Date:         Wed, 7 Jun 1995 18:35:08 -600
Reply-To:     "Jason R. Tippitt" <jtippitt@UTM.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         "Jason R. Tippitt" <jtippitt@UTM.EDU>
Subject:      "In the End..." (HL/Batman) Interlude 2 (fwd)
X-cc:         Sarah Smith <smith@homer.rpsd.ornl.gov>

This section could not (or at least probably *would* not) have been
written if it weren't for the help of my friend Davey Hall in
brainstorming what other DC characters might notice the Game drawing
toward its close.
He also suggested that the game might not actually end until the time of
the Legion of Super-Heroes, but I'm discarding that idea.  Hope you enjoy
this little tour...
Part 3 will be starting sometime...when I come up with a clever name for
it, how's that?

--Jason

******************************************************************************
                        " I N   T H E   E N D . . . "
******************************************************************************

A Highlander/Batman Tale of the Future
Jason R. Tippitt, 1994-95
http://www.utm.edu/~jtippitt/j.shtml

Warning: Violence and Profanities

Comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, questions, back-chapter
requests to JTippitt@Utm.Edu (Asbestos is my life...don't bother flaming me.)

Interlude 2

*******

        The stars flickered brightly above the Himalayas.  A purple-robed
figure stood silent vigil over the snow-covered slopes, a book bound in
human skin chained to his wrist.
        "Hey, brother, what's up?" a chirpy female voice asked.
        Destiny turned to look at the speaker.  Her skin was white as the
snow, a stark contrast to her black hair and clothing.  She wore a strip of
black leather as a necklace; at the end, there hung a gold ankh, just
between her small breasts.
        "Hello, sister.  I'm...just waiting."
        "For what?"
        "The Immortals are about to have their final major battle here, beneath
the mountain on which we stand."
        Death's eyes sparkled.  "*What* Immortals?"

*******

        The Greek laughed so hard he almost soiled himself.
        John Constantine lit another cigarette and glowered at him.  "I
don't think it's that funny, ya bugger."  He looked over at the other man.
"And *you*--I swear, Hob Gadling, if I gotta hear one more time about when you
and my great-great-whatever Johanna found Robespierre in that whorehouse--"
        "Oh, don't be so serious, John," the Greek said, finishing off his ale
and looking around for the waitress.  "Here's one for you...About two
hun'red years ago I met this Immortal named Garrett.  Crazy Garrett, they
called 'im, and they was right.  He was mad as a hatter--"
        "Now, wait a minute," Hob interjected.  "Was 'e *your* kind of
Immortal, or *my* kind of Immortal?"
        "I think yer prob'ly a unique fella," the Greek said.  "He was one
of us sword-swingin', head-takin' sots."
        The waitress, just arriving with a pitcher of ale, looked at the
Greek like he was stark raving mad.  She fled without so much as a word,
though not before Hab grabbed at her bottom.
        "Where was I?" the Greek asked.
        "Meetin' up wi' Crazy Garrett," Constantine said, blowing out a
ring of smoke.
        "Yeah...the reason they called him crazy was...get this...he was
obsessed with Greek culture and he thought he was Odysseus!"
        "Yer full of shite," Hob said.
        "No, I'm serious...the poor bugger seemed so happy bein' me, I saw
no reason t'disillusion him.  I hear he got 'imself killed by that Yank
idiot the Joker...*anudder* upstanding individual, by all accounts."
        "Yeah, I heard about that one," Constantine said.  "Only I hear
the Joker didn't get his Quickening, it ended up going to--"
        "Wait."  The Greek looked around.  "Shite."
        "Whassamatter?" Hob asked.
        "There's another one here."  He finished his drink and stood up.
"I might better not come back in here...wanna meet me at my place?"
        "Sure," John replied.
        The Greek started to throw down some cash, then looked at Hob.
"I'm not sure how much to leave...can you spot me till later?"
        "I s'pose."
        "Well, then."  The Greek looked at the door, then at the others.
"Guess I better be going, then."
        "Guess you better.  Meet you back at your place," Constantine said.
        "Okay.  Then I'm off."
        "I coulda told ya that, ya bugger."
        Without breaking his stride, the Greek looked over his shoulder and
said, "I heard that, Hab."
        The Greek walked outside.  A few seconds later every lightbulb in
the pub exploded.
        "I guess we split the tab, eh?" Hab muttered.

*******

        It was a beautiful finale to the fight, although a bit flashier
than his normal style.  Marcus Constantine leapt down from the ceiling,
heading toward the fire escape on the opposite side where his opponent
stood.  His blade severed her head as he passed by, and he landed in the
alley below to await the Quickening.
        The only thing he didn't count on was a speeding car coming down the
alley this early in the morning.  It struck him before he could even rise
out of his crouched position and threw him through the air a good twenty
feet, into some garbage cans.  The car, its driver heedless of what had just
happened, sped away without slowing down.
        In the alley, the body began to glow, and lightning began to
crackle in the sky above.  On the other side of the alley, a bit closer to
the body than the dazed Marcus Constantine, a young man whistled as he sorted
out the early morning editions in a wooden newspaper stand.
        Suddenly the energy from the nearby dead Immortal struck him in
the back, knocking him down.  When he arose, he had been transformed into
a tall, muscular man in an orange costume with a white cape.  "Holey
Moley!  How did that happen?  It's been years since I've said SHAZ--"
        Marcus Constantine arose from the trash cans, confused.  "What the
hell happ--?"  He saw the bolt of lightning heading his way just before it
threw him back to the ground.

*******

        Harvey Bullock enjoyed the convention up until the very last
night.  He was meeting other detectives, some police, some private, from
all across the nation.  Not a bad way for an old bachelor to spend his first
very first post-retirement vacation.
        Then, on the last night, a double murder took place at the
NostalgiaCon, which was taking place in the hotel across the street.  Hotel
security called him up on the phone in the middle of a Marvin the Martian
cartoon, asked him to come over and see what had happened; they said they'd
heard he had encountered this sort of thing before.
        He got there right after Dr. Thirteen that weird guy who used to be
with the FBI; the name slipped his mind.  "What's the situation?" Bullock
asked, munching on a doughnut he'd picked up on the way.
        "Two of our conventioneers were murdered," the hotel organizer
answered.  He was a strange-looking fellow: bright red hair, tacky
psychadelic coat.  "They'd won the Impersonators contest earlier in the
night.  We think that a jealous contestant, the one who claimed to be
Elvis' son, might have done it."
        Bullock looked over the FBI guy--Mulder, that was the
name--Mulder's shoulder to see what he could of the bodies.  "A Marilyn and
a Skinny Elvis, huh?  What's so special about this case, that you had to
pull me away from a Marvin the Martian marathon to look at it?"
        "They were beheaded," the hotel security chief answered.  "And then--"
        "Then the power went out, things shorted out all over the hotel, I
bet," Mulder interrupted.  "Is that what you were going to say?"
        "Um, yes."  The security chief looked at Mulder.  "Do you have any
explanation for this phenomena?"
        Dr. Thirteen left halfway through Mulder's speech, saying
something about a freak occurance of ball lightning and possible use of
explosives.  Mulder theorized that there was a transfer of power from the
dead bodies to another of their kind; possibly a battle to the last one,
spanning over centuries.
        The hotel manager kicked them out when Bullock started to back
Mulder up.  He went back to his room and finished watching the cartoon
marathon in peace, assured that at least he wasn't the one having to fill
out the papers on this one.

*******

        "Come on, big brother, just a little peek?"
        Destiny clutched his book even more tightly to his chest.  "No, no,
no, a thousand times *no*, sister.  This book is for my eyes only."
        "Fine," Death said, walking off.  "I'll know soon enough."  Soon
she was gone.
        Destiny looked back into the book.  "Aye, sister.  That you shall."

*******

To be continued...
=========================================================================
