CHAPTER 40: "Training Montage?"

*Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin), Blackgate Penitentiary

The worst part of the prison was not the food. It was not the accommodations of a stiff bed and tight quarters. It wasn't even the dangerous fellow inmates or the increased chances of being killed.

No, for Penguin it was the incredible boredom of sitting doing nothing for what seemed like endless hours of the day.

This had proven to be one of the longer stints in prison he had experienced in his life. To the credit of the police and his rivals, they had nailed him with a solid enough list of crimes. Being captured at the scene of a gang war did not help his lawyers much as they fought tooth and nail to stop additional warrants to search his private residences and clubs. And that just led to a cascade of convictions and accusations to his many crimes that led to him sitting in Blackgate.

Oh, he would get out. His being locked up permanently was never really in the ballpark of possibilities. With wealth that reached billions, he could afford the finest lawyers, and bribe just about every court justice from here to L.A.

The problem came from Falcone and the police having an unspoken agreement to hinder Penguin's efforts for even just parole.

When news reached him that Carmine Falcone had been released he knew immediately he had been set up. And while he raged and screamed for the old Italian bastard's blood, he had to hand it to him that it was well played. Create a turf war between his mob and some gangbangers to weaken him, then set him up to be locked up for a fair amount of time.

While Penguin knew he would get out, he also knew that every day he was stuck in prison and spending money/resources on lawyers, his rivals grew stronger. Already despite it being against his parole conditions, Carmine had re-asserted some level of dominance over the Italian crime faction. He had also chipped away at Penguins' territory and if the rumors were true, he was planning a very lucrative drug deal with some of the cartels. Cartels that hated Penguin due to his dominance in smuggling for Gotham.

Penguin's response would typically be to send in hired guns and wreck the Cartel territory till they crawled back from wherever they came from. But until he was freed, his ability to direct affairs on the outside was limited. For now, he would just have to sit in his cell and eat his bland meals until his lawyers freed him.

'It is times like these that you start wishing someone would come and try to shank you. At least that would break the monotony of the day.' Penguin mused.

"Open up cell 5" A guard outside his door said.

BRRRRRRRRRRRR

With little fanfare the door ground open to welcome a guard in.

"Cobblepot, come with me. You got a visitor."

Penguin was currently sitting on his bed leaning against the wall. But with the announcement from the guard of a visitor, he hopped up with some excitement. He was expecting it must be his lawyers with some good news. They were after all supposed to report in today about a trial date for his parole.

"By all means, lead the way Roger." Penguin cheerfully said.

The guard flinched at the use of his name and beckoned for Penguin to follow. It was a well-known fact that Penguin knew every guard's name despite them never having told him. He would also occasionally ask by name how a family member was doing, or details like their kid winning a soccer game.

It was an effective means of conveying to the prison staff, 'I know who you are, I know who your family is, and I know where they are.'

Reaching one of the private visitor rooms the guard placed handcuffs on Penguin which bolted him to the table. Too many incidents of inmates beating to death their visitors now made this a necessity at Blackgate.

Leaning back as much as he could, Penguin closed his eyes as he hummed a happy tune. A few moments later the door to the room opened with the sound of shuffling feet and papers crinkling.

"Well, I hope you gentlemen have some good news for me. I am not getting any younger..." Penguin began as he opened his eyes to see not his lawyers but someone completely different.

Before him was a middle-aged woman, Latina, with black hair set in a bun, wearing a casual business suit.

"Who the f&*k are you?!?" He growled, his cheery attitude completely gone.

Adjusting some of the files and papers she had brought with her, the woman stared directly back at Penguin unflinchingly. The look she was giving him was uncanny for the hardened crime boss, he had seen that look before on others, and it did not scream sane.

Clearing her throat she said, "My name is Detective Rene Montoya. I have some questions concerning some payments you made to the deceased Sarah Bergstrom, and Janice 'Violet' Smith?"

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*Batman, Justice League Watch Tower

Gotham's protector had just finished wrapping up a meeting with the other League leaders about potential recruitment opportunities. A few names were proposed and a few were discarded for being too inexperienced or not meeting character qualities the League required.

Standing on one of the many decks with an overlook of Earth, Batman enjoyed the view while pondering some growing concerns.

The young Team which had been assembled from the various sidekicks had proven to be an effective covert tool for the League. Already had they helped deal with major threats such as the Injustice League, and had proven themselves invaluable in other operations. 

It made him proud to have such young heroes in their ranks, though it also saddened him of the growing necessity.

Young teens, kids practically, fighting to preserve their delicate world was proof that despite their recent victories, the world was still under threat by powerful forces.

"I am surprised you didn't immediately go back to Gotham?"

Batman didn't need to look to see his colleague and dare he say friend, Superman walking up to stand with him.

They both stood there quietly, enjoying the peaceful Earth that they continuously fought and bled for. It would not be an understatement to say they would do anything to protect it and its inhabitants.

"Gotham has the Team watching it right now while I am away." Batman finally replied.

Superman fidgeted uncomfortably, "How are they?"

Batman raised an eyebrow, "How are they? Or how is Connor?"

Despite being the man of steel, a superhuman, a being who literally would fight gods. Sometimes Batman forgets just how human Clark is, sometimes that small-town farm boy would peak out and you would be reminded how Superman was not perfect.

"Yes," Superman said softly, "How is the boy?"

"He would be better if he had a support. Someone who understands what he is going through and could help him train and develop." Batman said pointedly.

Superman looked away, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps in shame.

Deciding to move the conversation along Batman said, "The Team as a whole is developing, given time they will make incredible members for the Justice League."

"Good, very good..." Superman mumbled.

They both went silent and continued to gaze out upon the Earth below.

Finally, Batman said, "If there is nothing else, I am heading back to Gotham." 

He began to walk to the teleporter when Superman called out to him.

"Bruce..." he hesitated, "I just need time to process..."

Batman gave a stiff nod, for those who didn't know him it could be interpreted as dismissive. But years of working together told Superman that it was more sympathetic than implied.

"I know Clark... boy do I know."

Superman smiled at that, "Thank you, Bruce."

They both then walked to the teleporters. A genius piece of tech that allowed the watch tower to send teams nearly anywhere on Earth. The watchtower actually had multiple teleporter rooms though the central one would deposit passengers on the main deck of the station. A massive space that was often crowded with heroes relaxing, preparing, or waiting for their next assignment. 

The two men reached the teleporter with Batman taking his place on top of one of the 10 circles you needed to stand in to beam out.

A computer voice rang out, "JLM 002, Batman waiting for transport."

While they waited, Superman made a little small talk.

"Any big projects you are working on right now?"

"Hmmm," Batman hummed, he looked a little pensive.

"I recently got a lead on Deathstroke."

"Really?" Superman asked in surprise, "I thought he kept on the move so much it was impossible to track him?"

Batman nodded in affirmation, "That is true. Recently though, some of my sources have reported him staying in one place for much longer than normal. Either he is preparing for a big job or he is recuperating from a grievous injury. Either way, it will be a perfect time to catch him."

"JLM 002, Batman, Transport will commence in 30 seconds." The computer stated.

"Why now though?" Superman questioned, "Deathstroke typically has been the bottom of your to-do list..."

"And tracking him would take a serious amount of time and resources that could be spent on more pressing concerns." Batman conceded.

"This time though, I know he has a connection to the Light. He can answer some questions I have concerning this troubling problem."

"The Light you think is a big problem?" Superman asked.

"JLM 002, Batman, Transport in 5...4..."

"The fact we haven't heard about them and that they seemed connected loosely to the last 4 major attacks leads me to believe it is very much a threat we need to address."

A flash of light engulfed Batman teleporting him back to Gotham, leaving a concerned Superman.

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*Slade Wilson (Deathstroke), Somewhere in Western Africa

Africa is a magical place.

The cradle of civilization and man supposedly started here, and if man somehow was able to figure out how to survive in this inhospitable land while primitive, then you had to hand it to their forefathers. 

Even now in the modern age, surviving this economically deprived continent, with its harsh environment was no easy feat.

Slade loved training in this harsh terrain. Stripped of his armor and wearing light clothes, it was the perfect region to push a body to its limits while exercising.

One of his former marine sergeants had remarked, "If you can do push-ups in a 120-degree heat, into coarse sand, you can survive just about any war."

Considering how Slade had just about fought in nearly every major conflict in the last 20 years as a soldier or mercenary, there could very well be truth in those words.

But now was not the time to reminisce, now was the time to focus on the spar he had engaged in with his young... partner.

So far his partner had resorted to sharp jabs to hit his core region, but each jab was deftly dodged with a step back, or a swift spin away. All the while Slade had kept his hands behind his back.

The dismissive stance he had taken seemed to be getting on his partner's nerves as his punches came more quickly and less refined.

'I see what Sensei meant,' he thought as he continued to duck, dodge, and spin from the punches.

'Skilled enough to be good at holding his defenses, but he lacks the skill or talent to engage an effective offense.'

His partner finally seemed to reach his frustrations limit and roared as he attempted to tackle Slade.

'We need to work on that temper...' he mused.

Allowing his opponent to get a little bit closer, he dug his foot into the sand only to quickly swoop it up sending sand into his partner's face. The hot sand slapped the man's face causing him to spluttered and swipe his face to clear his vision. Slade using the distraction took a step to the side, put his foot out, and tripped the man.

His sparring partner tumbled to the ground still desperately trying to clean the sand from his eyes. He eventually rolled over onto his back prepared to re-engage when Slade's foot pressed down heavily onto his chest.

"Do you know why you lost?" Slade asked patiently.

Cough cough, "Because you are a dirty cheat?" growled his partner.

That in turn brought a swift kick to the downed man's head leading to many more curses and rubbing the spot where the hit landed.

Slade took his foot off and walked over to where a beat-up jeep had on its hood a few bottles of water were sitting.

"Your problem Krios," Slade began as he grabbed a bottle, "is that you let your anger get the best of you."

He watched his young pupil try to sit up only to fall back on his back. They had been training nearly non-stop for 3 hours now and he suspected the boy was exhausted and dehydrated.

"It perhaps is an effective tool for maxing out your powers but in the art of martial arts it will do nothing but ensure your defeat."

His newest pupil lay there heaving, trying desperately to get back up, lest he ensure a punishment from his new teacher.

Slade smiled seeing that, "Well, since it looks like you are feeling a little tired we will take a break from sparring. How does a 5-mile run sound?"

At that, Krios forced his torso up and stared at the Terminator with pure unadulterated malice.

That made Slade laugh out loud which only deepened the growing scowl on Krios's face.

"Up and at it," he said with no small amount of glee.

Krios grumbled something under his breath but slowly got up. He then made his way to the jeep intending to grab a water to prepare for the run, but Slade had other plans. As Krios reached for one of the bottles Slade in a blink of an eye grabbed his wrist and twisted it forcing Krios into a downward-facing position, straining to break free but not overstretch his trapped arm.

"Water comes after the run," Slade stated in a no-nonsense tone.

Around the two the sand began to softly shake, the jeep itself began to groan from the pressure, and the bottles on the hood rolled off. For Slade, it was a feeling he had felt a few times from Krios. His body would become tense, the air pressure around his ears would grow, and at times it felt like his throat was constricting.

Not wasting any time he in what seemed like a blink of an eye delivered a swift slap across Krios' face.

It seemed to do the trick as the disturbance and pressure vanished. The expression on his young pupils' face was one still of anger but now surprise. 

Rubbing the spot where he was slapped he asked, "What the hell?!? How are you able to move so fast, you said you are not a meta?!?"

Slad merely smiled while taking a swig of water.

"No meta abilities for me, just years of training. Humans are much faster than we realize, trust me."

Taking a moment to pop his neck, he began jogging away from Krios. 

Shouting as he jogged he said, "I will even join you on your 8-mile run."

Krios at this point had gotten back onto his feet, a few curses muttered under his breath as he jogged to catch up. It was once he was jogging side to side with Slade that he seemed to realize what he had just said.

"Wait," Krios' eyes widened and out of breath said, "You said 5 miles at first, not 8!"

Slade merely laughed as the two continued their jog through the desert, one enjoying the experience and the other wishing for his death to escape this torture.