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[CENTER][color=darkgray][b][sub]C H A P T E R   O N E :   C O M E  T A S T E  T H E  V E N O M[/sub][/b][/color][b][color=BLACK][sup][h1]A COLDER GOTHAM[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[color=black][b]G o t h a m  C i t y[/b][hr]	[sub]November 7th, 2017 – 01:33pm | [i] The Cauldron [/i][/sub][/color]

	Gotham was getting colder.

	It seemed winter was taking up residence in the city earlier and earlier each year. Batman had first noticed it years ago, roughly around the time when Dick had left the cave to forge his own path. He could feel that insidious chill even now, slowly settling deep into his bones. He stood atop a high-rise tenement block, the November wind blowing hard and sharp, but even still it shouldn’t be this cold. He made a note to revisit the suit designs when he was finished with nights work. Obviously, the insulating layers were working sub-optimally.

	[color=black][i]That, or you’re getting old,[/i][/color] spoke the niggling voice at the back of his head. The one that had been getting more and more vocal recently. He ignored it, as he always did, and returned to his vigil.

	An hour interminably dragged past. Thankfully Robin wasn’t with him tonight. The boy just didn’t have the temperament for this kind of operation. Stakeouts were an integral part of the job, but they didn’t deliver the level of excitement that Damian craved. He would learn though, eventually. Probably.

	Time continued to creep past, until another hour had been lost, testing even Batman’s patience. He was on the verge of declaring the operation a bust when his target darted out of the tenement building into the alley below. The lips below the cowl hitched up, baring white teeth. Some might have called it a smile, but only if they were being generous. 

	The target paused just long enough to swing his large head back and forth, scanning the shadows, before unlocking his 4x4 and diving into the seat. It was too cold out to linger. The engine barked into life, the lights blinked on, and in moments the vehicle was rolling out of the alley and onto the street.

	[color=Black]“Alright Moose, where are we going?”[/color] Batman grunted, turning from the roof ledge to track the 4x4 through the night.

[color=Black][hr]	[sub]November 7th, 2017 – 04:17am | [i] The Cauldron [/i][/sub][/color]

	“He’s late.” Said Ryan.

	“He’s not late.” Replied Moose.

	“Five-fifteen is what we agreed. It is now five-seventeen. That makes him late.”

	“Your watch is running fast. He’ll be here any minute.”

	“Watch? Who even wears -” 

	The two men, high ranking members of the Riley crime family, were cut off in their bickering by the sound of an approaching car engine. The taller of the two, Michael ‘Moose’ McCulloch, cast his eyes around the deserted construction site, checking that they were alone for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. You never could be too careful in this city anymore. They stood in a yellow circle of light cast by security floodlamps, and didn’t dare stray too far from it. It was flimsy protection, but it was all they had. You never knew what kind of spooks where hiding in the darker places.

	The car pulled up alongside them, though it was several heartbeats before the driver got out. Several tense heartbeats. Moose sucked his teeth in annoyance. He had to get outta bed for this shit. The newcomer finally stepped out of his sedan, the door opening with a painful squeal that sounded like a thunderclap in the early morning silence. 

	Alfred Stryker was old-school. Everyone said it. Hell, the guy still wore nylon leisure suits and gold signet rings. He was a relic of a bygone era, a fossil from a time when the crooks ran Gotham. That all changed when the Batman showed up, and shook up the food-chain something fierce. Rumours had it that Stryker was the first guy that the Bat ever put away. The old criminal had been trying to claw his way back to the top ever since, though with mixed successes. Seemed like every time he tried to put a job together, the Bat was there to put a stop to it, haunting Stryker’s every step. Most crews had stopped dealing with him for that very reason. He was too much of a liability. This time though, well this time Stryker had hit gold, and the pay-off he promised was just too good to dismiss out of hand.

	The old guy clutched a metal briefcase tight to his chest, like he was afraid that at any moment it might sprout wings and fly off towards the dawn. Considering the circumstances, he was right to. What was in that case was his last lifeline. If he lost it, he was out of the game. The Riley’s would see to it.

	“You’re late Stryker.” Admonished Ryan. Moose’s buddy was short, both in stature and temperament, and all this cloak-and-dagger action was getting his hackles up. No surprise, really. You couldn’t trust the night anymore, not in this city. 

	“I was making sure I wasn’t followed.” Stryker said, stepping closer to the pair of Riley enforcers. A film of sweat beaded on the older man’s bald pate, and his suspicious eyes wouldn’t stop roving across the shadows. His whole frame shook so bad that it looked like he was vibrating. Moose sucked his teeth again, then clicked his fingers under Stryker’s nose. They gave a satisfying snap, which became even more satisfying when the old boy near leapt out of his skin. It was a second before he calmed down, calling Moose every bastard under the sun, still shaking but at least he didn’t look like he was on the verge of a panic attack anymore. 

	Moose raised his hands in a placating gesture. Years of being the Bat’s own punching bag had obviously done a number on Stryker’s noggin, but Moose didn’t have time to play nursemaid. His balls felt half froze already. “C’mon, sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all get out of here. You got our goodies in that case?”

	“You’re a dick. Know that?” Muttered Stryker, though he undid the clasps on the case and flipped up the lid to reveal the contents. Nestled inside moulded foam packing rested six vials of virulent green liquid, and alongside them a white plastic needle gun. Moose didn’t know how long those vials had been in that case, but the chemicals still seemed to be bubbling away. Ryan whistled in appreciation, and reached towards the case, pulling a vial loose and holding it up to his eye.

	“Never seen Venom before.” Ryan’s voice was low, as if he was afraid that if he spoke to loudly he might cause it to blow. Which might have been wise. Moose had no idea if this stuff was explosive or not. He fought the urge to take a step back and returned his attention to Stryker. The old man wasn’t shaking half so bad anymore, and the beginnings of a smile were tugging at his thin lips.  

	“You got my money?” Asked Stryker.

	“Yeah,” replied Moose. “It’s in the car. Where’d you get this stuff, anyway? Five-hundred a vial doesn’t sound like all that much. We’re not complaining, it’s just …” He trailed off, inviting Stryker to finish his thought. The old boy grinned even harder, showing a row of broken teeth. Moose would recognise those kinds of pearls anywhere. That was Batman’s signature. Moose himself had spent a small fortune in dental bills over the years. At this stage there was more porcelain than tooth in his mouth.

	“Don’t you worry about where I got it from boys. Just remember that I can get you more of it. Get me?” Styker waggled his eyebrows up and down. He’s enjoying this, Moose realised, he really thinks this is his ticket back to the top. Stupid geriatric. Didn’t he realise that as soon as Moose verified that this venom was the real deal that he was going to put the screws to the old man, and find out where he was getting the stuff from. After that there would be no need for him. He supposed that was the trouble with being ‘old-school’. Inevitably you ended up believing that everyone else was going to play by your old rules, not realising that they were old for a reason. “So, why doesn’t shorty here try a taste, so you boys know this is the real deal, and you go get my money?”

	“Sure, Stryker. I’ll got get the money.” Moose went to get his gun. No point prolonging this. If he they were quick, he might be able to get back to bed before the sun rose. “Ryan, grab that needle and –”

	The lights died. The three men were swallowed by darkness. In Gotham, that meant one thing.

	The Batman was here.