[b]Solomon Grundy[/b]

Grundy had made it back to the sewers without running into anything that gave him too much trouble. He was...so bored. Battling those heroes had given him a boost for the first time in hundreds of years, and now that it was gone, he wanted it back. He would do anything to get it back. It would be difficult to really catch their attention like he had earlier. After all, it was a huge city and it would be no small task finding them. Perhaps he would just have to force them to come to him. He knew just how to do it.

He went through the winding, flooded metro tunnels until he got to where he kept what he called his rainy day craft kit. He began moving the train debris and huge rocks that he kept over the wall until he had enough room to squeeze in. It was a reasonably large room filled with crates. Criminals always wanted to keep their illegal things hidden in the sewers and abandoned tunnels and Grundy thought that it was only fair they pay rent to use his space. It was usually only guns, bullets, fuel and boring things like that, but it he knew it would be useful one day. Especially what he kept in the stainless steel lock box in the very back corner.

He went to it and opened the lid. Nestled inside were ten canisters with the biohazard symbol pressed into the side. He took out one of the canisters and unscrewed the top. Inside was something no larger than a bottle of water with swirling blue gas inside. He didn't know how mobsters got their grubby hands on nerve gas, but that wasn't his concern. He had taken all of it, not willing to let such a glorious opportunity slip by. He had used gas before, but it was mostly old Soviet stuff that militias kept stored. This was new. Someone had to know someone who was willing to accept millions of dollars in exchange for just as many lives to get their hands on this.

He grabbed two canisters and sealed the rest back into the box. He wanted to get attention, not destroy the entire city. He grabbed some bombs also, and then stacked the debris back in front of his little side-room of horrors. He read the writing on the canisters out loud to himself as he made his way back to the surface.

“ 'Warning: Highly volatile nerve agent. If it comes in contact with...'blah, blah, blah, skip to the interesting parts...Ooooooooh, 'will cause immediate paralysis, followed suddenly by liquidation of the respiratory system and hemorrhaging. Handle with extreme care' blah, blah, blah, blah 'optimal deployment will be achieved with a V-36 cruise missle', unfortunately I don't think the mobsters ever got a hold of one of those. I suppose all this C4 will have to do. Pity I don't have any uranium. No, mustn’t be greedy. The nerve gas is necessary, the dirty bomb would just be your vanity project.”

As he climbed through the tunnels, careful not to waste any of his precious gas on the way, the thought of how would the heroes know to come down into the sewers after him did enter his mind. He disregarded it. They were probably intelligent. He had faith in their abilities to find him.