Master Bruce — Roleplayer Guild

Sionis Imports, The Bowery
Christmas Eve
11:50 PM

"Hey, could you turn the heater up? Freezin' my balls off."

Matches Malone complied with the request of the man in the passenger seat as he grunted, reached down to the truck's console, and twisted the dial to increase the flow of warm air. The newly recruited Chuck Brown nodded in thanks as he brought his shivering arms out ahead of the ventilation infront of him, breathing a sigh of relief. Brown glanced over at the driver, sizing him up and hoping that he wouldn't do anything to piss the elder gentleman off. Malone simply stared ahead, his hands on the wheel, ever vigilant for the job that was about to go down. He was clearly a man who'd seen some shit in his time, as his posture gave off the air of a calloused soul. His goatee was lined with gray hairs streaked within the black, he wore a faded cap to hide apparent onset baldness, and half of his features were covered by thick sunglasses to cover some horrible injury indicated by scars etched around his eyes.

Brown had heard the stories about Malone for the past few months, about the reasons that they called him "Matches". He had supposedly won favor with Capo Italiana by taking one of Salvatore Maroni's discovered spies for The Roman, stuffing him into the back of an unmarked Sedan, blasting open the vehicle's fuel line and incinerating the snitch to death with the stroke of a single match. Even if it wasn't true or had somehow been blown out of proportion, Brown was determined not to befall the same fate by screwing this job up. It was the first of many tasks that he'd been entrusted with by his own boss, Thomas 'El Gato' Blake, under the terms of the Moxon family's new management. 

"So, is it true what they say? Y'know, about The Five Families? Are they really done?"

Malone didn't so much as acknowledge the comment at first, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. Brown's expression turned grim as the hitman then produced a single book of matches, removing one and striking it to give himself a light. After inhaling the smoke and blowing it back out of his nostrils, Malone simply placed his hand back on the wheel. 

"S'what I heard. Old man Falcone finally drove 'em all apart."

Chuck simply nodded and faced forward, realizing that he wasn't going to get much in the way of genuine interaction out of the guy. Truth was, just by the act of lighting the cigarette alone, Brown was already scared out of his mind of the man. But they had to work together on this, especially in light of the confirmation of what Brown had assumed to be heresay chalked up to the fact that Maroni and Blake had struck a deal. Seems as though that deal meant a more permanent shake-up than he'd previously been led to believe.

"Shit, man. I guess that Cobblepot guy really did change everything. You shoot up one freakin' bank, and you topple an empire. Who knew?"

Malone raised an eyebrow. 

"S'little more than that. They all started turnin' on Falcone whenever they found out Penguin had been hidin' infront of his damn nose for a year with that 'Meredith' schtick. You don't get to pose as the top dog's bodyguard and live unless you're either that damn good, or the top dog really isn't as perceptive as he should be."

Brown smirked, thinking about it in those terms. That subterfuge really had done alot to demystify alot of the fear that people still held in regards to The Roman, when all was said and done. The Penguin hadn't made many notable moves on enemy territories in the three months since he'd declared war on the other gangs, but from the outset, it didn't even seem as though he had needed to. With a fifth of The Five Families turned rogue, the other four were only bound to tear eachother apart. 

Grunts like him simply had to wait for the other shoe to drop, and after a fruitful series of face-to-face meetings between Maroni and El Gato, an absorption of the lesser family seemed the most beneficial tactic to prepare for both The Syndicate and The Red Triangle's incoming crossfire.

"Guess you're right about that. Still, though. End of a genuine era in Gotham City and all it took was one guy to make it happen. Kinda fucked up when you think about it."

Malone took another puff of his cigarette, tapping it against the ashtray. 

"One guy and a group of freaks."

Brown nervously chuckled. 

"Yeah. True, I guess you can make pretty much anything happen when you're backed by a human crocodile and a walking heap of mud."

Looking at his watch, Brown noticed that it was inching even closer to midnight than he'd realized. It would be Christmas soon, and his son would likely be trying to sneak a peek at the presents underneath the tree or catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. Meanwhile, he was stuck here, about to aid a small group of mercenaries in committing a pretty serious act of territorial seizure. It seemed almost laughably contrast to the evening that most of Gotham was in for, with their eggnog and their caroling. But, then again, Gotham was never known as the town for embodying the true spirit of the Holiday season. 

"So what's the plan, here? We just drive in, pop open the back, and let the guys in there do the shooting?"

Malone reached back and removed a blanket that Brown had previously failed to notice. Beneath it was a crate, stamped with the Property Of The GCPD insignia. It didn't take a genius to realize what was inside, given that the crate was specifically shaped to hold a number of shotguns. Malone turned to Brown and narrowed his gaze, his eyes barely visible behind the glasses.

"They ain't the only ones shootin', pal."

The complexion in Brown's face whitened as he realized that he was about to be placed on the front lines of a massive shootout. He hadn't been told about that part until now, and he wasn't sure that he was ready for it. But there was no questioning an order from the head boss whenever it was given, and while Brown had taken his marching orders from Thomas Blake ever since he entered the fold, the new head boss was Maroni. And Maroni had wanted every member of The Syndicate gone from this territory by sunrise. 

He looked down at the uniform that he and Malone had been outfitted, wishing to God that they had given them kevlar vests to go with them. No such luck, of course, as they were meant to look like Sionis Shipping employees in order to pull off this particular Trojan horse. Protective gear under the union suits would probably give them away, but it made the news no less easier to swallow. Brown meekly placed the blanket back over the crate of weapons, knowing that they were about to try and drive past the guard's station. 

"Jesus. Jesus Christ, I think I'm gonna throw up."

Malone didn't seem phased. Instead, he curiously unlocked the driver's side door and stepped out of his seat, looking over his shoulder.

"Watch 'er for me. Gotta check to make sure everythin's in order."

Brown simply stared back as the door was shut, visibly uncomfortable by the whole affair.

Taking another whiff of his cigarette as he stepped onto the frozen patch of snow, Malone's eyes were drawn upwards, towards the rooftops. The cigarette was fake, obviously, as "Matches" had given up smoking whenever he was a young man. But it was designed to give off the same smell as nicotine, not to mention meticulously crafted with something hidden behind the ash: a small, undetectable listening device.

Malone removed the cigarette from his mouth and whispered, dropping his American accent in the process.

"Bruce? Are you there?"

As soon as he spoke the words, a large shadow loomed over Malone from high above. The gangster nodded and placed the cigarette back into his mouth, rubbing his gloved palms. 

"Things are about to begin heating up, lad. Best ready yourself for a hell of a fight."

The figure from high above didn't respond. He simply retreated into the comfort of the darkness, preparing his soon-to-be implemented strategy of attack. Maroni thought that he was about to cripple The Syndicate's empire and take his rightful place as head of Gotham City's organized crime. What Capo Italiana's figurehead didn't realize was that he, like Falcone and his new ally in Thomas Blake, were all about to walk straight into a trap.

By the time that The Batman was done, the mobster would wish he'd been shot in the other kneecap.

Huntress is fucking Batman.

I expect utility belt shenanigans.@Lord Wraith

Considering that Helena is generally depicted as an analogue for Batman's daughter, which is why they have such a strained relationship in the comics (Bruce is the 'disapproving dad' while Helena is the 'daughter trying to prove herself, always'), I don't think having them do the Batusi would ever be something I'd ever want to consider, even if this is a different universe. Batman isn't from Missouri. 

Besides, with Jessica Jones still in Gotham (spoiler?) and Catwoman actively burglarizing people now (slightly less of a spoiler?), he's got other options. 

Whenever I get to his lovelife, you best watch yourself on the sex scene game, my friend.

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