Free To Play

By evolution-500

Genre: Sci-Fi/Humor

Disclaimer: "Killer Instinct" and "Batman" are properties owned by Rareware, Microsoft, DC Comics and Warner Bros. I do not own these games nor any of these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."

- Oscar Wilde

Offer, Acceptance, and Consideration - three very important pillars of any binding contract.

Granted, one could argue the technicalities and point out that Awareness, Capacity and Legality were also critical elements that would make any agreement potentially valid and enforceable, but to Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, the latter three details didn't matter as much in his line of work.

Whether it was legal or illegal, business was business regardless, and he wasn't picky when it came to potential clients.

After all, who was he to judge? It didn't matter whether a bloke was insane or inebriated - Gotham's streets was often filled with the former or the latter - but money talked, and if they were able to pay, Oswald was more than willing to lend an ear.

However, when it came to the services that he paid for himself, Oswald was a man who expected nothing less than the best, and to say that he was very disappointed with this latest deal was putting it lightly.

Lighting up his cigar, Oswald calmly stood in the subway tunnels with his two assistants, Tracey and Candy, along with his many armed goons, holding his umbrella close, his form the smallest of the bunch. Though he wore a custom brown coat that had a collar lined with white fur over a silk button up shirt, with black gloves, pants and shoes that were freshly cleaned, his appearance was comically short in stature and hefty in weight, with a peculiarly slight hunchbacked and stunted profile, his thinning head of black hair receding, his nose long and crooked. Gruesomely embedded over his right orbital and cheek like a demented monocle was a glass cup that had been forcefully pressed deep into the skin, the glass glistening like crystal.

Puffing on his cigar, Cobblepot patiently waited, watching the two hitmen that he had hired as they approached from the other end of the tunnel with two grey duffle bags in hand.

As they approached, the pair were suddenly stopped and checked over by Jay, Raven and Lark, three of Oswald's favorite henchgirls, as the the latter two confiscated their weapons.

Once they were finished, Lark turned to her employer. "They're clean, sir."

"Good. Let 'em through," Oswald waved, his voice deep with a Cockney accent.

Moving aside, the girls drew back, allowing the hired guns to approach, watching carefully as the latter placed the two duffle bags down onto the ground.

"Here's your money back," one thug grumbled, a skinny Caucasian man in his thirties with short parted blonde dressed in a black jacket and clothes, his face covered in five o'clock shadow and damp with sweat.

"Check the bags and count up the cash, girls," Penguin ordered Tracey and Candy, drawing their attention. "If there's even a single dollar missing, Oi wanna know."

Nodding, the two women approached the bags and unzipped, counting up the bills carefully.

Looking back to the hitmen, Oswald continued to smoke his cigar. "Oi gather you were unable to kill the Batman," he drawled.

One hitman swallowed. "He...He was too fast for us," he replied, a younger African American male who was cleanshaven. "We've tried to take him out with over thirty guys, but he just went through them all as if they were nothing! We managed to cover our tracks."

"Well, at least you've done something roight. Mickey, would you kindly dispose of this lot?"

"With pleasure, boss," a muscular man said, raising up his pistol.

Looking nervously at each other, the two hitmen raised up their hands, their voices pleading, "N-NO! NO WAIT! PLEASE-"

The tunnel echoed with two loud shots, the bodies of failed assassins crumpling in a lifeless heap.

Puffing his cigar, Oswald growled, his teeth grinding together. "Bloody useless twats!" He spat, waving dismissively at the cadavers. "Clear up this mess. Get 'em outta my sight!"

"Yes sir," one of his men nodded, gesturing for the other hired muscle to gather up the bodies, wrapping them up in plastic wrapping and dragging them away.

"All the money is accounted for, Mistah Cobblepot," Tracey spoke up as she and Candy carried the bags.

"You sure, love?"

"Yes, Mr. Cobblepot."

Oswald stared at his assistants for several seconds, studying their features before smiling broadly.

"Oi knew Oi can count on 'ou girls," he nodded, holding his arms out. "Come 'ere!"

Giggling, Tracey and Candy made their way to Oswald's side, the latter greeting them both with an affectionate smack on the rear.

"Wot's say we get out of 'ere and go somewhere more relaxin'?" he grinned. "Somewhere more proivate with a bubbly or two?"

Tracey Buxton, a very attractive woman with short blonde hair with a curvaceous appearance that was enhanced by a white cocktail dress, playfully oohed and shimmied her shoulders. "Oh, Oi loike the sound o' that, Mistah Cobblepot! What do you, think, Candy?"

Candy, a very attractive black woman wearing a black pinstriped dress with a white belt, black heels and dark glasses, smiled, her long black hair tied in a ponytail. "Count me in."

As the three of them laughed and were about to turn away, a voice called out, drawing their attention. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything."

Whipping around, Penguin tensed, his goons drawing up their pistols. "Who's dere?!" He snapped.

From the darkness, a slim but tall man of indeterminate age with dark slicked-back hair emerged with his arms folded behind his back, his form dressed in a grey suit with matching overcoat, shirt, tie and shoes, his eyes concealed by a pair of black sunglasses, his equally grey broad brimmed fedora veiling part of his face in shadow.

Adjusting his tie, the grey-suited figure took off his hat, running his hand along his slicked back hair with his fingers. "Well, I've gotta say, it's an honor to meet you, Mr. Cobblepot," he greeted. "Your reputation precedes you."

"It usually does," Cobblepot replied, his eyes narrowing, his voice growing colder. "Do Oi know you?"

Breaking out a disarmingly calm smile, the man laughed. "No, actually. This would be our first time meeting."

"Then who are you?" Oswald growled, his suspicion growing as he slowly started to lose patience.

The man shrugged. "Nobody really. Just a fan of your work." Tipping his hat respectfully, he held out something in his hand. "My card."

Giving questioning looks to his assistants, Oswald raised a brow, gesturing for one of his goons to approach.

"Search 'im," he ordered.

"Don't bother," the man spoke up. "I'm unarmed."

Oswald gave him a dubious and doubtful look. "We'll see about that, sunshoine."

He watched as his men searched his person, the man completely still, his features unnervingly calm and devoid of emotion, completely unbothered by the pat down as he held the card between his index and middle finger.

"He's all clean, boss," one of the thugs nodded, taking the card from the man's fingers before presenting it to Oswald.

Taking the card, the latter gave it a curious glance. There was no name on it whatsoever, only a single corporate logo consisting of a capital "U" bordered by a black circle in a red triangle, the name of the company underneath in bold.

"...'Ultratech'?" he murmured. Lifting up his eyes to the man as he adjusted his coat and tie, Oswald's brows shot up in surprise and recognition. "Oi've heard of you blokes! Big business from Germany, ain't ya? The one that specializes in robotics and genetics or somethin'? 'Ou lot also run the Killa Instinct TV program!"

Oswald watched as his men glanced at one another, the tunnels filled with curious murmurs.

"That is correct," the executive nodded, brushing his coat.

"And your CEO from what Oi 'ere is a bit of an old balmy nutter, ain't 'e?"

The man chuckled. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Cobblepot. You see, there has been a change in management recently, and the Baron had to unfortunately step down. As of now, he is no longer in charge of anything. Not anymore, anyway."

Intrigued, Oswald tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Wot do 'ou want then?"

The executive smiled. "'What do I want?'" he questioned, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "No, no, no, Mr. Cobblepot, it's not about what I want, but rather, it is about what you want. I understand that you've been having some...vigilante troubles."

Oswald harrumphed. "You got that roight! The bloody Batman has been a goddamned thorn in mah side! Let me guess - you want me to pay yah blokes to get rid of 'im."

"On the contrary, Mr. Cobblepot," the man denied. "We are not looking to take your money."

Cobblepot blinked, hesitating. "You're not?"

"No."

Looking at both Tracey and Candy in bemusement, Oswald raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oi don't understand."

The man chuckled. "It's fairly simple, Mr. Cobblepot. Why should you have to pay to kill a freak dressed as a bat? Such a thing is beneath you, and as any good businessman would know, you shouldn't invest in something that is unlikely to reap any dividends, especially here in...Gotham." As he made that utterance, the man gave a disgusted look, his mouth curling, as if tasting something foul.

"Yeah, well, that freak, as it were, 'as been giving me trouble for some years now, so unless you 'ave somethin', I'll 'ave ta make due."

"Then you've been looking in the wrong places, my friend." Under the brim of his hat, a smile formed. "What is the first rule of business, Mr. Cobblepot?"

Oswald harrumphed. "Wot is this, a joke?! Find a need and fulfill it, of course!"

"Correct." Holding out his arms out, the man grinned as he gestured to something behind him, the air shimmering.

"The hell?"

From the shadows, a tall and imposing mechanical humanoid figure emerged, its footsteps punctuated by heavy thuds and whirs, its form shimmering as it decloaked, startling everyone as they all drew up their weapons.

"Jesus!" One goon yelped, recoiling.

Taking a startled step back with Tracey and Candy, Oswald stared in awe at the being before him.

The figure was tall and powerfully built, about six-five in height, weighing what seemed to be over five hundred and sixty pounds. Grey in color with ball-joint limbs, the being seemed to be some type of android or robot with a featureless faceplate and a skull-like head. Combined with the orange ponytail at the top, Oswald found himself reminded of a medieval knight. Snaking out from beneath its cheeks on both sides of its faceplate was two pairs of cables that looped out, one pair connecting to the back of the machine's head, while another looped around its shoulders. On each of its robust arms were a pair of curved, scythe-like blades that glowed an electric blue, the blades so hot the air around them ionized.

However, what made the machine intimidating was its eyes, which stared unblinkingly down at him with hellishly slanted glowing red lenses that made them look as if they were perpetually drawn in an angry death glare, its body outlined by the blue hues of its superheated plasma blades.

Repressing a shudder, Oswald nervously swallowed, seeing his own nervous features reflected off of its lenses. With the harsh chiaroscuro lighting and the way in which hues illuminated parts of its body, it looked like an angel of death granted physical form.

"Mr. Cobblepot," the man grinned, "allow me to introduce you to the Fulgore Mark One Combat Assault Unit. Named after the Roman goddess Fulgora, who not only served as Jupiter's personal shield maiden and armorer, but who also supplied him with his very thunderbolts. Representing the latest in cybernetic technology, with revolutionary state-of-the-art weapon systems to meet all of your combat needs."

Taking a cautious step forward, Oswald slowly approached the machine, looking appraisingly at it from top to bottom, humming and awing.

"Very impressive, alroight," Cobblepot nodded. "Is this Ivo's work? Reminds me a little of his - ah, whatcha call it - A.M.A.Z.O. robot, only that one was gold and didn't sport blades and a ponytail, from what I recall."

"Ah, so you are familiar with the work of Anthony Ives!" The man nodded. "Brilliant man. Yes, Ultratech has made a number of acquisitions in recent years, and the work of Professor Ivo, Will Magnus, Brie Larvan and many other giants in the field of robotics have all been influential to some degree. However, you will find Fulgore to be a far more sophisticated and rather...unique...model. As you can plainly see, the Fulgore unit has been made to resemble a knight."

"Woi?"

The man smiled. "Why not? What is more reassuring to a customer than the image of a noble knight in shining armor to protect them from harm?"

Clicking his tongue, Oswald thoughtfully nodded, conceding. "True, Oi suppose." He then tilted his head, "So tell me then, wot does this geeza do that makes him betta?"

The grey-suited man chuckled. "A great many things," he said enigmatically. "For one, he possesses advanced cloaking and teleportation technology, allowing him to maneuver through environments without the enemy being able to notice." He then held out a hand in demonstration. "Observe."

Oswald watched in interest as the air shimmered around the robotic assassin, its form vanishing in an instant.

"Bloody 'ell!" He murmured, squinting. "Oi can't even see its outline!"

The man grinned. "That is the point, Mr. Cobblepot. What better way to catch your enemy off-guard than to have your weapon disappear just like that?"

Hearing a fizzling noise behind him, Oswald turned and leapt up, his cigar dropping out of his startled mouth as the machine suddenly appeared mere inches away, its form flickering into existence.

"JESUS!" He shouted, watching as the machine teleport around the room with startling speed around the various henchmen before reappearing by the grey-suited man's side.

Standing akimbo style, the man in grey smiled widely. "Well, Mr. Cobblepot, what do you think?"

Adjusting his coat, Oswald hobbled over to him, circling around the machine before stopping right in front of it.

Looking back to the man, Cobblepot then raised a brow. "...'Ou said that Oi get to have this for free?"

The former nodded, folding his arms behind his back. "Of course."

"Hn," Oswald grunted, taking out and lighting a fresh cigar. "...Wot's the catch then?"

"The catch?" The man questioned, shaking his head. "There isn't any."

Cobblepot scoffed. "Oh come on! Of course there bloody is! Wot, you expect me to believe that you're doin' all this outta the goodness of your own 'eart?!"

Lifting up his head, the man brilliantly smiled. "Why of course, Mr. Cobblepot! Surely even you must realize that it is never good business to antagonize and alienate one's potential clients, after all! In fact, as proof of my sincerity, not only am I willing to let you have this model for free, but all of the maintenance work and costs will be covered for the next three years."

Staring dumbfounded, Oswald watched in growing confusion as the man in grey held out his hand. "Now then," the latter spoke, "do we have a deal?"

Looking down at the offered limb, Cobblepot glanced back up in uncertainty, his mouth twisting into a crooked smirk. "Oi don't know who 'ou are, but 'ou got yourself a deal, mate!" He said, taking the offered hand and shaking it, letting out a raucous laugh.

The man smiled back, chuckling. "Very well! Now, hold up your hand." Complying, Oswald watched him as he attached a metal band around his wrist. "Press that green button, and say your name into the microphone."

Doing as instructed, Cobblepot cleared his throat. "Oswald Cobblepot."

On the band, a small screen lit up, flashing green as an automated female voice spoke. "VOICE RECOGNITION CONFIRMED. SIGN-IN SUCCESSFUL. BEGINNING CALIBRATION."

Hearing a whirring noise, Oswald looked up, startled to see a series of green lines flash from Fulgore's eyes. "Wot's goin' on?!" He demanded.

The man placatingly raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Mr. Cobblepot - the Fulgore unit is merely scanning your biometrics and vitals into its database so that it recognizes you as its official owner. After all, you wouldn't want it to mistake someone as its owner, do you?"

Relaxing slightly, Oswald gave the man a questioning look. "Why does it need to check moi vitals?"

"It's standard procedure," the latter replied. "All Fulgore models are required to monitor their owners' conditions in order to ultimately ensure their health and safety."

"That roight? Huh."

Once the scanlines were finished traveling down his body, the lights vanished.

"CALIBRATION COMPLETE."

Patting his shoulder, the man grinned, nodding. "Congratulations, Mr. Cobblepot, you are now the proud owner of a brand new Fulgore unit." He then provided Oswald with a booklet. "I recommend you have a look. It will have all the information that you need."

Smiling slightly, Oswald nodded, taking the booklet. "Thank 'ou." As he pocketed the booklet, Oswald'ss grin faltered slightly as a stray thought occurred to him. "...Wot if someone decides to hack it?"

"They won't be able to," the man replied. "The Fulgore unit has sophisticated antihacking and voice recognition software installed, so even if someone attempts to use a recording of your own voice, the Fulgore unit will be able pick up on that. And now that the calibration and imprinting process has been completed, it will follow your every order, even without the presence of that band."

Oswald carefully digested the information, his brow scrunching up in thought.

"So," he began slowly, "even if the band ends up broken somehow-"

"It will follow your orders regardless and obey your every command," the man finished, completing the thought.

Letting out a low laugh, Oswald threw his head back, his cackle growing. "Oh, that's terrific! Oi can't WAIT to see the Bat's face when he sees this!" Looking back to the man, he leaned in with a mixture of growing excitement and interest. "Tell me somethin' - wot else does it do?"

Lifting up the brim of his fedora slightly, the man smiled, his pearly white teeth the only feature visible on his shadowed face.

* * * * *

Night fell over Gotham City as a lone dark figure glided through the smog-filled sky, his black caped form highlighted by the moon behind him, his eyes observing the gloomy, litter-covered streets down below. In dimly lit alleyways, he saw a number of homeless people warming themselves by a makeshift fire in a garbage can, some of whom either ignored him or glanced up his way. One or two of them would offer him a kindly wave, while another would shout something incomprehensible and offer him crude gestures, many of which he ignored.

A drunkard unsteadily wavered around with a bottle of booze in hand, leaning against a wall and singing loudly off-key as he relieved himself.

On the opposite end of a street, outside of a bar, he saw a group of prostitutes standing on a sidewalk over by a lamppost, their tight and revealing clothes accentuating their curves.

On the roads down below, he saw a busy traffic intersection with various vehicles honking and pouring in and out of Gotham, a collection of small headlights in a city of shadow. A few police cars were patrolling different sections of the city, keeping watch, though one or two of them remained immobile.

Navigating his way through the concrete jungle, his shadowed form twisted and turned through the labyrinthine maze of towering skyscrapers and smoking chimneys, occasionally using his grappling hook to rappel himself upward, using the momentum to go higher, his pale-lensed eyes searching, observing the structures around him.

Everywhere he looked, he saw new buildings being erected, some of it in place of old ones, their forms a twisted mix of Art Deco and Gothic architecture, with gargoyles sinisterly leering out at the city from ledges and rooftops, as if basking in the insanity and chaos like a certain clown locked up in Arkham Asylum.

In the distance, he saw steel construction beams gleaming in the darkness along with scaffolding, the unfinished Ultratech arena standing over the many buildings like a great hungry mouth, looking to take a bite out of the city. Scowling at the image, his frown deepened at the sight of the Ultratech posters before glancing at the rest of the area. Nearby, he spotted the decaying rat-filled remnants of various abandoned warehouses, boarded up factories, apartments, houses and churches, their forms crumbling, their glasses stained and smashed, their walls spraypainted with graffiti.

Looking around, he spotted various seedy-looking hotels, cheap restaurants and buildings that flashed with bright neon lights, some of them in varying degrees of condition, while large tendrilled multileveled industrial complexes with various jutting pipelines constantly puffed out thick clouds of smog from smokestacks.

His senses assaulted by the barrage of sounds and smells, he narrowed his eyes in concentration as he focused on his built-in headset, listening to the voices of Gotham's population.

He heard the sounds of children laughing as they came out of a movie theater with their families after watching a show, causing a flicker of sadness within his troubled soul before eventually tuning it out, moving onto the next set of voices, his mind focused on the mission at hand.

"Alfred," he spoke, his voice a deep baritone, "I am closing in on the Iceberg Lounge. Have you found anything about the heavy weapons shipment coming in?"

"Not yet, Master Bruce," a British accented voice replied back through the headset. "I'm getting some interference, so you should try to tread carefully out there."

"I will manage," Bruce replied.

"Any ideas on what you expect to find down there?"

"Hard to say. Cobblepot has been accumulating more wealth, power, territory and influence in Gotham lately, and with this new shipment coming in, that has me worried."

"You and me both, Master Bruce. Oswald's sudden boldness these past few days is something to be concerned about, to be sure. You believe that he is looking to start a war with the rest of his competition?"

"I have no doubt that he is," Bruce replied. "Gotham's criminal underworld as it is is a delicate ecosystem in and of itself - shift or remove one piece, and you will end up creating opportunities and trouble. I need to know what sort of weaponry we're dealing with and shut Cobblepot's operation down before those weapons make their way onto the streets."

"Just be careful out there, Master Bruce. You may be the Batman, but remember, this is Gotham - anything can happen."

"I will keep that in mind, Alfred. Over and out."

Once he finished, Batman carefully listened to his headset, listening to the constant barrage of noise picked up by his cowl.

All around him, he heard nothing but chaos, an unrelenting tidal wave of voices.

There were so many overlapping voices that it was all too easy to miss the little things, and while he would often try to see if there were those in need of help whenever he could, there was always the chance that he might have missed someone along the way.

Taking in a deep breath, he released a sorrow-filled exhale, his breath steaming up in the cool night air.

Though he had made great strides to protect the innocent, it pained Bruce to admit to his own limitations as a hero; in spite of his best efforts, even he knew that the Batman could never be everywhere at once, nor could he save everyone, as much as he wanted to.

On the radio, he heard a city in a constant state of flux and discord, the air filled with great uncertainty. Though the night seemed still, if not quiet compared to most nights, Bruce knew well enough that even quiet nights in Gotham were anything but. While the optimist within him wanted to believe quiet moments such as these were signs of a Gotham recovering, the cynical side of him, if not the realist, however, knew that it merely meant that something lurked beneath the surface. Crime, if not evil, he had come to learn, could never be truly eradicated in any society; as it was, the quiet merely signified that crime had not so much been cleaned up as it had become hidden, and it was up to him to dig deeper and expose it, if not reach in and tear it by the roots out if necessary.

Taking in the cold evening air, Batman regarded the gloomy streets of Gotham from above, the silence a deep gulp before the eventual plunge.

It was a shame to ruin such a quiet evening, but as long as there were those in need of help, the Batman would heed their call.

Sifting through the voices on his headset, the Caped Crusader carefully listened to them, going through those as much as he was able to.

Intercepting police chatter, he heard one officer sign himself off on the radio in order to stop by and get a burger from a fast food drive-thru. In another part of the city, he heard a construction worker complaining to his pal about his not being paid enough. A man and woman arguing about the former's drinking problem. A teenage boy talking to his audience on YouTube. Two people fighting over pronouns. A woman singing very badly to her fans on Tiktok. Lust-filled moans between lovers in a nearby motel.

Turning his attention elsewhere, he heard someone speak in hushed worried tones, the name "Cobblepot" causing him to lift his head ever so slightly.

There you are.

Twisting his body in the air before pulling himself upward to slow himself down, Batman landed gracefully onto the roof with practiced ease as he arrived at his destination, his form crouched low before rising to his full height, his dark cape fluttering slightly before settling around him like a shroud, his pale-lensed eyes standing out from the darkness.

Approaching the roof's edge, he peered down at the side, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the parking lot.

Aside from one or two parked cars, there weren't any vehicles. Not even a truck.

Checking all four sides, Batman patiently studied his surroundings, scanning for the slightest trace of movement.

Nothing.

No other vehicles in sight.

Hearing an electrical hum, Batman turned to see the blue neon lights of the Iceberg Lounge suddenly lit up and invitingly glowed, as if calling out to him, illuminating his grim features.

Narrowing his eyes at the sign, Batman moved toward a vent, his tread carefully masked by the blaring and thumping music of nearby clubs and radios.

Crouching low, he pried the covering loose, then slipped inside, disappearing into darkness.

* * * * *

Navigating his way through the various tight-fitting vents, Batman activated his Detective Vision, watching as the augmented reality overlay stripped everything of all color except for blue, allowing him to see through the walls of the vents and building, highlighting the many occupants within.

Taking note of the latter, he carefully scrutinized their readouts, studying their various sizes, the weapons on their person along with their emotional states, his white-lensed eyes cautiously examining every piece of information that he could find.

Based on the readouts, the majority of the people inside were all male between the ages of twenty and thirty, all of whom seemed to be gathered close to the Iceberg Lounge's center near the balcony, while one figure in particular stood out from the rest.

Found you.

Crawling his way forward, Batman barely had time to react as something tore through the vent's wall and grabbed him, dragging him out.

Struggling against his assailant's grip, he felt the whole world around him spin, his whole body burning before finding himself thrown him indelicately to the floor with a grunt.

"'Ello, Batman!" An all-too familiar voice sneeringly greeted, his voice uncomfortably close. "Welcome to the Iceberg Lounge! How nice of you to drop in! Care for a drink?"

Hearing him laugh alongside his thugs, the vigilante looked up to find himself on a balcony with the speaker, his eyes narrowing. "Cobblepot."

Puffing on his cigar, Oswald held his arms out in a grand gesture. "In the flesh. Thought you can get the drop on me, didja? Well, 'ou thought wrong." Turning to his minions, Cobblepot pointed directly at Batman, uttering, "Get 'im!"

Leaping to his feet, Batman quickly danced around the various hired thugs, his hands and legs a blur of motion as he dodged, parried and struck, his movements graceful and precise as he struck.

Gauntleted fists connected with their faces, breaking teeth, jaws and noses, while limbs snapped within his grip, the Iceberg Lounge filled with shouts, screams, blood and broken bodies.

Two men were knocked out instantly, then five, then ten, twenty.

Firing his grappling hook into the shoulder of a tall bear of a man, Batman yanked hard, drawing the man toward him before throwing a haymaker, the man crying out as the vigilante slammed him hard to the ground with a crack.

Disarming the nearest thug and relieving him of his bat, Batman swung and smashed the weapon against a thug's left knee, the man shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"MY LEG!" The latter cried, clutching his knee as he rolled on the ground in agony.

Turning his attention elsewhere, Batman pirouetted out of the way as another charged at him, causing his attacker to tackle into another before throwing a batarang at a man drawing a pistol out from his pocket, the weapon discharging as the batarang struck his hand.

Thirty thugs found themselves incapacitated, many of them sporting various cuts, bruises and/or broken limbs, some of them barely even conscious.

Standing over them all like an avenging angel of darkness was the Batman, his tall form made even more intimidating by the long flowing black cape and the dark pointed ears of his cowl, his white lensed eyes eerily glowing as they focused upon Cobblepot, who remained standing by the sidelines.

Clapping his hands, Oswald whistled. "Well, well, well! That was somethin' alroight! Thirty of moi men, and 'ou took 'em all out. Colah me impressed!" He then smirked. "Wot say we take it up a notch, shall we?"

With that last utterance, he snapped his fingers.

Something heavy crashed to the floor, creating a large crater in the floor, the impact crushing a goon underneath and killing him instantly with a sickening crunch, causing blood to splash as the man's chest was caved in, the force such that it made his eyes explode outward from his skull.

Turning to the crater, Batman focused his attention on the dead body and activated Detective Vision, only to find nothing registering on his screen.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he deactivated, watching and listening as something squelched loudly.

A pool of blood started to ripple around the body, as if a foot had treaded over it, splashing the floor as what sounded like very heavy footsteps echoed throughout the building.

CLOMP. CLOMP. CLOMP. CLOMP.

Bloody footprints marked the being's approach, causing Batman to tense as he noticed a slight break in the air as a faint outline of a massive figure suddenly became more noticeable, its eyes flashing red.

Straightening, he watched as the air itself started to shimmer and ionize, the figure's being slipping into reality as electrical arcs whipped around its body in a frenzy, reflecting off its grey frame.

CLOMP. CLOMP. CLOMP. CLOMP.

Stopping two feet away, the figure remained completely still by Oswald's side, its dark chassis built over a skeletal frame, its grey armor looking almost black, its eyes and wrist-mounted hook-like plasma blades glowing menacingly.

"Batman," Oswald called, "allow me to introduce you to Fulgore. Fulgore, meet your new target. Kill 'im."

Clenching its fists, the cyborg reared itself up and drew its arms back, its wrist-blades glowing brighter.

As Batman braced himself for the attack, Fulgore suddenly froze.

Blinking rapidly, Oswald gave a bemused look.

"The fuck?!" He swore. "Wot the hell is this?!"

Before either Batman or Oswald could respond, Fulgore's back suddenly opened, presenting a conspicuously small slot.

"PLEASE INSERT YOUR CREDIT CARD TO UNLOCK WEAPONS SYSTEMS," an automated female voice called from a speaker.

Blinking in confusion, Oswald reared his head back in incredulity. "Say wot?! WOT DO YOU MEAN 'INSERT BLEEDING CREDIT CARD?!'"

"PLEASE INSERT YOUR CREDIT CARD TO UNLOCK WEAPONS SYSTEMS," the message repeated.

Staring in disbelief, the gangster facepalmed. "Oh you gotta be kidding me! That fucking...! Are you bloody serious right now?! Really?!" Growling, Oswald fished around his pockets before taking out his credit card. "Of all the crummy ways to make a buck, locking all of the abilities and weaponry behind a paywall?! Fucking scumbags!"

Slipping the credit card into the slot, Cobblepot tapped his foot, then pressed a button.

"THERE!"

He waited a few seconds.

Finally, Fulgore's eyes glowed, the machine straightening itself up again.

Taking a step toward Batman, the cyborg drew back its arm when a voice called out.

"ERROR - INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. TRANSACTION CANCELLED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN."

"Oh for fuck's sakes!" Oswald muttered as he approached, swiping his card once again through the slot.

"ERROR - INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. TRANSACTION CANCELLED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN."

"OH COME ON!" Oswald indignantly shouted, repeatedly slipping his credit card into the machine's slot. "YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! NOT NOW! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO MEEEEE!"

From the sidelines, Batman stared with a nonplus expression as Cobblepot grabbed Fulgore by its frame and violently shook it.

"COME ON, YOU JUNKY PIECE OF SHIT, WORK!" Oswald yelled as he struck repeatedly at it with his umbrella. "WORK! YOU! ASS! FUCKING! MACHINE!"

Giving it a kick for good measure, Cobblepot heavily panted, his face flushed.

Sweeping a hand through his dwindling hair in an attempt to straighten, the gangster turned to face Batman, the latter staring at him unimpressed.

"...Umm...Oi surrenda?"

In the Maximum Security West Wing of the Gotham City Police Department, two men stood together in a holding cell.

"So, what are you in for?" One questioned.

The second one shrugged. "Meh, bank robbery. How about you?"

As the man started to say something, the two flinched as they heard incoherent growling nearby.

Turning to face their new cellmate, they warily watched as a furious Oswald Cobblepat sat alone in the corner, his visage a twisted expression of complete and utter maniacal rage, his eyes wild with fury.

"Hey, uh, is that the Penguin?" One of the guys questioned, elbowing his cellmate.

"Yeah, but don't bother him," the latter warned. "I don't know what happened, but he's been like that for the last hour or so. Seriously pissed, bro. Trust me, you do not want to mess with him."

Looking back to the infamous crime lord, the two men watched as Oswald gnashed and grinded his teeth as he sat on a bench, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Fucking Ultratech!" He growled and ranted over and over again in a low voice. "Fucking Ultratech! Dirty, rat-sucking scumbag bastards, the lot of 'em! I'm gonna kill 'em! Fucking Ultratech!"

* * * * *

Author's Notes: And that concludes this story! So, for a while now, I couldn't help thinking about doing a possible "Batman Arkham"/"Killer Instinct" for some time. In many ways, Gotham is the perfect setting for the latter series, and a lot of the characters making up Batman's Rogues Gallery - Poison Ivy, Deadshot, Killer Croc etc - all look like the kind of freaks that would participate in the Killer Instinct tournament in some form or another. Of course, KI's world is in many ways so, so, SO much worse and inhospitable an environment compared to Gotham, and that's saying something!

The idea for this story came from thinking about the KI2013 reboot's free-to-play method of payment and sort of wondering "what would happen if that were applied in ways outside of gaming?" In the context of KI's dystopian world where capitalism has completely run amok and without any apparent government or laws to regulate what companies can and can't do, I couldn't help thinking about the types of services that could potentially exist in this setting, and it was while pondering it over that I suddenly had the amusing image of Penguin trying to use his credit card because Ultratech locked down their products' more advanced weaponry and/or capabilities through a paywall. So, I kind of thought "why not have fun with this and see what happens?"

Shout-out to Stuff3 for his help - thank you so much, dude! Your help is always appreciated.

Stay safe and healthy, everyone! :D