Byrd Man

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

That's not including all the time I took finding the icons, sizing them and making them transparent. Oh and I made the song title gif from scratch too.

@Lord Wraith

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

THINK OF HOW MANY GODDAMN POSTS YOU COULD WRITE IN THE TIME IT TOOK YOU TO CODE THAT BULLSHIT!

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

I think this is the peak of my BBCode and/or insanity.

@Lord Wraith

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Part I:
“Season of the Witch”

Gotham Village
1647

Alice Young looked out the window of her room. Dawn was still a few hours off, but she could make out the dim shapes of the stockade fence in the dark. She knew just past those fences, well within walking distance, would be the gallows. At daybreak they would slip a rope around her pale, slender neck and tighten it until she could barely breath. Then a hood would cover her face and Minister Thatcher would read the list of charges against Alice and pray for her soul. Then there would come the drop… and hellfire that followed.

Not that Alice believed in hell. Or at least not the hell that Thatcher sold his flock. She had no use for the old man’s tales. She kept the old gods, the ones of her mother and her mother before her. Alice carried them over to the New World with her, keeping them secret from the rest of the god-botherers she’d traveled across the water with.

She lived outside the village proper, in her little hut made of mud and sticks, and was only occasionally bothered when some desperate mother came to her door with a sick babe looking for a healing. Her reputation in the village bought her peace from everyone else. She was one of the few in the area who did not attend Thatcher’s torturous sermons and nobody missed her presence. They would give passing glances her way on the few occasions she came to town. They muttered crone and hag after she passed, but always under their breath. The rumor was that a farmer who crossed her ended up losing half a herd of cattle to blackleg. That fear kept her safe from their rage. Their fear bought her a wary respect.

But then the sickness came. The pox ran roughshod over the village that winter. Sixteen, the young and old most of their number, were taken by the disease. From his pulpit, Thatcher rained fire and brimstone down on the villagers. There had to be a reason for God’s displeasure. They had done something to offend Him. And since there were no Jews to blame, their eye turned to Alice. A mob came for her in the middle of the night and dragged her from the hut, her nails scratching across the dirt floor as she tried to fight.

The mob searched her house and found damning evidence. They found the shrine Alice had erected to her gods, the little sculptures of wood and rock that represented the fae and those gods who were in existence long before some Roman scribbled the name Jesus Christ on a piece of parchment. They found the drawings on the walls. The shapes and forms that represented the sacred geometry. The things that kept the darkness at bay.

“Good morning, Alice.”

The soft, velvety voice made Alice jump. She spun around and saw him… a tall, thin man with a mustache and wearing some outlandish clothing Alice had never seen before. Form fitting and ostentatious, it was in stark contrast of the people of Gotham’s modest dress. She’d never seen it before because it didn’t exist. Not yet, anyway. The word Victorian wouldn’t mean anything to the world. Not for another two hundred years.

“Who are you?” Alice hissed.

“Names…” the man chuckled. “Names have power, you must certainly know that. If you must call me anything… Call me The Architect.”

At the mention of names, Alice began to dig into the dirt with her fingers. She etched shapes into the ground and stepped back until she was pressed against the wall.

“Stay back, creature.”

“I mean you no harm,” said The Architect. “At least not in the way the people of this village mean you harm. Aren’t they funny? The people of Gotham. They cling to their scripture and pray to their skygod, someone who has long since grown bored of His creation and turns a deaf ear to their pleas.”

The Architect walked forward until he was at the very edge of the line of shapes Alice had drawn in the dirt. He glanced down at them and chuckled as he brushed them away with the toe of his shoe.

“I am not some creature or spirit simple runes can hold back. I am something more, Alice Young. I am beyond heaven or hell. So save your tricks for someone else, hag.”

“What… do you want?”

“I’ve come to strike a bargain,” he said with a smile.

Alice had heard this story before. The handsome stranger mysteriously shows up and is looking to make a deal. It never ended well, and there was always some unforeseen cost. But she was facing the gallows in just a few hours. If the choice was this… thing’s offer or whatever awaited her at the other end of the hangman’s rope… well, that wasn’t really much of a choice at all.

“What did you have in mind?” Alice asked.

---

Gotham City
2020

“Where the hell am I?”

Tork looked up at cracked facade of the church. He could make out the faded letters of “Our Lady of Sorrows” against the side of the building. This was the thirteenth precinct? This rundown, shabby little church with the boarded-up windows was supposed to be home to the Detailed Case Taskforce?

“It’s not much.”

Tork turned at the voice. Standing on the sidewalk beside him was a man in black suit. Tork noticed the emerald tie around his neck matched his eyes. His bright red hair had a shock of white running through it.

“But it’s home,” he said before he offered his hand. “Detective Jim Corrigan. Are you the new sergeant?”

“Frank Tork.” They shook hands. Tork did his best to not make a face when he felt Corrigan’s clammy hand against his. The detective made an apologetic face.

“Poor circulation, sarge. Let’s go inside and meet the rest of the gang.”

The inside was as dumpy as the outside, Tork found. The entire nave was gutted. The space that had once held rows and rows of pews was now devoid of that. Desks and metal work tables were scattered around the room in place of a pew. Though the church still held some of its former trappings. Tork was brought back to his Catholic school days by the statue of Christ on the cross hung on the far wall. The son of God's eyes were frozen in agony and they seemed to follow Tork as he walked across the room.

"So what exactly do you guys do here?" Asked Tork. "I hear stories."

"I bet you do," Corrigan chuckled. "None of them good, I bet. We do a bit of this and that."

Tork was about to ask what they exactly meant when the front door opened and an honest to God nun walked in. Tork felt his pulse quicken at the sight. He thought of the nuns at Sisters of Mercy and the metal rulers they used with impunity.

"Sister Justine," said Corrigan. "Come meet the new sergeant."

“Why is there a nun?” asked Tork.

“And a good evening to you, too, sergeant” Sister Justine said with just a trace of an Irish brogue.

“Sister Justine is one of two civilian consultants Detailed Cases employs,” said Corrigan. “She has a double doctorate in theology and abnormal psychology, a masters in archeology... and am I forgetting something?”

“A bachelor's degree in criminal justice,” said Sister Justine. “Tell me, Sergeant... “

"Tork. Frank Tork.”

“Short for Francis, is it?”

Tork cleared his throat. “Yes, Sister.”

“You were raised Catholic, right?”

Tork was taken aback. “How’d you know?”

“The fear,” Sister Justine said with a grin. “I can see it in your eyes, Francis. No doubt you had a few run-ins with the sisters.”

Tork heard a loud bang somewhere, followed by shouting in a foreign language Tork couldn’t readily identify but sounded Eastern European in nature.

“That’s our other consultant,” said Corrigan. “Dr. Lazlo Tarr. He specializes in forensic pathology, among other unconventional sciences.”

Tork put a hand to his forehead. A nun and a forensic pathologist on the payroll for this weird as hell unit. He needed to talk to a grownup.

“Where’s the CO?”

“Lieutenant Haskins has left for the day,” Corrigan said with a smirk. “He’s really more of a 9 to 5 type of guy.”

“Doesn’t like to keep our hours,” said Sister Justine.

“So... ,” said Tork. “Who’s in charge?”

“I guess you are,” said Corrigan. “You’ve got the rank.”

Tork started to say something, but a radio on Corrigan’s desk squawked to life.

“Charlie-13, it’s Delta-5. Do you copy?”

“It’s Drake,” Corrigan said to Tork. “The other detective in the unit.”

Corrigan picked the mobile radio off its charge cradle and pressed the button.

“Charlie-13, go ahead Delta-5.”

“Jim, I think we got something. The boys at the 3-7 called in a homicide that sounds like it's up our alley. It’s run of the mill except for one thing… an eyewitness saw the doer walking through walls.”

“Copy that. Give us your twenty and we’ll head out.”

Corrigan looked over at Tork and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re in luck, sarge. You’re about to get a first hand look at exactly we do here.”

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

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 NIGHT SHIFT

---

^{_{Jim Corrigan♦ Lisa Drake ♦ Michael Tork♦ Sister Justine ♦ Dr. Lazlo Tarr}}

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

---

<sup>"My troubles they are many, they're as deep as a well.
I can swear there ain't no heaven but I pray there ain't no hell"
-- Blood, Sweat & Tears

"There are things that go bump in the night, make no mistake about that. And we are the ones that bump back."
-- Guillermo del Toro.</sup>

Located in a condemned church, the GCPD's unofficial 13th precinct, is a section of the police force known only as the Detailed Case Task Force. An off-shoot of major crimes, their mandate is vague and their funding is immense. They have never made an official arrest, their work has never resulted in a legal conviction, and the few items of paperwork they submit are confusing. To the politicians they are a prime example of government waste.

But the truth is very simple:

Gotham City is cursed.
Poisoned by shadow.
It can't possibly survive...
without protection.

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:

---

I want to tag up on a lot of the same themes and ideas I used during my last Constantine run a few games ago. The power of cities, the ghosts and memories that coexist together to give a place its sense of being. In addition to that, I just like the idea of supernatural cops and tackling the macabre history of cities.

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

---

Characters:

Jim Corrigan -- GCPD Detective. Spirit of Vengeance.
Lisa Drake -- GCPD Detective. Psychic.
Sister Justine -- Nun. Exorcist.
Dr. Lazlo Tarr -- Doctor. Graverobber?
Lt. Haskins -- Supervisor. 459 days until retirement.
Sergeant Francis Tork -- New arrival. Skeptic.
Jim Craddock "The Gentleman Ghost" -- Spirit. Snitch.

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

---

“Season of the Witch”

1.
2.
3.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Unknown Planet
Unknown Sector

“There’s someone out there in the wastes…”

The soldier looked out from his trench after his partner’s comment. Sure enough, a figure could be seen through the shimmering desert air. The soldier spat and pulled out his telespecs. There was never anyone out here in this section. This part of the wastes stretched on for miles. So many miles no one had been able to traverse them all and live to tell about it. The soldiers were only on sentry duty here because it was where they sent troops when they rotated off the front. So little action it counted as R&R.

“It’s an alien,” he said to his partner. “Unidentified type.”

They slid ther rifles off their shoulders and trained them on the figure as it approached. The alien’s long black hair dangled over its sunburned face. It shuffled seemingly unaware of the two weapons the soldiers were pointing at it.

“Halt!” The soldier yelled. “Halt and identify yourself.”

“Water…”

The alien collapsed in front of them. The soldiers climbed out of their trench and inspected it. It was covered in a hard exoskeleton that, after vigorous poking, revealed itself to be body armor. It looked a lot like them, at least on the surface. On the chest of the armor was a strange sigil neither one of them recognized.

“Water?” one of the soldiers asked. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

"What side is it on?" The soldier's partner said, a finger cocked at the emerald symbol on the armor.

“I have no idea,” he said to his partner. “But this is officially beyond our paygrade. We need to take it to the captain.”

---

Cromica C21
Space Sector 2814

Jelcs sighed deeply as he looked himself over in the mirror. He felt like a fool in the chief constable’s tunic, the blaster on his hip so heavy that it weighed down his trousers. There was still blood on the side of the shirt where Melm had bled out. Melm had been a real lawman, a former MP in the Shi’ar navy before a long career as city cop in the Shi'ar homeworld. He was picked by the provisional government to keep the peace because he was hands down the best candidate. Jelcs was an afterthought, picked as deputy because they needed someone and he was once a paralegal back home. He knew laws and rules. But enforcing them? That was Melm’s department.

At least it had been up until a week ago. Now it was Jelcs’ job. He tried to recruit a deputy, but every time it was brought up people ran the other way after politely declining. They were the smart ones, Jelcs figured. Whoever ended up as his deputy knew it would only be a matter of time before they took Jecls’ place as chief constable. He was in the rickety building that served as the jailhouse, little more than two cells and just enough room for a desk. The cells were where the rowdy drunks went. They’d never had anything more serious than a wifebeater in the cells. Anything above that? Well Pax’s people took care of them.

Jelcs looked up when he felt the shaking. His first thought was that it was an earthquake. Cromica didn’t have that kind of geological instability, he thought. But with all the mining who he hell knew what kind of shape the planet was in now? A loud boom cracked and Jelcs raced towards the door with his heart in his throat. It was a dropship, he figured. Had to be the Kree coming to take the planet over after so many years of speculation. There was no way in hell they could even begin to put up a fight--

The townspeople outside were gathered and staring up at the sky. When Jelcs saw what it was, he almost wished a Kree dropshop had appeared instead. An honest to god Green Lantern hovered a few hundred feet above the town. He looked down at theme with something Jelcs could only describe as detached curiosity. Like a kid back home playing with a nest of darnuks. There were a few screams as the Lantern began his descent down to the ground. The group of people scattered and took cover. By the time he touched down, only Jelcs remained to meet him.

“Lantern Jordan, 2814.1,” he announced to Jelcs. “I’m searching for Chief Constable Korvus Melm.”

“He’s dead,” Jelcs croaked out. “He… was killed last week.”

Jelcs saw the Lantern’s eyes take him in. He noticed the blaster on Jelcs’ hip and the logo stitched into the breast of the tunic.

“And my powers of observation tell me you’re his replacement?”

“You can’t replace Melm,” said Jelcs. “But… I am the new chief constable, yes.”

“I have been ordered by the Guardians of Oa to take over peacekeeping duties for this planet and system. You are hereby relieved of your duties.”

He felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was now someone else’s problem. More specifically, it was a Green Lantern’s problem. He could now go back to his family and burgeoning farm on the outskirts of town and---

“But I am using the powers vested in me by the Guardians of Oa to declare you a temporary auxiliary member of the Green Lantern Corps.”

Jelcs looked up at the Lantern and furrowed his brow. “What?!”

“I was told the situation here is tricky,” said Jordan.

“That’s… one way of putting it, yes.”

“Well I’ll need someone to use as a guide,” he said with a hint of a smirk “And since you’re both the planet's top lawman and the first lifeform who didn’t run at the sight of me, that someone is you.”

Jelcs sighed. He could say no. May be a bit foolish to say no to Green Lantern… but it was now his mess to deal with. It was his job, literally. Jelcs hadn’t asked for any of this, but yet here he was. Why, exactly? Because he believed in the law. He believed in justice and duty and all that other stuff a cynic would call silly. But Jelcs was a believer. He believed in making Cormica a better place, better than the planet they'd come from. It’s why they made the journey here in the first place.

“Well, Lantern Jordan,” he finally said. “What can I help you with?”

---

Oa
Space Sector 0001

Sinestro stared at the galactic map. The holographic display covered the entire wall of the Citadel’s operations room. Thousands of green points of light covered the map. There were so many that an uninformed spectator would think they were stars. But every dot represented the locations of each and every one of the thousands of Green Lanterns operating across the void. With the map Sinestro could zoom in to see the movements of every Lantern and their status. What planet they were on, what their current assignment was, and even how their vital signs were reading. Detailed data on every Lantern under his command.

All of them except one.

Well, two actually. But Gardner’s lack of appearance on the map was for a reason.

“Stare at the map all you like, it won’t make her appear.”

Sinestro turned and saw Salaak standing there, all four of his arms crossed and his three eyes staring at Sinestro without blinking. Those eyes unnerved many wrongdoers and Lanterns with something to hide. They seemed to stare into you and see something deep down in your soul. Sinestro once heard Salaak’s species were telepathic, but those rumors were as of yet unfounded.

“Two Oan years,” said Sinestro. “That’s how long we’ve been waiting on the New Men to provide us with their report on the incident between their fleet and Lantern Cruz.”

“These things take time. Diplomacy works slow, but it is steady.”

Sinestro drummed his long fingers on the console in front of the galactic map. He’d read their report on Cruz’s last moments so many times he could recall the details exactly. Elevated heart rate and adrenaline, typical for humans engaged in battle. But then, curiously, her glucose levels dipped as everything spiked. Their default expert on humans, Lantern Jordan, had said, after a quick information search, that glucose was found in the human blood stream and was what they used for energy. After the spike and depletion of glucose, Cruz’s vitals… flatlined.

No legacy protocol issued by her ring, no sign of her body when a recovery crew was dispatched. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a body. The recovery crew had been turned away by the Rannians on the grounds of top-secret security. For fear of kicking off an even worse incident they obliged. But whatever had happened above Bion ended wiping out their entire war fleet. Cruz could have easily done that herself. She'd definitely inflicted her fair share of punishment, but had it been at the cost of her own life? Sinestro thought of those ghouls with one of his Lantern’s bodies and it made his blood boil.

“Computer,” he announced without warning. “Hail the Rannian government. Encrypted communication, only for the Premier’s eyes.”

“What are you doing?” asked Salaak.

“Diplomacy, old friend,” said Sinestro with a smirk.

After a few moments, the galactic map in front of them disappeared. Replacing it was the image of a Rannian man with slightly reptilian features blinking back at them. His hazy eyes and mussed hair made it clear he had been woken from sleep. Sinestro had no idea what the local time was on Rann, and he didn’t really care.

“Your Premiership,” he said with a slight bow. “I am Senior Lantern Thaal Sinestro, and this is Senior Lantern Salaak we are--”

“What is the meaning of this?” the Premier thundered. “We are in talks with your people over the incident. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night. Do you not understand proper channels, Lantern?”

“The time for talk is over,” said Sinestro. He crossed his arms as he spoke. “You’ve wasted enough of our time. A fellow Lantern is missing, something that we do not take lightly. And you and your people are to blame for it. You violated intergalactic law with your attempted invasion of Bion. Our transcripts of the moments before the ‘incident’ as you call it show that your military officers disregarded an order from Lantern Cruz to stand down. You attacked one of our own, Premier. The only reason your planet is still intact is because Lantern Salaak here dictates that the Green Lantern Corps must abide by the rules and regulations set out by the law. A law you and your people openly flaunt.”

“The invasion of Bion was undertaken by a rogue military faction,” said the Premier. “Their actions were not approved by our government. So do not preach to me about intergalactic law.”

“Then release the report,” said Salaak. “Let us know what happened and what happened to our fellow Lantern. The sooner we clear this all up, the calmer it will make my fellow Lantern here, and the sooner we can move on.”

“I know what this is,” the Premier said through gritted teeth. “Good Lantern, Bad Lantern.”

“No,” Sinestro said softly. He held his right hand up so that the Premier could see his power ring crackle with energy. “No mind games, no tricks. This is a simple message to you and the people of Rann. With one Lantern, we destroyed your entire fleet. With two Lanterns? Who knows what damage we could do. End transmission.”

The last thing they saw before the video cut out, was a look of terror on the Premier’s face.

“I don’t know if that was wise,” Salaak said after it was over.

“Probably not,” Sinestro shrugged. “But at the very least it will get things moving in a direction. The Corps has been around a long time and some seemed to take us for granted. The galaxy has to know, Salaak, that you cannot attack a member of this Corps and walk away unscathed.”

Post Deletion Request

There you go. Think I got them all.

Mahz's Dev Journal

Bump again.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

So I'm going to do something I haven't done in a very long time.

Second character(s)

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 NIGHT SHIFT

---

^{_{Jim Corrigan♦ Lisa Drake ♦ Michael Tork♦ Sister Justine ♦ Dr. Lazlo Tarr}}

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

---

<sup>"My troubles they are many, they're as deep as a well.
I can swear there ain't no heaven but I pray there ain't no hell"
-- Blood, Sweat & Tears

"There are things that go bump in the night, make no mistake about that. And we are the ones that bump back."
-- Guillermo del Toro.</sup>

Located in a condemned church, the GCPD's unofficial 13th precinct, is a section of the police force known only as the Detailed Case Task Force. An off-shoot of major crimes, their mandate is vague and their funding is immense. They have never made an official arrest, their work has never resulted in a legal conviction, and the few items of paperwork they submit are confusing. To the politicians they are a prime example of government waste.

But the truth is very simple:

Gotham City is cursed.
Poisoned by shadow.
It can't possibly survive...
without protection.

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:

---

I want to tag up on a lot of the same themes and ideas I used during my last Constantine run a few games ago. The power of cities, the ghosts and memories that coexist together to give a place its sense of being. In addition to that, I just like the idea of supernatural cops and tackling the macabre history of cities.

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

---

Characters:

Jim Corrigan -- GCPD Detective. Spirit of Vengeance.
Lisa Drake -- GCPD Detective. Psychic.
Sister Justine -- Nun. Exorcist.
Dr. Lazlo Tarr -- Doctor. Graverobber?
Lt. Haskins -- Supervisor. 459 days until retirement.
Sergeant Francis Tork -- New arrival. Skeptic.
Jim Craddock "The Gentleman Ghost" -- Spirit. Snitch.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Park Row
Gotham City
1877

“I command any spirits here among us to make their presence known.”

Gerturde Dixon said the line like she had thousands of times before. The rest of the guests around her séance table kept their eyes tightly shut, but not Gertrude’s. Her eyes cut through the dim candlelight to look at the half-dozen people holding hands around her table. They were the usual sort that always came to her parties: the idle rich who had more money than sense. The were bored with what the physical world had to offer, so they sought out answers in the mystical realm. And because they could afford her prices, they always came to the First Lady of American Spiritualism herself.

“Can you feel it?” she asked the gathering. “Something in the air…a scent.”

Gertrude pressed a small pedal underneath the table. The pedal and the pneumatic hose attached to it ran under the floorboards and behind the walls of her parlor. Hidden nozzles throughout the room sprayed perfume into the air.

“Lilacs,” one of the women in the group said. A tear started to run down her cheek as she began to open her eyes. “My mother’s--”

“Keep your eyes shut,” Gertrude snapped. “I implore you, keep your eyes shut and focus your mental energy on the task at hand!”

She pressed another pedal. A metal rod slowly pushed out of a floorboard compartment and stopped just short of striking underneath the table.

“If there are spirits here, I command you to give us a sign.”

Gerturde tapped the pedal again. The metal bar thumped hard against the table and made it rattle. Her guests all opened their eyes, taken aback at the sight.

“Keep your eyes shut!”

Before Getrude could continue, the séance table shook again. Her next line died in her mouth as the table continued to shake and rattle. She wasn’t doing this. The guests all recoiled back when the table started to levitate. Gertude herself fought the urge to scream in shock.

For almost forty years she’d been pulling the spiritual medium grift on rubes like the ones before her. It was the only way to get out of the hoochie coochie show at the carnival she grew up in. If she could make a buck and not have to show her tits or touch any yokel’s prick then she was all for it. But in all that time, she had never seen anything like this. Stunned, Gertude tried to speak. Instead of her own voice, however, something harsh and sounding like breaking glass came from her throat.

“Gotham City is cursed,” the strange rasped to the guests. “Poisoned by shadow. It can't possibly survive…”

Gertrude reached for her throat. Her weathered hands gripped it, but she realized that she had no control over what they were doing. She gasped for breath and collapsed from the chair as her own hands strangled her to death.

---

Arclight Theatre
Gotham City
1932

"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to witness the Great Gigante's most fantastic escape yet!"

The MC stood at the edge of the stage and beamed at the audience. Behind him, a curtain had been drawn in front of the Great Gigante. The master escape artist had been secured in a straitjacket before being dangled over a vat of starving piranhas. If he didn't free himself within thirty seconds, the chain holding him above the water would detach and drop him into the vat.

After thirty seconds, the chain detached with a loud crash. The crowd gasped n shock, but the MC was confident. Gigante had done this trick so many times he could do it in his sleep. The MC had seen it with his own eyes earlier today. Gigante kept a bobby-pin embedded in his cheek. When the curtain came down, he'd use it to unlock the first series of locks that kept his hands in place. With his hands, it would be child's play for Gigante to dismantle the other locks and swing free before the chain dropped.

"Behold!" the MC announced as the curtain dropped.

The gasps turned to screams. The vat of water was now filled with cloudy red water. Clamped tightly to the edge of the vat was Gigante's severed hands. Written on the tank, in the dead escapeologist's own blood, were the words:

GOTHAM CITY IS CURSED
POISONED BY SHADOW
IT CAN'T POSSIBLY SURVIVE

---

The Bowery
Gotham City
2019

"TORK!"

Drake shouted at the top of her lungs as she grabbed Tork by the sleeve. He tried to speak, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His legs wouldn't work, even though he was screaming in his mind for them to start fucking moving. Standing less than ten feet in front of him... was an honest to god werewolf. It was over seven feet tall on its hind legs with razor sharp claws and teeth that looked like they could punch a hole in the side of an armored car.

The werewolf tilted its head to the sky and howled across the night. That snapped Tork's mind into action.

"RUN!" He shouted.

He and Drake booked it through the alley. The werewolf howled again and started to give chase. Tork knew they couldn't out run this monster. Even now he could hear the scrape of its claws on the asphalt and hear the rasps of its breath as it beared down upon them.

"Duck!" a voice shouted at the mouth of the alley.

There was Sister Justine standing at the entrance of the alley. Clamped in her withered hands was a shotgun. Even though Tork was running for his life, he couldn't help but notice the ornate designs on the gun barrel. Carvings of roses and words in Latin. Tork and Drake fell to the ground as Justine fired. The werewolf howled in pain as the blast caught him flush in the chest and face. It crumpled to the ground whining. Tork got to his feet, his legs shaking.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tork yelled. He pointed a finger back at the monster "What the hell is that?"

"The Park Row Slasher," said Sister Justine. "And watch your blaspheming, Francis."

"Did you not hear us mention several times we were dealing with a werewolf?" Drake asked. She leveled her pistol at the wounded wolf was she spoke.

"I thought you were taking poetic license! I didn't know you meant a literal fucking werewolf!"

"This is what we do, sergeant," said Drake. "We fight werewolves, witches, and the occult. If it's spooky and bad, we're against it."

"Gotham City is cursed," said Sister Justine. "Poisoned by shadow. It can't possibly survive--"

They all turned as they heard the werewolf stir and growl. Sister Justine stepped forward and racked another round into the shotgun chamber.

"It can't possibly survive... without protection."

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Completed Sheet, I might come by a few hundred times to fix grammar errors and the like, but nothing big should change.

He Doth Blow his Horn, and Hark his Merry Men...

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

T H E G R E E N A R R O W

---

^{_{O L I V E R Q U E E N ♦ R E N E G A D E ♦ S T A R C I T Y ♦ L E A G U E O F S H A D O W S}}

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

---

^{"This City Really Does Deserve Better."}

After an invitation to a banished Vtalavian Count by the name of Werner Vertigo turns sour the political battle for control goes awry for the top family in Star City. Robert Queen, his wife and immediate family, along with a good number of his closest confidants and business partners are murdered aboard the family’s private yacht. The boat is sunk, and all the world is led to believe the entirety of the Queen family, alone with several other affluent names are gone forever lost in a storm at sea. However, the League of Shadows, the hired murderers responsible for the slaughter did not fulfill their contract to the letter. Instead they kidnapped two young children from the Queen and Merlyn families respectively to train as prospective assassins for the League. They were of the prime age, and their potential was made clear that terrible night when the two fought bitterly to save their own lives, impressing the cold-blooded Slade Wilson. Oliver Queen and Thomas Merlyn at the tender age of eleven were both presumed dead alongside their families. In truth the boys were undergoing the grueling training and corruptive brain washing preparing them to become worthy Shadows on the remote and frozen island off the coast of Russia. There they would grow to become deadly warriors, fierce and unstoppable. Oliver was recognized for his guile, and Thomas for his grit, and through even the cruelest nights, and harshest days they managed to not only survive but thrive within the Cult's lower ranks. Somehow, after years of service and all the indoctrination Oliver never forgot who he really was, and what had truly transpired. Always trapped in the back of his mind was the truth, fighting to shatter the mental chains and fly free.

After a decade in the service of the Shadows, Oliver was sent on a kill mission through his childhood home of Star City. The hit was simple and conducted without a hitch, but in the few hours of downtime between departure to his next assignment he felt compelled to visit him home. It was not the place he recalled. Oliver was shocked to find the blossoming city he remembered from his youth had been crippled, plagued by crime and ruled through a puppet city government by Count Vertigo. Everything that he’d lost at the orders of the Count then returned to Oliver, and his conditioning began to peel away. He felt the pain of loss, and the shame at the blood his own hands had split. It took weeks for him to swallow all his tears and in the end he became obsessed with turning the wretched, city-wide collapse around. Abandoning the Shadows and everything he knew Oliver Queen fled back to Star and began preparing for a war retake the fallen city from the monsters who ruled it from the highest towers, and lowest slums. He would take on a new identity, one he remembered hearing stories of while being tucked into bed by his mother and father. He would become the Hooded Archer, the Prince of Tricks, The Green Arrow.

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:

---

The idea behind this version of Green Arrow is to have Oliver Queen set within a hostile city that has forgotten the billionaire, and sees only the renegade outlaw fighting against the foul disease that has infected his home. Without a multi-national billion dollar corporation supporting his vigilantism, Queen will be forced to rely more on his wits and guile than fancy arrows and knock-off Batman gadgets. Battling gangsters, corrupt police, white collar criminals, and Shadows all with a giddy laugh and yet another trick up his sleeve, this is the Robin Hood-esque figure I'm interested in writing about.

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

---

Supporting Cast

William Harper - William is a Park Ranger living in the Graylord State forest with his son Roy, and his wife Maria, only a few miles from Star City. He is sympathetic to Oliver's mission, thanks to a mutual connection through Robert Queen cause and provides shelter, medical aid, and sanctuary for Oliver in his time of need.

Roy Harper - Roy is the son of a pair of Park Rangers living in the forest reserve north of Star City, near the US Canadian border. He's a rambunctious kid, often getting into trouble and pushing the limits of his parent's patience. His act first think later attitude tends to get him into tight spots, but he's usually quick enough on his feet to keep from getting hurt.

Dinah Lance - Left blank for now in case anyone wants to play as Black Canary.

Jean Loring - Former attorney for the Queen Family, and the only remaining connection to Oliver's past, she is the first person Oliver goes to for help. While Oliver takes on the combative front in the war to save Star City, Jean Loring begins preparing the legal battle necessary to take Queen Industries back from its illegitimate owner, Malcolm Merlyn.

Thomas Merlyn - Former friends, Oliver and Tommy grew up together under the Shadow of the Assassins, training and serving at the whim of the Demon's Head. Tommy, as he is called by Oliver has become the feared Dark Archer, an expert killer and radical follower of the League of Shadows. He is known for never failing in his duty, and eliminating targets with extreme prejudiced.

Count Werder Vertigo - The puppet master behind Star City's collapse and the grisly demise of all his political rivals aboard the Queen family's yacht nearly a decade ago. Now the Count lives in the shadows of Star City, gathering his strength and wealth for his triumphant return to Vlatava, his home country.

Malcolm Merlyn - Owner and CEO of Queen Industries, he is the only large scale businessman who actually thrives in Star City's current political environment, through suspected illicit means. He gained the top spot at Queen Industries after the tragic demise of his brother, and his brother's business partner, former owner Robert Queen. Through some uncertain means he stepped up, and was put into position by the board of directors and has been running Queen Industries ever since.

Danial Brickworth - A mutant mobster, "Danny" is a giant of a man covered in red-hinted, hardened growths making him immune to most projectiles and blunt force weaponry. He is immensely powerful possessing low level super strength, and worst of all a brilliant mind for villainy and crime. He's a hands on, do it your selfer who isn't afraid to get a little blood on his hands. On top of being an extremely dangerous mobster, he is the undisputed supreme ruler of the Star City underworld.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

For Were Sir Guy and Sir Robin to Meet Again Blood Shall Surely Follow

.

Guessing at Adrian Guberschans rise to power in the outer Vannels Area would have been a feat of impressive divination. Nobody would have looked at the skinny thirteen year old boy he’d once been, sporting a bloody nose and mismatched socks, and still somehow determined he would turn into the proud and ruthless mob boss that ran everything from Third to the Forty-fifth with an iron fist and a glob of tobacco spit. All for his superiors in Brioni leather blacks back up in city hall. He was the middleman, the collector, the go getter, and ever since the police department had been told to turn a blind eye to his exploits, he’d been the terror of Vannel and the wider industrial zone. And as it happened a prime target for the masked and hooded vigilante concealed amongst the deepest shadows.

It was well known that Adrian had it good with some serious higher ups, a direct line and the personal number to the next league of mob bosses in Star City which made him dangerous to mess with, besides the practical heat packing goons he surrounded himself with. Oliver could count four men not including Adrian, the obvious bulges in their basketball shorts denoting concealed firearms as they lugged the last of their nightly ill-gotten earnings into the back of a blacked-out SUV. Wood and leather hissed as Oliver lade shaft to string, adjusting his stance under the cover of a frigid midnight breeze.

Invisible.

Silent.

Deadly.

“You are not where you’re supposed to be.”

Oliver Queen’s arrow flew true, thudding deep into the wrist of the nearest thug, forcing the man to his knees, a gut-wrenching cry escaping his lips. Shouts rang out, men drew steel, loading lead and powder as they searched for the unseen archer. Oliver ignored them. Spinning about he readied a second projectile a mere heartbeat after the voice sounded behind him, drawing to his ear as he prepared to fight for his very life. A man capable of sneaking up on him would prove a dangerous foe, one worthy of his fullest attention. A twitch in the shadows was all he needed to sight in and let fly. The arrow buzzed its deathtune but just before it stuck a hand moved to intercept knocking the shaft away. Before Oliver could dispatch another attempt the man slid into the thin moonlight, drawing back his hood to reveal a weatherworn face, shrouded in an assassin’s black. Oliver stayed his hand, an easy smile emerging from beneath his green hood. The face was concealed, but for Oliver there was no denying who breathed beneath the mask.

“Tommy Merlyn? Hell’s teeth you near scared me half to death. I could have killed you.” Oliver’s infectious smile did not sway the dark garbed marksman however, and he repeated his accusation in no uncertain terms.

“You are not where you are meant to be Oliver Queen.”

Oliver’s grin faded, and he lowered his bow, releasing a frustrated sigh. Of all the people they could have sent after him… The League knew him too well, and they deemed it necessary to make things difficult for their wayward assassin. They could not understand his needs, and where flat refusal might work on any other agent, Tommy was nearly as stubborn as himself, and more devoted to the cult than life itself. Nevertheless, Oliver squared his shoulders, he was resolute, his mind was made up, and he would not go back come hell or high water. They would never understand his reasons, but Tommy, Tommy might. “Help me finish here Tommy.” He pleaded, giving his old friend a full blast of his natural charm. “For old time sakes, and then I’d like to show you something, really important to me. Then we’ll talk, alright?”

At first Oliver worried Tommy would refuse and force to point then and there on that dark roof, but he wavered and broke at last, shaking his head with an irritated snort. “Fine but make it quick. What is this about anyway?”

“Tax collection.” Oliver replied cheerily as he returned his attention to Adrian and his three remaining functional goons, and the fourth who’d passed out from the pain. They’d attempted making a break for the hills in the half-loaded SUV, but four previously thrown darts had already completed their work in transforming the sleek vehicle into a particularly heavy street ornament. “Fighting a one-man war isn’t cheap you know, and if anyone should use that funding they so boldly collected from the local drug and prostitution rings I’d rather it was me than some pinstriped count.”

“They got all that from drugs and prostitution?” Merlyn inquired, his voice once again accusatory as he knelt beside Oliver on the snow blanketed eaves, his bow in hand and an arrow on the string.

Oliver flinched, he shouldn’t try to lie to Tommy, even in a casual way, the man was far too sharp for that. “Well, no. They gather protection money from local businesses too.” He shook his finger under Tommy’s nose disturbing the black shroud. “How about we ask them how much they took from the locals to return it to them; would that make you feel better?”

Tommy’s frown deepened. “This is not what you should be justifying to me Ollie.”

“Right,” Oliver coughed, shifting uncomfortable under Tommy’s resolute glare. “Well then let’s disarm them, try not to miss and make them bleed though. I’ve been studying them for a while now, and I only incapacitated that first one because he was the most dangerous. Competent with a pistol, or at least he knew how to hold it properly. The others... Not so much, besides I require them for manual labor.”

“You know I don’t miss.” Tommy growled, and sure enough in the space of a heartbeat four arrows flew from two bows disarming the remaining gangsters, leaving them rubbing their stinging fingers and howling for all they were worth. The citizens of the Vannels knew better than to concern themselves with the near constant gang warfare that went on in the rundown suburbs, they merely turned up the music or white noise and pretended the cries of pain did not exist.

Oliver dropped from his post upon the roof like a green wraith, his shadow following close behind as they approached the shocked Adrian. He was a large man, having lost his skinny look fifteen years prior, he possessed an array of impressive muscles and stood almost a full head taller than Oliver. Seeing the olive clad archer approach Adrian snorted derisively, thinking he might demonstrate what a few rounds of steroids were capable of and down the lithe hooded man and end this outrage once and for all. He did not account for the speed and skill of the man who now faced him, and for his valiant efforts Adrian received nothing more than a bloody nose and a world that seemed to spin as he dropped to his knees, groaning in pain.

“Oh, shush now you’ll be alright, you just shouldn’t have tried a left hook, I’m particularly good at parrying those. Isn’t that right Dark?”

If Tommy was displeased at the use of his operational code name, he did not show it, merely inclining his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement of Oliver’s claim. Oliver shrugged giving the gang leader a friendly pat on his back. “He doesn’t talk much on missions, so don’t mind him. Say, you look mighty clever, maybe you could help me out. You see, I seem to have misplaced my pocket change, have you by any chance seen a few thousand dollars lying around?”

Adrian blanched, dabbing pitifully at his bleeding nose. “W-w-what? Who are you, you bastard?”

“Oh, you know, Arrow, Green, The. Whatever order you’d prefer really old chum. I don’t mind. Anyway, have you seen that cash? I’d appreciate your help.”

“No,” Adrian was nearly crying at this point and he looked to his remaining men who had wised up after seeing their leader so efficiently defeated and were not moving a muscle under the watchful gaze of the Dark Archer. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about you maniac!”

“Hm, that’s too bad. Hey, wait, look at that.” Oliver stood up and walked over to the SUV, throwing wide the rear doors with a triumphant grin. “You did find it, thank you Adrian! I knew I could count on you, you’re the best. You know what, since you’re being such a good friend would you mind loading it up in my car for me.” Oliver flicked his wrist and a short double beep sounded and the lights to an expensive green sports car flashed on, revealing itself where once it was concealed in shadow. Oliver nearly collapsed laughing as Adrian’s face paled, first in shock then outrage as he recognized the Michigan plates.

“Hey, that’s my new car!”

“Load her up boys,” Oliver laughed, and then his joviality vanished, his final word freezing the blood in Adrian and his men’s veins as he stepped upon the ruined wrist of the unconscious man, ripping the arrow out in one vicious twist and laying the gory shaft upon his bowstring with a sinister sneer. “Please.”

The next half hour saw Oliver and Tommy speeding away in the commandeered sports car, leaving the four men zip-tied hand and foot to a broken streetlamp for the proper authorities to handle. More than likely they would be released under the corrupted police force, or merely freed by a fellow gang member who stumbled upon them. Either way the message was sent, and it would be heard by every upper white-collar criminal and mob boss Adrian could contact once he found a phone. The Green Arrow would be a known entity before morning, but an underestimated one, Adrian’s pride would ensure that.

The two friends were silent as Oliver guided the car out of the City leaving the run-down buildings and near third world hovels its remaining citizens survived in behind. Star City, Oliver remembered it being the pinnacle of American industrial and economic might, now reduced to a pathetic shadow of its former self after years of corruption and vitriolic politics. Oliver’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel merely thinking about it. His city he would claim, and yet he’d spent almost half life away from it, abandoning his home to its undeserved fate. Never again.

At long last the winding highway shifted into a gravel driveway and Oliver pulled to a stop outside an abandoned mansion. For a place that had been empty for nearly a decade it was in surprisingly decent condition. The paint was peeling, the lawn was well overgrown, and a few windows were shattered, but otherwise it proudly stood as it always had, a vain monument to the Queen family’s vast wealth and power.

“Welcome to my home.” Oliver said, a tad bitterly. “Actually, I’m technically a squatter as my father’s will was no doubt lost after the apparent death of the entire Queen family, its probably owned by some bankrupt real estate firm or something now. Either way its supposed to be mine so I’ve claimed it. Might as well, there was only rats living here since.”

“We gave up the personal and forsook our inheritance!” Tommy’s vitriolic response caused Oliver to cringe, despite having known the argument was imminent. “Your home is the League, your family is the League, you are the League’s! Ollie what have you done?”

“I gave it up.” Oliver kept his voice level, but his hand shook as he stood his ground, defending his decision to abandon the only family he’d known since the age of eleven. “Don’t you see what they’ve done to us Tommy? We were too young to realize it then, but they killed our family, our real family. Because of the League I don’t even remember what my mother looks like, and yet they expect us to serve them blindly? I won’t do it anymore Tommy, I won’t kill anymore, I want nothing to do with the Demon’s Head or any of it ever again. I know its unprecedented, I know its never been done before, but I quit the League of Shadows, and I’m never going back. This is my home, and the man who hired the League is still here dancing amongst the ashes of Star, reveling in his victory over my father. But I’m not my father, and I play by a different set of rules.”

“…You can’t quit the League of Shadows Ollie.”

“I can, and I did.”

A silent battle of wills took place on that dark driveway, the two stubborn friends held each other’s gazes, refusing to look away. For how long they remained that way, locked in silent mental warfare Oliver could not say. At last Tommy conceded defeat, looking away with a frustrated grunt. Oliver had won this battle, an important one but would it be the last?

“I’ll have to tell the Demon’s Head, everything.”

“I know, I’m sorry it came to this, but I've made my decision. Call it revenge, call it justice, call it whatever you like, this city is my responsibility now. I can’t leave again, if I don’t fight, I don’t think anyone else will.” Oliver’s heart went out to his childhood friend. They’d been together through thick and thin, since that first terrible day, through the years of brain washing and grueling training, past their first kills and to this very night that they would have to part ways, ideological opposites. He was putting Tommy in a difficult spot, and Tommy by taking the time to personally report to the Demon’s Head was giving him a chance to prepare.

“I only hope, for both our sakes.” Tommy said at last, stepping out of the car, clearly preparing for the long walk back into the city. “That we never meet again. Farewell Oliver Queen. And good luck.”

“Goodbye Tommy.” Oliver choked out as his lifelong friend vanished into that cold winter night.

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

---

Open For Editing

@Dusty

Yes. Fuck. Yes.