"You know something they don't tell you about being a judge?" Hebert Dredd said, flicking his cigarette in his glass ashtray and taking a sip of whiskey from his glass. "They don't tell you just how boring the job is."

Herbert Dredd shuffled a deck of cards, giving himself and the police officer he was playing with seven cards each.

"You hear the same damn arguments," Dredd said. "Insanity for a mass murderer, some far off stretch for injuries to personality. You spend four hours of your day listening to these arrogant assholes using the same damn Latin words and same damn arguments to a group of twelve dumbass jury members who have no idea what's going on and can be easily swayed."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked the police officer.

"Oh, I know I'm going to die," Dredd said. "Made peace with death ages ago. That clown is going to come in and kill me and that'll be that. Figure I got nothing to lose."

Dredd pointed at the cigarettes and the half empty bottle of bourbon that he had at his side. "I mean is this anyway a judge should act, specially when he's surrounded by over a hundred cops and hell, The Batman."

The officer chuckled. "Fair enough."

"I figured," Judge Dredd drank his beer, placing his card on the pile in the middle. The officer stared and then picked a card from the deck. "I figured there must be something, you know? Something that'd make the job more interesting."

Judge Dredd scratched his snowy white hair and chuckled. "Can't believe I'm telling you this," he mumbled.

Dredd cleared his throat. "I figured there must be something I can do to spice things up and the idea came up to me during Harvey Dent's trail."

The officer played two cards card. It was a 2 of spades and a two of hearts. Dredd had to pick four cards from the deck.

"Now, Harvey Dent, that was a district attorney if I ever saw one," Dredd said, chuckling. "Man was on fire in a courtroom and always fought until he got the result he wanted. He made the job a little less boring. But before any major decision Dent made in trial, he did something. Bastard flipped a coin. Before calling an incriminating witness, flip. Before presenting a piece of evidence, flip. He left it all up to chance and I must say, overseeing that trial I was impressed, intrigued even. I didn't tell anybody about the coin so you shouldn't either."

Dredd cleared his throat before continuing. "Now there was this one case. Defamation suit for some company. I knew that the company would win, always happens. Their lawyers always find a way. But before the trial for some damn reason I was reminded of Dent, flipping away at his coin and well, I had a few nickels on me. Heads for the plaintiff, tails for the defendant. I flipped and voila."

There was a sizzling noise as Dredd snubbed the cigarette in his ashtray and smiled. "The thing about juries is that they're stupid. Real stupid and they can be easily misled. When people say that American Justice is a joke well, they ain't lying. I mean just look back at the prohibition and George Remus. The defendant had a hell of a good argument, companies I tell you. Always find a way to win." Dredd took a sip from his whiskey. "But the coin. The coin landed on tails."

...

Peter hadn't gotten any sleep.

The only thing he could think about the entire night was all those bodies and the smell, the smell didn't leave. He smelt the smell of exposed flesh everywhere and could barely stomach his breakfast. He even woke up in the middle of the night to puke cause the image of buried bodies was seared into his brain with a burning stick.

"Peter?" Aunt May said, turning to face him, concern plastered all over her face. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

Peter flashed her a weak smile. He didn't want her to worry. "I'm fine."

"Really?' May asked, hand on his forehead. "You look sick. You sure you want to go to school today?"

"I'm fine, May."

Peter could barely eat his cereal, let alone swallow it. The TV was going on about the bombing at GCPD and Peter was about to change it when something caught his attention. And not in the good way.

"GCPD officers found dead on 232 West Street," the reporter said. "Officers believe it to be the criminal Vulture..."

The TV went black. Aunt May scoffed. "Everything on TV nowadays is depressing. Better to not let all that negativity suck you in."

Aunt May started talking about something but it all felt so far away. The Vulture got away. The Vulture got away. Over and over the words repeated themselves in his head. Peter got up and opened the apartment door.

"Peter, where you going?"

(The Vulture got away)

"School," Peter mumbled.

(He killed all those officers.)

"You sure?" Aunt May asked. "You haven't finished your breakfast."

"I'll be fine," Peter said. Peter closed the door behind him, climbing down the stairs with weak footsteps.

The Vulture got away.

And it was all his fault.

...

"You'd think it'd stop there," Dredd said, placing a card on the table. "I did the same with divorces, left a lot of wives with shitty husbands and vice versa but hell, at least it made their lives interesting."

Dredd poured himself another glass of whiskey. "I even did the same with murder cases. Insane bastards like Mad Hatter and Black Mask got sent to prison instead of Arkham Asylum and I said good riddance. Losers like Mad Hatter couldn't last but Black Mask made the place his second home."

Dredd chuckled. "Thing is I didn't regret any of this. Not one bit. It made life interesting and I say for everybody involved. Some divorcees who didn't get their divorces granted rekindled their relationships, criminals who were meant to get sent straight to Arkham realised just how privileged they are. Folks like Riddler couldn't last a day in a Blackgate but can walk around Arkham acting like they own the place. Criminals learnt a wonderful lesson; I can tell you that."

Dredd placed a Jack of spades. "Back to me now." He then placed a king of spades that skipped the officer's turn. He took a sip of whiskey. "I used to follow the results too. Being a judge, you know people who know people. Seeing what happened it brought a little fun to my day. What was day after day of hearing my wife, God rest her soul, say the same things, eat the same breakfast and listen to my clerks say the same goddamn thing over and over again, it was interesting to say the least. Sure, doubts started spreading about my judgements, hell I heard some law students even started critiquing my judgements. They had no basis or whatever they said. It's easy to blame the judge or the justice system and I know a couple of lawyers with silver tongues but hell, most if not all of the time it was the jury. Save for the divorce trial here and there, whisper one thing or say another underneath your breath and those dumb bastards change their mind. Ignorance is easy to take advantage of and none of those people over there know anything about the law. Plant one little seed of doubt and it branches out to all of them."

"Now you might be thinking to yourself, what about those trials?" Dredd said. "Trials where a man's life is in my hands. Where whether a man will be breathing fresh air or locked in a cell awaiting an electrical chair. Whether a man will feel the son shining on his face or be locked in a cell that smelt like piss and sweat for the last few minutes of his life. What did I do for those trials?"

Dredd grinned. "I flipped a coin on those too."

...

"Peter," Barbara said. "Hey, Peter you okay?"

They were in the cafeteria. Dick was out still getting his lunch so it was only him and Barbara sitting right next to each other.

"Yeah..." Peter said weakly. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Barbara said. "You haven't touched anything on your plate and you've been spending most of your classes going to the bathroom. Are you sure you're okay?"

Peter wanted so badly to tell her. But what would she understand? What would she think of him? Not only had he let a criminal kill cops and get away with it but he had also killed all those prisoners. There could have been something, anything that he could've done to save them.

Not to mention the fact that some of the students had called in absent. Most likely to mourn. You live in Gotham; hell, you see Gotham and you know most of the people who live there aren't saints. Most if not all the students in this school had parents who are or were criminals, who did some bad things and because of Peter's incompetence he just cost them all a father, a brother or hell even an uncle.

"I have to go the bathroom."

Peter could feel the bile sizzling in his throat before he puked it out.

"Tough day, huh?" said the Janitor who was standing outside the bathroom.

Peter chuckled. "Understatement."

"Here kid," the Janitor said, shuffling around in his pockets and pulling out a pack of tissues. "Clean your mouth."

Peter nodded. "Thanks."

Peter sat down on his cafeteria seat but he was feeling weak. It felt like his knees were buckling.

"Hey Peter," Barbara said, hand on his back. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"You sure as hell don't look fine," Dick said. "Look is there something you're not telling us?"

Peter waved his hand. "No, no. I'm fine guys. Don't worry." Peter wanted to mention that his voice sounded awfully familiar to Robin's but then how would Peter explain he knew Robin.

Both Barbara and Dick knew that he wasn't fine. Both of them knew what had happened to him but they couldn't risk talking about it because of Bruce.

"Look, Peter," Barbara said, though there was a tightness to her voice he didn't notice before. "If you're not comfortable talking about whatever happened to you to us, you can talk to someone else. Someone you feel comfortable sharing stuff with." Barbara slid her hand and Peter could feel the warmth spreading through his body. They locked eyes for a moment, Dick felt something in his heart, something that hurt. "I can't stand to see you like this." She turned to Dick. "We can't stand to see you like this."

Peter smiled. "Thanks."

"Enough of this sappy crap," Dick said. "Eat up. Your stomach must be rumbling."

"So, this was all one big intervention?" Peter asked.

"The cheeseburger on your plate not give it away?" Dick asked.

They spent their lunch, laughing and sharing jokes. After lunch they went their separate ways and Peter thought to himself that they were right. He should talk to someone. And he knew just who that someone was.

...

"I'm tired of this Bruce," Dick said. "Tired of pretending that I don't know who Peter really is."

Bruce was silent as always.

"Yeah keep your mouth shut like you always do," Dick said. "That guy looked sick, sick, Bruce. He's not the same as me and you. He's never seen anything like the Joker and we have every single day in this city."

"He's not used to it," Bruce said, finally speaking. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," Dick said. "Hell, I never got used to it either. He needs someone. Someone like us, Bruce. People who understand what he's going through."

"If he wants to protect this city," Bruce said. "Like he says he does, he'll have to get used to it. Used to being alone."

Dick had his mouth wide open. "Are you hearing yourself right now? He's fifteen."

"You're fifteen too."

Dick clenched his fist and looked up at the ceiling of the Batcave. "That's different. He didn't want this, I did. Barbara did. Whatever the hell happened was on us. He didn't want to get his uncle killed; he didn't want to be bit by that spider."

Dick slammed his hands against the table. "You know what? Talking to you is like talking to a stone wall. I won't get anywhere with this."

Dick was close to leaving the Batcave before he turned around. "You talk big about being alone, about getting used to it. Then tell me why does Batman and Robin exist huh? Why'd you let some 10-year-old kid be your partner, huh?"

Bruce paused. He deliberated then turned his head slightly to the right. "I felt sorry for you."

Dick laughed without humour. "Sure, you did."

"Keep everybody at a distance, Mr. Wayne." Dick said the last part in a mocking voice. "It seems that's all you're good at doing."

The door to the Batcave slammed shut.

...

"There was this guy, Ali," Dredd said. "The guy was clearly at the wrong place at the wrong time. Walked right into a room full of the dead bodies of kids. Kids who had their heads sliced clean off. Must've been 9, 10 years old. Hell, if I remember. Point is his prints were all over the murder weapon. Autopsy found heroin in his blood and there were rumours going around he was in possession of child pornography. Things weren't looking well for him and..." Dredd chuckled, filling himself another glass of whiskey. "He wasn't winning any favours with the jury I tell you that." He took a sip. "You know the drill by now, flip the coin. Boom. Death sentence. Doubt anybody would miss him."

Dredd emptied his glass. "I don't think any one person should have that power. The death of a person is just one sentence away. The day after his brains got fried, people found out it wasn't Ali but the father of those three children. Had a mental disorder, sent to Arkham. But Ali had his brains fried for no reason."

There was a pause. A short pause that could've meant many things. Regret, maybe even the consequences of what he did weighing on his shoulders but Judge Dredd just grinned.

"I think leaving it up to chance," Dredd said. "I think it made it all interesting. Guards say Ali enjoyed every single one of his meals, including his last meal. He made a few calls apologising to his parents, his exes, everybody he ever wronged. Even started praying. Someone said he never felt so alive during the last few days of life." Dredd smiled. "I think, deep down we're all bored. All of us want something different, something to break out of the monotony. People assume the worst, worry about the least probable thing happening like their plane crashing or their children not making it home. That's just the boredom showing itself, deep down we don't want to be safe but none of us know the cure to boredom is just one-coin flip away."

The clock struck twelve.

"Look at the time," Dredd said. "Didn't realise I spent all this time talking." He chuckled. "Can't believe I spent all this time sharing this with a stranger. You're a good listener. Tell me what's your name."

"Jack," the officer said.

"Damn, Jack," Dredd said, laughing. "I count thirteen cards in your hand. Lady Luck has not been kind to you. See, I only got me two cards left."

Jack smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't call it quits just yet."

Jack removed a card from his hand and with a flourish placed it on the table.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises."

The card on top of the pile was that of The Joker.

...

Peter's spider sense started buzzing as he knocked the door of Adrian Toome's little house.

"Mr. Toomes, it's me, open up."

He knocked again as his spider sense started getting more intense.

"Mr. Toomes, it's Peter."

He heard the cocking of a pistol and the snarling of a dog way too late.

"Adrian ain't here, Peter," said a man.

Peter turned to see one of the residents holding a pistol and yanking a mangy dog back with a leash with bloodshot eyes and a muzzle on its mouth. Peter could see that it had to be yanked back with considerable force as the leash dug itself into its neck.

"It's just me and you," the man said.

"And who are you supposed to be?" Peter asked.

The man laughed. An ugly, wet laugh. "Don't you remember? I tried to steal your coat."

Peter shook his head. "Nope, and I don't care." He held out both hands in surrender. "Look I don't want any trouble. I just want to talk to Adrian and I'll be out of your hair."

"Oh, Peter," the man said. "It's too late for that. You think you can just walk into and out of this junkyard without a care in the world just cause you're under Adrian's wing? The world don't work that way kid and Murphy and Ripper here want to teach you a lesson." The dog barked and Murphy pulled at the leash. "Can I tell you a story?"

Peter was silent.

"I'll take that scowl as a yes."

Murphy cleared his throat. "You see, back in the day, these whores, mainly teenagers and some prostitutes." Murphy waved his hand. "Doesn't matter. These whores used to leave some babies in this here junkyard. Didn't matter how old, they didn't care. Didn't want the responsibility. Anyways these whores used to leave their babies here and back then, there used to be a bunch of dogs, before us homeless folks came in and called this place home. And these dogs, they were hungry and they couldn't survive off of scraps for long. No, they needed a real meal. And those babies, they were looking real enticing see?"

Peter turned pale. He could feel his stomach churn.

"Not long after, these dogs developed a taste for human flesh. Some of the folks who called this place home had to be real careful at night otherwise they could get their hands chomped off. Some of us folks were even eaten. One man, Jerry had his intestines ripped clean off his stomach. Lotta folk died and nobody cared. Nobody bothered, they ate and slept in their comfortable bed while the people who called this place home had to fight every night had their limbs torn off or died of rabies. Eventually we got tired. Few of our guys intercepted some weapons and we took the fight to them. Rounded up some of the dogs and shot them. This boy over here's the last of em. I managed to put him aside before the boys got to him. Fed him some meat but not so much to wipe out the taste of human in em. This little boy here helped me gain some rep out in this here junk heap and man this boy is loyal. Will go around chasing folks to hell and back but never be. After he's done, he sits down next to me like a loyal little doggie."

"I just want to talk to Mr. Toomes," Peter said. "I don't want any trouble."

"And I just want to give you a little taste of this junkyard," Murphy said. "So, you don't go around walking in it like you own the place."

Murphy knelt down to his dog who was in the midst of a low growl and started removing the muzzle.

Peter clenched his fists. "Murphy, I just want you to know I'm not responsible for what happens to your dog and his little bitch."

Murphy let out a tense chuckle. "Oh, you won't be such a smartass after Ripper is done with you. He's going to rip that mouth right. Off. Your. Face."

The dog started sprinting towards Peter. Peter stood still as the dog leaped in the air. He was about to punch it when a gunshot rang in the air. The corpse of the dog lay on the ground, blood spilling out of the place where its head used to be.

"Why you little..." Murphy was about to point his gun at Peter when Adrian Toomes fired a shotgun blast inches away from his feet.

Murphy screeched and swerved towards Adrian.

"Get the hell out of here, Murph," Adrian said, reloading the shotgun. "Or else."

"You just killed my dog," Murphy said. "You expect me to let this go."

"I have a shotgun, Murph," Adrian said. "So, yes."

"I'm going to bring my boys," Murphy said. "We're gonna trash the place and then we're gonna trash you."

"You can try, Murph," Adrian said and grinned. "The Vulture will be waiting for you."

Murphy looked like he was about to say something. He puffed out his chest, staring at Peter and then Adrian with daggers in his eyes before walking away.

"What does he mean, calling you the Vulture?" Peter asked.

"Just a nickname," Adrian said. "Get in the house I want to have a word with you."

Peter walked in the house with Adrian. He leaned over his makeshift counter. He didn't offer coffee or anything.

"What did I say, Peter?" Adrian said, his voice was tight and there was clear disappointment in his eyes. "What the hell did I say about coming here? I told you this place was dangerous. I told you I don't want a kid like you running around here. But what do you do? You come here anyway."

Peter sighed. "I know..."

Adrian looked at the roof and let out an exasperated sigh. "You knew? So why the hell did you disobey me? Peter, I care about I..."

"I know," Peter shouted, cutting him off. "I know that Mr. Toomes. It's just... I've had a few bad days and I just... I need someone to talk to."

Adrian stared at him for a while. And then he sighed and gave in. "Alright kid. But only for today. Fucker Murphy still has a bunch of tricks up his sleeves."

Adrian started shuffling around his shelves looking for coffee.

"You sure... I mean will you be alright?"

Adrian grinned. "Oh, Murphy and his boys are all talk and no show. They can't handle me."

"And the Vulture thing," Peter said. "What's that?"

"Oh, just a nickname," Adrian said. "They saw me picking up scrap around these parts and well, it stuck."

Adrian gave Peter a mug and took one for himself and sat across Peter. "So, what's on your mind?"

"I..." Peter said. "The Joker thing. I saw what he did to those police officers and prisoners. And Vulture too."

Adrian stirred a little in his seat.

"They kill all these innocent people and I don't know," Peter said. "You don't see stuff like this in New York. Sure, people over there are fucked up but you barely hear about people blowing up a room full of prisoners." Peter paused. "And I feel like, if something like this happens again, I'll be pushed off the edge, you know. I'm worried something like this might happen to my Aunt, something horrible and... god I just want this to stop."

They were quiet for a while. And then Adrian decided to speak up.

"My family was killed."

Peter was about to say something but Adrian raised a hand.

"My family was killed, Peter," Adrian said. "She was pregnant with our boy and my daughter, oh god my daughter." Adrian put a hand on his mouth before he continued. "They were killed by some people in power, people I can't do anything about. And that's why I'm here, living in this shithole."

Adrian looked at the picture on the table, barely looking at Peter as he continued. "Thing is I wanted so badly to murder those bastards who killed them. To kill them and that's all I've ever thought about, Pete. Killing them. My heart's gotten so hard that when I try and think about memories, try to remember anything about them I can't. I can't remember my wife's voice or how my daughter used to laugh. My memories they're... they're hollow."

He looked at Peter though his eyes had tears in them. "This city takes good men and consumes them. My heart was eaten away by revenge and now it doesn't have space for the people I used to love Peter, the people I used to cherish. This city takes and keeps on taking and it's hard to stay strong. It's hard to not let it take you too."

"That's what I'm afraid off," Peter said. "That this city will take someone I love again and..."

Adrian put a hand on his shoulder. "Peter, you're strong. Strongest kid I've ever know and my girl was a fighter." He chuckled. "This city won't take a boy like you. I know it won't."

Adrian looked away, at the wings hidden underneath the blanket. The wings stained with the blood of people with families, just like he had. "And don't you ever, ever let this shithole city consume you. Promise me that."

"I promise."

...

Chance is a funny thing.

Judge Dredd left his judgements to chance. A lot of families that didn't need to be were separated, whether through divorce or death. A lot of innocent people were sent to prison and perfectly sane people to Arkham.

And chance played a very peculiar role in the fate of Barbara Gordon.

The Joker escaped Dredd's manor. When Herbert Dredd was busy flipping coins that ruined people's lives, the Joker stashed weapons all over Dredd's mansion. The police officers never stood a chance. The Joker had a stand off with the Batman. The Batman won, obviously but the Joker had a trick up his sleeve. A little acid squeezed into a tiny flower went a long way.

But unfortunately, the Joker was in a very sour mood. His day was already ruined. Dredd had left a bad taste in his mouth. How could a judge act that way? The white wigged fools who were supposed to uphold justice? It disgusted him.

But to make his mood even more sour he got a gunshot to his shoulder.

He turned around and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon. He fired his machine gun at him just for good measure. Jim Gordon ducked but his backup had arrived and poor old Joker didn't want to deal with the SWAT. He'd deal with the good old Commissioner when the time came. Ol' Jimbo would have a surprise waiting for him.

Unfortunately, that night after searching through the old archives for a newspaper to read while he took a massive old dump there was newspaper article about the birth of the Commissioner's pretty little daughter with the cute little freckles.

Digging through the Joker archives, the Joker found a yearbook. His daughter was fifteen now and quite the looker.

And boy oh boy did little Old Jimbo love his daughter.

The Joker grinned.

His mind was made.

...

Valeria Toomes always wanted to fly.

Daddy was always good at making stuff and daddy had promised her that one day he'd make her wings so she could soar in the sky like an eagle. They would soar in the sky like birds.

Little did Daddy know that he'd be holding Valeria Toomes's corpse in his corpse, mouth agape and riddled with bullet holes.

He woke up that night as he always did every night relieving that moment. But this time he didn't hear her voice, he couldn't hear her laugh or her screams. It was muted.

He got up to make himself a coffee but there was a smell in the air. A smell Adrian Toomes's was all too familiar with. The smell of corpses. And that smell was very close by.

Adrian Toomes walked slowly to his door, shotgun in his hand and with a deep breath he opened it. On his porch was the corpse of a dog and where the head was supposed to be was the face of Murphy with his tongue out and a bow tie on his head.

Adrian kicked the corpse aside, hand over his mouth to prevent himself from gagging. He wondered who'd be sick enough to do something like this and got his answer almost immediately.

"Oh, come on, I spent hours on that," said the Joker. "And you kick it aside."

The Joker walked past him without a care in the world.

"It'd definitely liven up this shithole."

"I have a gun on me," Adrian said, pointing the gun at the Joker. "And I'm not afraid to use it."

The Joker hung his coat and jacket. "No, no Adrian." The Joker placed his finger on the gun barrel and pushed the barrel down. "You're not going to do that."

"How do you know my..."

"I know about the wings Adrian," Joker said, crashing on his sofa and spreading his legs kicking the photo of his family to the floor. "I know how you took over this here junkyard. All it takes is a little intimidation. You really need to have your head in the game."

The Joker chuckled.

"What do you want with me?" Adrian asked, picking up the photo and putting it on top of his shelf.

"Oh, it's simple really," Joker said, shuffling around his pockets and pulling out a tube. He threw the tube to Adrian who caught it. "I heard your wings got busted by that annoying little insect. That tube has pure Vibranium in it. One hell of an upgrade don't you think?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

The Joker turned and grinned and Adrian. "Oh, it's simple bird-brain. I want to make a deal."

To be continued...