Byrd Man

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I mean, we have gods and such in this world. What's a few more to add to the mix? Just take the American Gods approach to it and have them all be "rejuvenated" versions.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

Are OOCs used for anything else in these days of memes?

@Lord Wraith

Back in my day we used them for actual communication. We didn't have this fancy Discord. We used MSN messenger, like a bunch of fucking savages! Those were the good old days, when the trolls and cyber bullies were just sad people living in their parent's basements and not sad people living in the White House.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

So we just gonna shitpost in the OOC thread now? Is that what's hot in the streets right now? Shitposting in OOC threads?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

So, in case people were wondering, here's a low-down of what is going to be happening within the next 10 posts of mine:

*Despairo's vanguard arriving on earth (Paibok and Bakin)
*The Appearance of a Dire Wraith (Bakin is going to use defeating it to gain the Lantern's trust. He may be evil, but he still fucking loves killing Dire Wraiths.)
*The Red Lantern Ring is going to get free (Meaning that the free rings buzzing around earth will be the Red, Orange and Star Sapphire, if you want to interact with them, i'd love to discuss it with you.)
*Introducing Dexter and Hammond.

@mattmanganon

Show don't tell, my dude.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

Gotham Noir

^{_{Slam Bradley ♦ Max Eckhardt ♦ Jim Corrigan ♦ Vicki Vale ♦ Jack Grogan}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

^{“The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”
-- Joseph Conrad}

This will be a story involving characters over a man years span in the time before Bruce Wayne acted as Gotham's protector. It will feature crime, corruption, people who wield power like a truncheon, and how event he most high-minded reformers succumb to temptation.

Murder, sex, lies, betrayal, and blackmail all set to a tune you can dance to.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

So many motivations and goals, none of them pure or inspirational.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

Characters:

Slam Bradley -- Ex-boxer turned cop.
Max Eckhardt -- Decorated Marine now homicide detective.
James "Two-Gun Jack" Grogan -- Commander of the GCPD mob squad.
Vicki Vale -- Reporter for the Gotham Gabber.
Jim Corrigan -- Detective in Narcotics, shakedown squad.
Rupert Thorne -- Congressman
Hamilton Hill -- Mayor
Gossip Gertie -- Publisher/Editor for scandal rag the Gotham Gabber
Dr. Carter Nichols -- Police scientist.
Dr. Hugo Strange -- Psychiatrist

POST CATALOGUE:

"Punchdrunk"
1.
2.
3.

"Snapshot"
1.
2.
3.
4.

"Shakedown"
1.
2.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Shanghai
1923

“Bloody hell.”

Detective Chief Inspector Gates held a handkerchief to his mouth. Just minutes earlier he’d been using the rag to wipe sweat from his brow and neck. The commute here hadn’t done them any favors. The SMP car they managed to snag from the headquarters’ feeble motorcool spent the better part of a half hour stuck in traffic. The source of the congestion? An overturned ox-cart that took nearly a dozen mean to flip upright. A half hour ago this looked to be just another quiet summer night. But now?

Gates had been stationed in the Orient for over twenty years, most of it in Hong Kong before Shanghai. He was no stranger to senseless violence and brutal street warfare from dueling gangs. He’d taken down Hong Kong Henry, for God’s sake. Grisly scenes of death were second nature to him. But this was something else altogether.

“Best we can make out, there were about a dozen of them,” DC Strong said.

The two men stood in a back alley just off Middle Ring Road. SMP patrolmen had cordoned off the alley to prevent anyone else coming in, but to Gates that was like closing the barn door after the bloody horse had gone. Word was already spreading through the city about the massacre here. Gates figured there was very little they could do here at this point other than cleaning up.

At least ten bodies, or at least parts of them, were scattered across the alley. That was based on just a rough estimation of matching arms and legs. The emerald tinted tattoos and markings on severed limbs made it clear that the dead men were members of the Green Gang. Gates and Stone were familiar with the Green Gang in the same way doctors were familiar with syphilis.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of blokes,” Gates said, spitting on the pavement at his feet. “Bunch of opium dealing savages.”

“What is that, sir?” Strong asked, pointing towards the alley wall.

Gates clamped his handkerchief tighter around his mouth and nose and walked gingerly through the alley. He stepped over a severed finger to get a better look at the wall. Someone had written something across it. Upon closer inspection, Gates could see that it was dried blood that had been used to write out a message in Mandarin.

“‘The cost of crime must be paid in flesh,’” mumbled Gates. “‘The bill has come due for the Green Gang.’ Dear lord… he’s struck again.”

---

Chicago
2019

Lamont Cranston looked out at the city skyline. His penthouse apartment sat on the fortieth floor and had a picturesque view of the city. A million dollar view, his realtor had said. It was more like an eleven million dollar view. For those that could afford it, the view would be worth every penny.

And Lamont hated it.

Because he could see Chicago for what it really was. He could see everything laid out below him, the twisting black tendrils that threatened to choke the city. The smog that hung over the upper limits of the skyscrapers. Only Lamont could see it. Because he could see the evil that lurked in the hearts of men, he could see how that evil poisoned a city. And because of the beautiful view, Lamont was always reminded of how he was failing the city.

He turned away from the window and retreated through the penthouse. He couldn’t bear to look out at the city any longer. Lamont reached into his pocket as he walked and slipped the ruby ring on to his left hand. Something else weighed on his mind that night. It enhanced his desire to go out into the night and look for trouble. He had a sense that something loomed just past the horizon. Something was coming, something he could not see the shape of. But whatever it was, it would be evil and bloody.

---

The SUV raced down the southside street. The four men inside the car were dressed for war. Tactical body armor, automatic rifles, and night vision goggles. It was all top dollar and better than they were used to. They were all former soldiers, but the Salvadoran army equipment they trained on had been nothing but US Cold War relics. The four men didn’t look anything at all like the stereotypes they broadcast on the news and over social media, not face tattoos and well-spoken English with only traces of accents, but all four of them were MS13 to the core.

“In and out in sixty seconds,” the man in the shotgun seat said in Spanish. “We ventilate every living thing in that house.”

That was all the orders the four of them had been given. Go in, kill everyone, and then leave. Don’t take any money or drugs or make a big show of the killing. The shotcallers wanted whoever was living in that home dead quickly and quietly. Quick and quiet was their specialty and it was why they commanded so much money for ever hit. The secretive nature of the mission had them all pumped for the potential of actual challenge this time around. They were often deployed to take out rival dealers and people who crossed MS13. They were in a different class than the people they hunted. In a lot of ways it was like the Cubs playing against little league teams.

Something thumped on the roof of the SUV. The soldier in the back passenger side looked up just in time to see the blade of a sword slice through the roof. The tip of the blade stabbed him in the face and sent blood gushing through the car. The driver sped up past seventy and started to swerve in an effort to throw off the person on the roof. The two other soldiers raised their guns to the ceiling and opened fire. More thumps as the person on the roof moved, bullets ripping holes into the roof. The blade came down again and sliced the driver’s head off. The SUV skittered out of control and smashed into a parked car, the impact flipping the SUV. The assailant on top of the roof flipped away as the car came down hard and rained shards of metal and glass on the street.



Calmly, he walked towards the crashed car and looked in. One of the two remaining soliders was dead, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The other looked up at him with a bloody face and whispered for mercy in Spanish. The assailant put the blade against the man’s face.

“You live simply because of dumb luck, remember this fact. Tell your boss that if this is the best he can do, then Grendel is highly disappointed.”

Grendel slid the blade across the man's eye. He screamed as blood poured from the wound. With a swift twist of the blade, he stabbed the man's other eye out.

“No sight, but you still have a tongue so you may tell the story of what happens to those who declare war and lose.”

Grendel stood and holstered the sword. He started to leisurely walk away from the chaos he had initiated while the now blind man screamed.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

THE SHADOW

^{_{♦ LAMONT CRANSTON/KENT ALLARD ♦ WEALTHY MAN ABOUT TOWN ♦ CHICAGO ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

^{"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows..."}

The Shadow is going to stay The Shadow. The only difference is there will be two of them. Lamont Cranston will operate in the modern day while we flashback to the days of Kent Allard's Shadow.

---

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

You know, 2019 doesn't seem to be very much different than the era in which The Shadow was created. Corruption and greed seem to be fucking over the little people in this country and there seems to be a growing tide of hate from people who are frightened by the changing world.

Also, Nazis are still a thing.

So through that lens, I think The Shadow would adapt rather well. And with the angle of turning the character into a legacy, I have the ability to jump back and forth through time to tell stories. So... yeah.

---

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

Kent Allard -- The original Shadow.

Lamont Cranston -- Great grandnephew of Allard. Current Shadow.

Margo Lane -- Newspaper reporter and Allard's love interest.

Claude Fellows -- Modern day mayor of Chicago.

Rutledge Mann -- 1920's Chicago chief of police.

Ralph Weston -- Modern day Chicago chief of police.

Roy Tam -- Weston's right hand man. The Shadow's agent inside CPD.

Grendel -- Mysterious Chicago crime boss operating in modern times.

The Black Sparrow -- Fifth columnist active during WW2.

Kyle Vincent -- Modern day white nationalist and Illinois Nazi.

---

S A M P L E P O S T:

1929

Joe McGill kept a watchful eye on his men as they loaded up the small convoy of trucks with crates. Each crate contained thirty cases of Canadian liquor. Those that weren't loading the trucks were standing guard in the warehouse with Tommy Guns. It was a precaution that was well worth the extra cost. McGill ran a rough calculation and came up with seventy-five grand in profit for him and his crew. That was what the president made in a whole year, just on this one run south.

With the amount of money involved in bootlegging, it was worth fighting for. Worth killing for too. The Italians were trying to muscle in on his rackets and hijack his shipments. McGill was going to be goddamned if he let that happen. The major fuckup from last week had been unfortunate, but it was necessary. It wasn't McGill's fault that Jim Marino had been a coward who hid behind a group of kids during the hit.

"Hahahahahahaha"

McGill looked up into the darkness of the warehouse. All action beside the trucks had come to a standstill. The sinister laughter boomed through the open space. But to McGill it sounded so close, like whoever it was was whispering into his ear.

"You're all murderers and poisoners. You traffic in suffering and despair. Human parasites."

McGill motioned for his men to fan out. Those that had been loading the trucks pulled pistols from their waistbands or shoulder holsters. He saw a silhouette of a man with a large brimmed hat stretch across the floor of the dimly lit warehouse. Gunfire lit up the darkness as the Tommy Guns and pistols erupted. After several seconds of prolonged gunfire, the warehouse fell silent again.

"Hahahahaha. With aim like that, no wonder six school children are dead."

And that was when the warehouse turned into a war zone. Bullets ripped through the air as McGill's men opened fire. Whatever it was, kept firing on them. McGill saw the side of Albert McKinney's face disappear into a bloody mist of pulp. McGill backed away and beat a retreat to his office. He opened up the heavy metal door and closed it behind him. Bullets bounced off its surface as he the threw the deadbolt across it and cowered behind his desk.

McGill heard the gunfire intensifying through the door. He pulled a five-shot revolver from his waistcoat and aimed it towards the door with a shaky hand. McGill was a gangster, but he had always been the one who ordered the hits. He'd never actually carried them out. McGill flinched as a rapid burst of machine gun fire raked the metal door. Someone screamed and an explosion rocked the warehouse.

Quiet fell. McGill could smell smoke. He started to stand behind the desk when the metal door swung open. He saw a shadow in the doorway and screamed as he fired. McGill continued to pull the trigger even as the gun dry fired on empty chambers. The door frame was empty. Whatever had been there, or whatever McGill thought had been there, was gone.

"Joseph McGill."

Something shimmered in front of him. It was a man. A man with two guns in his hands. McGill held up is empty gun as the man opened fire. Two bullets ripped through McGill's chest and he crumpled to the floor. The man stood above him and looked down. McGill saw that he wore a hate and some sort of cloth over his face.

"The weed of crime bears bitter fruit, McGill. It's harvest time for you."

"No," McGill gasped. "No please!"

---

P O S T C A T A L O G:

TBD

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Batman theme music.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

The East End
1:45 PM

Alfred climbed out of the ZipTrip and paid for the fare with his phone. The driver mumbled his thanks before speeding off. Alfred didn’t blame the man for his quick retreat. This particular part of the East End had a reputation as the worst of the worst. It reminded Alfred of Dutch Hill’s notoriety before he and Phillip moved into the brownstone, before gentrification turned the gutted neighborhood into an upper middle class bastion.

He started down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Row houses made up every home on this block. A few were abandoned with boarded up windows and doors while most were dilapidated on the point of being declared condemned. Only a few were well maintained by owners or renters who still had civic pride. Each step down the block took Alfred back in time to Brixton. The East End and even Dutch Hill twenty years ago couldn’t hold a bloody candle to the Brixton of Alfred’s childhood.

The type of boys and men who ran with the Brixton mobs were animals. They could smell weakness, they sought out those that were different and punished them for it. They knew something was different about Alfred, the same way he knew for years that something was different, something he couldn't pinpoint until he finally did. They would chase him down and call him ponce and poofter as they beat him bloody. He learned to fight back, but he was always outnumbered. He would get his licks in and win a battle or two, but they would always win the war. For Alfred joining the Royal Marines was as much about escape from Brixton as it was any career or patriotic calling.

“You up?”

Alfred blinked when he heard the voice. It brought him back to reality. Lost in thought, he had walked down the block on autopilot and ended up in front of two kids standing on the street corner. Drug dealers, he assumed, with clothing too nice and expensive for kids on this side of tome. Neither of the boys looked older than fifteen.

“Yo,” the boy’s friend repeated. “You up, unc?”

“‘Fraid not, gents,” he said sheepishly.

The sound of his voice sent the two boys into fits of laughter.

“Yoooo, check this nigga out. This motherfucker on some shake-a-spear shit.”

“Just passing through is all,” said Alfred, his hands out. “Not looking for trouble.”

“Well too fucking bad, my nigga,” one of the boys hissed. He pulled up his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Because you sure as fuck found trouble.”

It would be very easy, Alfred surmised. He was older than them by nearly forty years but they were soft. They were children play acting in a gangster farce. It would almost be comical if not for the gun. The boy with the weapon had probably never fired the thing. And even if he had the very idea of proper firearm handling and form would be foreign to him. He could disarm him in as few as two moves, disable both him and his friend in another three, and go about his business.

“Hey,” a voice called out.

Another boy emerged from the bodega across the street and walked over with a sub and soda in hand. He looked to be about the same age as the other two, but there was a difference. He had the quiet confidence of command. The other boys were playing a part, a part he seemed to actually be living. If it was indeed an act, thought Alfred, then it was a fine performance.

“Tree, Mac, the fuck is you doing?”

“Tre, We’re just--” one of the boy started sheepishly.

Tre held his free hand up to silence the boy. “I gave you two jobs: serve customers and keep the count straight. This old nigga look like a fiend to you, Mac?”

The one called Mac shrugged and looked at his feet.

“Guess not,” said Tre. He turned his attention to Alfred and gave the older man a cold look. “If you ain’t coping get the fuck on before something bad happen to you.”

Alfred walked away without another word. He could feel the eyes of the kids on him as he walked. He finally found the house he was searching for at the end of the block. It was one of the few row houses still in good condition. It looked to him as if it had been maintained regularly, but whoever was responsible for the work had fallen off and a decline was in progress. He rapped softly at the door and waited before it opened just a crack.

“Alfie?”

“In the flesh.”

The door opened wider. Alfred smiled at the sight of the old woman with the wide grin.

“Didi,” said Alfred.

The two shared a warm embraced before Alfred followed her into the house.

“I heard years ago that you moved to America,” Didi said with a thick African accent. “But I had no idea you were so close. Why in the world would someone choose to live in Gotham?”

“Same reason you did, Didi,” said Alfred. “Family. Phillip was born and raised here and we were both tired of dreary old Europe.”

Alfred noticed the walls of the house were a testament of a life well-lived. Pictures of a much younger Didi Walde, a group photo of her with the Ethiopian delegation to the United Nations, a few with the heads of state of various countries. Her and her husband, her and her son, a young boy Alfred assumed was a grandson. There was one photo that stopped him in his tracks: Didi with a much younger and slimmer Captain Pennyworth one one side, and Petty Officer Wayne on the other.

“How is Phillip?” asked Didi.

“He passed,” said Alfred. He shook his head and flashed a smile when he saw the look on Didi’s face. “It's okay. It happened quite some time ago. It was very peaceful. And Samson?”

“Heart attack five years ago this July.”

Didi sank into a chintz armchair while Alfred found the sofa next to her.

"I miss him every day."

Alfred reached out and took Didi's hand into his. “I didn’t know Samson very well. He was a quiet fellow, but he seemed to be a good man.”

“He was,” mumbled Didi. “If he wasn't we wouldn't have been together for forty years. As for Phillip, I knew he was a good man. If I may ask… is there anyone else?”

“Heavens no,” said Alfred. “After his death I focused on helping to raise his -- our -- nephew, Bruce. I just… never had a desire to seek someone else.”

“You’re still young." Didi raised an eyebrow when she saw Alfred was about to protest. "Younger than me, at least.”

“I know.” A small smile formed on Alfred’s lips. “But what I had with Phillip was so right, I couldn’t hope to duplicate it.”

“And you never will,” said Didi. “But you can try.”

Alfred chuckled. “Surely you didn’t look me up out of the blue after thirty years to inquire about my love life?”

“No,” Didi said softly. She pulled her hand away from Alfred and started to clench and unclench her fists while she spoke. “No, I did not. As I said, Samson is dead. As is David, two years before Samson. When Samson died it left just me and Elijah, David's son. The boy’s mother we lost to the streets. She may still be out there, but we have no way of finding her. He’s only sixteen, Alfie, and I haven’t seen him in almost a week.”

"What happened?" asked Alfred.

“The last time we spoke,” she said. “We had a fight. I had received a phone call from his school. He hadn’t shown up in weeks. I asked him where was he going, what was he doing, and who with. We had a fight and he left. I said some terrible things as he walked out the door. He hasn’t answered his phone. I put in a missing persons report with the police, but--”

“He’s the gender, wrong color, living in the wrong neighborhood,” said Alfred.

“Exactly. Can you help me find him?”

Alfred nodded slowly.

“I’ll do what I can, Didi. But what if he doesn’t want to come back home?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Just… make sure he’s alright and he knows that he can come home anytime he wants.”

Alfred stood and looked down at Didi. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“With you and your nephew, do you know what it’s like to see him leave and always wonder if he’ll come back alive? The possibility that you'll never see him again? You’ll ever get to tell him that you love him?"

“Yes,” said Alfred. “I do.”

“Then you know why this is important then.”

---

Kane Terrace Housing Projects
2:04 PM

Eli Wolde sat behind the wheel of the junky stolen car. It took him all of two minutes to break into the shitbox with a slim jim and hotwire it up. After that he cruised to the spot to pick up O and the other two. After that Eli cruised to the entrance of the Terrace and put the car in park. That had been almost twelve hours ago. The four of them kept their eyes peeled on the comings and going of the high rise housing project. Eli looked up into the rearview mirror. O sat in the back with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. O’s eyes never stopped watching and observing. TT in the front passenger seat stretched and yawned.

“Yo, O, can we get some food or something? I’m about to bug the fuck out out.”

“Go ahead,” said O. “But you gotta walk. I’m staying here.”

TT and Roc got out the car and started down the street. Eli looked back up into the rearview mirror saw O looking at him.

“Why you staying, youngin'?”

“It ain’t a stakeout if we go get something to eat in the middle of it, now is it?.”

O grinned, the cigarette still between his lips. When he spoke the tip of it bounced up and down.

“Well, what you seeing since you acting like some hardcore Semper Fi motherfucker?”

Eli ran his hands along the steering wheel and spoke. “KT Crew works around the clock. Product comes in twice a day. When they bring the reup, they also move the money out. The slingers look like punks, but the guys who are the couriers look like soldiers. Not fuck with me types.”

“So, you being a ambitious stick-up boy like you is, how you gonna separate them fools from their product?”

“Fuck the drugs,” said Eli. “Let the courier go in with the dope. We follow him as he leaves with the cash and hit him up then. Money splits easier and spends a whole lot quicker. They can always buy more dope and coke.”

“Okay, okay,” said O. “I see you. You out here watching and thinking. More than the other two knuckleheads. And when would you try to stick up the courier?”

“The late shift. Less police presence around when it gets to be about three or four AM and less people out in the Terrace. The courier won’t have much backup if shit goes bad.”

“My nigga,’ O said proudly. “We gonna make a soldier out of you yet.”

---

City Hall
3:30 PM

“This is crazy.”

Jim shook his head and started to stand up. Akins placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave a subtle headshake. The Deputy Commissioner had more political savvy than Jim could ever hope to muster. On matters like this Jim knew he could trust his judgement.

“Just hear him out,” whispered Akins.

The conference room meeting had Mayor Hamilton Hill, the group of sycophants he called a staff, GCPD brass, and this ridiculous third party. A group of high-end lawyers flanked the big man with the shaved head and the suit that cost more money than Jim made in a month. The big man stood and flashed an oily smile.

“I understand your concerns, Commissioner,” he said. “May I call you Jim?”

“Commissioner Gordon’s fine,” Jim bristled. “And I will not willingly cede protection of this city over to mercenaries, Mr. Bolton.”

Jim saw a slight twitch just above Bolton’s right eyebrow. The annoyance on his face disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He put the charm back on and smiled. “The Thornguard Group is among the largest and most professional privatized security and corrections companies in America. We are publicly traded and our oversight is impeccable. Our current administration deal with Blackgate entitles us to a franchise exploration into Gotham City.”

Jim stabbed his finger down on to the table surface. “When it comes to policing, the last thing we should be thinking about are franchise and shareholders. Your business is keeping people locked up, and if you cut out the middleman you’ll also be responsible for arresting the people that keep your business going. Not only that but the city of Gotham will be paying you for it.”

“Commissioner,” one of Bolton’s lawyers spoke up. “Look at the data. Crime in both the Finger Homes and Kane Terrace are through the roof. And it’s gotten worse since you took over as commissioner. Let the private sector do what the police department can’t: keep people safe.”

“By giving guns to a bunch of men who couldn’t become cops or got kicked out of the army--”

“Our men are the best money can buy,” said Bolton. ”They are thoroughly vetted, have extensive training and know--”

“What does it even matter?” asked Gordon. “This is a done deal, right Mr. Mayor?”

Hill coughed and adjusted his tie. He spoke without making eye contact.

“As Mr. Bolton said, Thornguard does have a franchise right that they are exercising. And it will just be concentrated at the two housing projects, as previously stated. A test run, if you will.”

“We expect all GCPD personnel to discontinue patrols into the Finger and Kane Terrace Homes effective at midnight tonight.”

Jim stood, shrugging off Akins’ hand. He squared his glasses on his face and looked at Bolton before turning around.

“I’ll let Chief O’Hara know. Deputy Akins here will be available for any questions going forward.”

He stormed out the room, ignoring both Akins and Hill and their attempts to get him to come back in. Jim fished through his pocket and pulled out his phone, lighter, and pack of cigarettes. He lit up a cigarette in the hall, not really giving a damn about non-smoking laws, and typed out a quick text to a number listed in his phone as Pteropodidae.

GOTHAM CENTRAL ROOF
AFTER SUNSET

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Very odd/niche question; but what is the Gotham football team called?

@Natty

The Gotham Orphans.