The Silhouette and The Forge
Chapter 9

I took a drink from my cup of orange juice, ignoring the ripples across it after placing it back on the table. Taking a bite out of my breakfast burrito, humming contently with how fantastic it tastes. Man, getting rich sure tastes good. 

Several bangs and explosions can be heard in the distance, as I continue ignoring them despite them rattling and shaking things in the room. 

The TV in the living room has the Gotham News Network playing on it while I enjoy my breakfast, explaining why I was so rudely awakened at four in the morning. Not like it matters since I don’t need nearly as much sleep as I used to before getting my upgrade. 

“This is Vicky Vale, reporting live in old town Gotham.” Vicki Vale, a character I was only slightly familiar with, speaks while in the background it sounds like a war zone. Fire and smoke can be seen off in the distance behind her. And she is dressed to impress in it. Have to give the lady credit where it is due. That is some dedication to looking good for the cameras, even in a bad situation like this. It’s moments like this that I begin to question how many people in this city have some form of insanity or another.

“The city is engulfed in a massive, far-reaching gang war. A gang war so bad, that it is quickly spiraling out of control. If it continues as is, it may become the worst gang war in our city's history.” The blond-haired woman says, making me stop mid-bite, forcing me once again to think of the elephant in the room. 

“Right now as we speak, all of the gangs in Gotham have begun a mass frenzy in this city. The Gotham PD has been spread thin by this war, but what makes it so much worse is the spark that ignited this chaos.”

She brings up her arm holding an inhaler in her hand, “This seemingly mundane inhaler is one of the causes for this outbreak of violence. When inhaled it is capable of not only getting a person high but briefly enhancing their reflexes. Almost as if time for them has slowed down. And it is one of many drugs that have floo-” Changing the channel to a kid's cartoon, having had enough of the blond bimbo wannabe anchorwoman throwing all of this in my face.

Let’s be honest here. This is Gotham. Gotham. The hellhole city no one likes acknowledging. The black sheep of the good ol’ US of A’s many cities. I finished off the last few bites of my burrito before downing the orange juice as I pointedly ignored the dulled thuds coming from the wall with the window showing the street below when walking over to the sink to clean my dishes. 

The warm clean water running over the plate and glass as I begin thinking about the next step in my life here. Something that hopefully will separate me from my alias of Silhouette and ease what's left of my guilty conscience. It’s not hard with my expanded knowledge to self-diagnose myself, seeing what I am suffering from. And the sad part is, despite being able to see what is causing me to feel like this and knowing I had a hand in it, I still shrug off the responsibility. 

Placing the dishes back after finishing drying them, I head over to the desk with a computer made by Light for me, to check over the state of the city while I go through a mental checklist to make it happen. It’s something I wanted to do when I was a kid, but could never afford it. Not like I buy into it directly with me being a teenager and having over a million dollars spread out in different accounts will most assuredly draw attention to me. 

Big whoop, my drugs kickstarted a gang war much earlier than what would have happened ‘naturally’. Just as everything seemed to calm down after the prior one who I also happened to accidentally start. It was inevitable, this city was going to have one regardless.

Oh no, the drugs have powered up the criminals. What will the people of this city do? Oh yeah, Batman will come to the rescue to clean the whole mess up. Ignoring my sarcasm for the moment, I do have faith in Batman rising to this occasion and bringing this to an end. The guy has dealt with Bane of all people. Well, to be more specific, other versions of him have.

It’s one of many things I checked up on and found nothing about Bane breaking Batman. What little I could find is that he is still in Santa Prisca, but not much else besides that. My point is, that Bane’s venom drug was capable of making the guy far stronger and durable than he had any right being. To the point in some cases, that he may as well have been a biological tank.

Just the muscle density and mass he gets from venom, a normal human, was able to take down Bane despite being physically far more powerful and increasing his durability to absurd levels. Batman shouldn’t have even been capable of harming him, let alone beating him. 

It would be like a grown man trying to break through a wall of iron. Yet Batman in their rematches as he does with all new villains, beat him. Sometimes with his bare hands. Others with a mech suit. That was a good day to watch that one on Kids WB.

So the fact Batman could best that wall of meat that may well have been made of steel, and he did this with his own two hands, tells me despite being ‘human’, he is far and above most people. So someone high on let's say Jet, Psycho, and maybe some potions I sold to get some extra income, will give him a run for his money. At first. 

Once the shock value wears off, and he figures things out, whoever he is fighting against is going to have a bad day. That makes me smile, picturing some poor sap getting folded into a pretzel by Batman. This whole thing will blow over, and I will still be making money. A commercial plays over the cartoon, an anti-drug commercial of all things, funded by Wayne Enterprises with the stylized white W logo. Telling kids to not take Jet and other drugs. And just like that, I think I am shutting the TV off. Enough TV for the early morning in my opinion.

Time to get to work.

…

An older man with a beard peppered with gray grunts while I placed the bloody bullet onto a tray next to us. He is lying down on a cushioned table as I go over him making sure he is mostly fine. About as fine as you can get when getting shot. Getting out the sutures to seal the wound shut, he gives a long look at the needle and thread. “Not a fan of needles?” I ask him, trying to get him to focus on me and not what I have to do to seal the wound.

“No, not really.” He answers back in a tired and old voice. To be honest the man looks like he should have died a long time ago. Nowhere near the balanced diet he should have, looking more like a fossilized twig than a man, with the odd bits of fat on parts of his body. 

“Well, I need to seal that wound and I doubt you want me to cauterize it,” I say, eyeing a cautery pen sitting on a countertop, drawing his gaze as well. 

Gulping at that, he mumbles “I’ll take the stitches.”

“So you got any family?” I say wanting to take his mind off the needle threading in and out of him at a fast rate, as he moans a little bit.

“No. Unless you count my idiot friends.” He says gazing over at the other homeless people, wearing various mismatched clothes that all look little more than scraps. 

“You're welcome for saving your life George, and helping carry you to this clinic.” An older woman says, using air quotes when she says clinic. “No offense young man, you might as well be an actual doctor in all honesty with how good you are.” She says to me in a much sweeter tone of voice as she addresses me.

“None was taken, and I appreciate the compliment. One day I will get that degree, but that is not today, unfortunately.” I say back to her, my gaze never leaving the wound as it steadily seals up. 

“And what a day that will be. Hopefully, you don’t forget us small folk, like everyone else does…” She says quietly but I hear her all the same, feeling a pang of sympathy for them.

“I have no intention of up and abandoning anyone, especially since I have already put my neck on the chopping block doing this small clinic when I don’t have a license or a degree. And the fact what little I have goes into making sure you guys live to see another day.” That and with me doing this, putting me as far from my alias Silhouette as possible. 

That gives me the chance to do something that I only dreamed of. Being a Doctor! Haha, I can now probably change my name legally to Doctor Feel Good. I kind of like the ring to that, just need to find a nurse and have her name be Nurse Feel Better.

Jokes aside, I have all that medical experience and knowledge in my head, so I might as well put it to use for something. And what better way than giving myself a decent reputation in Gotham similar to Leslie Thompkins, an honest, legitimately good, and well-meaning doctor helping the poor and downtrodden of Gotham from her clinic. However, unlike with Leslie, it took some time for people to start coming to a small corner near an alley inside an abandoned building I had repurposed just enough to make it viable for helping these people.

A couple of blocks from where I live in that apartment, getting here took longer than I would have liked, simply because of how many streets have become dangerous and the violence bleeding over into other areas. Like a stack of bloody dominoes. 

I could easily handle most of the people running about with guns, even with my drugs helping them be far more dangerous than they had any right to be. I just rather not get the attention a sixteen-year-old kid is going to get for beating up gun-toting gangsters with super drugs beefing them up. 

My first few patients were truly desperate people, since the people I treated were going to die if they didn’t come to my clinic. They didn’t have the time before they would bleed out to get to Thompkins clinic. So they took the risk and came to mine, hesitant as they believed it to be an organ harvesting operation or some other such scheme that would be a death sentence for them. Imagine their surprise seeing a teenager wearing a doctor’s coat treating them and saving their lives. 

After helping them and a few others, word spread fast particularly among the lower class and homeless since I don’t take payments. Now is that suspicious and would make people question things? Yes, but I doubt people will question it when it’s free and the healthcare provided is top-notch despite everything indicating it would be otherwise.

I made sure to establish a list of rules written near the front door. One of which is that I don’t ask questions as long as it doesn’t bring trouble to my doorstep. And the fact that a young teenager is playing and being a rather successful doctor isn’t exactly the most surprising thing in this city.

Sealing the last of the wound I hand the man a few pills in a bottle that I hand to the man, “Antibiotics. Don’t go nuts with them and use only two a day. If something goes wrong or your stitches tear, come back and I will redo them.” I tell the man, he looks over at me as he is looking away from the needle. I don’t hold it against him, when I was younger, I used to be afraid of them too. Until I learned that there are things to be more afraid of in life.

He blinked at me before nodding his head, “Thank you. We will let others know about you.” He says simply standing up after taking the bottle of antibiotics. The rest of his ragtag group form around him as they leave my operating room. I take off the blood-soaked gloves and throw them into a trash can as I hear the jingle of the bell, indicating they have left. Rotating my shoulders out of old habits, since it’s no longer needed for me to help remove stiffness.

I got up out of my chair and cleaned the room down before walking back out into the entrance hallway to a line of growing patients. All ranging from young to old as they stare back at me. “Alright, most severe injuries go first and-” 

“Bullshit. I was here first before all these people!” A tall bald black man heaves himself out of his chair as he walks up to me, attempting to bully his way to the front of the line. Wearing inner city style street clothing from his shirt to shorts tagged in some designs beyond me. I walk up to him not intimidated in the slightest as he walks up to me, staring down at me. He is at least two feet taller than me.

“Sir I am going to-”

“Like hell you were here first. And as he said, more severe patients go first!” Another man yells at him interrupting me yet again, gesturing at his hand covered in bandages that have blood soaking through them. The man looks unhealthily pale thanks to how much blood he must have lost getting here. He wasn’t here when I let in those homeless people.

“You got something to say motherfucker!” He says back pulling out a 9mm pistol and aiming right at the man as he just stares back with no fear. Everyone else shouts or screams as they run or hobble out of their seats and get to cover. Understandable since if he doesn’t get that wound patched, he will die. So what good is a gun aimed at a deadman walking? 

Having had enough of this three-ring circus, I grab his arm, raising it as he pulls the trigger. The shot missed and hit the ceiling instead. As he looks at the hand holding his arm up in the arm, a palm strike comes from the side hitting him in the solar plexus. The result from the strike was immediate, as all the air was knocked out of the man, now sounding more like a beached whale.

He slams down to his knees, gaping at me before I disarm and dismantle his pistol, tossing it to the ground. With that out of the way and with a small smile and a quick punch to his head, he was out cold lying on my floor. “As I was saying, patients with the most severe injuries take priority. So line up in a neat and orderly fashion so I may check who needs it more.” 

They are all staring at me wide-eyed as their heads can be seen around corners, and over furniture and other forms of cover they used. “My hand-”

“Sir, I see that you are bleeding out. I don’t know if there's someone else who is worse off than you, but you are currently at the top of the list just from me seeing your injury. So can the rest of you line up and so help me, none of you better have any weapons on your person. If you have a weapon, there is a door to the left of the entrance with a mail slot for weapons.” I say pointing at said door, “You will get them back once treatment is done and you are back to full health, and I will be present to ensure you don’t pull any stunts once you get them back.”

As I pick the pistol and its parts back up and put it where it belongs, everyone quickly gets out of cover and lines up along the wall in the hall. I have them in a few words tell me what is wrong while showing the injuries if they can. Most were just dealing with sickness or mild injuries, not that didn’t stop them from trying to play them off as far worse. After a few seconds of figuring out who has what issues I get down to helping them. 

“Sir! Yes. you with the injured hand. You are first. Please follow me.” A few whines make me look past the man as I give my dad’s infamous glare making them go silent as they stare back with wide eyes. 

“If you are going to complain about this man getting life-saving treatment, then leave. Otherwise, keep your complaints to yourselves.” I don’t need to say or else as I glance over to the man now handcuffed to a rather sizable and heavy desk with his hanging down. 

My patient follows me as blood drips from his bandages leaving a trail back to my operating room. I swear it's like herding cats with these people.

…

After many hours of helping various people who came into my clinic, ranging from actual life-threatening injuries to broken bones and sprained limbs, I finally left the building with a warm feeling in me. Even helped the big guy after his little tantrum when he was about to put a bullet in a man.

He of course got taken care of last. His issues were the most mundane possible. He just had a cold. Shaking my head at just how stupid that is. You almost killed a man who is bleeding out because you have a cold. I walked back to my apartment, hearing the gunfire which has remained constant, having not changed in the slightest across the entirety of the day. Yeah, I think I may have screwed up and underestimated how popular the drugs would end up being. With those thoughts, my mood quickly sours.

Sighing, I contact Light and the Sigmas, having them cut back production on the Fallout drugs. Not completely, but enough to stem the outbreak of violence in Gotham. A faint nagging at the back of my head gets my attention for a moment before I ignore it. I tell them to start ramping up production on other normal drugs. Particularly cocaine, marijuana, and a few others. I stick close to the buildings as a few out on the street give me looks but don’t mess with me.

Good. Not in the mood for it. This was supposed to be my time. Where life finally paid me back all that it owed me. All the pain, suffering, and loneliness. Dad and Furgus being taken from me. I grimace looking at the message that Light has sent to me. ‘Are you sure?’ 

Yes. Yes, I am. Besides who knows how many people have died due to my actions, most probably deserved it considering how just about everyone in this hellhole of a city is far from innocent, it also will eat into my profits. Despite having over a million dollars. Let me repeat myself, over a million dollars. Nearing two million.

That stirs something primal in me, my chest warming up at the thought of all that money. And it gets hotter at the mere idea of even more. So, cutting back on the production of the super drugs and increasing the production of the more normal ones will have to be done to compensate for the lack of the others. Won’t due to having all my customers kill each other off, and then I have no business. Looking at myself in the window of a storefront seeing my younger self, with it comes memories of happy days. 

At the memory, that promise comes to the front of my mind. I remember it all perfectly. The only thing in response is that sometimes you break promises. Those mere thoughts ring so hollow and empty. I try to ignore the sadness in my heart welling up, about to cast away the last tether I have to them. The TVs behind the windows with bars in front of them come to life with GNN, live with Vicki Vale. And this time she doesn’t look as good, with her makeup smudged and her clothes looking torn and dirty like she got dragged through the streets.

“Are we live? Okay, good! This is Vicki Vale reporting to you, we had some difficulties from our fellow Gothamites, but made it through mostly intact.” She says as the camera is shaky, whoever is holding it is probably not having the best day of their life. 

“Hold it still.” Someone whispers just loud enough to be heard on the camera.

“You try holding this thing still after almost getting your face eaten by a nutjob with a fork.” Someone says back with the camera dipping down to look at the ground and how they are missing a shoe with a plastic bag wrapped around their foot. Yeah, they didn’t have a good time.  

Vicki cleared her throat a couple of times to get their attention, “Sorry we had some technical difficulties. Breaking news, Batman has been sighted multiple times today, even in broad daylight fighting back against the constant crime plaguing this city and giving the GCPD some much-needed support.”

“However, things may get worse for our beloved city,” I fail to hide my snort at her calling this city beloved. More like it needs to be cleansed with nuclear hellfire raining down on it. “We have come across a rising power that threatens the establishment of this city.”

This gets a raised eyebrow from me, as Vicki gestures over the side of some railing as the camera comes closer. A mass meeting of what looks like gang members, homeless, and even lower-class citizens. All armed with guns and weapons, and my eyes can just make out a bit insignificant amount of my drugs, despite the camera's rather horrible picture quality.

But what gets my attention is someone on a makeshift stage speaking over the people surrounding him and listening to what he says, “People of Gotham, for too long have the powers that be have kept us under their heel! No more! Now we have the means and power to take back our city!” He says with a raised fist, eliciting a roar of approval from the crowd.

He is wearing a hoodie colored white and red, with the hood up and a white mask obscuring his face. But I do know who he is without even having to look at his face. The circle with the letter ‘A’ in and coming out of the circle is a dead giveaway. Anarky. Never knew his real name and I still don’t know even with perfect memory, because there is no memory of me learning it. But I don’t need to know his name, just what he is after.

His alias says it all, the toppling of the government and presumably remaking Gotham into what he thinks is a better city for the people. Admirable. Except he made a mistake. He is going to kill my profits. And that is unacceptable. I will not stand for it.

The camera shakes a little while looking at the man speaking, “For too long has the government and corporations corralled us like cattle, abandoning and killing us when it is inconvenient for them. Together we can change that, topple them to the ground, and then burn it all. And from the ashes rise like a phoenix reborn!” He yells out, raising both of his arms into the air and shaking them as the crowd mimics him, cries of approval are heard across the courtyard.

“No more being without medicine, lifesaving treatments, a home to call your own and never worrying about being able to afford a better life! With the new order, we can make it better for all, some will suffer but our cause is necessary. We will suffer for it, but in the end, we will have made a better world for ourselves and all the others!!!”

“No more insurance payments!” 

“No more Uncle Sam taking everything!”

“No more being abandoned!”

The crowd shouts out in surprising unison, buying into this guy's drivel. He might be capable of forming a new and much better ‘government’ or whatever he wants to call it, anarchists were never my thing and I never cared for them. After all, despite how many screw-ups Uncle Sam has had, if this country were to go under then many, many people will suffer.

Not helped by the fact my drugs are going to help him in his quest to topple the government, is all the reason I need to knock his teeth in. The gang war was enough, this guy and those buying into it will be too much and who knows what will come cracking down on my operations as a result of it.

Nothing quite like an anarchist/terrorist movement to bring down the hammer of the law on my ass for supplying them. Drawn from my thoughts by an expected development Anarky looks like he is looking for something before his gaze settles on the camera, “And what have we here? The sheep who aided the sheepherders in lying to the masses with your half-truths!” He says making all of the crowd look at the now still camera before it is pulled back as they all are now running.

Sighing at how incredibly stupid it was to sneak into a mass anarchist group just to get a story. Makes me think of Lois Lane by that point. The more exaggerated Lois Lane to be more specific, being so suicidally fixated on the truth. More power to Vicki if she survives. And if not, she won her Darwin Award this day. So she wins something either way.

Now I have a priority situation to deal with, contacting the Sigmas as I power walk back to my apartment and make my way to the workshop. I could talk to the Sigmas and Light through my contacts, but I rather talk about something like this face-to-face particularly when it’s an absolute fuck up of epic proportions.

We just gave a charismatic anarchist super drugs to his army of the downtrodden and homeless. Normally I wouldn't be so worried if it wasn’t for one crucial detail. A sizable number of the homeless are ex-military. Combine that with what the drugs can do to make a normal person with no real training into a force to be reckoned with, and you have yourself one hell of an army.

Walking up to the computer room I saw the engineers scramble around trying to get a grip on the situation. “Light, tell me how the hell did we miss this going on? We have a drone network for this kind of thing!” I yell out getting his attention as he is arguing something with Sigma-3.

Turning around as his translator speaks for him, “We did have a network, one that was being too heavily taxed when the outbreak of violence happened. The drones we had covering the city were spread too thin due to all the keywords and phrases being used by the population and the outbreak of mass violence.”

“And if it wasn’t for that they would have been able to catch onto what Anarky was planning… damnit.” I bring my hands up to rub my temples as I try to think of a solution.

Then it hits me. A project we have been working on as a form of high-end security. “Alright, we don’t have much of a choice, activate the hunter units. Send them out to pick off anyone getting too dangerous with the drugs and potions.”

At this, all the chatting and arguing ceased as they all turned to face me at my orders. Eventually, it’s Light who breaks the silence, “Daniel, are you sure of this? The units may have built-in optical camouflage but it’s still a risk to send them out since someone is bound to notice something…”

“Light, we have no choice. It’s either the hunters or sending out the robots meant for manual labor like loading the drug shipments and moving them. Or we just let the fires rage until they burn themselves out, or it consumes the city. Sure, there should be enough of our standard bots to deal with most of this mess, but the problem is they were not meant for something like this. And they don’t have stealth capabilities and are not exactly the fastest things in the world. If someone notices something, they are only going to see our hunters in disguise.”

I exhale letting out a long breath calming myself before continuing, “And if we don’t do something now, all of this may reach the point of no return where it spirals out of control. We will face consequences regardless, now it’s just a matter of how severe and if we have the resources to combat said consequences. If it gets beyond our control we won’t have near the resources we do now, while maintaining our anonymity.”

At this Light and the Sigma's after a moment has passed seem to accept my reasoning and start following through with my orders, activating the hunter units. Across the city a signal is broadcast with activation codes, bringing sleek and smooth pod-like capsules to life. Opening each with a hiss, human-like hands come out of the darkness grabbing the edges of the pods and pulling themselves out. 

Quickly followed by obsidian black suits with ties, and blind “Cube” sunglasses obscuring their eyes, with eerily similar facial structures among them. Across Gotham more and more of these pods open, releasing them all. Crawling and climbing out of dark and hidden recesses after picking up the weapons they would need for the plan. Going out to the surface to do what they were made for. To hunt.