, but it is truth, nonetheless. That man can soar too high. That they do so. That they dare. The consequences of no concern, until they come calling and man finds himself falling back to Earth. It is such hubris that the Batman seeks to quell, and the consequences therefrom to avoid. For one man, a certain Tony Stark -- the Iron Man, is once again building wings. Once again setting his sights on flight. But this time it is not just his own fall he risks, but the world’s, not just ours but all of them. A consequence, that at this moment, remains unseen.

Unseen, but not unexpected, in full, as the time has come for confrontation and questioning. As this man of science and engineering inserts the last required bio-neural processor into his glorious new invention, the Pull Box. A device which will change the world, its designer hopes.



A #ConvergenceofInfiniteEarths & @Santum.Roleplay Story

It has begun to feel normal to Bruce, this state of exhaustion. After all, there just isn’t enough time for sleep; not when there was so much that had to be done. Not when Bruce Wayne could live not a second less than all of his double lives. He being a caped crusader by night; but with his days far less conveniently described. For he did more than just play rich and disinterested -- smarmy and ambitionless. Yes, that act was part of it -- the parties and play -- the women and wanton /everything/.

Most separately, however, there was business; not just of Wayne Enterprises, but of the bat. New suits, tools, and implements of travel -- new vehicles on which his own, winged prefix might be added, need be bought and built. But apart from those more practical dealings, there was also crime to be found and stopped -- threats to be averted and overcome, with the dollar and the check, when fists and shark repellent were not yet right to be used.



A New Beginning; A Change of Plans

Yes, the plan was Thor and Sif, carving our coupled names into the blade of eternity. We two living side by side, our armored backs together in combat, and hands coupled no less in moments of peace. Our weapons lifted and raised high, with the sun glinting from blade and hammer, as droplets of blood fell, in a never ending ever to the firmament below.

But then shit happened, y’all, and naw. Batman, son. What!?

Flip for the full story!


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.

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