Opening Notes: For my next trick, I, the (not so) amazing Clown King, will bring a story back from the dead! Please don't be mad (oh, who am I kidding?) about this chapter being short. I'm trying to ease myself back into this story. Plus, I'm setting up for next time. Originally, I intended to have the title of this chapter be "The Talented Mister Mercer" (as a reference to The Talented Mister Ripley, a movie I'm sure you are now Googling) but then I thought to myself, 'No, I'll save that for the Suicide Squad arc.'

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"This time will be different," Deadshot assured his employer.

"It better be!" Black Mask replied. He was sitting behind his desk, and it was taking all of his patience not to punch a hole clean through both it, and the suicidal mercenary before him. "My bank is in the turf he usurped when he showed up, so now I can't get anywhere near what is rightfully mine!" Pushing his chair back, Roman Sionis stood up and walked over to the window, or rather the wall made of glass, and looked out to the chaotic city. "I thought that when Cobblepot left, this Cesspool with buildings would be mine for the taking. But now I gotta deal with both the Bat, and that black-armed freak!" He turned back to Deadshot. "Now I suggest you go out there and do what I'm paying you to do, or I'll make your death wish come true!"

Deadshot gave only a curt nod in response before hastily walking out.

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"What are you gonna do to me?"

"To put it in terms to keep the situation clear, I'm going to turn you into a living petri dish for my test," Mercer answered. He was currently deep within the ship called The Final Offer. Seeing as the Penguin had left it to rust in the harbor after going on his "quest" Mercer had taken it upon him to put it good use. Now here he was, in what looked like a fighting pit, with an obviously frightened goon belonging to some crime lord called Black Mask.

"Test?! What test?!" he shrieked. And for good reason. While he had no restraints to impede his movement, he was trapped in a metal room with a man who could kill him with a twirl of the wrist.

"You should feel a slight sensation of your body rejecting everything and shutting down," Mercer said with a chillingly calm voice as he approached his subject.

"Wha-what?!" He was now backed into the wall. No way out.

"Don't feel so alarmed," Mercer said as he willed his Claws to form on his arms. The normally silver talons were no a dripping crimson, coated with a potent and pure Blacklight. "You won't live too long, so your suffering will be brief. You'll either die, or become what I can only describe as a hungry zombie."

At this point, Mercer was standing over the thug, who was, unsurprisingly, too scared to form anymore words. "Don't be like that. Take heart in the fact that you're helping me reach ever so closer to my goal. This is going to hurt." Without missing a beat, Mercer slashed at his test subject. Needless to say, he screamed out in severe pain as the red ooze slithered into the cuts.

"And..." Mercer added." "This is going to hurt a lot more." Within seconds, the liquid was gone.

The affect was nearly instant. Mercer just watched. Writhing in pain. Screaming. Slowly going limp. Groaning. Pushing himself up. Walking like one of the zombies in the movies.

Mercer was satisfied.

"Finally. It took six tries but I now know the appropriate dosage. Now all I need to do..." His right arm changed from Claws to the deadly Blade. Readying himself, he waited until the mindless one reached out towards him and started walking. When it was in range, Mercer gave an almost bored upward slash, effectively cutting him in two vertical pieces. The two halves melted into black puddles which then creeped to Mercer and melted into his leg. His task complete, he exited the pit and began walking down the paths of the ship. Along the way, he began to alter his appearance. His leather jacket, hoodie, and pants were replaced by a casual suit and brown overcoat. Within a few minutes he reached the door to the outside. Stepping into the fresh air, the setting sun was in his sights. Even back when he was still a human, before Manhattan, he had never accustomed to what the general populous defined as 'normal'. For instance, a normal person would compliment on how exotic the purple and orange hues of the miraculously clear sky were. Alex just saw the night closing in.

"Maybe I should try harder this time," he said to himself as he jumped off the ship and onto the pavement of solid land. Hands in his pockets, he began walking to what could only be considered his home. An all too familiar noise filled his eardrums: the whirring of a helicopter. He looked towards the sky, and sure enough, one was overhead, heading towards the center of the city. Was it a fire? Bank robbery? Mercer was not in the mood tonight. The evening belonged to him. It had been a long day of experimenting. Making his way to Pioneers bridge, the sky was now a blue so dark it was nearly black.

When he was about halfway across the structure, trouble ran into his way. The mugger was filthy, unshaven, and had a large switchblade. "Nice coat, buddy," he said with a smile, brandishing his knife.

"I don't have the patience for this," Mercer said flatly. "I'll give you two seconds to turn around and go to whatever hole you live in with all your bones intact."

As Mercer admittedly expected, his threat did not induce fear. Rather, the thug began laughing. "Sorry, pretty boy, but the roll of pain-making funny man has already been taken."

"Your two seconds are up." Never one to waste time, Mercer punched his would-be assailant right in the face, immediately shattering the nose. More damage was done when he delivered a swift kick to his opponent's right knee, sending him down. As he lay there, writhing in pain, Mercer, being tired from his day, gave a weak kick to the stomach. Of course, when it comes to Mercer, a weak kick sends the victim a good twenty feet in the direction of the blow, which is exactly what happened.

"You know, it's been a long day," Mercer said passively as he walked off. "So I'm going to let you live." With the minute setback done with, Mercer looked at the other part of the city he was headed towards. It grew slightly with every step he took. "He's somewhere in this hellhole," Mercer said to himself. "And he's got something I want, I need, to survive..."

Coming to the end of the bridge and getting on the street, Mercer began to hear all the familiar sounds he was used to. Car alarms, gunfire, screeching tires. He let out a sigh, looked at the ground, and shook his head. "Why do I keep coming back?" Suddenly, something caught his eye. In a crack in the pavement was a small green plant. It had yet to bloom. Seeing made Mercer think of a certain red haired woman. Thinking her made him smile. "Oh right. That's why."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he stopped. An uneasy feeling came over him. It felt like he was being watched. He looked down again, but further, at his own chest. On it was a bright red dot. "You again..."

XXXXXX

Poison would have been lying if she said she wasn't worried. Alex had been gone since dawn, doing who knows what and hadn't returned. All she had done was care for her plants, her babies. There certainly enough room. The Penguin had what could only be called a personal museum connected to the Lounge. She and Alex had cleared all of his junk out and now the place looked like a peaceful jungle. Well, most of it. A section had been retrofitted into a lab for Alex. The hall leading up to it was coated with black and red webs and fulgurites. It was as if the Scarecrow had taken up interior design.

And now she was sitting on a vine with the width of a truck in the main room of the Iceberg Lounge. Not that there was anything better to do. Every plant and flower in the entire building were good for the day. Everything was nice and quite. And then the doors creaked open.

"Ivy, I'm home." The plant controller looked over to the oversized doors and saw her partner lumbering in.

"Alex!" Her face brightened and she slid of the vine and walked over to him, meeting him halfway. As soon as she got a closer loo at him, she grew concerned.

He looked awful. His usual getup was replaced by a suit and coat, and it was torn to shreds; riddled with bullet holes and rips. And in his left hand was an armored leg. Questions instantly entered her mind and exited her mouth.

"Where have you been? What happened to you? And whose leg is that?!"

Mercer didn't answer at first. He was too busy trying to catch his breath.

"I need a seat," he said as he walked further into the massive room. He made his way over to Ivy's vine, pulled himself up, and began to rest. Ivy soon joined. He soon gained control of his breathing. "In order. Experimenting on the boat. Ran into a mercenary. And..." He held up the severed limb to look at it. "And to be honest, I forgot I still had this."

"Where did you get it?"

"Well..."

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Closing Notes: That's right. This two-parter is like the first Matrix movie. First half is all talk. Second half is all walk.