Morden Man
xVampire3go
Captain Uni
Memoria
Eddie Brock
Master Bruce
parelaxis
Cyrania
mattmanganon
The East End
9:34 PM
Selina walked up the rickety stairwell to the apartment building’s fourth floor. She didn’t venture to the East End if she could help it. It brought back… memories, that was the word for it. They were memories she would rather forget. Looking at the sad, faded blue paint on the corridor walls reminded her of the building she grew up in. She wondered if her mom still lived in that little one bedroom apartment. It wasn’t that far from here, just a block or two away, and it would be easy to swing by after she was done here.
But she’d left for a reason. Twelve years ago Selina walked out the door and never looked back. Her mom had been passed out on the couch with that needle still stuck in her arm. She was a husk of the woman Selina had once known her as. It would be a small miracle if her mom still had that apartment. It would be an even bigger miracle if she was still alive. Either way, Selina decided to let the past stay in the past as she knocked on the door of 4C.
“What’s the password?” a voice asked from behind the door.
“I brought a burrito,” Selina said, holding a plastic takeout bag up to the peephole.
She heard a series of locks disengaging. The door opened and a dainty, pale hand snatched the burrito out of Selina’s grasp. She smiled as she watched the teenage girl disappear into the apartment. She was amazed that the girl never gained weight. For as much garbage as she packed in, she was still rail thin.
“Don’t forget to take the foil off this time,” Selina said. She entered the apartment and closed the door behind her. “And chew, please.”
“Mmfhfmf,” the girl said with a mouth full of food.
“What did I say?” Selina asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly after swallowing. “It just hits the spot, you know?”
Selina nodded and looked around the studio apartment. It was spartan to say the least. The walls were bare, a single mattress rested on the hardwood floor and a naked lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. The only other furniture in the room was an overturned plastic milk crate upon which sat a laptop worth more than a place twice as big as this apartment.
You wouldn’t think it to look at the surroundings, but sixteen year old Stephanie Brown was worth almost a million dollars. And every bit of those gains had been ill gotten.
“What’s your latest scam,” Selina asked as she tested the mattress.
“You’re gonna love this.”
Stephanie sat the wreckage of her burrito down on the floor and scooted up to the computer. A few clicks on the keyboard and mouse and she pulled up a site. Selina leaned in to look at the screen. She furrowed her brow at the very basic webpage that seemed to be straight from 2003.
“South Dakota state probate?” she asked.
“You betcha,” Stephanie said in her best faux midwestern accent. “In almost every state there’s a law that if you die without an heir, your assets are turned over to the state government after a certain amount of time. When the time comes to transfer to the state it’s just a simple movement of money from bank account A to bank account B. I’ve got a program that intercepts that transfer and skims off of it. Not much, mind you. Not enough to really go noticed. If it is noticed they chalk it up to accounting errors. So far I’ve gotten about fifty grand from the unmourned dead of South Dakota.”
“Jesus,” Selina sighed. She shook her head. “What happened to the days when thieves used to have to work for it?”
“I am working,” Stephanie said, taking another bite from her burrito. “Work smarter, not harder. Isn’t that what people who actually work say?”
“I’ll take your word for it. I just know I actually like to feel like I'm stealing something instead of just looking at numbers on a screen.”
"How very analogue of you," Stephanie laughed.
Selina reached into her purse and pulled out her cellphone while Stephanie finished off the already mortally wounded burrito.
“I do need your help with something though,” she said as she typed out a message on her phone. “I'm trying to track a blackmailer and fellow hacker.”
“A white hat job?” Stephanie asked.
“Not exactly. More of a gray area.”
Selina held up her phone. She had written a message in the memo section, but hadn’t saved it.
"PRETTY SURE I AM BEING MONITORED. B-MAN IS LISTENING AND TRACKING MVMENTS"
Stephanie nodded slowly as she read the screen.
“Okay…,” she said slowly before turning to her computer. “Let’s see what we can do.”
---
Unincorporated Gotham
9:40 PM
Bruce weaved in and out of traffic as he raced down the expressway on the bike. The cargo van ahead of him was going much faster than it should have been capable of. After all, it was loaded down with illegal weapons. Buckshot pellets whizzed by his head and he looked back to see Blackwood and a few Crusaders riding up close behind him, each man with a weapon at the ready. The bike roared as he hit the throttle. The biker posse faded away and the van came rushing ahead. He leaned forward and swerved left to avoid a minivan tottering along at a much slower pace.
“Drone view,” Bruce said into the mic mounted inside his cowl.
The lenses in his mask flashed and he saw a split screen at the bottom of his peripheral vision. The overhead drone was keeping ahead of the traffic showed him traffic was coming up along with the van, himself, and the pursuing pack of bikers. From the view above, he could see Blackwood was beginning to gain on him.
The bike jerked suddenly, and from the overhead view Bruce could see Blackwood had opened fire again with his shotgun. The bike groaned and began to shake. Bruce had to fight to keep it straight. Wherever Blackwood had hit it, the damage was about to tear the bike apart. He punched the throttle and made a beeline for the fleeing cargo van. Still holding on to the handlebars, he pushed himself up onto the seat and jumped at the back of the speeding van as the motorcycle began to twist. From the drone, he saw the bouncing wreck of his bike catch one of the Crusaders flush and knock him from his motorcycle. Bruce caught the edge of the van and started to slide backwards. He reached for purchase, but his gloves and boots kept sliding against the slick surface as he fell. He could hear the sound of his cape rubbing against the rapidly passing pavement.
“Magnetics,” he said. The powerful electromagnets in his gloves and boots kicked on and he stuck against the surface. He climbed up to the roof of the van and ran towards the front. To his right Blackwood rode beside the van and slowly reloaded his shotgun one-handed.
“You’re fucking dead,” the big man shouted over the noise.
Bruce knew Blackwood was right. His only escape path had been the now destroyed motorcycle. Soon Blackwood would have all the ammunition he needed to take potshots at him. And he wouldn’t be the only one. The van was now slowing and the other Crusaders were catching up. Pretty soon Bruce would be caught in a crossfire. He had to do something drastic fast. He crouched low on the van and let his cape blow into the breeze as he watched the footage from the drone. Their convoy was coming towards a bend on the expressway and on an overpass section. Bruce saw something at that overpass. A cluster of homes down below. They looked like mobile homes.
He chuckled quietly to himself as he pulled an orb from his belt and stuck it to the top of the truck. He set the charge as the truck drove across the overpass and jumped. He held on to his cape and let the electric currents in his gloves stiffen the fabric into a gliding wing. He heard the surprise of the bikers. Followed by the explosion.
With a loud and jarring crash landing, Bruce rolled to the ground and came to a stop against the underpinning of a trailer. Another explosion rocked the expressway above. He could see flames licking the concrete barriers of the road. Another round of explosions went off. This time, it was the rapid pop of bullets exploding from the heat of the fire.
He stood up and did a quick inventory. Nothing on him was broken or misplaced. He now had to figure out his next move. Whatever it was, he had to keep moving. The longer he stayed here, the more he risked the Crusaders cornering him. With a deep breath, he ventured into the night.
---
“He has fucked up,” Blackwood said with a humorless smile. “Royally fucked up.”
He and what was left of his gang, all four of them, were on their bikes at the trailer park entrance. A rotting wooden sign proclaimed the place “Elysian Fields” in what had once been gold lettering. Some smartass had written in spray paint beneath it “Methsylvania.”
Blackwood propped his motorcycle up on its kickstand and lead the group into the trailer park. A group of about twelve tweakers stood around a fiery trashcan passing a glass pipe. Even in the dim lighting, Blackwood could see open facial sores and mouths with missing and roten teeth.
“Here’s the deal,” Blackwood said as he pointed the shotgun at the group. “You know the Bat? He's is in this trailer park somewhere. Two hundred bucks worth of crank to the first motherfucker who brings me his head.”
The tweakers eyes lit up. They all whooped and started through the trailer park. Blackwood motioned for his men to follow. The Cursaders followed the methheads into the darkness, like hunters following bloodhounds.
