Retribution | Batman

S I M P L E

Blue, purple, and pink colors glistened from the droplets of sweat beginning to form on his scarred and hostile face. Terror had injected itself into the hearts of the young ones surrounding our heated battle in their most formal and most obnoxious clothing. These kinds of events I typically grew to greatly dislike. Although my distaste for them, I still maintained an understanding that these gatherings were meant to be joyous. Yet, here I stood. My right hand clenched in a fist, the other holding a weapon, my anger driven like a drunken man, incapable of the simplest of actions. Then were my eyes locked onto a target that, deeply I knew destroying would never create the sense of closure, but still felt the need to pummel. I had deceived my own brain into thinking this chosen course of action was justifiable. Losing a father to a crazed lunatic was as much as an excuse as I needed to follow through with vengeance.

Now a gun was in my possession and the ball had descended from my enemy's court to mine. The decision to end his heart from beating any further, from stopping his mind from thinking, and putting an end to the fears of many in the room had been bestowed upon myself. All I had to do was elementary really; flex my index finger downward causing the chain of events of the machine releasing a small piece of metal from its chamber, which would then shoot the recipient of said metal due to them standing in its path of annihilation.

Simple.

This was all simple.

Take the children in this facility for example. Many of them looking forward to the much anticipated party at the end of their senior year in high school. It wasn't complicated in the slightest. Prepare your appearance to the unreasonably high standard of eye pleasure, find a form of transportation, another person to compliment your insecurity of your reputation, dance lessons, if needed, and have fun with people you'll most likely move on from within the next ten years until curfew calls, ending the scene. Again, simple.

Yet here we are again at the most confusing part. Their glee has transitioned from marvelous to terrified by the man and young girl in front of them.

"What are you waiting for? Have you not already proven that you've bested me in front of our audience of piggies?" His voice was the grandest presentation of disgusting. Shaky, unnerving, discomforting, all the ingredients to drive someone mad just by holding a conversation with him. Even if the discussion was as innocent as the magnificence of the stars in the galaxy, he would crack the most sane man alive. Perhaps that's what he had done to me; back when he was residing in a germ-ridden room inside the GCPD, and waiting for his lawyer. To most, stepping into an interrogation room with the monster that murdered your father would deem a clear cut mistake. However, I could not withstand the attraction I had to only have a talk with the man. It was going to drive me mad not understanding even a bit as to why he committed such a vile act. Guess from where I am currently, the insanity was only bound to happen either way I had played my cards.

"The conflict in your pupils is remarkable! If only you were able to see the extraordinary portrait pose you are giving off! How heartbreaking." He remained on the floor, on his knees, but began to talk with the assistance of his hands. I tensed my arm muscles, if he were to lunge at me, there's no hesitation that I'd pull the trigger. Although he wasn't lunging. Just getting under my skin was all. "I could help the world see this look on you every time they were to lay eyes on you." My nose huffed large amounts of air out, I wasn't going to surrender my pokerface. Though he made it hard not to do so. "Let me make my mark!"

I hadn't so much as cocked the firearm, until those words fell from his mouth that is. His fixation on marking himself has my blood come to a boil. What man, crazy or sane, would ever find satisfaction in drawing a dagger, inches deep, from one side of his own body to another? Each scar serving as a trophy to a human life he had chose to steal when the right does not at all belong to him. It made my insides turn.

"Shut up."

My father. Of all his history of targeting women, he went after my father. Sometimes I come to the grim thought of daydreaming that if maybe he had victimized my mother, I wouldn't have cared so much. Not that I am proud of having the idea cross my mind, but it's the grim reality of knowing that if it were like that, it would be true. My mother had always fallen short of compassion and affection for her dear daughter. Obviously, a woman with such high stats like her would also be shameful of a pathetic night of weakness full of drinking and sleeping with a cop. She loathed my father once she had been informed I was to be expected into the world to serve as a living reminder of her failure. Suppose that everyone, even the toughest, like League Of Assassin's very own Talia Al Ghul can have their share of mistakes. I stood there contemplating if I were to use the weaponry, if it were to measure up to the level of mistake Mother believes having her daughter was.

"Your father let me make the mark..."

I squinted.

"What a glorious piece of work he turned out to be. Shame he had too many slices in his meaty body to see his expression through the art."

"Shut up!"

Planning the affairs was easier than actually following through. Who was I fooling though? Manipulating anyone off the street is child's play, but The Batman? More evidence piled up toward the idea that I had, as a matter of fact, gone round the bend. To think I could have stopped once I was recruited! I wouldn't be here. This regret and nonstop friction in my head wouldn't have occurred. I can't help but to wonder, would I have been happy with that however? Would being under someone's wing who genuinely cared and showed true affectation be enough for what I've endured?

Judging by the showdown I was hosting with Zsasz, apparently not.

It will not ever be enough until that lowlife scum has witnessed torture and a slow death by my hands. Such lengths may seem high, but how else could justice, true justice, be obtained? Certainly not by locking him up in an asylum, praying that he won't break out and terrorize innocent civilians once more! The logic behind doing so sounded so childish. Be that as it may, that was his code.

In an abrupt settling of senses, I figured his presence was near, if not directly behind me. Openly I spoke out,"Came here to try and stop me? Well, guess what? The world doesn't work that way!" I knew he could hear me, regardless if he responded or not. "People still get hurt!"

Lowly in voice, Zsasz mumbled after a short giggle,"He's here. The bat."

I expected he would follow. He constantly reminded me during our time together that I was delicate. A glass sculpture that could shatter with the slightest push over the edge and it's true. I was battling so many internal battles that caused a temper to spawn and manifest. A quality I'm not proud of, but definitely cannot ignore. Following me was expected, hell, I'll admit it, it was the smart thing to do. And smart is right up the Bat's alley,"You don't have to do this, Marceline." Along with justice. "No one has to do anything!"

Air gently pushed against my back. He was behind me for sure. "So why not put the gun down?" I kept my eyes trained on my target. One move from him and I would blow his brains; all it takes is one move. He can attempt to convince me otherwise, but I've been fixated on this very moment since the beginning. "You're talking to a wall, Batman. You and I both know I have to do this." Sighing, he broke from the shadows and walked to my side. The spotlight shining above illuminated everything, including the enormous scar on my mentor's lip. Realizing that what I had done to him didn't leave a pretty mark, I slowly lowered my gun a tad. "Has it healed?" My words shot quickly, not wanting to strip the mood of anger. Although, I did feel utterly terrible for what my actions that night caused. "Currently, it is in the process of," He paused before continuing with his thought, hesitating on breathing life to the iffy subject,"What matters to me is if yours has." In a loss for words, only shaky breaths exited my open mouth.

"You made a mark..." Zsasz murmured; his body slightly shaking. "Except she's very different from you, Victor." The man in the cape shared a look with me. He was trying to win me over and that was never going to happen. In any dimension or timeline, never would I be,"You have no idea what I'm like. I merely showed you the side I wished." Then I heard the legend Tim had spoke of that night on the roof. The myth was unfolding before my very eyes and suddenly a new problem arose...He laughed.