Friday

Ding Dong The Bat Is Dead (471 words)

I have planned this for months, it is a work of art, an act of love and my masterpiece. This is my legacy, they'll talk about this years after I'm dead and buried. I'll be held in the same regard as Beethoven, Da Vinci, Michelangelo and the other ninja turtles.

The gas pumped into the aircon rendered the patrons unconscious within seconds, no alarms were triggered, we simply waltzed in and setup shop.

I didn't waste any time basking in my brilliant glory, there was work to be done after all.
We euthanized our unconscious guests and positioned them against the windows, protecting ourselves from any unwanted intrusions. Then we set to work on the vaults, helping ourselves to the cities wealth.
Money bagged and ready to go, we finally set the alarms off and call in the cavalry.

The air is soon full of the sounds of sirens, helicopters and the familiar cry of "We have you surrounded"
Everything is going to plan.

This stand off remains in place for a few hours, phone calls are made demands are questioned, pointless hostage negotiations are partaken.

When he finally arrives it is with the style and grace we have all grown accustomed to and expected.
He comes crashing through the skylight, the one he'll assume I forgot to guard, and starts dishing out his violent brand of justice. Beating my finest henchmen down in a flurry if cape, fist and boot.

They are so predictable these so called superheroes, all of them have their own little quirks, their own little vendettas, their own little weaknesses, its just all so boring.

Soon enough he has despatched my men without even breaking a sweat and starts that slow menacing walk towards me. He starts blathering about how I have gone too far this time, how I'm going back to the asylum, how he'll make sure I'll never be free to menace the city again.

I cut him off mid rant and give him my own little diatribe, about how I run this city now and the people are going to be free to go about their day without the constant threat of vigilante violence hanging over them. I tell him how he has underestimated me, how his symbol of fear emblazoned on his chest will soon be a memory. I tell him how the skylight was left open for him to come through, how I have stood here in the atrium waiting for him but most importantly how he didn't know about the sniper.

The shot rings out before he can do anything about it, I doubt he even hears it. His big strong, unguarded jaw explodes in a mess of flesh, blood, bone and teeth.

I wipe him off my face, straighten my jacket and start to cackle.

My reign starts here.

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