Bat-Stallion: Arkhoof City

Chapters

Prologue :Won't you help a pretty mare find her stuff?
Chapter 1 Part 1: You won't get away with this, Strange!
Chapter 1 Part 2: Do you have my location?
Chapter 2: Heads or tails, kitty-cat?
Cancelled + Ending

Prologue :Won't you help a pretty mare find her stuff?

Bat-Stallion: Arkhoof City by GaryGibbon

Hello! GaryGibbon here! This is my first fanfic (so please go easy on me if my writing style isn’t exactly up to Kkat standards), and as you can obviously guess by the title, this is a crossover fic between your favourite ponies and Batman: Arkham City. I might do Arkham Asylum after this, but for now, enjoy the show.

My Little Pony and all related locations, characters etc. belongs to Hasbro. Batman and any related locations, characters etc. belongs to DC Comics. Batman: Arkham City belongs to Rocksteady Studios.

Prologue :Won’t you help a pretty mare find her stuff?

Bored. Look up the word in a dictionary and you’ll find this:

To weary by dullness, tedious repetition, unwelcome attentions, etc. E.g Bone Head was bored out of his freaking mind, thanks to this guard duty his boss was forcing him to do.

Granted, the actual example used in the book was much simpler, but judging by how the last four hours of waiting had gone, Bone Head was convinced that his new definition was official. Bone Head (Arson, 15 years), referred to as “Prisoner 8254” by the sadistic mercenaries that ran Arkhoof City, was an Earth Pony stallion with peach-coloured fur and a skull for a cutie mark. He, like the 5 other criminals in the office he was guarding, was wearing the crimson and grey jumpsuit that marked him as belonging to Two-Mane’s gang. Although he was supposed to be guarding something in the room, along with waiting for the mob boss to show up, Two-Mane neglected to mention what exactly they were supposed to be guarding, on account of that blasted bit she carried around like a safety blanket, and the annoying habit of flipping the coin to choose for her whenever she had to make a decision. This applied to everything, from eating breakfast to being accepted into her gang. The motley crew assembled in front of him had only managed to get through due to sheer luck. And this motley crew were just as bored as he was. He wondered over to the group, who had somehow managed to get cigarettes and were merrily puffing away, smoke beginning to fill the room.

“Oy, pretty girl, give us a fag, would you?” Bone Head asked the indigo-coloured pegasus mare (Murder, 30 years) holding the cigarette pack. After hesitating for a moment, she tossed him one. “Alright, but you only get one, you understand? I’ve gotta make these last my whole sentence. Giving 5 of them to you guys is about as generous I’ll ever get. Birdie over there has the lighter,” she replied. Putting the cigarette in his mouth, he made his way over to the griffon (Chick Abuse, 20 years) who had the lighter perched between talon and thumb. Bone Head smiled, and took the lighter out of his talons. He looked up, startled for a moment, before scowling:

“Next time just ask, horsie boy.” The bird-lion hybrid drawled in a thick Stalliongrad accent. Recognising the challenge implied in his voice, Bone Head retorted:

“Don’t ever call me that again, birdie, or I’ll smash your beak open and piss in your mouth.”

“Heh. I’d like to see you try, pony.” Bone Head ignored the confident smirk on the pretentious griffon’s mouth (the craving he hadn’t satisfied in weeks was rearing its ugly head) as he flicked the lighter open and lit the cigarette. Ecstasy washed over him as the nicotine took hold, and he puffed out a ring of smoke.

“Man, I’ve missed these,” he dopily said as he lost himself in the haze that came with taking drugs. He was content to simply stand there, enjoying himself. The mind-crushing boredom that once seemed inescapable had been lifted, for now. He dreamily began thinking of luxuries that seemed trivial in the outside city of Gothoof. Nice, hot food, running water, hot mares, warm clothes, hot mares, clean beds, hot food with hot mares, hot ma-

CLICK

CREEEAAAKKK

“Look what I found!” cried a black unicorn stallion (Armed robbery, 10 years, no chance of parole) who was standing next to a painting of the sibling alicorns Helios and Lunord, the Sun god cradling the broken body of his brother in his arms. The paining was on a latch, and behind it, hidden away, was a safe. Just like in the movies, Bone Head realised. After checking to make sure there were no TV cameras hidden away, he shouted at the unicorn:

“How in Celestia’s name did you manage to find that?”

“Magic! I just used the same spell I used to locate where banks kept the bits!”

“You mean you knew all that time?”

“No, it just occurred to me to cast the spell.”

“Don’t touch it, man, or she’ll kill you!” said the pegasus mare, who had a worried look on her face. Bone Head didn’t know whether the warning was because she feared for him or herself.

“Alright. Close the safe latch. Now that we know where it is, we can guard it properly, instead of sitting around doing fuck all.”

Half an hour later, the cigarette had gone, and with its loss came not only the boredom that threatened to squeeze him dry, but extreme irritation. Either the Boss was in trouble, or she had decided not to show up. He asked, more to himself than to anypony particular:

“When the hell is the Boss gonna show up?” A Diamond Dog replied:

“She’ll be here. Don’t stress yourself about it.”

“Moneybags said he saw the Bat. Is he here too?” a lilac-coloured Earth pony mare asked. Bone Head felt his blood run cold at the mere mention of the dreaded crimefighter’s name, and he suppressed a fearful shudder. Bone Head had encountered the Bat himself once. He broke three of Bone Head’s ribs. They still hurt today, although it was only a ghost of past pain, and had learnt to live with it. There were many, many rumours concerning the Caped Crusader, who waged his one-man war against criminals, be they gimmick, petty, mob bosses, etc. That he was some rich businessman whose life was deeply affected by criminals, that he was more bat than stallion, that he had even defeated Super-stallion. Bone Head dismissed them as mere rumours. He had seen the Bat before. He was definitely a mere stallion (albeit one dressed like a lunatic and armed to the teeth). And no stallion could ever hope to stand against the alien powerhouse that is Super-stallion. The Diamond Dog, noting the group’s fearful expressions, replied:

“In Arkham City? Why would he come here? To have some fun? Believe me, he is nothing but pure business. He wouldn’t don his cape for the sheer purpose of enjoying a good night out at our expense. By the ancestors, you guys just need to relax. Calm down. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Then the window nearest to them shattered into a million pieces, light reflecting off the jagged shards of liquid sand, casting shadows all over the room. Of course, since they were talking about Bat-Stallion, somepony had to say:

“Oh shit! It’s the Bat-Stallion!”

Everypony in the room went into full combat mode; combat stances readied, the pegasus and griffon levitating mid-air, the unicorn floating a heavy piece of steel pipe he had managed to procure from somewhere. Their hearts were racing, and they were prepared to beat whatever had caused that into sludge. Nothing prepared them for what they saw.

Standing amidst the razor-sharp pieces of glass, a single pony stood. He, no, she, was wearing a tight black bodysuit, with apparently nothing underneath, the suit zipped down revealing the mare’s cleavage and nothing else. She wore high fake leather boots, and around her neck was what appeared to be a collar, with a silver decoration in the shape of a cat’s face hanging off it. Her mane was hidden by a hood, with pointed ears shaped like a cat’s. Orange-tinted aviation goggles rested atop this hood. She was wearing flattering make-up that enhanced her natural drop-dead gorgeousness. At her hip rested a fake leather whip. It was Cat-Mare, Bone Head realised. She must be after whatever was in the safe! She slowly strolled forwards to the group as they formed a perimeter around the safe, and simply stated:

“I should be insulted, being called that ungentlecoltly brute. But, I’m sorry to disappoint you, gentlecolts.” Flick. Flick. From out of her hooves sprouted gem-shard talons, each one glinting nastily in the artificial light that bathed the room. She put on a sultry confident smile, and began walking to the safe. Bone Head had had enough of this arrogant behaviour. He snorted and pawed at the ground, before charging straight at her. The last thing he heard before all hell was released was the immortal one-liner:

“It’s just little old me.”

Rarity wasn’t exactly impressed with Two-Mane’s security. Only 6 goons protecting her gear? “Oh, please.” Two-Mane would need a lot more goons than that to keep the Cat away. And even then, they’d have to be armed to the teeth to stop her. “Let’s just get this over with”, she thought as she deployed her custom-made gem-shard talons, razor-sharp gemstones glinting evilly in the artificial light. Suddenly, an ugly peach Earth Pony charged at her, launching the thugs’ assault. Rarity struck first with two swift jabs to the face, before jumping into the air and bucking him in the face, sending him sprawling. A Diamond Dog had taken advantage of the distraction his friend had caused to sneak up behind her and he swung a fist straight at her head. Catmare nimbly ducked underneath the clumsy blow, before cartwheeling, sending one leg into his midriff and another one into the side of his head, bowling him over. She used the momentum provided by the cartwheel to flip herself onto her four hooves and to send a leg careening straight into a pegasi’s snout, before pushing herself down and spinning herself, legs in the air, to knock over another Earth pony. She was like liquid, fluidly jumping from one thug to the next, performing a series of bone-shattering martial arts moves that sent the unlucky thugs reeling from the fury of attacks. She ducked underneath a griffon’s swung talon, before jamming her forehoof into the nerve cluster in between socket and arm, punching his windpipe, and then she leapt, slamming a knee into his face-and straight into an Earth pony’s outstretched fist, connecting hard with her jaw. The thugs took heart at the sight of one of their own managing to halt the relentless onslaught, and renewed their attack on Catmare. Thinking quickly, Catmare vaulted over the Diamond Dog, swept his legs from underneath him, and forced him to the floor, dislocating his arm as she did so. “Alright. One down, five more to go.” The thugs were beginning to tire: she could see that it wouldn’t be long before they were all down, nursing their wounds. Rarity grabbed her whip, and cracked it in a couple of ponies’ faces, the thugs instinctively reeling from the sharp fake leather belt. She knocked one down and stuck her windpipe. Hard. As the mare spluttered from lack of air, she grabbed a hind leg aimed her way, and broke it, almost as an afterthought. She ducked another swung talon, and grabbed it, before breaking the griffon’s forearm. She pulled the legs out from underneath a zebra, before sending a forehoof crashing into his face. After that particularly brutal assault only one pony remained. And that pony was- where was he? He was ri-

CRACK.

The room started spinning, and Rarity cursed herself for letting her guard down. Behind her, a black unicorn swung a steel pipe menacingly. He laughed.

“Take that, you goddamn cat-bitch!”

He made for another swing, but Catmare was ready for it this time. She grabbed the pipe midswing, before snatching it out of his hands, cracking his jaw with an uppercut, and swinging the pipe with all her might into the unlucky goon’s ribcage. She heard bones splinter, and the unicorn fell down, pain creasing his, admittedly rather handsome face. The room was completely clear. She sighed.

“Well, now that little bother’s been taken care of, it’s time to get what I came for from the safe.”

She slunk over to the hidden door, slipping the latch. She was greeted by a combination safe. “Foal's play.” She cracked the code easily, long years of cat burglary having honed her talents to the extreme. It was rumoured that nopony could crack safes as fast as Catmare. The combination clicked, and she swung the safe door open. Inside were a number of .22 calibre wristpistols and spilt paper bits, and a memory chip. She couldn’t resist smiling.

“Try to get one over on me, Justice? I don’t think so.”

She took the chip and plugged it into her smartphone. In moments, the minicomputer had deciphered the long streams of binary into a map. A map of her ultimate goal; the reason why she had gone into Arkhoof City in the first place. She smiled. Now, all she had do to was to get out of the room before Two-Mane got here, and-

CLICK

“Get your filthy paws off that, now.” Two-Mane’s gravelly voice rang out. Rarity was reminded of coarse sand being ground up into glass.

As she felt the barrel of a wristpistol press into the side of her head, only one single sentence raced through her suddenly vacant mind.

“Oh, crap.”

Chapter 1 Part 1: You won't get away with this, Strange!

Chapter 1 Part 1: You won’t get away with this, Strange! By GaryGibbon

GaryGibbon here! So, here is Chapter 1, Part 1. I kept getting distracted by the actual game, so this is why it’s slightly patchy. Constructive feedback is appreciated.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTT

“AHHAAAAAAAUUUGGHHHH!!”

Every nerve was on fire. His vision went white. Foam flecked spit pooled in his mouth as he lost control of his bodily functions. As abruptly as the pain started, it stopped, and he hung his head, exhausted, panting for air. He could hear somepony walking around him in a circle. Suddenly, the mysterious pony spoke:

“Wake up, Mr. Blueblood. We have much to discuss.” Blueblood recognized the accent immediately: it belonged to a certain Doctor Strange. Though Blueblood had known about him for a long time, he had only recently come to the public light when Mayor Sharp had suddenly announced that he would be the administrator of the new Arkhoof City. Trying to control his tongue, Blueblood attempted to threaten him.

“Strange? You won’t get away with this.” He heard an amused chuckle.

“Oh, I already have...”

Suddenly, a memory came up, unbidden. As the world went dark again, Blueblood concentrated hard on the little snippet to prevent him falling into unconsciousness.

...“This is Headline, reporting live from Arkhoof City, the controversial super-prison built right here in the heart of Gothoof City.” A yellow Unicorn mare with a newspaper title page for a cutie mark was levitating a microphone using her magic in front of her face, speaking directly into it. In front of her stood a zebra, holding a camera. Around her, eager journalists and news reporters milled around her, waiting for Prince Blueblood to show up. “In a few moments Prince Blueblood will be live on stage to explain his sudden interest in Gothoof politics. The infamous playcolt millionaire has never been one to-”

“It’s billionaire, Headline.” Prince Blueblood interrupted as he walked past her. As she stood there, trying to figure out what had just happened, he continued without looking back.”

“Millionaires are so last year.” The crowd of newsponies, registering the presence of the playboy, crowded around him, shouting to get his attention, taking pictures of him, holding Dictaphones up to prompt him into replying-

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTT

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUURGGHH!”

Once again, the electrodes attached to his body activated, sending 150 volts of electricity coursing through his nervous system. Needless to say, it was agonising. As Blueblood slumped in his chair, Strange began speaking, a smug smirk on his face.

“I assume that you, as an influential member of the court of Celestia herself, thought yourself untouchable. Well, as you can see, nopony is untouchable.”

The lights were dimming, and another memory had surfaced. Blueblood replayed it, hoping that it would continue the story of how he had ended up here.

...Prince Blueblood stood in front of a podium filled with microphones. Around him, the paparazzi and press of Gothoof seethed, taking pictures and filming him. Blueblood motioned for them to calm down.

“Thank you! Thank you, Gothoof.” He motioned to the imposing concrete wall behind him. “Imprisoned behind these walls, gang leaders are fighting a bloody war in the middle of our once great city.” He could hear police sirens wailing in the distance. He paid them no attention. “Every inmate from both Arkhoof Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary has been relocated to this facility. How can this be safe for the citizens of Gothoof?” He deliberately said citizens of Gothoof; there were many species other than the 3 types of pony which lived in Equestria, and saying ponies would doubtless been seen by some as a racial insu-

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTT

“UUUHHUUUUUHUUURRRRGHHH!”

Electricity coursed through his, now worse for wear system, and he grimaced in pain. Though Strange didn’t know it, Blueblood had suffered worse than electroshock therapy. He glowered at Strange.

“Shut Arkhoof City down! It’s out of control!”

“Shut it down?” Strange sounded bemused. “But by the end of tonight, I will be a hero. Just like you...Bat-Stallion!”

Blueblood’s heart skipped a beat. Strange knew his secret identity? This was very dangerous. Not only did the person who knew his identity effectively control an army, but he could spill the beans to other super-criminals! He had to...figure out...a way to...stop...him...

... The sirens were getting very close now, and Blueblood guessed that Strange had made his move against him. Though every inch of his subconscious screamed at him to flee as fast as he could (or head in the direction of the sirens), he continued his speech. After all, he was Prince Blueblood, a member of the Royal Court: he wouldn’t dream of doing anything wrong!

“Today, I’m starting the campaign to close Arkhoof City and make Gothoof safe again.” A helicopter light shone down on the conference. The press started to panic. Vans belonging to the mercenary organization running Arkhoof City, TYGER, pulled up to the stage and deposited squads of soldiers. This wasn’t a single species organization. There were many different species with members belonging to TYGER. A griffon there, a pony here, a Diamond Dog over there. Regardless of their species, all were dressed in black and grey body armour, with black berets and scarves concealing their identity. All were equipped with the latest in military technology, with stabilizers, earpieces and armrifles forming just some of their wide and varied arsenal. Blueblood could clearly hear their radio chatter, over the screaming.

“Remember, Blueblood is the priority target. Lethal force is not authorized. I repeat, do not use lethal force unless absolutely necessary. If the journalists get in your way, you are authorized to apprehend and take them into Arkhoof City.”

Tear gas was thrown into the crowd, stunning the crowd that had assembled in front of Blueblood, driving them off for god, or forcing them onto the ground. The TYGER guards picked random targets, marching up to journalists and arresting them on the spot. Blueblood decided to remain where he was. After all, although to the outside world it looked like the situation had rapidly deteriorated, in reality, it was going just as planned. The TYGER operatives surrounded him, two of them forcing their way onto the stage. A pegasus, her armrifle pointing straight at his head, barked at him.

“Hooves in the air, Blueblood!” Blueblood complied, and was rewarded by the other soldier, who slammed the butt of his armrifle into the side of his head, knocking him out. The last thing he heard was the crackle of a handheld radio:

“Target is secure. I repeat, we have Blueblood. Oh, the inmates are gonna love this.”

This time, there was no wall of pain, no electric shock. There was simply darkness. And then, the face of a light brown unicorn stallion, his dark chocolate brown hair ragged and unkempt. He was dressed in white surgeon’s gowns, and one of the smuggest smirks Prince Blueblood had ever seen was plastered on his face. Doctor Strange began talking again.

“I feel I should thank you. Capturing Prince Blueblood is so much easier than capturing the Bat-Stallion. And now that we have you, Protocol Ten is ready to begin. It will be my legacy. A monument to you failure. And if you try to stop me, I guarantee that everypony will know your secret.” The worst part was not the threats, not the smugness, but the fact that throughout the mocking Strange had given him, his voice had remained utterly void of emotion, as if there was no point in expressing glee-or as if he couldn’t express it. The Doctor stood up, and slowly walked out of the room. He heard a door squeak open and closed. He was now alone in the darkness-

Light.Lightlightlight ahh it hurts ahhh-

His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, burned as the halogen lamps in the room suddenly turned on all at once, bathing him in bright, painful light. As his vision adapted to its surroundings, he saw that he was in a steel grey interrogation room. A television mounted on the wall flickered to life, an image of Doctor Strange menacingly introducing new inmates to the rules and regulations of the City. A desk sat in the corner. Hooks hung from the ceiling, attached to chains. Both his forelegs and hind legs were hoofcuffed. Blood, both his and others, pooled and congealed around his hooves. He was sitting on a simple metal chair, unfurnished, and most importantly, unattached. A double way mirror sat in front of him, and doubtless members of TYGER sat there, observing him, watching him sit, broken in body and mind. Or so they thought. He needed to get out of here. He began to rock back and forth, rocking his chair as well. It became unstable as Blueblood constantly shifted his centre of gravity back and forth. Suddenly, the chair fell over on its side, taking Blueblood with it. As Blueblood lay in a pool of blood, struggling to rise to his four hooves, an alarm rang out, the red strobe light flashing and wailing. Clearly somepony had seen his escape attempt. Somepony should be bursting through the door around about no-

“What the fuck are you doing?!” yelled a female Diamond Dog as she burst through the door and marched over to him. “Did you think we couldn’t hear you?!” She delivered a heavy kick to his midriff. Ordinarily this would have sent most ponies sprawling and spluttering, but Blueblood wasn’t most ponies. She aimed another kick. As it was about to connect, Blueblood grabbed the diamond Dog’s ankle and twisted as hard as he could, breaking it. As her legs gave way, he grabbed her uniform and headbutted her face as hard as he could, knocking her onto her back. At the same time, he stole her radio. As she began shrieking in agony, Blueblood slowly got onto his hooves, breaking open the walkie-talkie and taking the prized communication chip. He didn’t notice the Earth pony walk up from behind with an armrifle, and the only indication he had of his presence was when the butt slammed into his cheek, sending him reeling. The Earth pony then grabbed the side of Blueblood’s head, and shoved it into the television screen with enough force to crack the LCD screen, breaking the television in the process. Stunned, Blueblood was easily led by the brawny Earth pony to the door that connected the interrogation room to the outside Processing Centre, where inmates entered the mega-prison. When the duo reached the exit door, the TYGER guard bucked the door open, before bodily throwing Blueblood outside. As he struggled to get to his knees, the earth Pony shut the door, adding:

“Heh. Welcome to Arkhoof City, Blueblood.”

There were a large number of inmates outside. All of them were poor, hardened criminals, who didn’t take no for an answer. The effect of the city’s richest pony being thrown into their midst was instantaneous. Those in the submission position immediately broke it (much to the chagrin of the guards) and clambered to their hooves, hurling abuse at the playcolt:

“You’re gonna be my bitch, Blueblood!”

“I’m gonna rip your throat out with my teeth, Blueblood!”

“Those billions won’t do you much good here, Blueblood!”

“On the ground. Now!” a griffon guard yelled at the prisoners. When they didn’t listen, he simply aimed his gun at a random inmate’s kneecap and pulled the trigger, blowing out the poor pony’s ligaments. As she writhed on the floor, the inmates got back into the position they had been in earlier, suddenly silent, in fear of reprisal. Well, almost all of them.

“No one arrests Black Mask. No one!” A snow-white unicorn stallion with, as his namesake suggested, a black skull shaped mask, levitated a broken piece of chair in front of him, waving it randomly to scare off the 3 guards that were attempting to subdue him. Black Mask, real name Foreman, was the head of the Smelter family, until Blueblood’s family bought his out. Resenting Blueblood, Foreman turned to crime. He wore a black mask craved out of his father’s coffin in order to protect his identity, but when his first heist resulted in a fire, the wooden mask was burnt into his flesh. He became a mob boss, at least until his incarceration in Arkhoof. He became infamous after he killed and tortured many ponies dear to Catmare, not least her coltfriend’s father, carving his name into his chest. The TYGER guards shouted at him, keeping their distance in case he managed to actually hit somepony.

“Give up, Foreman!”

“Never! Get me Strange, dammit!”

“Put the chair down! This is your last warning!”

“No! Now do as the Black Mask says and Get. Me. Strange!” He turned to the guard who had yelled at him and took a swipe at him, narrowly missing him and exposing his flank to the guard on his left, who held a Taser stick in her talons. She ramped up the power to full and jammed it in his cutie mark, money and molten metal crossed together, like an impromptu skull-and-crossbones. Black mask yelled with pain, and the griffon turned the power up even more.

“You’ll regret that, Mask!”

Black Mask collapsed, and the guards took the opportunity to beat him up, slamming their fists and Tasers into every piece of exposed fur they could find. And yet still, Black Mask fought on, swearing and hurling abuse at them all the while. Suddenly, one of them looked up, and caught Blueblood’s stare. He swaggered up to him and socked him around the face. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“What the fuck are you looking at, poncy? Get into Line A, now! Scat!”

Reluctantly, Blueblood obeyed the guard, and moved into Line A. Line B was full, and 2 ponies were busy beating each other into pulp over the fact that one of them had previously worked for The Puffin. Only 2 ponies stood in Line A. One of them was a squat male Diamond Dog, and the other was a cyan Pegasus mare with an incredible rainbow-coloured mane. As they were ordered to move to the side, the Pegasus looked up at Blueblood, and sneered.

“Prince Blueblood.” The cyan Pegasus stated. “You’re on my list.” She mimed a cocked wristpistol, and then pretended to fire it at him. “Bang.” She blew out her invisible wristpistol, and then chuckled, and leant on the wire mesh, forelegs confidently folded, a smile on her face. A zebra ordered him to pass through the metal detector, and then whipped him round the face with the butt of his armrifle when the detector found out the fact that Blueblood had hoofcuffs. He forced him into the submission position, and then stopped when Doctor Strange, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, raised his hoof.

“Lower your weapons. Mr. Blueblood will not be any trouble.” He leant in close. “Will you, Mr. Blueblood?” As if sensing his disagreement, Doctor Strange continued. “The cuffs can stay on though: we don’t want to make things too easy. Do we?” The zebra threw Blueblood into the Assimilation Chamber, a room which had two airlock-like doors. Inside were one zebra-and a famous newspony, one that Blueblood easily recognized. He wore thick-rimmed spectacles and had milk-coloured fur. Notepad A.K.A The Creeper. Notepad had had a device surgically implanted into his flesh that allowed him to bring out a manic, violent personality that he had dubbed The Creeper. The Creeper had worked with Bat-Stallion before, but he had always come to blows over random ponies that Bat-Stallion wouldn’t let him kill. For now, he was plain old Notepad. He looked uneasy. As the doors closed behind him, he turned around, and came face to face with Blueblood. His expression changed, to anger.

“Prince Blueblood? Oh, great. Here I was reporting on your crummy press conference, and now here we both are. I’ll guess that’ll teach you to not get involved in politics, won’t it?” He sighed, and hit his head on the wall in frustration. Though Blueblood knew that The Creeper would be a powerful ally in Arkhoof, he couldn’t let Notepad know that he knew about his alter-ego. He looked at both the other unlucky souls, and whispered.

“Listen to me carefully. When they open the door, do. Not. Panic. Stay close to me. I’ll protect you.”

“You?” Notepad looked incredulous. “Do you think that I’d take advice like that from some guy who’s never been in a fight?” The door started to open. The zebra started panicking, and Notepad instinctively flinched. As the door opened they saw what awaited them on the other side.

A wire mesh fence was all that separated them from a veritable sea of criminal scum that had turned up to see Prince Blueblood in Arkhoof City. A few had even climbed the fence. Blueblood remained calm, as the zebra bolted. He muttered to Notepad.

“Stay calm. They’re trying to scare us.” Notepad utterly ignored his reassuring words and he, too bolted. As he sprinted past him, Blueblood caught s a sentence aimed at him by Notepad.

“Sorry, Blueblood. It’s every pony for himself!” He turned back, and ran straight into at least 5 thugs who had jumped over the fence. They knocked him over and began whaling on him. The zebra was beyond saving. Amidst the sea of abuse, 3 of the thugs turned to him and launched an attack on him. Blueblood neatly dodged a blow aimed at him by a Diamond Dog’s fist, and then grabbed it from behind, threw him bodily to the floor, and broke the Dog’s leg. He sidestepped a blast of unicorn magic, before charging the unicorn, sweeping her legs out from underneath her, and then jumping on her throat, cutting of the blood supply and knocking her unconscious. By now the thugs, who had previously taken Blueblood for a pansy soft boy, were amazed at his combat prowess. The fact that he was in a pair of freaking hoofcuffs increased their amazement. Slowly, but spreading quickly, a chant began to ring out.

“Blueblood! Blueblood! Blueblood! Blueblood!”

Utterly ignoring the chant, Blueblood leapt up and grabbed a Pegasus, who was using a bipedal fighting stance, thanks to her wings. He struck a cluster of nerves where the wing meets the spine, and as the Pegasus fell, he grabbed her left wing and broke it in 3 places. Only 1 was left (the other had decided to run away), and he was too busy beating ten shades out of a screaming Notepad. Trotting up to the zebra busy having fun with notepad, he snaked the chain of his hoofcuffs over the zebra’s throat, and pulled tight. After the zebra stopped struggling, he pulled Notepad to his feet

“Get on your feet, Notepad.” When he didn’t get up he yelled some encouragement at him. “I said, get up!” He pulled Notepad to his hooves. He was quite the worse for wear after that encounter, and he leant on Blueblood, using him as support. As the pair made their way to the gates, they suddenly opened. What greeted them made Blueblood’s blood run cold.

In front of 4 thugs wearing balaclavas, camo trousers and jackets stood a well dressed white unicorn stallion. He had an azure coloured mane and tail, and his cutie mark was that of three crowns. A monocle was over his left eye, and a trim pencil moustache nestled above his upper lip. When he saw Blueblood, he shrugged his arms and smugly sneered:

“Well, well, well! Look who decided to join our little garden party after all!”

Fancypants. The Puffin. Suddenly, a thug that had snuck up behind the pair swung a steel pipe into Blueblood’s hind legs. As he collapsed to his knees, Puffin continued with his sarcastic smug greeting.

“Welcome to hell, Princey colt!” As he struggled to get up, the Diamond Dog that had the pipe swung it like a golf club, smashing the back of his head and sending him sprawling onto the hard tar road. As he slowly looked up, blood leaking out of the gash in his head caused by the pipe, Fancypants strolled up to him. He finished smoking an expensive-looking cigar, before throwing the ashes in Blueblood’s face. He looked down with an expression of pure hatred. He raised his forehoof and brought it crashing down onto his head. The last thing Blueblood heard before he lost consciousness was Puffin’s taunt.

“Nighty night, rich colt.”

Chapter 1 Part 2: Do you have my location?

Chapter 1 Part 2: Do you have my location? By GaryGibbon

GaryGibbon here again. Just to let my few readers know, these updates will be irregular. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

My Little Pony and all related locations, characters etc. belongs to Hasbro. Batman and any related locations, characters etc. belongs to DC Comics. Batman: Arkham City belongs to Rocksteady Studios.

Out of all of his days in this Celestia-forsaken hellhole, today was by far the best day. That arrogant fuck Prince Blueblood had been practically delivered into his hooves, Fancypants mused as he puffed on a Janeighcan cigar. He looked around the dark alley with his one eye, and noted with some satisfaction that only his crew seemed to be in here. Of course, the good Doctor or The Great and Powerful Riddler could be watching him, but he didn’t give a shit about that fact. After all, they had no professed interest in seeing Blueblood live, did they? He removed the cigar between his stained teeth and puffed out a great cloud of grey smoke. As he held the smouldering cigar in his hoof, balancing on his other one, he saw that Blueblood was stirring. He smiled. It was time to have some fun. He motioned to two members of his gang, a griffon female and a bullock, to drag the slowly waking playcolt to him. They obeyed unquestioningly. As Blueblood was thrown on his 4 knees in front of him, he fingered the brass hoofduster he had brought along with him. He was going to enjoy this. As Blueblood opened his eyes, he put on a caring, sympathetic expression, though all present, including Bleblood, knew that this was fake as could be. He threw his now burnt out cigar to the ground, and knelt down.

“Rise and shine, Blueblood!” Blueblood didn’t respond; he was focusing on trying to get up. He spat blood on the floor, some of the red liquid covering Fancypant’s black suede shoes. He grew annoyed at this. Suede shoes, especially in this sort of environment, were hard to come by, and very expensive. It would take ages to clean them. Still, he kept up the facade of concern.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you need me to contact that loyal slave of yours you call a butler?” Another reason to hate this spoilt grown-up momma’s boy; he had a personal slave to do his dirty work for him. The fact that Prince’s dirty work was more or less simply cooking and cleaning drew Fancypants even further into rage. This waste of space had probably never done a hard day’s work in his life! He took out the hoofduster now, holding it tight, making ready to put it on and use it on Blueblood until he was begging for mercy. Blueblood had finished struggling to his knees, and now looked up. Fancypants saw a mixture of recognition and disgust in his eyes. Good. Hopefully Blueblood saw the same in his eye. The billionaire remained silent. Suddenly, he said a single word.

“Fancypants.” He recognized the voice, and for some odd reason, Puffin associated it with the godamm Bat-stallion, that stallion who had wrecked countless plans of his. He paid the subconscious association no heed. It was time for some fun.

“Oh, you do remember me? I’m touched,” Fancypants literally spat at Blueblood, covering the white unicorn’s face with dirty nicotine-polluted spittle. To his credit, the rich colt didn’t pay attention to the obvious sign of utter disrespect, staring ahead with an expressionless face and those burning eyes of his. He pointed an accusing hoof at Blueblood and reminded him why he was doing this to him:

“Your family drove mine into the ground and the dirt, Blueblood. My father, my grandfather, hell, my great-grandfather; they all hated your family with such passion. I inherited that hatred when I saw my father die, broken and in poverty. Much as you inherited your hatred of crime when you saw your dear parents die. It must have been terrible, seeing the life fade from your father’s eyes as he acted as a living bullet shield.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my parents, Puffin.” Fancypants realised he had touched a raw nerve. He kept jabbing at it.

“How your mother must have shrieked as a bullet ripped through her, liquidising her insides. It couldn’t have happened to nicer people. You must remind me to find the man who did it, Blueblood. I simply must thank him for his contribution to society, ridding him of those self-righteous scumbags.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fancypants. My parents were heroes.” Puffin guffawed. He didn’t even know that Blueblood was even capable of swearing.

“Tut tut, Blueblood. You simply must learn to watch that slanderous tongue of yours. Otherwise, you’re going to get hurt.” As soon as he finished saying that sentence, Fancypants swung his hoof, along with attached hoofduster, as hard as he could into Blueblood’s jaw. Seeing the unicorn stallion in pain was, well, exhilarating. At last, he was exacting vengeance for his family. He swung the hoofduster again. Again, it connected into the poncy pony’s jaw with a loud CRACK. Puffin started laughing. This was fun. Really, really fun! He swung the hoofduster again. He didn’t expect Blueblood to suddenly snatch out and grab his outstretched hoof and twist it, breaking it. Pain shot up his foreleg and he began screaming. His thugs, whom before had been cheering him, now started to rise, looks of shock and concern and anger written all over their faces. He turned to the assembled crew and bellowed:

“GET HIM! GET THAT SON OF A BITCH WHO’S BROKEN MY BLOODY HOOF!”

He hopped to the wire mesh gate that enclosed the alleyway from the rest of the city, careful not to tread on his freshly broken hoof. He began to shake the gate, yelling that somepony, anypony would let him out. He didn’t stop until he felt a hoof crash into his throat, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Blueblood heard Fancypant’s hoof break. He heard his yell of agony. He twisted even harder. That bastard had just crossed a line, and nothing, nothing that he could do would redeem him in Blueblood’s eyes. He assumed a guard stance, and assessed the thugs surrounding him. A couple of brawny earth ponies, a gryphon, a wolf bitch, and a bullock. Easy as pie, Blueblood thought. The wolf charged at him, her teeth bared, ready to rip his throat out. He dodged to one side, before slamming the ridge of his humerus into the side of her throat, punching the side of her head, and then finishing with an uppercut. One of the earth ponies had snuck up behind him, and bucked with one leg. He grabbed it and jammed his elbow into the nerve cluster between knee and calf, buckling it. He ducked under the bullock’s swinging horns as he clapped both hooves to wither side of his head, stunning him. The gryphon rushed in from behind, swooping at him. He grabbed her arm, snapped it in two almost subconsciously. As she fell to her knees, shrieking, he grabbed her head, and slammed his knee into it, breaking both her jaw-and his hoofcuffs. He then swung his hind hooves onto the crown of her head, giving her one hell of a nasty concussion and breaking the other pair of hoofcuffs. As the other thugs stood there, stunned by what just happened, Blueblood took this as an opportunity to launch an attack. He made a feint on the bullock, stunning it, before launching a series of extremely fast blows that would have made even the best martial arts expert jealous. He finished with a powerful uppercut that knocked him out. He vaulted over an Earth pony, landing on the other pony’s neck, squeezing the consciousness out of him. He bucked the forelegs of the other earth pony’s legs, fracturing both of them. That left the wolf. She was suddenly behind him with a flurry of teeth and claws. He reeled from the onslaught, before recovering, grabbing her outstretched foreleg, and breaking it. He and Fancypants were now alone. He sauntered up to Fancypants, and bucked his throat as hard as he could.

“That was for insulting my parents, you one-eyed bastard.”

As Fancypants slid down the fence, eyes closed, he took stock of his surroundings. Prince Blueblood needed to disappear. Bat-stallion needed to come in here. He attempted contacting his faithful butler, Maître d’, then cursed as the No Signal sign came up. If he was to contact his butler, he would need to get to higher ground. And how would he do tha-

Aha. A ladder stood on a dumpster, leading to a fire exit. He climbed on top of the ladder, before vaulting up the ladder, 2 rungs at a time. He ran and leapt onto a nearby ventilation shaft, climbing up a raised section to be met by another ladder. He climbed up that as well, eventually reaching the roof of one of the buildings that had formed the alley. He tried contacting Maître d’ again. He was successful.

“Maître d’, do you have my location?”

“Oui, monsieur, albeit only just,” replied Maître d’ in a thick Brittaneigh accent. “There is more interference than usual.” Blueblood looked for a distinctive building. As luck would have it, the Ace Chemicals building was right in front of him. He reported this to his butler.

“I need an immediate drop on the roof of the Ace Chemicals building, Maître d’. I’m on my way there now.”

“Of course, monsieur.” The radio went dead. Now all he had to do was to find a way up the side of the building. There was a ledge just underneath the massive flashing neon E, on the side of the building. However, there was only just enough room to hang from it. He leapt to the crawlspace, hooves outstretched, and he barely caught it, hanging from his hooves. Lesser ponies would have not been able to handle the lactic acid build-up, and most likely would have fallen to their deaths. Not Blueblood. He slowly shimmied along the crawlspace, and then a tilted billboard informing readers that LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED. As he climbed up a ladder and crouched underneath ventilation shafts, the comm.-link flickered on again. Maître d’s heavy accent drawled through.

“I just watched news of your incarceration in the evening news, monsieur. Was getting arrested a part of your plan, all along, hmm?”

“Not exactly, Maître d’, although I did get some one-on-one time with the good Doctor.” A helicopter belonging to Strange’s private army flew past. Blueblood stayed motionless before he was sure it had moved on.

“And how was that?”

“Not good. He knows that I am Bat-Stallion. He also informed me that something called Protocol Ten would make him famous. I can’t leave Arkhoof City until I find out what it is.” After shimmying along a narrow crawlspace again, he climbed up another ladder, before sprinting and leaping, just clearing a wide gap. He pulled himself up. He was now at the rooftop. Maître d’ came through again.

“Did it arrive, monsieur?”

The roaring of a jet plane was nearby. Suddenly, the Batwing (Bat-Stallion’s personal jet) flew over, depositing a pod that contained the Bat-Suit and appropriate gadgets needed for the situation.

“Right on time.” He climbed up and pressed his hoof against the hoofprint scanner. After a couple of seconds, it confirmed that he was indeed Price Blueblood, and slid open to reveal his Bat-Suit. Blueblood stripped, removing his expensive tuxedo and watch, leaving him naked except for boxer shorts. He then began to get dressed. As he slipped on each individual piece of armour and suit, he felt himself losing the Blueblood persona, as if another, darker personality was coming to the forefront. Finally, he slipped on the cowl. Blueblood was gone. In his place stood the Bat-Stallion. His very name struck fear into the hearts of lesser ponies. He was above the law, for he was the law. He was the night. He was the Bat-Stallion, and his foes would know a reckoning.

Bat-Stallion checked his equipment. Grapnel wristpistol, check. Supply of Batarangs, both Remote-Controlled and normal, check. Batclaw, check. Explosive Gel with sprayer, check. Cryptographic Sequencer, check. The basic loadout was there, and hopefully that would be all he would need. He pulled out the TYGER radio chip he had stolen from the guard whose ankle he had broken. He inserted it into the Sequencer, hoping to find out the frequency of the TYGER communication system. As luck would have it, he found it on the first go, after decrypting it, he intercepted this message.

“All units, this is AIR TYGER 4. We have confirmation that Prisoner 4011 is in the Courthouse. I repeat, Catmare is in the courthouse.” A TYGER guard reported to his superiors. He sounded official.

“Is she in danger?” Doctor Strange’s voice replied.

“Affirmative. It appears that Prisoner Justice Sword AKA Two-Mane has detained her and intends to kill her. How should we proceed?” Laughter was his answer.

“Stand down. Let Two-Mane have her fun.”

“Understood.” The communiqués ceased. The Bat-Stallion was uneasy. He had to rescue Catmare, or else Sword would doublessly kill her.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Non, it does not. Mademoiselle Sword’s prediliction for all things binary may not mode well for Mademoiselle Rarity.” Maître d’ replied.

“If there’s one pony in Arkhoof City who knows what’s really going on, it’s her. I have to rescue her. If not for my own benefits, then for hers.” Bat-Stallion closed the comm-link and stared at the courthouse in the distance. He leapt off the building and outstretched his cape. The material hardened, and he glided above the rooftops, straight towards the Courthouse. He prayed to Celestia that he wasn’t late. Although Rarity was a pretentious windbag, if he didn’t intervene Justice’s trial, then she would die.

Chapter 2: Heads or tails, kitty-cat?

Chapter 2: Heads or tails, kitty-cat? By GaryGibbon

GaryGibbon logging in. Sorry for the long wait, I kept getting distracted by the fact that my story is shite compared to some. I’m only writing because I really enjoy it. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

My Little Pony and all related locations, characters etc. belongs to Hasbro. Batman and any related locations, characters etc. belongs to DC Comics. Batman: Arkham City belongs to Rocksteady Studios.

Darkness.

Rarity was surrounded by darkness. No light penetrated the thick cloth that separated her from whatever was outside it. She felt woozy. From what she could tell, she had been suspended upside down over...something. Judging by the hissing and popping noises coming from below her head, that something was dangerous. She could hear the murmur of a large crowd of ponies, bubbling away in anticipation of some main event. Presumably involving little old me. She needed to find a way to escape. Dropping straight down into whatever was spitting at her probably wasn’t the best idea one could dream up. But she couldn’t do anything until she had removed the rope tying her hooves together. So they had to go. She unsheathed her gem claws, and began shifting, attempting to escape. However, as she began to work the coarse rope loose, a female voice began a monologue right next to her. She immediately froze up, tensing her muscles, becoming as silent as possible As the monologue continued, she recognized the voice, or rather voices, as the ones belonging to Two-Mane:

“The only way to get by in this hellhole is to get ourselves some respect.” Justice Sword uttered to herself. Abruptly, her voice suddenly changed, and the Two-Mane side of her personality took over.

“fear. that’s how we get respect. show them all how we do things.”

“We should be fair though. This is a place of justice, after all.”

“screw justice! kill her, and they’ll all fear us.” Catmare heard shuffling and hoofsteps, and the murmur of the crowd increased in volume.

“bring out the defendant!” The curtain surrounding her fell away, and Catmare was bathed in light. The curtain was dissolving in a huge vat of acid, explaining the hissing noises she had heard earlier. The court was cheering. Two-Mane turned to Rarity, triumph on her horrifically disfigured face. Rarity replied to the smug smile with a simple pun.

“You certainly know how to keep a lady such as myself hanging, Justice.” She then took stock of her surroundings: she was in the old courthouse that Justice used as her headquarters. As befitting Two-Mane, one side of the courthouse was spick and span, squeaky clean. That side had never looked better. The other side was a mess. It had been gutted, utterly destroyed, and Catmare was surprised that it was still standing at all. She continued to goad Two-Mane.

“Hey. Have you had some work done? Because if you have, I would have the workers fired for using such tacky floor tiles. And those curtains. Tsk tsk, Justice. You should know better than to contrast mauve with white.”

SLAP

Justice delivered a hefty slap to the side of her face, sending Catmare spinning. As her cheek stung like wildfire, Two-Mane threatened her.

“that’s for stealing from us. nopony steals from us!” Catmare was enjoying this. Not the pain or the fact that she was dangling over a vat of industrial strength acid, but the irritance in Justice’s tone of voice goaded Catmare to continue.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad kitty.” Her voice took on a sultry tone. “Untie me, and I’ll make it all up to you.”

“will you really? let’s see if the coin thinks you’re telling the truth.” Justice had been playing with her signature two-headed coin. That coin, after the accident, had become Two-Mane’s life. She relied on it to make every single decision of hers, from brushing her teeth, to killing hostages. She flipped it up into the air. As it spun a silver trail through the air, time seemed to slow for everypony present. Finally, after an agonizingly long wait, it land in her palm. Two-Mane looked at it.

She is telling the truth, it whispered in its honeyed tones to the room. Two-Mane’s face seemed to fall, but she quickly regained her composure.

“This court is now in session!” Justice Sword announced, to the cheers of the room. Catmare breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to have to rely on dumb luck if she was going to come out unscathed on this one.

Unnoticed by anypony in the throng, Bat-Stallion watched them from above. He was balancing on a thin wire, directly above the crowd. Behind him, a Pegasus equipped with a gun lay face down on the wood panelling, having been choked into unconsciousness by the Caped Crusader. He readjusted himself on the wire. Below him, there were easily 50 or more thugs from many, many different species. And to top it all off, Two-Mane herself stood in the judge’s office, bulletproof glass surrounding her. Judging by the way the crowd were baying, it seemed that Catmare, who was dangling precariously over a vat of the very same acid used to transform Justice Sword into the crime boss she was known as today, was about to dive headfirst into the green corrosive goo. He had to act fast. He selected a random thug from the crowd, and then stepped off the wire, using him to break his fall. The effect of having The Bat in the same room as the thugs was instantaneous. Almost everypony ran out the room, screaming in terror, leaving a select few thugs loyal to Two-Mane. They quickly adopted combat stances, ready to dish out some hurt to this arrogant intruder. A Diamond Dog attacked first, swinging an elbow. Bat-Stallion ducked underneath before delivering a hefty uppercut to the dog’s jaw. He then twirled around and stuck out his leg, ramming it into a sheep’s side. He vaulted over a pegasus and slammed both his elbows into a griffon’s skull. He turned his attention back to the pegasus, headbutting his groin and chest before grabbing one of the now prone pegasi’s wings and twisted, breaking it. He springboarded forwards, and shoved two outstretched hooves into the throat of a unicorn mare. He fired his Batclaw into the chest of a cow, dragging him forward. Bat-Stallion then kicked out his legs from underneath her and elbowed her face. Not many were left now. He kneed the Diamond Dog in the snout, breaking it. He then delivered an extremely painful-looking kick to the sheep’s nether regions, sending it sprawling in agony. That was the henchponies dealt with, and now all he had to was-

“Objection!”

BANG

As Bat-Stallion flew to the ground, a bullet embedded in his chest, Two-Mane smirked, and blew out the smoke emitting from her wristpistol barrel.

“overruled.” She bucked the door to the court open marching her way over to Catmare. She pointed and cocked a gun at her.

“heads or tails, kitty-cat?” She asked, flipping her coin as she did so.

“Which one gets me out of here alive?” The coin landed. Heads up.

“dammit! it's gonna have to be a best of three.” She twireld the coin into the air. Again, it landed heads up.

"how are you doing this?! how is this possible?!" She flipped it again. it landed heads up, once again. Inside her head, Two-mane screamed in fury as Justice overpowered the malignant entity spawned by the horrific accident that had scarred her face. In reality., the pony sank to her knees, bewilderment written all over her face.

"The coin. It's never told me to do this!"

"Aw, boo hoo. Now be a dear, and help me out of this little predicament you tied me up in earlier." Catmare worked the tight rope loose from her forehooves. It fell into the acid, the green goo disintegrating the strong rope as if it were little more than paper. Behind her, the Ex-District Attorney was winching Catmare across to the wooden jetty. Catmare ripped through the tough ropes easily. She turned to face the distraught crime boss.

"Now hand over the phone, please."

"Bite me."

"I really, really don't have time for this, Justice. Hand the phone over."

"Like I said before, Bite. Me."

Catmare grunted in irritation.

"Alright. How about a deal. You give me the damn phone, and I'll be out of your mane for good."

"Let's see what the coin thinks." She flipped the coin. It landed tails up.

"Sorry, kitten, no can do."

"Well, then instead tell me how to get into the vault."

The coin traced a silver glimmer through the air.

"In order to get into the vault, you'll have to-"

"This can wait." Bat-Stallion's voice rang out. He clutched where the bullet had hit. He continued. "I had some questions to ask you two."

“And I thought it was only cats that had nine lives. So. What do you need, Mr. Detective?”

“Protocol Ten. What do you two know about it?”

“Sorry, Bats, but I’ve never heard of it.” Catmare flippantly replied.

"Neither have we, Bat-Stallion." Justice agreed.

“That’s not I wanted to hear.” Bat-Stallion’s tone became angry. He stopped for a moment and calmed down. “What do you know about Strange?”

“I, for one, don’t trust him. He’s been missing for years, ever since that incident when he took the ex-mayor’s daughter hostage, and then all of a sudden he shows up again, and is put in charge of this hell on Equestria by that idiot Mayor Mare he has wrapped around one hoof, and that private army around the other"

"Though we don't know much, it seems that he's experimenting on unlucky inmates he comes across, turning them into lobotomised freaks."

"To be honest, I believe that Strange’s using some psychiatric mumbo-jumbo on both mayor and military organization. Rumours abound that he’s conspiring with The Joker, planning something very special, something just for you. Maybe that’s Protocol Ten.”

"Well, that would explain the ludicrous amounts of firepower his boys are sporting, firepower that should belong to us." Justice reinforced Rarity's argument. Bat-Stallion nodded in agreement. Well, except for the firepower part.

Unknown to the party of ponies, they were being watched. As Joker fiddled with the controls on the remote-controlled AWP Anti-materiel rifle, he began to sing a rhyme through his cracked red lips.

“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat.” He had managed to aim the reticule on Bat-Stallion, but as if suddenly changing his mind he switched it over to Catmare, pointing the crosshairs at her head.

“Watch me kill your favourite cat!” And as he sent the command that fired the rifle, he began to chuckle, forcing the sound through a blood-red rictus grin painted on his snow-white face.

450 meters away, a gunshot rang out.

Alright, alternate ending of Chapter 2 up. I lost all progress on the ending ,so I had to do it AGAIN. That's how much i care for this story.

Cancelled + Ending

GaryGibbon here. So...yeah. I cancelled the story.

I did it because I simply stopped playing arkham City, and thus my interest died along with my interest in the game.

However, do not despair! i have a couple of ideas on new stories based in ekrimajj's Total War: Equestria background involving a bunch of angry lions, a gryphon living in Canterlot and a group of very humanitarian sentients. Whether to make them completely separate, or one big story I cannot decide upon. Not to mention a Minecraft crossover with extremely heavy involvement from the Endermen and the Blaze, rather than The Player.

Just as I was about to publish the ending, my computer crashed.

-_- -_-

Thanks for reading

GaryGibbon

Music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7FDAkpQSJVA

Rain lashed down like bee stings. Her poofy acid mane and his jet black cowl repelled most of the rain, bouncing off the objects like oil on a hotplate. Both of them glowered at each other, neither one daring to make a move. One of them was dying, a deadly toxin coursing through her veins. The other held the cure. She held a gun.

The Dark Knight of Gothoof City vs the Maniacal Mare of Misconduct. The ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny.

Pinkie broke the unbearable silence first, somehow managing to force a grin on her emaciated face.

"So this is how it ends, eh? No burning train wreck, no Rings of Power, no trumped-up God with time beams. Just you, the hero of the hour. And me,"

She indicated herself with her wristpistol, the double-barrelled revolver gleaming in the wet. "Dying, in the rain and the filth of this prison. What a way to go, eh?"

"It doesn't have to end here. Not like this. I still have the cure. There's still time for you."

"Time to do what, exactly? Rot in a cell in Arkhoof? Or perhaps Blackgate? Oh, wait!" Pinkie slapped her head. "Silly me! Both of 'em's been destroyed! Cut the crap, Bat-Stallion. You and I know very well what'll happen if you cure me. And I, personally, can't wait to live again. So, I'm only gonna ask this once. Give me the cure." To make a point, she pulled the hammer back on the gun, clicking it into firing position, before pointing it at Bat-Stallion. To his credit, he didn't even so much as flinch.

"Put the gun away, Pinkie. I can't do much with a gun pointing at me, now can I?"

"....W-was that supposed to be a...a joke?!" Pinkie was incredulous. "It wasn't even a funny one! Still, coming from a colt who hasn't so much as smiled..." Pinkie broke off as a cough ripped through her body, mucus-covered scabs coming up in bloody chunks. The rain still poured. Bat-Stallion still stared.

"You're right. It was a joke. Now, put the gun down."

"Oh, I don't think so. Give me the cure."

"Not unless you put the gun down."

"Look at me! LOOK AT ME!" Pinkie tried to scream. It came out as a sort of gargle. "Look at what I've become! A shell

of my former self! Do you think I enjoy this, huh?! Do you think I enjoy looking at myself in the mirror every day, and looking at what I've become?!" She wasn't smiling anymore, no more painted grin on her whitewash face. It wasn't funny.

"It was your own fault Pinkie. You shouldn't have used the Titan on yourself."

"My own!-" She pointed the gun at Bat-Stallion, enraged, and fired.

CLIK-CLIK

"Celestiadammit!" she screamed. And at that moment, Bat-Stallion leapt at her, tackling her onto the ground. The gun flew out of her hooves and clattered onto the pavement 6 stories below them.

And so did the cure, the glass phial shattering into panes of reflective sand, spilling its precious cargo everywhere.

Once again, a thick silence surrounded both of them as they both realised at the same time what had just happened. Then the Joker shrieked, in absolute soul-tearing agony.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THE CURE! Gone!" She panicked, bucking under Bat-Stallion's specially conditioned strength. Then she stopped bucking, and she went as silent as a mouse. Blueblood slowly got off her. She didn't move. The rain still poured.

"It's gone. It's over. Finished. Kaput. Bang. Game over, Joker!"

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Pinkie."

"Don't be. My death's gonna be hailed as a Hearth's Warming miracle, so why should it bother you?"

"I did this. I killed you. I killed you."

Pinkie started chuckling.

"Oh, now that's rich! All this time, you've been trying to hold back your fury, hold back the hatred from killing me, and then you do it by complete accident!" She was rolling around, laughing as thin rivers of blood forced their way up out of her mouth.

"No. There's another way. Ms. ice Cube's got to have developed more of the cure. I'll take you to the GCPD. It'll be there. Don't worry."

Pinkie stopped laughing as the seriousness hit home again. She was quiet.

"...No. I-it's too late for me. Too damn late for me. even if I wanted to.It was always too late for me, and you know it!"

"I suppose so. You know something?"

"What?"

"The cure wasn't a permanent one. It was only temporary. Ms. Ice Cube had developed a permanent cure after I left."

"In that case, how come you're all fine and dandy?"

"I took some of the temporary cure. I'll go and get some now."

"No no, don't bother yourself. I've had this a long time coming. Very long time." The rain still poured. She paused. "This reminds me of a joke."

"Go on."

"So, basically, there's two inmates that've escaped from a mental asylum. As they're fleeing across the rooftops, they come across a gap they can't leap over. Now, one of them's carrying a torchlight he took from a guard, and he gets this idea in his head. So he turns to the other patient and says: "I'll turn on the torchlight, and you cross the bridge the torch's beams forms, OK?" But the other one, oh, he doesn't like that idea, and he says: "Are you insane?! You'll turn he beam off when I'm halfway across! Bahahahahahahah!!" Pinkie collapsed into a fit of giggles, rolling and laughing and coughing and wheezing.

And then, the impossible happened.

Bat-Stallion smiled. And then started laughing.

Pinkie noticed this impossibility. She smiled.

"Well. who'd a thought it? All these years I've been trying to get you to smile, to laugh, to break that outer shell and to bring out the comedian in you! And now, in my final death throes, it finally happens! Now I can die a happy mare..." She stopped talking as an extremely intense bout of coughing shook her anorexic body, and she started breathing heavily, looking at Bat-Stallion. And then, she exhaled, her final breath leaving her body in a forced laugh as she died with a smile on her face.

Ahead, Bat-Stallion stood, mourning her death. Gone was the rage that at times threatened to overwhelm him in a mad fury and beat her to death with his bare hooves. In its place stood a solemn thoughtfulness.

And the rain still poured.