Tonnage

Hot Takes, Frozen Deals.

>>

Tom finally makes it back to the fire engine almost three hours later. There had been some noises about him going home, but he'd ignored it as he led a second team of paramedics into the main grounds of the asylum, where there are broken people scattered about randomly. He held them down while bones were set. Snapped an arm when the maniac lunged at one of the doctors that are performing triage.

He'd done what he could, but it's late. The fighting is over for now and he needs to leave. But when he arrives back at the entrance of the Asylum, he gets stopped by a woman famous enough that even he's heard of her.

“Hello, this is Lois Lane reporting for the Daily Planet from the latest escape at Arkham Asylum in Gotham City. In front of me now is Thomas Wierzowski, a meta working with the fire and rescue teams at the site of this travesty. Do you have anything you'd like to say to the people watching at home, or that will be reading about it soon, concerning what happened here and your part in it?”

Tom stops. It isn't just her. There are a dozen reporters here and twice as many people with cameras. Both video and more normal ones for high-end static images.

“I just helped. It wasn't anything. Not really, compared to the people I was working with who know what they're doing. I didn't fix anything. Just broke... Stuff.”

It doesn't seem like that is the expected answer, and Tom is about to turn away when Lois speaks again. “Can you describe what you did when you first arrived? Any details you can remember would be great.”

The massive teen shrugs, an interesting operation on him that causes six hundred pounds of pack to work against the hinges that hold it to the helm. The resulting sound of a grinding whine catches everyone's attention.

“Mostly sat around outside and listened to that Zsasz guy try to kill somebody on the overheads. He didn't manage it, but he got too close for comfort. I have it recorded if you like.”

Lois stops. Then the slightest smile tugs at the corners of her cheeks. “If you have it all recorded, can I have a copy?”

Tom thinks about that for a minute. He has a feeling that Batman won't approve, but...

He's not ashamed of anything he did in there. He saved lives, he hurt criminal lunatics, and he did it all with a minimum amount of property damage outside that safety rail. He's going to show Jim and the fire crew anyway, so if he could get in trouble that is going to happen regardless.

He smiles behind his helm. His face is still mostly unseen in the darkness, with just a hint of his features revealed by the light from the screens he uses. “Sure, that's easy. I don't have any spare cards on me though, and I'll need four. I run two normal cameras and a pair of ones with weird lenses so I can see things coming up from behind.”

Lois grins and reaches back to her cameraman, who puts a half dozen bits of plastic into her hand.

The copying takes a few minutes. Not because the system is slow, but because it takes a minute to realize that among the switches and toggles of the control panel under the cover on his left arm, there are slots for this kind of thing. Cyborg really went above and beyond with this. He's just finishing up when he hears a call from the Engine.

It's Gelcoat. She has a smirk on her face worthy of a nuclear deterrent. “Hey! Anchorman! Leave the reporters alone and get back here. We're heading back to the station!”

Thomas Wierzowski looks at the mad gleam in every reporter's eyes when they hear what they now believe the rest of the firefighters call him and groans.

Well, at least he doesn't need to wonder what Fred's name on the job was anymore. It probably wasn't this. But it was probably just as stupid.

>>

“Honey, I'm home!”

Joker steps into one of his old safe houses, expecting Harley to greet him. But she isn't there. He looks out the window and sighs. His manic grin not leaving him, but his countenance otherwise giving away annoyance. Then it starts to change. He straightens up. A flash of anger that is instantly all smiles again.

“She's hanging around the old sap, I suppose. I'll just have to get her attention.”

Then his laughter creeps out, slowly building over the course of a few seconds. Gales of laughter that go on for minutes. Then, seemingly for no reason, it stops. He turns to the door. Hits it at a brisk walk.

“Can't be a criminal mastermind without minions. Best go find where mine have run off to, the poor dears. Wouldn't want them getting hurt while I'm gone.”

He apparently finds this hilariously funny and the laughter once again echoes through the hall of the almost abandoned apartment building. The few people that still dwell there don't make a sound. They don't move. They don't whisper.

Breathing is optional right now.

Because the clown prince of crime is loose, and everybody in Gotham knows what that means.

>>

Across town, a half dozen squatters who chose the wrong house to dwell in find themselves clawing out their own eyes in an attempt to no longer see things that were never there, to begin with. Dead within minutes and scattered all over the East side of town by the time they finally stop twitching and succumb.

>>

Victor awakens in a new environment. A small room. Barely more than a walk-in closet. Metal surrounds him. His pale blue skin, nearly white, is illuminated by harsh overhead lighting. He feels comfortable. So the temperature in this room must be well below freezing. His suit is in a case against the wall. Not a recent one. An old one that had been lost years ago to the city when Batman had destroyed his research. Nearly killed Nora.

Again.

Nora! He stands, staggering slightly as he makes his way to her armored tube. He doesn't cry. He is capable of it, barely. But this is old pain. Looking at his frozen love from beyond the glass. Wishing he could feel the warmth... The warmth of her breath on his neck. The kisses she would place on his brow that would do much to make the worries and frustrations of the world go away.

He hasn't seen her in years. They had taken her from him when they tossed him in that wretched pit.

Then he realizes something else. He's moving. More accurately, the room he's in is moving. That is when he can hear the harsh static of a public address system kick-off.

“Freeze. Your wife isn't going anywhere and I'm on a timer. Put on the suit and I'll unlock the door to your lab. I want to make sure anything you need is there before you leave.”

The hairless, aging scientist stops in his tracks at the voice. His eyes never leave his beloved Nora. But if his voice could get any colder, it would.

“Cobblepot. Why am I here? What are you doing?”

There is a short squawk of a laugh. “I'm changing the rules of the game. Most of the rogues I can't work with. They are too short-sighted. Too unwilling to bend in their own agenda to work with anyone else. But you? You're easy. In the past, I tried a few times to get you to do me bidding. Wasn't nice of me. But I'm a not a nice guy.”

Freeze has begun to move and is checking the suit diagnostics even as Penguin speaks.

“You have left me no weapons, Cobblepot. No way to argue against you. How is this different from before?”

“Because I'm not going to hold Nora from you this time. I learn from mistakes. Nora is your motivation. Anytime that gets muddied up, you lose the plot and everything freezes and breaks. But here's the deal, Victor. I am a better crook than you. I can get me hands on whatever you need to do all the experiments on your frozen honey you want. I can get the supplies and specialty equipment, and half the time I won't even need to break the law to do it. But in return, I put your new research lab in me new sub. And I expect you to be on hand a couple times a month to assist with taking on and dropping off cargo. That and a few other projects I'd like some help on, and you can spend your days free of Bats and lunatics. Just trying to get your Nora back. Leave the money to me, and understand that you may need patience at times. I can get what you need, but then I'll need to get it to you. How does that sound?”

Having now gotten his old suit back on, the man stands to his full height of nearly seven feet from the bottom of his metal-encased feet to the top of his massively overbuilt helm. Designed for protection, and for cold. His voice now escapes the contraption he is in with harsh overtones and reverberation laced through it. The voice that Gotham had come to fear.

“If you betray me, Cobblepot. I will destroy you.”

“And that there is the beauty of me plan, Victor. In order to betray you, I'd need to detonate the charges on the ship to scuttle her. But that boat cost me a bloody fortune, and the crew what work it cost a hell of a lot to get trained up. I put you there for security. For both of us.”

There is a short pause as the door next to the room he awoke in opens. Now that he is paying attention, he can see that what he is in is most likely a sectioned-off portion of a cafeteria. The two rooms together are not large. Ten feet by thirty all told. Most likely the largest area on the vessel.

But Cobblepot has done his homework. Nearly all of his essential equipment is here. Little of it is cutting edge, but it is good. Functional. Name brands he remembers and trusted when he was a full-time researcher. Cobblepot isn't wrong in another respect as well.

He is far more successful as a criminal than Victor himself.

The harsh tone again escapes his built-in speakers. “It has been said, Cobblepot, that it takes two crooks to strike an honest bargain. One way or another I will take my leave when Nora awakens. I will not expose her to this life you have laid out. But until then. This is acceptable. I will have a list for you within the day. But tell me of these projects you have. This is all pointless if I cannot accommodate your half of the bargain.”

There are a few moments of laughter. “Oh, don't you worry none about that. What I got in mind is right up your alley.”

Then the laughter continues as Freeze picks up a folder that was left on the surface of the desk in the room. Begins to read.

A few minutes pass in relative silence. The ship itself is host to many odd sounds regardless of the voices in the room.

“The ecological damage would be immense.”

“Anything living in that sewer outlet is better off dead anyway. Can you do it?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“Yes. I assume this submarine uses torpedoes? That would be an appropriate method of insertion for the project. It will be expensive. It will take time to assemble. But it is not difficult. Just large in scale.”

“Can you have it done by Christmas? At the latest, of course. Earlier is better.”

“That depends on you getting me what I need. But it should be possible to assemble within a few months. Faster if we can outsource some of the assembly.”

“Make the lists, Victor. Yours and mine. I want you and me boat on the open ocean within the next two days. We've stirred up the Bats, and I don't want to lose me investment.”

“Very well, Cobblepot. Keep your end of the bargain, and I will design and build what you need.”