Chapter 1 Part 2: Do you have my location?        By GaryGibbon

GaryGibbon here again. Just to let my few readers know, these updates will be irregular. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

My Little Pony and all related locations, characters etc. belongs to Hasbro. Batman and any related locations, characters etc. belongs to DC Comics. Batman: Arkham City belongs to Rocksteady Studios.

Out of all of his days in this Celestia-forsaken hellhole, today was by far the best day. That arrogant fuck Prince Blueblood had been practically delivered into his hooves, Fancypants mused as he puffed on a Janeighcan cigar. He looked around the dark alley with his one eye, and noted with some satisfaction that only his crew seemed to be in here. Of course, the good Doctor or The Great and Powerful Riddler could be watching him, but he didn’t give a shit about that fact. After all, they had no professed interest in seeing Blueblood live, did they? He removed the cigar between his stained teeth and puffed out a great cloud of grey smoke. As he held the smouldering cigar in his hoof, balancing on his other one, he saw that Blueblood was stirring. He smiled. It was time to have some fun. He motioned to two members of his gang, a griffon female and a bullock, to drag the slowly waking playcolt to him. They obeyed unquestioningly. As Blueblood was thrown on his 4 knees in front of him, he fingered the brass hoofduster he had brought along with him. He was going to enjoy this. As Blueblood opened his eyes, he put on a caring, sympathetic expression, though all present, including Bleblood, knew that this was fake as could be. He threw his now burnt out cigar to the ground, and knelt down.

“Rise and shine, Blueblood!” Blueblood didn’t respond; he was focusing on trying to get up. He spat blood on the floor, some of the red liquid covering Fancypant’s black suede shoes. He grew annoyed at this. Suede shoes, especially in this sort of environment, were hard to come by, and very expensive. It would take ages to clean them. Still, he kept up the facade of concern.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you need me to contact that loyal slave of yours you call a butler?” Another reason to hate this spoilt grown-up momma’s boy; he had a personal slave to do his dirty work for him. The fact that Prince’s dirty work was more or less simply cooking and cleaning drew Fancypants even further into rage. This waste of space had probably never done a hard day’s work in his life! He took out the hoofduster now, holding it tight, making ready to put it on and use it on Blueblood until he was begging for mercy. Blueblood had finished struggling to his knees, and now looked up. Fancypants saw a mixture of recognition and disgust in his eyes. Good. Hopefully Blueblood saw the same in his eye. The billionaire remained silent. Suddenly, he said a single word.

“Fancypants.”  He recognized the voice, and for some odd reason, Puffin associated it with the godamm Bat-stallion, that stallion who had wrecked countless plans of his. He paid the subconscious association no heed. It was time for some fun.

“Oh, you do remember me? I’m touched,” Fancypants literally spat at Blueblood, covering the white unicorn’s face with dirty nicotine-polluted spittle. To his credit, the rich colt didn’t pay attention to the obvious sign of utter disrespect, staring ahead with an expressionless face and those burning eyes of his. He pointed an accusing hoof at Blueblood and reminded him why he was doing this to him:

“Your family drove mine into the ground and the dirt, Blueblood. My father, my grandfather, hell, my great-grandfather; they all hated your family with such passion. I inherited that hatred when I saw my father die, broken and in poverty. Much as you inherited your hatred of crime when you saw your dear parents die. It must have been terrible, seeing the life fade from your father’s eyes as he acted as a living bullet shield.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my parents, Puffin.” Fancypants realised he had touched a raw nerve. He kept jabbing at it.

“How your mother must have shrieked as a bullet ripped through her, liquidising her insides. It couldn’t have happened to nicer people. You must remind me to find the man who did it, Blueblood. I simply must thank him for his contribution to society, ridding him of those self-righteous scumbags.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fancypants. My parents were heroes.” Puffin guffawed. He didn’t even know that Blueblood was even capable of swearing.

“Tut tut, Blueblood. You simply must learn to watch that slanderous tongue of yours. Otherwise, you’re going to get hurt.” As soon as he finished saying that sentence, Fancypants swung his hoof, along with attached hoofduster, as hard as he could into Blueblood’s jaw. Seeing the unicorn stallion in pain was, well, exhilarating. At last, he was exacting vengeance for his family. He swung the hoofduster again. Again, it connected into the poncy pony’s jaw with a loud CRACK. Puffin started laughing. This was fun. Really, really fun! He swung the hoofduster again. He didn’t expect Blueblood to suddenly snatch out and grab his outstretched hoof and twist it, breaking it. Pain shot up his foreleg and he began screaming. His thugs, whom before had been cheering him, now started to rise, looks of shock and concern and anger written all over their faces. He turned to the assembled crew and bellowed:

“GET HIM! GET THAT SON OF A BITCH WHO’S BROKEN MY BLOODY HOOF!”

He hopped to the wire mesh gate that enclosed the alleyway from the rest of the city, careful not to tread on his freshly broken hoof. He began to shake the gate, yelling that somepony, anypony would let him out. He didn’t stop until he felt a hoof crash into his throat, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Blueblood heard Fancypant’s hoof break. He heard his yell of agony. He twisted even harder. That bastard had just crossed a line, and nothing, nothing that he could do would redeem him in Blueblood’s eyes. He assumed a guard stance, and assessed the thugs surrounding him. A couple of brawny earth ponies, a gryphon, a wolf bitch, and a bullock. Easy as pie, Blueblood thought. The wolf charged at him, her teeth bared, ready to rip his throat out. He dodged to one side, before slamming the ridge of his humerus into the side of her throat, punching the side of her head, and then finishing with an uppercut. One of the earth ponies had snuck up behind him, and bucked with one leg. He grabbed it and jammed his elbow into the nerve cluster between knee and calf, buckling it. He ducked under the bullock’s swinging horns as he clapped both hooves to wither side of his head, stunning him. The gryphon rushed in from behind, swooping at him. He grabbed her arm, snapped it in two almost subconsciously. As she fell to her knees, shrieking, he grabbed her head, and slammed his knee into it, breaking both her jaw-and his hoofcuffs. He then swung his hind hooves onto the crown of her head, giving her one hell of a nasty concussion and breaking the other pair of hoofcuffs. As the other thugs stood there, stunned by what just happened, Blueblood took this as an opportunity to launch an attack. He made a feint on the bullock, stunning it, before launching a series of extremely fast blows that would have made even the best martial arts expert jealous. He finished with a powerful uppercut that knocked him out. He vaulted over an Earth pony, landing on the other pony’s neck, squeezing the consciousness out of him. He bucked the forelegs of the other earth pony’s legs, fracturing both of them. That left the wolf. She was suddenly behind him with a flurry of teeth and claws. He reeled from the onslaught, before recovering, grabbing her outstretched foreleg, and breaking it. He and Fancypants were now alone. He sauntered up to Fancypants, and bucked his throat as hard as he could.

“That was for insulting my parents, you one-eyed bastard.”

As Fancypants slid down the fence, eyes closed, he took stock of his surroundings. Prince Blueblood needed to disappear. Bat-stallion needed to come in here. He attempted contacting his faithful butler, Maître d’, then cursed as the No Signal sign came up. If he was to contact his butler, he would need to get to higher ground. And how would he do tha-

Aha. A ladder stood on a dumpster, leading to a fire exit. He climbed on top of the ladder, before vaulting up the ladder, 2 rungs at a time. He ran and leapt onto a nearby ventilation shaft, climbing up a raised section to be met by another ladder. He climbed up that as well, eventually reaching the roof of one of the buildings that had formed the alley. He tried contacting Maître d’ again. He was successful.

“Maître d’, do you have my location?”

“Oui, monsieur, albeit only just,” replied Maître d’ in a thick Brittaneigh accent. “There is more interference than usual.” Blueblood looked for a distinctive building. As luck would have it, the Ace Chemicals building was right in front of him. He reported this to his butler.

“I need an immediate drop on the roof of the Ace Chemicals building, Maître d’. I’m on my way there now.”

“Of course, monsieur.” The radio went dead. Now all he had to do was to find a way up the side of the building. There was a ledge just underneath the massive flashing neon E, on the side of the building. However, there was only just enough room to hang from it. He leapt to the crawlspace, hooves outstretched, and he barely caught it, hanging from his hooves. Lesser ponies would have not been able to handle the lactic acid build-up, and most likely would have fallen to their deaths. Not Blueblood. He slowly shimmied along the crawlspace, and then a tilted billboard informing readers that LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED. As he climbed up a ladder and crouched underneath ventilation shafts, the comm.-link flickered on again. Maître d’s heavy accent drawled through.

“I just watched news of your incarceration in the evening news, monsieur. Was getting arrested a part of your plan, all along, hmm?”

“Not exactly, Maître d’, although I did get some one-on-one time with the good Doctor.” A helicopter belonging to Strange’s private army flew past. Blueblood stayed motionless before he was sure it had moved on.

“And how was that?”

“Not good. He knows that I am Bat-Stallion. He also informed me that something called Protocol Ten would make him famous. I can’t leave Arkhoof City until I find out what it is.” After shimmying along a narrow crawlspace again, he climbed up another ladder, before sprinting and leaping, just clearing a wide gap. He pulled himself up. He was now at the rooftop. Maître d’ came through again.

“Did it arrive, monsieur?”

The roaring of a jet plane was nearby. Suddenly, the Batwing (Bat-Stallion’s personal jet) flew over, depositing a pod that contained the Bat-Suit and appropriate gadgets needed for the situation.

“Right on time.” He climbed up and pressed his hoof against the hoofprint scanner. After a couple of seconds, it confirmed that he was indeed Price Blueblood, and slid open to reveal his Bat-Suit. Blueblood stripped, removing his expensive tuxedo and watch, leaving him naked except for boxer shorts. He then began to get dressed. As he slipped on each individual piece of armour and suit, he felt himself losing the Blueblood persona, as if another, darker personality was coming to the forefront. Finally, he slipped on the cowl. Blueblood was gone. In his place stood the Bat-Stallion. His very name struck fear into the hearts of lesser ponies. He was above the law, for he was the law. He was the night. He was the Bat-Stallion, and his foes would know a reckoning.

Bat-Stallion checked his equipment. Grapnel wristpistol, check. Supply of Batarangs, both Remote-Controlled and normal, check. Batclaw, check. Explosive Gel with sprayer, check. Cryptographic Sequencer, check. The basic loadout was there, and hopefully that would be all he would need. He pulled out the TYGER radio chip he had stolen from the guard whose ankle he had broken. He inserted it into the Sequencer, hoping to find out the frequency of the TYGER communication system. As luck would have it, he found it on the first go, after decrypting it, he intercepted this message.

“All units, this is AIR TYGER 4. We have confirmation that Prisoner 4011 is in the Courthouse. I repeat, Catmare is in the courthouse.” A TYGER guard reported to his superiors. He sounded official.

“Is she in danger?” Doctor Strange’s voice replied.

“Affirmative. It appears that Prisoner Justice Sword AKA Two-Mane has detained her and intends to kill her. How should we proceed?” Laughter was his answer.

“Stand down. Let Two-Mane have her fun.”

“Understood.” The communiqués ceased. The Bat-Stallion was uneasy. He had to rescue Catmare, or else Sword would doublessly kill her.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Non, it does not. Mademoiselle Sword’s prediliction for all things binary may not mode well for Mademoiselle Rarity.” Maître d’ replied.

“If there’s one pony in Arkhoof City who knows what’s really going on, it’s her. I have to rescue her. If not for my own benefits, then for hers.” Bat-Stallion closed the comm-link and stared at the courthouse in the distance. He leapt off the building and outstretched his cape. The material hardened, and he glided above the rooftops, straight towards the Courthouse. He prayed to Celestia that he wasn’t late. Although Rarity was a pretentious windbag, if he didn’t intervene Justice’s trial, then she would die.