torturous: (Friggin' rooftop stalkers)
torturous ([personal profile] torturous) wrote2011-04-26 02:13 am


Title: II
Rating: PG
Characters: Roman
Words: 553
Note: After coming back from the dead in [ profile] sirenspull

He clicked off the NV and set it on the end table, leaning back into the cushions of his couch and staring dully at the wall; it was covered with HA HA HA and Joker was here.

The phone call to Deathstroke had jogged his memory.

He remembered coming home to find the Joker in his hot tub, with the hyenas. Getting attacked by them as he ran for his gun; getting shot in the knees, the stomach...then the hyenas finishing him off while he was still conscious. Some quick backtracking through the Network revealed the Joker playing with his decapitated head. A visit to still bloody basement verified it.

His death was undeniable.

His second true death.

He couldn't remember coming back the first time. He hadn't been in control of himself then, at any rate, hadn't had time to contemplate his existence, if he'd even been capable of it. How was a person supposed to feel about it? He didn't feel much. Not that he ever felt much beyond anger, though he was certain once the shock wore off, he'd become irate.

But he hadn't just cheated death by pretending to be dead like he'd done so many times before; he'd actually died. The amount of blood in the basement was a testament to that fact. And the fact that a psychotic clown, of all people, had been the one to do him was an affront to his very existence. One of the Rogues. He was better than that, a legend, goddammit. The Black Mask, head mob boss of all Gotham.

It never would have happened in Gotham.

In a practical way, he supposed, it wasn't much different from coming back after Catwoman had let him fall from the building. There was nothing quite like having the element of surprise on one's side; he could trust Wilson to keep quiet about his return. Now it was just a matter of keeping his head down and planning.

Once again, revenge fueled him. It had always fueled him time and again, throughout his life. It was familiar, comforting even, to feel it feeding his hate. He always did perform so much better when he had something at which to direct his hatred. He'd take care of the Joker, then focus on getting back his footing in the underworld, perhaps even the situation with Yaha...Re-l.

He narrowed his eyes at the thought. No. He didn't need an arch enemy here, as unestablished and challenged as he was in the city. She could come later, if he felt he needed one. But there was no denying he'd crammed his foot in the door when it came to her; he couldn't help himself. The black, the scowling, her feminine strength, all that emotion...she reminded him of her. He'd never un-see the likeness.

He stood from the couch and headed upstairs to begin packing what he needed. His townhouse was now compromised, as was his original NV, but he'd planned for these eventualities. The Bat may have prided himself on planning, but Black Mask would never have become as successful as he had without his fair share of strategies. He had the will to do what needed to be done, there was no doubt in his mind.

All he needed was time.

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