March 11th, 2006 - 9:10 pm
Gotham City is slick with rain. The rooftops are hard to grip. Nightmare has been patrolling the city streets for a few hours. It’s been quiet, except for the few guys who chose to try and steal from a liquor store. They’re in handcuffs with broken arms. Shouldn’t have chosen to steal and you wouldn’t get your arm broken, shouldn’t have chosen to point a gun at him either and you wouldn’t get your arm broken. In ancient times, if you stole you lost fingers and hands.

He could go for a cigarette, but he still has a few hours in the suit. Before the charge of his visor goes out. Ever since he started taking up the streets, crime had started to decrease, probably because he was actually getting something done. Unlike his Father before him.

An indicator on his visor goes off, it seems something is happening in the nice part of town. Huh. He knows that address, it belongs to a well known stock broker. Micheal Snow, turns out he made a large charitable sum recently towards a new upcoming community center. Some people were pissed off by that. A new community center sounded good. Some people were never happy with what they were getting.

Trying not to slip on the rooftops as he navigated his way to Snow’s condo. Considering Snow’s big donation, he had an inkling who was hitting Snow’s home. Likely Mirage. He had a habit of attacking rich people who made large donations. Yet, his Father had never been able to catch Mirage when he did begin to show up, which wasn’t too recent.

Almost losing his footing landing on the balcony of Micheal’s condo, second floor, but it didn’t mean he wanted to fall to the street through the slick glass. The sliding door is open, the wooden floor slippery with rain.

A scream can be heard down the hallway and Nightmare rushes down the hall, despite his boots nearly losing grip from being drenched in pouring rain.





“Pl-pl-leas,” Micheal can be heard pleading.

Rushing in, tackling Mirage from behind. He hits the floor. The both of them go tumbling onto the hardwood.

“Run,” Nightmare tells Micheal.

Micheal, in his boxer, soaked in his sweat. Shaking. He’s too shocked to move.

“Aaa,” Micheal screams looking around, he scrambles off the floor and begins to run away. Fuck. Not from danger though. He’s too scared to actually think straight. Nightmare gets up from the ground. Mirage lay motionless, that honestly couldn’t be it?

He runs after Micheal to shake him out of Mirage’s Dread Gas.

“Micheal,” Nightmare calls out his voice distorted from his helmet.

“No, no, stay away,” Micheal waves his hands.

“Damn it,”

How does he snap Micheal out of it-



Mirage is laughing behind him.

“You piece of shi-

-Shit! Gas is spreading in the condo. Like fog rolling in and settling on the forest floor. It begins to obscure Mirage’s silhouette. While Nightmare’s visor could filter some of the dread gas, not this much. Not this thick;



Fuck.

“See you’re eating the rich again Mirage, you see yourself as some hero,” Nightmare goads. He needs to get outside before the Dread takes over.



The cyber dog demon is beginning to distort, his figure beginning to elongate as all Nightmare can see is six red lights for eyes. Nightmare turns his head towards the porch. He needs to lead Mirage outside.



Hands shaking, as he fumbles with his utility belt, where is that-

-there bolas-

-Mirage is raising his claws. Hope this fucking works, Nightmare charges towards Mirage. He knows Mirage to fight like a feral animal, he’s not trained, Nightmare knows that. He swipes one of his claws at Nightmare. He is able to duck despite the fact he is starting to feel the effects of the Dread. His hands shaking, Mirage’s shape is beginning to turn into bending, shadow, he’s getting taller, his teeth sharper, his claws longer. Mirage sounds like he’s snarling now.

Managing to wrap the bolas around Mirage’s ankle.

“You can’t keep using the old Nightmare against me, Mirage, get some new material,” he yanks the chains of the bolas. Mirage hits the floor again, “Come on let’s go outside and we can talk.”
Nightmare coughs. Trying to shake off the fog. He needs to get out of here quickly before the Dread begins to take over.

Somehow he makes it to the patio. He’s shaking, as he’s dragging Mirage. Is he pretending to be out? Like he did the first time he arrived? He couldn’t be out that quickly from a pair of bolas? Could he? Fuck, this is what pissed him off about fighting Mirage. Bastard was a snake.

Yanking on the bolas-

-shit-

-how did he-

-where did he actually?

Nightmare stumbles backwards when he realizes a big black shadow, back pressed to the railing of the patio. Did he stall that long? Nightmare holds onto the railing with his gloves. Mirage somehow got himself free from the bolas. Bastard always bided his time, didn’t he?











Fuck! Fuck!



“Don’t call me that!"















He can hear his Father’s voice echoing the name. It’s hard to makeout Mirage’s face as it is being replaced by the same helmet and visor he wears, his Father, yet again chastising him for the actions he took. It was never enough. He was never enough. He could hear it whispering in his head now.





“Eugh, shut up!” grabbing for anywhere in front of him and clasping onto whatever he thought was a person in front of him. It was the collar of Mirage’s coat most likely, flipping him around, Mirage tries to push him off, but he’s not nearly as strong as he is. Nightmare flips him over the railing. Mirage goes tumbling over the railing and out onto the sidewalk. While Nightmare vaults over, bracing himself for impact.

He’s going to kick the shit out of him for making him see those things again. He’s no one’s fucking shadow any more. Mirage who is slumped over, trying to catch his breath. Nightmare goes to kick him, he feels something sharp pierce the back of his shin through a weak point in his suit. Mirage’s steel claws pierce through the spandex-like material.

He pulls back his leg.



-Mirage coughs for more air as he stands up-



Fuck this.

His hands shaking as Dread courses through his body. Turning Mirage into a hungry wolf, with multiple eyes, and made of the shadows. He swiftly takes out his gun-

-Bang-

-Mirage doubles back. Mostly shocked. So the fucking monster does bleed. Good. Tightening his left palm into a fist, he charges forward. Punching the bastard in the face, well in the mask. Mirage stumbles backward. He’s going to break this bastards fucking face when he gets through his mask. He keeps on Mirage, punching him again in the mask. This thing is tougher than it looks, even with his padded gloves.

Mirage barely can keep up. It’s because he’s not a martial fighter and Nightmare knows this. The man behind the mask is starting to feel the effects of his gunshot on his side. He would have gotten a better shot if he wasn’t starting to feel feverish.

Now Nightmare is starting to feel woozy. He stops his assault on the mask, when his head begins to spin. As a massive wave of vertigo strikes him. As the streets begin to bend like a heatwave.

Crap. What the hell is going on? The cars on the sidewalk are all starting to look like lurking predators. Headlights become eyes. Grills turn into teeth. The sidewalk is beginning to turn into a puddle of water and he can barely walk. Boots sinking.



-Mirage rasps in pain.







-Mirage gasps.





His mouth is dry. He’s still feeling pretty woozy coming around. There’s the smell of something rotten surrounding him, egh. He ended up in the trash didn’t he? He’s going to be sick, ripping off his helmet, Asher leans over and pukes on the sidewalk. Not his finest moment, and he let Mirage get away. Didn’t he have something important to do, too, today?

Right.

It is to greet the newest member of the team. Johnny something. God his head is throbbing though. Cigarettes first. Cigarettes and get out of this god damn suit. He’s sweaty. Hot. Not feeling so great from Mirage’s Vertigo venom. He’s going to need to get his suit checked out. Need more padding in the leg area.

And where the fuck is George anyway? Did he look for him at all? Or just resigned himself to his bed and figured he was safe?

Day is already starting to start out crummy. His helmet, dead, it needs a charge. He still should have, there is his cellphone in his utility pack to call George.

“Sir Asher,” George answers.

“Do not Sir Asher me, did you look for me?”

“I attempted to track you through your helmet when the signal died, I have been waiting in the car in the city for you,”

“Well, I am in some alleyway, Mirage used his Vertigo Venom on me, did you bring a fresh pair of clothes?”

“I did sir,”

“We have to meet up with the team, right? To meet up with Johnny whoever,”

“Do you want a shower first sir?”

“Do I have time?”

March 12th, 2006 - 7:29 am

Johnny yawned as he reclined in the only chair in his small room. It was a cell: just enough room for bunk beds and a desk, but he preferred to think about his situation a bit more optimistically. It wasn't a cell, it was his room.

"You have less than a minute before they take you Johnny" Came a droll voice from the top bunk and Johnny continued taking all his trinkets from the desk hurriedly. The man talking to him didn't even bother to stare at him, even though they had spent every day together for two years now. Called himself a ‘calendar man’. Pretty evident with the dozens of calendars surrounding the upper bunk. Johnny didn't care, living together in such confines with a criminal 'mastermind' made it a surprise they were even this close in such tight confines.

"Could you say it a little more ominously, Julian?" Johnny teased as he grabbed the last hand-painted craft he had made and stuffed it into a trash bag he'd be using as his luggage. Truthfully he wasn't planning on lugging them around much longer, but Johnny didn't want Lukas to see him toss them out. The shrimp had to really push to get Johnny to try art therapy but he couldn’t help but admire some of the witlings he created. It felt unjust to dispose of them so unceremoniously, at least not where his therapist might see.

The roommate wasn't too far off. The door to their room unlocked before the heavy metal could swing forward. He had hardly only begun to take his things. A group of armed policemen were accompanying a small but regal man. Johnny was surprised, usually Lukas was with them. He recognized the warden, someone oddly personable with such a dangerous crowd.
"Where is-" Johnny began to protest, but the small man in a gouache suit seemed to have all the answers.
"Lukas? Called into work today, for the first time in years. I’m just as surprised as you are" his nasally words made Johnny angry enough to clench his fist. Seeing the tense officers around him, though, he relented with a sigh of exasperation.
"Are you serious? I leave today, he wouldn't miss that for the world!" He proclaimed boldly, doing his best to keep from shouting. The Warden seemed to empathize and couldn’t help but give a sad frown in response.
“Mister Ramerez, I know you wanted Lukas to be here” He carefully explained.
“But we have a schedule here, you need to be out of here before the next patient comes in”

The words struck Johnny like daggers. The rules here had always been rigid, but even with rationality on his side, Johnny’s emotions sometimes get the better of him. Were there not armed guards waiting for him to make a move, he’d have tossed the man out the window. Slowly, his anger subsided in the silence, shifting into an excruciating sadness he hid behind glassy eyes. The man who had changed his life, made the days in the madhouse easier. Lukas hadn’t missed a day in years: surely he had a reason.

Johnny nodded silently as the Warden guided him out of the room. Johnny was glad the rooms had no windows into the corridors, if the other prisoners saw him so flushed and worked up, they’d never let him hear the end of it. The Warden was guiding Johnny down the flights of stairs and his belongings were listed out to him by a man who hated his job more than Johnny hated being in an Asylum.

3 cigarettes, now stale. It was a mockery even to return them.

A refillable lighter, the shell of a scarab embroidered on it.

A plastic comb

Eight 1$ bills, a quarter and a dime. No wallet

A hiking backpack

Six bottles of water. He wondered if they were still good

And finally, he was given back his old clothes. It still smelled as unwashed and musky as ever. He basked in the smell as he put every item back into its place. Once done he turned to the Warden.
“Where is the bathroom? I ain’t leaving till I change out of these scrubs” He proclaimed.

He returned for a quick change. His jeans felt a lot tighter than they had a year ago. Back then he was a scrawny drifter living off power bars and junk food. Still, as he put on his worn jacket he was surprised to feel how snuggly it covered his shoulders. Arkham Asylum had been receiving a lot of private donations for some strange reason. The gym they included gave him time to build up his arms. He already had legs like a horse, he had walked the I-70, and the Appalachian trail, just to get to gotham. In just a year he had changed so much, and for the better? That was a first. As he stuck his hand into his jacket pocket, he was surprised to find a letter. He was alone in the bathroom, might as well open it...

March 12th, 2006 - 7:53 am
The day was a bright day: clear skies, a crisp breeze left the air nippy but the sun radiance kept it warm enough. A pleasant spring day all around. Johnny left the prison doors and stood there for a moment. He felt odd standing in the breeze, a free man. Slowly he started walking the docks he had just come from, merging into the crowd hesitantly. No one among this group of people were aware he had just left a high security correctional facility for the criminally insane. They laughed and mused, chirped and bickered, all like a biologically modified super being wasn’t standing inches beside him. He strolled through the crowd but in a trance, people were starting to stare at his blank face and slouched, groggy lurch. He was too lost in thought, reflecting on all he had experienced and desperately clinging to the wise words Lukas had shared with him. It was enough to get him to the bus station. He fumbled with his wadded up cash, fidgeting while the teller begrudgingly helped him count out the money he laid out.

“This isn’t enough sir?” The clerk called out.

“It was more than enough a year ago!” Johnny sharply responded.

“Well it isn’t today”

Johnny grumbled as he grabbed up his cash and furiously turned his attention to the map next to them showing the city routes. It appeared he would be walking.

March 12th, 2006 - 9: 22 am

Johnny looked at the letter he had been given and then went back to the street sign a couple times. Then to the address number engraved in stone on a large building. What did the Grieves corporation need him for? The whole thing felt like a trap, he had dealt with aliens on earth before and it certainly explained why they knew him so way.

“No no no no no, push that out of your mind Johnny!” He said to himself from outside the gates, smacking his cheeks as if the pain might shock the negative thoughts from his mind.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?” He mumbled to himself as he pressed the buzzer a few times. He was a few minutes early, but he wanted to make a good impression. At Least as good as it can be. The gates unlocked and Johnny stepped forward to the door. It opened before he could knock. A slender old man in a well-ironed zoot suit answered the door with an apathetic stare. Johnny shifted his eyes away, he didn’t like seeing people with such dead stares.

“Master Asher will be with you in a moment. Please, make yourself at home, Master Johnathan” The butler decreed, the door sliding open further to reveal a room with polished granite floors and a beautiful lounging room. Johnny was off put, but he had gone this far. He entered hesitantly, but when he noticed the fresh sangria on the table all pretense went aside and he was lapping down drinks and lounging in style. Whoever this ‘Asher’ guy was, he was alright with Johnny so far. If only he knew.