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Infinite Earths



a part of Infinite Earths, by The Afterman.

A once-esteemed neighborhood in Gotham.

The Afterman holds sovereignty over Coventry, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:


Coventry was once characterized by its grandeur and splendid surroundings. Formerly an upper-class residential area, its prestige has waned over many years, becoming little more than an impoverished, lower-class district.
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A once-esteemed neighborhood in Gotham.


Coventry is a part of Gotham City (Earth Prime).

2 Characters Here

Victor Zsasz [1] "A person is never more beautiful than when in the throes of death."
Batman [1] "I'm through playing!"

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Character Portrait: Victor Zsasz
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Zsasz crouched in the corner of the dingy room he had chosen as the site of his latest kill. Places like these were holy ground in Zsasz's eyes, particularly just before they were consummated with the blood of a poor, miserable walking corpse. Such occasions that required long waiting periods in a selected area allowed Zsasz to lull himself into a trance-like state, neither a state of unconsciousness nor wakefulness. Only a peaceful, wonderful state of nirvana. As close as Zsasz would ever get to perfection before his time to be guided out of the world of the living came.

A heavy steel door swung open carelessly, pulling Zsasz out of his long held state of meditation. He blinked, focusing his vision in a dim light, and looked to the figure that had just walked into the room. There he was. Henry Thompson. 5' 7", 145 pounds, dark skin, green eyes, black hair. Exactly the way he had always been, shambling about with an unshakable frown highlighting his expression. And now, gloriously oblivious to the fate he was about to meet. He leaned down and picked up the scrap of paper that had been left for him, scrutinizing it with narrowed eyes. The cue to move.

Zsasz crept from the dark corner he had crouched in for what might have been hours towards the man, blade in hand. His fingers twitched. His heart raced. His head buzzed with the drunkenness induced by the successful ambush. He had to bite back an overexcited cry as he finally stood up from behind Henry and grabbed him. One hand covered his mouth while an arm snaked around his torso and constricted. Henry froze for a moment, but began struggling and making an effort to scream before the minute had passed.

"Hush. Hush." Zsasz muttered into his ear. "You'll be safe soon. Sh..." Wrapping one of his legs around the man to keep him still, Zsasz brought his knife up to his neck, and pressed it through the soft tissue of the side. He gripped around his victim's mouth tighter to muffle the increasingly intense screams. Lovely as the sounds of death were, alerting any possible passers-by to this exchange could be inconvenient. Still, Zsasz drank in the view of Henry squirming as the life drained from his flesh. A smile crossed Zsasz's lips and he pressed his face against the back of Henry's neck, catching the scent of his skin mingling with fresh blood. The man's weight fell onto Zsasz as he ceased struggling. Zsasz moved his left hand down to Henry's chest to better his grip. For the first time since birth, this man was at peace, and no one else could be more perfect than he. The last thing he wanted to do was let go. But, as with all of the best things in life, such moments must come to an end, Zsasz supposed.

At last, Zsasz slowly brought his victim's corpse to the ground. He laid the body on its back, and moved the still pliable right arm so thatthe hand rested over the chest. The left hand still gripped the paper, but Zsasz felt no need to alter that. Satisfied, Zsasz stood up and looked over his work. A smile crossed his lips. Henry appeared as though he was sleeping, eyes closed and head lolled slightly to the side. Perhaps he was at last living in a beautiful dream, away from the horrors that infested his previous state of being. The idea warmed the pit of Zsasz's stomach like nothing else could. Aiding others in achieving such a perfect state had always been a rewarding practice.

Though he would have liked to stay just a while longer, Zsasz had business to attend to, and his skin was beginning to crawl at the lack of a new mark for Henry's memory. Best not to make the cut near the body. Always the capacity for mess, and Zsasz had no interest in desecrating the newly established sacred ground. Besides, there was no need to leave a trail for any nosy types who would not understand his ways and try to make him stop.

Lapping in one last view of Henry's corpse, Zsasz turned and strode out of the room. One more dead, far too many more to purge of the plague known as life. There was far too little time in the world, Victor concluded, far too little to allow every person in the world the freedom that they deserve. Still, it was good to be helping the few that he could.


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Character Portrait: Batman
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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."