Boratz Posted May 9 Read Aloud Posted May 9 Nations and kingdoms crumbled. Major cities all around the world had fallen in only a matter of moments while society collapsed. The world that once was here had changed completely. With what was left of civilization, the remaining cities that were left standing had become unrecognizable as new powers rose from the ashes. There was power in strength and corruption. While the remaining cities became fortified settlements with promises of safety and security, the world outside of these fortified walls had become unrecognizable. It was as if the outside world had developed a mind of its own. It carried dangers of many kinds that were not for the faint of heart. Even the strongest could fall victim to the elements and the dangers. Within the fortified walls of these settlements was a world ruled with iron thumbs. Protection was only granted with the exchange of servitude. Corruption ran high and fear was used to control the masses. The settlements that rose from the ashes of the old world were not places of hope; they were monuments to survival shaped by fear, power, and control. Built within the skeletons of fallen cities, these fortified enclaves stood like iron scars against a broken horizon. Massive walls of salvaged steel, concrete slabs, and welded scrap towered high, layered with watchtowers and heavily armed soldiers. From a distance, they promised safety, but up close, they radiated oppression. Each settlement had its own leader, though leader was a generous term. These were warlords, syndicate leaders, former officials, and ruthless opportunists who seized control during the collapse. They governed with absolute authority, enforcing their will through heavily armed enforcers who patrolled the streets day and night. Loyalty was demanded, not earned, and punishment for defiance was swift and public. The people within the walls understood the rules: obedience meant survival. Anything less meant exile, or worse. Inside, the settlements were crowded and suffocating. Makeshift housing sprawled in tight clusters, constructed from whatever materials could be scavenged; sheet metal, rotting wood, fragments of the old world repurposed into crude shelters. Narrow alleyways twisted between these structures, dimly lit by flickering, unreliable power sources. The air carried a constant haze of dust, smoke, and the faint scent of decay. Despite the harsh conditions, life continued in a rigid, controlled rhythm. Markets operated under strict oversight, where traders bartered salvaged goods, rationed food, and precious clean water. Currency had little meaning anymore; value was determined by necessity. Ammunition, medicine, and fuel were among the most prized commodities, tightly regulated by those in power. Black markets thrived in the shadows, run by those willing to risk everything for a chance at something more. Work was not optional. Every inhabitant had a role assigned by the ruling authority. Some labored on the walls, reinforcing defenses or standing guard against the unknown horrors beyond. Others worked in salvage crews, venturing just outside the perimeter under heavy escort to retrieve materials from the ruins. These excursions were among the most dangerous tasks, as the world beyond the walls was unpredictable and often lethal. Few spoke openly about what lurked out there, but the haunted expressions of those who returned told enough of the story. Then there were those who served directly under the leaders as the enforcers. Clad in pieced-together armor and armed with scavenged but deadly weapons, they were both protectors and oppressors. They ensured order, but their presence was a constant reminder that freedom no longer existed. To question them was to invite suspicion; to resist them was to invite death. At the center of each settlement stood the stronghold; a heavily fortified structure where the ruling power resided. These buildings were often remnants of the old world: government offices, corporate towers, or military installations, now transformed into command centers. From these heights, decisions were made that determined who lived comfortably and who struggled to survive another day. Access to the inner circle was rare and coveted, often granted only to those who proved their loyalty through ruthless means. Fear was the foundation upon which everything rested. It was carefully cultivated and maintained. Public punishments were staged in central squares, serving as grim reminders of the consequences of disobedience. Whispers of rebellion occasionally surfaced, but they were quickly silenced, either through force or disappearance. Yet, despite the oppression, a fragile sense of community lingered among the people. Families clung to one another, small groups formed bonds of trust, and quiet acts of kindness persisted in hidden corners. These moments were rare but vital; faint echoes of the world that once was. Beyond the walls, the unknown stretched endlessly; a chaotic, hostile expanse that seemed almost alive. And while the settlements promised safety, many quietly wondered if they were truly sanctuaries… or just another kind of prison. ****************** "This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.... Huh... If only T.S. Elliot knew what would become of the world. Perhaps his perspective might have changed. I know that it has been asked time and time again, but where were you before the world went to shit? Where were you, Lester? Or is it Benjamin Poindexter? Dex? Or do you just prefer going by Bullseye? What do you go by these days?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Waking up on a hammock in the trees, a lone man rubbed his eyes while adjusting to the light of the early morning sun. Looking around, he saw that the perimeter in his camp was secured and nothing had set off any of the traps that he set the previous night. While taking a couple deep breaths, he wiggled his hands and wrists before performing a series of stretches and exercises. It was not long before the lone man prepared himself a simple breakfast that was fit for any hiker on a long journey. While chewing on the trail mix that took the place of his breakfast, the lone man stared down at a mask that was sitting on a stump before him. While this lone man was accustomed to wearing masks, this one was different than what he had worn in this past. It was a mask that resembled something that once belonged to a hero in the world before everything had fallen into chaos. As the lone man gazed over this dark purple mask. Other than the gentle whistling of a light breeze, there was silence within the trees. The man was alone with his thoughts. He reflected on the conversation that he had before departing on this journey. He knew all too well that this journey, that this mission, was more than what it appeared on the surface. At the end of the day, he was sent to do what he did best. He gazed down at that purple mask and gritted his teeth. There was only silence until the snapping of a twig took him away from his moment of self-reflection and brought him back to the dangerous world that he now lived in. A low, guttural groan soon made itself known as more twigs started to snap. A demented smile formed across the cheeks of the lone man. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a ballpoint pen. With only a small glance, the lone man threw the pen with precision and speed. That pen pierced through the head of the one that was making that guttural grown. The lifeless being wore a shirt that had been weathered and torn from countless nights of wandering through this dangerous world. It was a shirt that once reflected that of an amusement park that once brought on much joy and imagination. Now, it was nothing more than a reflection of what had become of the planet since everything changed. The face on the now lifeless soul was pale and decaying. The rotting teeth were exposed as the lips on the lifeless creature had been torn away from its flesh. As the lone man stood over the fallen creature, he muttered a single word while that same demented smile remained plastered on his cheeks, "Bullseye." He scooped that purple mask off the stump and slipped it on over his face. Before gathering up the equipment and supplies within his camp and leaving this place behind, his mind wandered back to that conversation that he had prior to this mission. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Mr. Bullseye, rather than ask where were you before the world fell, how about we start asking where were you when the world was remade? You can become a symbol to the new world, or rather a hero by picking of the mantle of one of the fallen." "Not interested..." "You received a series of injections before this meeting. Did they explain to you what the injections were?” “A light sedative or something.” “Hmmm. Not exactly... You’ve been injected with a net of nanometer-sized generators, receivers, triggers and wires. In one sense you’re a walking cell phone. We can dial in, or we can dial in a microwave transmission and activate the triggers. We will notify you whenever you disobey an order. This includes, but is not limited to, escape attempts and going for an unauthorized kill shot.” "What did you do to me?" "We are making you into one of the heroes that this world will come to know when we enter the new age. A symbol for what is to come. Propaganda for what we have envisioned for the new world once it is saved. Lester, Benjamin Poindexter, Bullseye, or whatever other killers that you masked yourself in died with the old world. You will no longer run around doing hit jobs or gathering supplies for thugs like Wilson Fisk. You see, Mr. Bullseye... I am sorry... My apologies... I meant to say, Hawkeye..." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Upon arriving at an outpost not far from where he had camped the night before, the lone man found that it was quiet. There was no living thing in sight. While that was not out of the ordinary, what seemed strange was the matter in which the outpost was left. The only thing that remained was the lifeless bodies of those that once oversaw this place. While death was no stranger to the world that was or the world that took its place, the manner in which these people died was something that the lone man found rather fascinating. These individuals were not killed by the infected that resided outside the city walls, nor were they killed by simple bandits or raiders. The wounds that the victims carried were from something sharp and precise. It was not from a simple blade nor was it from any firearm or projectile weapon. Kneeling over one of the fallen bodies, the lone man peered closer at the wounds that had been inflicted. While he was not a mortician or doctor, this lone man was an expert in the field of death. He glared over the wounds and soon recognized the source. A twisted and psychotic smile spread across his cheeks as his eyes widened ever so large. A single word escaped his lips after realizing that this mission would bring more excitement than simply hunting a group of bandits or raiders. The word that the lone man breathed out was, "Boomerang..." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "So, Mr. Hawkeye, you will help me establish a new world from the ashes of this one. We will rebuild the world into something better than it was before. The heroes of the old have died and now it is time that we become the heroes of the new. Your first order of business is to travel outside the city. I have some outposts throughout the state that have gone dark. Find out what is happening these outposts, and do what you do best. Put an end to it. Whether it is a group of worthless bandits, raiders or even the dead... Put an end to it. Do you understand?" "Yes, I... I understand, Osborn..." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The journey to Osborn's other outpost was not particularly long, but as with any travel outside city walls, it was one that could not be taken lightly. Dangers lurked and crept in every shadow of this world. By this point, the lone man, now going by Hawkeye was used to it. In fact, in a lot of ways, he was worse than some of the dangers that became part of this world. From a distance, he could see the outline of Osborn's outpost. He stopped for a moment to listen to the screams and the cries that came from within it. It was not a moment of hesitation but it was something else entirely. That devilish and psychotic grin formed across his cheeks while listened to cries. He was given orders not to perform unauthorized kills, but he was never given orders to save anyone. The orders were to simply find out what was happening and put an end to it. *********** A flash of silver spun through the air as it took a chunk out of some poor soul's neck. That same silvery flash bounced back into the hands of the ruthless man that had laid waste to countless souls before that. He giggled and howled while tossing another one of his deadly boomerangs through the air with wild precision. The man with the deadly boomerangs cheered with absolute glee as he tore through everyone that had guarded this stronghold. Like the previous posts that he attacked, none of these people stood a chance. The scruffy, unkempt man in the stained blue jacket with a dirty beanie on his head walked over toward a whimpering woman in a corner of the room. He grinned while gazing down at the scared, defenseless woman. Tears filled her eyes as she glanced up at the scruffy man with the boomerangs. "Please..." She begged as tears rolled down her cheeks. "We're just trying to help. Osborn is trying to change things..." "Sorry, sheila, but boss' orders, I'm afraid!" The unkempt man raised up his hand with a boomerang and threw it down into the woman's head. He grinned as the boomerang bounced back into his hand. He wiped the blood off the silver weapon before placing it on one of the many custom sheaths that he had on him. Captain Boomerang licked his lips before walking over towards a series of crates. He forced open one of the containers and his eyes widened while a sinister grin spread across his dirty cheeks. His lips curled back, revealing stained and yellowing teeth. "Now this is a beaut!" He said to himself with that thick Australian accent. "I think the boss will be happy 'bout this!" Before he could load up the crates in his truck, he noticed something was off. He was not alone. A couple arrows were sticking out of the now deflated tires of his run-down vehicle. That sinister grin with stained and yellowing teeth that was once plastered on his dirty cheeks had faded away. He bit down on his lip as his eyes shifted toward the world around him. Captain Boomerang let out a chuckle before pulling out a couple of his deadly boomerangs. "About bloody time that I had a real challenge!" Captain Boomerang shouted while waiting for his new enemy. The Dark Avenger saw the outline of his new foe from his vantage point. This wasn't a band of raiders or a group of bandits. It was something far more dangerous than the average person. "You talk too much..." The dark Hawkeye muttered before preparing to battle the man with the boomerangs. Quote
Callisto Posted May 9 Read Aloud Posted May 9 Learn More About Hawkeye (Dark Avengers) Read more about Hawkeye (Dark Avengers) at Wikipedia Official Site: Marvel Comics Links: Wikipedia Captain Boomerang Read more about Captain Boomerang at Wikipedia Official Site: DC Comics Links: Wiki-Capt. Boomerang World's Finest-Capt. Boomerang Fan Site- Capt. Boomerang Quote
Boratz Posted May 9 Author Read Aloud Posted May 9 https://www.comicbookuniversebattles.com/index.php?/forums/topic/44188-match-22631-bullseye-vs-merlyn-dc/ Quote
Callisto Posted May 14 Read Aloud Posted May 14 Match Final Results Member Ratings:5.00 - JohnnyChany FPA Calculation:1 Total Votes cast 5.00 Total Combined Score 5.00 / 1 = 5.00 Final Rating on the match MATCH SCORE Hawkeye (Dark Avengers): 3Captain Boomerang: 1 Quote
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