17 Warm Gotham Send Off #17
Valley's accusation sliced through the air, his words dripping with betrayal. "You... you bastard!" he seethed, his face contorted as if he was confronting the devil himself. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it?! To give me a taste of freedom! To get me hooked and turn me into a pawn!"
The theatrical display could've earned him a standing ovation at a Shakespearean play. I blinked, observing this sudden surge of melodrama. Was this guy always so dramatic and quick to jump to conclusions?
I'm seriously starting to question his genius.
"Seriously, do I look like a cheap crack dealer to you, pal?" I retorted, annoyance etching my words, snapping Valley out of his self-staged tragedy.
I sighed, a mix of impatience and bemusement crossing my face. "The potion is just a temporary fix, Valley. But there's a permanent solution," I explained, mustering a fed-up expression.
My gaze bore into him with a touch of judgment. "I'm willing to share it with you on one condition – represent Livewire and get her out of the big house." I raised an eyebrow, daring him to question my sincerity.
At my words, Valley's face transformed from shock to a quick bout of shame. That's right, feel the embarrassment for unleashing such a cringe-worthy spectacle. I was getting second-hand embarrassment just witnessing it.
"Ah... I see..." he mumbled, throat clearing as he regained his composure. "In that case, I will do everything within my power to get Livewire on parole as soon as possible," he declared, reverting to his earlier calm and professional demeanor as if erasing the awkward episode.
The man had a thicker skin than a rhinoceros, that's for sure. Even Rattigan was facepalming at his shamelessness.
I nodded, dismissing the absurdity, and refocused on the matter at hand. "In that case, I'll leave you to it," I nonchalantly stated, heading toward the exit. "Your secretary has my contact info, so give me a call whenever you're ready to meet up with Livewire."
With that, I swung the door open and stepped out, not bothering to wait for a response.
...
Humming along with the radio and trying to grasp the lyrics of a song I'd just stumbled upon, I casually steered the rented car through the chaotic streets of Gotham. A happy soul, such as myself, in this gloomy city, was a rare sight, but I considered it all part of the unique charm that was Gotham.
Ignoring the disgruntled drivers and scowling pedestrians, I continued my drive, my mind reflecting on the successful encounter with Azrael. To be honest, success was the only plausible outcome.
Azrael would practically agree to anything I proposed in his quest to fix his tangled psyche.
Now, one might wonder, if I was so confident that the magical potion would sway him, why bother with the guilt trip, exposing my knowledge of his alter ego? Well, my friend, that's where the brilliance of my plan comes into play, if I do so myself.
There's this nifty thing known as the illusion of choice, a magical tool used by bastards, such as myself, throughout history to get what they want from unsuspecting souls.
If I had merely handed him the potion and told him to jump over a chasm, he would've leaped without a doubt, but he'd harbor resentment, thinking I left him no choice but to take the plunge.
However, if I provided him a reason to jump and topped it off with a tempting reward? Well, who wouldn't jump willingly, maybe even throwing in a little dance for good measure?
Damn, sometimes I manage to impress even myself. Maybe there's a bit of genius in this brain of mine, after all? Grinning like a goof at my narcissistic musings, my self-congratulatory moment was abruptly shattered by Rattigan's incessant chittering and finger-poking.
"What the hell do you want, rat?! Must you ruin my good mood, you--" I began, but my sentence got cut off as the pesky rodent shoved his tiny hand into my mouth and forcibly turned my head.
My immediate instinct screamed at me to hit the brakes and toss the little critter out of the window, but all such thoughts dissipated as I caught sight of a large, pointy object hurtling towards my car.'
"A friggin' missile?!" I exclaimed, slamming the handbrake and forcefully yanking the wheel to the right. The world began to spin around me as one metallic thud echoed in my ear after the other.
And then....
BOOM
...
Blinking away the remnants of disorientation, I found myself dangling like a human bat from the car's overturned driver seat. Rattigan, my charming furry companion, continued his slapping protest, making sure I was fully aware of the crimson stream decorating my face.
"Fucking hell...." I muttered, my voice carrying a mix of annoyance and pain. With a groan, I attempted to recall the events leading to this upside-down escapade. Ah, right. Gotham and its usual welcome committee. How could I forget the friggen rocket that almost hit me in the face?
As my senses sharpened, the throbbing ache in nearly every inch of my body intensified. I couldn't help but appreciate the poetic timing of my misfortune – just as Gotham transformed into its ominous nightly self.
"I fucking hate Gotham already....," I wheezed, falling back to my usual coping mechanism as I shifted my gaze to the inky sky outside the shattered car window.
Determined to make the best of a bad situation, I started assessing the damages. The car is beyond repair and luckily insured. My pride? Well, that took a hit, but it had seen worse. My body? Damned if I knew, but if the pain was anything to go by...
Rattigan continued his chittering, probably criticizing my driving skills. Ignoring his rodent commentary, I began wriggling in an attempt to free myself from the seatbelt.
Undoing the seatbelt turned out to be a straightforward affair, thankfully avoiding the clichéd struggle. However, my victory was short-lived as I clumsily tumbled out headfirst, meeting the ground with a resounding thud. Note to self: practice graceful exits.
Groaning, I managed to flip my body to the side, each movement accompanied by a symphony of pain. With a swift kick, I shattered the window on the passenger side and awkwardly wormed my way out, trying not to exacerbate the agony.
A distant fire marked the spot where the rocket had mercilessly struck another unsuspecting vehicle, a grim reminder of Gotham's unforgiving nature.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure descended from the darkened sky, landing with the kind of silent intensity that only Batman could pull off. Great, just what I needed – Gotham's brooding protector. I eyed him as he stood over me, masked and caped, the epitome of stoicism.
"Are you alright?" he inquired in that signature gravelly voice, extending a gloved hand. I accepted the help, muttering, "I will be... once the lunatic who tried to blow me up is in the Gotham Asylum." Batman offered no commentary, silently aiding me in getting on my feet.
"Stay here," he ordered before preparing to leap into action. Yet, after one step, he abruptly lunged back, covering me with his cape.
Gunshots echoed in the distance, and Batman shielded me until the threat subsided. As he withdrew the cape, a man brandishing a smoking tommy gun stood before us, a twisted grin splitting his disfigured face.
The man standing before me was a walking nightmare, and if I had to sum him up in one word, "terrifying" would be an understatement. Harvey Dent, aka Twoface, sported a suit that looked like a bizarre fusion of two different ones, sewn together down the middle. His smirk only enhanced the grotesque nature of his half-scarred visage.
"I see you're as eager to chase after me as always, Batman," he remarked, nonchalantly blowing smoke from his gun's barrel. "But it won't be fun without just chasing me around... how about a choice? What's more important? The life of some hapless civilian or capturing me?!"
With that, he pulled a grenade from his pocket and sent it hurtling in our direction before making a swift exit.
"Great," I muttered sarcastically, watching as Batman lunged at the grenade and threw it away while Harvey Dent ran away, cackling like the maniac that he was.
There I was, relishing in my own sense of triumph, only to be relegated to the role of a pawn – the distraction for the villain's escape plan. The universe sure had a way of humbling me just when I thought I was on top.
However, I refused to be humbled here, not by Twoface of all people. He might think I was just some hapless civilian, but that's where he made the worst mistake of his life.
You know why? Because I'm not just some hapless civilian; in fact, I'm a hapless civilian with an interdimensional being cosplaying as a rat!
"Rattigan, get his ass!"
...
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