[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/uG7WxAV.jpg[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/iQVA87F.png[/img]
Left to Right: [i]Stefano Calabria[/i] [b]FC:[/b] Adrien Brody; [i]Joseph "Joe" Miller[/i] [b]FC:[/b] Joseph Gordon-Levitt[/center]
[B]Something’s Fishy[/b]
The Iceberg Lounge, Off Limits
Gotham City, 0600
 
 
    The Penguin’s thugs surrounded them. In an area of the lounge where only the truly rotten or those with a death wish would see, was the massive tank where Cobblepot kept and tended to all of his aquatic pets. There were mostly penguins. The chamber was cold. Most of the thugs were wearing winter coats with fur-lined hoods, while Joe and Stefano weren’t so lucky. They were freezing. Stefano had his arms crossed and was swaying a little, his head still not on right even after all the Motrin he had taken. Joe’s hands were clenched into tight trembling fists within his pants pockets. As much as he tried to put on a front that the cold didn’t bother him, he was mentally kicking himself for having not predicted this. It was The Penguin who they were going to see for crying out loud!

    It was chilly, the air smelled of fish and salt, and standing around on glaciers in the blue pools surrounding the platform were chattering and squawking penguins. The platform was shaped like a drop of water that hadn’t quite pinched off. At the rounded end in a fancy wooden chair with plush, red polyester cushions was the plump bastard himself. He was wearing a fancy, wine-red robe and white, fuzzy slippers were at his feet. The back of the chair was facing Stefano and Joe, and so they couldn't see much of him.

    One of the thugs walked over to The Penguin’s chair and leaned down to mutter what was probably the thug informing him that he and Stefano were there.

    “Bring them here,” Cobblepot ominously demanded.

    The thug straightened and waved his hand for the thugs to bring Joe and Stefano closer. The barrels of two Uzis painfully stabbed the two in the back, causing them to stumble forward. They walked over to The Penguin’s chair to round it and stand before the man. On first impression, the short round man looked like a creature from a fairytale - a troll or goblin with a beak-like nose. His lips were small and thin, gripping the lengthy cigarette holder as he stared the two down. He appeared to be trying to recognize them. Who knew how many faces he saw that day? Joe watched his beady eyes settle on Stefano. The Penguin’s dark feathery brows knitted over fierce eyes before he pointed with a thick claw of a finger at him.

    “Yes...I remember you now. I had put you in charge of the Dixon operation. What happened?” He was losing his temper. His teeth ground on the end of his cigarette holder. “And don’t say Batman...last idiot who used that excuse swam with the fishes.”

    The cigarette bobbed down and then up again as The Penguin’s nostrils flared as he gave an exaggerated sniff of the air. How he could smell anything besides aquarium was beyond them.

    “You smell like gasoline.”

    Stefano began to explain, “Well, what-”

    The Penguin suddenly removed his cigarette holder from his mouth and tossed it at Stefano. Stefano lurched back with a terrified cry when the hot end struck his jacket. Joe’s face paled briefly and eyes widened as he lost all stoicism. The cigarette fizzled out and the holder clattered harmlessly on the floor. The Penguin grinned wickedly, cackling in delight. Joe internally sighed in relief. Thank God they had rinsed enough of the gasoline out of his clothes.

    Stefano crouched and picked up the cigarette holder before shakily handing it back to The Penguin. Cobblepot snatched it from him and reached inside his robes to prepare another cigarette. Stefano drew his trembling hands back and stuck them between his arms and ribs.

    “I-I had never seen them before, Sir. They-they tried to light me on fire,” Stefano began to explain.

    “You think I care what they tried to do to you, Halfwit. Who? Who?! What did they look like?” The Penguin demanded.

    Joe interjected, “I’m sorry, Sir. He might not remember much. They might have been Russians. I saw them take him, beat him, and douse him in gasoline.”

    Cobblepot casually returned the cigarette holder to his lips, “And where were you? Who are you anyway? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

    One of The Penguin’s thugs chimed in, which was unexpected to Joe, “He works for you, Boss. I seen’im. He’s a pretty smart guy.”

    Joe looked over at the thug, and the thug winked at him. Did he think he was doing him a favor? Joe answered Cobblepot, “I followed them to the Tricorner to the old naval yard. I figured Stefano was valuable to you and that you might want him back.”

    Cobblepot closed one eye and stared through his monocle at Stefano as he dragged on his cigarette. “Indeed.”

    The Penguin reached his hand inside his robe to suddenly remove a magnum and before Stefano could even register the action, his forehead exploded with blood, gum, and bone fragments. The loud blam of the magnum going off made Joe jump and shout a frightened curse. Stefano’s body struck the floor and two of The Penguin’s thugs were immediately on Joe. Each grasped his arms and grasped a handful of his jacket collar in their fists. He felt their knuckles against the back of his neck, and Joe noticed the magnum was trained on him next.

    “Search him,” Cobblepot ordered.

    Joe tried to stifle his heavy and fast breaths through his nostrils. He tried to keep a nonchalant expression on his face as he was jostled by the thugs’ hands reaching into places all over his body.

    “They were gonna burn him but they had to let him go,” Joe continued to explain. “I don’t know why. They might have had a message for him to give to you.”

    The Penguin gnawed on his cigarette holder again. Was he nervous? He scowled down at Stefano’s corpse. No one had said anything about a message. He was pissed.

    “Strip him!”

    Joe’s brows shot upwards and before he knew it, the thugs were ripping his clothes off.

    “Wait! I told you what you wanted. Why are you doing this?”

    The thugs lifted Joe and slammed him face down on the floor as they started to jerk his pants off. They stripped him bare. Joe thought he had been cold before, but now all he could think of doing was curl into a ball on the cold floor.

    “What was the message?” The Penguin asked.

    Joe hid his privates behind his hands as he trembled on the floor. “I don’t know. I don’t know if there was a message. I was just guessin’ why they let him go!”

    “I think he could use a refreshing dip, boys.”

    “WHAT!?”

    As the thugs reached down to grasp his shoulders, Joe shrugged them off and rolled onto his back to send both of his feet into the stomach of one of the thugs. The second one tried to kick him but Joe blocked the kick with his arm and grasped the thug’s ankle. He yanked it and the icy surface of the platform caused the thug’s other foot to slide out from under him. The thug fell on his back as Joe scrambled to his feet.

    [I]BANG![/I]

    The bullet struck the floor at Joe’s feet causing him to jump in fright.

    “The next one is going in your head if you move again. I already lost 30 million!” His infuriated expression softened a little and he rubbed his chin in contemplation, “Actually, I didn’t lose anything, but my customers aren’t going to get their supply...it’s just more shit I’ll have to deal with, wah!”

    The thugs managed to recover and grasped Joe’s arms and the back of his neck. 

    “I don’t know the message! Please, don’t do this!” He then looked at the thug who had vouched for him. “Tell him! Tell him I’m not a rat!”

    “Sorry; boss’s orders. No hard feelins’.”

    The thugs dragged Joe to the edge of the tank and shoved him in. The ice water was like knives dragging across his skin. As he sank into the water, he felt the air escape him in one breath. His muscles went numb, and in his sudden panic, he started flailing back to the surface. Joe emerged with a gasp and attempted to swim back to the edge of the pool only to get a shoe to his forehead that caused him to go under again. Joe surfaced again, screaming because he couldn't feel his limbs anymore.

  “I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW! FUUUCK!” Joe hysterically shrieked. He continued to scream and shout until The Penguin couldn’t stand it anymore.

    [I]BANG![/i]

    The bullet darted passed the thugs to strike Joe in the forehead. He immediately stopped flailing. The tank swallowed him up. A dark sanguine cloud billowed in the water as his body sank, freezing solid by the time it struck bottom. The thugs looked back at The Penguin in surprise.

   “Boss, I t’ink he was tellin’ da truth,” one of the thugs said.

    “If he doesn't know the message, then he’s useless to me.”

    Cobblepot rose from his chair and crossing an arm behind his back, he started waddling in the direction of his quarters.

    “That’s enough bloody entertainment for one night. Clean this place up.”

    “Yes; Boss.”
 
[B]Something’s Fishy[/b]
Tricorner, Decommissioned Naval Yard
Gotham City South, 0730
 
    Dante and his crew were holed up in the cabin of an old rusted ship. It was hollowed out like a carcass - the ribs of the hull exposed. Dante was seated at a table, turned to the side in his chair with his left leg crossed over his right. He was drinking roscato from a Burgundy glass, while his men were scouting the area. A thug peering through binoculars noticed a group of fifteen other thugs wearing winter jackets entering the naval yard. They started to sweep the containers full of stoners and bums and blasted anyone who they believed could have been involved.

    “They’re here as planned, Boss. There’s fifteen of them,” one of Dante’s thugs informed.

    Dante swirled the dark liquid before his shaded eyes and grinned. A flip phone hummed and another thug answered it:  “What’s up? What? Fuck…”

    The thug closed the phone and apprehensively looked over at his boss.

    “Stefano’s dead. The Penguin executed him,” the thug informed.

    Dante uttered a short insensitive laugh. “Huh, I guess he wasn’t as useful as Joe thought. Tell Joe to-”

    “Joe’s dead, Sir.”

    Dante’s grin slowly shrank away at the news. His dark brows crashed together above his shades. Whatever conflict was happening in his brain might have been happening with the old Dante. The feelings he once had for the men who were loyal to him were raging. It couldn’t have been that simple. Joe probably tried to snitch.

    “Tell me how he died,” Dante demanded clutching his forehead.

    “The Penguin thought Stefano had a message but he had killed Stefano before he could find out. He then suspected Joe mighta’ known somethin’ and tortured him. They made him swim with the penguins. He never talked, Boss. The Penguin even believed Joe to be innocent, but still shot him.”

    Dante’s hand was shaking as he slowly rose from his chair. He dashed his glass of wine on the cabin floor and grasped the table next. With a furious roar, he hefted the table, twisting and throwing it and the wine bottle across the room. The thug stood back against the wall of the cabin, and then glanced through the window at the advancing mob.

    “Boss, the Penguin’s boys are comin’. You want us to take’em out?”

    Dante, chest heaving from his tantrum, turned toward the door of the cabin. “I’ll go handle them myself!”

    Dante’s thug didn’t even try to stop him. His boss had a fiery temper, and the last thing he wanted was to get burned. When Dante stormed onto the deck, he was handed a pistol and two magazine cartridges. He pulled back on the slide, readying one in the chamber before he slipped the pistol into his belt. He walked over to a rusted ladder and descended to the street below.

    The shipyard was a labyrinth with several containers that looked the same and were scattered in odd angles, creating pathways that lead to continuations and dead ends. If one didn’t know the area well, then one would get lost and disoriented. Add a sudden firefight to the confusion, and there was chaos. The Penguin’s boys, Dante was anticipating, had never been to the shipyard—at least not for any special reasons.

    “There ain’t nothin’ but crackheads in this bitch,” one member of the divided team griped.
    “Yeah, well, the dead guys said the gang that hit the Dixon are here.”
    “This place is confusin’ as fuck.”
    “It’s given me a headache.”

    The team of five turned into another container filled with toasted good-for-nothings slouched against the back wall, while a few bums were sleeping on cardboard mattresses. Aiming their submachine guns at the stoner heads too gone to even know their life was in danger, it happened quick and smooth before their dilated and unmoving eyes. The two thugs posted at the container entrance collapsed with a splattered trail of carnage leading from their skulls. The three who were in the container whirled around and didn’t get a chance to return fire before they were gunned down. Each shot was placed perfectly in each of the thugs’ skulls. The gunman stood by the entrance of the container, listening for the disturbance his fire might have caused. The stoner frowned as he attempted to focus on the man in red wine and black. The colors and shapes that swirled before his eyes warped into monstrous blotches, and at the center was the gunman, contorting into some nightmarish form. The stoner raised a hand and pointed at Dante, “Woah...you’re like...The Devil...is this for real?”

    The mafioso kept his shoulder against the container wall as he peeked around the corner to check the path. From behind his shades, his cybernetic eyes gently whined as they twisted and dilated. His crimson pupils swelled to the size of golf balls as red, orange, yellow, green and blue silhouettes started to appear like phantoms before his eyes. The two remaining groups were converging and trying to navigate the maze of containers. He could see them one row of containers in front of him, acting in an erratic manner, which was different from the other colorful blobs lying around. The thugs twisted about as they tried to figure out which way to go. Their voices carried on echoes:

    “Where the fuck did those shots come from?”
    “Where’s Drake’s crew?”
    “I dunno, he ain’t answerin’ his phone.”
    “Shit; they probably got hit.”
    “It didn’t sound like a group. It sounded like one dude.”
    “It was over here, right?”
    “Yeah.”

    Dante was already walking. He paralleled the remaining ten gang members, reaching into his inner jacket pocket to touch the two magazines. As he continued to stride down the file of containers, he noticed an interesting phenomenon—silence. The Penguin’s boys had stopped being obnoxiously loud. He checked on their position and saw that five were going in the opposite direction. Dante deduced that the second group was to loop around the containers to the other side—the side Dante was currently trying to escape. They were trying to close him in, but they hadn’t a clue he was actually there.

    On the ship, his men were carefully watching. From their position, they could see the groups moving about and their boss going to work.

    “They’re trynna’ corner him.”
    “The boss is like a fox. He’s already thinkin’ ahead. He’ll murder’em.”
    “Why’s he down there anyway? Why aren’t we cleanin’em up?”
    “The Penguin killed Joe. The boss is pissed.”
    “Joe is dead? Shit!”

    When Dante reached the end of the container row, he found lying curled up and frightened on the ground, a homeless man. Dante nudged the man with his foot and pointed his gun down at him.

    “Get up and run,” he ordered.

    The homeless man whimpered and slowly rose to his feet. Dante indicated the direction with a slight wave of his gun. The homeless man slowly stepped back and then darted from behind the containers running into the open. The second group of five were startled by the sudden bum racing across the path that they fired at him out of nervous habit. The man went down as one of the thugs leading the group ordered:

    “Stop shootin’! It’s just a homeless motha’ fucka’ you wanna give away our position?”

    Dante turned the corner and popped off three rounds that penetrated the skulls of three of the thugs before he turned back around the corner to change his magazine.

     The two surviving thugs fled inside the container and took a knee.

     “HE’S OVER HERE!” they shouted to alert the other team that started running toward their position.

     Pulling back on the slide, Dante turned his head to his left, gazing through the walls at the approaching team.

     “They got him pinned,” one of the Marconis noted as he lifted his rifle.
     “The boss is gonna be mad you interfered.”
     “Yeah, well I rather him be mad than dead.”

      The rifleman rested the barrel of the Remington on the edge of the boat and peered through the scope at the five goons. He fired one shot that struck one of the goons in the chest. The third team halted briefly, eyes following the trajectory of the shot to the ship.

     “HE’S ON THE BOAT!” they reported next.

     Dante’s teeth were clenched in anger. He was pissed that his men decided to shoot. He, however, wasn’t going to let the opportunity be spoiled. He turned the corner to fire on the remaining four, while they were prepared to fire on the boat. The four folded like wet paper as Dante stepped on and kicked any limbs that were in his path. The two on the second team were taking pop shots at the boat. The Marconis were ducked with their backs to the steel wall, listening to the bullets that whizzed and bounced off the ship.

     “Any minute now,” one of the Marconis muttered with a smirk.

     Dante quietly rolled open the back hatch with enough space for his body to slide through. He closed it behind him and casually walked over to the two thugs who were still focused on the ship.

     “So that’s where they were hidin’.”

     “Shit; I dunno if we can tak’em.”

     When the thug turned his head to ask his comrade a question, his eyes grew in size when he saw Dante’s silhouette behind him. Dante shot the one who noticed him first before his foot harshly kicked the side of the other thug’s head. The thug grunted as he collapsed on his side outside the container. He growled and pointed his gun at Dante, as Dante grasped the thug’s gunhand and directed his gun to the side as he fired. The mafioso’s grip increased on the thug’s hand, crushing it against the hard carbon of the pistol. The thug cried out in pain and desperately grasped Dante’s wrist, trying to hopelessly to loosen the boss’s grip. Dante jerked the thug’s hand to the side, slamming it against the side of the hatch with a resounding metallic [i]dong[/i] and the snapping of several broken bones. The thug screamed and the banging didn’t stop as Dante hammered the thug’s hand into meat.

     The Marconis on the ship were smirking in amusement as they heard the agonized screams.

     “Aaa~nd it’s over.”

     The Marconis peered over the wall to watch Dante break the guy’s face in with his fist.

     “I don’t know what I’d rather be.”
     “What do you mean?”
     “Dead or still alive with the hope I might escape.”
     “Against the boss? I’d rather take one of his bullets. Let it be quick. That dude’s fucked!”
     “Yeah; he ain’t gonna kill him so easily. He’s going to make it long and painful.”
     “He gonna burn’im I bet.”
     “After; probably.”