My SI Stash #39 - This Venom Inside by Conartist223 (DCXMulticross)

-This kind of writing legit gave me Baki vibes, it's some epic stuff! Also if y'all in need of more testerone revving stuff I suggest you check out Shuumatsu no Valkyrie, I can already see Netflix picking this banger up/

Synopsis: "Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back."― Heraclitus

"Either I will find a way, or I will make one" -Hannibal Barca

Life is often difficult, but for some it is much more so, especially when surrounded by those who stand above the common rabble. Those who'd rightfully be called gods, and titans, all look downward with their confident smirks and their smug self-satisfaction.

When you are born at the bottom, what can you do? What can anyone do? There is truly only one answer to such a question...

You must Rise!

Rated: ???

Words: 15K

Posted on: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/this-venom-inside-dc-comics-multicross-si.877788/ (Conartist223)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics/originals mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

Waking up in a unfamiliar place is often unpleasant, but the moment I opened my eyes I was struck with the meanest headache I've had in my life.

The dull florescent lights and white sheets with beeping machines told me I was in some sort of hospital, but considering the last thing I remembered was getting blown up by some asshat who didn't understand that "peaceful-protest" doesn't involve blowing yourself and everyone nearby sky-high... that didn't seem too out of place.

But... I didn't feel like I got blown to pieces, and I didn't feel the shrapnel from the mail-box that went up nearby or my car caught in the blast, so unless I was in way better shape than I thought, something about this situation was off.

Sitting up caused the already monstrous throbbing in my head to upgrade to some kaiju-levels of pain, but not being smothered by heavy sheets in an already hot room was practically divine in comparison... and that's when I noticed the major differences.

I was small, and not just vertically, but I was rail-thin and stubby, almost like a child. A quick pass over my face with my fingers confirmed that I wasn't just clean shaven, but felt like I'd never gown a hair on my face at all, and a quick check under my shirt confirmed that I'd lost my muscular torso along with my chest-hair.

Considering how big the bed was compared to me, I could only guess that I was somehow in the body of a child.

Ok, don't freak out.

Don't freak out.

Ok... maybe a little bit?

I pulled the little nodes off my chest and head, that were keeping my vitals updated on the machines, and (very carefully) pulled out my IVs in order to finally get out of bed, and finally stand on my own two feet.

The vertigo hit me hard, but passed quickly enough for me to walk to the other side of the room, where a full-length mirror rested, and I finally got a good look at myself. It was basically me as I'd been years ago, white skin (that would likely tan pretty hard), black hair, and blue eyes (though a bit blue-er than they should have been) and the height and build of a thin child... maybe six to ten years old?

The next thing I noticed was my outfit, rather than a simple white or blue set of hospital-pj's, was a drab dark grey jumpsuit with a set of white numbers and letters stitched over the heart.

#B-1092

Huh... I feel like I should know that number for some reason, it certainly didn't ease my headache much to think otherwise.

Before I could get too deep into my own thoughts, the only door was opened enough for a tall, gaunt, and bald man in a similar jumpsuit to come in with a guy in a doctor's coat... and flanked by a guy that seemed to be either cosplaying a prison-guard or this hospital had some serious security measures.

The thin guy seemed familiar, so much so that it made my head feel like it was splitting open trying to recall the nickname I knew everyone called him by, but when he spoke to me in a language I didn't recognize I almost let out a groan of frustration...

Until I suddenly remembered the language in it's entirety. Huh?

It was some dialect of Spanish, but one I'd never remembered before this moment... at least I shouldn't have. I could still remember my German lessons in high-school, I could remember learning Spanish from my Puerto Rican cousins, and I could recall all my favorite poems from Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe in modern English and Old... but I could remember learning to read and speak this strange dialect as well.

So child-body... and child-hood memories that come with it? I can work with that at least.

The thin guy, Zombie as I remember now, asked me how I was feeling in that weird version of Spanish, looking like he was simultaneously about to keel over and legitimately concerned for my well-being, while the doctor looked both nervous (like the druggy kind of nervous) and done with everyone's shit.

The guard was picking his nose like he was trying to tickle his frontal-lobe.

"Better now senor, though I am a bit sore, can you help me back to my cell Zombie?" I asked, with as much child-like innocence I could muster... which wasn't much.

Zombie seemed surprised by my lack of a stutter or nervous fidgeting, which I now remember myself doing since I was old enough to talk, but he honestly seemed too pleased with my recovery to comment on such.

"Of course my friend, you've been in a coma for almost two months, I'd be worried if you didn't feel fatigued." Zombie's voice was quiet and raspy, but I could tell by the small smirk and the glimmer in his eyes that he was happy I hadn't died when I... fell from a catwalk.

I fell... nearly four stories... and landed on my head in the body of a prepubescent child.

I should have died, or died a second time rather, and yet I was not only alive but fully cognizant and aware of my surroundings.

Well, it would seem I was tougher than I looked in this new body... where ever I was. Maybe even tougher than I'd been as an adult in my "past-life" perhaps?

Something to think on, when my head stopped throbbing, and I got something to eat at least.

*****

It was a quick matter to be released from the hospital with a note for pain-killers if my headaches didn't stop, and though my body was thin from a month of inactivity, I was able to quickly make my way back to my cell with Zombie's assistance.

Along the way, I became certain of two things:

1. I was inside some kind of prison, and a majority of it was underground.

And 2. This prison was probably the largest in the world, based solely on the number of guards, prisoners and checkpoints between all the cell-blocks.

I was in B-block, which was the second largest, and my cell was on the third floor on a walkway 1,000 cells long, with five more blocks as well. Zombie on the other hand, was a "working prisoner" due to a background in medicine and what I now understood to be drug creation, and so was permanently held within special cells inside the hospital itself.

How did the 4chan format go again? MFW: my prison-buddy is Walter White, and the prison has him make drugs to fuel criminal empires.

Another thing I noticed, was the sheer diversity of the prisoners, even down to the sub-groups themselves.

There were Neo-Nazis mopping hallways alongside white-collar dough boys, Mexicans, Cubans, and Spaniards arguing over games of dominoes in typical Latino fashion, Africans and Jamaicans playing basketball with the Black Americans, some Middle-Eastern guys with tattoos I recognize as "extreme groups" to say the least, and even a few Russians with the ol' Hammer and Sickle either inked or carved into their skin as they lifted weights.

I caught a few guys giving me nods of acknowledgement as I passed by, and from what I could remember I had been here as long as I could remember, and longer than some adults. The point being that even in prison very few have the balls to mess with a child, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about getting shived over some chicken-nuggies any time soon, but being that I look pretty white I'd have to deal with the skinheads coming around at some point.

After finally getting to my cell and Zombie offering to return with some food, I sat upon my shitty bed to think and enjoy the fact that each cell in B-block belonged to an individual person rather than pairs.

A shitty bed, a small toilet and a sink were all the features of the room beyond the single light-bulb in the ceiling, and the only items otherwise were a few extra jumpsuits on a hook, a worn teddy-bear on the ragged sheets, and a small book upon the sad looking excuse for a pillow. Looking down at the book confirmed that I was in a world where some strange sub-dialect of Spanish had been born, because the golden-colored title of the book was written in a language I knew didn't exist on Earth... on my Earth... whatever.

Titled as "The History of Santa Prisca, and her Islands." huh? Welp, considering I had no memories of reading this book after I got it from the extensive prison library two months ago, I might as well read this now-...

Oh...

Oh shit.

Waves of recognition washed over me along with a sense of nausea that had me breaking out into a cold-sweat.

I knew that name, and now that I had the time to think, I recognized my prisoner numbers too. They were the only things most normies and nerds knew about one of my favorite characters, and one of few good things to come out of comic-books in the 90s.

I was in the DC universe, which is already pretty bad since I don't have powers and the "heroes" could range from violent loons to useless goobers depending on the writers, but I now knew who's body I'd taken over.

The man who was born into the world's toughest prison. The man that defeated all the odds. "The one man that broke The Bat".

Bane:

I was stuck in the body of the one guy who crushed Batman physically, mentally, and spiritually... even if it was only for a moment.

I won't lie and say I didn't have a mild freak-out, because starting at literally the bottom of the barrel in a superhero-universe is enough to warrant it, but because I'd also been put into the body of a guy who might wake up at any moment and-... wait a minute.

Why hasn't Bane evicted me yet? Or at the very least made his presence known? From what I remember Bane had a natural control over himself and his mind soooo... oh.

Thinking back on it, Bane fell and hit his head hard enough to get some sort of vision of the future in the original story, but the injury put him into a coma which he miraculously recovered from.

What if, in this world I'd fallen into, Bane was never able to wake up? If I wasn't here in his/my body now, how long would it take before they "pulled the plug" on the kid?

I'd been in a coma for almost two months, and I can't imagine anyone would be kind enough to keep me/him hooked up for much longer if he didn't show signs of improvement.

I've not always been the most religious man, but I spoke a small prayer for the innocent boy that had been condemned to this place for another's crime, and I cursed whoever was responsible for putting me here in his stead with as much heat as I could... but my heart just wasn't in it.

Being put into the life of a normal guy in the DC-universe? Sure, I could handle that. Get put into the body of someone who is trapped in the world's greatest prison? I'll take it on the chin like a man, can't afford to do any less.

But... getting put into the shoes of a guy who beat Batman once, and then spent the rest of his days being a fucking joke? I'm smart enough to know when it's time to fold em.

"Well, well, well, I'm surprised to see you up and kicking so soon amigo... you took a nasty fall." The voice was like if "douchbag-slimeball" had a sound, and looking over to my cell door, the view wasn't much better.

El Puerco, was a fat and ugly like a hog with a bald head and tattoos aplenty, along with a hefty nose-ring witch likely earned him his nickname.

In this version of history, Puerco had given his same offer to young-Bane of being his personal thief in exchange for protection (though with a lot more sexual undertones than I could tolerate), but instead of another prisoner interceding and causing a fight which injured Bane, the young boy had showed a hint of his future personality by flatly denying the man's proposal and telling the "fat-piggy" to leave him alone.

Puerco had tossed Bane from a fourth-floor walkway for that.

"I was wondering if you'd like to reconsider my proposal little hombre. What do you say, let Daddy-Puerco handle all the scary things for you from now on?" The fat fucker had one hell of a shiner from where (I assume) Trogg had clocked him, but he was taller than me by two feet and had to weigh at least a hundred and fifty pounds more at my current weight, and he was standing in front of the only exit to my cell... he must of waddled his ass over here as fast as he could when he heard I was better, and was likely waiting for Zombie to leave before making his move.

I sat and measured my options for a few moments, and I knew from Bane's memories that the Warden/"El-Jefe" would likely throw me into solitary the very moment I acted out in view of his guards or cameras, Puerco being universally despised or not wouldn't change that... and I would start down the path of a steroid-abusing waste of a man who's five-minutes-of-fame would end just as swiftly and painfully as it peaked, and I would be forced to live the rest of my days as a henchman to somebody else's master-plans while fighting people whom I've respected and admired since childhood.

But on the other hand, could I really just piss this guy off enough for him to kill me and release me from this hellhole? Could I allow myself to die at the hands of such an inferior creature as this, even if it meant freedom from this place?

Could I afford to let what little was left of Bane, die with me?

A few more moments passed before I grabbed the bear, Osito, and slowly began to rise.

Puerco smiled as I came closer, at least at first, but even his limited instinct could tell not all was well. And as I stood before him, staring into his eyes with the full brunt of my hate and perhaps a bit of righteous anger from what little was left of Bane inside me, I could see his eyes begin to shake as his brain slowly caught up with what was going to happen.

The last thing he expected was for me to pull a shiv out of Osito and drive it deep enough into his chest that I heard it crack a rib. He tried to stumble back, but a firm grip on his nose-ring held him steady as I pulled the blade out in a splash of blood before driving it right where I knew his liver would be. I repeated the process until he fell back onto the walkway in full view of everyone, and I began to carve the pig open with all the blase attitude of a butcher at work.

*****

People always say that Joker is the antithesis to Batman, but the people who say that don't understand either character very well.

Joker is a crazed nutcase with a fetish for poor slapstick and clown themes. He acts as if Batman represents law and order and he is chaos and anarchy.

The fact is, Bane is the true nemesis to Batman, because he is Bruce's true equal in both mind, body, and soul... but with a few key differences.

Bruce was born into wealth and love. Bane was born in captivity and hate.

Bruce had Alfred and opulence to console him at his darkest moments. Bane had only himself and the shadows that surrounded him.

Bruce traveled the world and found people to make him into Batman, and to help him succeed. Bane forged himself in the fires of a single cell, from which he was never meant to survive.

I would not become a fucking footnote in somebody else's story, I wouldn't sit meekly by and let someone else claim the throne as the greatest-human... even if I respected him.

And I would not let this pathetic place believe that it could ever contain me.

I would prove myself as the superior man, one who stood above all others, even if I had to beat them down myself.

And as I began to twist Puerco's intestines around his neck, cutting off the precious supply of air to his major organs... he looked up, and he saw the vision of a man beyond men.

As Puerco's eyes rolled back into his skull and his body was hung from the railing by his own guts, the last thing he ever saw... was the face of a conqueror and he whispered only one word: