Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 26, 2020 6:45:17 GMT -5
Participants: Tim Drake-Wayne | Oswald Cobblepot | Bruce Wayne
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): An island off the Gotham coastline
Time of Day: Midnight
Weather: Torrential downpour
Summary: A blast from the Jurassic Past
Would you believe me if I said there was a fantastical world of horrific abominations? An affront to God, an island of evil, horrible, monstrous things. This was the island of Doctor Milo. Just off the coast of Gotham City, New Jersey. The island was a mostly uninhabitable place, which housed a coastal fortress nestled cozily within the islands foliage. It was an old revolutionary war bunker, used by the Americans to fend off the imperial armada in the early days of war. It was a fortress for sure, but it looked far more like a castle. The sort of dreary fictional castles you’d find in the works of Mary Shelley or Bram Stoker. All of the foreboding aura, but less of the regal eloquence, for you see, the castle had been long since abandoned, and nearly forgotten. Forgone at the days of naval warfare, in it’s stead was a war with Mother Nature. Vines, grassland and invading wildlife crept into the stone and rock, chiseling away at the walls with the aide of Poseidon’s thrashing currents.
It seemed as though God did not like this place, for he threw every ounce of energy at it in some vain attempt to crumble that castle to pieces. Tidal waves of rampaging ocean currents and the smattering pitter-patter of torrential downpour cascaded against the ancient brick like a waterfall. A hellfire or water from above and below with wind and water bellowing in a chaotic flurry. Everything crashing and thrashing against it, but it refused. Refused to give in and give out. Refused to crumble down. All of it’s evil, and all of it’s horror pulsating through every brick and mortar, and perhaps this anger and hatred and evil was the only reason it was still standing. So powerful was it’s negativity, that it refused to give in to God himself. God and all of his omnipotence was nothing to this towering seaside fortress. God was an afterthought.
This was the house and home of perhaps the most miserable man on the planet. Dour, rotten and angry at everyone and everything. This was the island of Doctor Achilles Milo. Not legally his island, but spiritually. The secluded and forgotten fortress so happened to provide the perfect base of operations for his machinations. He was an eccentric fellow, macabre and downright strange. He was the sort of fellow who worshipped the weird and the wild. Someone so obsessed with science fiction, that he had every intention of making it science fact.
Milo crept through the halls of his withered palace like an ambling corpse, haunched over and limping about with an oddly intense purpose. His face was long, like a horse yet surprisingly almost handsome. Appearing to be on the younger side, despite his middle age, but altogether tired looking. Tired but young. His expression was sour and bitter, an outright frown plastered on his face. His eyes were large, but half shut. He had look of indescribable sadness about him, like he was always on the verge of tears. With heavy, almost droopy eyelids and dark lines hanging beneath, he looked downright miserable. He housed a distinctive black bowl cut, which blended quite grimly into the complex’s natural shadows. His body was rather gaunt, but with a small Malik there of muscle. It comes natural with a career of fighting superheroes. He dressed professionally, with a tattered old lab jacket which housed a single black pen in it’s pocket, black trousers, white converse sneakers, and a black sweater vest. He limped quietly down the halls with a seething contempt for mankind. The sort of hatred for his fellow person which would be unfathomable to most. He was sick. Sick of the scorn and sick of being ostracized. Milo loathed the world. Loathed it and all of it’s inhabitants. But he especially loathed his benefactor, Mr. Oswald Cobblepot.
This whole operation was funded by Cobblepot. The specimens, the scientists, the few armed guards stationed on site, it was all Cobblepot’s doing. It was an investment, one which thus far, hadn’t proven very lucrative. An experimental series of weapons, which Achilles Milo was charged with designing and manufacturing. It was a rather bizarre operation. The odd Gothamite would occasionally notice a very small cargo boat sailing to the island. It would house supplies, goons, and most often, birds. From pigeons, to chickens, to ostriches, to even cassowaries and once even a condor. It would sail to a rickety and battered old wooden dock. There, the Cargo would be unloaded to a few trucks ceviche would then vanish onto the foliage and bramble. Milo’s task was simple (for a mad scientist), collect the shipment of birds, study them, analyze their base genetic structure, and then devolve them into their primitive forms. The primitive ancestor of birds, as you may know, are dinosaurs. Feathered, scaly, monstrous dinosaurs. Weapons. Weapons which conveniently fit the Penguin’s bird motif.
Penguin was here, now, at the palace. On Milo’s island. He’d been waiting for the mad doctor for about ten minutes. Penguin did not enjoy waiting. Milo ambled around a few corridors until he spotted the buccaneer bird from afar. The back of his girthy ovoid form noticeable from even several feet away. He was nestled upon an outside balcony, the pitter-patter of rain puttering against his umbrella as the darkly figure gazed off into the unending shower. ”H-Hello and w-welcome, M-Mister Kapelput.” Professor Milo timidly approached, sloppily muddling a few loose papers and documents beside his arm. Penguin took a slight gaze behind him, his cigarette holder pursed between two lips which were as black as the void, guzzling out smoke like some old factory. "Cobblepot." The Penguin quietly chirped mostly to himself. It was at this point, that a third figure made his presence known with a sneer. This was a lieutenant of his, name of Mercer Beckett. Milo shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of them, darting his eyes to the floor with a shaky frown. ”Pl-Please... Allow me to escort you to my Laboratory.”
Achilles timidly led on, with Mr. Mercer following close by, and Penguin waddling alongside. His umbrella tapped to the floor with each stepping limp, tap, waddle, tap, waddle, the metal tip echoing against the stone and down the dimly lit halls. Cobblepot, ever eloquent, dressed in a warmer, boating attire. He wore a glistening black tuxedo with two rather cozy looking white gloves stuffed into it’s pocket squares (those gloves happened to take the shape of flippers). Penguin had black trousers to match his suit, and a red checkered vest of a plaid pattern with four black buttons. Beneath that was an unbuttoned white button up with black ascot snuggly stuffed within it. The ascot housed a single red ruby at the center and nothing else. His shoes were a polished black, both twisted with his leg waddle and having a pair of white spats around both of them. He wore a pair of circular metal sunglasses, and had a straw hat with a white band around it nestled upon his greasy black hair. Then there was Mr. Mercer. He was a portly fellow from Yorkshire. He wasn’t quite as large as Penguin, but his obesity was still quite noticeable. Mercer’s face was grizzled with age, and always held some venomous sneer, reminiscent of some fat viper. He wore a purple Hawaiian button up with orange and green floral pattens, with khaki shorts and a pair of sneakers.
There was an uncomfortable silence amongst the entourage as they went through the halls of Milo’s castle. If not for the rip-roaring thunder outside, and click clacking of Cobblepot’s umbrella, one would have been able to hear even the chitter chatter of a mouse. They passed a few goons, a wandering researcher or two, and a few empty rooms before reaching the Laboratory. Two armed guards greeted them at the doors. The group strolled in with no small amount of authority. ”Yo-You’ll find that we’ve made a great deal of progress since your last visit.” The lab was larger than you’d expect. It was on an incline, burrowing into the ground and allowing for the facility to exist underground. There were five other researchers, two of which were dressed in chemical suits. The others wore goggles, smocks, and other accessories. They paid no mind to the intruders. In fact, only two of the researchers even noticed Cobblepot and Mercer.
The room itself was an odd mix of mechanical and stone, a sort of melding between future and past. The laboratory proper, that is the equipment and gear, consisted of a few tables with chemical flasks, microscopes, and Petrie dishes. There was one table with a rather ancient looking computer and a few other monitors, then there were crates and cages haphazardly placed along the walls. Finally, there were three massive tubes, each with some... Horrible thing inside, floating in what Penguin could only assume was amniotic fluid. Each massive glass canister contained something that was worse than the last. The first held what could only properly be described as an alien. It was tiny, and lifeless. A pulsating pink globule of flesh wading incoherently about in some murky teal water. It looked so soft and malleable, like a squishy mass of rubber. Yet there were scabs and veins, everything about it looked so moist yet also so shriveled up at the same time. Curled into a fetal position, it looked oh so pathetic. With bulging alien eyes and an overall gibbous texture to it’s flesh. The next canister contained something... Bigger. Like the creature before, except with thin and scraggly likes of white hair spindling out from the globule muscle and tissue. A twisted grin began stretching across Dr. Milo’s face. It was a grin of pride, gnarled and horrific pride. Haunched over, his murky smiling reflection glistened from the capsule. ”You can see here, how much we’ve improved upon the formulae!”
The third canister, Milo was most proud of. He ogled and drooled at it like a child at an aquarium. It housed a not so dissimilar creature to the two prior. Far larger and more developed, this one coddled in a blanket of molty feathers. Soft and lush feathers, almost like the pelt of a cat. The feathers speckled everywhere but the face, which was leathery and demonic. With soulless unblinking eyes, and massive shout with jagged dentition. It glared at Penguin with an animalistic malice, yet it’s eyes were oh so very dead. A tingle of dread trickled down Cobblepot’s spine. A sudden wave of disgust washing over as Penguin analyzed the creature. "Egads... it’s grisly"
Milo’s twisted grin flattered into something more... Fatherly. His eyes twinkled and glistened in a primitive delight. A pride like no other, that is the pride of a parent. So euphoric and proud of his monster, almost tearful. There was an indescribable serenity passing over every iota of his being. He placed a hand upon the canister, gazing into the soulless animalistic eyes with a peaceful joy. ”Isn’t she beautiful? My children... My wonderful creations...” Penguin squinted in disbelief. This doctor was well and truly mad, and Penguin was losing his patience. "You call this quackery beautiful? Hardly. I bequeathed you a task far foremost than a chicken fetus with fangs."
That fatherly pride faded, in its place was anger and despair. Milo’s eyes burned with a passionate hate. Hatred for Penguin, and hatred for everyone else that had bullied and insulted him all these years. They called him mad, called him a quack, a weirdo, whack-job, a creep. Achilles bit the lower portion of his lip, stifling both urges to weep and throttle his contractor. With nought but a disgruntled glare, Milo carried on with the tour. ”I-If you pl-please... Y-Your, er, the, um, c-cr-creatures you have commissioned are... This way. Please, follow me, M-Mister Coddleshoot....” Even under his sunglasses, Penguin’s eye twitch was visible. This far, this whole ordeal hadn’t been what he had hoped for. Mercer merely chuckled with the same cruel sneer he always had. He learned into Cobblepot’s ear with a faint whisper. ”Jus’ say th’ word an’ I’ll cy’ut ‘im up real nice, Mr. Cy’obblepo’” Penguin raised a single deformed flipper to the air and waved the scheme off as unnecessary.
Milo lead the group farther into the bowls of castle. They entered another room, and were greeted with massive sputtering crates. They snarled and growled, with a few rather shaken armed guards aiming frantically at one crate in particular. Further down into the room there was a control panel. It rested just in front of large glass wall, with another scientist at the controls. He was a gingerly man with ginger hair. Milo approached the glass with a shaken grin. ”Doctor Scarlet, if you’d be so kind as to prepare the demonstration.” Scarlet nodded, with Penguin and Mercer looking on in relative disdain and amusement respectively. Beyond the glass was a room with sand and single semi-shredded practice dummy.
A struggling henchman trudged in, wielding a massive metal stick. At the other end of the stick was a collar. Specifically, a collard creature. It was large, roughly the size of a human. It had white and black feathers, with a massive feathered tail. It leaned forwards with a natural haunch, and had for arms which were thin flightless wings. It had very sharp claws at the tip of it’s fingers, as well as it’s toes, with one particular toe on either foot hooked like sickle. It lunges and barked at the henchman like an insane dog. ”We t’yold it was s’posta take orders, Milo...” Mercer snarled and Milo frowned. ”Take... T-Take orders?” There was an audible gulp from Milo, he glanced at Penguin and then at the creature.
The creature was, at one point, a road runner. Now it is a prehistoric de-evolved monstrosity. An affront to nature, and an affront to god himself. A particularly hungry and ravenous affront to nature. It flawed and snarled at the air towards it’s henchman keeper, until it long last it overpowered it’s bonds and tackled the goon. The henchman screeched as it cut into his chest, then finally bit into jugular. Tearing through flesh and eating his vocal chords.
Penguin was livid. Milo said they were complete. This was not complete! It ate one of his mercenaries! Cobblepot chewed his cigarette holder, grinding his teeth together as rage swelled up inside of him. ”Disgusting... Abhorrent!" How could he employ these creatures if they’d just eat him and his men ”Tha’ thing.... Is a loose cy’anon, sir...” There was a tinge of fear in his words. But also no small amount of pride. He enjoyed watching others fail, it made him look better by comparison. "Well put. Tell me, Doctor, when I endorsed this destitute enterprise, did I not desire weapons!?" Achilles shrunk, glaring at the cobbled floor beneath him, seething with an indescribable amount of rage. ”How in G’yod’s name ‘er we s’posta wield an armament we cy’an’t even control!?” They didn’t understand... No one ever did. Not him, nor his work, they knew nothing! "I asked for.... Weapons. Tell me, where are my weapons?" And now, this fat bird, and his dimwitted toadie, have the audacity to chew out Professor Milo!?
The sudden outburst at first startled the three other men in the room. Milo tensed up, refusing to even look at Penguin or his thug. They couldn’t see it... The beautiful abomination he’d crafted. They didn’t appreciate it. No one ever does. ”And I have delivered that to you ten fold!” Still taken aback by that sudden outburst, it took a moment for Penguin to compose his thoughts. His reply was simple "You’re insane, Doctor Milo..." The diagnosis was given quite calmly, drearily in fact. Cobblepot was oh-so sick of the insane. There were so many in Gotham, from cannibals to killer clowns, and Penguin was tired of dealing with them.
Doctor Scarlet, far kinder and substantially saner, grew ill of this circus. Penguin and his thug barking out complaints, and Achilles’ general... Well, peculiarity is a nice way of putting it. Yes, Scarlet was a gentler soul. A genuine man of science, and the only one in that facility who provided these mutated creatures with care and comfort. ”Well what did you expect!? These are living creatures! Not toy drones!” Scarlet finally chimed in with an authoritative tone. ”Watch y’er tongue...” Mercer lunged at Scarlet. An act of intimidation, entirely to impress the Penguin. But, Scarlet was unwavering. ”Get out of my lab.” Scarlet’s words were assertive and demanding, despite being unnerved. He wouldn’t be bullied in his own lab. No now, nor ever. ”I’m gonna slice y’er gy’uts out an’ feed ‘em to y’er pets, Red...”
"Gentleman! Gentleman! It succors me not for you bicker like belligerent children!" Oswald Cobblepot at long last settled the matter. His word was law. Divine law. All it took was a gesture, and he could silence an entire room. "My esteemed guests shall be arriving off shore in about twenty minutes, there will be a veritable flotilla of commercial yachts on our shorelines in thirty minutes, and the auction shall proceed as expected in sixty minutes."
”What? What!? You can’t sell them! They’re dangerous!” Scarlet’s protests fell to deaf ears. Indeed, they were dangerous. But, with a few tweaks before shipping, they could be the ultimate soldier. Penguin mused over pitting such monstrosities against his rivals, or even the Batman. The thought of them being ripped asunder by mutant bird monstrosities was quite riveting. ”Aye, that’d be the point, Red.” Mercer stated rather plainly, with a dull but very distasteful glare at Scarlet.
Professor Milo’s second outburst cane with a tinge if desperation. ”You will not sell my creations! This is my achievement! These are my monsters!!” They his children... He was their god, and they were his! He’d be damned before he’d let some pompous piece of human garbage take them away from him!
"Once the auction is complete, mass production of these miscreant monstrosities will fall elsewhere, you and your team will be paid handsomely, and you will be dismissed, Doctor Milo." Penguin asserted with shrewd fire. Yes, despite Milo’s set backs, this enterprise would prove quite lucrative indeed. There was small group of potential buyers sailing to Penguin’s location. These were a few warlords, terrorists, and dictators sailing from around the world to that remote and ramshackle island off the coast of Gotham. Amidst the rain and the thunder, Penguin would bolster this auction untethered by Milo’s lunacy.
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): An island off the Gotham coastline
Time of Day: Midnight
Weather: Torrential downpour
Summary: A blast from the Jurassic Past
Would you believe me if I said there was a fantastical world of horrific abominations? An affront to God, an island of evil, horrible, monstrous things. This was the island of Doctor Milo. Just off the coast of Gotham City, New Jersey. The island was a mostly uninhabitable place, which housed a coastal fortress nestled cozily within the islands foliage. It was an old revolutionary war bunker, used by the Americans to fend off the imperial armada in the early days of war. It was a fortress for sure, but it looked far more like a castle. The sort of dreary fictional castles you’d find in the works of Mary Shelley or Bram Stoker. All of the foreboding aura, but less of the regal eloquence, for you see, the castle had been long since abandoned, and nearly forgotten. Forgone at the days of naval warfare, in it’s stead was a war with Mother Nature. Vines, grassland and invading wildlife crept into the stone and rock, chiseling away at the walls with the aide of Poseidon’s thrashing currents.
It seemed as though God did not like this place, for he threw every ounce of energy at it in some vain attempt to crumble that castle to pieces. Tidal waves of rampaging ocean currents and the smattering pitter-patter of torrential downpour cascaded against the ancient brick like a waterfall. A hellfire or water from above and below with wind and water bellowing in a chaotic flurry. Everything crashing and thrashing against it, but it refused. Refused to give in and give out. Refused to crumble down. All of it’s evil, and all of it’s horror pulsating through every brick and mortar, and perhaps this anger and hatred and evil was the only reason it was still standing. So powerful was it’s negativity, that it refused to give in to God himself. God and all of his omnipotence was nothing to this towering seaside fortress. God was an afterthought.
This was the house and home of perhaps the most miserable man on the planet. Dour, rotten and angry at everyone and everything. This was the island of Doctor Achilles Milo. Not legally his island, but spiritually. The secluded and forgotten fortress so happened to provide the perfect base of operations for his machinations. He was an eccentric fellow, macabre and downright strange. He was the sort of fellow who worshipped the weird and the wild. Someone so obsessed with science fiction, that he had every intention of making it science fact.
Milo crept through the halls of his withered palace like an ambling corpse, haunched over and limping about with an oddly intense purpose. His face was long, like a horse yet surprisingly almost handsome. Appearing to be on the younger side, despite his middle age, but altogether tired looking. Tired but young. His expression was sour and bitter, an outright frown plastered on his face. His eyes were large, but half shut. He had look of indescribable sadness about him, like he was always on the verge of tears. With heavy, almost droopy eyelids and dark lines hanging beneath, he looked downright miserable. He housed a distinctive black bowl cut, which blended quite grimly into the complex’s natural shadows. His body was rather gaunt, but with a small Malik there of muscle. It comes natural with a career of fighting superheroes. He dressed professionally, with a tattered old lab jacket which housed a single black pen in it’s pocket, black trousers, white converse sneakers, and a black sweater vest. He limped quietly down the halls with a seething contempt for mankind. The sort of hatred for his fellow person which would be unfathomable to most. He was sick. Sick of the scorn and sick of being ostracized. Milo loathed the world. Loathed it and all of it’s inhabitants. But he especially loathed his benefactor, Mr. Oswald Cobblepot.
This whole operation was funded by Cobblepot. The specimens, the scientists, the few armed guards stationed on site, it was all Cobblepot’s doing. It was an investment, one which thus far, hadn’t proven very lucrative. An experimental series of weapons, which Achilles Milo was charged with designing and manufacturing. It was a rather bizarre operation. The odd Gothamite would occasionally notice a very small cargo boat sailing to the island. It would house supplies, goons, and most often, birds. From pigeons, to chickens, to ostriches, to even cassowaries and once even a condor. It would sail to a rickety and battered old wooden dock. There, the Cargo would be unloaded to a few trucks ceviche would then vanish onto the foliage and bramble. Milo’s task was simple (for a mad scientist), collect the shipment of birds, study them, analyze their base genetic structure, and then devolve them into their primitive forms. The primitive ancestor of birds, as you may know, are dinosaurs. Feathered, scaly, monstrous dinosaurs. Weapons. Weapons which conveniently fit the Penguin’s bird motif.
Penguin was here, now, at the palace. On Milo’s island. He’d been waiting for the mad doctor for about ten minutes. Penguin did not enjoy waiting. Milo ambled around a few corridors until he spotted the buccaneer bird from afar. The back of his girthy ovoid form noticeable from even several feet away. He was nestled upon an outside balcony, the pitter-patter of rain puttering against his umbrella as the darkly figure gazed off into the unending shower. ”H-Hello and w-welcome, M-Mister Kapelput.” Professor Milo timidly approached, sloppily muddling a few loose papers and documents beside his arm. Penguin took a slight gaze behind him, his cigarette holder pursed between two lips which were as black as the void, guzzling out smoke like some old factory. "Cobblepot." The Penguin quietly chirped mostly to himself. It was at this point, that a third figure made his presence known with a sneer. This was a lieutenant of his, name of Mercer Beckett. Milo shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of them, darting his eyes to the floor with a shaky frown. ”Pl-Please... Allow me to escort you to my Laboratory.”
Achilles timidly led on, with Mr. Mercer following close by, and Penguin waddling alongside. His umbrella tapped to the floor with each stepping limp, tap, waddle, tap, waddle, the metal tip echoing against the stone and down the dimly lit halls. Cobblepot, ever eloquent, dressed in a warmer, boating attire. He wore a glistening black tuxedo with two rather cozy looking white gloves stuffed into it’s pocket squares (those gloves happened to take the shape of flippers). Penguin had black trousers to match his suit, and a red checkered vest of a plaid pattern with four black buttons. Beneath that was an unbuttoned white button up with black ascot snuggly stuffed within it. The ascot housed a single red ruby at the center and nothing else. His shoes were a polished black, both twisted with his leg waddle and having a pair of white spats around both of them. He wore a pair of circular metal sunglasses, and had a straw hat with a white band around it nestled upon his greasy black hair. Then there was Mr. Mercer. He was a portly fellow from Yorkshire. He wasn’t quite as large as Penguin, but his obesity was still quite noticeable. Mercer’s face was grizzled with age, and always held some venomous sneer, reminiscent of some fat viper. He wore a purple Hawaiian button up with orange and green floral pattens, with khaki shorts and a pair of sneakers.
There was an uncomfortable silence amongst the entourage as they went through the halls of Milo’s castle. If not for the rip-roaring thunder outside, and click clacking of Cobblepot’s umbrella, one would have been able to hear even the chitter chatter of a mouse. They passed a few goons, a wandering researcher or two, and a few empty rooms before reaching the Laboratory. Two armed guards greeted them at the doors. The group strolled in with no small amount of authority. ”Yo-You’ll find that we’ve made a great deal of progress since your last visit.” The lab was larger than you’d expect. It was on an incline, burrowing into the ground and allowing for the facility to exist underground. There were five other researchers, two of which were dressed in chemical suits. The others wore goggles, smocks, and other accessories. They paid no mind to the intruders. In fact, only two of the researchers even noticed Cobblepot and Mercer.
The room itself was an odd mix of mechanical and stone, a sort of melding between future and past. The laboratory proper, that is the equipment and gear, consisted of a few tables with chemical flasks, microscopes, and Petrie dishes. There was one table with a rather ancient looking computer and a few other monitors, then there were crates and cages haphazardly placed along the walls. Finally, there were three massive tubes, each with some... Horrible thing inside, floating in what Penguin could only assume was amniotic fluid. Each massive glass canister contained something that was worse than the last. The first held what could only properly be described as an alien. It was tiny, and lifeless. A pulsating pink globule of flesh wading incoherently about in some murky teal water. It looked so soft and malleable, like a squishy mass of rubber. Yet there were scabs and veins, everything about it looked so moist yet also so shriveled up at the same time. Curled into a fetal position, it looked oh so pathetic. With bulging alien eyes and an overall gibbous texture to it’s flesh. The next canister contained something... Bigger. Like the creature before, except with thin and scraggly likes of white hair spindling out from the globule muscle and tissue. A twisted grin began stretching across Dr. Milo’s face. It was a grin of pride, gnarled and horrific pride. Haunched over, his murky smiling reflection glistened from the capsule. ”You can see here, how much we’ve improved upon the formulae!”
The third canister, Milo was most proud of. He ogled and drooled at it like a child at an aquarium. It housed a not so dissimilar creature to the two prior. Far larger and more developed, this one coddled in a blanket of molty feathers. Soft and lush feathers, almost like the pelt of a cat. The feathers speckled everywhere but the face, which was leathery and demonic. With soulless unblinking eyes, and massive shout with jagged dentition. It glared at Penguin with an animalistic malice, yet it’s eyes were oh so very dead. A tingle of dread trickled down Cobblepot’s spine. A sudden wave of disgust washing over as Penguin analyzed the creature. "Egads... it’s grisly"
Milo’s twisted grin flattered into something more... Fatherly. His eyes twinkled and glistened in a primitive delight. A pride like no other, that is the pride of a parent. So euphoric and proud of his monster, almost tearful. There was an indescribable serenity passing over every iota of his being. He placed a hand upon the canister, gazing into the soulless animalistic eyes with a peaceful joy. ”Isn’t she beautiful? My children... My wonderful creations...” Penguin squinted in disbelief. This doctor was well and truly mad, and Penguin was losing his patience. "You call this quackery beautiful? Hardly. I bequeathed you a task far foremost than a chicken fetus with fangs."
That fatherly pride faded, in its place was anger and despair. Milo’s eyes burned with a passionate hate. Hatred for Penguin, and hatred for everyone else that had bullied and insulted him all these years. They called him mad, called him a quack, a weirdo, whack-job, a creep. Achilles bit the lower portion of his lip, stifling both urges to weep and throttle his contractor. With nought but a disgruntled glare, Milo carried on with the tour. ”I-If you pl-please... Y-Your, er, the, um, c-cr-creatures you have commissioned are... This way. Please, follow me, M-Mister Coddleshoot....” Even under his sunglasses, Penguin’s eye twitch was visible. This far, this whole ordeal hadn’t been what he had hoped for. Mercer merely chuckled with the same cruel sneer he always had. He learned into Cobblepot’s ear with a faint whisper. ”Jus’ say th’ word an’ I’ll cy’ut ‘im up real nice, Mr. Cy’obblepo’” Penguin raised a single deformed flipper to the air and waved the scheme off as unnecessary.
Milo lead the group farther into the bowls of castle. They entered another room, and were greeted with massive sputtering crates. They snarled and growled, with a few rather shaken armed guards aiming frantically at one crate in particular. Further down into the room there was a control panel. It rested just in front of large glass wall, with another scientist at the controls. He was a gingerly man with ginger hair. Milo approached the glass with a shaken grin. ”Doctor Scarlet, if you’d be so kind as to prepare the demonstration.” Scarlet nodded, with Penguin and Mercer looking on in relative disdain and amusement respectively. Beyond the glass was a room with sand and single semi-shredded practice dummy.
A struggling henchman trudged in, wielding a massive metal stick. At the other end of the stick was a collar. Specifically, a collard creature. It was large, roughly the size of a human. It had white and black feathers, with a massive feathered tail. It leaned forwards with a natural haunch, and had for arms which were thin flightless wings. It had very sharp claws at the tip of it’s fingers, as well as it’s toes, with one particular toe on either foot hooked like sickle. It lunges and barked at the henchman like an insane dog. ”We t’yold it was s’posta take orders, Milo...” Mercer snarled and Milo frowned. ”Take... T-Take orders?” There was an audible gulp from Milo, he glanced at Penguin and then at the creature.
The creature was, at one point, a road runner. Now it is a prehistoric de-evolved monstrosity. An affront to nature, and an affront to god himself. A particularly hungry and ravenous affront to nature. It flawed and snarled at the air towards it’s henchman keeper, until it long last it overpowered it’s bonds and tackled the goon. The henchman screeched as it cut into his chest, then finally bit into jugular. Tearing through flesh and eating his vocal chords.
Penguin was livid. Milo said they were complete. This was not complete! It ate one of his mercenaries! Cobblepot chewed his cigarette holder, grinding his teeth together as rage swelled up inside of him. ”Disgusting... Abhorrent!" How could he employ these creatures if they’d just eat him and his men ”Tha’ thing.... Is a loose cy’anon, sir...” There was a tinge of fear in his words. But also no small amount of pride. He enjoyed watching others fail, it made him look better by comparison. "Well put. Tell me, Doctor, when I endorsed this destitute enterprise, did I not desire weapons!?" Achilles shrunk, glaring at the cobbled floor beneath him, seething with an indescribable amount of rage. ”How in G’yod’s name ‘er we s’posta wield an armament we cy’an’t even control!?” They didn’t understand... No one ever did. Not him, nor his work, they knew nothing! "I asked for.... Weapons. Tell me, where are my weapons?" And now, this fat bird, and his dimwitted toadie, have the audacity to chew out Professor Milo!?
”What you asked for were..... MONSTERS!!!”
The sudden outburst at first startled the three other men in the room. Milo tensed up, refusing to even look at Penguin or his thug. They couldn’t see it... The beautiful abomination he’d crafted. They didn’t appreciate it. No one ever does. ”And I have delivered that to you ten fold!” Still taken aback by that sudden outburst, it took a moment for Penguin to compose his thoughts. His reply was simple "You’re insane, Doctor Milo..." The diagnosis was given quite calmly, drearily in fact. Cobblepot was oh-so sick of the insane. There were so many in Gotham, from cannibals to killer clowns, and Penguin was tired of dealing with them.
Doctor Scarlet, far kinder and substantially saner, grew ill of this circus. Penguin and his thug barking out complaints, and Achilles’ general... Well, peculiarity is a nice way of putting it. Yes, Scarlet was a gentler soul. A genuine man of science, and the only one in that facility who provided these mutated creatures with care and comfort. ”Well what did you expect!? These are living creatures! Not toy drones!” Scarlet finally chimed in with an authoritative tone. ”Watch y’er tongue...” Mercer lunged at Scarlet. An act of intimidation, entirely to impress the Penguin. But, Scarlet was unwavering. ”Get out of my lab.” Scarlet’s words were assertive and demanding, despite being unnerved. He wouldn’t be bullied in his own lab. No now, nor ever. ”I’m gonna slice y’er gy’uts out an’ feed ‘em to y’er pets, Red...”
"Gentleman! Gentleman! It succors me not for you bicker like belligerent children!" Oswald Cobblepot at long last settled the matter. His word was law. Divine law. All it took was a gesture, and he could silence an entire room. "My esteemed guests shall be arriving off shore in about twenty minutes, there will be a veritable flotilla of commercial yachts on our shorelines in thirty minutes, and the auction shall proceed as expected in sixty minutes."
”What? What!? You can’t sell them! They’re dangerous!” Scarlet’s protests fell to deaf ears. Indeed, they were dangerous. But, with a few tweaks before shipping, they could be the ultimate soldier. Penguin mused over pitting such monstrosities against his rivals, or even the Batman. The thought of them being ripped asunder by mutant bird monstrosities was quite riveting. ”Aye, that’d be the point, Red.” Mercer stated rather plainly, with a dull but very distasteful glare at Scarlet.
”They... Are.... Mine!”
Professor Milo’s second outburst cane with a tinge if desperation. ”You will not sell my creations! This is my achievement! These are my monsters!!” They his children... He was their god, and they were his! He’d be damned before he’d let some pompous piece of human garbage take them away from him!
"Once the auction is complete, mass production of these miscreant monstrosities will fall elsewhere, you and your team will be paid handsomely, and you will be dismissed, Doctor Milo." Penguin asserted with shrewd fire. Yes, despite Milo’s set backs, this enterprise would prove quite lucrative indeed. There was small group of potential buyers sailing to Penguin’s location. These were a few warlords, terrorists, and dictators sailing from around the world to that remote and ramshackle island off the coast of Gotham. Amidst the rain and the thunder, Penguin would bolster this auction untethered by Milo’s lunacy.
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