[identity profile] lexcorp-media.livejournal.com
Scarecrow In Critical Condition

Dr. Jonathan Crane, known to most Gothamites as the infamous Scarecrow, was nearly killed in a confrontation last night with Gotham City Police Department's Major Crimes Unit.  Undisclosed sources report Detective Romy Chandler singlehandedly thwarted an attempt by Crane to commandeer the Landmark Theater, located at the corner of Ninth and Patison in Gotham's Financial District.  Chandler shot and incapacitated the Arkham inmate before any damage could be rendered to the Theater or its patrons.  Gotham General Hospital officially lists Crane's condition as critical.  One orderly who refused to be identified suggested the patient might not even last the week. 

The only available statement from the GCPD neither condemns nor approves of Detective Chandler's actions in the case.  An investigation into the details of the shooting is currently underway.  In what may be considered a vote of confidence, Chandler will retain her duties and responsibilities during the course of the inquest.  All attempts to contact Chandler for comment have been unsuccessful. 

Could this be the end of one of Gotham's deadliest threats?  The Scarecrow was first sighted in Gotham City in...

continued on page 4

How RUDE!

Apr. 9th, 2007 07:34 pm
[identity profile] stitchedscream.livejournal.com
Cut for disturbing imagery )
[identity profile] stitchedscream.livejournal.com
For every decent challenge, there had to be that first blow, that shot across the bow, the opening salvo. And for Murmur, there was a certain humor in telling Roulette to have her people watch E!. Especialy when he thought about the conniption fit his erstwhile rival will have at not getting to him first.


After all, the man's views on the entire field of Psychiatry have been well documented, and somewhat insulting. Even to a former man of medicine such as himself. And going by as much word of mouth, well.. as Murmur was able to tolerate without killing anoyone, the actor's last few movies were a disappointment to theatergoers everywhere.

As for the infection, it was remarkably simple to pay Calculator to track down one of his regularly clandestine affairs and arrange for a trojan horse. A neuralviral load with a very exacting genetic trigger. Such a pity, really, considering the attractive wife he was cheating on. But the man brought it on himself just by the very nerve of existing.

And sure enough, timed down to the last minute, Thom Cruz appeared on screen. Apparently already talking sequal to a movie based on The War of the Worlds of all things! And even when Murmur forced himself to watch television, the thought of such a classic sample of literature being... defiled in such a way.

In the vernacular of Heatwave.. the bitch has gotta go.

The funny thing about this perticular creation was the effect on the body's metabolisim. Pronounced sweating, increaded adgitation, and a surge in almost rambling dialoge as the brain tried to catch up with the body it was trapped in. And it seemed almost ironic that nobody really noticed.

Now, when stage two struck, bringing on a visible twitch and eyes that suddenly seemed to have trouble focusing on anything. That probably got the camera crew a little worried. But then, that was the fun of this perticular genetic cocktail, the initial effects occured so suddenly, that by the time it turned terminal.. it was untreatable.

By the time poor Thom started talking about that damnably goofy religion of his, aliens and thetas and the book they were based on, Stage three exploded. In a fit of almost incomprehinsible babble as the first of many epic seisures started ripping through his body. The initial design had been based off an 'al Ghul strain that had been used during that Babel virus fiasco. Epilepsy on methamphetamines, bodyquakes that had been designed for a body accustomed to high speed movement, shook him apart on a cellular level.

In the end, he was all but bouncing in his seat, feet and arms flailing, and for some bizzare reason, shouting one perticular catchphrase over and over again..

"I want the Truth! I want thetruth! Iwantthetruthiwantthetruthiwantthetruth!"

And those final moments, before the camera switched off, when the first drips of mingled red and grey fluid started leaking out of his nose. Murmur liked to think that Thom Cruz got the Ultimate Truth at the very end.

And there were no aliens involved..
[identity profile] mari-grayson.livejournal.com
There is no moment of silence, when so many are gathered to discuss the state of the multiverse, but there comes a time when the conversation is not quite so noisy. Nightstar flies above the heads of the attendees, landing before a draped painting. Judging by the size, the attendees may wonder if the hidden work is a lifesized portrait, but of who? Those most familiar with the Dreaming, and the Endless, may think of the paintings lining Dream's gallery, and what they are used for.

"Excuse me," Nightstar says politely, waiting until all (or at least most) have focused their attention on her. "Dream said that he would be willing to let you all have glimpses in the dreams of those who dwell in the multiverse. I'm afraid you won't be allowed to make any requests, and the glimpses may not last very long." She smiles ruefully. "I also don't know how much use you'll get out of what you see, but ... please pay attention?"

With that, she pulls the veil aside, revealing that the frame is, at first glance, empty.

And then the frame fills with images....
[identity profile] old-saint-nick.livejournal.com
There is some debate within mystical circles if there is indeed such a creature as the embodiment of Christmas Giving known as Santa Claus. But whether or not there is such a being, the spirit of giving itself is very real, be it incarnated in a fat man in a red suit or not.

Throughout this small blue planet of Earth, people have brought trees into their homes, decorated them with lights and ornaments, and placed them in locations of honor. Stockings have been placed on the chimneys. But most of all -- in the spirit of community and giving -- people have placed gifts under the tree.

Some are looking forward more to the receiving than the giving. But for many, it is the act of giving which warms them, which fills them with the holiday spirit.

Each person, in their own way, becomes a part of this spirit of giving. Each person, in their own way, becomes Santa Claus.
[identity profile] plazmania.livejournal.com
It's the Keystone City home for the criminally insane, and the alarms are going off. Never a good sign.

Plaz has been... "talking" with Harley Quinn, trying to do an intervention that almost became intercoursion. If that's a word.

But then the Joker happened in the prison wing. And now there are really loud alarms that are very annoying.

Eel O'Brien, happy to get away from this twisted weirdness for the moment, goes all "JLA" and springs over to the door of the visitation room. "HEY! You wanna turn that racket off or tell me what's going on?"
[identity profile] faceless-freak.livejournal.com
Once Izzy O'Toole had picked up the dead Mr. Conners, the Question had left immediately. For him it was no problem finding the family before Murmur. This was his city, after all.

No, that wasn't accurate. The city had him by her dying claws.

Regardless, he knew where to look, and remained perched at a window at their apartment, waiting. He had specifically informed Izzy not to tell the family yet of James' death. No need for them to panic and flee and sure to be killed in one of the lonely gray streets of Hub. Today wouldn't be their time - if he could help it.

However, he needed to know what he was up against. Hopefully, with help.

Pulling out his cell phone, he quietly dialed up the right number he'd memorized sometime ago without really anyone's knowledge.

Hopefully, Wally West would pick up fairly soon.
[identity profile] the-rogues.livejournal.com
The rusteling of the leaves against the chilling wind blares on a hushed roar. The sounds of cars rushing by can be heard along with the squeaky brakes of the occasional car.

Murmur's form was sitting ontop of a white Lexus that was parked across the street in the garage.

He sat. He waited.

Footsteps soon broke the silence.

"Shit--" muttered a man as he accidentily lost grasp of his keys. He went to go pick them up, but the front part of his shoe kicked them just beyond reach, under his white car.

Looking up, the off duty judge shook his head and softly spoke to himself. "What's wrong with me today? I swear, sometimes if my head weren't bolted to my head...."

Reaching down, he placed a hand ont he side of his car to stablize himself before grabbing a hold of his fallen keys.

"Juhge.....Cnnr." Murmur's eyes glowed and twinkled with a sinster shade of white from underneath.

James Conner looked up and with sheer fright he dropped his keys again.

"Yu.. mebr me...." Murmur quickly brandished a small vile from a pouch on the left side of his body. "Kll....Cnnr..."

With a swift move, Conner was on the ground, groaning, his hands shielding him from each strike that came through his way. "PLEASE!" he shouted out. "I have a family--!"

Murmur only cocked his head, his ideas growing further and further. He popped the file and snapped his hand out to clench against Conner's neck and poured the greenish-black liquid down his mouth, forcig the man to swallow.

Letting go, Murmur stepped back and admired his handiwork. At last, his task was complete. The person who ultimately put him away was now being punished for what they done.

Conner's body went into convultions as Murmur turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness of the parking structure. He had business to conduct.

His next stop?

The rest of the Conner family. Their daughter Emily and James' wife, Linda.
[identity profile] the-rogues.livejournal.com
The sparkling hue of the city's lights twinkle from high above the city's rooftops. The hussel and general city noises are heard throughout. Even if you're inside in a sound-proof facility, you swear to yourself thinking-- knowing damn well you've just been jolted, at that second, by some jerkoff with a loud car horn.

Pollution.

Noise.

Talking.

Cell phone ringers.

Noise.

TALKING.

This wasn't his city so therefore the same set of "rules" didn't apply.

"So like-- could you BUH-leeve what Danielle was wearing tonight? OH God. Who decided to let her out of her cage with THOSE rags on." a blonde haired girl, walked by with her equally blonde friend.

"And did you SEE the way Brad was just all over her? I can't believe him! What does she see in her!?"

"You've got me. But I certainly know it's not her good looks."

Murmur's eyes floated down to the pair of women, his eyes rolling underneath his mask. Why did girls have to talk so much? Why did they ALWAYS have to chatter?

He cringed. The noise. The noise of their words irritated him. Annoyed him. Angered him.

How dare THEY speak! They weren't ASKED to open their mouths!

That was okay though. He would fix it.

A sadistic smile formed at the corners of his mouth. The skin at the corners pinching, tearing as he did so. Fresh blood seemed to ooze over the bits of dried blood over his mouth, over the strings that held his mouth together. Completely sewn shut.

With a leap, the jangling of chains and clips clanged against the metal of the fire escape for a moment.

The first blonde girl gaspsed and spun on her pink pumps. "Stacey--? Did you hear that?"

Stacey turned and raised an eyebrow. "It was just a cat, Jenny, c'mon. I parked up at the next parking structure." She groaned. "Stupid parking."

"AH!!!!!!!!!!" Jenny dropped her glittering handbag, taking notice to the set of eyes that now rested upon her and Stacey.

"What are you screaming about--" Stacey spun and gave a blood curdling scream as well. "GET THE HELL AWAY--!"

Murmur growled and produced a blade in his left hand. "Shttt p!" He spoke as best as anyone could, at least anyone missing a tongue.

"WHAT??" Jenny started backing away, her hand clentched against Stacey' wrist. "If this was about that pack of--"

Murmur raised his left hand and quickly swiped each of the girl's cheek's before slamming his foot into one, sending her into a daze against the brick wall. With his free hand, he stalked over and uncorked a test tube, containing a greenishblack syrup and poured half of the liquid down the girl's throat.

"WHAT are you doing!?" Stacey screamed in a blind panic, trying to inch over to her friend. "WHAT is--"

In a swift move, the same substance was then being poured down Stacey's mouth. Murmur's fingers clenched against her throat for a moment until he started to listen to the syrup get to work. The bubbling and crackling acid started to eat away at Stacey's lips. She gaged-- gargled and tried effortlessly to spit it out.

Murmur capped his test tube and placed it back into his belt hook. He stepped away and looked back to admire his handiwork. "Sllllnce." he murmured.

Within five minutes, the two girls were dead, laying nearly side by side on the street. Their mouths melted away.

Thanks to Murmur. Thanks to the Frenzy virus.

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