Around the Mulberry Bush...

[Gorilla Grodd]

"No, no. I insist."

...........

"Think of it. You'll hardly get another chance."

...........

"You know you're the only one I can entrust this to now."

...........

"After all we've been through, I feel you are deserving of it. You haven't truly received the notice nor the appreciation you deserve."

...........

"I tell you what...You can take all the credit for this one. No, no. You need the help. It would just grow stagnate during my incarceration."

Enormous, thick fingers grip a telephone gingerly in a hand. Dark skin, black hair and an arm as lumbering as a tree limb secure the receiver to the figure's face. One might peer past the cold metal bars of Iron Heights Penitentiary and wonder if its true function be that of a zoo. For the other end of the line resides a massive gorilla. Known to Keystone City and the world, his name is Grodd. Time and time again he has emerged from the hidden depths of Africa to display his bitter loathing of mankind.

For the past 2 years he has been an unusually cooperative inmate at the prison. He has not attempted escape, insinuated any type of riot, not even raised his voice to a corrections officer. His mental genius ordinarily is cause for precaution. Yet for his time served, Grodd has been a cordial, pleasant member of the populous. Ever the more graceful, the 8' tall mountain of muscle, fur and might turns his back on the phone, receiver still in hand.

"Ah. That's better. You really should trust me more. I know I have distributed ill fortunes out in the past, but..."

...........

Grodd brings a hand-like foot up near his face. Picking the dirt from under his nails - whether it be there or merely a display of apathy - he examines them with droll interest.

"This, I too, realize. I can assure you. He won't interfere. He is far too preoccupied with matters of his own. I even hear he's out of the country."

...........

"I tell you, do not worry, my friend..."

...........

A grin presses its way through his lips.

"Yes, I say 'friend'. That is, after all, what you are to me. And friends should trust each other. I will not lead you wrong! Take my advise, my planning. Use it. But do not reach me until everything is done. I'm sure you will enjoy yourself. Ta'."

With his last sentences, Grodd had now turned to face the telephone, his free arm propping his weight against the wall. Shoulders haunch over, as if to protect the communication device. He remains paused there, staring at the bricks and mortar. Suddenly, yet softly, he smirks and laughs quickly to himself.

There he awaits his escort back to his own cell.

[NPC1]

Fluorescent lights flicker violently before darkness consumes them. The hum of electricity continues despite the lack of energy. This noise - this...strange sound - moves down the passageways of the prison. As the building is illuminated once more, the noise comes to a stop. Emergency back-up lighting sheds its grace on the body of a prison guard, sliding down a wall and onto the floor. Beyond him, many of his fellow workers lay in unconscious heaps about their stations.

Hollow steps echo through the halls of the maximum security wing. A few more silent 'thumps' send correctional officers to the floor. All the while a figure walks steadily - with purpose. Far down the corridor the person begins a loud hum of their own.

"Hmm hm hm,
Hmm hmhm hmm hmm,
Hm Hmmhm hmm hm hmmmhmm,
Hmm hm hmhm hmm hmhm hm...hm....."

A black glove gently grips the doorknob and slides the door to the phone room open, moments before the last line in "Pop Goes the Weasel". The dark figure conveniently trails off without finishing the nursery rhyme. Thick boots plod into the room and fall short of the target.

Waiting...for the gorilla whose name be Grodd.

[Gorilla Grodd]

In the darkness, harsh brown eyes widen at the abrupt loss of sight. Grodd's temperment changes. A jovial smile contorts into an apprehensive scowl. He shifts his weight back into a standing position. His neck cranes to one side, anticipating the screeching wail of the sirens - signaling an escape attempt.

Or some other untimely ruckus.

Back-up lighting kicks in. All is silence, save for the distant roar of inmates clamoring for an explanation. Something isn't right. Grodd's eyes narrow in thought. But he isn't kept waiting long.

The satire of the muted tune is not lost upon him. A smirk appears on his face, despite himself. He turns to confront his unexpected company. Thick, furred brows arch in amusement.

"I didn't expect you so soon. One never really does. I suppose even the Reaper hides himself within familiar faces."

Strong, black shoulders flex. Shifting his head without hands, the ape cracks his own neck.

"So, how should this be carried out? With blazing pistols at ten paces? Cold steely blades? No. I can see by that grin on your face....you have something more...extravigant...in mind."

Calloused feet spread Grodd's weight evenly across the floor as he steps into a readied stance. The simian's mood changes drastically. With all dire seriousness, he stares down his intruder.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?"

[NPC1]

The figure was smiling, alright. But they remained silent. A leather clad finger pressed to the lips signaled the intent to keep that silence. As Grodd prepares himself for an apparent attack, the assailant fiddles around in the deep pockets of a dark trench coat. Fingers hit a thin silver tube. Twist the cap. Cold water vapor steams out. A thin, clear blue icicle crackles as it hits the warmer air.

Have to work fast.

Another smile at that thought. In a flash, the job is done. Grodd doesn't even see the assault. He hears a modest "humm" and a slight breeze, but the figure remains still in his sight. The ape feels a delayed warm sensation around the wound. The frozen shiv expands its coldness around the sight of the stabbing, momentarily pausing the flow of blood. Just above the liver. Hundreds of times. That should be enough.

And to think...an 8' gorilla done in by 8" worth of water.

Black leather jacket flairs out as the figure turns around. A hand rests on the knob of the open door. Eyes stare down at the heap of "natural selection" from behind a yellow mask, adding to the over-all jovial expression on the man's face. A glint of red as boots shift and carry him down the hall. The door slowly closes behind him.

"Hmm hmm hmhm
Hmm hmhm hmm hmm...
....pops goes the weasel...."

Hands in his pockets, the shadowed figure casually waltzes out of Iron Heights Penitentiary unmolested.

[Gorilla Grodd]

He stands still, dumbfounded. The gentle wind brushed the fur on his cheeks, like the naive breath of life. Stomach turned to cold. Ice clawed its way into the body. A hand placed gently by the gaping wound, to pull away the instrument of Death. His hands held water. Clear, at first. Then a torrent of red. Grodd's eyes lolled about in his head. They came to rest upon the life-stealer in front of him. His voice was calm now. Whisper-like.

"Oh. You've done well....so many---"

The nose breaks with his impact on the hard concrete floor. Red liquid pools like a spilled wine glass under the body of the brute. Guided by the echo of footsteps, Grodd drifts quietly into unconsciousness.

[NPC1]

Full lighting returns to Iron Heights. The buzz of inmates is now joined by the rush of new voices - more guards. The prison is a flurry of excitement as everyone attempts to decipher what exactly happened. More foot falls are heard in the corridor just outside of the phone room.

"Oh my God. Is James--?"

"No, he's just out cold. You check the others."

"Right."

Black shoes step into the dull vision of Grodd as a guard comes into the room. The dying mastermind sees him take a step back just before he passes out fully. The corrections officer tips his hat up and draws up enough courage to kneel beside the eight foot gorilla.

"Holy ---"

A hand reaches out. It is withdrawn quickly. The thick crimson blood stains not only the flesh, but the light tan sleeve of the uniform. A short gasp of breath leaks from the man's lips. His other hand his the radio at his side.

"This is Drehan in the West Block. Section 5. I need a medical team in the Communication Lounge ASAP!"

Another male voice responds.

Radio: Drehan? Jones here. All the Meds' are out. We're doing the best we can.

"This one's big, Jones. Like silver back gorilla big. Grodd's down. He's bleeding everywhere...Jesus-!"

Radio: Grodd? What the Hell is going on around here?! I'll get a team up there quick as I can!

Moments later a three person group from the Infirmary enter the room. Drehan turns to them, still kneeling in a pool of blood. His hands and arms are soaked up past his elbows as he has been applying pressure on the wound the best he can - at times using his whole forearm due to the size of the creature. The two doctors and the male nurse rush past him to their patient.

Female doctor: "Is he still with us?"

Male nurse: "He's got a huge laceration. Bled out pretty bad. I have a pulse, though. Breathing's shallow."

Female doctor: "Good. Let's get him into surgery. With any grace, we can still save him."

The other doctor has kept tight-lipped. Finishing his initial evaluation, he now stands up. Adjusts his glasses with an indifferent scowl.

Male doctor: "Would it be so bad if we were rid of this one? We might owe his attacker a 'thank you' card."

The woman glares up at her colleague. She stands up, clearing the way for guards with a reinforced stretcher.

Female doctor: "I don't care what he's done, Morrison. Grodd is still a patient as long as he is incarcerated at Iron Heights. I am a doctor here and he is in need of my help. I can only pray that you have not forgotten your duty to humanity."

The guards, the male nurse, and Grodd on the stretcher scramble out of the phone room. The female nurse follows after. And Dr. Morrison thereafter.

Dr. Morrison: "Only to those who are human. I haven't forgotten, Susanne. You know I'll harbor no lasting prejudice. Let's get to work."

The last one out, Dr. Morrison grips the cold metal knob and closes the door after him.

[Gorilla Grodd]

Bleary-eyed, Grodd blinks awake. His head is pounding. His side - killing. Strenuously, he moves a hand to the wound, now swathed in a thick layer of medical gauze. As his sight drifts across the room, certain things become evident. Tubes and wires spiderweb from his body, hooked and connected to nearly every machine known to the hospital wing. He squints further and recognizes one as borrowed from a local zoo. A snort in disdain. He sets his massive head back down on the mound of pillows. Brown eyes dart to the sudden noise of a nurse entering.

"How fortunate..."

The nurse, throughly taken by surprise, lets out a soft cry. The metal tray crashes to the floor, food following after. Shuddering still, she turns to her patient with a mixture of hesitation and anticipation of his next words. Grodd finds himself amused by the situation. A broad grin comes to his lips. His sight travels to the crack in the ceiling above his bed.

"I will tell you this once, my dear. So please, take care and put your primitive ears to use."

A short pause to stir the tension.

"Bring me Superman."

As if he had committed some obscene act, she scrambles out of the room, leaving the door ajar in her wake. He allows himself a short laugh and settles into his new environment...

....awaiting the man of steel.