Infinite Earths » Places

         The clanging of the final bell was one sound that Jaime enjoyed all too well, even more so now that it was the end of the year. Yes, summer had finally arrived! He wouldn't have to worry about anything school related for a full three months. Jaime scrambled to get his things, hastily stuffing his books and papers into his bag before slinging it over shoulder and heading for the door. He joined up with his best friends Brenda and Paco in the hallway.

"Yes!" Paco exclaimed. "We're finally free from this hell-hole!"

"Yeah, and one more year until we're official members of the real world." Brenda added, clearly less enthused about their maturation.

The girl's dull response was met with a sneer from Paco, "Do you have to be such a downer?"

The two went on with their bickering for a while, completely ignored by Jaime as they headed for the front doors. Once outside the trio rounded to the eastern side of the school to grab their bikes. "Let's head to the comic store before heading home guys." Jaime chimed in. "There's some things I need to pick up."

----------

Today was just another monotonous day at El Paso National Bank. People came in, made whatever money transaction they needed to make, and went about their day. Eric was sick of working behind a counter all the time, especially when the highlight of his day was some guy opening a savings account for his bratty kid. He longed for something exciting, something intense. Now he regretted not going into journalism like he originally intended.

"Look out!" shouted someone just outside the bank, directing the attention of all those within to the massive fireball rushing toward them. When the flames slammed into the building's face an innumerable number of glass shards scattered through the air. In addition to the trail of scorched concrete and shattered glass, many an innocent Texan were left badly injured and confused about what had just happened. The deviant responsible for the sudden attack was a man by the name of Logi, a super-powered thug with a hunger for green. A sadistic grin spread across the man's face as he stepped into the bank.

"Let's go people, I don't have all day!" he shouted before letting out a torrent of flames to get them rattled. "Everyone on the ground, now!" Once everyone had complied with his orders, Logi hurried over to the nearest bank employee, which just happened to be Eric. Knowing he wouldn't be able to punch through the thick fiberglass that separated them, he simply melted it by touching his hand to its surface. He grabbed a handful of the man's collar so he could drag him all the way to the back rooms. Once they had reached the safe, Logi shoved his captive forward. "Go ahead." He demanded, "And don't act like you don't know the code, I'll burn a hole in your head for wasting my time." That was all that Eric needed to convince him. He quickly began to rotate the dial to put in the correct combination, although he was having a little trouble since he was acting under pressure but he got it eventually. When he said he wanted intensity, this was hardly what he meant by it. The robber shoved his captive aside once again as the vault door swung open to reveal the jackpot lying inside. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

He hurried into the vault with Eric at his side and handed him a large sac to put the money in.. Logi's window of opportunity was dwindling; he could already hear the cry of police sirens in the distance.

Back at the comic shop, Jaime was just about to purchase his collection of comics when Brenda and Paco directed his attention to the TV mounted in the store's lounging area. There was live footage of the scene at the El Paso bank, which had escalated into a stand-off between the EPPD and human flame-thrower that robbed the bank moments earlier. So far Logi had the upper hand. The officers were being held at bay by the constant release of flames, and they wouldn't dare open fire since he kept a hostage. Jaime dropped the comic books on the counter before turning to look at his friends.

"Go ahead, we got this." Paco gave him a thumb's up as he moved to pay for the comics, giving Jaime the go ahead to head out of the store. Once outside he quickly made his way to the back of the building so no one would see him. Time for the action start. The hoodie, t-shirt and jeans he wore were soon replaced by the sleek blue armor of the Blue Beetle. The alien plating spread over every inch of his body and sprouted two large pairs of transparent wings from his back. Once his transformation into his superhero persona was complete, Jaime took off into the sky and headed straight for downtown El Paso. When he arrived on the scene the Blue Beetle landed in front of the line of police cruisers. As he extended one hand, a wall of arcane energy formed in front of them to deflect the waves of flames thrown at them. "Alright that's enough, let him go and I won't smack you around too badly!" Jaime demanded.

TARGET IS UNLIKELY TO RELEASE THE CAPTIVE, LETHAL FORCE ON BOTH INDIVIDUALS IS ADVISED.

The voice of the Scarab screamed at him from deep within his mind, causing him to wince in discomfort. "Yeaah no. I'll pass on that." he replied, seemingly talking to himself. The Beetle flew up and over the energy wall only to be bombarded by some well-placed fireballs. Luckily for him his armor was so durable or he would've been reduced to a pile of ash. He pointed one hand toward Logi, causing the armor that surrounded it to transform into what looked like an oversized vacuum. The next torrent of flames fired was effortlessly sucked into device where it would likely be converted into energy to power the armor. The criminal continued to fire but to no avail, his flames just continued to be absorbed. The Beetle suddenly charged, keeping his vacuum hand pointed forward just in case he tried to attack again, which he did of course. A strong straight right to the villain’s jaw forcefully relinquished his grip on his captive and sent him tumbling through a light post. He would have retaliated with a wave of flames but the Beetle was already upon him before he could act. Moments later, Logi found himself surrounded by a cylindrical chamber crafted from the scarab armor.

The man threw everything he had at it, projecting intense heat and flames from every inch of his body. As the seconds passed he began to realize that the intensity of the flames was decreasing, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to create them. The Beetle had created a vacuum chamber by pulling out the air within. “No air, no fire!” It didn’t take long for the crook to pass out from a lack of oxygen, prompting Jaime to release him. With the situation derailed the EPPD officers moved in to detain the assailant. One officer slapped a pair of cuffs and an inhibitor on his wrists and neck respectively while another grabbed the sac of stolen money. Now that the threat had been eliminated, Jaime went on to tend to those injured in robbery. He quickly dismissed the Scarab’s suggestion to execute them to end their suffering. “That’s not how I operate.” Although his knowledge of his abilities were limited, he managed to provide his native Texans with some relief before the paramedics arrived, who he then let take over.

The crowd of spectators that had gathered on the scene erupted into cheers and applause, and the local news station’s cameras focused on him. Jaime couldn’t help but strike a pose or two in the face of the camera before rocketing in the sky and heading off toward his house. The mission was a success and he had a stack of comics waiting for him when he got home, it was a good way to start the summer. He couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow entailed.

         

Coventry, Gotham City
October 1, 2015
6:32 A.M.

Standing in the dim light that illuminated the latest kill, the Batman loomed over the corpse that lay in the middle of the room. Scanning the area around the body gave him no new results, no trace elements of any substances. This was simple, cold, knife-edge murder. There were no remnants of foreign particles, no shreds of clothing, no follicles of hair. There was nary a thing to go on. Batman had performed a facial recognition scan on the deceased a minute ago, and was waiting for information from his databanks to come through on an identity.

The victim had a very prevalent entry wound in the side of his neck, having bled profusely from the puncture. Judging from the cleanliness of the wound, it seemed to be a slow incision, not forced or hurried. It was as if the killer took their time. It was truly a puzzler; the murderers Batman had dealt with so far had never been this careful.

Reaching down, Batman felt for the dead man's pockets. His keys, wallet, and phone were all there. The killer took nothing from the victim other than his life. It was strange to say the least. Finally, the analysis of the facial recognition scan came back, flashing into his HUD. "Henry Thompson. Says here he was a factory worker at Ace Chemicals until he was diagnosed with lung cancer..." He fell silent for a moment, contemplating.

"Alfred," he spoke into the comm. system in his suit, "Have there been any updates to the Jacob Jules murder earlier this morning?"
"It would seem a formal case report is still in order, sir," an aged British accent came through on the other end. "However, I did manage to procure the late detective's personnel file, which in turn led me to his medical records. It would seem that detective Jules was diagnosed with liver cancer some three months ago. Coincidence?"
"I'm not allowed to believe in coincidence, Alfred. But until I find out more, I can't be too certain. Hm?" Batman's attention was diverted as he looked over the body again.
"Something the matter, sir?" Alfred inquired.

Stooping down, the Batman pried open Henry's stiff, clenching fingers to reveal a blood-spattered scrap of paper. Picking it up, the detective saw a hastily-scribbled note which read "You're welcome." The Batman didn't react, and became aware of his silence as he studied the note. With the photographic optics software in his lenses, he was able to capture a still image of the note and upload it to the Batcomputer.

"Alfred, I need you to analyze this handwriting and see if there are any documented matches. I'm coming back to the Batcave; it's almost light out."
"Right away sir."

Placing the note back into Henry's hand, the Batman closed the cadaverous fingers around the slip of paper and stood, looking around the room one last time. He suspected the police would be here momentarily, as he picked up on the incident by intercepting a phone call made from a woman who now stood outside the building. Deciding to leave the way he came in, Batman grappled his way into the air vent above, following the path he had mapped out until he reached the outside.

In the alleyway next to the building, he pulled out, peeling down the street in a highly-customized vehicle dubbed the "Batmobile." As he drove, Alfred contacted him once more. "Sorry sir, but there seem to be no records of any handwriting matching the kind on the note you found."


"Well then, we're in for one hell of a ride, Alfred."

         Gordon looked up slowly to meet eyes with the source of welcomed dialogue. Renee Montoya was a good cop, and not just in the sense that she made arrests. She was good to people, understood them. She wasn't like one of Loeb's flunkies either that did what she wanted if it meant she got ahead. She was very much by the books, and a sight for sore eyes after the hell he'd been through today.

"Who's to say it already isn't?" he replied. Renee's appearance lifted his spirits quite a bit; especially her exchange with the pimp she now had in custody. Gordon suppressed a chuckle; it wouldn't be very professional for the lieutenant of the homicide division to be caught laughing at the "mistreatment" of suspects. It was always nice to have Montoya around.

Until, she asked about the early morning murder. Gordon sighed. "Yes, it's true. It was Jules, if you can believe it." There was a tinge of sarcasm in that statement, but only just enough that the pimp wouldn't get it. It was always to the benefit of the department if at least the illusion of cooperation and familial bonds was maintained. Otherwise, criminals all over Gotham would take advantage of the internal discourse; not them a select few of them didn't already, but they were ones Loeb was in bed with anyhow, so it hardly mattered.

"As far as leads go...nothing. Our killer was quite efficient at what he did. No hair or skin follicles, no prints, nothing. He either cleans up like a methhead in a disorganized bookstore, or just makes sure not to leave traces of himself behind. Either way-"

Gordon was cut off by the arrival of Flass, who strode over and leaned on Jim's desk. "We got another one, Jimmy. Same as Jules. Found the poor bastard in an apartment in Coventry." Flass took the opportunity to look Renee over. "How's it goin', Montoya?" he said, waggling his eyebrows. Jim stood up, donning his coat as he did so.

"Guess I can finish this report later, then. Come on Flass. And good to see you, Montoya." With that, the two detectives were off and out the door. "It's going to be a long day," Gordon said.

"You got that right, Jimmy. You got that damn right."

         Atrocitus looked out over his corps. The scarred alien shook his head. He did not have enough members to take down Sinestro and the Green Lantern Corps. Artocitus slammed his fist down on the altar in front of him. The Red Lanterns in the audience looked up, each snarling and drooling blood. Atrocitus could easily restore their thought process with his magics, but then they would be harder to manipulate to his will.

"Universe," Atrocitus began, "Show me what is to become of my corps!" Atrocitus observed the puddle of blood on the altar before him slowly morph and change. The Red Lanterns watched carefully. They were rage monsters, but that did not mean they did not have curiosity. The Corps viewed Atrocitus's horrifying mouth contort into a smile.

"Red Lanterns!" shouted Atrocitus, "I have great news! Our Corps will expand! We will be able to challenge the Green Lantern Corps and kill Sinestro! The greatest part of the prophecy dictates that a powerful sentient from sector 2814 will join our Corps!" Atrocitus let out a booming war. The Red Lantern Corps exploded into similar roars and snarls. Atrocitus left the dais the altar was on and retreated to his private quarters. He did not need to sleep, no Red Lantern did, but he needed time to think.

He could very well achieve his goal of eliminating the guardians and sacrificing Sinestro in front of a crowd. Soon, very soon, thought Atrocitus.

         

Park Row, Gotham City
October 1, 2015
2:21 A.M.

It was a dark, cold, rainy night in Gotham; nothing out of the ordinary. Regardless, nothing ever justified getting out of bed at such ungodly hours. Well, almost nothing. There had been reports of a murder on Park Row, a street that is more commonly known as Crime Alley, and with good reason: This was the very locale in which the Waynes were slain in cold blood, among many other horrendous crimes that are carried out on a daily basis. The scent of coffee filled the old Chevrolet, two fresh cups sitting in the holders in front of the console.

Driving along the street, Gordon saw several junkies along the sidewalks, curled up against the walls of second-rate apartment buildings not even they could afford to live in, cuddling under newspapers to try and keep warm. He saw at least three dealers hanging out in the shadows as he drove passed the alleys; as careful as they tried to appear, a sharp cop could always spot a dealer.

Riding in the car next to him was his partner, Arnold Flass. Jim hated Flass. He was crude, crooked, and altogether just unpleasant to be around. His jokes were always demeaning, being either racist, sexist (or both), or simply in bad taste. Altogether, Flass was just a walking, talking, oxygen-stealing sack of shit. "Hey Jimmy," he started, causing Jim to roll his eyes, "How many blacks' it take to change a tire?" Gordon wasn't going to dignify that with a response, and even if he were, he didn't have time to do so, having driven to the crime scene. He pressed the brakes just hard enough to send Flass jolting forward. Had he not caught himself with his hands, he would've hit his head on the dashboard, as he always neglected to wear his seatbelt. The thought alone made Jim smile.

"We're here," he said dryly.

Exiting the vehicle, the two detectives donned their parkas before stepping out into the dark alley of the crime scene. It was cold, and the pitter-patter of rainfall upon the plastic shielding drummed above their heads and on their persons. Standing next to the yellow crime scene tape barring the area from unauthorized personnel was one of the department's many beat cops; a younger man, probably in his late twenties. Poor guy had been standing here in the rain for a while, without a parka. The department-issued jackets were warm, but they still got soaked if one spent too much time in the rain. Jim walked up to the officer with a stern look across his jaded face.

"What do you have for me, son?" he asked. The officer turned to look into the dark alleyway behind him. "I found this guy while on patrol. Wouldn't have known he was here if I hadn't caught a bum takin' his shoes from 'im. Haven't even been able to take a good look at 'im myself, what with having to stave off the scavs." He spoke with a very particular Boston accent, one Flass would undoubtedly pick at later. Brushing the beat cop aside, Flass stepped under the yellow tape. "Let's have a look-see, Jimmy. Probably just some wino caught a bad break."

Gordon let out a sigh of exhaustion, following behind Flass as he entered the crime scene. The detectives' flashlights beamed toward the body in unison, illuminating the blood-and-rain-soaked ground. The victim was lying on his stomach, his hands outstretched as if trying to crawl away before he could bleed to death. Unfortunately, death won him over. He was wearing a brown tweed suit, a matching briefcase laying on the ground a few feet behind him. His blond hair was drenched, his own blood having been run through it as well.

"Well, he don't look like no wino, at least," Flass remarked with a chuckle. Gordon cast a sideways glance, his patience with Flass wearing thin. Gordon knelt down, producing a pair of latex gloves from his pockets and quickly pulling them on, snapping them onto his wrist to ensure they fit snugly. With his hands protected, he was able to flip the body and examine the man. His chest was riddled with stab wounds to the point of evisceration. His chest cavity was open, turned to mush by the multitude of inflictions. It was a gruesome sight indeed, and Gordon wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even on-

"Oh my God..." he trailed off, a mixture of shock and a tiny hint of guilty relief lining his voice. "What is it Jimmy? What's goin'-" Flass stopped short too, his words failing him. He was unable to speak for a good few moments, which honestly satisfied Gordon. However, it was never easy to see the dead body of a fellow officer; Jacob Jules, one of Flass' friends. He, along with Flass and the rest of his cronies, were on Commissioner Loeb's special payroll. They were all crooked, doing deals with the mob on the regular, turning a blind eye to their efforts for a cut of the cash.

"Flass?" Jim said. It took a minute, but finally, Flass was able to vocalize his feelings. "We need to find out who did this, Jimmy! We need to find out who did it, and put a bullet in 'em!"
"We'll figure it out Flass. But we can't go out on a rampage and-"
"The shit we can't! We're the goddamn police, and no one does this to one of our own!"

Gordon dismissed Flass' outburst. He was well aware of what he could, possibly would, do. Loeb would definitely want answers, or at least a scapegoat. But all they could do now is give the department an update on the case. "Call it in, Flass. I'll look around some more." With that, Flass walked away, radioing the station about the new turn of events as he did so.

---

Across the street, on the rooftop of one of the derelict buildings, he remained crouched, blending in to the early morning darkness that enveloped him. He caught everything through his long-range microphone, his night-vision lenses granting him a clear picture of the scene below. One of Loeb's crooked cops, dead in the alley. He had made his way here after picking up the reports on the police scanner.

The Batman; an urban legend to most. However, a good number of criminals had felt his wrath in the two years he'd been active, and although some of the police would hate to admit it, he's helped put away a fair share of Gotham's scum. He'd fought drug dealers, rapists, murderers, robbers and mobsters. This would be another case, and he needed to be careful.

And whether they liked it or not, the Gotham City Police Department was going to be a big help to him in this investigation.