The rain was getting heavier. The wipers thrashed back and forth across the windshield, barely managing to carve out a patch of visibility through the downpour. Marco leaned against the passenger seat, his hand unconsciously pressing against his side where the old wound had started aching again.
"Straight back to the house?" Darnell asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His lips had gone a little pale, though his face otherwise showed nothing unusual.
Marco was about to nod when something caught his eye through the rain-blurred window. Off in the distance, past the maze of buildings and streetlights, the sky had taken on a strange orange-red glow.
"Turn around. Head toward City Hall Plaza."
"City Hall?" Darnell's voice went up half an octave. "Didn't Gordon say there were mercs at that location? We just got done running from a guy who shoots lightning..."
"I know what he said. Just drive."
Darnell clearly didn't understand, but he turned the wheel anyway, guiding the car back onto the main road and heading toward the plaza. The closer they got, the more obvious the wrongness became. The rain started carrying fine black particles, and the air took on an acrid smell.
"What the hell..."
When they finally turned onto the tree-lined avenue leading to City Hall Plaza, the sight made both of them suck in a sharp breath.
The Gotham Crown Hotel, where the charity gala had been held, was engulfed in flames. Fire poured from shattered windows, reaching up into the night sky. Thick black smoke billowed upward, so dense that even the heavy rain couldn't suppress it. In the square in front of the hotel, ornate statues and fountains had been blown to pieces, debris scattered everywhere. Several luxury cars burned along the curb, tires melting into the pavement.
"Jesus Christ," Darnell whispered.
He hit the brakes instinctively, and the car skidded slightly on the wet pavement before coming to a stop in the shadow of the trees at the plaza's edge. People were running past. Civilians in torn formal wear stumbled through the rain, blood on their faces and panic in their eyes. Sirens wailed in the distance, but no emergency vehicles had arrived yet.
And in the center of it all, two figures were locked in combat.
One was a black silhouette with pointed ears and pale white lenses, his cape whipping violently in the heat-driven wind. He moved like a shadow, using the destroyed vehicles and rubble for cover, trying to close distance on his opponent.
The other figure wore a bulky yellow fireproof suit, the kind firefighters used for hazmat situations, with a helmet that completely covered his head. The goggles on the helmet resembled insect eyes, compound lenses that reflected the firelight. Most striking was the massive fuel tank strapped to his back and the flamethrower in his hands.
"That's him. That's Batman!" Darnell was half out of his seat, eyes wide.
"Yeah." Marco grabbed the binoculars from the glove box, focusing on the fight. "Looks like he's having a bad night."
"A bad night? Man, he's Batman. This is the coolest thing I've ever—"
"He's about to get barbecued," Marco cut in. "Watch."
The man in the fireproof suit swung his flamethrower around. A thick column of white-hot fire erupted from the nozzle, slamming into the spot where Batman had been standing a heartbeat earlier. Batman threw himself into a roll, barely clearing the flames. The fire hit a destroyed car behind him and turned it into an instant fireball. The explosion was loud enough to rattle the car's windows even from this distance. The heat was so intense that the rain around the blast vaporized instantly, turning into a cloud of steam.
"Burn! Burn it all!" The man's voice, distorted through the mask, carried across the plaza. "I am Firefly, the king of flames! You can't touch me, Bat! You can't even get close!"
Marco swept his gaze across the plaza. Bodies lay near the hotel entrance, charred beyond recognition and sprawled in the rain, while the injured crawled through puddles, leaving trails of blood. This wasn't just an attack. It was a massacre.
And then he saw the second problem.
Near the hotel's side entrance, partially hidden behind a collapsed section of colonnade, several armed men in tactical gear were shoving people into a black van. The captives were well-dressed but disheveled. He recognized one of them from television: a city councilor who'd been pushing anti-corruption legislation. Another was a budget oversight official.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "It's a snatch-and-grab. Firefly's the distraction. Black Mask is grabbing hostages while everyone's focused on the pyro show."
Batman dodged another gout of flame, tried to circle around Firefly's flank, but the flamethrower's range was too great. Every time he got close, another wall of fire forced him back. He was fast, but he was running out of room to maneuver. The plaza was turning into an oven.
Marco made a decision.
"Stay in the car. Keep the engine running. If this goes sideways, you get out of here. Don't wait for me."
"What are you going to—"
Marco was already out of the car, moving to the trunk and popping it open. The SSG 69 was still in its case. He grabbed it, along with a box of ammunition, and moved to a position behind a stone planter at the edge of the plaza. The range was about one hundred and eighty meters. Doable, even in the rain.
Through the scope, he could see Firefly clearly. The fuel tank on his back was the obvious target. One good shot would turn him into a roman candle. Problem was, Batman was too close. If that tank went up, the explosion might catch him too.
He needed to get Batman's attention.
He tore off a piece of white fabric from the car's seat cover, and waved it back and forth in the air like he was surrendering.
Batman saw it immediately. Without hesitation, he broke off his attack and sprinted in the opposite direction, drawing Firefly's attention. The flamethrower tracked him, spewing a river of fire that chased Batman across the plaza. Firefly had to pivot, turning his body, and his back, toward Marco's position.
"Thanks for the opening."
Rain streamed across the scope, blurring the image. He steadied his breathing, compensated for wind and distance, and put the crosshairs on the fuel tank.
CRACK.
The rifle kicked against his shoulder. Through the scope, he saw the bullet punch through the tank's metal casing. For a moment, nothing happened. Then vapor started hissing out of the puncture. And then it ignited.
WHOOSH.
Firefly was instantly engulfed in flames, the fuel tank on his back turning into a fountain of fire. He screamed and reached back to tear the tank off. The fireproof suit was saving him from being cooked alive, but he was still on fire, still in danger.
Marco worked the bolt, chambered another round, and fired again.
CRACK.
The second bullet punched another hole in the tank. Fuel gushed out in a torrent, spreading across the wet pavement and igniting into a low wall of fire. Through the scope, he watched Firefly's image warp and distort through the heat shimmer. The pyromaniac raised his flamethrower, aiming it in Marco's direction...
The pilot light flickered once and died, extinguished by the rain.
Marco had been ready to go for a headshot, but two things stopped him. First, shooting someone in the head at this range, especially someone whose head was encased in a fireproof helmet, wasn't reliable. Second, and more importantly, he had a feeling the guy bankrolling Batman's operation wouldn't appreciate him killing his nemesis in cold blood.
Batman didn't have those concerns.
He came in fast, launching himself through the wall of fire. Marco's heart stopped for a second. Was he insane?
Then again, Batman's suit had to have some kind of heat resistance built in. He burst through the flames and slammed his fist into the side of Firefly's helmet
CRACK.
The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting a watermelon. Firefly staggered, dropped to one knee, then collapsed face-first into a puddle.
But Batman's arm was on fire. The napalm had splashed onto his gauntlet and was burning. Marco was already moving, ready to help, when Batman reached under his cape and pulled out a canister from his utility belt. He sprayed a thick cloud of white foam onto the flames, and they died instantly.
Marco stopped.
That canister had been huge. How the hell did it fit in that belt?
Batman turned, locking eyes with Marco across the plaza. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he gave a single, curt nod, and turned his attention to Firefly's unconscious body.
Marco didn't wait around. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved quickly toward the side entrance where the mercenaries were loading their hostages. The tire he'd shot out earlier had bought some time, but not much. They'd already dragged the hostages back out of the van and were looking for another vehicle. He circled wide, using the burning wrecks and panicked crowd for cover, and came up on the colonnade from the side. Four mercs, all armed with automatic weapons. Two by the van. One herding the hostages. One checking the surrounding area, and that one was looking right at him.
He froze behind a smoke-blackened pillar.
Something hit the wall next to his head. He looked up. A bat-shaped throwing dart was embedded in the stone, still vibrating.
He followed the angle of the throw and spotted Batman in the shadows near the ceiling, barely visible. Batman pointed at the mercenaries, then made a circling motion with his hand.
Marco nodded, then pulled his Colt 1911 from its holster and checked the magazine. Full. He took a breath, then stepped out from behind the pillar and fired two shots into the air.
BANG. BANG.
The mercenaries spun toward the sound, weapons raised. Batman dropped from above, cape spreading wide. He hit the first merc with both boots, driving him face-first into the pavement. Before the others could react, Batman was already in motion, landing a sharp strike to a pressure point, sweeping one man's legs out from under him, then driving an elbow into another's jaw. In less than three seconds, all four mercenaries were unconscious on the ground.
Marco walked over slowly, gun still raised, and looked at the bodies. Then he looked at Batman.
"Nice work."
Batman stared at him. Marco holstered his weapon and gave a thumbs-up.