JohnnyChany

The few Power Rangers memories I have surround this zord. It's hard to pick against it.

Gotta go with Elixir.

This one is really close. I think both individual fights (Jason vs. Thailog, Scorpion vs, Buzz-Off) would be great set-ups in themselves. I think I'm going Team 1.

I really like the idea of a team of Hisako and Raphael, but I don't think they can pull this off.

THE GANGLAND WARS: Part 7 CONTINUED FROM PART 6 The fight ended the way few fights in Gangland ended, with both people still alive. Not because the winner wanted to show mercy, but because somebody more important intervened I was still sitting behind the wheel when the side door of Argent Crown Club burst open. Out stepped Auric Goldfinger. He looked furious. He marched toward the fight. Nearby, Mercy Graves was on one knee and looming over her stood Oddjob. The menacing man had one hand wrapped around the front of her uniform, the other hand held his famous bowler hat. Mercy looked exhausted, her lip was split, and one eye was swelling. But she was still glaring at him like she wanted another round. Oddjob raised the hat. Goldfinger shouted. "ODDJOB!" The bodyguard immediately stopped. Goldfinger pointed at Mercy. "Do not kill her." Oddjob slowly turned toward him. Goldfinger sighed heavily. "Because if you kill her, then I will have to talk to Lex Luthor again." Goldfinger looked physically pained by the thought. "And I have absolutely no desire to do that." Oddjob stared at him for a moment, then casually released Mercy. She hit the pavement hard. Goldfinger continued grumbling. "Complete waste of time." He adjusted his tie. "An absolutely foolish plan." He shook his head. "I knew it would be idiotic the moment he started." Mercy slowly pushed herself upright. Goldfinger didn't even acknowledge her. I wondered what this plan could be that Goldfinger would consider it idiotic. This was the man who found merit in slow moving death lasers. Goldfinger continued ranting. "Silvermane is becoming an old fool. Tampering with things he shouldn't be tampering with." Oddjob opened his door for him and Goldfinger sat in his car. "I only hope the next meeting proves more productive," he stated with irritation. I noticed something. No Pussy Galore. That struck me as odd since they arrived together. Oddjob silently took the driver's position. The gold car peeled away almost instantly. A few minutes passed. Then another group emerged from the Argent Crown Club. This time it was Lex Luthor. Beside him walked Madam Masque. Behind them came Pussy Galore and Lark. I couldn't hear much from where I sat, only fragments. Pussy seemed engaged in animated conversation with Lark. Meanwhile Lex and Madam Masque spoke quietly. As the group crossed the parking area, Lex finally noticed Mercy. "What happened to you?" he inquired Mercy straightened slightly. "I fought Goldfinger's bodyguard." Lex lifted an eyebrow. "He attacked you?" Mercy hesitated before she responded. "Technically..." She cleared her throat. "I antagonized him first." Lex closed his eyes briefly. "Mercy." "I was protecting your honor,” she insisted. That only made him sigh. “You started a fight, and then you lost.” "He insulted you." Lex did not immediately reply, he simply looked her over for a minute. "Now, you are also in no condition to drive.” he stated. “And for what?” At that moment Madam Masque spoke up. "I may have a solution if you would like." Everyone looked toward her. She gestured toward Lark. "I have two capable drivers in my employ that are here with me." Lark blinked. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting this. Madam Masque continued. "As a gesture of goodwill, despite today's meeting not going particularly well, I would be happy to loan Lark to you for your return trip." Lark recovered quickly, and she nodded. "That is very generous," said Lex. His eyes shifted toward Lark. "I am well aware of who you are, and who you once worked for." Lark appeared a little uneasy. Lex smiled. "I would say you're making vertical moves. Good for you." Lark actually chuckled. "Thank you." Lex extended his hand toward Madam Masque. "You have my thanks." Within moments Lark was seated behind the wheel of Lex's luxury sedan. Lex entered the rear compartment. Mercy moved toward the passenger door. "No." Mercy froze. Lex pointed toward the building. "I will not allow you to bleed in my vehicle." "But.." Mercy interjected. "No." His voice remained calm. "You can speak with Silvermane about receiving medical attention." Lex adjusted his cufflinks. "Frankly, it is the least Silvermane can do after today's events." Mercy clearly hated the idea, but she reluctantly nodded. The car pulled away. Leaving only me, Madam Masque, and Pussy Galore. It was clear she was coming with us. I quickly jumped out and opened the rear passenger door. Pussy gave me an approving nod. Madam Masque entered first. Pussy followed. I shut the door behind them and climbed back into the driver's seat. "Back to the Theater District?" I asked. "No,” answered Madam Masque as she crossed her legs. “Drive south.” "South?" I repeated. "To the Gangland Strait." That got my attention. But I didn't ask questions. I simply started driving. The city slowly gave way to the waterfront. From the back seat, Pussy Galore stretched comfortably. "I really should visit the Theater District soon,” she declared. Madam Masque glanced toward her. "Oh?" "I've heard that the Circus of Crime has set up there," said Pussy. ]"That is true," Madam Masque confirmed. “I’ve always had a soft spot for the circus, I was once a trapeze artist myself,” Pussy explained. “I’ve carried that history with me even to this day.” Madam Masque made no mention of her plans with Jay, Lark, and Raven to take over the circus from the inside using Scarecrow. She simply asked. “Are you not concerned they would try to steal from you?” Pussy laughed. “I suppose they could try, but they would fail. It is the same circus of criminals that Joseph Manfredi, himself, used to be a part of, is it not?” "Also true," Madam Masque responded. "I wanted to spend some time talking with him today, given our shared history in the circus world,” stated Pussy. “But I never saw him.” Madam Masque tapped her chin. “Neither did I. It is a little strange, he is usually at most of the meetings set up by his father.” There was a brief moment of silence. “It is interesting thinking about where you both were and where you are now,” Madam Masque remarked. She then turned her attention toward me. "So." I glanced into the rearview mirror. "Yes?" "Tell me about the fight." I spent several minutes recounting everything I'd witnessed. The insults, the challenge, the punches.the destruction. The moment Oddjob nearly killed Mercy. Madam Masque listened carefully. Then she asked: "Did you ever consider intervening?" I nearly laughed. "No." "Not even for a second?" "No." Pussy snorted. Madam Masque smiled. "Another wise decision on your part." I raised an eyebrow. She continued. "From what I hear about your training..." I immediately knew where this was going. "...both of them would've wiped the floor with you." Pussy laughed loudly. I tried not to look embarrassed. Which was difficult because I knew Lark had been reporting my training progress. "You survived because you understood your limits,” said Madam Masque. I couldn't tell whether that was a compliment. Pussy shifted the conversation. "Helping Lex was smart," she declared. Madam Masque nodded. "It cost me nothing." Pussy leaned forward. "Speaking of Lex, you turned him down." "Yes." I glanced back. "Turned down what?" Pussy answered. "The whole reason today's meeting happened." That got my attention. Madam Masque sighed. "Silvermane has been working with Lex." "On what?" "A cyborg enhancement project," Madam Masque replied. I nearly drove off the road. "What?" Pussy laughed. "It sounds insane." Madam Masque nodded. "Because it is." She folded her arms. "Lex was offering specialized LexCorp protection suits for us if we didn’t want to go full cyborg." "Powered armor?" "Essentially." I whistled softly. Pussy shrugged. "I mean... considering current events... If one of Gangland's crime bosses sends their favorite assassin after you, some extra protection isn't the worst idea." Madam Masque sounded unimpressed. "I've spent enough of my life dealing with people in mechanical suits. Tony Stark alone was enough." Pussy immediately grinned. "Between Tony Stark and Joseph Manfredi, you've had quite the romantic history." Madam Masque groaned. Pussy continued. "Have you ever considered switching teams?" I nearly choked. Madam Masque stared at her. Pussy smiled innocently. "You know. My team.” She gestured toward herself. Pussy Galore and her entire team of pilots were all lesbian, much to the dismay of many a man in Gangland. Madam Masque laughed. "Sometimes it's tempting." Pussy also laughed. Eventually she pointed through the windshield. "There." Ahead sat a small boat, waiting at the dock. Several members of Pussy Galore's Flying Circus of pilots and thieves stood aboard. One woman waved as we approached. I parked. The three of us exited. The Flying Circus pilot greeted Pussy warmly. Within minutes we were moving across the waters of the Gangland Strait. A much larger vessel waited ahead. It belonged to Auric Goldfinger, so it was gold, naturally. Madam Masque stood beside me as we approached. "Another meeting?" I asked. She nodded. "Goldfinger trusts Silvermane about as much as Silvermane trusts Kingpin. We had another matter to discuss but he didn’t want to do it in Silvermane territory." That made sense. She looked toward the water. "I sincerely wonder if Silvermane understands what he's doing." "The cyborg thing?" "Yes. The last time Silvermane's experiments got out of control..” She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. I knew enough about the fate of the man who would become Mister Negative to understand the implication. Eventually we boarded the larger vessel. Goldfinger waited for us. Beside him stood another man, tall lean, and immaculately dressed. In his hand rested an elegant golden pistol. It was clearly Francisco Scaramanga. The famous assassin looked exactly like the kind of man who viewed murder as an art form. He had a perfect suit and perfect posture. The golden gun practically glowed in the late afternoon sunlight. I'd heard Goldfinger considered him his favorite hired killer. Honestly? The gun alone probably earned him the position. It fit Goldfinger's aesthetic perfectly. Goldfinger wasted no time. "Did you get it?" Madam Masque reached inside her coat. "Information isn't free." A member of Pussy's Flying Circus immediately handed over several gold bars. Goldfinger looked annoyed, but he paid. Madam Masque handed the bars to me. "Carry those." I nearly dropped one. They were heavier than I expected. Then Madam Masque produced a manila envelope and opened it. Photographs slid onto the table. Goldfinger frowned. The photos showed a red-haired man. Each photo showed him with a different glass eye. He also had an unsettling smile. One image appeared to show an artificial eye rigged as an explosive device. Madam Masque tapped the photographs. "His name is Mr. Benedict." Goldfinger's expression darkened. "He worked as an assassin for Tony Vivaldi, a boss for one of the other Maggia families," Madam Masque explained. She flipped to another file showing Vivaldi dead in his pool. "Eventually he grew tired of Vivaldi's incompetence." Scaramanga smirked. "So, he murdered him," stated Madam Masque. Goldfinger looked at the file with interest. "He has since become independent.” Madam Masque spread additional photographs across the table. "I have not yet discovered which crime boss hired him to target your organization. But I will.” Goldfinger handed the photos to Scaramanga. The assassin examined them carefully, then smiled a very dangerous smile. "I like him already." Goldfinger pointed at the photograph. "I want his head." Scaramanga looked intrigued. "The challenge interests me." The meeting ended shortly afterward. Goldfinger's territory would soon become a hunting ground. A playground for killers. Mr. Benedict hunted Scaramanga. Scaramanga hunted Benedict. And anyone unfortunate enough to get caught between their crossfire soon learned a fatal lesson. In Gangland, the safest place during a war was often nowhere at all.

Great chapter, Boratz. I assume you must have an outline somewhere to keep all these alliances straight when they involve so many different properties. Good to see Syndrome still active. I am going to go with Gazelle to continue to cut through members of the Star Wars universe.

THE GANGLAND WARS: Part 6 CONTINUED FROM PART 5 I'd seen plenty of fights before coming to Gangland. Bar fights, street fights, the occasional mugging that went sideways. Most of them lasted about thirty seconds.The fight between Oddjob and Mercy Graves wasn't one of those fights. It was the kind of fight that made you forget to blink. The two bodyguards circled one another. Oddjob stood broad and immovable. His black suit looked stretched across shoulders that seemed too large for a normal human being. The famous steel-rimmed bowler hat remained in one hand while his expression remained utterly unreadable. Across from him stood Mercy Graves. Her tailored black suit jacket and driver’s cap remained on. Neither looked remotely intimidated. Which should have been my first clue that things were about to get ugly. Oddjob moved first. He lunged forward with shocking speed for a man his size. Mercy slipped aside. His fist crashed into the hood of a nearby luxury sedan. The metal of the car buckled, and the car alarm immediately started screaming. "Jesus Christ," I muttered. Mercy responded with a sharp kick to Oddjob's ribs. The impact echoed across the parking lot. Oddjob barely reacted. Instead, he grabbed her ankle. Mercy's eyes widened. Then suddenly she was airborne. Oddjob hurled her several feet through the air She hit the pavement hard. But she rolled, recovered, and somehow ended up back on her feet before he could capitalize. I was mesmerized. The whole thing looked less like a fight and more like two natural disasters colliding. Mercy launched herself forward. There was a punch, an elbow, and a knee Every strike delivered with precision. Oddjob absorbed most of them before finally catching her wrist. He swung, and Mercy ducked. The punch shattered a decorative stone planter behind her. Flowers exploded into the air. I couldn't look away. And as I watched, another realization settled into my mind. Lark had been right. I always knew she was, but it was crystal clear and in my face at the moment. Not every battle in Gangland ended with guns. Not every enemy stood politely at the other end of an alley waiting to exchange bullets. Sometimes you got dragged into situations like this. Two highly trained killers throwing each other through expensive property. And if you couldn't fight? You died. Simple as that. Back when I first arrived, I'd assumed hand-to-hand combat only mattered if masked vigilantes or heroes ever showed up. That was comic book stuff. Not Gangland stuff. At least that's what I thought. The irony is that the very day I came to that realization was also the day Gangland's first masked vigilante arrived. Or at least the day she made her move. Not that I knew it at the time. Nobody did. And if you'd asked anyone who they thought would become Gangland's first masked crimefighter, nobody would've guessed socialite, Ellen Patrick. Better known in underground circles as the Domino Lady. Back in New York, Ellen Patrick had spent years becoming a ghost story among criminals. A wealthy socialite by day. A masked vigilante by night. The daughter of a district attorney who had gotten too close to organized crime. Too close to taking down Silvermane. The story went that years ago her father had been murdered by killers tied to Silvermane's criminal empire. The crime had never officially been proven. But Ellen never doubted who was responsible. So, she put on a domino mask, picked up a pistol, and spent years hunting Silvermane's operations. One associate at a time, one ruined scheme at a time, and one corpse at a time if necessary. Most people assumed her obsession would've faded eventually. It didn't, it only evolved. She no longer just wanted to stop Silvermane she wanted to punish him. And now that Silvermane had relocated the main part of his operation to Gangland, she had followed him. But Ellen Patrick wasn't interested in simply putting a bullet in Silvermane's head. No. That would've been too easy. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted him to understand loss. Which meant her target wasn't Silvermane, it was his son, Joseph Manfredi. Now, she had her perfect opportunity. Any act of aggression against Silvermane would be seen as a call made by one of the other crime lords, a consequence of Big Boy sending Flattop after Hammerhead. The Domino Lady could target Joseph and extract revenge without bringing any attention to herself. The strange thing about Joseph was how little he resembled his father. Silvermane felt like old, organized crime, cold calculating, and suspicious. Joseph felt different. He was more charming, more modern, and more ambitious in ways his father just didn’t understand. He had the confidence of a politician and the charisma of someone who genuinely enjoyed being around people. If Silvermane ruled through fear and caution, Joseph exercised his power through conversation and relationships. Sometimes it genuinely felt like they belonged in entirely different worlds. Unfortunately for Joseph, that is part of what made him vulnerable, especially lately. The latest rumor around Gangland amongst those in the know was that Joseph hadn't taken his most recent breakup with Madam Masque particularly well. I remembered the conversation in the car. The slight fondness in Madam Masque's voice when she talked about him. The way she laughed when discussing their history. The way she spoke about him differently than she spoke about almost everyone else. I doubted she'd ever admit any of that to Joseph himself. But it had been there. Even I could hear it. Unfortunately for Joseph, loneliness creates openings. And Ellen Patrick knew exactly how to exploit them. She had been cozying up to him for weeks. Days later multiple sources would scatter stories across Gangland about what happened. You had to piece together the fragments of information yourself until a picture emerged. While I stood distracted by Oddjob and Mercy Graves trying to destroy one another, Joseph Manfredi had quietly slipped out of the Argent Crown Club. Beside him walked Ellen Patrick. Joseph looked every bit the wealthy heir. He had perfectly styled hair, a dark tailored suit, and a confident smile. Handsome enough that people noticed him immediately. Ellen was equally striking. Curly blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a form fitting white evening dress and pearl earrings. She had the kind of beauty that made men lower their guard without realizing it. The two crossed through the hidden parking area reserved for Silvermane's most trusted guests. "I still can't believe you're willing to leave with me," Ellen told him. Joseph laughed. "Anything to miss another hour of listening to my father complain about contingency plans." "You make him sound exhausting." "He is exhausting,” Joseph replied. Ellen smiled. "Then disappear with me." Joseph looked at her. "Disappear?" "Just for a little while." She gently touched his arm. "No meetings. No business. None of this. Joseph chuckled. "I don't think I would ever want to disappear from this completely." "Maybe not forever." Ellen’s smile widened. "But for one evening?" Joseph considered it. Then nodded. "One evening sounds nice." "Good." Ellen slipped her arm through his. "Let's go." Joseph never suspected a thing. Why would he? From his perspective he was spending time with a beautiful woman who seemed genuinely interested in him. From Ellen's perspective, she was leading Silvermane's son toward an execution. And somehow, I missed all of it. Every single second. Even though it happened right behind me. Because I was too busy watching Oddjob throw Mercy Graves against a wall. By the time I eventually heard the story days later, it had already become one of the most talked-about events in Gangland. The targeting of Silvermane's son. The mystery of who the blonde woman was really working for. And the escalation of Gangland’s growing internal war. At the time, though? I knew none of that. All I knew was that Oddjob and Mercy Graves were still trying to kill each other in Silvermane's secret parking garage. And somewhere inside the Argent Crown Club, three crime lords were discussing the future of Gangland. None of them realizing that a masked vigilante had arrived on the scene and already made her move.

Was kind of hoping for a Mr. Peanut political campaign, still a creative pairing and I'm taking Mr. Peanut for the upset in the Great Harvest Showdown.

Was just reminded of Balrog's win loss record on the CBUB. Gotta get my guy a winnable fight. Unfortunately, this isn't it. Give me team 1 for the victory.

I'm going with DCAU Power Girl.

THE GANGLAND WARS: Part 5 CONTINUED FROM PART 4 The day of the Silvermane meeting felt important. But not loud important, or headline important. Gangland didn't work that way. The city changed in whispers long before the bullets started flying. And that morning, sitting behind the wheel of one of Madame Masque's luxury cars while rain crawled across the windshield, I could feel another shift coming. It was my first major event as part of her organization. My first time seeing how real power in Gangland actually moved. The car itself looked like something a movie star would've been chauffeured around in before the city swallowed Hollywood whole. Long black body. Gold trim. Leather seats that were soft enough to sink into. I sat in the driver's seat trying to look more confident than I felt. Lark occupied the passenger seat beside me wearing one of the sleek black-and-white tailored outfits Melvin had designed after she joined Madam Masque. Gold accents lined the sleeves and collar now, replacing the cold service Iceberg Lounge aesthetic she had been used to. And in the back seat sat Madam Masque herself. She looked like wealth and danger molded into human form. "You know," she said smoothly from the back seat, "you really did stare quite a lot while I was disguised as Nora." I nearly swerved. Lark slowly raised one eyebrow toward me. I kept my eyes locked on the road. I stammered. "I don't know what you're talking about." Madam Masque laughed softly. "Oh, come now." Her tone carried amusement like velvet wrapped around razor blades. "You practically looked hypnotized." Lark smirked openly now. "Seriously?" I gripped the wheel tighter. "She stood out. I didn't know who she was." Madam Masque leaned forward slightly between the seats. "Men are all the same. It’s so easy to grab your attention." Then she tilted her masked face thoughtfully. "Though I do wonder, how much you would've stared if I'd arrived with my real face." One of her gloved hands touched the edge of her golden mask. For one unbelievable second, I thought she was actually going to remove it. Instead, she laughed quietly and leaned back again. "No. I think I'll keep some mystery." Lark immediately spoke up. "You wouldn't need to hide your face from me." Madam Masque tilted her head slightly. "Oh?" Lark's voice remained calm and sincere. "My respect for you goes far beyond physical appearance." For a moment the car became strangely quiet, although Madam Masque seemed to take the words to heart. Then Madam Masque spoke again. "You know, there was actually a period where I no longer needed the mask." That got both our attention. "The Hood healed my disfigurement years ago using the Reality Stone." "The actual Reality Stone?" I repeated in disbelief. "The genuine article." She sounded oddly casual about that. "But by then," she continued softly, "I had grown accustomed to the mask. I enjoy wearing it now." Lark glanced toward her. "For intimidation?" Madam Masque laughed. "Among other things." She turned her gaze toward the rain-soaked city outside. "I suspect the Hood may eventually appear in Gangland someday." "If he did, do you think he'd use the Reality Stone to heal Harvey Dent?" Lark asked. “You know if he still had access to it.” Madam Masque answered instantly. “The better question is whether Two-Face would allow him to." That one lingered with me. Because she was right. Some scars stopped being injuries after enough years. They became identity. I found myself wondering how much of Gangland operated that way. How many people here secretly needed their damage because they no longer knew who they'd be without it. Before I could think much further, Madam Masque changed subjects. "As for today's meeting, this was inevitable." I glanced into the mirror. "Because of Tombstone taking over the Warehouse District?" "Precisely." She crossed one long leg over the other. "Silvermane has a habit of circling the wagons whenever Gangland becomes unstable. He always calls upon me and Auric Goldfinger during moments like this since our territories border his own." Lark smirked faintly. “And because he wants to know where everybody stands." Madam Masque nodded approvingly. "Very good." I frowned slightly. "You make him sound paranoid." That actually amused her. "Another good observation." She leaned back comfortably. "Because he is paranoid." Rain streaked across the windshield while she continued. "Silvermane's power isn't nearly as absolute as the public believes." That surprised me. Most people in Gangland talked about Silvermane like he was untouchable. Madam Masque continued: "He has an extremely testy relationship with Kingpin." That part made more sense. Two men that powerful existing that close together sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. "And in situations like that," she stated, "alliances become extremely important. Especially during periods where power structures are changing." Like Big Boy dying. Like Tombstone rising. Like Gangland reshuffling itself. "So, what do you think of Silvermane personally?" I asked. Madam Masque gave a small, amused sigh. "He was one of my father’s greatest rivals and he gets trapped in old ways." That tracked. Everything somehow came back to Count Nefaria eventually. Then her tone shifted slightly. "I dated his son Joseph on and off for years." Lark turned fully around in her seat. "What?" Madam Masque laughed lightly. "Oh yes. My feelings about Silvermane often depended entirely on how angry I currently was at Joseph." Even Lark laughed at that. Eventually we entered Silvermane territory. The district looked exactly like old money trying desperately to remain powerful in a changing world. There were massive stone buildings and private bridges. As well as industrial plants beside opera houses. The meeting itself took place inside the Argent Crown Club. An enormous private social club overlooking the harbor. Silver lion statues lined the entrance. The valets in front wore silver gloves. The entire building looked designed specifically for rich criminals who wanted to pretend they were respectable businessmen. I parked in a hidden area away from the entrance pointed out to me by Madam Maque. Lark immediately checked outside before opening her door. "I'll accompany Madam Masque inside alone." I nodded. "Too much muscle makes Silvermane nervous?" "Exactly." The logic was very similar to the night with Influence heading toad the Iceberg Lounge. Small crews and respectful appearances. Crime lords trying not to accidentally start wars by bringing too many armed psychopaths into each other's territory. Lark adjusted her coat. "And with the large oaf, Man Mountain Marko around, everybody's already going to be tense." That name alone painted a pretty ugly mental image. Lark pointed at me. "You stay with the car." I nodded. "Keep an eye out," she added. "Three major crime bosses gathering in one place could attract attention fast if word gets out." Then she and Madam Masque disappeared into the Argent Crown Club together. Leaving me alone with the rain. For a while, nothing happened. Then another car arrived. It had a long silver body, armored plating hidden beneath immaculate luxury styling, and tinted windows. It pulled into the only other parking spot in the area. A few moments later, a third vehicle pulled in. It was gold, not subtle gold, aggressively gold. It pulled up right behind the second car. I immediately heard angry shouting from inside it. The rear passenger door opened. Auric Goldfinger stepped out red-faced and furious in an immaculate gold-patterned suit. "What is this nonsense?!" he exclaimed. Then the driver's side opened. His driver and bodyguard, Oddjob emerged silently. He had massive shoulders and an expressionless face topped with a bowler hat. He marched directly toward the silver vehicle occupying the reserved spot and opened the back door. He no doubt intended immediate violence But before he could reach inside, an athletic woman with short hair tucked into a driver’s cap stepped out of the driver’s side front door of the silver vehicle. “If you value your life,” she threatened. “You will shut that door this instant!” Oddjob slowly turned toward her. The atmosphere changed instantly. The woman didn't flinch. "If you want to try me," she continued calmly, "you'll regret it." Oddjob stepped toward her anyway. Then another voice interrupted. "Mercy. Please." To my absolute shock, Lex Luthor stepped out of the car next. Lex Luthor had legitimate public ambitions. Political ambitions. Corporate ambitions. The kind of ambitions that usually required you not to appear in a crime lord haven like Gangland. Even Goldfinger looked stunned. "What in God's name are you doing here?" Lex adjusted his cufflinks calmly. "Silvermane requested my attendance personally." Goldfinger narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?" Lex smiled. "He has a business arrangement he'd like to discuss with you and Miss Frost. One requiring my assistance." Goldfinger visibly disliked this. But after a moment he pushed through it and extended his hand. "Very well then." Lex shook it. "Oddjob. Stand down," Goldfinger barked. At that moment a woman exited Goldfinger's car, blonde, confident, and sharp-eyed. She was dressed in a fitted gold jacket with black gloves and enough swagger to make everybody nearby feel underdressed. She looked disappointed. "Shame." Mercy glanced toward her. The blonde woman smirked. "I wanted to see if Lex's driver was actually bold enough to fight Oddjob." "I'll protect Lex from anyone," Mercy declared. Her eyes locked onto Oddjob. "And I'm not scared of anybody." Oddjob stared at her silently. Honestly? Even at that moment I knew she wasn’t bluffing. Lex looked mildly charmed by Goldfinger’s female acquaintance. "I don't believe we've met." Goldfinger gestured toward her. "This is Miss Galore. One of the best pilots and operators in the business. In fact, she leads an entire crew." Lex seemed genuinely intrigued. "A pleasure." Pussy Galore smiled politely. "We should probably continue introductions inside lest we keep our host waiting," she suggested. Goldfinger nodded. "Quite right." The three disappeared toward the Argent Crown Club together. Goldfinger called back over his shoulder: "Oddjob! Find another parking spot." Oddjob grunted quietly and returned toward the vehicle. Then Mercy made a mistake. Or maybe she simply couldn't resist. "You're lucky they stopped me," she called out. Oddjob ignored her. Mercy smirked. "You should show Mr. Luthor more respect. In face you should apologize to him for the way you went after him.” Still no response. She kept going. "Are you really Goldfinger’s muscle? I've seen scarier men carrying groceries." That finally stopped him. Slowly, Oddjob turned and reached for his bowler hat. I was unsure of what to do, should I get out of the car and try to stop them? Surely a fight between the right-hand man of Auric Goldfinger and Lex Luthor’s bodyguard would only lead to more internal strife in the city. But what would they make of my presence? And was more chaos for the other Crime Lords what my current boss really wanted? In the end, I remained still and only watched it unfold.

Going with Team 1.

Continuing to enjoy this crossover, can't wait to see who pops up next. I'm actually going to go with the Mortal Kombat duo this time around.

Another great entry, Boratz. I'm also going X-Men, especially with a team that big.

THE GANGLAND WARS: Part 4 CONTINUED FROM PART 3 The funny thing about survival is that sometimes it looks a lot like cowardice until everybody else winds up dead. I thought about that often during my first few weeks working for Madame Masque. Especially after what happened to the Warehouse District. Turns out Madame Masque had been right. I had made the smart decision. Not noble, not brave, but smart. Because the war between Alphonse "Big Boy" Caprice and Tombstone ended exactly the way most gang wars do fast, ugly, and with the overly ambitious idiot who indirectly started it bleeding out on the pavement. Tombstone's coup tore through the Warehouse District like a wildfire through dry timber. A lot of Big Boy's men folded immediately. Some hated him for making the first move against Hammerhead in the first place. Others figured that even if they survived Tombstone's takeover, Hammerhead would eventually wipe out whatever remained for daring to make a play at the docks. Either way, loyalty suddenly became very negotiable. And in Gangland, once people stop believing you can protect them, you're already dead. Caprice went down hard. Rumor was Tombstone personally broke him apart in his own office while the last loyalists tried desperately to barricade the building. I never learned exactly how Big Boy died, only that afterward nobody was laughing in the Warehouse District anymore. Now Tombstone owned it. And me? There was no chance in hell I could ever go back there. Tombstone's new crew would've shot me instantly for previously working under Caprice. Meanwhile, the few survivors still loyal to Big Boy would've happily killed me for disappearing the same night Influence vanished and the whole district collapsed. So, I stayed exactly where I was. The Theater District. Working for a woman whose true motives I still didn't fully understand. Weeks passed. And despite the danger, despite the constant scheming and shifting alliances, I found myself strangely relieved to be away from the chaos consuming the Warehouse District. At least until training hours. Because every morning, Lark beat the hell out of me. The latest example ended with my back slamming painfully against the training mat beneath Madam Masque's nightclub compound. I groaned. Lark stood over me adjusting the sleeves of her fitted black training jacket like she hadn't just rearranged my internal organs. "Twelve seconds," she said. I wheezed. "That feels disrespectfully fast." "It was disrespectfully fast." She extended one gloved hand. I grabbed it. She immediately twisted my wrist, hooked my ankle, and threw me back onto the mat again. Pain exploded through my spine. "There," she said calmly. "Now it was fourteen." I stared at the ceiling. The training room itself looked far too elegant for violence. Dark hardwood floors. Crimson curtains. Vintage boxing posters framed beneath golden lights. Jazz drifted faintly from speakers somewhere deeper in the compound. Madam Masque liked style in everything. Even assault. Lark crouched beside me. "What happens if somebody knocks your gun away?" I rubbed my shoulder painfully. "I improvise?" She smirked. "You die." Fair point. Truthfully, I wasn't a terrible driver. I could handle a getaway route. Knew how to lose tails. Could hot-wire almost anything with wheels. But hand-to-hand? That was another story. Lark, meanwhile, fought like she had been handcrafted in a laboratory specifically designed to hurt men. She was still serving as Madam Masque's chauffeur and primary bodyguard, much like she had for Penguin before defecting. But she and Madam Masque apparently had bigger plans. Which meant I was being trained as her eventual replacement. Unfortunately for me, Lark believed pain was the best teacher. She hauled me upright again. "Again." Twenty painful minutes later I found myself face-down on the mat once more. Lark brushed loose hair strands from her face and exhaled lightly. "Better." "That feels like a lie,” I grunted. "It is." She smirked. "But you're improving." Then she checked the elegant silver watch around her wrist. "Hm." She stepped toward the door. "I've got a meeting." I remained sprawled on the floor. "Convenient timing." She ignored that. "We'll continue tomorrow." Lark grabbed her coat from a nearby chair. "And before you ask: no, you still aren't ready to protect Madam Masque alone." I tried sitting upright and immediately regretted it. "So, you're coming to Silvermane territory this weekend with us too?" I asked. "Of course." She said as she slid her pistol holster into place beneath her coat. "Big meeting. Too many important people." Then she glanced back at me with faint amusement. "And you still fight like a man trying not to wrinkle his suit." The door shut behind her. I watched her leave longer than was probably healthy. Which would've been less embarrassing if I could've immediately stood back up afterward instead of remaining on the mat clutching my ribs. I think I may have lost consciousness for several minutes until I was awakened by another voice entering the room. "Ah. She got you again." I looked up. Gladiator, better known as Melvin Potter, stood in the doorway holding a measuring tape around his neck and several fabric swatches beneath one arm. He had broad shoulders and thick forearms. Melvin was built like a heavyweight boxer who had wandered accidentally into a tailor shop and decided to stay. Most people in Gangland knew him as muscle. But inside Madam Masque's operation, he was also something else entirely. A genius costume designer. He glanced around the room. "Where'd Lark go?" "Meeting with Madam Masque.” "Good, good. I just had a wonderful idea for her new look." He crouched beside me and offered a hand. "Since we're moving away from the Penguin aesthetic." I accepted the help gratefully. Melvin pulled me upright effortlessly. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I could teach you martial arts too if you are looking for a change of pace." I rubbed my ribs. "You think Lark's methods are excessive?" Melvin chuckled knowingly. "I’m saying I'd probably be less rough." I tried shrugging casually. "Lark's fine." Melvin immediately grinned. "Oh, you got it bad." "I do not." "You absolutely do." I attempted dignity. It failed. Melvin laughed. "Come on. Madam Masque meetings never last long. She likes efficiency." We exited the training room and walked deeper into Madam Masque's compound. Her base of operations looked exactly like what you'd expect from a wealthy Maggia princess trying to blend aristocracy with organized crime, velvet curtains, marble floors and golden chandeliers. Antique statues stood beside tommy-gun carrying guards. The scent of expensive perfume mingled with cigar smoke and gun oil. Every hallway looked like a wealthy social club designed by someone fully prepared for machine-gun ambushes. As we rounded one corner, I froze slightly. Two men sat playing cards with several Nefaria Family thugs. And they looked absolutely insane. Ebenezer Laughton, Scarecrow, lounged lazily in a patched brown coat with straw protruding from the sleeves and collar like he'd been stitched together from abandoned farm equipment. His face was gaunt and theatrical, framed by greasy strands of hair beneath a battered wide-brimmed hat. Three actual crows perched calmly around the card table. One sat directly beside his whiskey glass. Meanwhile Porcupine looked even more absurd. Alexander Gentry wore a bulky brown combat outfit covered in mechanical quills protruding from the shoulders, arms, and back like some kind of armored woodland animal. The Nefaria thugs around them wore normal tailored mafia suits. Which somehow made the two of them look even crazier. I stared openly. Honestly, nobody at Big Boy's headquarters would've been allowed within fifty feet of the place dressed like that. Then again, maybe the Theater District changed things. Here, garish costumes and theatrical weirdness blended into the scenery more naturally. Melvin noticed me staring. "They both used to work for Count Nefaria." I looked back at him. "Madam Masque's father?" Melvin nodded. "Now they're trying to get in good with the daughter so they can establish themselves in Gangland." Scarecrow suddenly whistled sharply. One of the crows stole cards directly from a thug's hand. The thug cursed loudly. Porcupine laughed so hard several quills rattled. Melvin sighed. "Personally, I doubt Madam Masque fully trusts either of them. She remembers how quickly they abandoned her father when things went bad. "Then why let them stick around?" I asked. "Because she's always scheming something." We continued down the hall until voices drifted through an open doorway ahead, female voices. One of them unfamiliar. We slowed near the entrance. Inside sat Madam Masque, with Jay, Lark, and Raven standing behind her. across from them, another woman was dressed entirely in red. It was international terrorist, Red Claw. She looked lethal. Sharp cheekbones with black hair complete with a silver streak that went down to her shoulders. She wore a crimson dress slit high at one leg. And on her shoulder that was not covered by her dress, rested the tattoo of a red claw mark. Even seated, she radiated danger. "We require a new training facility," Red Claw said calmly. Madam Masque folded her gloved hands together. "And you believe the Theater District is suitable?" "Discreet. Wealthy. International access," Red Claw responded. “I can think of few places better.” Red Claw smiled faintly. "And your organization appreciates professionalism." Madam Masque lifted her head slightly. "I appreciate respect." Red Claw nodded. "Which is why I came directly to you first." Madam Masque smiled behind the golden mask. Smart woman. The two finalized their arrangement quickly. It was businesslike and efficient. Then Red Claw rose from her seat. As she exited the room, her cold gaze slid over me. I felt like I'd just been evaluated for burial depth. Then she disappeared down the corridor. Melvin immediately entered the room enthusiastically. "Lark! I have a wonderful idea for your new look before the Silvermane meeting." Lark sighed dramatically. "That sentence somehow makes me nervous." Melvin held out a design he had in mind for Lark to look over. Madam Masque leaned back comfortably. "It was refreshing doing business with Red Claw. A proper show of respect." Then irritation entered her voice. "Unlike the recent arrival of the Ringmaster and his Circus of Crime." Jay rolled her eyes. "They've been robbing tourists nonstop." "And locals," Raven added. "If Ringmaster believes he can establish operations in my district without permission, or without offering tribute, he is gravely mistaken,” Madam Masque declared coldly. Lark crossed her arms "So what are we doing about them?" Madam Masque waved it off. We’ll deal with them later." She gestured toward the hallway. "First I need to decide what to do with Porcupine and Scarecrow." Jay grimaced and shuddered slightly. "Scarecrow reminds me too much of the Scarecrow back in Gotham. Never liked him." Raven looked toward Madam Masque. "What are you thinking?" Madam Masque tapped one black-gloved finger against the desk. "I haven't decided yet." Lark suddenly smiled. "I have an idea." Everyone turned toward her. "I looked into him, Scarecrow used to be an escape artist at the circus,” Lark began. Madam Masque nodded slowly. "And?" "And he has trained crows. No one would think twice about him trying to join the Circus of Crime." “I like where you are going with this,” stated Madam Masque. Lark continued confidently. "Once inside, he eliminates Ringmaster and takes over the operation." Raven immediately understood as well. "Then all those criminal freaks start working for us throughout Gangland." Madam Masque's eyes gleamed behind the gold mask. "And nobody can trace them back to me." Lark nodded. "Exactly." "What if Ringmaster puts Scarecrow under mind control with that ridiculous hat of his?" asked Jay. Raven shrugged calmly. "Then we eliminate all of them personally and send a message about what isn't tolerated in the Theater District." Madam Masque smiled proudly at the three women. "I knew I was right to recruit the three of you. Let’s do it.” Standing there watching the trio immediately begin planning covert infiltration and assassination schemes mere weeks after defecting from Penguin, I realized they were just as bold as Madam Masque was for going after them in the first place. I wondered if I would need to be bolder for Madam Masque to want to keep me around.