Ezekiel
Sister Sable
RPM
Emma
Morden Man
KactusPunch
Dezuel
Guardian Angel Haruki
Antlers
Zatanna never had the pleasure of passing through Mammoth City before. It was a place notable almost solely for its size, no one could say it wasn't aptly named. It was huge horizontally and vertically, skyscrapers cut the clouds all above her as she peered out the window of her old banged up hatchback.
She rolled down the window, and the noise of the city rushed in - horns, chatter, distant sirens, and the occasional street musician blasting out poorly done renditions of 'Zombie by the Cranberries'. Somewhere between charming and tragic, really. The kind of place that made you feel like something important was always happening just around the corner, even if it probably wasn't.
Her GPS had stopped working three turns ago, which felt about right. She'd been chasing ghosts since she rolled into town three nights ago. Bar tabs, gossip, rumor. Every trace of Patrick O'Brian's life before he vanished. He'd been a thief, albeit a small time one. Everyone in the underworld had a version of his story, and the only consistency in every one of them was that they ended with him falling into a vat of Alchemax sludge and never coming back. Funnily enough, after every retelling that became the part she bought the least.
Her boots squelched on the cracked sidewalk outside a rowdy Irish pub, almost in full swing even in the early evening. She had a lead, finally, a fence who used to buy O'Brian's stolen goods. His name came up in three different conversations from three different drunks, which meant he was either useful or already dead.
She found him two blocks from the river, slumped over a steaming paper cup of coffee outside a pawn shop. Woozy Winks. At first glance, he looked like every other Mammoth City lowlife. He was short, stocky and dressed in a rumpled suit topped with a decidedly out of fashion brimmed hat.
"Woozy Winks?" Zatanna asked.
He squinted at her over the rim of his cup. "Depends who's askin'. You a repo lady? Don't look like no repo lady I ever seen."
She smiled. "If I were, you'd already be missing your shoes."
He snorted, half amused, half suspicious. "Then you're a cop."
"Wrong again. Let's just say I'm a concerned magician."
He let out a proper laugh this time "Well that's a new one!" He took another sip. "Alright, Miss Houdini, what's this about?"
"Patrick O'Brian."
Woozy's hand froze halfway through bringing the cup to his mouth. "Haven't heard that name in a while. Can't have been a friend, otherwise you'd be calling him 'Eel'".
"Funny," Zatanna said, crouching beside him "everyone keeps saying that, just how did he get that name anyway?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not sure that's a story I can tell a civillan, even posthumously. Any reason in particular you're digging up my dead friends?"
"I'm looking for him. He was involved in something with Alchemax. A job that went bad."
"That's one way to put it." Woozy scratched his chin. "Pat wasn't bad, y'know. Just...unlucky. Did a few gigs for the wrong people. Last I saw, he was talkin' about makin' some real money. Said he had a line on a job that'd set him up for good." He took a breath. !Next thing I know, he's in the obits and I'm pourin’ one out."
Zatanna studied him for a moment. "And you didn't think it was strange that there was no body?"
Woozy shrugged. "They said he fell in chemicals. For all I know there wasn't a body left."
"You were his friend."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Closest thing he had to one, maybe."
"Look, Woozy. Call me crazy, but I've got a hunch your friend is alve."
The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, splattering across the pavement. "Alive?"
"The company responsible for all this, Alchemax - they're mixed up in some really weird, downright evil stuff. Everything about his death is suspicious. Usually when they kill someone they make it known they're dead for good, all of this feels off to me."
Woozy stared at her for a long time, acclimatizing to this new knowledge. Finally, he huffed. "If anyone could slip past death, it'd be him. Always was a slippery bastard."
"Ah, I'm guessing that has something to do with the nickname then?" She smiled. "Do you have any idea where he might be?”
He rose to his feet, dusting off his trousers before answering. "There's a joint down on Bayfield - The Velvet Mule. Real class act, if your idea of class is a cheap strip club. Eel was sweet on a girl there, if I was to start lookin' I'd start there."
Zatanna stood, straightening her coat. "Lead the way, Mr. Winks."
The Velvet Mule looked like it had survived three fires and a bad divorce. Its sign buzzed weakly, pink letters flickering in the night. Inside, the air was thick with perfume, cheap beer, and regret. Woozy led her through the maze of tables toward the bar. A number of the patrons began leering towards the two, obviously thinking that Zatanna was fresh meat. Woozy leant over to her. "Don't worry, kid I'll keep you safe, none of these clowns would ever mess with Woozy Winks."
"Thanks, I can handle myself though, 'kid'" she said dryly. They split there, Woozy heading for the bar after pointing out the dancer in question, and Zatanna making a beeline straight for her.
The dancer, a pretty blonde woman with a number of badly done tattoos down her arm, looked confused as Zatanna approached. "Uh, are you looking for a job application or somethin'? You'd probably need to speak to the managa-"
"No, I'm looking for a dance."
For a moment the girl looked confused, until Zatanna pulled out a small wad of cash, then she lead her to the back room. Just before starting her dance, Zatanna held up a hand, and moved to make sure the door was locked.
"Hey, hey now, no funny business. I scream and the bouncer will throw you out so fast your head will spin!"
"Listen, I'm not here for a dance. I'm looking for someone by the name of Patrick O'Brien, he went missing close to a year ago and I've got good info that you were close to him."
The dancer looked shocked, taking a moment to compose herself before sitting down. "Yeah, I knew Pat. He came in here a few times, he was a good tipper - 'cept for all the times he wasn't. He was nice, much nicer than most of the guys who come through here."
Zatanna nodded. "Have you got any idea where he could be?"
She shook her head. "Listen, lady, Pat died in that accident. I don't know where you've got the idea he's still around but he's dead. Nothing more to it."
Zatanna sighed. Another dead end, another brick wall. Maybe this was a fools errand, maybe it was time to end her crusade.
She handed the dancer a bit of cash and then headed to the bar, sitting on the stool next to Woozy. He waved to the passing bartender, a broad man with a handlebar moustache and a T-shirt that read 'I'm not your therapist.' and Zatanna ordered a stiff drink to go with her disappointment.
"No luck?" Asked Woozy.
"No Luck."
"Ah well, it was a nice thought for a moment, kid. If you get anything outta this just know you've given an old slob like me some excitement in his life for a da-"
Two large, burly bouncers bounced over to them, arms crossed as they towered over the two. Woozy loosened his collar.
"Uh, gentlemen is this about the bar tab? Look I swear I'm good for it I just gotta-"
"Boss wants to see you." One said pointing a finger at Zatanna. "Said you been snooping around in places you shouldn't be."
Woozy rose from his chair, his full height only coming up just past the bouncers beltlines.
"Now listen here you thugs!" He said wagging a finger at them. "If you want her you gotta go through me! I won't let you lay a hand on this girl or my name ain't Woozy Winks!"
Zatanna put a hand on his shoulder, stepping off the stool. "Woozy, thanks but don't worry. Let me speak to this boss of theirs."
As quickly as he stood up Woozy was sat down again, holding up a hand to order another drink. "Well don't let me stop you! Take her away gents, and eh-let's just ignore that business about the tab shall we?"
A few moments later, Zatanna found herself being escorted down a narrow hallway that smelled like spilled beer and industrial cleaner. The Velvet Mule's backrooms were a maze of cheap paneling, buzzing fluorescent lights, and half closed doors She was led to the last one marked 'Manager's Office' and one of the bouncers gave it a hard knock.
"Boss." he said. "The lady."
A low, gravelly muffled voice called out. "Send her in."
The door creaked open, and Zatanna stepped inside. The office looked like it had been assembled from the leftovers of a dozen other lives, a warped desk, a lamp with a pink feathered shade, a filing cabinet with a drawer that wouldn't shut. Behind the desk sat a man in a dark suit and a loose tie, counting bills with the bored efficiency of someone who'd been doing it for far too long. His face was unremarkable, too unremarkable, actually. The kind of face you'd forget the moment you looked away.
"So, you're the little rat that's been snoopin' around places you shouldn't be." His hand disappeared behind the desk for a moment, and returned pointing a pistol at her. She instinctively raised her hands. "Now listen here, you're messin' wit' forces beyond yer' comprehension. Drop this now or face the wrath of one ugly mafia son of a bitch you won't ever forget."
She could feel a trickle of sweat run down her forehead. Maybe sticking to magic shows would have been a better option, she was really getting more than she bargained for with this guy. If she'd ever thought about her death, she'd never thought it would have ended at the end of a barrel held by a 50s gangster type.
"Look, uh, Mr..."
"Mr. Blundetto."
"Right, Mr. Blundetto. Patrick was an old friend of mine, I'm just looking for anyone that knows him so I can pay my respects!"
He laughed. "An old friend of yours? I ain't never seen you round' Mammoth City, let alone this joint."
"Look, I have it under good authority, Patrick O'Neil was killed by the same people who killed my father. If you're going to kill me then kill me, but at least let me know the truth. Alchemax have put you up to this, right?"
"Alchema- Wha?" Blundetto's voice broke for a moment, he coughed, regaining his composure. "Look, I dunno what you're talkin' about. Eel died in a freak accident, nuttin' more nuttin' less."
"Woozy led me here, said he fancied one of the girls here, you've got to know something about where he went."
Blundetto looked even more flustered, his expression almost literaly widening as he spoke. "Woozy winks? What?! He told you that?!" His voice had completely shifted now, raising an octave and almost entirely losing the Al Capone accent he had. "Listen, Eel O'Brien was never sweet on her! That was a baseless rumour he probably only said when he was drunk!"
There was a beat of silence in the room as the gears began turning in Zatanna's head. In a world where things as weird as magic and superheroes existed she'd never stopped to consider the strange factor in all this. "Uh....Mr. Blundetto are you by any chance Patrick O'Brien?"
He frowned. "Aw, god damn it! Almost a year pulling this off and I fall at the last hurdle!" The man's entire visage shifted like hot taffy under a lamp. His skin rippled, sagged, then pulled itself back together in a completely new configuration, one that didn't seem quite settled. His face went from pale to ruddy, his jawline softening and stretching, hair color flickering through shades before finally landing on something that might have once resembled Patrick O'Brian.
"Yeah." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Patrick O'Brian. Or Eel, if you prefer. Though, judging by how fast my secret identity just went up in smoke, I might as well start using my real name again."
Zatanna blinked, still in shock. "You-you were pretending to be a strip club owner?"
Patrick shrugged, giving a sheepish grin. "What can I say? I make a great middle manager. The real Blundetto skipped town months ago when the feds came sniffing. Figured it was as good a face as any to borrow. Less heat, fewer questions."
"Less heat?" she said incredulously, gesturing to the room. "You're running a strip club, Patrick."
"Yeah, but it's low profile." he shot back. "You ever see Alchemax send agents into a place like this? Even they have standards."
Zatanna folded her arms, shaking her head. "You know, I was starting to think the rumors were exaggerated. But you really are ridiculous." She looked back up at him. "Uh, Pat now that we've cleared everything up, would you mind putting the gun away?"
He looked down at the gun then back at her. "Oh this?" the gun quickly morphed into his hand. "Also part of the disguise, to tell the truth I didn't have a backup plan if you'd came in packing heat. I couldn't have even thrown it at you it was just my hand."
Suddenly the door burst open, Woozy almost falling over as he entered. "Now just you let go of that girl, mister! I'm not letting nothin' happen to her!-" His face cracked the moment he saw his old friend. His bravado turned to soppiness and tears began to stream down his cheeks. He practically dived across the room and the table, wrapping his old friend up in his arms so tightly that Patrick's neck began wringing out like play-doh. "I thought you was gone Eel! Gone for good! I wrote a beautiful poem for your wake, buddy, I had everyone weepin'! Well, er- everyone being just me really, y'know it was hard to find people to invi-"
"Woozy, please stop speaking." Patrick replied, sliding out from the small mans grip and patting him on the back.
"You gotta lotta nerve to tell me to shut up!" Woozy sniffled, wiping his nose with his grubby sleeve. "You're tellin' me you been pullin' off that whole Blundetto thing and never trusted me with the secret? Man, I woulda kept it so safe. I'd have-"
"Woozy, you've known this chick all of 5 minutes and you already led her right to me, and worse yet you told her I had a crush on Candy?!"
The two continued to squabble and Zatanna couldn't help but smile. There was a warmth these two brought to their grimy surroundings that seemed to light up the room. She stepped forward interrupting them.
"Look, Pat-Eel-whatever your name is. Since the cat's out of the bag, I need to ask you something. I'm trying to pull together people who've been hurt by Alchemax. I'm trying to make sure they don't hurt anyone else. You were one of their victims. You could help people. You could help me find out what they did."
Patrick went pale for a split second, the memory of vats and the hiss of chemicals flickering in his eyes. He shook his head so hard his hair seemed to ripple. "Nah." He said, too quickly. "No. Thanks, but no. I got a thing or two I owe the world, but I'm no hero. You're sniffing up the wrong tree there, friend."
"You really want to rot here playing pretend mob boss?" she said. "You've got a chance to do something real, Patrick, something good. To make what happened to you mean something."
He barked a laugh that came out harsher than he intended. "Mean something? Lady, I'm a walking rubber band. You think I'm the face of justice? Go find another hero. No one's making a comic about 'The Miraculous Mr. Plastic'. I'm not exactly known for my 'good deeds'".
"You could be." she said, bluntly.
He stared at her for a moment. "You've got a lotta faith for someone who just met me."
Zatanna sighed and turned toward the door. "If you change your mind, I'm staying at the Skylark Motel off Harbor. Room 212. I'll be there until tomorrow night. After that, I'm gone." She paused at the door, glancing back towards him. "You can keep pretending you’re dead, Pat. But the people who did this to you? They're still out there, doing worse. Think about that while you’re counting bills for drunk creeps."
Patrick sat there, staring at the space she'd left, a frown fixed on his experession.
"Well." Woozy said breaking the silence. "That was...somethin'. Gotta say, though, she's got moxie. Real spitfire. Reminds me of-"
Patrick cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't say Candy."
"I was gonna say Eleanor, from the dry cleaners."
"Even worse." He slumped into his chair, staring at the warped desk. "She doesn't get it, Wooze. I'm not the guy who saves people. I'm the guy who screws up and runs."
Woozy shrugged, sitting down across from him. "Yeah, maybe. But, y'know, sometimes the screw-ups are the ones who end up saving folks anyway. Usually by accident, but still counts."
Patrick cracked a half-smile. "Oh, suddenly the guy who steals sugar packets is a philosopher now?"
"Hey, those cafes overcharge!" Woozy almost shouted back "Look, Eel, I get it. You got burned, literally and figuratively. Alchemax turned you into something else, and that ain't fair. But if what she's sayin's true, and they're still out there doin' that to other people then maybe sittin' here runnin' a strip joint ain't the best way to lay low."
A few hours later and Pat was closing up for the night, back in his Blundetto disguise - albeit with a few wary eyes pointed his way now. The performance was wearing thin. He was worried, worried that his face, his life, his fragile illusion of normalcy, were all about to collapse. And most of all, worried that the girl from earlier might've been right.
He'd done very few objectively 'good' things in his life. To tell the truth anything he considered a good thing was just him doing the 'less bad' option. He'd considered using his new powers for evil at one point, using them to pull of the heist of the century. But super-powered crime just brought the attention of heroes, and heroes always seemed to win.
He sighed, locking the door to the club and making his way round the corner and out into the night. He cut down a narrow alley, a shortcut to the shabby flat he called home, when he saw movement ahead. Three figures, huddled near a flickering streetlight. The two taller ones barked low threats at the smaller one, who was struggling to pull away.
Pat slowed. Then he saw it clearly, two men roughing up a teenager, probably trying to drag him into their racket. Drug runners, by the look of it. Nothing too uncommon for this area. He felt his stomach turn as he slowly made his way passed. This wasn't something he could get involved in. He wasn't the type to save anyone.
The kid caught his eye as he passed and squeeked out a small "Help!". Pat stopped for a moment, before promptly moving on after the two men barked at him to "Fuck off."
He got to the end of the alley and took one last look back at the three and then forward towards his flat. Was this really all his life would amount to? Would he be on his deathbed looking back and seeing all of the times he'd decided to take the easy road? To be a coward? Like it or not he'd been gifted these powers by something out there and he had a choice - use them for good or not at all. With great power comes great...well you know the rest.
He turned and clenched his fists. "Let him go."
The two men turned, a knife flashing in one of their greasy paws. They looked at each other and laughed. "Or what? What are you gonna do about it?"
Pat took a few slow steps toward them, the calmness of his voice betraying the nerves underneath. "[color=ed1c24]I said let. him. go."[color=ed1c24]
The taller thug grinned "You got a death wish, old man?" He jabbed the knife forward, just enough to make the kid flinch. "Walk away before you join him."
"You really shouldn't have said that."
The thug took a step closer and that's when Pat's arm stretched. Winding out like rubber and snapping across the man's jaw with a wet smack! The thug spun twice before collapsing into a pile of trash bags. His partner blinked, his brain trying to make sense of what he'd just seen.
Pat rolled his shoulders, his arm snapping back into shape. "I'm having a real bad day, pal. Wanna make it worse?" His visage turning about 20% more Clint Eastwood as the words dripped from his mouth.
The second man lunged, but Pat ducked, his body flattening almost entirely to the floor, the knife slicing through empty air before a leg whipped upward again, catching the thug square in the chest and sending him sprawling. The knife clattered away.
The kid stared, wide-eyed, as Pat loomed over the two groaning men. [color=ed1c24]"You tell your friends!" Pat called "This alley’s off-limits. And so's the kid!"
They didn't argue. One scrambled to his feet and dragged the other out by the collar, muttering curses under his breath. When they were gone, Pat turned back to the boy, who was still pressed against the wall, trembling."You okay, kid?"
The boy nodded shakily. "You-you're one of them, aren't you? A hero? I didn't know we had any in Mammoth City."
"Uhhh not quite, first day on the job. But-uh stay safe kid, lotsa creeps out there!"
He pulled his hat low, stretched an arm up to grab the edge of a fire escape, and swung himself up out of sight.
Back in the alley, the boy stared after him, the words thank you catching in his throat. For the first time in a long while, the name Eel O'Brian meant something good again.
He couldn't sleep that night, his mind was racked of thoughts of Alchemax. Thoughts he'd tried to forget since the accident.
By morning, he'd already stepped out onto the street in a long coat and cheap sunglasses. He wandered for blocks without knowing where he was going, through alleys that stunk of sewage, past old posters peeling off brick walls, his thoughts pulling in a dozen directions at once.
Every face he saw reminded him of what Alchemax took: people just scraping by, trying to live their small lives while monsters in suits played god behind closed doors. He told himself he didn't care. Told himself this wasn't his problem anymore.
But by the time he stopped walking, he was standing across the street from the Skylark Motel. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and swore under his breath.
"Damn it."
Woozy, huffing beside him with a paper bag of donuts, squinted up at the sign. "You gonna go in?"
Patrick hesitated, staring at the motel door. "No. I'm just thinking."
Yuh-huh. You've been 'thinking' for twenty minutes." Woozy took a bite. "At this rate the bad guys'll be retired before you make a move."
Patrick glared at him, but it didn't last. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. But I'm not joinin' her crusade, alright? I just wanna know what she knows."
"Sure, sure." Woozy said, powdered sugar dusting his lapel. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy."
Patrick crossed the street and knocked on Room 212's door.
