[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
One hundred twenty-six.

One hundred twenty-seven.

One hundred twenty-eight. 

There isn't a man alive who feels more at home in his own skin. 
[identity profile] uncommon-sensei.livejournal.com
The trek out of hell takes longer than one might expect. All those twists and turns, and the natives aren't exactly reliable for directions. Shiva, Dragon, and Tim Drake have hauled themselves out of the infernal realms, though, with no further interference from Neron. Then back through Gotham Below - finally emerging from a dark alleyway in the East End.

Dragon steps out towards the street, shielding his eyes from the strange reddish cast to the evening sky.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have taken that left turn at Purgatory?"

Seems a fresh kind of hell has come to Gotham in their absence.
[identity profile] prometheanplans.livejournal.com
Now here's something you don't see every day - Prometheus in church.

Mind you, this isn't an ordinary church. It's condemned and collapsing, the only kind of church Prometheus could ever tolerate for long. It's one of the five 'nesting grounds' acquired by he and Hush for the use of the Monk's ever-growing cabal. And most famously, the Joker once fell to one of his many deaths from the great bell tower that has now fallen into ruin.

It's been a few months since Prometheus last checked in. Luthor stole his Cosmic Key, sending (read: stranding) him into an alternate dimension as a 'gift' for his help. Bagging the cowls of several of that world's heroes was fun for a while, but in the end unsatisfying. He considers himself reasonably adaptable, but truth be told, even he doesn't know how he got the Key back. Unless Luthor saw fit to return it to him before his defeat.

Hush has called this little meeting. He's got the best information among the three, and apparently the word is that there's a new player in town. One who's already lured the likes of Firefly and Zsasz into his employ. And may be responsible for the death of Poison Ivy, if the more outlandish rumors are true.

Prometheus isn't buying that one. Ivy's about as hard to kill as kudzu. But the introduction of a new player to their little game is quantifiable - Elliot got the word personally from their stool pigeon at the Iceberg Lounge - and better still, entertaining.

As he waits for Hush, Prometheus makes a game of shooting down the few remaining crucifixes in the church with his wrist gauntlet.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
Victor Zsasz, resplendent in a finely tailored black suit with solid silver cufflinks and incredibly-well polished shoes, stares blankly at the wondrous foliage growing in the Arcadia Glens arboretum, a good few miles east of Gotham. Nothing living, healthy, or vibrant in colour interests someone such as Mr. Zsasz.

He sometimes forgets to blink. He might as well be sleeping, watching these dull botanical life-forms in their pots and in their soil.

Look! A leaf! Look! A branch! Weeee! A little weed!

They're all going to die. Even evergreens die eventually. Whether through ill temperatures or by the hand of man. If Zsasz had his way, this entire greenhouse would be burnt to the ground, with all its awful, dull, pointless, petty life reduced to cinders. Maybe this is why he has always struggled to get on with-

"Poison Ivy. I was wondering when you would arrive." Zsasz extends a gloved hand for the green goddess to shake. Ugh. She looks far too healthy and far too alive. "I apologise for the elusiveness of my message. I hope I did not make you wonder about the purpose of this meeting too much."
[identity profile] sexy-huntress.livejournal.com
Even vigilantes having an existential crisis need to eat. Helena's had to pull herself together in order to restock her fridge - and her wine supply - and brave the world. Perhaps predictably, she waits until the late evening to leave her apartment; perhaps it's because she will miss the school crowds, or perhaps the broad daylight seems like too much self-exposure to deal with. The daylight hours have long been associated with her teaching, a job she no longer possesses and thinks at this point that she can never go back to.

She's had to check a few times to reassure herself that she's still receiving the stipend from Oracle, and each time has hated that she's relying on someone else for their help, or that she's even worried about what the redhead thinks in the first place. But she hasn't, at least, to her knowledge, been fired.


She sticks to the essentials - she's never been that much of an adventurous cook to begin with - and begins loading up the trunk of her car.
[identity profile] lexcorp-media.livejournal.com
Detective Romy Chandler, of the Gotham City Police Department's Major Crimes Unit, was rescued by a unit of her M.C.U. colleagues, on Tuesday. The search for Detective Chandler had been ongoing for over a month after her mysterious disappearance, believed to be related to her near-fatal shooting of Dr. Jonathan Crane, A.K.A. the Scarecrow.

Detective Chandler's heroism was rewarded with threats and attempts on her life from Gotham's colorful criminal community, up until her mysterious disappearance. The M.C.U. had been combing the city for leads, and rumors have it they were assisted by Gotham's vigilante population - fighting a small war in the shadows of the city. Police revealed that lesser-known Gotham criminal Mary Louise Dahl, AKA Baby Doll, had been holding Detective Chandler, using some of the Mad Hatter's paraphernalia to force Chandler to act as her bodyguard.

The Commissioner's office released an official statement that Detect Chandler had been placed in the Witness Protection Program, and moved out of Gotham, to prevent further retaliation attempts.


Notorious serial killer Victor Zsasz has been returned to Arkham Asylum today, after he was found unconscious and bound on the steps of Precinct House 21.. (continued on page 2)
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
It was a truly bracing Jan afternoon when Victor Zsasz stopped into the cutlery store. He wandered the store, looking at all the beautiful instruments. So many to choose from, it was almost dizzying in its potential.

But after politely dismissing the efforts of the salesman, he went up to the counter and placed his black bag on the counter.

"I understand that you can sharpen knives on the premises, yes?" he asked, and when the clerk responded in the affirmative, he smiled and opened the case to reveal perhaps two dozen knives of varying sorts - from a big Bowie-style hunting knife to any number of instruments one would usually find in any decently-stocked kitchen.

"I'd like to have all of these sharpened if I could." he said. "I'll be back later to pick them up."

The details arranged and the work paid for, Victor crammed his hands into his longcoat and stepped out of the store. So many zombies, shuffling through their pointless little lives.

So many to choose from.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
His cell needed to be cleaned.

Of course, when one was imprisoned in a steel box in the bowels of Arkham Asylum, without benefit of so much as a mattress, one's toilet being a bucket, bolted to the floor...these things happened. Victor was a patient man. The robots running this hotel for the insane would be around sooner or later. They guilted themselves into thinking their actions "humane". Caring for the sick, the wrong-hearted and wrong-headed assuaged the guilt that they felt for going home to warm, safe beds every night.

Victor Zsasz felt no guilt.

Victor Zsasz didn't feel much at all, unless he was carving a mark into his own skin, memorializing another in the canvas of his own body.

His eyes stared blankly ahead at the wall in front of his line-of-sight eyeslit. They'd turned his box away from the front of his cell last weekend, when an orderly came by and was frightened into a heart flutter by his locking eyes with the man.

[identity profile] laughing-mage.livejournal.com
Scattered tools of his nights work can be seen around the room in the abandoned building he has been using as a workshop. In one corner are a pick and shovel covered with fresh earth with gloves and boots saturated with liquid and mud flung beside them. On the table where he's been working are several newspaper clippings and lists. Special ink and paper with a scattering of tobacco cover small bottles of ingredients and a quill made from a dove feather. Taking the pack of cigarettes from the table and putting them in the pocket that doesn't hold the lock opening device that Huntress aqcuired for him he's ready to go.

Breaking in is harder this time. Seems like they got tired of everyone waltzing in and out like this was a public building rather than the hospital containing the most dangerous criminally insane inmates in the country. He'd need to be a little less obvious than last time when he was able to break in with some fairly unsophisticated tools. He's going in the back service entrance, it will have the other things he wants for his little visit to the looney ward. The lock opener is inserted and it gives a clack that only sounds loud to him when it snaps the lock open. Repocketing the device he makes his way down the corridors of the laundry room where he takes a lab coat in exchange for his own.

If you wanted to raise energy in a prison, where would you do it? Experience tells him the answer and he starts making his way to the level where electroshock and other "treatments" are administered.


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