Chapter 7: A Mark On Gotham
March 25th, 2010
Port Adams, East End, Gotham city
12:44 AM
Andrew surveyed the docks with a mixture of sarcasm and intrigue. "Well, well, there are actually thugs at the docks. What a surprise," he muttered, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.
As he had anticipated, the scene before him revealed a group of armed criminals openly guarding a shipment. Andrew's instincts proved correct once again. The tattoos adorning their bodies and the masks they wore painted a clear picture – these were not mere security personnel, but rather individuals engaged in illicit activities.
His keen eye for detail allowed him to discern their true nature. The menacing tattoos etched across their arms and the masks concealing their identities were telltale signs of their criminal intent. Andrew's previous experiences and knowledge of criminal behavior from the comics and TV shows enabled him to make quick assessments, even from a distance.
Andrew carefully assessed the situation, noting the distribution of the twenty criminals at the docks. "So, there are ten near the shipment, close to the boat, and another ten stationed further away to guard the outskirts of the perimeter," he muttered to himself, his analytical mind working swiftly to process the information.
Andrew carefully weighed his options, contemplating the allure of a thrilling, guns-blazing approach. However, he recognized that such a method would draw unwanted attention and potentially jeopardize his mission. Instead, he resolved to pursue a more discreet and refined path, dedicating himself to enhancing his stealth capabilities.
His mind raced, exploring different avenues and formulating a plan that would maximize his chances of success while minimizing unnecessary risks.
Aware of his approach, Andrew recognized the need to leverage his agility, shapeshifting abilities to remain hidden, and combat skills to gain an advantage over the criminals. Stealth and precise strikes are more stelthier than engaging in a direct firefight.
With a racing heart, Andrew made a conscious decision to shrink himself back to his original size, recognizing the advantages it would provide in this situation. The anticipation and adrenaline surged through his veins as he leaped off the roof of the warehouse, skillfully landing on the ground below.
Reducing his size had multiple benefits. It made him less conspicuous, allowing him to blend into the surroundings and move with stealth. The smaller stature also granted him enhanced agility, enabling him to navigate tight spaces and approach the criminals undetected.
As Andrew's excitement fueled his actions, he meticulously assessed the layout of the area, taking note of the criminals' positions and the surrounding environment. With the element of surprise on his side, he planned to use his shapeshifting abilities to maneuver unseen, skillfully evading their attention while getting closer to his first targets.
As Andrew approached the oblivious thugs from behind, he couldn't help but roll his eyes at their lackadaisical attitude. It seemed typical of criminals to neglect their duties and remain unaware of their surroundings. Even their guns were on the top of the crates!
Listening to their conversation, he heard one thug inquire about the contents of the shipments they were guarding. "Man, I ain't got a damn clue, but as long as that money's flowin', I ain't gonna waste my time diggin' for answers" The response came in an apathetic tone.
As Andrew extended his arms and swiftly seized both thugs, he forcefully collided their heads together with a resounding crack. The sound reverberated through the air, causing Andrew to wince at the unintended display of excessive force. He made a mental note to exercise more restraint in the future, ensuring that he didn't cause unnecessary harm.
With the thugs now unconscious, Andrew carefully dragged their limp bodies behind the crates they had been leaning on, concealing them from immediate view. His intention was not to cause permanent damage but rather to neutralize the immediate threat and prevent them from exposing him.
As he took a moment to collect himself, Andrew's words were tinged with a mix of dark humor and acknowledgment of the situation. "They're going to have a splitting headache when they wake up,".
As Andrew proceeded with his mission, he moved with utmost stealth and precision he could, utilizing his shapeshifting abilities to his advantage. One by one, he silently approached each criminal, swiftly incapacitating them through well-executed chokeholds. His actions were precise, ensuring they lost consciousness without alerting those near the shipment.
With a combination of skill (luck) and calculated movements, Andrew dispatched all ten thugs stationed around the perimeter, ensuring they posed no further threat. Each unconscious body was discreetly hidden, minimizing the chances of discovery and maintaining the element of surprise.
As Andrew assessed the situation and observed the tightly-knit group of the remaining ten thugs, he realized that stealthily taking down a single individual without alerting the others would be a near-impossible task. Seeking cover behind a nearby crate, he began brainstorming a plan to overcome this challenge.
Then, a sudden idea struck Andrew's mind. He decided to utilize his shapeshifting abilities to his advantage. With a deliberate focus, he split himself into another identical copy, both of them having a cell stock of five million.
Looking at his clone, Andrew confirmed their understanding of the plan. The clone nodded in agreement, fully comprehending their shared objective. This synchronized coordination would be crucial for their success.
With anticipation building, Andrew tensed his muscles as he watched his arms grow exponentially in size and density, becoming an elongated and dense appendage ready for action. The thrill of the impending action coursed through his veins.
Filled with a mix of excitement and determination, Andrew whispered to his clone, "Let the fun begin.
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Jack's day had been nothing short of a nightmare. From waking up without his usual fix to losing a fight against a fellow gang member, everything seemed to be spiraling downward. Now, he found himself stuck in the most mind-numbingly boring job imaginable—guarding a shipment.
"At least I'm getting paid for this shit," Jack muttered bitterly as he took a drag from his cigarette. The pain that shot through his left foot served as a constant reminder of the beating he had taken earlier. It was swollen and throbbing, a painful testament to the number of kicks he had endured that day.
Frustrated and worn down, Jack couldn't help but mutter, "There is no way this day could get any worse." Little did he know, he had just violated the number one rule of the criminal world—never assume things are going smoothly.
As the wooden crates rained down from the sky, Jack was jolted out of his daydream, his senses sharpening with a surge of adrenaline. His heart pounding, he swiftly grabbed his gun, his grip tightening as the shouts of his companions filled the air. It was clear that they were under attack.
Dodging the falling crates, Jack sprinted towards cover while ignoring the pain radiating from his injured foot, desperately trying to avoid being struck. But his fellow guards were not as fortunate. One by one, they were hit, knocked unconscious by the unexpected barrage.
Frustration and anger boiled within Jack as he witnessed the incompetence of his comrades. He couldn't help but unleash a tirade of expletives at their lack of action, their inability to respond to the threat unfolding around them.
"Fucking idiots! They think they're invincible just 'cause they packin' heat!" Jack hissed bitterly, his voice filled with contempt. It was clear to him that relying on the new recruits was a futile endeavor.
Realizing that he was likely the only one still standing, and that his assailant was a meta human, Jack made a quick decision to retreat. There was no point in risking his life when his companions had already been incapacitated. He was not going to blackgate, not again.
"And just where do you think your going," Jack froze as he turned around, he came face to face with his assailant, only to be met with a swift and powerful punch to his face. The impact reverberated through his skull, igniting a surge of pain that shot through his entire being. Disoriented and reeling, Jack's vision blurred as he desperately tried to regain his bearings.
But his efforts were in vain. The pain radiating from his face and his throbbing foot, coupled with the overwhelming force of the blow, overwhelmed his senses. The embrace of unconsciousness began to envelop him, gradually pulling him into its dark abyss.
As his body gave in to the overwhelming pain and disorientation, Jack's consciousness slipped away. His mind plunged into an uncharted realm of oblivion, leaving his fate uncertain and his struggles suspended.
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Andrew's surprise was palpable as he witnessed the unfolding events. His original plan had been to use the wooden crates as distractions, allowing his clone to quietly and stealthy approach the thugs and neutralize them one by one. It was a tactical approach, aimed at catching the criminals off guard while remaining hidden.
However, Andrew had underestimated the sheer lack of awareness and intelligence among the thugs. Despite his own limited throwing skills, by some stroke of luck, he managed to hit each of them with the wooden crates. It was a fortunate turn of events, as it swiftly incapacitated the majority of the group.
Regrettably, one of the thugs remained unharmed by Andrew's impromptu assault. But to his relief, his clone swiftly took care of the remaining threat, ensuring that none of the criminals were left standing.
As Andrew went absorbed his clone, merging back into one, he couldn't help but express his disappointment. "That was... anticlimactic," he muttered, a touch of disappointment in his voice. His clone's response was blunt and straightforward, "No shit."
With the immediate threat neutralized, Andrew redirected his attention to the shipment they had been guarding—a relatively small shipping container. He approached the container cautiously, fully aware of the potential dangers that lay within.
Opening the door, Andrew's eyes widened, and a low whistle escaped his lips as he beheld the contents of the container. It was filled to the brim with guns—countless firearms of various types and sizes. From compact handguns to powerful assault rifles, the container held a vast array of deadly weaponry "this is every gamer's wet dream" he remarked.
Andrew's initial amusement at the sight of the vast array of guns quickly faded as he realized that they held no value for him. He frowned, disappointed by the lack of versatility and specialized equipment within the container. His skills and methods went beyond traditional firearms, and the absence of flashbangs, or smoke bombs further diminished the usefulness of the weapons in his eyes.
His attention shifted to the unconscious thugs strewn on the ground. Andrew's smirk returned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. While he planned on adhered to a strict code against killing, he saw an opportunity to teach these individuals a valuable lesson.
A lesson in humility should do the trick.
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Jim Gordon, the comissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, had encountered his fair share of heinous crimes throughout his 20 years of service. From witnessing acts of violence, torture, smuggling, and drug-related offenses, he had seen the darkest aspects of humanity. However, the sight that greeted him on this particular day was something he had never encountered before.
Hanging from a lamppost were approximately twenty thugs, all tightly bound together. What shocked Jim even more was the degrading state in which they were left. Clad only in their undergarments and covered in trash, it was a humiliating spectacle.
As Jim processed the unsettling message left at the scene, a headache began to form. The cryptic letter composed of ammunition, that said:
The kids were misbehaving, causing commotion,
So I stepped in to bring them some much-needed devotion,
I taught them a lesson, showed them the way,
Now they know how to positively align.
there were no names associated with the message which added to the growing complexity of the situation. It was clear that a new vigilante had emerged, taking justice into their own hands in a distinctive and unorthodox manner.
Knowing the potential ramifications of this new development, Jim realized that the involvement of Batman, Gotham City's renowned protector, was crucial. As he drove back to headquarters, he made the decision to reach out to the Dark Knight for assistance.
The bat-signal was lit up that night
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(A/N)
I hope you found some enjoyment in that little rhyme. I must confess, I'm not particularly skilled in the art of rhyming, but I genuinely hope it didn't come across as cringy.
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