Byrd Man

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Elysian Fields Trailer Park
10 PM

Little Walter could hear his heartbeat in his ears. For the first time in a long time, the big man was scared. He hadn’t truly felt fear since he was thirteen. He hit a growth spurt that summer and towered over all the boys in junior high. Even when he was a prospect for the Crusaders, low man on the goddamn totem pole, he was still the biggest and meanest son of a bitch in the room. He’d stared down Mexican cartel bosses, survived shootouts with rival MCs, been backed into a dark prison corner by a group of black power gangs. But through it all Walter never lost his cool.

But now?

Whoever or whatever the fuck it was that was out here was unlike anything Little Walter had ever seen. Motherfucker tore through their convoy like it was tissue paper, blew up their haul, and disappeared into the night like a goddamn ghost. He didn't think the bat was supernatural like some of the other morons in the MC. But that didn't mean the bat wasn't a serious son of a bitch. Walter double checked the assault rifle he was carrying before taking a few hesitant steps forward. He started down the small alley between two trailers.

He stopped when he heard a thump and a crash from somewhere nearby. Walter squinted and tried to make out any movement in the darkness. He flinched when gunfire erupted. It was the rapid fire of an automatic weapon firing off just a few rounds. Someone yelled in pain as the gunfire stopped.

And that was when the music started. It was coming from somewhere close, but Walter couldn't’ figure out where. It dawned on him and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was the source of the music.

“The fuck?”

---

The surprised biker got three shots off with his gun as Bruce rushed towards him. He felt the slugs whiz past his head and cape as he knocked the gun away with his left hand, his right hand punching the biker in the temple. His arm was wrapped around the dazed Crusader’s throat in a chokehold. The man tried to claw at Bruce’s face and eyes but his hands slid off the slick leather and body armor of Bruce’s cowl. The biker's struggling slowed before stopping altogether. He let the unconscious man’s body crumple to the ground. before he took off into the darkness.

“Thermal vision,” he whispered as he climbed on top of a dilapidated single wide. His lenses flickered before switching to the eerie blue hue. He could see heat signatures of over twelve figures in the immediate area. Some cradled guns, others were unarmed. Overhead drone surveillance showed that there were a few more people near the entrance of the trailer park standing guard around the Crusaders' motorcycles.

The closets armed man was just below him in the alley between two trailers. He was taller than Bruce by at least six inches, larger than even Blackwood, and he carried an assault rifle in his large hands. Bruce pressed a few buttons mounted on his left wrist gauntlet. In his HUD, he saw notifications confirming that every biker and a few of the junkies had cellphones. After a few quick taps, he connected with the phones and queued up Sinatra.

Mood Music

He watched as the big man fished the phone from his pocket and tried in vain to turn off the music. He watched the drone footage as the rest of the men with phones tried the same. A smirk appeared on Bruce’s face as he pressed a button. He sent out a signal to the phones that sent an electrical pulse to the batteries, turning each mobile device into a 50,000 volt taser.

Bodies dropped across the trailer park and writhed in pain. He made his move quickly. He leapt from the trailer and hurried through the dark towards the exit. Those he could sneak past he did. Those he had to fight, he fought. One tweaker charged him with a rusty knife. He countered the attack before striking the heel of his boot into the man’s kneecap and driving his face into the ground. Another biker he landed on and spun him to the ground, an armbar breaking his left humerus and shoulder. He was now less than fifty yards from the exit of the trailer park. The only thing standing in his way: Blackwood himself.

“C’mon on out,” Blackwood screamed into the dark. “You done took down everyone else, you son of a bitch.”

Bruce stepped out of the dark. A smile appeared on Blackwood’s face when he saw him. The burly biker held up his shotgun and twisted it into a bow with his bare hands.

“I don’t need no fucking shotgun to take your ass out.”

---

Camden & Young Industrial Electroplating
Gotham Industrial Park
10:15 PM

Selina felt the lock give a millisecond before it made the click. The hinges on the fire door squealed as she pushed it open. Through the door was a giant cavern of space. Selina slowly closed the door behind her as she entered. She imagined the space had once been filled with the machines of Camden & Young, machines that ran around the clock and manned by workers doing their part to keep the wheels of American industry turning.

But that was a long time ago. The machines were long gone and only the sad, empty husk of the building remained. Across the open space was a flight of stairs that led up to a room thirty or so feet above the floor. Back in the day that was the supervisor’s office. Even from this far away she could see the soft glow of light from the door’s window.

Whiz kid Stephanie was able to locate the source of the hacker to the industrial park, but even she was limited by technology. The closest she could narrow it down to was within a six block radius. That was when Selina turned to the riddle left after the hack.

How do you spell candy with two letters?

C and Y.

Camden & Young.

Selina pulled the snubnosed pistol from her purse as she approached the stairs leading up to the office.

---

Elysian Fields Trailer Park
10:20 PM

Blackwood roared as he threw a heavy metal burn barrel at Bruce. The barrel tumbled through the air, fire and ash spilling from it. Bruce rolled out of the way just as the barrel crashed into the ground and exploded in a ball of fire.

“Come on, motherfucker,” Blackwood yelled. He slowly strutted towards Bruce. “Show me what you got!”

Bruce pressed a few buttons on his wrist and the drone swooped in from above, firing off missiles at Blackwood. They hit the biker flush and flew him backwards into a trailer. Bruce pulled a small disk from his utility belt and rushed forward. Blackwood pulled himself out of the wreck of the trailer and shakily got back to his feet. The drone buzzed near him and he reached out. He grabbed it and ripped it apart in a shower of sparks and metal.

“Enough of this bullshit,” he roared.

He ran towards Bruce as Bruce ran towards him. At the last second, Bruce dipped low as Blackwood tried to wrap his arms around him. He slid under Blackwood’s legs and popped up. He scaled the large man’s back and slapped the metal disk on Blackwood’s temple. It let out a high-pitched whine and Blackwood tried to reach it. He froze in place and collapsed to his knees in a spasming wreck.

“Make it stop!”

Bruce ignored Blackwood’s pleas. The disk was designed to send electrical impulses through the body. Low-grade impulses that stimulated the muscles in the body at such high speed and frequency that it incapacitated the person wearing it. For all Blackwood’s metahuman strength, he was still limited by human physiology as everyone else. Same nerves and same nerve endings.

Sirens were beginning to ring out through the area. Bruce could see a fire truck on the overpass where the cargo van had exploded. Off in the distance a chopper was approaching. He saw the spotlight sweeping over the expressway. Bruce mounted Blackwood’s motorcycle, started it with a kick, and sped off into the night.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I'm making the Question as my secondary next season and no one can fucking stop me

@Simple Unicycle

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

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.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Replies are going to take longer than I thought now... I can't write at all in work :( Something about a sackable offence

@EldarionI

We need a worker's revolution.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I'm kicking myself for this, but I'm out. Just tried to file my taxes, and the wonderful results of going from a regular w-2 employee to a 1099 means I now have to go get a second job in order to afford to keep working at my first job. Which means my spare time just dropped to less than zero. Sorry guys.

@AndyC

Fuck, I feel you on that front. I did only three months as a 1099 last year and it is the greatest con American employers ever devised.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

No trade necessary. I just want a Sinister Six with that team.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

If anyone wants to use Egghead, then by all means go for it. In fact, it would be... eggcellent

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Marvelous Monday to you.

Blessings and high favor.

@Bounce

Everytime I read Marvelous Monday my mind goes to this song.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Dutch Hill
3:51 PM

Alfred Pennyworth stepped lightly down the basement steps with a mug of coffee in his hands. It wasn’t a particularly long descent down into the bowels of the brownstone, maybe a dozen steps, but the hot coffee was incentive for him to watch each step. The building was set up to house multiple families on each floor, and the basement was no different. It had been used that way in the years before Alfred and Phillip bought the house, but the two of them had turned it into a single family home. When Bruce turned thirteen he’d moved into the basement, partially Alfred’s idea, to give him a semi-autonomous space away from the two older men. They were just using it for storage before that, and Alfred was sure that Bruce could make better use of it then they ever good. The former royal marine Alfred had called it Bruce’s safe harbor. But the boy had a different name for it. He called it “the cave.”

And Alfred had been right about Bruce utilizing the space. The basement was now the nerve center of Bruce’s ongoing war. Large monitors with digital, real-time maps of Gotham covered three of the four walls. The fourth wall had an actual paper map of the city and the subway system that ran underneath the streets. Two metal work tables were islands in the middle of the room. Bruce’s suit was laid on one table and neatly folded, the utility belt he wore stretched out beside it. The other island held an assortment of gadgets and devices, some weapons while others served defensive and surveillance purposes. There was the little drone shaped like a bat. A black motorcycle had been propped against the tables as well.

Bruce was seated in front of a desk that had been pushed up against the wall with the paper map. He had stripped down the black compression shirt and pants he always wore underneath the suit. On the desk in front of him were two computer monitors. On one monitor was a digital copy of a report with an ATF watermark on it. On the other monitor was a mugshot of a very familiar face.

“Ms. Kyle again,” Alfred said as he passed the coffee cup to Bruce. “I assume some valuable jewel has gone missing.”

“Not this time,” said Bruce. “It seems that since last we saw her, Selina has shifted into a new line of work. Recovery instead of theft.”

“So now she’s hired to steal back stolen things,” Alfred said with a chuckle. “And what precious commodity will her sticky fingers try to ensnare?”

“Information,” Bruce said as he clicked away from the mugshot and pulled up a surveillance photo of a fat man smoking a cigar. “Someone out there is crazy enough to blackmail Rupert Thorne. And he’s hired her to find out who it is and to recover the blackmail.”

“Is it wrong that I’m actually rooting for the blackmailer?" Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow. "And also may I ask what part the bat will play in all of this?”

“I’m giving her a long leash on this one, but watching close enough so that I can swoop in for the evidence when the time is right.”

“How very third-wave feminist of you,” said Alfred.

Bruce stifled a laugh as he took a sip from his coffee cup. Alfred always liked to see him smile. It reminded him of how young Bruce actually was. Only thirty years old and not that far removed from the sad little boy Phillip had brought home all those years ago.

“While that situation develops, I’m turning my focus towards Gordon’s tip.”

He sat his cup down beside the keyboard and brought up another mugshot. This one showed a surly, long haired man with an iron cross tattoo on his cheek and a tattoo around his throat that read “Make America White Again.” The corner of the photo stamped the picture as having been taken at Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary.

“Arthur Blackwood,” said Bruce. “President of the Gotham Chapter of the Crusaders Motorcycle Club and a registered metahuman. Blackwood and the club are on just about every law enforcement radar. ATF, FBI, some organization known as ARGUS that monitors metahuman activity. The three agencies have an ongoing investigation into the club. Operation: Templar. They’re in the process of trying to get surveillance and search warrants on Blackwood and his club.”

“And you know this how?”

“The ATF agent in charge of the operation uses ‘password123’ as his password for everything.”

Alfred watched as Bruce scrolled through pictures of guns that had been recovered as Gotham crime scenes. Automatic weapons, high-powered handguns, grenades. Even a few rocket launchers. It was equipment that belonged on a battlefield and nowhere near a drug dealer's reach.

“The Crusaders are running guns into the city for Jefferson Skeevers and his men. Gordon thinks that Skeevers is going to try to take over drug markets in the Finger Homes.”

“That’s Falcone territory,” Alfred said with a look towards one of the maps on the monitors. The city block sized housing project had been painted grey on the map, marking it as Italian mafia turf. “Or Maroni territory. Whichever mobster is at the helm these days.”

“If Skeevers goes into the Finger with those kinds of weapons--”

“I can only imagine,” said Alfred. “What are you going to do?”

Bruce turned back to the computer.

“The ATF need more probable cause to raid the Crusaders clubhouse. According to their surveillance, Blackwood and a few of the bikers are coming back into town tonight after a run out west. Based on the conjecture, they’re going to be packing heavy equipment.”

Alfred’s eyes fell on the bike.

“Tonight I’m going to give the authorities all the probable cause they need,” said Bruce.

---

Financial District
4:23 PM

To Selina, Fred Stickley lived up to his surname. His suit was very baggy on his pencil-thin frame. An equally thin mustache ran across his upper lip and his thinning hair was styled in a way that tried to hide the inevitable baldness that was coming for him, but only ended up drawing more attention to it. Stickley held Selina’s business card in his hands. He looked it over with a curious glance before motioning her to follow him down the hallway.

“While it is highly irregular for me to discuss the business of Heed, McElroy, & Standler, Mr. Thorne’s name does open a lot of doors.”

She followed Stickley down the halls. For a non-descript downtown investment firm, the building was richly decorated with plush carpets and the mahogany walls had tasteful art mounted on them, art that Selin'as trained eye knew had to be worth at least six figures to the right fence. With the basic corporate security in charge of protecting the building, it would only take her less than fifteen minutes to get in and out with all the paintings. She added the office to her mental list of jobs she could pull if she ever needed fast cash.

“So,” Stickley said once they were in his corner office. He took his seat behind the desk while Selina sat down across from him. “What is it that I can help you, and by extension, Mr. Thorne with?”

“You’re money launderers, right?” Selina asked with no preamble.

Stickley’s face turned red so quickly that Selina was worried the man had had a stroke.

“I don’t-- I--- How dare you--”

“Thorne said as much without saying it,” she said, raising a hand. “The decor here is too upscale for you to be just a regular hedgefund office. You court high-end clientele, or at least people who think they are. Despite the flash you show behind the door, you're not publicly known the way the bigger firms are. The small footprint is a selling point to people who appreciate you being quiet. Plus there’s the fact that Rupert Thorne is one of your clients. If you do business with a man like that, then there’s no telling who else you do business with.”

“I will not sit here and take this kind of slander,” Stickley shouted.

“I don’t care what you do, Mr. Stickley," she said with a sigh. "I’ve got a job to do. And a client who is paying me a lot of money to help him. I just want to know how Thorne is getting blackmailed over his financial records. Records that your firm only has access to, recoards you're responsible for safekeeping.”

Stickley moaned and rubbed his temples. He shook his head before reaching into the drawer of his desk and pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured both glasses full to the brim.

“No thanks,” said Selina.

“I wasn’t offering,” Stickley said as he downed one glass, then the other. “What I say to you does not leave this room,” he said after a scotch-soaked burp. "This firm has built its business and its reputation on anonymity and discretion. Our clients come to us for that.”

Selina spread her hands.

“I understand. I travel in similar circles, I get it.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Two weeks ago our database was hacked by someone. Information on all our clients, their accounts, and where their money comes from and where it goes, was all taken. So far none of it has been siphoned off by the hacker. But the letters aren’t unique. Mr. Thorne isn’t the first to be blackmailed. There are a lot of people out there, Ms. Kyle, very powerful, very rich, and very angry. It's been a disaster for the firm, but so far we've done a good job keeping a lid on it. Everyone thinks that they're the only ones."

Selina leaned forward. “Tell me about the other letters, Mr. Stickley-- Fred.”

He shrugged. “I can’t. I don’t know any information in regards to the blackmail attempts, just that they’re occurring. I can show you the email I received after the hack.”

A few moments later, she was looking down at Stickley’s phone. The email had been sent from a dummy account, but the message was written in that same ugly green font.

???

The rich and powerful rule us all.
The rich and powerful will fall.
The rich and powerful have had their fun.
The rich and powerful’s time is done.
The rich and powerful have had their say.
The rich and powerful will pay.

Riddle Me This: How Do You Spell Candy With Two Letters?

???

Selina looked up from the phone. She passed it back to Stickley before she stood.

“Thank you for your time.”

“What are you going to do now,” he asked sheepishly.

“I have an idea. And I have a friend who can help.”

---

Unincorporated Gotham
9:30 PM

A small fleet of motorcycles roared down the expressway. They formed a diamond shape as they took up three lanes of traffic. In the center of the diamond was a cargo van. At the tip of the diamond rode Blackwood. They were now in the home stretch after a thirty hour ride from Houston. They only stopped for gas and bathroom breaks, eating in between gassing and pissing. The longer they delayed their return, the greater the chance there was for something to go sideways on the trip back home. And there was no way in hell Blackwood was going to risk something going wrong.

The cargo van was loaded down with the finest weapons on the black market. Some of the last weapons Stark Industries had produced before they shut it all down. As much as Blackwood had paid for the guns, he knew Skeevers would pay ten times as much for them. Some of the club didn’t like doing business with him, but Blackwood told them to fuck off. This was America, after all. Skeevers money spent as good as anyone else's. As much as he obsessed over race, green was his favorite color. The way he saw it was that if he could make money and help a few niggers wipe each other out, well that was a win-win for him.

Blackwood held his hand out and signaled the other bikers to slow. They were finally back home in Billyland. The name had been derisively given to this part of Unincorporated Gotham, the place where the people from Kentucky, Tennessee, and West Virginia had migrated to in search of jobs after World War II. With its trailer parks and white trash, Billyland clung tightly to its reputation as a place that no upstanding Gothamite ever ventured to.

Something passed overhead and caused Blackwood to look up. A small object flew in the sky above the convoy and matched its speed. It took him a few moments, but then he figured out just what it was. A drone. Painted jet black and… in the shape of a bat.

“Oh, fuck,” said Blackwood.

He heard a roar from behind. The sound of yelling was loud enough to be heard over the engine of his bike. Gunshots rang out, the squeal of tires, and then the crunch of metal. Blackwood looked back and saw Little Walter's bike sliding towards the concrete median of the expressway, Little Walter clinging to it as it slid. Blackwood looked forward again and kept one hand on the handlebars while the other reached down and pulled a shotgun from the holster mounted on the side of his chopper. He looked back over his shoulder and saw another bike barreling down on him.



“Fuck!” he screamed as he opened fire with the shotgun.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

I win. I had "Jim Gordon" in the "What will be the first two words in @Byrd Man's Batman run?" pool...

@Hound55

The bitch of it was, I was betting in the pool too. Just couldn't stop myself.