The giant lurches forward, both fists raised over his head in an attempt to crush me into a smear with one blow, and while my magic will keep me from actually dying from it, or even feel most of it, it's definetly not an experience I care to take part in. Thankfully, his crippled leg makes it even harder for him to shift his massive bulk, and I roll away well before he slams down on the splintered remains of the cabinet. I grab a handful of broken glass as I dodge, and toss them into Jabah's face, hoping to get him in the eyes, but no such luck, as the shards simply bounce off his leathery skin. I get to my feet, in time to see him lash out with the back of one fist, and this time, I actually have time to brace myself. I hold up my hands, trying to catch the blow as it comes, but just as I feared, even with my own magical strength, his sheer weight means I can't match him, and I feel the force of the blow rattle through my body, nearly knocking me over again, if I hadn't slammed into the surgical table, which is now thankfully empty, almost toppling it over as I smash into it. Behind Jabah, I catch a glimpse of the boy's face, peering out from behind the door to the cage room, having apparently had enough self-preservation left to make a run for it once we interrupted his unwanted surgery.
Well, that's one bit of collateral damage avoided at least. Which means I can risk taking out the big guns.
"You want to dance, gruesome? Let's dance!" I slip my hand into my jeans pocket, letting my Wrecker brass knuckles slide over my fingers, and tighten it into a fist. Jabah, seemingly unconcerned that his hits haven't already reduced me to a red smear, limps forward again, trying to grab me into a crushing hold this time. He doesn't get a chance to.
Remembering what Ted taught me in the ring, I duck beneath the grasp of my giant opponent, and strike out with my dominant hand, not the one wearing the Wrecker, right into his mid-section, the behemoth almost losing his balance and dropping down on top of me as the superpowered punch sends a shockwave through his body.
"Gruh?!" He says, dumbly, waddling on his one good leg, hands grabbing on to the table for balance. I don't know how much pain he can still feel, if any, but the blow seems to have taken quite a bit out of him.
He's not getting off that easy.
I draw back my left hand, gripping the knuckles tightly, and punch him right across the jaw, feeling a surge of magical energy course through my arm as the Wrecker spell takes effect, and there is an incredibly satisfying sound of crunching bone as Jabah's jawbone damn near disintegrates, shards of bone splintering through the skin and a shower of broken teeth shooting across the room, the blood sparkling under the lights. The giant himself is knocked off his feet, his massive form flying sideways for a few feet before slamming into the storage tank in the corner of the room, knocking away the various plastic tubes feeding into it, and making a dent in the metal casing, before slumping down in a heap, blood pooling out from his ruined jaw.
And... he still isn't knocked out! Even with his jaw basically only attached to his face by a few strips of bloody skin and muscle, Jabah still struggles back to his feet, shedding the last few teeth still in his lower jaw in the process. He shrugs out of his filthy overcoat, revealing his entire upper body, just as scarred and mutated as the rest of him, with the added detail of the rivulets of blood now running down his chest. He takes a limping step forward, when an unfamiliar voice speaks.
"Most intriguing display, but that's enough of that, I think..."
Jabah stops, turning towards the speaker, and I follow him, turning to see Doctor Death, who for some reason is suddenly not speaking like he chainsmokes 4 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day anymore. And part of his lower face seems to be smudged somehow.
I feel like I missed something in all the excitement.
In his right hand, the doctor is holding a scalpel, which is currently pressed against Suttons throat, who on his part has a sheepish expression on his face, like he's embarassed that Doctor Death managed to turn things on him. I can't help but sigh.
"Seriously, Arnold? You literally had a free shot at this psycho, and he still caught you?"
"Look, I know this doesn't look great, but I got taken by surprise too. Flagg, this guy isn't-" He says, only to cut off as Death presses the scalpel harder against his skin.
"None of that, my vagabond friend, it's very rude to go spilling the secrets of others. Now, Mr... Flagg, was it? I'd very much like an explanation for this intrusion into my laboratory, as you can see, I've gone to quite a bit of trouble to ensure my privacy. An explanation on those fascinating abilities you just displayed would also be appreciated. I did not think it possible for anyone to match Jabah in strength, outside that flying fool in Metropolis perhaps..."
"My name is Randall Flagg, doctor. I'm a... well, private investigator is probably the wrong term, but basically, I find lost things. And lost people. And the man you're threatening with a scalpel hired me because someone had been grabbing his friends off the street. Which was you, apparently. Or your pet monster, technically. As for my powers..." I shrug "You can just die curious, you fucking psychopath!"
Death frowns "I would strongly advice you to aquiesce, Mr. Flagg. I know from experience just what this scalpel can do to the human throat..."
"Yeah, there's something hilarious you don't know about that. Hey, Arnold, remember that thing I did right before we came down here? You know, the THING I gave you?"
Arnold just blinks, before he finally realises what I'm talking about "Oh, right! Shit, that totally slipped my mind! Sure hope you did it right!"
"What are you babbling ab-" Death trails off, his eyes widening as Arnold easily pulls himself out of his grasp, the scalpel gliding harmlessly over invulnerable skin as the spell I cast on Walters dog tags take effect. "What on Earth?!"
"You wanna play with knives, you freak?!" Arnold yells, pulling his pocket knife from his jacket and points it at Doctor Death "Let's see how good you are with that thing against someone who isn't tied down!"
"Hmm, unfortunate..." Death says, before turning towards his minion "Jabah, crush him!"
Suddenly, several things seem to happen at the same time. Jabah lunges towards Arnold, leaning on his good leg, and as Arnold instinctively turns towards his new attacker, Doctor Death tosses his scalpel aside and makes a move towards a cabinet near the table, yanking one of the drawers open, and pulling out a yellow folder overflowing with files. As Jabah tries to grab Arnold into a crushing hug, I manage to get ahold of one of his arms, and drawing upon every bit of my magically enchanced strength, I yank the hulking brute off his feet and let his own weight carry him as I swing him around, throwing him right back towards the storage tank. As the massive bulk slams into the already damaged metal, there's a shriek as the plating gives in, the bolts holding it together bursting from their sockets, followed by a hissing sound as the tank breaks open! A horrific stench fills the room, strong enough to be smelled through the salve on my nose, and a cloud of green, noxious gas flows out through the open hole, followed by a flood of toxic-looking ooze, quickly drenching the struggling Jabah, who howls like a dying animal as the liquid flows across his skin, as it begins to bubble and melt!
"Mother of God..." Arnold says, covering his mouth like he's about to throw up. I can't say I blame him, I feel my own stomach threatening to give me a repeat of my lunch as I watch the giant thrash and scream in pain, his skin and muscle beginning to slough off his bones and mixing with the chemicals spreading out over the floor. The whole, horrifying display probably only lasts less than a minute, but it feels like an eternity, before finally, Jabah falls facedown into the puddle that used to be his flesh, most of his upper body little more than bone and a few chunks of liquid flesh, giving a final, wheezing noise like a deflating tire before finally falling still forever.
...only to be replaced by a hissing noise, as the room is suddenly cast in a hellish red glow! I look around frantically, and notice that the pipes lining the upper part of the corners of the chamber are suddenly lit up with flames! I turn towards Doctor Death, briefly forgotten during Jabah's death throes, and find him standing next to a small lever attached to some of the machinery, the mechanism jammed with a metal bar bent into the opening. Under his arm, he's clutching the yellow folder I saw him grab out of the cabinet. He gives me a condescending sneer.
"Sometimes, the scientific process requires one to discard previous efforts and wipe the slate clean. It's an unfortunate reality of progress. You got 30 seconds before my lab and everything inside it is ashes."
"You sick son of a bitch! You think we're just going to let you get away with everything you've done?!" Arnold yells, hands clutching into fists.
Death smiles "I think you two have a choice to make. You may revenge yourselves upon me, or you may try to save some of your compatriots in the other room. Either way, I must be off! Perhaps we'll meet again, though I rather doubt it!" With that, he presses his hand against the wall, and a panel swings open, revealing a hidden tunnel! Arnold makes a grab for him, but the doctor slips through, slamming the door shut behind him, and I hear a lock slide into place.
Breaking it open wouldn't be too hard, but... I look towards the room where the prisoners are trapped.
Goddamnit. "Arnold, come on, we don't have much time!"
"But he's getting-"
"We'll track him down later, we gotta get the others out of here!" I yell as I rush back through the lab, knocking the surgical table aside as I go. The cage room is lit up by the same fire as the laboratory, the flames already spreading along the pipes on the walls. The boy is waiting for us by the door leading to the cave, eyes wide as he sees us rushing in. No time for the key to the cages, I simply grab ahold of the nearest one and tear the bars apart, the occupants inside stirring from their numb stupor at their sudden liberation. As Arnold moves to help them get out, I repeat the process with every other cage in the room, stopping by the final one to yank the prisoners out.
"Anyone who can still walk, grab everyone who can't, and get down the stairs! I can get us out of here, but we gotta get to safety first! RUN!!"
...
Park Row Free Clinic, Crime Alley, Gotham City, July 3d.
It was getting close to midnight as Dr. Leslie Thompkins finished up the last of her paperwork for the day, before sitting back in her chair and stretching out, bleary eyes staring at the clock on the wall. She knew she really should be closing up for the night and head home, she'd be needing all the sleep she could get dealing with the usual influx of patients she got every Fourth of July. Kids with burns and injuries from playing with fireworks and sparklers, usually kids old enough to know better. People who'd injured themselves through some foolish misadventure that probably seemed like a great idea after a dozen beers or so. Probably a few extra gunshot or stab wounds once it started getting late, not that she was unused to those types of patients....
Still, there never seemed to be quite enough time in the day for everything that needed to be done around Cri-Park Row. She caught herself, firmly adding the real name of the neighborhood to her own thoughts. She'd always hated that awful nickname Park Row had gotten in it's decline. It had been a beautiful neighborhood once, still was in some ways, and the people here didn't deserve some condescending epitaph on their home, as if the decline of Gotham City was their fault. As if they had somehow brought all the poverty and misery on themselves.
She was brought out of her thoughts as the door to her office suddenly burst open, and Linda Carter appeared in the opening, a harried look on her face, her hair a mess like she'd been running. The young blonde was a recent addition to the clinic, one of three newly hired nurses paid for by the Wayne Foundation, and despite their youth and inexperience, the trio had already proven themselves to be dependable and calm in emergency situations. The girl's current state was a bad sign.
"Dr. Thompkins, we need you out by the entrance! We were just closing up for the night when this big group showed up, and I don't know what happened, but it must've been real bad! You better just see for yourself!
Leslie nodded and followed the nurse through the clinic, towards the open front doors. Carter's description had not prepared her for what was waiting for her there.
"Oh my goodness!" She said, covering her mouth in shock. She had seen her share of horrors, but some things you never got used to. There were at least a dozen people outside, most of them in such a horrific state she couldn't tell if some of them were men or women at first glance, their bodies emaciated and caked with filth and grime like they'd been buried alive. She could see wounds and cuts everywhere, some sloppily stapled shut with surgical thread, others left open to fester and rot. Several of them didn't seem to be able to walk on their own, hanging onto the others, who barely seemed to be able to stand themselves. Only three people at the front of the group seemed relatively uninjured; a man who looked to be middle-aged, judging by his grey hair and beard, a pair of military dog tags hanging around his neck. A young boy, draped in a dirty overcoat, looking too thin with a haunted look, but at least able to move, stood next to him. Right in front was a second, younger man, with a scraggly beard and an unkempt mohawk, carrying two of the injured people over his shoulders.
"Dr. Thompkins?" The man at the front asked "My name is Randall Flagg. Sorry about showing up here this late, but we need your help. I don't know how much longer some of these guys are going to last..."
....
At The Same Time, Somewhere Else In Gotham City....
The man stared down into the sink, watching as the last bit of green face paint disappeared into the drain, before looking up into the mirror, making sure he hadn't missed anything. On the side of the sink laid the black wig he wore to hide the back half of his bald scalp. There was always an odd sense of loss whenever he had to shed his disguise as Doctor Death and step back into his real identity. There was a kind of freedom of assuming an identity that had no restrictions, didn't have to appear civilized, in fact reveled in it's own depravity. His very own Mr Hyde, in a sense.
The loss felt deeper this time, he supposed, because he doubted he'd ever have the need to don the face of Doctor Death again. His laboratory was ashes, the prototype had been lost, and either way, the parts of his research that required subterfuge were more or less finished. The missing bits and pieces he could finish under his own name. Anything else, well, that would just be gratuitous. He was a man of science, after all, and while a bit of indulgence now and then was excusable, it would not do to become too enamored with a mask...
He was just leaving the bathroom, slipping his glasses back on, when he noticed something he'd missed when he'd first arrived back to his home. A card was sticking out of the mail slot on the door. His first thought was to dismiss it, thinking it to be some meaningless bit of junk mail, but a second glance made him stop. There was a figure on the front that he doubted most people would put on their adverts, and curiosity began to set in. He pulled the card from the slot, and his suspicions were confirmed. It was a Tarot card.
Two naked humanoids, one man, one woman, with small horns on their foreheads, stood chained to a throne, upon which sat a grotesque, monstrous creature, with massive horns on it's head and a pair of wings on it's back. A pentagram had been scratched into the space between the horns. And beneath the drawing were two words.
THE DEVIL
"Hm. Yes, I rather suppose I am..." Professor Hugo Strange said to himself, before slipping the card into the pocket of his coat, not giving it another thought. He still had much work to do...