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[color=gray][i]Winter in Gotham.[/i]

Fewer words inspired the dread of everyone who heard them, and fewer still invoked memories of an invasive chill that stabbed at the soul. The city didn't just get frigid and bitter in the latter half of the year, as with any given corner of the world. Gotham somehow incubated the cold and stored a reserve of it in the air, continually building on it as the weeks passed. So whenever it was unleashed every December, the streets became nearly uninhabitable. The number of homeless who ended up dead from exposure always exceeded the national average, power lines routinely exploded and blanketed areas like The Narrows in darkness, and stubbornly, crime levels only seemed to rise. The figure cloaked in shadow remembers his father once remarking that describing the weather as [i]subzero temperatures[/i] felt like a disservice, watching his wife try and bundle their boy up to the latter's satisfaction. The memory of that lived with him ever since, reawakening in his mind whenever the first autumn breeze scraped at his skin. That was how he knew to begin preparing for the months ahead, because the drop in temperature merely acted as a harbinger for the chaos that was always lingering. Waiting to greet him with unforgiving arms, taunting his resolve and telling him that he was in way over his head.

But Bruce Wayne had been to Siberia. Walked across a literal desert of ice with nothing more than the clothes on his back, the life-threatening winds all that there was to keep him company. As he was told by the locals who witnessed his perilous return from the mountains, Wayne should have died then. Should have frozen to death on the river bordering Verkhoyansk, as many others had before in pursuit of a fool's version of enlightenment. But he had the audacity to keep living. He doesn't attribute it to luck, nor would he make light of it - it's the way it happened. He just kept going, knowing that he was closing in on the end of a very long journey, nearly ready to embark on the start of his life's mission. That was six years ago, and he still remembers it like it was yesterday. So whenever the city's wind chill reaches twenty below, he remembers to simply keep moving ahead. As if to ask Gotham if that's all she's got. 

Tonight was no different, but his focus was elsewhere. The East End Shipyard bustled with unexpected activity as three SUVs pulled into the lot, prompting the guard to immediately let them through the gate. He would say he was paid off, but The Batman knew the reality. The guard was [i]threatened[/i], with the likely promise of violence to befall him or his family. That was how these organized meetings usually managed to evade unwanted attention - stacking the deck in their favor ahead of time, mercilessly cutting away any variables. His eyes narrowed as the first SUV parked infront of a tower of crates labelled with the Falcone Shipping logo. The Roman was not likely to make an appearance tonight, nor were any of his representatives. If [i]any[/i] of them knew about this, there would've been guaranteed bloodshed. Which meant the nature of the deal about to transpire was high stakes.

The first to emerge from behind the passenger door was a man that he had encountered before, as confirmed when the night-vision scope in the cowl brought the face into focus. Through Gordon and the DA's office, he had been made aware that this was a primary suspect in several open cases, remaining protected until only very recently. Julian G. Day, known colloquially as "The Calendar Man". He was trouble and often brought trouble with him, though the man himself was hardly formidable. Acting as the liaison between the Falcone and Maroni families for years, Day's given trade was knowledge; dangerous knowledge. The way he earned the trust of both bosses was by being analytical in his record-keeping, memorizing every major deal that had taken place in Gotham over the last six decades. Information such as financials, acquired assets, and active members on the payroll in any given year lived in his mind, as if he coveted the day and date of a mob calendar like no one ever had. It made him a benefit to men like Nathan Gambol and Rupert Thorne, as Day was able to provide information that would give them leverage over the other underbosses. But following a betrayal that nobody seemed willing to discuss, his luck would eventually run out whenever Falcone's grip on the underworld began to slip. The Calendar Man had been keeping a low profile ever since.

To see him here tonight suggested a shift in allegiances. But even from The Batman's vantage point, Day's expression remained inscrutable; hardly a surprise, as he was well known for his sociopathic demeanor, preferring ledgers to people. Day would sooner push a disgraced member of the family through the front entrance of Gotham Central than entertain giving up a sliver of data from his archives. As others began to file out of the SUVs and surround him in formation, what [i]really[/i] grabbed Batman's attention was who ended up exiting last. Once they emerged, the vigilante was reasonably sure that the vehicle tilted from the sheer weight of its occupant. Waylon Jones - "Killer Croc" Jones. Highly dangerous, known as one of the most formidable figures in the underworld. Standing at six-foot-nine, with over three hundred pounds of muscle, it was an understatement. A born criminal, Jones had been in and out of juvenile detention no less than seventeen times before he began working for the mob. Some for robbery and B&E, but all with additional assault charges. He had seen the crime scene photos of some of Jones' victims. It was never pretty.

And that was [i]before[/i] Croc met Salvatore Maroni. Forming an alliance in Blackgate almost a decade ago, Sal had convinced the beast to act as his bodyguard. As soon as his notoriety grew within that role, Jones would force a prison tattoo artist to commit his entire body to ink to cover a skin deformity. This resulted in Jones appearing as if he were covered in crocodile scales. And in the years since, he had only leaned harder into the gimmick: filing his teeth to points, growing out and sharpening his fingernails, and rarely allowing himself to be seen without a leather jacket. But what really disturbed Batman about a man like Jones was the work that he became known for after prison. Often called upon to make someone disappear, Killer Croc made sure they didn't just vanish. Weeks went by without a word and missing persons cases would wind up cold until finally, the GCPD discovered parts of the victim floating in the Sprang River - partially devoured. It sickened him to even watch Jones lumber behind the group that followed Day onto the docks, imagining the final moments of the people that the alleged cannibal had murdered. 

Croc was the reason he was here. Not just because Batman felt the need to make him pay for the crimes he'd committed - for those, the vigilante figured he'd just have to accept the consolation prize of giving Croc enough of a beating in the extraction of what he needed. But the monster had information on someone who had gone dark, for all intents and purposes. And he was certain that Jones was going to tell him, given that the severity of the interrogation would depend entirely on how soon. The thought lingered with the man in shadow as he watched Day, Jones, and their entourage approach a waiting figure that was similarly flanked by several armed guards. In Gotham, there were far too many options available for smuggling weapons. Though not nearly as bad as the narcotics trade, it was prevalent enough for one man to rise above the other dealers and remain unaffiliated with the major crime families. 

Warren White, [i]The Great White Shark[/i]. A nasty piece of work, White had been moving arms through the city like they were chess pieces. Discretion was his specialty, and he'd developed several methods for getting them onto the streets without notice. The GCPD had brought him in for questioning before, but they never found enough to make anything stick. And not for lack of trying on The Batman's part, as he'd broken [i]countless[/i] of the Shark's bones. But like any other cockroach, White found his way back out there eventually. Offering the same wares with the same reliability, and no questions asked.

Before they greeted White to begin the exchange, The Batman could hear Croc complaining about an issue he was having with his new employers, fidgeting with the collar of a dress shirt that had been poorly sized to fit. It begged the question of whether Maroni had ever been paying him enough.

[color=94b177]"Hate wearin' suits, man. Thought I made that clear to the boss."[/color]

Day's expression didn't change so much as shift. Even in this level of cold, he was by far the most frigid thing here. 

[color=c2a9b5]"Yes, well, you've certainly made it clear to [i]us[/i] many times already."[/color]

Croc's indignance appeared like a thunderclap, cutting through several of the men ahead of him to approach Calendar Man directly. The others remained quietly uncomfortable, preferring to stay out of whatever was about to happen. [color=94b177]"The fuck'd you just say?"[/color]

Day didn't turn to face him and instead massaged the bridge of his nose, frustrated. Not even trying to hide his disdain for working with what he considered to be an uncivilized brute.

[color=c2a9b5]"I intend no offense. But as it has been explained, our employer wishes to exude an air of professionalism as his empire expands. Gotham is used to a certain kind of decorum at this high a level, even among these less than desirable surroundings. You're part of a different league now, Mr. Jones. And with that comes expectation."[/color]

Rather than resort to violence, Croc snorted loudly and kept his eyes focused on the significantly smaller man ahead of him. Like any predator that had caught a glimpse of their evening meal.

[color=94b177]"Yeah? Well, [i]expect[/i] me to give a shit when I get the payday I was promised. Otherwise, this'll be the last time it'll happen."[/color]

The former ignored the latter's tone, retrieving the pocket watch hidden in his lapel and noting the hour. The idea of running late for their appointment seemed to bother Day far more than anything the beast could do to threaten him. 

[color=c2a9b5]"I will try and keep your delicate preferences in mind."[/color]

A low growl aside, Croc was surprisingly cordial from there. But The Batman's mind kept circling back to what Day mentioned about "decorum" and the fact that they were operating on a higher level. What did that mean? Were they working for a new player in town? It had been rumored that someone was moving in on Falcone's territory, but he never actually entertained the notion. The Roman had been running Gotham since the eighties, having worked his way up through a dynasty of cut-from-the-cloth mobsters. Falcone's grandfather had instigated the Romans' Holiday massacre of the thirties, where hundreds of people were said to have been executed in one night in retaliation for one-time kingpin Rex Calabrese refusing to relinquish the city's territory. That night was said to be the one that doomed Gotham to its current state, and Batman had found nothing to contradict that. So the idea of someone finally unseating the so-called king from his throne felt unlikely.

Then The Batman noticed the armbands of Calendar Man's crew. It looked to be a sort of triangle symbol. An odd affectation, suggesting some unifying element that the vigilante had yet to become privy to. It told him that there was something bigger at work with whoever was holding their proverbial leash. If there was one similarity Batman had to any of the garbage that sought to control the city's crime, it was that he also didn't like variables. The vigilante realized that he'd have to investigate their employer when this was done - Gordon was likely going to want to know if his department was going up against a new faction, and he needed to be sure they were both ready for whatever happened next. If a play was being made against The Roman, it would lead to another gang war. The very last thing that Gotham needed.

[color=white]"So we doin' this, or what? I didn't come out here to freeze my friggin' balls off."[/color]

An extremely agitated White kept both arms folded tight against his sternum, trying to feed warmth into the weathered jacket that poorly shielded him from the draft hovering over the river. The shipyard was less than an ideal meeting spot in the best of conditions, but it was the only one guaranteed to be free of prying eyes. On approach, Calendar Man calmly looked towards the men White had hired who were brandishing semi-automatics. Croc didn't seem the least bit phased by them, more preoccupied with getting it done and getting the hell out of the cold himself. Only when one of the men folded his hands over a newly lit cigarette did the beast even flinch, evidently craving one himself. The Batman took note, wondering what else about Jones he could exploit.

[color=c2a9b5]"Very well. As you'll note from the arrangement, the price was three million. I'm to assume you still have the item?"[/color]

White sarcastically shrugged. 

[color=white]"Nah, I sold it weeks ago. Just marched the boys out here for the hell of it."[/color]

Day raised an eyebrow, prompting White to elaborate. 

[color=white]"Of [i]course[/i] I still have it. You kiddin' me? Who else in this town's got this kinda cash to spend on used wares?"[/color]

Jones clenched a fist, but Day remained stagnant in his tone.

[color=c2a9b5]"Handled, perhaps. But I doubt it was truly [i]used[/i], given what I've been told of its capabilities."[/color]

[color=white]"Hey, I only acquired the thing from a third party. If they figured out how to turn it on, more power to 'em. Doesn't really concern me."[/color]

The Batman's curiosity was piqued as a couple of gunmen behind White rolled in a large crate on a rusted dolly. There were no labels indicating what was inside, nor did the context clue provide insight as to what Day's employer could want with it, but the fact that the mystery item wasn't being treated as another cache of the exotic rifles and pistols that White specialized in dealing made the vigilante wonder if there was more to this deal than he'd originally assumed. Whenever the crate was lowered onto the docks in a space between the two men, Day prompted one of his own guards to step forward, revealing a massive titanium briefcase that was handcuffed to the thug's wrist. Lifting it and clicking the locks open with a swift motion of his arms, the guard popped the top of the case to reveal a neatly stacked row of thousand-dollar bills. White advanced, cautiously studying the cash for any potential forgery. He found none.

[color=white]"Jesus, you didn't come to play."[/color]

[color=c2a9b5]"Of course not, Mr. White. We came to deal..."[/color]

Day placed his hand on the case and gently lowered the top of it, staring daggers into the Shark's hungry eyes.

[color=c2a9b5]"Provided that what you're offering is the real thing. The Red Triangle may be a new player on the field, but we're not to be made as fools. Not at this juncture."[/color]

[i][color=8290a2]The Red Triangle?[/color][/i] 

He made a mental note of the name. It had a Russian connotation, but he also seemed to remember it from something in the recent past. A news article or something similar that had alluded to it. Unable to pinpoint the memory for sure, Batman unfurled himself from a crouched position - upside down, latched to the arm of a crane that was suspended high above the group of criminals looking to do business. From there, he could see that despite a clear frustration with being cut off from handling such a large amount of money, White had relented any argument and was stepping back, motioning for his men to open the crate. Two of them emerged with crowbars and began to slide it under the wooden lid. 

Before they could continue, Day's expression suddenly and dramatically changed, taking a step forward himself and raising both hands in a bid to stop them from breaking the seal. White recognized this and gave a loud whistle, prompting the men to pause what they were doing and look up. The Batman's eyes narrowed while watching Day begin to look over his shoulder, surveying his surroundings with a new sense of paranoia. 

[color=c2a9b5]"No, not here. Doing that in the open would be unwise. There are too many interested parties."[/color]

The Shark shot him an annoyed glare. 

[color=white]"Buddy, there ain't no one else out here. Even if it weren't fifty freakin' below, the cops would never come by the docks at this time of night. Probably too busy hasslin' the call girls on Mazzucchelli street."[/color]

[color=c2a9b5]"Let's just say that the police are not my employer's immediate concern."[/color]

White's expression softened, seeming to realize what Day really meant. The Calendar Man casually gestured to his men, who were all waiting to enact whatever order was about to be given. 

[color=c2a9b5]"Perhaps as a bit of insurance, your men would agree to search the area with mine? Surely, we're not the only ones at risk here."[/color]

White's brow furrowed. 

[color=white]"No dice, chief. My men are stayin' right here. Yours can knock themselves out if they want, but I'm not leavin' myself exposed to anything more than a case of hypothermia."[/color]

Although hesitant, Day didn't try and argue with White's position. He knew that he didn't have the leverage. So The Calendar Man snapped his fingers, directing the gunmen in league with The Red Triangle to fan out and begin checking the shadowy corners created by the high stacks of crates around them. Croc remained with Day, effectively revealing that the beast's task had been to guard him specifically. The Batman watched each thug begin to split off into groups of two, memorizing their positions in relation to one another. Knowing how much simpler it would be to pick them off now, he decided to seize the opportunity. 

Spreading his cape against the wind like the wings it was modelled after, the vigilante used one boot to kick against the back of his other boot's heel, deactivating the magnetized pulse emitting from beneath and sending him into a quick drop. The memory cloth of the cloak fell rigid against the open breeze above the docks, and he silently dove into a glide that went unnoticed. Passing directly over the area that the Shark, Croc, and Calendar Man still inhabited, Batman was gently carried by his glider onto the top of one of the higher crates, prompting it to fall back into a cape upon landing before the vigilante sprinted through a gristled pane of snow that softened his steps.

Leaping into a particular darkened area, Batman landed and assumed a stilled position, readying himself for the attack as the first two approached. After waiting a moment, he quietly leapt out of the shadows and grabbed the one closest from behind, covering his mouth before he could yell out and scraping the side of his neck with one of his gauntlet fins. The tip of it was covered in a potent chemical compound, rendering the hapless gunman unable to move, much less speak for the next few minutes. Dragging him into the darkness, The Batman re-emerged from his natural element and slammed his armored knee hard into the back of the next one's skull, forcing him to stumble forward and slam against one of the crates. Signs of a concussion were instant, and the thug fell backwards before being swiftly caught by his unseen attacker.

Placing the second gunman next to his fallen partner and positioning them out of sight, the microphone in The Batman's cowl picked up further idle chatter from the primary group. Listening in for anything that could give him a clear opening, he awaited the next pair to approach in search of their colleagues, retrieving a number of items from within his utility belt. But to the vigilante's surprise, instead of two more rounding the next corner, a lone gunman emerged, having apparently split off from his partner to investigate the noise created by the crate being hit.

[i][color=8290a2]Doesn't matter[/color][/i], he thought. [i][color=8290a2]Just makes it easier.[/color][/i]

But as he took a quiet step ahead, he would come to regret that thought. Just as he was seconds away from grabbing the clueless thug, something entirely unexpected happened. The thug swung around with his gun raised, spotting The Batman mid-movement. The vigilante's eyes went wide under the cowl, noticing that a distinctive shadow had been cast upon both of them from above, alerting the thug to his presence. Craning his head to the side, he managed to spot the fleeting glimpse of a figure that had appeared on the crates as it dove away. It appeared slender, and potentially feminine - with what seemed to be the shape of [i]cat ears[/i] atop its head. 

The Batman grit his teeth as he realized what was happening, but not before turning his attention back to the spooked gunman, who had originally been too petrified to fire. But he was beginning to sober up from any sense of panic, as his blank expression turned to outrage, aiming the weapon directly at The Batman's chest.

[color=bcbcbc]"CONTACT! WE'VE GOT MOVEMENT ON THE WEST SI---"[/color]

In a dark flurry of movement, Batman dove forward and violently snatched the thug's weapon from its owner's grasp, smashing the side of his head with the brunt of the assault rifle. His opponent dazed, the vigilante went to work by shifting his leg beneath the gunman's as he fell back, causing him to trip and collide with snow-covered planks that made up the shipyard's platform. Weakened and hurt, but still conscious, the gunman attempted to get back up and defend himself - only to watch the sole of The Batman's boot collide hard into his face, followed up by a whirlwind series of precision strikes. Holding the gunman by the front of his bulletproof vest, the vigilante became satisfied as he fell limp, dropping him and moving into a standing position. 

Stealth was no longer an option. Despite a rage simmering inside of him towards the ill-timed interruption, Batman could hear the sound of movement and shouting in the immediate area. There wasn't time to dwell on what had happened, even [i]who[/i] had likely caused it to happen. The Red Triangle and The Great White Shark's men were coming in fast, and the only way to adapt to his newfound peril was to improvise. Removing a few smoke caplets from his belt, some flash grenades, and a couple of batarangs, Batman refocused his energies and breathed quietly, slipping back into the dark.

[i][color=lightgray]"Think it came from this way!"[/color]

[color=bcbcbc]"Echo-Three, was that you?! Say something, man!"[/color]

[color=cdcdcd]"Stay focused! We don't know who's out there!"[/color]

[color=lightgray]"What the hell's going on?! Was that one of you?!"[/color]

[color=bcbcbc]"We're down three of our guys! Someone's fucking with us!"[/color][/i]

The Batman's hand tensed on the batarangs, closing his palm over the grenades and caplets. He could barely hear his own breathing over the sound of oncoming footsteps. But once he started to see their shadows cast over the corners leading into the area, he knew his time was up. Without a word, Batman shot out and dashed across the area between the crates and leaped high, throwing the caplets to his left and divvying the flash grenades to his right. Smoke billowed out from around the thugs as they emerged, irritating their lungs and causing them to start firing wildly - though none seemed to have spotted their tormentor before it engulfed their line of sight. The flash grenades exploded with a luminescence that seemed to blanket the skies, compounding their inability to comprehend what they'd walked into. 

[color=lightgray]"What the shit was..."[/color]

There were nine armed guards. Equipping the batarangs, The Batman spread his cape outward and quickly descended from a position above, having caught himself in a split jump as the chaos had erupted. Slamming a high kick into the first one's chest, the vigilante hurled his self-styled shuriken into the second one's hand, causing him to yell out in pain and drop his rifle. The others struggled to break free from the cloud of smoke, which Batman had avoided with a set of plugs built into the nose of the cowl. There was one that tried to bark orders over the others in an incoherent attempt to make sense of what was happening, but a black gloved fist torpedoed out of the smoke to smash him between the eyes. The Batman's horned silhouette advanced over the smoke, casting a fearsome image that caused a few to scream.

[i][color=lightgray]"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

"WHO CARES?! LIGHT IT UP!"[/color][/i]

The effects of his distraction were wearing off quickly, and the remaining seven guards were gathering their wits. Diving forward, The Batman rolled through the smoke, somersaulted between them, and entered close-quarters combat. Catching the first with a hard elbow, the vigilante twisted, driving his knee into the next one's stomach. A roundhouse kick nailed the third one across his jaw, while the man to his right suffered a broken nose upon Batman driving his face hard into his steel-plate-covered shin. The first recovered and attempted to fire his gun, but he was too slow to avoid the scallops of Batman's cape as they whipped out and struck him across the face, anchored by a kevlar mesh that landed into him like hardened stone. 

Wrapping the second's neck within his arm, the vigilante utilized momentum to drive the third into the fourth with a grab-and-roll maneuver. The other three rushed him at once, prompting The Batman to release his chokehold on the second and spin him around, violently pushing him forward with a precision kick to the throat. He went flying into one and threw the momentum off of the other, but the third approached unaffected. Visually targeting his next move, Batman tossed the remaining batarangs that had been hidden in his palm at the thug as he wildly swung a punch, instead feeling the metal projectiles embed themselves deep into both arms, both legs, and his left cheek. Unable to properly react to the pain, he paused in befuddled silence, allowing Batman to connect a spinning kick that crashed hard across his face.

Following a few more maneuvers, some bones crunching against eachother, and more than a couple muffled cries of pain, The Batman finally emerged from the dissipating smoke as the victor, with all nine guards having been rendered into a pile of bloodied and broken debris lying at his feet. Turning towards the path that would lead him back to where White, Day, and Jones once stood, Batman prepared to retrieve his grapnel gun and fire it towards the top of the crates. Calendar Man and Croc had likely heard all of that commotion and ran, and he seemed to remember hearing the sound of the door to one of the SUVs slamming shut amid the violence. But as he reached back into his belt, he was struck hard from behind, feeling something hit the back of his head. Stumbling forward, the vigilante fell onto one knee and watched a sudden bevy of lights and spots obscure the clarity of his vision.

[color=94b177]"Heh. You're a little late, freak. Halloween was weeks ago."[/color]

The Batman recognized the voice. Killer Croc, the man he'd come here for in the first place. Whenever he turned to face the behemoth, he noticed that Croc was brandishing a large tire iron that seemed like a toothpick in comparison to the size of his massive hands. The cannibal grinned at him, more amused with this seemingly ridiculous sight than anything.

[color=8290a2]"Waylon Jones..."[/color]

[color=94b177]"Oh, you heard about me? Damn, I'm kinda touched."[/color]

Croc took a step forward that seemed to shudder the ground beneath him.

[color=94b177]"Heard about you, too. They said you were a bad motherfucker."[/color]

Lifting the tire iron above his head, The Batman tensed his entire body as he prepared to face off against Croc. He told himself that the criminal had merely gotten in a lucky shot with the hunk of metal, that it had only momentarily thrown him off. What he didn't realize was that Croc had hardly swung it. Raising his fists, Batman spat out a wad of blood pooling into his mouth and assumed a fighting stance. Croc's grin grew even wider.

[IMG]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b24d5-a438-74b3-8806-6844945ceb6b.webp[/IMG]

[color=94b177]"Let's see how bad you really are."[/color][/color]