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When he finally arrived at the top of the tower, twenty seconds remained on the timer. A quick investigation into the bomb showed a very simple disarming method -- but to disarm it, he would doom the beautiful reporter at the bottom of the tower to certain death within the open poison well below her. He could hear her screaming even from up here, and the screams were sharp as knives.

On the other hand, if he didn't disarm it before the time ran out, then the poison would cloud the atmosphere over Gotham. If that were to happen, all the souls of Gotham herself would be forfeit.

If he disarmed the bomb, he could drop from this height, cast out a grappling hook for himself and one for her below him, and hope that it caught. His aim was good. His strength would hold the both of them until he could get her to safety. But the descent....

10 seconds.

He did the calculations, rough as they were, from the height he stood to the place where she stood bound and helpless - and found that his grappling hook wouldn't reach her before she disappeared into the poison.

7 seconds.

He didn't have time to rig anything to let him dive first, and then disarm the bomb. An explosion wouldn't guarantee that the entire thing wouldn't just go off, either. The mechanism was deep within the wires, where he couldn't reach it from below.

4 seconds.

She was screaming. The bomb was bolted down to the platform. He couldn't take the entire thing with him, either. She was screaming.

2 seconds.

Was there any other way? His eyes traveled like lightning through the wiring, across the trigger, finding nothing.

"I'm sorry," he said to her, knowing she wouldn't hear him.

1 second.

He toggled the switch that halted the countdown. He heard the platform below give way, and he heard the way her screaming changed -- frantically now through that coarse gag, with anger enough to damn him. Behind the mask, Bruce Wayne kept his eyes wide open and stared down at her. He would not turn away, regardless of how much he wished he could.

Subject: Skilosh Demon
Nomorecaves

Have you ever seen one of these? I hear they're suppose to have a third eye. They say that's how it works, but really? Wouldn't a third eye be a good thing? How do you kill someone with a third eye? Right in the back of their head?

How do we rationalize killing demons? I know why we do it, but is it right to rationalize it like we do? How do we pick which ones? As long as they aren't killing us they're okay? Of course, I don't think I'd want to meet these demons. And, I've met some very nasty demons.


Fred had heard the stories. Had heard what happened to Cordelia, but that just seemed crazy. Of course, she knew there were worse things out there, and she was glad that Cordelia was still alive. There had to be a way to harness that third eye - it wasn't even in the middle of the forehead, which was so very much nicer. They could just hide it away in their hair, but the pictures usually showed people without hair, or things without hair. Demons were people, too?

She sat at the keyboard, fascinated with the advances made in technology. Oh, computers existed before her time away, but they'd gotten smaller and faster in her time away. It was amazing. And, discussion boards had existed. Things were changing. Sometimes it was too much, but at that moment, she was just happy to have a place to talk about it.

Dinah had been in this crazy City for weeks and still no sign of the Impala. She missed her baby, and she really missed waking up somewhere that wasn't a freaking acid trip. She was still in a bit of denial about the fact that the streets would move sometimes.

Maybe this was all just one big mindfuck courtesy of the Trickster. Never mind that Gabe was dead. Maybe an actual trickster (instead of an archangel pretending to be a Norse god) was pulling the strings. Or maybe Gabe had somehow faked his own death simply to mess with her some more.

Currently, she was walking the City streets in search of some hint of her car. She had to be here, didn't she? Somewhere. And yes, Dinah's car was a 'she.' It was too pretty to be anything else and Dinah felt a kinship with that car. It was partly the family connection, since it had been her dad's for as long as she could remember and even before that. And it was partly that that car had all but literally been to hell and back with Dinah and her sister, with the whole Lance family.

Speaking of her sister, Dinah still hadn't accepted that Barbara was missing either. Her sister had come back from Hell wrong-without a soul, and whoever had stuck her in this godforsaken place had to realize their mistake and send her back. Who was going to help fix Barbara otherwise?

She stopped long enough to kick at a trash can in frustration before she continued on her search. Her eyes scanned the streets as if she was expecting-or maybe just hoping for-some trouble. She wouldn't mind a vamp or a ghost to gank right about now.

(Note: Mentions of Batman media)

(Feat. Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, The Mad Hatter, The Riddler, Enigma)

Jonathan was curled up on his side, watching as his character repeatedly punched another in the face, a small smirk on his lips. Yes, it was cruel and mean, yes, it had deep, psychological implications...but dammit, every once in a while it was satisfying to watch Batman punch Edward in the face, even if it was only pixels.

He reached over the edge of the couch for his cigarette, trying to take a drag and keep the block shaped Riddler on the screen from blasting his block shaped Batman into tiny lego pieces, yelping as the on screen character started firing lasers.

"Where the hell would Edward get lasers, seriously," he muttered around the filter, jabbing at the buttons on his controllers, smirking as Lego-Batman grabbed Edward and started shaking him.

(Note: we_coexist!Enigma, future dated, open to anyone at all of any variation)

Enigma was crouched on a rather ugly looking gargoyle, looking over the city below her. It was the city she had been born in, the city she had returned to...and yet it wasn't The City she called home. That city, she missed desperately, with every beat of her heart, each morning she woke up alone.

She stood, her feet twisted, balancing on the gargoyle's neck, the high winds whipping at her, trying to pull the twenty-five year old to her death. She blinked slowly behind her mask, her gaze turning down to the ground that the wind was so eager to press her against and she closed her heavily darkned eyes, feeling the tugs and pulls of the insistant wind, her body leaning, almost eager to give into it.

And she fell forward, tumbling through the air, her heart rushing into her throat, brain screaming at her a million warnings, her long red pigtails streaming behind her as she fell.

One of her hands slid down her body to the pack at her hip and she pulled free her grappling gun, firing it into the air, jerking as it caught and the momentum of her fall sent her swinging over the city of Gotham, her breath leaving her in a shout.

She was depressed, desperately missing everything she loved...but she wasn't so far gone that she was going to jump from the gargoyles of Wayne Tower over it. She had a life to live...a life Bruce would have wanted her to live.

She flipped through the air, releasing the grappling hook as she landed on a roof, giving a tumble before rising to her feet, watching the sun as it started it's decent, a smile on her lips.

One day..she would make her way home.

It was a good thing that Aidan's house wasn't far from the bar they'd gone to, since Dean wasn't really up to much movement. Even though he seemed to be feeling better with the generous application of ice and alcohol. He was kind of surprised that there hadn't been any vomit, with how Dean had looked for a while.

They did walk slow, though. And walk they did, since Dean was pretty sure he wasn't going to sit in some bumpy cab. Aidan could appreciate that. He wasn't sure that he'd be doing much of anything, and really had to hand it to Dean for not crying or passing out.

Aidan got his friend to the house and even up the stairs to the room that Dean had taken over. It was Josh's old room, which was alright with Aidan. He didn't know how he would have felt if it had been Sally's. Mostly due to all the girly stuff in it.

He made sure that there was a bucket, just in case, and left a full bottle of whiskey and another of wine that were downstairs. He knew that the wine was used in some of Josh's more complex recipes, but it should be good enough to do whatever numbing Dean wanted.

Aidan retreated to his own bedroom to pass out, thinking about their meeting with a goddess.

Beauty had been walking through the woods for some time, lost in her own thoughts. She hadn't expected to enter a clearing and see what she did. In the center of that great expanse of grass and trees, a tea table waited. It was covered with all the expected accoutrements - perfect little biscuits, a healthy amount of sugar cubes, jam, lemon, cream, a touch of fruit and some cheese, crumpets, and of course, one very large and steaming teapot.

She looked around, but saw no one waiting, no one present at all. With quite a bit of curiosity, and, she was a little embarrassed to admit, hunger, Beauty walked to the table and circled once. It seemed rude to sit down without permission, but there was no one about to give it.... and it also seemed such a shame to leave everything uneaten.

Finally, and without a single thought to whether or not it was actually safe, Beauty did take a seat.

Dean leaned against the bar, a pint of something in hand. His friend had promised him a little fun; he needed a distraction. Somehow he was in Boston, not his Boston as far as they could tell, but his friend's. Or that's what they thought. It seemed the right place, but none of his housemates were around as far as they could tell. Dean needed something to keep his mind of the lack of brother and angel.

"So, you okay in here?" The hunter shifted his gaze from a small group of mostly attractive women to the guy beside him. He smiled slightly at him. "What with the warm bodies and all that shit? Not going to go mad? I don't wanna have to stake you here in front of everyone, do I?" He actually smiled, showing just how much he was joking.

"You know, Aidan. This isn't so bad." He motioned to the bar. It had taken the vampire a little while to get Dean out of the house for anything that wasn't hunting or family related. It was nice to have a drink and maybe find a quick lay.

For what felt like the tenth time that night, Evey rearranged the pillows around her and dropped herself back into the nest she'd made. Nothing fit, nothing was comfortable, and she was as far from sleepy as she could get. Through the bedroom window, spikes of silver were making their slow journey across the foot of the bed to the floor beyond. When she'd laid down, the moonlight hadn't even reached the bedpost.

This time, she was on her stomach, one leg tossed over a pillow she'd pulled up against her side. Her skin ached. Restlessness was one word for it. Dropping her face in another of the pillows she'd rough-handled, she groaned. This was really quite intolerable. She should've been asleep hours ago, and instead she...

Evey flipped on her back, jerked the blanket up to her chin, and stared hard at the ceiling above her. She'd been keeping her thoughts well, well away from the presence always embedded in her mind, that presence that was now as much a part of her as she herself. But one particularly insane thought was beating down that hard discipline: He could help.

    RULES

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