Previously on The Renegades...

“Ya actually think that some hero’s gonna come waltzing down this alley and save yer mommy and yer daddy?”

“A hero will come save us… you’ll see, he’ll come, I know he will!”

“You guys think you’re such hotshots, huh? Bunch of tough guys pickin’ on a few ponies who can’t even fight back?”

“You think I’m a hero? No, I’m no hero. I’m the guy who’s gonna beat you cocksuckers to death and drink your blood from a fuckin’ boot.”

“Come on Howard, we’re supposed to be better than this!”

"I must now, with a heavy heart, declare that the threat of war is once again upon us. Not from the Germans, not even from the Russians or the Koreans, but from Equestria."

“Those ignorant bastards can go on pretendin’ the world’s all sunshine and rainbows, cause unless that bill is repealed, I’m gonna give them a war they would not believe.”

Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves. – Abraham Lincoln

Episode 2: The Doctor

“There is no escape.”

His lungs burned, straining to gasp in enough air. His deep ebony eyes darted around the dank abyss, searching for any sign of his pursuer. Only the dim circles of light from the disembodied bulbs overhead guided him. He had no idea who or what was chasing him, nor did he know why. All he knew was he had to escape.

“The darkness beckons. It calls to you.”

The lights faded as he passed them, swallowed by the sound of monstrous wings drawing closer with every frantic step he took. The lights ahead began disappearing, one after another.

"No, NO!" He glanced back the way he came, seeing nothing but darkness. A strained cry escaped him the moment the last light faded from sight and he tumbled blindly into the void as he lost all sense of footing.

“Why must the weak perish while the wicked continue breathing?”

A splash echoed in the darkness, and something cold seeped through the fabric of his trousers. He coughed, spitting repeatedly in a bid to rid his mouth of the foul metallic taste. As he floundered blindly, a light shone overhead. It should have been a relief, but instead, it sent chills down his spine. His throat ran dry, and the heat deserted his body.

It was blood.

His eyes widened into white as he smothered himself, stifling the urge to scream at the sight of an ocean of corpses as far as the eye can see. Their blank soulless gazes staring deep into his own, envying the very heart that beats in his chest.

“Rivers of blood and mountains of corpses will not stand in your way.”

He jumped at the unmistakable sound of wings hidden somewhere in the veil of shadows. He bit his bottom lip, understanding the futility of it all as he resigned himself to his fate. It was coming. It was coming and he was powerless to stop it.

“Justice will be served…”

His eyes shifted skywards to the sounds of shattering glass, drawing a strangled gasp at the monstrous bat–like creature descending toward him. It barred its salivating fangs, screeching like the screams of the damned before erupting into an ocean of bats.

He screamed as he was engulfed in a whirlwind of high pitch screeching, swirling with sounds of thousands of wings all flapping in unison. He sunk to his knees, eyes screwed shut, throwing his hands over his ears as he begged for this nightmare to end. The world around him soon faded to black, but even in the depths of nothingness, he heard the gentle caress of a whisper.

“Thomas… wake up.”

It echoed and faded into the shadows.

“Argh!” Thomas cried as he was jolted from his sleep.

As always, it took him a full minute to compose himself. His fingers massaged his temple as his mind shimmered with vague images from the final moments of that dream. Ever since that unfortunate incident in the garden, his nights were never the same, and for years, it had tormented him in his sleep. Thomas groaned, doubly sure that his continuous delirium would soon drive him to the brink of insanity. Not to mention, sleep was a rare commodity for a man in his profession.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got up from his tanned leather chair. He ran his fingers through his shabby black hair before giving his aching body a well–deserved stretch, feeling the stiffness in his muscles begin to subside. With recent influx of patients, they had him running around clock a little too often for comfort. Not to mention, he had used whatever time he could scavenge to focus on his research.

He straightened his white coat and his grey tie. Tardiness was almost non–existent to the doctor, although he had to admit, right now, he was a complete and utter mess. No surprise, after having spent his third day in a row at the hospital neck deep in paperwork and books.

“Ugh,” Thomas groaned at the appalling sight of his office. Scattered with scrunched up paper, trash and a myriad of half–opened medical books on pony anatomy upon his desk. He reached for his trusty notebook before proceeding to skim through the penned pages filled with a treasure throve of medical notes accompanied by detailed pencil sketches to match.

Nope, nope, nope, ugh! Another dead end!

He slammed the book shut, silently cursing and at the same time wishing that the hospital had considered expanding their library instead of putting in a game room for those useless pricks who would rather be spending their hours contributing to their cholesterol levels than caring for their patients. He pinched the bridge of his nose – just thinking about it was an invitation for an oncoming migraine.

Turning around to face the window, Thomas pushed aside the green curtains. His eyes squinted from the glare of the bright morning rays. Even at ten floors off the ground, he could hear the bustling of the streets below. From the muffled sounds of hoof and footsteps going about the busy streets to the roaring of engines in the midst of traffic. His eyes shifted skyward to the sight of dozens of pegasi zipping through the skies as they went about their business. All in all, just another day in downtown Washington D.C.

Thomas placed his hand over his chest as he noticed his elevating heart rate. His mind was in pieces, preoccupied with thoughts of that strange dream. What did it all mean? Thomas touched his forehead to the glass, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin as he tried to make sense of it all, but the more he lingered on his thoughts, the more he inspired questions rather than answers.

“Ah! To Hell with it!” he cursed under his breath, tossing his notebook aside as he headed for the door. As much as he would love to ponder on his slow, steady descent into madness, he had a job to do. He opened the door that led to the bustling hallway and no sooner was he two steps outside, he bumped into a petit young nurse dressed in her standard issued uniform with her auburn hair tied neatly in a bun.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t see you!” she cried.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. The fault is entirely my own,” he replied with a gentle smile.

Her emerald green eyes widened as large as dinner plates, realizing who he was. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry Doctor Wayne. I’m such a klutz sometimes.”

Thomas chuckled. “Martha, we’ve been through this. Please, call me Thomas… or Tom, whichever you like best.”

“I couldn’t possibly… I mean… it wouldn’t be proper,” she stuttered, fidgeting as she hugged her clipboard close to her chest.

“Proper?” Thomas asked.

“I mean, you… being a Wayne and all.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. It has been a full year since he arrived and the staff were still bent on groveling at the mere mention of his name. “Martha, I may be a Wayne, but I’m just like you, a human being. Punch me, I bleed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!” she blurted, her face growing redder with every passing second.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright? You look completely flustered, hope you’re not coming down with something. Heaven knows, hospitals can be a breeding ground for all sorts of germs.”

“Actually, I’m feeling fine Doctor Way– I mean, Thomas, truly!” she blurted.

“Miss Kane, relax, take a deep breath then breathe normally. Contrary to printed media, I’m actually quite tame.” Thomas chuckled yet again.

Martha Kane, one of Knightfall General’s more talented nurses and also the first to warm up to him, despite all the hullabaloo about him being branded Gotham’s favorite son.

“Ugh,” Thomas muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose the moment he felt a little lightheaded.

“Oh dear, another all–nighter?” Martha inquired.

“No reason for concern. Nothing an aspirin can’t fix. Besides, I’m a regular night owl anyway.” Thomas shook the dizziness from his head.

He then noticed Martha’s charming grin. “Something amusing, Miss Kane?” he inquired, curiously amused himself.

“Well, it’s just that… you know, when you first got here, I never thought that a Wayne would be so… well, dedicated to his work,” she said.

Thomas pouted. “Are you trying to imply that just because I’m a Wayne, I’m socially compelled to be a drunk, spendthrift, womanizing pig? Like a scalpel through the heart, Miss Kane.” He patted his chest.

“Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be the first. I just want you to know that I’m impressed,” she simpered with a chuckle.

“Well, it’s not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.”

“True, it seems that the only thing that outweighs your enthusiasm is your concern for your patient,” Martha added.

“Yeah… patient,” Thomas muttered, trailing off as his gaze fell to the moving silhouettes reflected on the window next to him.

Martha sighed as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know, she’s lucky to have you. Everyone calls her a lost cause but not you. Sometimes I believe the only thing that keeps her going is the fact that there’s still someone in this wretched world who still believes in her.”

Thomas shrugged. “I’m trying Martha, Heaven knows I’m trying, but there are times that even I find myself standing at the edge of my hope.”

“I understand. The poor dear, she’s so young and it breaks my heart to see her in so much pain. Is there truly nothing we can do?” Martha asked, the sadness was apparent in her voice.

“I wish I knew. Any information on her condition is almost non–existent. Even with what I’ve gathered over the past months, it’ll still be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

Martha turned away. “The world isn’t fair.”

“It never was, and it never will be but I promised myself that as long as I am able, I’ll never stop looking for a cure.” Thomas tightened his fists. “But I’m running out of time.”

Martha smiled. “I believe in you, Thomas. Wayne or not, if anyone can find a cure it’s you.”

Thomas drew a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t given up on me?”

“Never, and neither should you.”

Thomas felt a sense of warmth wash over him as he held her hand, clasping it gently upon his shoulder. “Thank you Martha. You have no idea how much that meant to me.”

Martha’s cheeks lit up in bright scarlet as her nervous gaze fell on the doctor’s shoulder.

Realizing this, Thomas swallowed hard as he jerked his hand away. Both of them soon slipped into an awkward silence, turning away to avoid eye contact, but more so to hide the fact that they were now both completely flustered.

Thomas broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Anyways, I’ve kept you from your duties long enough. Besides, I most certainly don’t want you getting into any more trouble with Nurse Jackie. Now if you’d excuse me, I have my patient to tend to.” He turned to leave.

“Certainly. So, I guess I’ll see you around?” Martha chimed.

“How about we do lunch?” Thomas turned around, ignoring the sudden hail of curses flung in his direction as he walked blindly, back–first, into the oncoming crowd. “I heard its mac and cheese day today!”

“That sounds great. Oh! I almost forgot, Detective Gordon’s in the main lobby. Seems like he’s having a bad day,” she said.

Detective Gordon? As in Bill Gordon?

The very sound of that name made Thomas groan on the inside, well aware that his presence will always be graced by people who are either dead or somewhere in between.

“He’s a detective, bad days are part of the job description!”

“Anyways, I’ll see you later Dr. Way– I mean Thomas, good luck!”

Yeah, I’m going to need it.

The lobby was alive with the sound of boisterous chatter which was unusual on a Friday morning. So much, in fact, that Thomas found it hard to separate the trivial conversations from the heart–breaking wails of despair, made worse by the hazy announcements over the hospital intercom. The rubber soles of his brown loafers squeaked against the polished chequered floors next to the frantic clip clops of hooves as he weaved his way through the ocean of patients and medical staff rushing through and from the hallways.

“Outta the way, patient coming through!” a paramedic yelled from behind, almost running the young doctor over, had he not stumbled out of the way.

“Hey, watch it!” he cried after them.

Thomas was no stranger to the urgency of an emergency, but that came a little too close for comfort. He carefully eyed the frantic group of five race the bloodied torso of a human patient away in a metal bedframe seconds before vanishing around the next corner. Thomas shook his head. It was just a glance, but he knew a dead man when he saw one.

Those wounds, they looked like gunshots. Wonder if Gordon had anything to do with that?

“Doctor Wayne!”

Speak of the Devil.

The husky authoritative voice drew his attention to the man with a trimmed porno moustache dressed forlorn earthy trench coat standing by the registry counter. He was middle aged, possibly in his mid–forties judging by the grey strands in his well combed dirty blonde locks. He gave a toast with the paper cup in his hand as Thomas approached him.

“Morning, Detective Gordon, rough day?” Thomas inquired.

The sound of his groan was confirmation enough. “Tell me ‘bout it Doc, take your eyes of the street for one Goddamned second and all Hell breaks loose. Take a good look over there,” he groused, pushing up on his thick ebon framed glasses as he gestured to a grieving family of six.

“They just lost their only son, Ivy Leaguer, would’ve graduated Harvard next year,” Gordon said.

“What happened?”

“Shot into next Tuesday, that’s what. Apparently, he was at a H.L.S. rally when you–know–who–with–the–mask showed up and turned the whole freaking place into a warzone. Hell, we haven’t even finished counting the bodies, but from what I can tell we’ve got at least thirty dead and twenty more on their way to the Pearly Gates.”

“You–know–who? You mean the Punisher?”

Gordon flinched. “Shhh! I see that you’re in the know, but I’d be careful to keep that name on the low right now, Doc,” he warned.

Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat. “Noted.”

The detective rubbed his temple. “Believe me, I have enough trouble as it is without some masked, gun–toting psychopath running around town taking out H.L.S. and C.O.H. members like it’s Goddamned hunting season.” Gordon took a sip from his paper cup.

Coffee, straight black, and judging by the rising steam and the distinctive earthly aroma, Thomas deduced it came fresh from hospital cafeteria not ten minutes ago. “Not to mention, I've got the Police Commissioner so far up my ass that if he spits, it's coming out of my mouth.”

I could have lived my entire life without that image in my head.

“I take it you’re the one in charge of the task force?” he asked, hoping that the detective would cater to his curiosity.

Gordon chuckled. “You’re sharp one. I’ll give you that. Truth be told, we’ve spent weeks tracking that bastard down, almost had him once too. He’s a slippery one, but mark my words, we’ll get him,” he added.

Like I haven’t heard that one before…

“I have no doubt,” Thomas said. The sarcasm was subtle, but apparent. “Well, I must admit I’m surprised to know that you’re still here, Detective. Knowing that the Punisher was behind this, I would assume that you’d be out there trying to take him down.”

“I would, that’s if I didn’t have to bring these yahoos in.” Gordon pointed at six beds stacked behind him.

“Whoa…” the young doctor muttered at the sight of six unconscious greasers as they lay sprawled upon thick, blood–soaked sheets. “What… the Hell… happened to them?”

“If you’re expecting me to say car accident, you’re gonna be disappointed. You’ll find the full report in here.” Gordon said, passing over a brown file.

Thomas gave him a long, level stare. “Should you really be giving me that, Detective?”

“Hey, you helped us out on the Zsasz case and that puts you way up in my books. ‘Sides, since you’re already here, I figured, what the heck?” Gordon said, bobbing his shoulders as he drew a smirk.

The doctor shook his head. “Hand it over then.”

Taking the file in hand, Thomas proceeded to skim through the stapled pages only to scrunch his eyes at the horrible penmanship littering their medical profiles. He groaned at the sight of the signature at the bottom left corner.

Doctor Hugo Strange, why am I not surprised? Only he would have such atrocious handwriting.

“Multiple fractures, missing teeth, collapsed lung, possible internal bleeding, severe lacerations, hemorrhaging. Christ, someone definitely took your boys to the ball game,” Thomas said.

Gordon took another sip from his cup of Joe, chapping his lips as he did. “Then to the after party. According to my report, these punks decided to jump a pony and his family outside Miller’s Diner. Pretty much the whole H.L.S. ‘jump em’ and kick the shit outta em’ routine.”

“That’ll be them right there. The stallion’s just gotten out of the infirmary, so Officer Langley is getting their statement.” Gordon gestured to a family of ponies at the end of the hallway in the presence of another office in blue. “Poor guy. Whole thing happened in front of his kid too.”

“Kid doesn’t seem too torn up about it, though.” Thomas eyed the young colt who was smiling brightly as he flipped through an old comic book. “So, you assume it’s the Punisher’s handiwork?”

“No, not his M.O. ‘Sides, if it really were him, these boys would be deader than as sack of nails but, here’s where it gets real interesting.” Gordon pulled out a leather notebook from his coat pocket, shifting through the pages. “Apparently, and I say quote, a hero came out of nowhere and saved my mommy and daddy.”

Gordon’s words left Thomas completely baffled. “You took a statement… from a five year old?”

“Hey, kid was the only one calm enough at the time, sue me but that’s not the point. He said a hero, as in one guy. Can you believe it? One guy.” Gordon highlighted before forcing a chuckle.

One guy, huh?

Now intrigued, the Thomas padded up beside the metal beds, pulling up on their blood soaked T–Shirts as his studied every bruise, every contusion, every gash and laceration with the utmost detail.

“Interesting…” he muttered under his breath. He narrowed his gaze at an apparent stab wound.

“If you asked me, it was probably just another gang fight gone wrong. ‘Sides, did they actually expect me to believe that one guy is capable of all of this?” Gordon took another sip of his coffee.

“Sorry to break it to you Detective, but the kid’s telling the truth,” Thomas said, almost causing the Detective to choke on his coffee.

Gordon coughed, wiping the stains from his lips. “You’re kidding me.”

“Wish I was. Come here and take a look at this.” Thomas gestured for Gordon to come closer before tracing the bruised areas on the young man’s chest.

“Look at the size of this contusion. Now, compare it to the others. You’ll find that they’re exactly the same, meaning they were all done by the same set of fists,” Thomas stated. “But that’s not all. Solar plexus, chest, jaw, stomach, kidney, liver, groin… all aimed at body’s vital points.”

“Something you wish to imply, Doc?” Gordon inquired.

“It means, whoever your perp is, he’s no random good–willed samaritan. Whoever did this, knew what he was doing, and he knows how to throw a punch.” Thomas folded his arms and rubbed his chin in thought.

“So, what you’re telling me is that we might be dealing with a pro.”

“Not necessarily, no… a true pro would have incapacitated them instead, not beat them half to death.”

Thomas continued, pondering for a few moments before pointing out the more ghastly wounds. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen wounds like these before, more precisely from victims of abuse. Emotionally driven, but their injuries are often irregular – wild but random, and rarely fatal. You see, regressing alcoholics maybe intoxicated animals but even animals toe the line.”

“But this, this here was done with rage… pure rage. Wild, precise and intentional, without pity and without remorse, which only tells me only one thing, Detective,” Thomas said, his voice now taking a rather somber tone.

“That he wanted to hurt them on purpose?”

“He wanted to kill them,” Thomas corrected, his eyes narrowing. “But what he did, he did solely out of retribution. So, not only is he a temperamental psychopath, he also has a soft spot for them… the ponies I mean. That being said, the real question remains, why didn’t he finish them off?”

“You pulling my leg here, Doc? Hell, I don’t give a crap if volunteers at soup kitchens or donates to the Salvation Army. Bottom line is, the guy’s dangerous and if I’m going to be looking for one guy–”

Thomas raised his hand.

“Hold… that thought,” he said, moving over the greaser laying on the far right in order to take a better look at the bruising on the side of his face. “Actually, you might be looking for two. See this? It’s different from the rest, meaning there was someone else at the scene.”

“What makes you so sure it was someone else? Could have been one of his pals. He chickened out, tried to run, bam! Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” said Gordon

“Well, unless the guy who assaulted him was master of Dianxue, I would highly doubt that,” Thomas said, moving the greaser’s head for a closer look.

“Dian… what?” Gordon asked.

“Dianxue, you see, the Chinese believe that the body is made of series of acupressure points. I’ve read that with years of training, one can even paralyze, immobilize, or even kill by striking those points. Your boy here took one straight to the Vagus nerve… he was out even before he hit the floor. Any harder and he would’ve been dead.”

“Mother of God. So what exactly are we dealing with? An accomplice?” Gordon took a sip from this paper cup. From the jitteriness in his fingers, Thomas could tell he was nervous.

“Maybe, that or he could be the only reason your boys here are breathing,” Thomas added. “Then again, I could be wrong. Might want to run it through just in case.”

There was a long silence between the two men, until Gordon muffled a chuckle but then began laughing. “Woo, I’ll admit, you had me going there for a sec’ but I sure am impressed, Doc. You just did in ten minutes what would have taken them police academy grads weeks. Doctor, surgeon and criminal profiler. Seriously, is there no end to your talents?”

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck as he smiled. He was never one for compliments, no matter how genuine they might seem. “Well, I’m a horrible cook, if that counts.”

“So is my wife, but you don’t see me complaining now, do you?”

Well, technically you are now.

Gordon sighed as he calmed from his laughing fit. “By the way, Doc, if you ever get tired of this place, you know my offer still stands. We could use someone like you down at the precinct.” Gordon took another swig at his coffee cup.

And here we go again.

He sure was a persistent one. Thomas rolled his eyes, trying hard to keep the internal grimace from showing. “I’m flattered, really, but I told you before, I’m a doctor… not a detective. Besides, I’ve got–”

The doctor jumped when the greaser nearest to him made a grab for his wrist, grasping it with a grip like vice. “Howard Stark! Howard Stark! Howard Stark! He did this! He did this!” the greaser screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Shit, nurse!” Gordon cried, spilling what was left of his cup of Joe all over the floor as he wrenched the injured greaser away. “Goddammit! Nurse!”

Thomas felt numb, the shock coursing through his veins as potent as the adrenaline that fuelled it as he watched Gordon restrain the greaser for the nurses to what was necessary. The screaming continued, drawing alarmed looks from all over the lobby. A full ten minutes went by before the screaming finally subsided. There was no denying it, the greaser was scared out of his wits, traumatized. Whatever happened in that alley, Thomas was certain that it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Perhaps that was his intention… perhaps that was his design.

“The Hell was that?” Thomas asked, finally mustering the courage to speak.

“Beats me. Some reason, they kept yelling the name Howard Stark as if he were Jesus freakin’ Christ all the way to the Goddamned hospital. Though last I checked, the guy’s in Africa visiting some backwater, hillbilly state called Wakanda or something like that. Heh, I guess our perp must've bashed their heads in a little harder than we thought.” Gordon smirked.

Thomas narrowed his eyes, unwilling to pass off the incident as mere hysteria. Though, he chose not to pursue the matter or risk escalating it entirely.

The Detective removed his glasses. “Christ, I’m getting too old for this shit.” He breathed over the grimed surface of his glasses and swabbed it with his handkerchief.

Thomas cleared his throat, realizing it was time he beat a hasty retreat. “Well, anyways, I believe my work here is done. Now, if you’d excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.”

The detective slipped his glasses back on. “Sure thing. You know Doc, I never got the chance to thank…“ There was an awkward pause the moment he realized the doctor had vanished without a trace. “… you. How in God’s name does he do that?”

There were days when navigating through these hallways were as effortless as breathing but there were also days when being a sleep deprived mess would inevitably turn the hospital into a maze. Thomas groaned, stepping out of the lift for the third time to the chimes of a bell and the well–oiled mechanisms of an automatic door. This ward in particular was far livelier than the rest, with bright pastel colors on the once white–plastered walls in addition to loose verses from memorable nursery rhymes completing the décor. Despite being a Pony–only ward segregated from the rest, the hallways abounded with the sounds of laughter and chortles of foals, even the cries of a new born to the joys of first time parents.

In all honesty, pediatrics was an interesting subject back in medical school but, it was definitely not Thomas’ forte. Not to mention children and foals possessed no concept of boundaries, and their uncontrollable urge to touch everything annoyed him to no end. Though, Thomas found himself in an interesting predicament close to a year ago with the arrival of a young five year old patient diagnosed with a chronic and incredibly rare ailment.

Although, when no doctor within a hundred mile radius of D.C. would willingly take her case, Thomas volunteered. Since then, the two had become inseparable. Thomas jumped out of the way as two unicorn foals raced down the hallway engaged in a friendly game of tag, being pursued by a mare in a nurse’s uniform, a surprising sight that brought a smile to his face.

Children, if only people can learn to see the world through their eyes. God, sometimes I wish we’d never grow up.

He soon arrived at room Three Eighty before rapping his finger on the white wooden surface of the plywood door. “Come in,” came the small, child–like reply, as Thomas entered the room with a twist on the brass doorknob. The room was averagely sized for a one person ward complete with standard furniture. The sweet scent of freshly picked flowers drew his attention to the clear glass vase laying idly atop a coffee table at the corner of the room. It would have been completely silent had it not been the low volume of a tube radio set in unison to the soft beeps and humming of an electrocardiograph machine and a breathing apparatus.

Lying on her bed In the middle of the room, illuminated in the radiant light of the morning sun a partly draped window, was a little charcoal grey bat pony. A pair of golden eyes shifted to meet him with a cheerful smile. “Morning, Doctor Wayne.”

“And a good morning to you too, Robyn.” Thomas returned her greeting with the warmest of smiles, shutting the door behind him as he approached her bedside. “But you know, you shouldn’t be up so late in the day.”

“It’s okay…” she said out of the corner of her mouth while she gripped the end of a pencil between her teeth. “I couldn’t sleep because it started to hurt this morning, but Nurse Martha gave me my medicine.”

“Is that so?” Thomas inquired, pulling up a chair as he took a seat. “You know, Martha cares a lot about you.”

The furred end of her ears perked at the doctor’s words. “How about you, Doctor Wayne, do you care about me?” A charming smile curled on her lips.

Thomas grinned. “Nope, of course not, I’m only here to play doctor.” He presented his white coat.

Robyn pouted and smacked his hand playfully with her little hoof. “Doctor Wayne…”

Thomas chuckled, ruffling his fingers though her silky violent mane. “Of course I do. Never has a day gone by where I don’t think about you.”

Robyn beamed reaching for his hand as she hugged her little hooves around it, nuzzling her cheek into his gentle touch. “You promise?” she asked, resting her eyes upon the young doctor with the most adorable puppy dog gaze.

Thomas caressed her cheek and nodded. “I promise.”

With a contented nod, the little bat pony picked up her stubby little pencil and went back to work, diligently sketching on her art pad.

“What’re you working on?” Thomas inquired.

“Your birthday present,” Robyn replied, grinning as she lifted the unfinished drawing for him to see.

Oh Goddammit, Martha!

The doctor’s cheeks flushed, chuckling nervously as he rubbed the back of his head. “Heh, Martha told you, huh?”

“Actually, your butler Walter did.”

Goddammit, Walter!

Mentally putting a pin on having a word with his trusty steward later, he was soon awestricken by the beautiful graphite sketch of a bat pony draped in an exotic medieval suit of armor. Though, what fascinated him most was the fantasy bat–like motif adorning the helmet, gauntlets, hoof plates and chest pieces complete with a long black cape drifting majestically in the non–existent wind.

“You like it?” Robyn grinned.

“It’s beautiful. You’re incredibly talented, you know that?”

“That’s what my daddy said, too. It’s not finished, but I promise it’ll be done in time for your birthday!” she chirped, flapping her small leathery as she did.

Thomas cracked a smile. “Take your time, Robyn, there’s no rush. By the way, who is that?”

“Oh! This is a picture from an old bat pony story my Gran Gran used to tell me,” Robyn said. “Actually, everypony from the Hollow Shades knows this story.”

“Well since Gran Gran isn’t here, how about you be the one to tell it to me, then?” He clasped his hands together as he gave her a playful wink.

Robyn beamed as she began her story. “Well, a long, long time ago, there was an evil king who ruled the Hollow Shades with an iron hoof. He was a big, big meanie and he would destroy any pony who would dare stand in his way. The bat ponies hated him, but they were also too afraid to stand up to him.”

“I can imagine,” Thomas said with a chuckle.

“Then one day, a brave bat pony decided he can no longer stand aside and watch as his fellow ponies suffered. So he made himself a suit of armor, then rose up to fight the evil king. The evil king sent his evil soldiers to capture him but he was too strong and too clever for them. Finally, after a long battle, he defeated the evil king and freed all the bat pony… and everypony lived happy ever after.”

Thomas grinned, clapping his hands as he did. “So tell me, did this hero have a name?”

“Hhm!” Robyn nodded as she held up the picture again. “Well nopony ever found out who he really was, but the bat ponies called him the Dark Knight.”

“Ooh, that sounds fearsome.” Thomas smiled. “It’s a wonderful story, Robyn. Makes me wish we had a Dark Knight of our own. Heaven knows, we could really use a hero right about now.”

“Well, nothing is impossible if you wish hard enough, at least that’s what Gran Gran used to tell me,” Robyn said with a grin but no sooner did her smile began to fade, leaving only but a sad, doleful glint in her eyes. “Doctor Wayne… I’m never getting better, am I?”

Thomas felt the bitter chill of a cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he laughed. “Where… where did that come from? Robyn, you know that’s not true. We have the best doctors here and the best medicine–“

“It’s okay, Doctor Wayne, you don’t have to lie to me,” she said. “You’re not the first doctor who said that. Every pony says that before they move me to another hospital, then another and another. They all say the same thing.”

She knows…

Thomas’s lips trembled. “Robyn… I…”

Robyn shifted her gaze to the young doctor as tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t have to lie anymore. It’s okay because I’m no longer afraid. I’m ready… I’m ready to die.” she mustered a weak but gentle smile.

Thomas gritted his teeth as he was forced to turn away, stifling his grief as he smothered the few staggered sobs with his hand.

How could she? How could she say something like that?

“Doctor Wayne, are you crying?” Robyn asked, placing her little hoof on Thomas’ hand. He immediately wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Em, no, no. I’m fine.”

You lie…

A gasp escaped the little bat pony as she found herself in Thomas’ tender embrace. “Doctor Wayne?”

“Robyn, you’re a brave girl, the bravest I know. That is why I want you to hold on for as long as you can.” Thomas rested his cheek along her head.

Robyn blinked innocently at the young doctor. “But…”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make you better, okay? No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do, I’m going to save you. You hear me, I’m going to save you.”

You always lie…

Robyn closed her eyes, wrapping her little hooves around the young doctor’s neck as she rested her little head upon his shoulder. “You promise, Doctor Wayne?”

Thomas kissed her gently on her forehead. “I promise.”

Why?

Thomas smiled, making her giggle as he petted her mane when he heard the feint but unmistakable words ‘Breaking News’ from the nearby radio. “Robyn, why don’t you go ahead finish your drawing. I have just the spot it in my office when you’re done.” He booped her in the nose.

“Alright, Dr. Wayne!” she beamed, picking up the pencil and going straight back to work. The doctor’s made his way to the radio before turning up the volume.

“Tragedy has struck downtown Washington D.C. as the masked gunman known only as the Punisher, opened fire on the local chapter members of anti–pony activist groups, Humanity’s Last Stand and the Church of Humanity, leaving dozens dead and dozens more injured. Unfortunately, the suspect had fled the scene before local law enforcements could arrive. Oddly, no ponies were hurt in this ordeal.”

“Detective John Flass, who was first on scene, had this to say – “There ain’t no excuse for what happened here today. We’ll get this son of a bitch, we’ll get him, you’ll see.”

“According to eye witness reports, the group of anti–pony activists had turned up unannounced at a peaceful demonstration held by a group of ponies in protest to the controversial Pony Registration Act, demanding they disperse, but tensions soon flared when the group allegedly threatened violence should they refuse.”

“Here is what one of the eyewitnesses, Tommy Merlyn, son of Queen Consolidates’ Vice President, Malcolm Merlyn who was incidentally caught in the crossfire, had to say – “I don’t know what happened. I mean, I was on my way home from the airport, just… just driving… then this guy just came out of nowhere. I mean sure, they were cursing, they were yelling… but when that guy swung his baseball bat, everything… everything went to Hell.”

“We were, however, unable to reach Detective Bill Gordon, head of the Punisher task force, for any further comments. This shocking incident has come as the worst of the Punisher’s crime spree ever since his appearance here in D.C. almost four months ago, prior to his horrifying rampages across Brooklyn, Detroit, Metropolis and even Gotham City bringing his overall body count to at least a hundred known victims. Despite a majority of his casualties being primarily anti–pony activists, even now, detectives are unclear on his true motives. Local P.D. have been increasing their efforts in trying to apprehend this armed assailant before he kills again. Police have reminded the public that the Punisher is to be considered armed and dangerous and should be avoided at all cost.”

Thomas clasped his hands together as he twirled his thumbs in thought. The Punisher was no sociopathic, trigger happy, mass murderer. Besides, if getting off to pure unadulterated violence as a mean to satisfy his twisted desires, the ponies would have also been part of the statistics. Strangely, that was not the case, instead his conquest focused primarily on the H.L.S. and C.O.H.

Retribution, no retaliation maybe? Just like our little friend down in the alleyway.

“In other news, it seems D.C. isn’t the only city terrorized by a mysterious masked outlaw. Straight from Starling City, local P.D. have uncovered the brutal massacre and murder of one of Starling City’s most notorious crime lords, Frank Bertinelli and the Bertinelli family. Not to mention barely days before, the shocking assassinations of Guillermo Barrera, Jason Brodeur, Ted Daniels, Adam Hunt, and Scott Morgan, who were prominent figures of Starling City’s wealthiest, shook the city to its core, spreading fear amongst Starling’s elites.”

“Through numerous eye witness reports, police have identified the ‘vigilante’ known only as ‘The Hood’. Like the Punisher, Starling P.D. have initiated a special task force to be led by Detective Ronald Lance to track down and capture the Hood. Here is what he had to say – “I don’t care what anyone says, the guy’s no hero. He’s nothing more than a Goddamned murderer, and I won’t stop until I bring that son of a bitch down. No one takes the law into their own hands, not in my town.”

“Surprisingly, not all of Starling’s elites were shocked by news. Such was Moira Dearden, heir to Dearden Empire who had this to say – “My sympathies to their grieving families, but these men have long evaded the law despite numerous allegations and evidence of having direct ties to the Starling City underworld with crimes ranging from racketeering, fraud and even murder. Well, perhaps someone’s finally took a stand… perhaps someone’s finally said enough.”

“That is all we have for the news, stay tuned and we will keep you posted. Until then, good morning America, and God bless.”

Thomas felt his chest heave with a heavy sigh before resting his chin on the ridge of his knuckles, allowing his eyes a moment’s rest while he pondered on his compulsive need to keep up with the media. In truth, the American people were nothing more than masochists and bad news was just another substitute for a razor. He shrugged, feeling ashamed for being a part of it all.

“Wayne!”

He cringed at the crude tone of address as he shifted his attention to the man at the door. Thomas narrowed his gaze at no other than Doctor Armistan Crane, the Head Physician of Knightfall. A pitiful excuse of human being, known only by his list of depravities and misdemeanors. From racism to negligence, malpractices and blatant abuse of power, the list went on.

“Get your insubordinate ass out here, now!” he barked, furrowing his brow as his nostrils flared.

“Doctor Wayne?” Irises of dark brown fell on the cowering little bat pony as she peeked from behind her sketch pad. “Is everything alright?”

Thomas smiled. “It’s fine. Just keep on drawing while I have a quick word with Doctor Crane. Tell you what, I’ll grab you some chocolate milk when I get back, okay?”

Robyn’s face lit up as bright as the morning sky. “Yay! I’ll see you later then Doctor Wayne.”

He made his way out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him before turning to address the elderly doctor. “What?” he said.

Doctor Crane ran his fingers over the glistening skin of his bald spot where the rest of his craggy blonde hair should have been. “Would you be kind enough to explain to me just what the Hell you think you’re doing?”

Smug vague questions, how it peeved the young doctor to no end. Thomas raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

He flinched as a piece of paper was shoved in his face. “This, this is your signature isn’t it? You authorized the release of this medication, didn’t you?” Doctor Crane rapped on the bottom right corner of the page.

“Yes, yes I did… Your point?” Thomas took an indifferent tone as he moved the Dean’s hand from his line of sight.

“You’re a bloody fool, Wayne! I gave you a direct order, and you deliberately disobeyed me!” Doctor Crane yelled. His voice thundered across the entire wing, drawing a heap of nervous gazes.

“Well excuse me, Doctor, I was under the impression that this was a hospital. If you’ve taken the time to actually read my reports instead of planning your next fishing trip, you’d be well aware of my patient’s condition and why she needs her prescription,” Thomas spat.

Doctor Crane lifted a finger. “I know you aren’t fond of me, Wayne, but believe me when I say the feeling is mutual. Let us not forget that I am the head of this hospital and within the confines of these four walls, my word is law!”

“We are doctors, our duty is to the public, human or pony, no matter what.”

“We are supposed to help our people!” Doctor Crane yelled. “Our kind! The human race, and I would be a nigger’s uncle before I let you squander my hospital’s resources on a bunch of stinking ponies!”

Thomas’s face went slack, as well as every pony within earshot of their conversation. The doctor drew a deep breath. “Doctor Crane, may I speak with you privately, please?” He curled his fists as he stormed off.

“Wayne? WAYNE! I’m not finished with you!” Doctor Crane cried after him, but Thomas had already made a beeline for the vacant room at the end of the hallway. The Dean trailed behind him, his footsteps growing louder with every passing minute.

“Hey Wayne! Don’t you ever turn your back on me, you understand?” Dr. Crane as both of them entered.

Doctor Crane flinched as Thomas slammed the door behind him.

“Jesus Christ, what the fu–”

“Now you listen, and you listen well, I know you’re the one in charge of this fascist excuse for a hospital. Now that’s out of the way, I also want you to know that I don’t give a flying fuck,” Thomas growled. His voice had become guttural, almost primal.

Dr. Crane barred his teeth. “Now you see here, you–”

“I’m not fucking finished! This is a hospital, and I will treat the sick and the needy, human or pony, without prejudice and without discrimination!”

“You will do whatever I fucking tell you, Wayne!”

“I will follow whatever orders you are authorized to give as Dean, but if you stand in the way of me getting my patient the care she needs, I will personally have you lynched! Do I make myself absolutely, one hundred percent, crystal clear?” Thomas snarled, his voice baneful and grim.

Doctor Crane drew a blank stare, making his best impression of a fish out of water. “Did… did you just threaten me, Wayne?”

Thomas smirked. “Doctor Crane, you should know by now that I don’t make threats. Threats are hollow, meaningless. No, I make promises.”

“Now see here, you cocky little snot, if you weren’t Nolan’s little boy, I would have had your license revoked and your ass out on the streets decades ago!” Doctor Crane spat.

Thomas stepped forward, coming face to face with the old Dean. “Then, what are you waiting for? Do it, DO IT! Call security, take my license away and throw me out into the street for all to see! I dare you!” he seethed.

There was a long, unnerving silence before Thomas finally spoke. “Can’t do it, can you? Enlighten me then, what’s worse? Risking my father revoking your funding, or having your little hospital on the front page of every newspaper in the state? You may have the entire hospital running scared, but guess what, you spineless hypocrite, I am not afraid of you.”

Doctor Crane swallowed hard just as Thomas continued. “Well then, since I’m here to stay, I’m only going to say this once. As long as I remain a doctor of Knightfall General, my patient will have full, unrestricted access to this facility and to any prescriptions authorized by yours truly. You’d be best to remember that well… we’re done here.” Thomas turned to leave.

Though, just as he reached for the brass doorknob. “Tread lightly, Thomas, even as a Wayne you’re not completely untouchable. In this day and age, being a white knight is more a fool’s endeavor than a noble cause,” said Doctor Crane.

“I am whatever the people need me to be.” Thomas stepped out.

His fists clenched, his nostrils flared, and the rage in his eyes could have frightened the Holy Spirit out of even the most religious of men. His furious footsteps shattered the eerie silence of the empty wing, echoing through every corner of the hollow hallways without restraint, well aware that the upper floors had been vacant for a while now. Besides, he knew it would be unsightly for the children to see him like this. His mind was in disarray and the more he dwelled on his heated exchange with that pathetic pile of racist garbage, the angrier he got. He needed some air, something to calm his nerves, anything to quell his murderous urge.

“Goddamnit!” Thomas yelled, his voice boomed followed by a thunderous thud as he slugged his fist into the plastered wall, blasting it clean through.

His breaths were heavy, slow, but paced as he glared at the end result. There was no word in existence that would justify the amount of animosity Thomas bore for that human filth, even the word hate would not do him justice. It made Thomas sick to his stomach just knowing that he would treat the ponies on his staff like garbage, worse is the way he would treat his pony patients. There were even times where he had contemplated leaving them to die by refusing them any medical attention, and none of the staff would dare disobey him or risk invoking his wrath, all except for Thomas. Though, if there was one thing he despised more than Crane, would be to invoke his surname as an instrument of immunity.

Not a day goes by where he had not contemplated strangling the living daylights out of Doctor Crane, relishing in the thought as sweet as fresh apple cider that the world would be a better place without men like him.

In fact, it would be too damned easy!

“Hey, what’ca do that for? What’d the wall ever do to you?”

The suave voice instantly made the young doctor cringe as he quickly ripped his hand out of the wall to a hail of silent curses. The last thing he needed was to receive a written citation and a dark blotch on his career for destroying hospital property. “Hey, look I’m sorry. I’ll repair it myself if that’s what it takes, just don’t call it in.”

A sigh of relief escaped him the moment he was met with the familiar face of a young Negro man no older than he was, with his shoulder against the plastered wall. He rested his half lidded eyes, squinted with interest on the young doctor as he cleaned the grime from his fingers with a scraggly rag. Thomas assumed he had just finished oiling the gears in the elevator shaft, because none of the other handymen would dare go near it.

Least, not after what happened last time.

“Man, I would love to take you up on that, but I’m afraid you’ll only make it worse.”

Thomas chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. “Hey, Joseph, sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s cool, cat, not that I have anything better to do today anyways.” Joseph wiped the rest of it over his dirty denim overalls before pulling his chestnut leather beret over his thin fro. “So, lemme guess, ole Scarecrow's got your ass all twisted again?”

“Ugh, you don’t know the half of it.” Thomas leaned his back against the wall as he crossed his arms. “He was all over my back for authorizing my patient’s medication.”

“You mean Robyn, that cute little bat pony? Now why the Hell would he be pullin’ shit like that? What in God’s name could he be thinkin’? Ain’t that what a doctor’s supposed to do? Cure people, in your case ponies?” Joseph leaned in to examine the damage.

“I don’t know Joe, this whole thing is getting out of hand. Soon he’ll have ponies dying in his wards and because of this new law, no one would even care.”

Joseph shook his head. “Well, I sure can relate. Hell, I can’t remember a time the people of America last gave a damned bout us colored folk. Huh, land of the free, my ass.”

“Well, least they didn’t consider shipping you guys into internment camps,” Thomas said.

“They would if they could. Mark my words, if they had caught a brother instead of a unicorn, things would have turned out a whole lot differently. Hell, they did it to the Japs back in the war, what’s to stop them from doin’ it to us, hhm?” Joseph picked at the loose plaster surrounding the hole.

“Point taken,” Thomas’s blank gaze settled on the pale marble floor.

“If you ask me, Tom, the government needs to pull its head outta its bitch ass and focus on more important things. Like that crazy ass trigger happy cracka' lightin’ up downtown like it’s the Fourth of July,” Joseph said.

“Hhm, it’s strange, though.”

Joseph cocked an eyebrow from over the edge of his dusty shoulder. “What is?”

“Doesn’t it bother you that he only seems to be gunning for the C.O.H. and H.L.S.? I mean, I know they are a bunch of crazy, religious racists but Hell, even I wouldn’t wish being pumped full of lead on my worst enemy.”

Actually, that’s not entirely true.

“Hell if I know Tom. Ain’t my business to know what kind of crazy’s goin on with a guy like that. I’ll tell you one thing though, if it’s beef, whatever the Hell they did, they must’ve pissed him the fuck off.”

Thomas smirked. “Don’t be surprised if I’d end up sharing a cell with him in Arkham. With Crane around, I fear for the ponies here.”

“Now that’s crazy talk.” Joseph scoffed.

“I’m serious…” Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Joe, you may think I’ve got balls of steel standing up to Crane, but truth is I’m scared, alright… I’m terrified. I’m afraid that one day I’m going to walk in here and Robyn–”

“Now you cut that shit out Thomas Wayne, you hear?” Joseph snapped. “Listen, ain’t no one in this Goddamned place loves that little girl more than you, and I know you ain’t gonna let shit happen to her.”

Thomas shrugged. “I’m not always gonna be around, Joe. I’m no superhero, I can’t run faster than a speeding bullet or leap buildings in a single bound. I’m… I’m just a man.”

“Not to her, not to Robyn and sure as Hell not to me. You’ve given so much of yourself to that little girl, and may Jesus strike me down before I let you to talk shit about yourself,” Joseph said. “Like my grandma used to say, God bless her soul, you gotta have a little faith, and I have faith in you.”

The young doctor chuckled. “Thanks, you’re a good friend Joe. Seems that everyone’s picking me off the ground today, save for myself.”

Joseph laughed. “Hell, friends with Thomas Wayne, the Thomas Wayne. If my old man were alive today, he’d give me a medal. Gotta admit, I had my doubts when a Wayne checked into this place, thought he’d be all prissy and snobby and shit.”

“Would you guys just cut the whole Wayne thing out already? Seriously, it’s not like I’m king of the world or something,” Thomas snapped.

“True that,” Joseph picked out the last of the loose plaster. “Well, you’re in luck. All it needs is some plaster and a fresh coat of paint and it’ll be as good as new.”

“Thanks Joe, I owe you one.” Thomas gave the young man a pat on the shoulder.

“Uh–ah, you owe me two. Remember the time you crashed your Rolls into the front porch?” Joseph crossed his arms.

Thomas gritted his teeth and cringed. “Yeaaah, sorry about that. You know I had no choice, the woman was in labor.”

Joseph chuckled “That’s what’ca get for bein’ such a white knight. Tell you what, why don’t you make it up to me by buyin’ me a drink? I know this new bar downtown and I think Mister Wayne, could actually use some time away from this place.”

“Bar? You mean after work?” Thomas inquired, a little hesitant.

Joseph gave him an unamused look. “No, right now. Let me go ask my supervisor if he’d let me out at ten in the morning to go grab a pint. Of course after work!”

“I don’t know Joe, I mean I have a ton of stuff just lying on my desk, and Robyn–”

“Hey, one night out never killed anyone. ‘Sides, you need loosen up before you stab somebody, or worse, havin’ me doin’ double shifts patchin' up more holes in them walls. Come on, hook a brother up.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air as Thomas gave some thought. Finally, unable to bear the sight of Joseph’s pearly whites behind his silly grin, he shrugged in defeat. “Alright, alright, fine. One drink, just one… then we come right back.”

“Man, for a white boy, you’re no fun at all.” Joseph teased.

“Well this white boy, has a job to do, more importantly he has a patient to save,” Thomas said.

“Hey, Fox! The damned toilet in the elderly ward’s all clogged up again, there’s shit everywhere!” came a voice at the end of the hallway from a fellow handyman as Joseph groaned.

“And right now, it seems you do, too. Good luck, Joe.” Thomas drew a cheeky grin.

“Aha, aha ha, kiss my black ass motherfucker,” Joseph snapped as he turned to leave. “I get off at five so don’t be late, a’right?”

Thomas shook his head. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[To Be Continued...]

Author's Note

Next time on The Renegades…

"If somebody told you I was just your average ordinary guy, not a care in the world... somebody lied"

Episode 3: The Brother

Credits & Special Thanks

My Editor:
ocalhoun

Writer Note: Due to my trusty editor being unavailable for a second edit, there may be mistakes in this fic. Please drop me a PM should you find any. Thanks!