preview of my fic (also pls drop name ideas)
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SEPTEMBER 17TH, 20XX 1:58 AM
GOTHAM CITY, NJ
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Gotham could be summed up in one word – Shit, if you wanted to give the city some grace.
The street lamps' lights had recently been changed. The mayor would rather make unnecessary purchases than making a change, the change he once promised. The unnerving orange lighting had been replaced with an ever harsher LED form. Blinding, to those harboring the night. Being paired with the harsh waves crashing against the seaboard, being only heard if you were in the vicinity of the water, always being drowned out by honking, yelling, and shooting.
It was a relatively normal night for Park Row, which the people of this rotten city called ‘Crime Alley’, in years time. Well, as normal as that cursed part of town could get. It hasn't been normal, not ever since that night outside of Monarch Theater.
The faint smell of cigarettes that had been stomped on, paired with gasoline and alcohol. As well as the faint noise of a gunshot, somewhere. It would probably be on the news later, if even that. Gotham was known for turning a blind eye at things that deserved attention, both the news and people. But that was the soul of Gotham, no matter how depressing it may sound.
A group of Penguin Thugs. Armed. Parading a warehouse that harbored some form of… something. That's what he was trying to figure out, anyways. Well, people didn't want to acknowledge the guy was fully human, anyways. Hell, especially with that new demon traffic light tailing after him, except this time he had a katana. Seriously, where’d the bat get this one?
But he wasn't out tonight. It was a school night, after all, and he happened to have a test tomorrow.
“Hey, ya got the cargo?” One heavily tattooed thug spoke to another. He looked like.. Well, like every thug looked like. Brunette, swollen eyes, the usual. The only difference is he held an ACR Bushmaster – military grade. Sheeps Fold pocket knife on the left side of his belt, too. The other, noticeably shorter thug, held a SIG 556R, and a similar belt, although instead of a knife, there was a Ruger P90 .45, a relatively nice handgun.
Where the hell are they getting these guns? They looked brand new too, freshly polished as well.
“Hell yeah, Penguin’d beat our ass. N’ its why we're here in the first place, idiot!” He harshly spoke out to the adjacent thug, making sure to stand his ground.
“No needa get all mad, asshat..” The taller thug spoke, rolling his eyes.
Ignoring those two, there was a good amount of thugs. 13, to be exact.
They really needed to start upping their game.
A shadow peered through an opened window, before silently and seemingly effortlessly perching.
Then there were 12.
Then 11.
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
Down to the final two.
“Hey, why'd it get all quiet?” The taller thug spoke.
“Shaddup, yer being paranoid.” The shorter blonde sneered. “Theyre prolly lazing around, like you.”
“Least im not fuckin’ fun sized..”
Thump.
They whipped their heads around simultaneously.
“FUCK!”
Those were their last words.
…Of the next few hours, give or take. Maybe they wouldn't wake up till the next morning.
As the Bat laid his final blow, he finally decided to find what he was looking for.
All he knew, so far, was that this was some sort of deal supplying goons across Gotham with weapons.. He just needed to figure out what kind, and where they were coming from. He never did like not knowing all the details of a plan, but so be it.
He inspected the dimly lit warehouse. The weapons that the thugs he had already taken down were not only well maintained, but militia grade and new models. Your average weapons supplier couldn't even dream about getting their hands on most of these, except for maybe the handguns.
He looked at the crates, with their shipment IDs.
Which were not only scrubbed off, but the wood was pried off as well, leaving splinters everywhere. Great.
All he could identify by the wood and styling, that this had to be a domestic import, so it could be anywhere in America.
Exhaling through his nose sharply, the bat proceeded to look around, pressing two fingers to what was probably where his ear was supposed to be located.
“Oracle. See anything of note?” A raspy and masculine voice spoke. The bat could talk?
“Nope, nothing really. All I can tell is that they came from air travel.” A woman spoke into his ear, paired with the clear crinkle of a bag of chips, leading to a munch. “ How'd they even get these crates across the city?” She continued, mouth half full. “Also, Alfred said–”
She spoke before he quickly hung up. He always listened to Alfred, but he was tired of talking to people right now, and Alfred would hopefully forgive him for whatever he said. The bat let out a low hum in response, his signature move over the years. He proceeded to tap on his gauntlet, switching channels seamlessly.
“Gordon. I found one of the Penguins weapon cashes. Sending you the coordinates now.” He spoke flatly as he sent them out.
“Jeez, still formal with me after all this time, huh? Whatever, I'm on my way now.”
He then proceeded to hang up without another word, in his usual fashion, quickly sending a message to the Ex- Crime lord himself, Red Hood.
It felt.. Odd, talking to so many people in one moment. After all, they'd all hated him at some point, and a part of him was still used to working alone.
‘Jason. Found one of the Penguins Cashes in your town.
Oracle sent you the cords.’
‘Thanks for the warning, but I can handle
my side of town just fine.’
He sighed as he read that, choosing to not respond before grappling back out the window in which he came through. Back into the night, once more.
He had more crime to stop, after all. And the night was young. Even if he hadn't slept in 5 days, crime didn't sleep, after all. Except during the daytime in Gotham.
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SEPTEMBER 17TH, 20XX 12:38 AM
METROPOLIS, CA
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The street lamps hadn't changed since the day he arrived here, 16 years ago. They still had their refreshing orange hue. The light bulbs had been replaced, but the color hadn't waivered, the city choosing to keep the calming statement. The lights paired with the soft waves of the beach quite nicely, as well. Except for the areas around LexCorp, annoyingly enough, which had a beaming LED surrounding it.
It was way too late in the night, even most of Metropolis agreed with him. The people there rose with the sun, and slept with the sun, even if it was a bustling city. The only people who usually stayed up, were either night shift workers, prostitutes, and people who had just moved from the New York - Gotham area. It made the sun powered alien feel right at home, somehow., even if he was half across the country from his adoptive parents. The city wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but it was pretty darn close.
‘How the heck did Bruce stay up so late all the time? AND run a company?!’
A certain super thought to himself while laying on the air high above Metropolis, sighing as he looked at the moon above him, the city calm below him. He listened in on the waves hitting the sand in a rhythmic motion, cars driving, and people laughing without a care in the world. The faint smell of sea air and a light bliss of gasoline.
Clark always knew he felt more drawn to Bruce than others, even in the League. He couldn't just place why. After all, Bruce hadn't even entrusted him with his identity until just 3 years ago, even if he’d been there since Dick was 10 years old, who was now 26. He knew the man had trust issues, but still.. It hurt.
For some reason, Lex Luthor decided the middle of the night would be the best time to do something without public attention. Which, he wasn't wrong. He would probably have no idea about it unless Lois texted him letting him know around 10 o’ clock, which was basically the witching hour for him. Her explanation for being up so late being near the docks for a story she was working on
He could barely even remember anything except him putting on his suit and Lex talking about some deal.. Oh well. It probably wasn't important. Hopefully.
The super still didn't really know why he hadn't crashed in bed by now. He wanted to, sure, but he wanted to see how the bat lived. After all, he’d barely seen the night, except for when Bruce was present.
Why did he keep thinking about the man?
Ring. Ring. Ring.
He quickly grabbed his phone, almost dropping it to its doom. Looking at the contact name. Alfred. Not again.. What was Bruce up to now? And why was he being the one to deal with it?
“Hey, Alfred. What's up? Isn't it 3 in the morning for you?” He spoke with his southern drawls shining, in true himbo fashion.
“Sorry to bother Mr. Kent, but isn't it also quite late for you as well? A tad hypocritical, if I do say so myself.” Alfred spoke, both sounding exhausted and happy to speak to the man.
“Fair enough.. So why'd you call? Not that I mind, of course.” he spoke softly, huffing as he rested his free arm over his stomach, cruising through the clouds.
“As I hate to say, Master Bruce hasn't slept in five nights, actively avoiding me when at the manor, which, for him, is quite dire. I was hoping you'd aid in his.. Delivery home.”
He said, exhausted, as another voice chimed in.
“Yeah, no idea why he's acting this way. It's not like him– well– it is, but not for five days straight. Actually..” Tim spoke, the faint sound of keys clacking in the background as he questioned his statement. Clark could practically hear the glare Alfred gave the poor white boy.
“Agreed. Something’s wrong. Worried.” Cass chimed in. Before Stephanie continued, mouth half full. “Yeah- it's bullshit! He's acting cuckoo!” She chimed in, paired with the loud sounds of a chip bad crinkling.
“..five days..?” Clark shuddered, as if the thought alone made him uneasy. He couldn't really complain about being tired anymore, huh? “He’ll be home in 15 minutes. You guys, go to bed too.” He stated, already hanging up and hurling himself through the twilight of night towards Gotham.
‘He couldn't even sleep? What did he eat? Is he okay?’ His mind moving 100 miles an hour, him moving a 100 miles quicker.
Why was he so worried about him?
It's because they were such close friends. That's it.
That's all it could be, and all it will be.
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Tim rubbed his hands together, with the most evil shit-faced grin on. “Operation ‘they took so long so we're doing it ourselves’ is in action!” He spoke, staring at Steph, who was doing the exact same hand rubbing - face grin combo, Cass just grinning at the two.
“This is utter buffonery. Father would not be pleased–” Damian started to speak, pausing his self proclaimed ‘Twilight Training Regime’, even if he specifically had been told to go to bed, due to it being a school night.
“Shut up.” Tim and Steph both spoke in unanimous harmony. Whipping their heads to face him in what could only be described as sibling annoyance.
“Tch.” he clicked, glaring at them before returning to his self proclaimed ‘necessary’ training.
All Alfred could do was sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Young masters, it's time for bed. Now, I believe.” Alfred stated, with no room for argument.
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