Terror Palace - Black Mask's Refuge

[SillyMcGilly]

A large abandoned factory home of broken tools, old machinery, and most importantly the safehaven of Black Mask and his goons. A no-go zone for police. Nicknamed Terror Palace for the ominous atmosphere around this dangerous home of this equally dangerous mob boss.

[SillyMcGilly]

Black Mask's Office:

It was a dark night in Gotham City. Smoke filled the sky. Not a star in view. Black. That's how this mob boss liked it. However, that's also how the Batman liked it. But, the thought of the masked cosplayer made Black Mask laugh. "Beautiful it is," he said, "the black sky is now mine. The Batman will no longer be the terror of the night. I am."

*Squeek* went the door of this once abandoned office as it opened. The also masked face of one of Black Mask's "staff" popped into view. The mob boss turned around from his gaze out of the foggy window, and looked at his goon. The goon spoke,

"Boss, the live feed is now online. We're ready when you are. All of Gotham now sees the Batman in his helpless state."

"Perfect," the boss said, "well done."

As Mask stepped from his comfortable position at the window, he set his hand on the goon's shoulder and said,

"I am proud. We have done a great thing. All of us. Batman will be no more. Now, what will Gotham look to? We are now the new night terrors." Black Mask laughed a slow and low chortle as he and his goon stepped out of his office and closed the door. It was perfect. Almost too perfect. Something made Mask feel uneasy about how easy it was. The troubling sense he felt he drowned out by saying to the goon of his, "We are all family. So, every one of you will be well paid for this monumentous and successful effort. I senserely promise."

[SillyMcGilly]

The Shooting Room:

Black Mask made his way down to the room where the Batman was kept. As they said, there were cameras. And yes, oh, there was lighting. Black Mask wanted all of Gotham to see every intricate detail of this historical event. The live feed was being played on every functional television screen of the City.

Batman raised his head as Black Mask entered the room with more goons. Perfect. Let them keep coming. Black Mask stepped into the camera feed's frame and stood next to Batman. Black Mask began to speak,

"People of Gotham! This here is your beloved hero, the famous masquerader himself-"

"Speak for yourself, lunatic," interrupted Batman.

Black Mask turned torwards Batman. He stooped down so as to be eye to eye with his defeated foe.

"You are ruder than I remember, Batman. Maybe we should do a bit of helpful therapy after we unmask you in front of all Gotham. Then, after we are done shooting this event, a gun shot to the head would suffice in helping you be politely silent."

The goons around Batman laughed. The people of Gotham were struck with terror. A black nightmare had swept over Gotham. Their worst fear was coming to pass.

[Halves of a Whole]

Elsewhere...

There had been word on the street for about a month that Black Mask was up to something big. Some sort of announcement. At first some had taken it to mean he had planned to unite with the various crime lords and families to attempt some sort of alliance or agreement. Or maybe to unveil something that’d give him an edge against them and unbalance their uneasy truce.

As the weeks went by, however, more info seemed to slip. They say Eddie Nigma figured it out first. Rumor had it Mask even sent him a clue. “A night to remember: film at 11,” or something really stupid and obvious like that. Clearly the sort of thing he wanted everyone to figure out.

Half of Gotham’s organized crime had their TVs set to the 11 o’clock news that very evening. As it turned out, they needn’t have bothered: it was playing on just about every channel. Somehow, the Black Mask had managed to nab the Batman and planned to ideal the masked vigilante’s identity to the world. And then execute him on live television.

Seeing the Dark Knight’s visage on the television lodged in the headrest of the chair in front of him couldn’t help but conjure old memories. A promise not kept. An unfinished crusade. Hiding a grown man in a padded bat costume behind a desk whenever Gordon came knocking.

He scowled. That kind of reminiscing was out of place, in these circumstances. His back pulled away from the leather as he leaned forward slightly. Smoke from his cigarette surrounded him and his companions in stale fog. No one in the car spoke. Not even the woman with an arm on his shoulder. Instead they watched. Or, in the case of the two in front, they listened. And as they did, the man with the cigarette wondered randomly if he had made the Riddler feel at all offended by the facile riddle that “Black Mask” had supposedly sent him.

[SillyMcGilly]

The Shooting Room:

Black Mask stood up and removed his cigarette lighter from his pocket. He lit it, and held it to Batman's masked visage.

"Every time I ask a question, and I feel it is an unfit answer, this will get closer to your face. I think a charred blind eye would look good on your face, Batman." Black Mask chuckled.

"Who do you work with?" asked Mask.

"No-one," said Batman.

Mask smirked, "Oh, really?"

Batman sat silently as Black Mask moved his lighter closer to Batman's eye.

"Now, I sense a lie in what you said. One man alone cannot make such impressive gadgets and gear on his own. Tell me. Your friends. NOW."

"Why would I?" said Batman simply.

Black Mask moved his lighter to an inch away from Batman's eye.

"I would be careful Batman. If you are planning anything stupid, you are going to die anyway. And even more painfully than planned. AND whoever comes to rescue you. Now. Last chance. WHERE ARE THEY."

Batman then said, "You are right. I work with someone. Myself."

Black Mask stood up. Puzzled. Batman never acted this way. This was confusing. Strange. He looked just like the masked vigilante. Yes he was acting less like Batman and more like a rebellious teenager. Mask turned and looked at his goons.

"We captured him. I know that much. How though?"

The goons looked at each-other, and then one spoke out,

"Sir, we shot him. He fell and we got him. Plain and simple-"

"Then WHERE are the GUNSHOT WOUNDS!?" shouted Black Mask, "Batman either has an ulterior motive, or he is NOT who we think he is."

Black Mask turned around and glared at Batman.

"You are a strange one Batman. I think our questioning is over. Fellows, bring me the blowtorch."

"Uh, yeah! Right on it sir! Blowtorch with fuel coming up-"

"And be quick about it. I sense danger," said Back Mask.

[SillyMcGilly]

Elsewhere in the Facility...

A shadowed figure sat up high listening in to a conversation while waiting for the perfect time to infiltrate.

"Black Mask seem happy?" asked goon number 43.

Goon number 32 responded, "The boss seemed stressed. Like he wasn't sure of himself."

"You mean he was nervous about the Batman?" asked goon number 43.

"Ah, yeah like he was unsure whether the Batman is legit or not," responded goon number 32 again.

Strange.

As the goons walked away, the caped figure darted through the cracked open window nearly silently. Only a small swoosh of the cape was heard.

"Did you hear that?" asked goon number 32.

"Yeah, didn't sound like anything," responded the other goon.

"Eh, alright," said 32.

The figure clung to the dark and shadowy ceiling. His black cape covering him as a disguise.

"Hey man, I'm gonna go check that sound out. It's kinda bugging me," said 32.

"Fine by me," said 43, "as long as I'm not seen leaving my post."

"Hehe, classic," said 32.

As the goons separated, the vigilante saw his chance. A small swoosh was heard as he dropped from the ceiling and stepped behind goon 43.

The goon turned around.

"Batm-"

*pow* went the metal staff against his head.

"That's Robin to you, sir."

[SillyMcGilly]

The Shooting Room:

The goons came back. A browtorch. A primitive instrument to be sure, but one of those just devious things to use on human flesh. Black Mask grasped it in his hand after the goon had handed it to him. This was the instrument that would cause Batman more pain than ever endured by him. It was... Lovely.

"Batman. You see this?" Spoke Black Mask, "This is my baby. Very much harder on the human eye than any ol lighter. I think you'd like it. It's the last thing you'll feel before you die. I want it to be memorable for you."

The blowtorch was sizzling as the blue flame exited the nozzle. Batman glared at the pitiful excuse for a torture device.

"You know why I will not die Mask?" Started Batman.

Black Mask blew on the flame he so adored.

"And why?" Asked Mask.

"Because you will first."

...

Mask turned the blowtorch off. This was not Batman. This was... Strange. No, NO, this was not right.

"You want to know why I don't fear pain, Mask?" Asked Batman.

Mask backed up.

"...why?"

"Because..."

Batman began to deform. His once black outfit was turning a light brown. His hands morphing through his restraints.

"Because I FEEL no pain."

Batman was not Batman. This was new. Black Mask moved backwards in less of a walk and more of a run.

"We- GET OUT OF HERE!"

"Ie eAM CLeAYFeACE!"

This thing had gone from an approx 6ft tall Batman to a 7ft 8 tall mass of living clay. Clayface was a fitting name. This monster's arm or whatever it was turned into a conveniently spiked appendage and began to impale the goons in the room. However he left Black Mask to run. There were special plans for him.

[Halves of a Whole]

Six blocks away from the Black Mask's hideout:

Things were going even better than expected. Half of him was tempted to radio Clayface and tell him to carry out the hit on his own. The police wouldn't be able to trace it back directly as long as Clayface didn't snitch, and even if he did, there’d be no hard proof: just the word of a con. Besides, he could always be bailed out later, as a favor to ensure his silence.

Yet his other half had doubts. As unlikely as it seemed… what if Clayface failed? What if the Black Mask somehow managed to make it out scot-free? The idea of letting that disgusting freak in that ugly Skeletor mask breathe for another minute sickened him. FAILURE sickened him. This was supposed to be it. The big moment. The overthrow. The power play that would have put him on the map.

It was sort of funny, really. Just short of a year ago, Harvey Dent would have never imagined himself in this situation. If he had, however, he would have assumed the man he'd be bumping off was Carmine Falcone, the supposedly "untouchable" crime boss he had tried to thwart since almost the beginning of his days of his district attorney.

Yet a lot of things had changed since then. Falcone was missing. A new kind of criminal had begun to fill the gap left by his absence. And Harvey Dent? Well... Harvey Dent was no longer district attorney. In fact, some might argue he was no longer even Harvey Dent anymore.

Including the man who used to be him.

He juggled his silver dollar in between his fingers, guiding it up to his thumb. It was a two-headed coin: a 'souvenir' from his father, Christopher. It was from an old game 'Chris' used to play with Harvey and his mother when he came home reeking of liquor and booze. The kind of game where landing tails meant you didn't get a fist in your face or a belt-thrashing.

If there was one thing the man once called Harvey learned from his father, it was what it was like to have no choice. Which meant that whenever he DID have an opportunity to make decisions for himself, he relished it. Choice to him was freedom. Choice was like a gift from God.

And now choice... was the one thing he could no longer make himself. Not after Maroni. Not without help.

But "Harvey" had found a way. He had found the answer one day when looking in a mirror. He would turn the coin into a reflection of himself.

"Two-Face?" a husky, sultry voice asked. "What've you got in mind, babe?"

His index finger and thumb pinched the coin, showing the woman to his left the side he had left clean. "Heads, we stay out of it."

"And tails, dear?" asked a higher-pitched voice of a woman sitting to Harvey's right.

“Tails..." he turned to her and showed her the coin's other side. The face engraved on it was barely visible beneath the marks and scratches the coin's owner had added to it. "... we stick to the old plan."

His fist closed, and his index finger pushed the silver dollar upward until it rested solely on his thumb. A flick of his opposable digit propelled the coin into the air in a straight trajectory. His fist then reopened and his wrist twisted until his palm faced skyward. Gravity took hold of the coin, which soon landed in the middle of his hand. His asymmetrical eyes peered down at the dollar's verdict.

Tails.

Two-Face pulled out a handheld transceiver from an inner coat pocket and spoke into it. "We're doing it," he said. He then looked up at his driver, a redheaded, somewhat scrawny young man with freckles sitting next to his identical twin, who held a Tommy Gun in his lap.

"Pop the trunk," Two-Face ordered. "It's gonna be a bloodbath."

[SillyMcGilly]

Corridors:

Black Mask was not normally one for running for his life in his mind. NO, THIS ISN'T HOW IT WAS MEANT TO BE! Slipping away was his best bet. He was not going to be caught, humiliated, and killed himself. He was on the edge of victory. The brink of history. Now it had slipped from his hands faster than a hot bullet shell.

As he ran as quietly as he could, suddenly Black Mask heard a familiar sound...

"BATMAN, is THAT YOU?!" shouted Black Mask, forgetting his previous attempt at being unnoticed.

Swooshes were heard above him, but he saw nothing. Until...

"Right behind ya."

Black Mask spun around and began to fire his emergency pistol. They were gone...

"I KNOW YOU'RE THERE, WHOEVER YOU ARE-"

Mask's gun flew out of his hand after a metal object hit it. "AHHH ****!" He shouted as he looked at the slice in his hand. He realized it was a batarang that had been thrown at him. Mask then began to become desperate. He had a second pistol, but it was his last one.

"Look, WHOEVER you are, I'll go to prison! Okay?! I just don't want to die! PLEASE!"

The figure landed behind Mask once again, and then said,

"Odd request for someone who thought he was gonna kill my boss," said Robin, "But if you-"

Mask drew the second pistol and shot multiple times. Robin ducked and dived as the bullets flew past him. Mask wasn't a bad shot, but Robin was better at what he was known for.

"Thought I'd give up THAT easily?!" shouted Mask again as he kept running through the halls.

[Halves of a Whole]

They encircled the building like ants. Almost two dozen of them, not a single one of whom was lacking a firearm. Semiautomatics, handguns, submachine guns... and those were just the ones they didn't have holstered. Eight of them stayed in their cars in pairs, four cars total, strategically parked, ready to block off the roads should Mask somehow make it to whatever getaway vehicle he may have on standby.

The rest moved in on foot. Sugar took the front. She looked like walking snow in her Mongolian faux fur coat. In her hand was a small pistol, covered in an equally white ceramic coating. Cerakote, of course. Ice-blue eyes cast a set but relaxed gaze at the old metal door before her. At either side of her were a man and a woman dressed in black, four people in total, their faces hidden by porcelain masks, half-black, half-white.

Two more masked individuals stood at the sides of the building lacking entrances. In reality, there weren't too many ways one could get in and out of the warehouse. Two-Face's insider had made sure to check. No underground tunnels or secret exits. Almost surprisingly spartan for an established hood like the Black Mask. Made picking off the hoods guarding the entrances easy as pie. In less than two minutes, they were already stacked one on top of the other in the trash disposal container at the building's side.

Two-Face moved toward the rear exit, standing at the side of the door with another of his hired masks and one of the twins. The other sibling, who had his own masked backup, leaned against the wall on the other side, Glock in one hand and a handheld television in the other.

"Boss..." he whispered, eyes widening while peering at the screen. "There's a cape in there."

"A 'cape'?" Two-Face growled.

"Yeah, it's... it's not Clayface, it's... it's that kid. The one who hangs out with Batman."

Two-Face swore under his breath. "Robin."

"Yeah, he's... Mask is shootin' at him, but he keeps missin'. He's..." he looked up. "He's comin' toward us."

"WHO'S coming toward us?"

"Mask."

"And is the kid going after him?"

"I'm not sure, I don't see him anymore, he's..."

Two-Face pulled out a transceiver radio from an interior pocket in his suit. "Spice, are you in position?"

"You bet, babe," came the crackled reply.

"Max here says Robin the Boy Wonder's in the building. You see 'im through any of the windows, you take him out. Got it?"

"Loud and clear, honey," Spice said. "What about Mask?"

"Let ME worry about Mask. Besides... I think I know one other way to take care of our bird problem." He pressed a button on the transceiver, switching to another channel. "Clayface?"

"Yeah, Two-Face?"

"Looks like the REAL Bat's little partner is flappin' around the warehouse."

"What, you mean Robin?"

"Yeah. When you see him... do me a favor and clip his wings for me."

[SillyMcGilly]

Corridors:

Black Mask ran, but he had purpose to where he was going. He was on track for his and his flunkys' weapons stash. As he turned a corner, he saw the pretty sight.

As he ran into the small yet compact closet area in the corridor with the artillery, he grabbed the best thing he could get his hands on: a semi automatic machine gun. And with all the extentions too. A prise he won from ripping off one of his clients... Was it... Ah, the multi-faced one. That along with some other valuables and beauties for weapons.

"Thanks, Harvey," whispered Mask under his breath as he poked back out to see if anyone was in the corridor. Nobody in sight. He felt clear. He ran out with his new toy pointing ahead of him, loaded to the teeth. Along with some extra ammunition.

Mask picked up his talky to get some feedback from his flunkys outside.

>>Men, what's going on out there?<<

No one answered. Odd, and very unsettling.

He called another...

>>Men, do you hear me? Is anyone there?<<

He then heard in the speaker something he couldn't believe...

Gunshots... And... That voice...

Obviously it seemed the transmition was coming from a dead guard lf his. Suddenly Mask felt his heart jolt...

"...Is that- no, it can't be him."

[Halves of a Whole]

Then:
The wool felt itchy and uncomfortable. Twice as much on his scarred side. He'd almost gotten a cotton scarf, but thought the wool might work better to keep the more sensitive parts of his facial tissue safe from the chill of the evening breeze. Although the cold weather did, in a way, work in his favor: wearing a scarf indoors would look odd in the summertime.

The bar was fairly packed. Happy hour had just finished about a minute ago. The yuppies and the barflies were chatting away. It was almost better this way, Two-Face thought. They were their own distraction, really: hardly any of them had taken notice of the unusually bundled-up newcomer's arrival.

That included the person he had come to see. The man was unrecognizable compared to when Two-Face had seen him last, but he stuck out like a bleeding thumb, chatting away with a blonde and brunette sitting beside him at the counter, laughing as if he was trying extra hard to show off his perfect teeth. A part of Two-Face almost felt the urge to laugh when the brunette told "Mike" he should be in movies.

Frankly, getting close would be difficult with those two around. Thankfully, Two-Face's backup, who had slipped into the bar several minutes before he did and sat next to "Candy" and "Gisele," was already on it.

"Excuse me, girls," said Sugar as she saw Two-Face quietly approach the bar. Her ivory skin and platinum blond hair were as striking as ever, but she had substituted her usual white pantsuit and and fur vest with a much more low key jeans and camouflage t-shirt. "I'm doing a survey for the Gotham Gazette and I'd LOVE to ask you two some questions..."

Mike looked away, annoyed, but seemed to quickly find solace upon rediscovering his stout on the countertop. Two-Face stepped into the space between Mike and the girls, his back facing the latter, although Sugar already had them looking in the opposite direction. She had even figured out a way to get the bartender into the conversation, too, distracting him completely from his potential new customer. The only one who seemed to be paying attention to the man in the black trench coat was Mike, who looked up from his drink and regarded the mystery man staring at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Can I... help you?"

"Didn't think it'd be so easy to track you down, Karlo."

Mike bristled. His eyes looked either way, as if to make sure no one else was listening in. "Look, I don't know you think you are, but the name ain't...."

Two-Face leaned in, lifting his sunglasses and pulling his scarf down to his chin. Mike's jaw dropped. Perhaps a quarter-inch too much.

"... Dent." His eyes looked like the Moon. "What... what happened to you?"

"I should be asking you the same question," Two-Face countered as he pulled the scarf and sunglasses back into place. "That ain't the face of the Basil Karlo I know."

"DON'T CALL ME..." from the corner of his vision, "Mike" saw Gisele, Candy and the barkeep turn from Sugar and look over his companion's back, regarding him uneasily. "Sorry, girls. My... friend here seems to've mistaken me for someone else. No biggie. Gimme a second while I straighten it all out." He rose from his stool and placed an arm around Two-Face's shoulder. The latter glared, but played along as the two walked toward a part of the bar with fewer patrons.

"If you've come to arrest me, you're gonna need a warrant. And cops. Since when do DAs come around arresting people anyway? Or are ya here to badger me with questions? And also... how'd you know where I was? How'd you know it was me? Which rats you been talkin' to?"

"Just because I talk to rats doesn't mean I am one," said Two-Face. "Besides... I'm not here to arrest ya. Don't you keep up with the news? I ain't the DA anymore. Haven't been for a while."

"All I know's that you had some accident and went missin', like all the rich bozos," Karlo said. "And… man, Harvey. I didn't know it'd been this bad. Is that why you're talkin' funny, too?"

"It AIN'T 'this bad," Two-Face growled. "I'm seeing things a lot differently than I used to, Karlo. A lot clearer."

"What's that mean, then, Harv?" Karlo asked. "You don't sound like the squeaky-clean Harvey Dent I remember."

"I'm NOT the guy you remember," Two-Face snapped. "And don't call me 'Harvey Dent.' That's not the name I use anymore."

"You stop callin' me Karlo in public and I'll call you Doris Day, if it makes you happy," Karlo retorted. "Ok, so you're not here to read me my rights... although I guess you could probably recite 'em by memory. So what ARE ya here for?"

"I did you a favor a long time ago," Two-Face remind him. "Back when I was a defense attorney. Helped you get out of a reeeeal jam you were going through at the time."

"It was a DWI, Dent... or whatever you call yourself now. Not exactly the kind of thing you get double-life for."

"Funny. Way I remember it, you were pretty worried about it wrecking your precious movie career at the time."

Karlo sighed. "Yeah, okay, fine. But you know what? I got through it. And it wasn't no favor, either. I paid ya. Fair and square."

"I'd say money or not, I did you a big one. And now I want a favor back. I'll even throw in a couple of hundred grand. 'Fair and square.'"

Karlo's eyebrow rose. "Seriously?" A long grin formed on his face. "Then you'd better not be wearing a wire or anything like that, because I'm likin' the new you already."

Now:
The old metal door behind the warehouse made a low screech as it slowly opened. Black Mask cautiously stepped out. Obviously, he had figured out something wasn't quite right outside. Yet it seemed he'd decided to take his chances anyway.

Which was just too bad. It seemed Black Mask wouldn't make much of a gambling man... if the arm suddenly around his neck and the gun pressed against his temple were any indication.

"Got 'im, boss!" Max shouted excitedly.

"Yeah, Max. You got him. We all got 'im, right, Mask?"

Seven weapons were trained on the Black Mask in total. One at the side of his head. Min, Max's brother, cradled a Tommy Gun in both hands, while the two masked "bodyguards" held twin 9mm pistols. Two-Face himself wielded a Smith & Wesson Model 64 in his right hand. With his left, he casually flipped his silver dollar as he stepped forward.

"Like your piece, by the way. Can't help but notice it looks REALLY familiar. Could've sworn I had one just like it before some punk thought it'd be funny to make off with it and a couple of other goodies from my stash."

"Saaay, boss, I think that IS one of the guns that went missing!" Min said from behind Two-Face with a big smirk. To Min's surprise, his boss suddenly swerved his head to the side, just enough so the eye on his scarred side could catch a glimpse of the mouthy twin.

"I said you could talk, Min?!" Two-Face snapped.

"N-no, sorry, Two-Face," Min stammered. "I--"

"One more word outta you and maybe Max here's gonna be short a sibling," Two-Face warned him. His head turned back to fully face the Black Mask. "Put the gun down or we put YOU down."

[SillyMcGilly]

Outside Building:

Black Mask was utterly helpless. Everything was ruined. The darkness of the night went from feeling like a sign of victory to a sign of defeat. Mask's second to worst nightmare was manifest now. The only thing worse was being humiliated by Batman.

Mask dropped the weapon quickly. He wasn't about to lose his life for a few pieces of deadly machinery.

"Harvey! You're not, uh, who I expected. You can have all the supplies back, uh..."

Mask stood stiff as weapons were pointed at his head, all simultaneously.

"Two-Face? Yeah, of course, I will call you whatever you want..."

...Then Harvey turned his face to show Mask his newly scarred face.

"Oh, uh," Mask stuttered as he looked in shock, "That is... Look, it was a common swindle, Har- I mean Two-Face. But you're a fortunate man. You have outsmarted me. I'll say your strategy was... Very well-planned. And you can now walk out with much more than you started with. Whic- Which is fine!"

Mask began to sweat under his artificial visage,

"I- uh, you have obviously killed my staff, and left me with nothing except a chance to plead for a chance to live, and that's much more than I ever even considered to do to you... I would never have even dreamed of doing something that horrible to you."

[Halves of a Whole]

Outside Building:

"Would you look at that? The Black Mask wants to negotiate!" He opened his mouth as wide as a cavern and a boisterous, scratchy laugh emerged. When they were sure it was okay to laugh, his henchmen joined him.

"The great Roman Sionis, sputtering for his life. Wasn't sure I'd see the day."  Two-Face eyed his gathered associates. "What do you think, boys? Should we give the Black Mask a SECOND chance?"

The more confident of Two-Face's crew roared in the negative, while Max and Min responded more subtly with a head shake and a "No, Mister Two-Face" respectively.

"Well, what do you know. It's unanimous." His eyes narrowed. "Too bad I'M the only one who makes decisions around here." The half-scarred man showed the Black Mask his scratched silver dollar, turning it so his captive could see both sides. "Here's the deal. Tails: your mask gets a bullet hole in it. Heads: we let you live. Simple, right?"

He rested his coin on his thumb and flicked it. It spun and spun, higher and higher, until gravity once again decided it wanted the dollar back. The coin landed flat on the palm on its owner's hand, as if lying on a mattress. Two-Face looked down... and saw the dollar's pristine side looking back.

"Well, nuts. Looks like democracy doesn't always win out after all." Two-Faced shrugged. "Too bad we can't let you go just yet." He signaled to Max with a glance and the redheaded nodded, tightening his chokehold around the Black Mask's neck. Two-Face turned to one of the masked men standing behind him. 

“Hey,” he growled. “You. What’d you say you called yourself?”

“Firefly.”

“Yeah. Thought as much. You still got that blowtorch I saw you playing with earlier?”

“Never leave home without it, Boss.”

“Good. Give it to me.”

Firefly seemed to hesitate for a moment, like a kid just asked to hand over his favorite toy. Yet he dutifully obeyed, reaching into the pouch he carried and pulling out his prized canister of liquid fuel. Two-Face took the blowtorch with one hand and used the other to pull Black Mask’s mask up slightly.

“Yuch. Now I see why you keep the mask on.”

His left hand—the one with a glove on it—brought the tip of the blowtorch’s nozzle toward the Black Mask, stopping a centimeter from the crime lord’s cheekbone.

“Let’s do the world a favor and make sure no one ever has to see your ugly mug again.”

The trigger on the blowtorch began to pull back. A long, blue flame shot out between the tiny space Two-Face had left between Sionis’ mask and his skin.

“Keep him steady, Max.”

[SillyMcGilly]

Outside Building:

The master of terror was brought so low as to be suffering from a similar terror he wished to inflict on others. Roman; Black Mask; was helpless to his now worst enemy. Roman Sionis was a slave of no one. And neither was Black Mask. But... He had nowhere to run...

"Here's the deal. Tails: your mask gets a bullet hole in it. Heads: we let you live. Simple, right?"

Humiliating. Roman couldn't help but feel an element of turmoil boil up inside of him as Two Face flipped the silver dollar.

...

Time was slowing down. Karma was having it's way with Roman. Fate was laughing at him. Sickening and humiliating.

He knew he would die. He didn't trust Two Face's promise of life or death.

At this point a quick death was tempting. But it only would accentuate the cowardliness Roman tried to hide, but failed so hard at.

He knew it was either a slow painful death in bound, or a short and quick one. He wanted the latter, but at the same time pride got ahead of his scared nature. Painful the death, less humiliation. And humiliation was something Roman feared worse than death itself.

...

"Well, nuts. Looks like democracy doesn't always win out after all." Two-Faced shrugged. "Too bad we can't let you go just yet."

The choice was made.

...

Time flew...

...

Suddenly Roman felt flames against the flesh of his face.

...

Roman screamed in pain.

This was how it was destined to end...

How the night started...

But with him on the receiving...

Karma hated him.

Roman hated Sionis.

Sionis hated Roman.

The Mask hated both.

They must both die.

The Black Mask would live on.

By himself.

Fear and cowering dying.

The pain was purifying.

[Halves of a Whole]

The flame began its work, melding flesh and mask together in an unbreakable bond. The blowtorch moved around Black Mask’s face with a surgeon’s precision… an impressive feat for its wielder, who had never done anything like this before. One would think the man would at least feel a twinge of guilt, a nagging from his conscience. Or at least flinch a little from the sound of the screams.

Luckily… Two-Face’s conscience knew its boundaries. Everyone did. They were marked clear as day on the burgeoning mobster’s face. No wimpy former district attorney was going to suddenly jump out of Two-Face’s psyche and chuck the canister away. That wasn’t how the agreement worked. There were rules… which most who knew Two-Face would say were the only rules he chose to abide by.

Throughout the whole process, he said nothing. His eyes, one slightly larger than the other, remained fixed on the agonizing Roman Sionis, but their look was distant, devoid of even rage or glee. There was almost a sort practice professionalism to it, a detached focus. All that existed in that moment for Two-Face were the victim and the flame. He paid no heed to the discomfort in some of his henchmen’s faces or “Firefly” staring longingly at the dancing fire—perhaps he didn’t even notice them.

When he was finished, Two-Face finally looked up. ”We’re done,” he told Max, who nodded and released his grip on the Black Mask. He handed Firefly back the blowtorch and once again took out his transceiver. “Change of plans, Spice. We’re letting Clayface handle the Boy Wonder. He’s probably dealt with all of Black Mask’s goons already.”

“You sure, boss?” Spice asked. “I could try to get a clear shot…”

“No,” Two-Face said. “Our point’s been made. Black Mask won’t be stealin’ from us for a looong time.” He pressed a button to switch frequencies and said, “Sugar? You’re not goin’ in. Black Mask’s already been taken care of. We’re headed home.”

He turned away from Black Mask and began to walk away, his associates trailing close behind. Max, the last to leave, walked backward at first, training his gun on the man Two-Face ironically disfigured. When he was sure the Black Mask wasn’t going to surprise them with a concealed weapon or anything remotely similar, he turned around and began to walk normally. He stepped into the car he’d driven Two-Face in and briefly looked through the rear-view mirror at his boss, who once again had Sugar and Spice at his side. The man’s poker face was as good as ever. Yet Max could sense Two-Face’s satisfaction. Their visit to Black Mask hadn’t just been an act of retribution. It was a warning. Now no one would be stupid enough to steal from Two-Face again.

Or at least they’d think twice about it.

[SillyMcGilly]

[OOC: Using italics for speaking by NPCs. Thoughts for all characters are in italics.]

Inside Building - Corridors:

The screams and yells from outside were indistinct, yet faintly audible. Robin sneaked through the halls silently as he tried to make out what was happening outside. The screaming getting closer with every step.

Almost all of the windows in the building were boarded up and barricaded, apart from a few. Since he was now on the other side of the building from where he entered, he needed to find another exit.

Booyah. Open window.

Suddenly, clay began to slither in from the vents in the ceiling, and form into a humanoid figure. Robin darted through the opening in the window before Clayface could finish reforming himself.

"YHER NOTH GETSING AWHKAY TFHAT EASTHLY!" Clayface shouted in a slimy, icky voice.


Outside Building:

Police vehicles of all kinds appeared around the building after Two-Face and his flunkies had left. Commissioner Gordon stepped out of the passenger seat of one of the GCPD Mustangs, and looked around at the carnage that once was Black Mask's "army".

"The hell... What happened here?"

Gordon expected thugs with guns. Not dead bodies. It was a massacre. An inhumane disaster.

>>"Commissioner! Thank God, these damn things are working again... The Batman was not Batman! I repeat, Batman was not Batman!"<<

Gordon pulled his radio out and responded.

>>"What do you mean 'was not Batman'? Explain."<<

>>"We're not sure, Commissioner. On the video feed, he just... suddenly transformed. Afterwards the feed cut. Something dangerous is there."<<

>>"Well, no $***, all of Black Mask's goons are dead-"<<

"Commissioner! We found Black Mask. He's outside, and badly wounded."

Gordon responded, "Well, get him restrained on a stretcher and in that ambulance. Make sure he's guarded on transit."

>>"All SWAT units surround the building. Something is in there, and it's not going to get outside. Gordon out."<<

Robin tuned his radio interceptors to the channel of one of the police around Black Mask.

"...'ll be in good hands."

"We need to get him to Arkham fast. He's losing consciousness."

"Shouldn't he be executed?"

"No, he was tried before, remember? They put him in Arkham, not a regular prison."

"Right, and then he escaped like... Two years ago?"

"Something like tha-"

"Two-Face... I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you-" *moaning*

"Yeah h-"

>>"Alfred, it seems that the perpetrator may be Two-Face. This mystery just gets even more interesting. Also, there's no sign of the real Batman. Only Clayface."<<

>>"What are you going to do now, master Grayson?"<<

>>"I'll stay temporarily in case Clayface shows himself again. I might even say hi to Gordon while I'm at it, heh."<<

>>"Very well, sir. Good luck."<<

[Blue Rose]

             Outside Building:



               A man clad in a brown suit with a red cape wandered for what seemed like hours. He scowled after he remembered being arrested for mistreating children in a sewer and forcing them to steal ''pretties'' for him from the streets. ''At least I'm no longer imprisoned,'' he muttered. Although he wasn't in a sewer, he still considered himself as the Sewer King. The name Wendell Lewis no longer mattered to him. He was going to find other villains to help him get even with the man responsible for having him arrested - Batman. 

             The Sewer King saw a man with a radio. He didn't recognize him. He approached him. The Sewer King took one corner of his cape and bowed near the man. A smile formed on his face. ''Greetings. I am the Sewer King. You are?''

[SillyMcGilly]

Outside Building:

SWAT units surrounded the building that once was occupied by Black Mask. But now, some other terror was in the building. Whatever it was, it was sneaky but deadly.

Commissioner Gordon once again spoke on his radio to all units present.

>>"Alright, we need two rows of SWAT units. One row to secure the perimeter, and one to go in. Nothing gets in or out!"<<

*sigh* Would be damn nice if one of Batman's friends would show up here as well-

"Hey Commish'," said a voice behind him. Gordon spun around, and saw it was Robin.

"Dammit boy, you scared me," said Gordon, "What's going on in there? Do you know?"

"Clayface," said Robin simply, "I outran him, but wasn't prepared for an encounter with him. I suggest not engaging until I'm rea-"

Another swoosh came from above. It was Batgirl. Robin jumped after her without a second thought.

"Hey, great timing, Batgirl. You happen to bring anything to freeze a giant clay monster?"

---

"Those kids... they're even more annoying than Batman," said Gordon jokingly to himself. Just then a voice came from behind him again. But this time, it wasn't a friendly voice.

"Greetings. I am the Sewer King. You are?"

Gordon turned around quickly again. This time for good reason. He remembered that face and voice... And that name.

"You.. What're you doing here?" Asked Gordon, "Happen to have any idea what's going on here, or... Are you a passerby?"

[Blue Rose]

                Outside Building:


         The Sewer King's eyes widened the minute he saw a boy he wasn't familiar with. One eye was visible while the other eye remained hidden behind a dark lense. The boy definitely wasn't Frog. One of the ungrateful little monsters Batman saved earlier. One of the children responsible for obtaining pretties for his king.

       The Sewer King stepped back the minute he saw a girl dressed like a bat. He remembered everything Batman did to distress him. From hurting his ''pretties'' aka pet sewer alligators to removing his children from the sewer.

          ''Batgirl?!'' He wondered if she heard about him from Batman. Wherever Batman was. 

              The Sewer King heard Gordon's questions. His eyes remained wide. He shook his head at a snail's pace. ''I,I,I'm a mere passerby. Mr...'' He paused.

       ''I shouldn't reveal my past. I may be arrested another time,'' the Sewer King muttered. He shrugged.

         ''It's a mere stroll.''