[Twi] Twilight VI; Sanity's Requim

[industrious]

Spider

"My Maker was on drugs when I got these. Now, then..."

Spider levels the disruptor at the Joker. His other hand grips itself into a fist. One of his bruised knuckles cracks loudly.

"You're behind the bombings and robberies, then?"

[Draxx]

The Joker
"Only the ones carried out with style and panache. The others are nothing to do with me. You know how it is. Amateurs give the honorable business of murder, torture and destruction a bad name. Mine is all personal service. Every bullet individually fired by a skilled craftsman, none of that cheap, mass produced murder. Usually anyway, sometimes I get bored. That's a nice gun you got there. How fast are you?"

[industrious]

Spider Jerusalem

"Faster than you." He sucks a pill through his teeth.

"And I don't hold with any of those things. Unless it involves politicians. People suck, in general. But they're still people."

[Draxx]

The Joker
"You'd be surprised at how many people have thought that." The Joker replies, smiling again and not taken in with your bluff, his scars twisting his features into something out of nightmare. His makeup only makes it worse. "Are you sure you want to risk it?"

[industrious]

Spider Jerusalem

Spider's expression doesn't change. The man's tattoos move with the rest of his body as he mirrors the Joker.

"From what I know, you should have gone to the electric chair years ago. Why haven't they killed you yet?"

[Draxx]

The Joker
"Oh, I'm not a criminal. I just need help. I don't mean to hurt people, I am just not in control of my actions. I just don't understand what I am doing is wrong. But some day they'll cure me." He says. He keeps a straight face while he says it, then bursts into a cackling, wheezing laugh. His whole body shakes. The gun barrel doesn't.
He stops abruptly and leans forward, eyes flashing. His voice is dangerously low. "I'm not dead because I won't let them kill me, much as they'd like to. I'm not dead, because I am part of a great game, the counterpoint to the Batman. The two of us are more then you, more then anyone, and we dance around each other trying to make the other give in. Neither can exist without the other, and so I'm still alive. And I will be until I make him give in." You can't stop listening to him. Frighteningly sick in the head, but strangely compelling company.
He relaxes. "And what about you? Why do you exist?"
Before he can answer, the Joker interrupts. "Nothing! There is no point to you. You're just another person unable to see the picture. The picture doesn't matter! Nothing does. And you can either be indifferent, or be like me, and decide you won't live by it, you won't obey rules other people tell you to."

[industrious]

Spider Jerusalem

"You're right."

Spider gets right back in the Joker's face, teeth chewing on the butt of his cigarette. He blows a smoke ring; it gets in the clown's eyes.

"That's the world. Here are the streets of Gotham; here is where the scum try to live. You and me. Here in these streets are the things everybody wants: sex, and birth, votes and traits, money and guilt, television and teddy bears. But all we've actually got is each other."

Spider's getting on a roll now, mouth frothing as words spew from his lips. He's a journalist, and he knows his words.

"I make my life have meaning. I create it. And I am a ****ing journalist! I Lay open the guts of the world and sniff the entrails. I wade through muck and filth and **** to find the truth, and You! You people don't know what the truth is! It's there, just under their bull****, but you never look! That's what I hate most about this place-- lies are news and the truth is obsolete! But you know what? I keep going! Because you have to try, damn it! You look at this place, and you can ignore it like the sheep that gets ****ed by the farmer every four years. You can decide nothing matters and go totally crazy, Mister Cheap Suit and Scars. Or...you can take the world head-on, and do your damnest to make a difference. And you know what? It works. The world gets better. Year by year. Day by day. Hour by hour. Minute by minute."

Spider steps back, and smiles, gun still pointed at the Joker.

"Do you know what this weapon even is? It's a bowel disrupter. And guess what? You're full of ****."

[Draxx]

Joker
"If you say so, but what does it matter? I like the world the way it is. Better for me, you know? And there are no people like me. I'm unique. I'm the only one who can see the truth, you're too afraid to look. For instance, you are full of blood, guts and flesh. If I was a doctor, I could tell you more, but medical school wouldn't suit me, and would distract me from my true calling. I'm more of an artist, you see. Holding a mirror up to life, letting everyone see what it really looks like, and chopping off the bits that won't fit. Anyway, you're made of the same things that everyone else is made of. And this shoots regular bullets."
The bullet outraces the sound of it's discharge, smashing a gory hole in his wrist. Bones shatter with the force, nerves scream and tendons are cut. You don't have a chance of holding the gun, and it slips through nerveless fingers to clatter on the ground.
"Like so."
He looks up. He seems to have forgotten you, although the gun is still pointed your way. "Where is he? He should be here by now. What do I have to do, carve a smiley face on the world map to get him to pay attention?"

[industrious]

Spider Jerusalem

Spider reaches into his pocket, forcing himself through the pain via drug medication, and hurls several small pink capsules at the Joker. They burst in mid-flight, releasing a bright pink gas. Which does...absolutely nothing, save obscure the area.

He grabs a first aid kit from his backpack, and injects himself with another syringe. The bullet hole quickly closes up. Spider picks up his own disruptor. The source gas swirling around the pair is too thick for anyone to see anything in the immediate area. But Spider isn't relying on his eyes.

Spider's shades have been taking pictures continuously throughout the whole conversation. And at its start, Spider had released Source Gas when he had cracked his knuckle. He was wired, audio and visual. Taking the last frame of the Joker, he points his weapon at the area, and squeezes the trigger.

[Cracklord]

Nuada

Halfway into the children's card game, the elf prince arrives. He's dressed in lacquered leather trimmed and decorated with silver scrollwork beyond the ability of humans to produce. It fits him like a second skin, or more precisely like the finest of superhero outfits. It doesn't chafe, catch, or interfere with his movements, and is strong enough to stop a bullet.
He stares around, his yellow eyes surveying the audience. One by one, he steals their attention. When he's sure they all see him, he speaks. "How dare you?" He all but roars, his handsome face contorted with rage as shock and fury copete to control his tone.
"The world bears your shackles, you've chained the rivers, culled the forests, and even the very stones cry out at the torture you heap upon them. Have you no shame?"
Not giving anyone a chance to answer, he takes a few more steps forward. "You have taken my love, my land, burned the world with your greed. You have destroyed all that matters, and it is still not enough."
He takes a deep breath, for a moment you think he's got himself under control, but then he bellows "Haven't you done enough? Are we your slaves? To come at your whims and entertain you? Are we not living beings? How dare you enslave us to fight meaningless battles for your amusement. How dare you steal our lives and our freedom for nothing."
And then his voice goes quiet. There is a roar, as a big, elephantine shape with a missing hand, tusks, skin tougher then a rhinos and muscles that should have gone to an entire herd of oxen stomps in, growling loud enough to drown out the screams it makes. This is no hologram, no enslaved soul bound in a hard light body. This is the real thing.
It takes a horn to it's lips, and blows. A single, piercing, primal note echoes in the air, rising across the sky.
And towards it come clouds, heavy with the promise of storm, pulled by thousands of galloping horses. For the first time in millenia, the wyld hunt has been sounded.

[Corvond]

Cheshire
Cheshire was bored. He had been watching the Cannibal for at least two days. Boredom didn't, or shouldn't, come into it at all, Wonderland needed him to do this so he would do it. Just the same, they were asking a lot of him.
He had not let himself be seen, or noticed. There was always something to learn if you kept yourself quiet. But he couldn't stand it any more.
"If I may be so bold to venture a suggestion, consider trying shock therapy." Says a suave and sophisticated voice, almost a deep, contented purr. Jeremiah Arkham stared around, startled by the appearance, but Kirby recognized the voice. How could he not?
"I hear it gets fantastic results."
A head appears, bobbing slightly above the desk. It was a cathead, though the size of a basketball and the fur was more blue then black. What's more, it was smiling, a wicked smile that would give nightmares to anyone who believed cats couldn't smile.
A body follows, appearing out of mist like a miniature sphinx, it's only movement the swishing of it's long tail.

James Bond
Sienna Twist is a career spy, a business woman masquerading as an agent, not a field operative. A sensible skirt, a well pressed jacket and no jewelry. A little makeup, but not much, and beautiful silky hair.
Bond takes the folder, his hand lingering on hers for a second too long. "It's a pleasure. The names Bond. James Bond." He says, inclining his head politely. "I'm afraid I've come into this a tad unprepared, I don't have a cover or a false identity. I don't suppose you agency could help out?" He gives her a wink. "I'd be most grateful."

[doliest]

Nuada, Atem
The majority of the duelist run out of the room; excluding (likely) Atem, Kaiba, and a Pale Teenager, who moves forward quickly, charging directly at Nuada.

Chesire
One of the guards turns and points the shock prod at the Cat, while Leland gives it a response, "We don't do that anymore. We haven't done that for a very long time, Mr.?"

[Corvond]

Cheshire
Without an effort, Cheshire disappears in a puff of smoke and reappears on Jeremiah Arkham shoulders, wrapping his bulk around the doctors shoulders. Considering his considerable bulk, he is curiously light, barely weighing a thing.
"Perhaps you just haven't had the incentive." Purrs the cat, it's eyes never leaving Kirby and its grin hiding all emotion.

[Cracklord]

Warning

The following post was censored by 4kids, and only illegally posted here in all it's violent gory. Just reading a single word is a summary execution offense, that 4kids will not hesitate to carry out with extreme prejudice. However, those of you who believe in freedom of speech, who value humor as much as life, and believe in a world where offenses against literature should be hunted down and murdered by more deserving characters may want to read it anyway. Note: that the passage contains themes audience of an especially sensitive disposition should not be exposed to, including violent themes, more violent themes, and other violent themes not covered by the first two definitions of violent themes. They may frighten small children, or those of an especially sensitive disposition. They probably won't, lets be fair it's pretty much just one guy getting stabbed, but why take the chance? I didn't think so.


Nuada
The pale teenager charges at Nuada, to do what we'll never know. That was the mistake that cost him his life. Nuada has magic, an intrinsic, natural sort alien to humanity, but as much as he hones his mind it is his body is his pride and joy, honed to perfect deadliness by unflinching dedication to battle. From the crown of his head to the tip of his toes he was beautifully, horrifyingly, lethal. And he's not the sort to squander his magic on a single human when a far simpler manner would suffice. He has nothing but scorn for humans. Nothing to offer them but an end to their existence.
His spear slides out, stretching two meters, and faster then thought Nuada flips it and drives it through the teenagers chest in a spray of gore, neatly impaling him. In the same, fluid movement he draws it out. The teenager is dead before he consciously realizes it, collapsing like a puppet with his strings cut into a pool of his own blood, drenching the ground. He doesn't even have time to feel pain.
There you have it. That man is dead. Very, very dead. Most certainly dead, not sent to the shadow realm or anything like that, no, he's dead all right. He's no longer alive, is the point I'm trying to get here. He is deceased. He has passed on. He has crossed the veil. He has bit the dust, he has ceased to be. He's expired and gone to meet his maker. Bereft of life, he rests in peace. He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.
The spear, being driven through his chest, failed to send his soul to the shadow-realm instead sending it to judgment. In short, that is an ex-teenager.
Nuada, not sparing the corpse a glance, flicks his spear hard enough to clean it, sending droplets flying everywhere, then twists it, returning it to it's normal size and placing it on his hip after spinning it a few times with his customary skill. Turning his back sharply, he turns and strides out of the arena, leaving them all to be hunted by his kinsmen.
Except Tristan, who is dead.

[darkblade]

Atem

"Prince Nauda. What is the meaning of this?" Atem demands of the Elven Prince. The immortal Prince would likely reconize Atem as one of the Human Kings that signed truce between the fae and men.

"This is the domain of the mortals, not for your kind."

***

Black Canary (Do Over)

Canary is pulled away to a rooftop by Green Arrow. Her ex-boyfriend, they were split apart by his death six years ago but even when he returned to life not long ago they decided it had been too long and went their seperate ways.

"I don't need saving from you, Ollie." She says bitterly.

***

Oracle

Oracle receives the new message from the Ripper.

***

Kirby

"Of course. I am the physical form of the subconsious manifestation of mortal's fear of both the unknown and of not being unique indivduals unto yourselves. I am what you call a Nightmare." Kirby explains.

"I know that is hard to believe but if you were to consult with any known mystics. I am not sure which ones are present in this world, Zatanna, Doctor Fate, Doctor Strange, The Doctor, Harry Dresdan, John Constatine, whoever. I am certain that they would be able to verify my claims."

[industrious]

Oracle

Audio from Spider and the Joker's conversation also finds its way to Oracle. Source Gas was a powerful thing for a journalist to have. It required several licenses to obtain in his time.

[Colesign]

Mary Poppins

"Hmmm. I will have to talk to your Mother about this, If she can spare any time from the project she and your Father are working on. Tell me, do your parents work on projects like this often?"

[doliest]

Mary Poppins
"I wouldn't know about before my birth, but since then, at least for the last two years, they've been building up to this. My baby sitter then was Uncle Jacob." She lifts the pelt up playfully.

Oracle
The two video feeds are on your computer; one of the man Canary had run into fighting Joker, the other another file from the Ripper, "The birds have killed me, boss! They've pecked out my eyes and left my body for the spiders who drained me to the last drop. The dial is twisting though. Yours Truly, Ripper.

Bond
She nods, ignoring the second-to-long lingering, "It shouldn't be too hard, Mr.Bond James Bond. Now I assume you would like to know something about your mission?"

Chesire and Kirby
Dr.Leland looks at Kirby, "I don't think we can contact any of them, so I'll take your word on that, Kirby. Now where did you come from? You weren't just born in Gotham, were you?"

Dr.Arkham starts trying to pull the Chesire cat off of him, "We don't do electro shock!" He's not the most agile or powerful man, however, so he's not doing a good job of it.

[darkblade]

Oracle

Fed up with these cryptic messages Oracle tries to send a message of her own to the Ripper's computer. "I'm sick of these games 'Ripper' show yourself."

***

Kirby

"I was born in the collective subconsious of mortal kind. It is the place where your mind goes when you dream. The former monarch King Dedede called it Dreamland. Not exactly the most original Pengiun." Kirby explains to Dr.Leland.

He then turns his attention to the strange cat. "Chesire? Is that you? It's been a long time. You've put on weight."

[doliest]

Oracle
A response comes quickly, "But Boss, I'm so tired after everything else you've sent m-
"Come out we have you surrounded."
"A thousand little annoyances added to my day."
"Open Fi-" The word is interrupted by a scream. Followed by several more.
"So why come out? Yours Truly, Ripper."

Kirby
"And how did you get from 'Dreamland' to here?" She seems interested; normally this kind of explanation is chocked up to madness; but you're a living pink ball. Hard to argue that you come from somewhere strange.

Crowley
You arrive in Fauks, Washington uninterrupted. Nothing about the town seems too strange. A small, everyday American town. A school, houses, a police station; Fauks was basically Smalltown USA.

[darkblade]

Oracle

Oracle checks the police radio for signs of the killed officers before saying anything. Can't risk it being staged.

***

Kirby

"I was hungry. I had consumed all there was to consume in Dreamland and I went on my way. I slaughtered by way through Hyrule, Eagleland, and many others until I was aprehended by a pair of royal retainers in the Mushroom Kingdom." Kirby scowls as he makes mention of the Mario Brothers.

"I spend many years in a cage rather like this one until the Princess came ot me asking for help to catch another serial killer. They called him the butcher, turns out he was a couple of kids taken thrall by the being that begat me, Gigyas." Kirby smiles again with this memory.

"Gigyas left the Mushroom Kingdom in ruin so I went on my way again. This time to one of the many worlds called 'Earth'. I was caputered again by some vampires by the name of Cullen. I was freed by two men of great power, Nicodemus and my beloved Sylar. Nicodemus sought to use us as weapons to acheive world domination, he made the mistake of granting us coins that contain fallen angels. With their power me and Sylar killed Nicodemus. I stayed in that world for a few years until Sylar and me received an offer from another incarnation of the vampire family that captured me in a different world. I figured we could string them on for a bit before killing them horribly in revenge for what they did to me but we ended up seperated before that could happen by some crazy mercenary with a portal device. Next thing I know I was here in your Gotham."

[doliest]

Oracle
There's no word on the radios; the only thing you can gather is that there's no response from the police sent in to check the apartment where the messages come from.

Kirby
Even by Arkham standards, that's a strange tale. Even by Arkham standards, Kirby and the Chesire cat are strange appearances. This was a weird day, from the perspective of the doctors, and any rational people involved in this, "So...you crossed through several different dimensions and parallel earths to end up here, admittedly on accident? "

[industrious]

Crowley

Crowley heads towards city hall. He has a proposition for the mayor.

[doliest]

Crowley
You're stopped at the entrance by a cop with brown hair and a very noticeable mustache , "I'm sorry sir, but no one is allowed into city hall at the moment."

[industrious]

Crowley

"That's perfectly fine, officer. I'm supposed to be there. And you have the crazy hobo on the other side of town to go beat up."

[doliest]

Crowley
He shakes his head several times; he's resisting, but soon he runs off to go beat up a homeless person, leaving the door completely unguarded.

[nanobot_swarm]

Dr. Wilhelm Strasse, more commonly known as Deathshead, he had escaped Nuremburg by fleeing and bargaining with the Red Ruskies. Through that paranoid butcher named Stalin, he attempted to have his baby, Project UberSoldat, successfully born. The Project was destroyed for a second time, not by an American OSS agent, but by a politician you may know as Kruschev, who refocused Deathshead onto his other field of expertise, rocketry. He despised it, all he ever wanted was to make his dream of UberSoldat come true, and for about 60 or so years he thought that his dream would simply remain a dream. When the Soviet Union collapsed, he was left to wither away, out of sight and mind, in a small farm in the Russian countryside. But things have changed, very much so, better for him, worse for all else. On his 110th year of living, men working for the Major found him, they brokered him a deal, he works for them, finds them the Antartic base, and Project UberSoldat will be born. He agreed as heartily as his withered body would allow, and now he finds himslef in the old base hidden away in Antartica. It was very well preserved, by the cold climate, only the outer areas suffered any decay, he just wished that someone would get the damn heat working, otherwise he'd freeze before the Major could meet him.

[Corvond]

Cheshire
"As interesting and complex as the nuances of your life story is, it wasn't hard to find you. I knew all I had to do was go to the biggest, darkest hole I could find, so I did, and Voilà! Here we are." Cheshire purrs, his eyes never leaving Kirby. The Cat suddenly disappears and reappears floating above Dr Arkhams head, his body then vanishing once more into mist so he's just a smiling head, floating. The head begins to rotate like a spinning plate, until it's upside down, then spins back.
"And as fascinating as this conversation is, and intriguing as it is to find that psychiatrists are still making the same mistakes to this day, I'm actually a messenger."
His head bobs closer, until he was inches away from Kirby, matching smile to smile. "For you, actually. Would you care to hear it?"

James Bond
"I was briefed, yes." He says, taking a drag of his cigarette and offering her one. "Though I'm afraid our agency has been lax in it's intelligence gathering, so we are rather uninformed as to what exactly I'm stopping."

[Draxx]

The Joker
Batman doesn't kill. However, plenty of other people do, The Joker is no stranger at dodging bullets. The second the gas appeared, he was moving, and threw himself behind a counter. There is a series of clicking noises as he reloads. then peeks around. He still can't see anything, the damn fog is still in the way.
“If I may quote a cartoon rabbit, himself quoting Groucho Marx, ‘Of course you understand, this means war’.” He says softly, so softly Spider almost missed it, he waits a moment, still behind cover, then gets to his feet and leaves it behind, his steps making no noise whatsoever.
He leaves a small contraption on the bench, it has the look of a cigarette lighter, but is in fact a bomb detonator with no charge. In a few seconds it will spark, and with any luck Spider will see it in the fog, and shoot it, giving away his position.
Of course, a game like this is in his favor regardless. In a few minutes, more henchman will be arriving to pick him, and the loot, up.
The loot. He had it a moment ago.
Nevermind. The money was just a way of keeping score.
"So, your a journalist." He says, keeping moving so the man doesn't have a target. "A writer. A teller of truths, a man who uncovers what really happens. That's cute. And do you tell the truth, or do you just tell whatever you think is important and hope that someone out there, someone in the whole, wide, world, still gives a damn about the truth? Don't answer, I already got you figured out, your a crusader, you think you can fix the world. No. You think other people can fix the world, if you show them the way." He laughs again, a wheezing cackle. "I bet it bothers you how much worse everything seems to get. How whenever change comes, it turns out not to be so different after all. How all these faceless, mindless drones keep doing what they're doing, and as much as you try you're doing it too."
The joker, throughly enjoying himself, now begins on his favorite subject: Himself. "You want to shock people out of their stupor, their sad, empty shells, make them WAKE UP and see what's going on. I've moved beyond that. People aren't worth saving. If they wanted to change they'd do it. They create all this, this elaborate game they call society and law, and rules, and rights, and all that so they have something to look at other then the big, uncaring universe and their total insignificance. They want to obey, and can't bring themselves to realize how unimportant it is. That's the joke. The Joke Im the only one to get. Why do you think I'm always smiling?"
The fog is starting to clear, enough to see vague shapes. He's circled around Spider, and now has his back to the door. But he's not done yet. He's to busy enjoying himself. So he keeps circling, trying to find Spider.
"You can't fix the world. The only thing to do is smash the rubrics cube."

Green Arrow
"Please don't make this about us, Pretty Bird." He drops the nickname on without thinking, then shuts his mouth, irritated despite himself. It was only a while ago they were thinking of getting married, now they couldn't even have a professional conversation. Well, they'd never been able to have one, but now for very different reasons.
He changes the subject before she can make a big deal about the nickname.
"I don't suppose you have any idea where the Joker went?"

[Cracklord]

Nuada
"Treaty?" He turns on his heel, facing Atem. At last he has a target for his frustrations that actually knows what he's talking about. "What treaty? What treaty can you claim to have honored? You enslave the souls of my people as toys for children. You burn the green places of the world, pollute the ocean and even the very air cries out under your brutal hand. I am here for vengeance, what else?"

The Major
Montanna Max steps into the base. His only concession to the climate is a fur-lined white overcoat that trails along the ground behind him. The rest of Millenium has remained in the Zeppelin, even the captain who usually never leaves his masters side. Or rather, heel. Like a dog.
The major smiles as he sees Deathshead. He is, after-all, one of the geniuses that contributed to project Millenium. And time has not been kind to him. He is so gaunt he looks as though he's been boiled until all his flesh came off, his skin is thin, papery and weak, almost translucent. His limbs are little more then brittle sticks.
The Major, on the other hand, hasn't aged a day. Time has made him wider, his hands are soft and his body has gotten flabby, but otherwise time hasn't dared lay a finger on him.
"Herr Strasse! It has been too long." The Major says, spreading his arms. "How goes the project?"