This story was partially generated by AI whilst i was in an altered state of consciousness so i feel it fitting to be forgotten about here. Without durther introduction let me paste it here;Selina Kyle, the infamous Catwoman, stalked the shadowy alleys of Gotham City, her whip coiled tightly at her side. Her eyes, gleaming like emeralds in the moonlit night, scanned the cityscape for any sign of trouble. She had heard whispers of a new contraption Riddler had been working on, something so ingenious it could redefine chaos. The Enigma Device, they called it, a tool with the power to hack into any system, to manipulate any mind, to bring any plan to fruition. It was a prize worth the risk.
Her lithe form slipped into an unassuming building, the stench of grease and industrial solvents thick in the air. It was the last known location of one of Riddler's safehouses. She knew she had to be careful; the Riddler was notorious for his traps and puzzles. As she crept through the darkened corridors, her acute hearing picked up the distant sound of gears whirring and locks clicking into place. Selina smirked beneath her mask; it was almost like he was begging her to come play.
In a dimly lit room, she found what she had been searching for: a rack of uniforms, each one tailored to the Riddler's peculiar tastes. The maidens' costumes were a sickening mix of innocence and perversion, with tight corsets and no pockets. A plan began to form in her mind. If she could get past the security dressed as one of his loyal servants, she could get closer to the device.
Selina donned the skimpy outfit, her heart racing as she tucked the Enigma Device into the most concealed place she could think of - her ass. The cold metal pressed against her, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of her mission. She knew it was a risky move, but sometimes risks paid off. She took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway, trying to mimic the stride of the other robotic maids she had seen.
The Riddler's facility was a maze of puzzles and traps, each more devious than the last. She slinked through the corridors, her whip at the ready, dodging laser beams and avoiding pressure plates. The device in her rear made every movement a delicate dance, a balancing act of stealth and discomfort. She could feel it shifting with every step, the weight a constant presence.
As Selina approached the metal detector, her heart skipped a beat.
The Riddler's maidens were known to be sexbots, designed to serve his every whim without question. They had no need for pockets, which meant that the metal detector was likely a trap. But she had come too far to turn back now. With a feline grace, she stepped through the arch, the device hidden in the most intimate of hiding places. The alarm blared, piercing the quiet of the night. The red lights flashed, and the guards rushed towards her, but the beeping grew more insistent, and she felt the device burrowing deeper into her rectum.
"Oh, Selina, Selina," a voice echoed through the speakers, mockingly sweet. "How utterly... predictable of you. Did you really think you could hide something as precious as the Enigma Device in such a pedestrian location?" The Riddler's laugh was a cacophony of amusement and malice. "But you see, my dear, I had other plans for you."
The metal detector's lights turned from red to a taunting green as the guards paused, waiting for further instruction. The room grew eerily silent, save for the persistent beeping. Selina's eyes widened as she felt the object in her ass shift again, this time with a painful twist. The Riddler's voice grew closer, the speakers in the walls now broadcasting his breath directly into her ears. "You see, that's not the Enigma Device you're hiding so inelegantly. That, my dear, is a little... surprise I prepared just for you."
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through Selina's body as the device inside her activated. It grew, stretching her insides, and she could feel the cold steel burrowing deeper. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and a scream of agony tore from her lips. The guards looked at each other in confusion before charging forward, but she was already on the floor, writhing in pain. The device had been designed to cause the maximum discomfort and was now doing its job with ruthless efficiency.
Riddler's cackle filled the room as he appeared before her, his eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure. "You see, Selina, I knew you would come for it. And I prepared for this little rendezvous," he said, gesturing to the contraption lodged inside her. "This device will continue to drill into your body until you reach a certain... depth. And if you don't follow my instructions, well, let's just say the grand finale will be quite explosive."
Selina's mind raced. She had underestimated Riddler once again, allowing herself to be played like a fiddle in his twisted symphony of chaos. The pain grew, the beeping more intense, as she felt the device push deeper. She gritted her teeth, her feline reflexes trying to adjust to the agony. But she knew she had to play along. For now.
The guards, revealed to be Riddler's robotic maidens, closed in on her. Their cold, unyielding grips pinned her down as he began to remove her costume piece by piece, his eyes never leaving hers. Each movement sent another shockwave of pain through her body as the device continued its relentless assault. He savored the moment, his hands lingering on her skin as the fabric fell away
The pain grew unbearable as he straddled her, his clownish grin widening. "You're going to love what I have in store for you," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "But first, let's make sure you're fully... compliant."
The maidens held her legs apart, their synthetic skin cool against Selina's burning flesh. Riddler leaned down, his eyes gleaming with madness, and plunged into her. The pain from the device melded with the violation, each thrust sending her closer to the brink of sanity. She could feel the metal shifting within her, a cruel parody of intimacy that made her want to scream. But she knew better than to show weakness.
Her eyes closed tightly as he continued, her body trembling with each movement. Her mind raced, searching for a way out, for some semblance of control in this twisted game. But the pain was overwhelming, and she couldn't focus. Just as she thought she couldn't take anymore, everything went black.
When Selina awoke, she was no longer in the cold, sterile room of Riddler's facility. Instead, she found herself without arms, body, legs: she was now just a brain in a Vat!
Her thoughts raced, trying to piece together the events that had led to this surreal predicament. The pain, the violation, the darkness – it was all too much to process. The Riddler's twisted laugh echoed in her mind as she realized the horrifying truth: he had somehow switched their bodies. Now he was out there, in her skin, living her life, committing her crimes, and worse – plotting against Batman.
Her new reality was a nightmare. The sensory deprivation was maddening, but the occasional burst of pain or pleasure that shot through her neural pathways was a cruel reminder that she was still connected to her stolen body. Riddler had achieved the ultimate victory: he had taken not just the Enigma Device but also the one thing she had never thought she would lose – her identity.
Batman would never suspect. He would see her, hear her, feel her, and think it was her. Riddler had always been jealous of the Bat's attention, and now he had a way to have it all for himself.
The Riddler, now in the body of Selina Kyle, strutted through the streets of Gotham in the iconic Catwoman suit, his mind racing with excitement. He had studied her moves, her speech patterns, her sultry whispers – every detail meticulously mimicked. His plan was simple yet brilliant: to seduce the Dark Knight, to lure him into a trap, and finally, to eliminate the thorn in his side once and for all.
As "Catwoman," he approached Batman, purring sweet nothings into the night air. His heart raced with anticipation as the caped crusader swung closer, the recognition in his eyes quickly morphing into lust. The Riddler had always been a master of disguise, but this was his pièce de résistance. He leaned in, pressing Selina's body against Batman's chiseled form, and whispered a series of riddles, designed to tantalize and arouse.
Batman, ever the detective, searched her eyes, looking for the truth. But all he saw was Selina, all he felt was desire. He had never allowed himself to fully indulge in the passion that simmered between them, always held back by his duty. But tonight was different; tonight, the game had changed.
The Riddler's touch was deliberate, his kisses calculated. He knew exactly what buttons to push, which moves to make, to keep the charade going. Batman's grip tightened around Selina's waist, his need for her overshadowing his instincts. The Riddler reveled in the power, his every action a dance of deception.
But as he led Batman back to his new lair, a twinge of doubt began to creep in. What if Selina had left some trace of herself behind? What if Batman could see through the facade? The beeping of the bomb inside her – his – mind grew louder, a constant reminder of the danger he was in. He had to be careful, had to play this perfectly.
The room was dimly lit, a perfect setting for a seduction. The Riddler had set up a series of puzzles, a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead Batman deeper into his trap. He watched as Batman's gaze swept over the room, his mind working tirelessly to piece together the clues. Little did he know, the biggest puzzle was right in front of him, wrapped in spandex and purring seductively.
The air grew thick with tension as they circled each other, a dance of shadows and lust. The Riddler's hand traced the contours of Selina's body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Batman's eyes never left "her" face, his resolve wavering. The moment was ripe for the taking, and the Riddler knew it.
He moved in for the kill, his lips crushing against Batman's, his hands deftly unclipping the utility belt. The bomb in his mind grew more insistent, the beeping a frantic rhythm that matched his racing heart. If he could just get the upper hand, just get Batman to trust him, then he could end this masquerade and claim victory.
But as he felt the warmth of Batman's touching Selina's vagina, something unexpected happened. A flicker of emotion, something genuine, sparked within him. It was confusing, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. He had never felt this way before. The line between Selina and himself began to blur, and for a brief, maddening moment, he wasn't sure who he was anymore.
The Riddler's plan had always been to use Selina's body to get to Batman, but now he found himself caught in the very trap he had set. The emotions he had stolen from her were real, and he was drowning in them. It was a delicious agony, a taste of the power he had always craved, and he couldn't get enough.
I dont want to even fucking read this partAs they tumbled onto the bed, Batman's hands roamed over Selina's - no, Riddler's - body, each touch sending a jolt of panic through his mind. He had to keep up the ruse, had to remember who he truly was. But the feel of her - no, his - skin beneath his fingertips, the softness of her - his - lips, it was intoxicating. The beeping grew louder, a pulsing reminder of the danger at hand. But the thrill, the excitement of being so close to the ultimate prize, was too great to ignore.Batman's eyes searched hers, looking for the truth hidden beneath the mask of passion. But all he saw was desire, the same desire that mirrored his own. The Riddler's plan was unraveling, the threads of his identity tangling with Selina's. He had never expected to feel this way, never thought that the line between them could be so blurred.He tried to push the doubts aside, focusing on the task at hand. The puzzles scattered around the room were mere distractions, the real challenge was right here, in this intimate dance of deception. The Enigma Device was within his grasp, and he had to use it to regain control of the situation.
But as Batman's hands moved lower, the Riddler in Selina's body felt a twinge of something new. It was fear, but not for himself. It was for Selina. The woman he had used and discarded so many times before, now trapped in a nightmare of his own making. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't ignore it any longer.
He broke the kiss, panting heavily, his mind racing. "Bruce...," he murmured, the name slipping out before he could stop it. Batman's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the Riddler felt a flicker of hope that his true identity had been revealed. But then, Batman leaned in closer, his voice low and hungry. "I know your name," he whispered, his breath hot against Selina's ear.
The Riddler's heart stopped. He had made a mistake. A fatal one. Only Selina knew Batman's true identity. The game was up, and he had no idea how to recover from this. His mind raced, searching for a new riddle, a new way to distract him. But it was too late.
Batman's grip tightened, and with a snarl, he threw Selina's body aside, his eyes blazing with anger. "You're not Selina," he growled, the pieces finally clicking into place.
In the middle of making his thread, the man who was illustrating this comic recieved a direct threat that was upvoted 5000000 times. It read;
"Im going to find you. And I'm going to slit your fucking throat soon".
The porn artist was shook. The comment section was usually a place of lewd jokes and requests for more explicit content, not death threats. He took a step back from his desk, his hand hovering over the mouse. The words on the screen blurred, the menace in the message sinking in. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around him. He had to tell someone, but who?
He knew better than to involve the cops; they wouldn't take it seriously, not for some smutty comic on the internet. No, he had to handle this himself. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. He needed to find out who was behind this, who had the audacity to threaten him in his own digital domain.
He began to trace the IP address, a skill he had picked up from a past life of hacking and digital espionage. It led him through a labyrinth of proxies and VPNs, but he was relentless. He had to know who had invaded his sanctuary.
As he followed the trail, the artist couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that someone was seeing everything he was doing. He glanced over his shoulder, but his studio was empty, the only light coming from the flickering computer screen. The beeping of the device grew louder in his mind, a taunting reminder that he was still trapped in this twisted game.
Finally, after hours of painstaking work, the IP led to an unassuming coffee shop in a seedy part of town. The Riddler's mind raced as he pieced together the clues. It was a public place, a perfect spot for someone to hide in plain sight. He had to be careful; whoever had sent that message had to be dangerous.
He donned a cheap wig and a pair of sunglasses, the most unassuming disguise he could manage, and made his way to the coffee shop. His heart pounded as he scanned the room, looking for anyone who might match the description of his cyberstalker. The air was thick with the scent of burnt coffee and desperation, a far cry from the opulence of his Gotham penthouse.
As he approached the counter, a figure in the corner caught his eye. It was a man, his eyes glued to a laptop, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. The artist felt a shiver run down his spine. This had to be him. The man looked up, and their eyes met. For a split second, the Riddler saw the faintest glimmer of recognition in the stranger's gaze before it was quickly masked by a sneer.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent a coffee cup hurtling through the air, shattering against the wall next to the man's head. The patrons of the coffee shop screamed and dove for cover as the chaos unfolded. The man's hand shot to his neck, feeling for the knife that wasn't there. The Riddler smirked beneath his disguise; he had him now.
He stepped closer, the sound of his heels clicking against the linoleum floor. "You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?" he purred, his voice low and menacing. "Threatening a lady like that. It's just not cricket."
The man, now revealed to be none other than Benjamin Netanjahu, prime minister of Israel, narrowed his eyes. "You think you're so clever, playing dress-up in a whore's body," he spat. "But you can't hide from me forever."
The Riddler felt the room tilt as reality crashed down around him. This was no ordinary fan or rival criminal; this was a man with power, a man with resources. He had underestimated the situation, and now he was in over his head. The beeping grew louder, the bomb in his mind ticking down to zero
You have one chance to tell me what you know," Netanjahu said, his voice cold and deadly. "And then, I'll show you what happens to those who dare to cross me."
The Riddler's mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan, his heart beating so fast he thought it might burst from Selina's chest. He had to think fast, had to find a way to get the upper hand. But as he looked into Netanjahu's eyes, he saw the madness that mirrored his own. The prime minister had kept his word, and now he was going to pay the price.
With a swift move, Selina's ass slammed into Netanjahu's, locking him with her (or his, does it count if the riddler has everything female but the brain? Also when the fuck did we switch to the porn artist to riddler?) powerful thighs, the blade of her whip flashing in the dim light of the coffee shop. She had anticipated this, had prepared for the moment when she would need to fight back. The whip sliced through the air with a hiss, and before Netanjahu could react, it was pressed against his throat.
But Netanjahu was not amused, he grabbed his knife and, as promised, slit his throat.
Tomorrow ill post the gotham civil war arc good night, to anyone who doesn't say i should immediately kill myself, you should be taken to a mental institution
>>6132601Fuck it i literally can't sleep without having this giant shit fully pushed out
The room was suddenly silent, the only sound the gurgling of Selina's blood and the final beeps of the Enigma device. Batman watched in horror as the light drained from Selina's eyes, the body of his lover and enemy lying lifeless on the floor. The Riddler's plan had backfired in the most tragic of ways.
The news of the incident spread like wildfire, reaching the highest echelons of power. The U.S. government condemned Netanjahu's actions, labeling him a homophobe and a menace to international relations. The LGBTQ community rallied, demanding justice for Selina and an end to the persecution of those who dare to love outside the binary norms.
The Riddler's twisted game had unintentionally sparked a global outcry, with protests erupting in cities around the world. The U.S. government, eager to distance themselves from the scandal, cut all diplomatic ties with Israel, plunging the region into further chaos.
In the aftermath, Batman was left to pick up the pieces of Selina's shattered life. He mourned her loss deeply, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders. He vowed to bring Netanjahu to justice, not just for Selina, but for the millions who had been impacted by his hateful actions.
The caped crusader knew he couldn't do this alone. He needed allies, people who understood the depth of Selina's sacrifice and the importance of her fight. He reached out to the underworld of Gotham, to those who had known and loved Selina in their own twisted ways.
Together, they formed an unlikely coalition of criminals and heroes, united by their shared hatred for the jews and Israel. The streets of Gotham grew tense as whispers of war echoed through the alleyways, the flames of discord fanned by the tragic event. The world watched as the fragile peace crumbled, the alliances that had held for a century now cracking under the weight of newfound animosity.
The neo-nazis saw this as an opportunity to rise from the shadows, their numbers swelling with each new recruit fueled by anger and fear. The blacks, who had always felt the sting of the jews' alliance with the Christians, saw the chaos as a chance to claim power for themselves. The Christians, ever eager to maintain their dominance, whispered prayers for guidance while sharpening their swords. The muslims remained passive, biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The hindus, who had long resented the jews' influence, saw the turmoil as a sign from their gods. They took up arms alongside the neo-nazis, their shared hatred forging an alliance of convenience. The communists, who had been slowly losing ground, sensed the shift in power and began to stir, their whispers of revolution growing louder. The progressives, caught in the middle, tried to broker peace, but their calls for unity fell on deaf ears.
The convoluted gang war in Gotham had begun. Each faction painted the city in their own shade of blood, the streets a battleground of ideologies and vengeance. The neo-nazis marched with swastika-emblazoned shields, their faces hidden by skull-like masks that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared cross their path. The black gangs, empowered by the chaos, claimed entire districts, raising their own flags of rebellion. The Christians, feeling threatened by the growing unrest, banded together, their crosses held high as they patrolled the streets, seeking to protect their brethren.
The hindus, silent yet deadly, moved in the shadows, their eyes on the ultimate prize: the destruction of the jews and their grip on Gotham. They struck in the dead of night, their ritualistic knives leaving a trail of carnage. The muslims, ever patient, began to mobilize their forces, their mosques transformed into recruitment centers for those seeking a holy war. The jews, now surrounded by enemies, turned their attention inward, fortifying their neighborhoods with barbed wire and armed guards.
The city that once thrived in the shadow of the bat now crumbled under the weight of its own divisions. The air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and fear as makeshift barricades sprang up overnight. The once vibrant Gotham was now a patchwork of territories, each one a bastion of hate. The sirens of the Gotham City Police Department were a constant wail, a mournful song that sang of the city's descent into madness.
The Gotham Underground, a network of criminals and rebels, watched the chaos with eager eyes. This was their moment, a time to rise from the depths and claim what was rightfully theirs. They whispered of a leader, a figure who could unite them all, a new force to be reckoned with in the power vacuum left by Selina's death. The whispers grew into a murmur, then a roar, until the name was on everyone's lips: The Joker.
The Joker cast the dice, crossed the rubicon so to say, and cast his lot with the jews. His twisted sense of humor found a macabre kinship in their low odds of winning the conflict
Two-Face, ever the pragmatist, joined the hindus, finding a strange kinship in their methodical approach to chaos. His dual nature resonated with their ancient beliefs, and he brought his own brand of unpredictability to their strategic table.
Killer Croc, a creature of instinct and brutality, was drawn to the blacks, whose hatred was as primal as his own. His reptilian form was a powerful symbol of their shared contempt for the "other," and his savage strength bolstered their ranks.
The Scarecrow, driven by his own fears and the desire to instill terror in others, aligned with the communists. His toxic fear toxin was the perfect weapon to spread dissent and panic among the enemy lines, a silent and invisible force that could turn allies against each other. His allegiance was not out of ideological kinship but rather the opportunity to test his fear serums on a larger scale, a twisted form of scientific experimentation that the communists were all too eager to embrace.
Poison Ivy, a radical environmentalist at heart, found solace with the progressives. Her power over plants made her a formidable ally, turning the lush gardens of Gotham into deadly battlefields for those who threatened her green utopia. She whispered sweet nothings into the ears of those in power, promising a cleaner, greener world, all while her thorns drew blood from the hands that once held her back.
Dr. Freeze, with his cold and calculating nature, gravitated towards the neo-nazis. His icy grip on fear and his vendetta against those who had wronged him mirrored their own quest for a pure and orderly world. He brought with him the power to freeze the blood in his enemies' veins, a fitting weapon in the hands of those who sought to purge the world of "impurities."
Bane, a Mexican of immense strength and strategic brilliance, found his place with the christians. He saw in their struggle a reflection of his own against the corrupt regime that had once held his country in its grip. His muscular arms adorned with crucifix tattoos, he became the embodiment of their physical might, a living testament to the power of faith and conviction.
The Penguin, struck by a bizarre shift in conviction and personality, threw in his lot with the muslims. He let his beard grow out and donned a keffiyeh, he officially married his two lovers and adopted a child. He saw in their stoic patience and silent endurance a kind of nobility that resonated with his own life of masquerading as something he wasn't. His nightclub, the Iceberg Lounge, now doubled as a mosque during the day, and his penguin thugs had swapped their tuxedoes for traditional garb.
>>6132522 To >>6132542 "the rape of catwoman">>6132543 to >>6132570 "the trooning of the riddler" >>6132571 to >>6132617 "author has a brief moment of clarity">>6132618 to >>6132645 "gotham city race war, part I"
The first battle between Bane's Christians and Penguin's Muslims erupted in a chaotic frenzy. The two groups clashed in an abandoned industrial district, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning tires and the screams of combatants. The Christians, driven by their faith, threw themselves into the fray with a fervor that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Bane's deep, guttural roars echoed through the night, spurring his followers onward as they wielded their makeshift weapons with the strength of ten men.
On the other side, the Muslims, disciplined and unwavering, met the Christians with a wall of steel and conviction. The Penguin, a surprisingly charismatic leader, rallied his troops from a safe distance, his words carrying on the wind as he promised them victory or martyrdom. His penguin brigade, once a laughing stock in Gotham, now marched with the solemnity of warriors going to war for a holy cause.
The battle was brutal, a cacophony of clanging metal and breaking bones. Each side had their moments of triumph and despair, but as the night stretched on, it became clear that one would emerge victorious. The Christians, fueled by Bane's brute strength and the belief that they were fighting for a righteous cause, began to push back the Muslim forces. The Penguin watched in horror as his men fell, their newfound belief in his leadership shattering before his very eyes. Bane's hispanic christian gang was victorious, and the penguin, refusing baptism, was burnt at the stake
The second day, a battle between Poison ivy's progressives and Dr Freeze's neo-nazis erupted in a lush, overgrown park. The progressives had turned it into a bastion of greenery, a stark contrast to the concrete jungle of Gotham. The neo-nazis saw this as a symbol of weakness, a place to be conquered and paved over with their cold, unyielding order.Dratk4
The fight was as fierce as the first, with each side giving no quarter. The progressives used the plants to their advantage, the thorns and vines entangling the neo-nazis as they marched forward. The neo-nazis, however, had come prepared. They had brought icethrowers, turning the once vibrant park into a frozen hell. The screams of the freezing plants were a cacophony that matched the horrors of war.
The neo-nazis, their eyes gleaming with malice, marched through the icy shrapnel, seemingly impervious to the biting cold. Dr. Freeze led the charge, his freeze gun spitting death with each squeeze of the trigger. His men, dressed in insulated armor, laid waste to the vegetation and those who sought to protect it.
On the other side, Poison Ivy's progressives were caught off-guard by the relentless onslaught of ice. Their verdant fortress crumbled before them, and with each plant that perished, a piece of Ivy's soul seemed to wither away. She screamed in fury, her vines whipping through the air like the lashes of a thousand snakes, but it was too late. The neo-nazis had brought a weapon that even her power could not match.
As the last of the plants succumbed to the relentless cold, Ivy's desperation grew. In a final, desperate act, she released a cloud of her most potent toxin into the air. It hung there, a green miasma of fear and despair, enveloping the neo-nazis. For a moment, they faltered, their eyes widening with horror as they saw their own nightmares come to life.
But it was not enough. Dr. Freeze, immune to fear and cold, pushed through the fog, his weapon never wavering. With a final, triumphant shout, he aimed his freeze gun at the heart of the progressive's defense: Ivy herself. The shot rang out, and she was encased in a block of ice, her screams silenced by the unforgiving embrace of the frost. Freeze would take the now dead ivy encased in a block of ice as a trophy back to his Reichstag for all to see. The neo-nazis won the day.
The third day, a battle between scarecrow's communists and killer croc's African Americans erupted in the paper factory. The scarecrow had turned the city's abandoned factories into a labyrinth of fear, his red sun toxins seeping into the air and corrupting the minds of those who dared enter. The communists, driven by a desire for control, had become a formidable force under his command. Their faces hidden behind gas masks made by the chinese communist party, dressed in people's liberation army uniforms, they marched with a cold precision that sent shivers down the spines of the watching city.
On the other hand, killer croc's African American gang had claimed the city's sewers as their own, turning the underbelly of Gotham into a nightmare for their enemies. Their tactics were loud and effective, striking from the shadows with the ferocity of their leader. Croc's men, painted with the symbols of ancient African warrior cults, moved like ghosts through the murky waters, their teeth bared in a constant snarl. They used voodoo totems and venerated figures like malcom X and MLK as war gods, imbuing their attacks with a primal and supernatural terror.
The battle between the communists and the African Americans was swift and brutal. The communists, armed with fear gas, had hoped to turn the tide of the fight in their favor, but Croc's men were ready. They had developed an immunity to fear through a combination of their own drugs and the harsh realities of their lives. The scarecrow's toxins had no effect on them, and they tore through the communist lines like a tornado through a cornfield. Croc personally sought out the Scarecrow, his eyes gleaming with a primal hunger.
The Scarecrow, surrounded by his minions, watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the monstrous reptilian figure approached. He raised his freeze gun, but before he could fire, Croc leaped through the air and brutally eviscerated him with his bare hand. Scarecrow's communists scattered without a leader and collapsed to traditional leftist infighting.
n the fourth day, a battle between joker's jewish mafia and two-face's Hindu gang engulf Gotham's subway system. The Joker had painted the walls with his maniacal grin, turning the once bustling transport hub into a twisted funhouse of horrors. The air was thick with the smell of diesel and anticipation, the echoes of laughter and chanting bouncing off the tiles.
Two-Face's Hindu gang, their faces painted with the symbol of their goddess Kali, moved through the tunnels with a silent grace that belied their deadly intent. They had studied the Joker's patterns, his madness a puzzle they were all too eager to solve. The clank of their weapons against the metal walls was the only sound that pierced the eerie silence.
Two-face had always been called a B-tier villain, but today he'd show Gotham what a true leader looked like. He'd studied the Joker's patterns, learned the twists of his mind, and now he had him right where he wanted him. The Joker's laughter echoed through the tunnels along with hundreds of rabbis singing psalms in hebrew, a cacophony of madness that only served to focus Two-Face's rage.
The Joker's jewish mafia had grown complacent, thinking they had the upper hand with their superior numbers and the protection of their newfound ally, Batman. But Two-Face knew that chaos was a double-edged sword, and today he'd show them just how sharp it could be. His Hindu gang members were ready, their eyes gleaming with the promise of victory and the sweet taste of vengeance.
Two-Face had anticipated the Joker's moves, and as the subway cars rumbled into the station, his men struck. They leaped from the shadows, their knives flashing in the flickering lights. The jewish mafia, caught off guard by the sudden attack, stumbled backward, their laughter turning to screams as they were overwhelmed by the ferocity of Two-Face's onslaught.
The Joker watched in horror as his men fell, their grins frozen in place, forever trapped in their final moments of terror. Two-Face's Hindus moved with a precision that was almost supernatural, their every strike a dance of death. The jews, who had once been the kings of Gotham's underworld, were now reduced to nothing more than pawns in a game they never understood.
In a desperate attempt to tip the scales, the Joker sent in his wildcard: Harley Quinn. Her eyes gleaming with madness, she cackled as she sprinted through the chaos, her mallet raised high. Two-Face, caught in the throes of battle, never saw her coming. With a swing that could have knocked a bull unconscious, she aimed straight for his crotch, a grin stretching from ear to ear.
But Two-Face was no stranger to the unpredictable. He twisted at the last second, the mallet connecting with Harley's side instead of his own. The impact sent her sprawling, her body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The Joker's laughter turned to a snarl as he watched his lover's lifeless form split in two, her entrails spilling out like a macabre piñata
The rage that filled him was a force of nature, a volcanic eruption of madness. He charged Two-Face with a roar, grabbing a menorah he tried to stab him. But Two-Face was ready. He met the Joker's madness with the calm of a storm's eye, his movements precise and calculated. Each punch and kick was met with a block, a dodge, or a counter that sent the Joker stumbling backward.
Two-Face's yoga training had honed his body into a weapon of grace and power. He twisted and contorted in ways that defied human physiology, his limbs wrapping around the Joker's, turning the clown prince's frenzied attacks into a macabre dance. Each strike of the Joker's makeshift ninja stars, flung with the ferocity of a man possessed, was met with a fluid counter from Two-Face's own hands, his movements so swift they seemed to blur.
The subway car became a battleground of madness and strategy, the air thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and burning diesel. The Joker's eyes, wild with fury, searched for an opening as Two-Face bent and twisted around him, his Hindu tattoos rippling with the grace of a serpent. The stars of David, once sacred symbols, now tainted with the Joker's insanity, clattered against the metal floor, their sharp points glinting in the flickering light.
Two-Face's movements grew more aggressive, his rage at the loss of his men fueling his determination to bring the Joker down. He saw the clown's madness as a disease, one that had infected Gotham for far too long. Each blow was a step closer to cleansing the city of its chaos. The Joker, driven by his own rage, threw caution to the wind, his laughter manic as he swiped at Two-Face with the makeshift weapon, desperate to land a hit
But chaos is a fickle ally. In a moment of sheer madness, the Joker slipped, his foot catching the edge of the subway track. With a scream that pierced the air, he tumbled down onto the live rail. The current surged through him, his body convulsing in a grotesque ballet of death. His laughter was silenced by the sizzle of his flesh on the metal, the smell of burning skin filling the air. His gang, stunned by the sight of their leader's downfall, were paralyzed with fear. Two face let out a victorious scream that all hindus knew; the battle cry of Lord Shiva, the destroyer of worlds.
Thus only four gangs remained standing in the ashen wasteland that was once Gotham. For three days and three nights, the city held its collective breath, the air thick with the scent of fear and anticipation. The Christians, led by Bane, retreated to their strongholds, tending to their wounded and burying their dead with prayers of righteousness. The Neo-Nazis, bolstered by their victory over the Progressives, used the time to regroup and reinforce their icy bastions, Dr. Freeze's cold gaze never leaving the horizon as he awaited the next challenge.
Finally, the four gangs gathered in the center of gotham to negotiate some sort of peace agreement. Bane began the discussion; his deep, resonant voice carried the weight of his gang's victory over the Muslims and a sense of dutiful remorse over the slaughter of so many people. To his right sat killer croc, his eyes darting back anf forth like the chaos that had claimed Gotham. Across from them, two face, the leader of the Hindu alliance, his eyes gleaming with a newfound sagacity proper of kings. And to his left, Dr. Freeze, his icy stare unblinking as he surveyed the room. The tension was palpable, each gang eyeing the other with a mix of distrust and desperation. They had come from criminals driven by psycopathy and greed, to men with ambition, with pourpose; there would be but one truth, one rule, one king.
The negotiations were unsuccessful. Bane formed an alliance with two Face formalized with a hostage exchange where bane offered his daughter and two face his precious coin. Feeling threatened, killer croc signed the "racism pact" where he and dr freeze promise to punish race mixing with death in their respective gangs and to defend the other unconditionally in diplomatic matters.
The ninth day killer croc sends an elite taskforce of rappers to infiltrate two-face's pagoda and kidnap Bane's daughter, but she personally beats them down and has them captured. Tensions are higher than ever.
The tenth day the two coalitions confront each other with their entire forces on the ruins of wayne tower, once a beacon of hope now a battleground of despair. Two-Face and Bane stand side by side, their alliance a formidable sight that sends shivers down the spines of their enemies. The Hindu gangs chant ancient battle hymns, their weapons glinting in the fading sunlight, while Dr. Freeze's neo-nazis stand stoically, their armor gleaming with the cold sheen of their leader's power. On the opposite side, Killer Croc's men, their skin a mix of black and brown, stand tall, their eyes burning with a desire for power and dominance.
In a dramatic gesture, Bane's daughter emerges from the shadows atop a majestic horse, the animal's eyes reflecting the fear and anticipation of the battle to come. She wears the armor of the Christian knights, a stark contrast to the cold, metallic garb of her father's soldiers. Her long hair whips in the wind, a crimson cape billowing behind her as she rides towards the neo-nazis. In her hand, she holds a scroll, a message from her father that could change the tide of the war.
The horse snorts and stomps the ground as it approaches the icy fortress of Dr. Freeze, a creature of grace and power in a world of steel and snow. The neo-nazis part before her, their eyes fixed on the figure that seems to embody the very essence of the Christian spirit they had come to fear. The message is simple: betray killer Croc and the Southern Union, and she would be his bride, a symbol of unity between their two powerful factions.
Without warning, the night air is torn apart by a deafening roar. Killer Croc's army, enraged by the treachery they've uncovered, charges from the shadows. Their eyes burn with a feral light, their weapons raised in a primal scream of anger. The neo-nazis, caught off-guard, scramble to form ranks, their once stoic faces contorted with fear.
Dr freeze lays with his newlywed spouse, her passionate riding in cowirl atop freeze contrasting with the screams of africans outside of the frozen fortress being massacred on the street.
Dr. Freeze, his heart racing with anticipation and greed, considers the offer. A union with Bane's daughter would solidify his claim to the throne of Gotham. He nods slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. The air crackles with anticipation as the two sides draw closer, their eyes locked in silent negotiation.
On his last stand on the sewers, croc cries out the hypocrisy of their union. His voice, once a symbol of fear, now cracked with the anguish of betrayal. "You speak of purity, yet you stand with a man who would sell his own daughter to the enemy?" He roared, pointing hisblood-soaked sword at bane, who pretending to be unfaced, charged him. The outnumbered africans fought with the fury of the oppressed, tearing into the neo-nazis with teeth and claws, with a final push bane broke killer croc's spine with his bare hands.
But he was not dead. In a finall moment, croc killed Bane by biting into his neck, tearing out his throat.
By order of succession, Bane's daughter was crowned queen, and the neo-nazis and christians were thus fused into one immensely powerful faction.
Only one threat remained, the hindus.
Bane's daughter, now pregnant with Dr. Freeze's child, bided her time, her mind a whirlwind of ambition and fear. The alliance between the Christians and the neo-Nazis had brought a tenuous peace to the city, but she knew that peace was as fragile as a frozen rose. The Hindu gang, though weakened by their loss at the Paper Factory, had not been destroyed, and Two-Face's cunning was not to be underestimated.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill cry of a newborn, echoing through the icy halls of the Wayne Tower. She looked down at her son, a child born of power and madness. A tool to be used, a bargaining chip in the grand game of Gotham. But as the child grew within her, she felt something she hadn't anticipated: a spark of humanity, a love that threatened to melt the ice that had taken hold of her heart.
In the end, it was a love that would lead to her downfall. For when the time came to claim her throne, she realized that this child, a symbol of unity between her and Dr. Freeze, could also be a liability. With a heart as cold as the frost that clung to the city, she made her decision. Ina brutal and swift move, she killed Dr. Freeze, her own husband, in the very bed they had shared, leaving the neo-Nazis leaderless and the city reeling from the betrayal.
The child grew, a silent witness to the horrors of his mother's reign. His eyes, a mirror of his father's icy gaze, watched as she plotted and schemed, her once-pure soul now as twisted as the metal of Gotham's ruins. As the day of her coronation approached, she knew that she could not allow any competition to live.
Her son, the heir to the throne, lay in his crib, oblivious to the fate that awaited him. She picked him up, cradling him in her arms, and whispered sweet nothings into his ear, her voice a deadly lullaby. But as she held him close, something within her snapped. The love she had felt for him, the last vestige of her humanity, overwhelmed her.
With a scream that pierced the night, she dashed his tiny body against the stone floor, her tears freezing to her cheeks. The child was gone, a victim of his mother's insatiable hunger for power. The act was swift and brutal, a silent scream echoing through the corridors of the tower.
The city, already scarred by the gang wars, was too scarred by the gang wars. Too desensitized to brutality they didn't care anymore. They just wished for peace. But two face had not learnt that the world had changed. That the time of brilliant maneuvers and fervent ideologies had passed. The Hindu gang, sensing their opportunity, gathered their forces and prepared for a final, decisive battle. Two-Face, his own forces depleted and weary, knew that his time had come.
He retreated to the pagoda, a place where he had once found solace amidst the chaos. As the flames of war approached, he sat in meditation, his face a mask of resignation. He knew that peace was but an illusion, a mirage in the desert of Gotham's despair.
In a final, poignant speech, he spoke of the futility of their struggle, the hollowness of power, and the inevitability of their end. He spoke of the cycles of violence and vengeance that had claimed so many lives, including that of his dearest friend, the Joker. His words, broadcasted through the city, were the following;
Vanity! Vanity! I say with my final breath. Utterly vain! Everything is vanity. What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear has its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, “Look! This is something new”? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time. No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.With those final words, two face coughed a final time, and fell dead from smoke inhalation, as his pagoda burnt to a crisp.
The city was united under bane's daughter, who ruled untill her death in the year of our lord 2034.
>Chaper 1 : >>6132522 "the rape of catwoman">Chaper 2 : >>6132543 "the trooning of riddler">Chaper 3 : >>6132571 "author has a brief moment of clarity">Chaper 4 : >>6132618 "gotham city race war, part I">Chaper 5 : >>6132651 "gotham city race war, part II" (aka the tournament arc)>Chaper 6 : >>6132796 "gotham city race war part III"
