Batman: The Omen Prologue

  (This is a sequel to Batman: Dark Utopia)

In a neighborhood in the slums of Gotham, there was a house like all the others, a dry and dead lawn where only weeds grew, faded bluish-grey paint chipping everywhere. The orange glow of the street light overhead flickered occasionally. There were two cars parked out front and six men inside. They were here every Friday night picking up another fix. Slipping away. Thought a silent watcher, Everything in this world is slipping away. Drug dealers prosper on the suffering of the hopeless. There is some reality even the Batman refuses to see.

The watcher sat on a rooftop across the street in a blind spot of the moonlight. He reached under his jacket and pulled out a small piece of metal with a button. This is my domain. Gotham belongs to no man. No bat. He is strong but misguided. He believes that there is a seed of good beneath the retched soil of this city. He firmly pressed his thumb down on the button and the house exploded, a fireball erupting through the roof as the windows shattered. The car alarms nearby were set off and the house began to collapse. I respectfully disagree. As the red light reached out into the night, the man stood up and in the light of the fire, he was revealed to be a tall man carrying equipment and weapons around his waist. His green jacket covered his stocky frame and the hood shadowed his face.

He looked closely at the smoldering rubble. Few people had come out of their houses. None called the police. Suddenly, the ruins began to shift and rumble and a man clawed his way out, keeping what was left of his right hand cradled under his chest.

The watcher jumped down and crossed the street. The surviving drug dealer glanced up and cowered at the sight as this hunter towered over him, his blank, abysmal red mask looked down upon him, no eyes, no mouth. Just dark crimson like blood.

The dealer teetered on the line of unconsciousness, laying on the ground. “What do you want from me?!” he shouted to the man through his cracked and bloody lips. And the man answered after some time, “Retribution.” And with that, he quickly whipped a pistol from his belt, pointed it down at the man and fired. His arm jolted back from the recoil, blood spackled on his black boots and dark blue jeans and without solace or joy, the man turned around and walked down the street.

Rest assured I will bring this war to an end or die trying. He put his hands in his pockets and walked down the long road, his hood draped over his brow. The heat radiating from his gun warmed his thigh. He looked around at Gotham, the spawning place of evil. His home.   His hefty, dark green coat was burned and worn in patches all over. They wonder why I am called the Omen. He whispered in his mind, Because all who gaze upon me, death shall follow.

Omen looked up at the pale clouds covering the night sky, in the middle was a light, shadowed in the shape of a bat. He stared at it then continued down the road. Welcome to reality. 

Awesome!