Daybreak Finale: The Practical Applications of Self Reflection

Daybreak Finale: The Practical Applications of Self Reflection

Daybreak Finale: The Practical Applications of Self Reflection

===Arkham Asylum==

There was a blinding yellow light and then, Krill staggered into the room, still reeling from Kuttler’s attack. "Cheap shot…" he wheezed, before collapsing onto the floor, a mix of blood and drool dripping out of his mouth.

"Oho, there he is! There’s my little bundle of comic relief and profanity!" Joker let out an overjoyed giggle as he rushed to greet him.

"Joker!" Crane snapped impatiently, "He needs medical attention. Now."

"And?" Joker asked disinterestedly. "What do you want me to do about that? Page the Crime Doctor? He blocked me after one too many ‘Doctor, Doctor,’ jokes, which, in my defense, were absolute killers!"

"No… Doctors… Sugar pills… Top cabinet…" Krill gasped, shrugging Crane off. "I’ll be… fine… Just give me someone to kill and… And a banana split… Might… Might also need a rabies shot."

"The Misfitspose aaaaaaaa threat, Joooooooker," Zoom warned, as he watched Krill wolf down his medication.

"Hah! Now there’s a sentence that’s never been uttered before…" Joker chuckled dismissively. As he attempted to leave the room however, Zoom blocked the doorway.

"No. First theErasaaaaaaaaaser discoveredour lair. Now theyhaveincapacitated theeeeee Pooooolka DotMan. Theymustbe eliminated."

"Now, where’s your holiday spirit gone?" Joker looked down at Zoom’s hand, and then back at his face, trying to mask his indignation. "All in good time, Hunter," he stated. "I’m in the giving mood right now, and I’ve promised Julian he’ll have his fun with them first."

==Greendale Community College==

The Infirmary

Day 16

Flannegan was lying on a hospital bed, as a nurse doted around him. Sat around him, were Reardon, Rigger, Blake and Chuck, each in varying states of concern.

"Get off! I’m fine, really," he protested, as he pushed the nurse’s hand away from his black and blue face. "You shoulda seen the other guy!"

"You mean the one that escaped?" Blake smirked.

"That’s not what-" Flannegan spluttered. "Blame the science geek, I had the spotted bastard dead to rights."

"Didn’t he drop a microwave on you?" Rigger butted in.

"It was a filing cabinet!"

"Is he going to be alright, miss?" Reardon asked, narrowly dodging a flying fruit cup intended for Joey.

"He took quite a beating, but he’ll be fine," the nurse replied. "Just don’t use that arm against any more Polka Dot Men for a while," she advised Flannegan with a clear hint of sarcasm.

"He was real!" he protested once more, as he attempted to get out of the hospital bed. His advances were interrupted by a commotion outside, as the voices of Kuttler and the Dean grew louder and louder.

"Noah, please, you can’t just leave. Where am I supposed to get another computing studies teacher on such short notice?" Pelton was pleading with him. "You were going to show me how to use Excel!"

"Frankly, that’s none of my concern," Kuttler retorted. "Hire Answer, hell: hire Cluemaster for all I care- see if you can piece his skull back together, I imagine it’s like a particular irritating jigsaw puzzle… Oh, and check your basement, because there is definitely a sex computer down there. I know that frequency."

"Sex computer?" Pelton’s brow furrowed, as he stopped in his tracks. "Wait up-" he began, but Kuttler had already reached the infirmary, and made sure to lock the door behind him. He then approached the Misfits, and placed a small glass bottle, filled with small yellow pills, onto the table beside Flannegan.

"Diaxymine," he stated. "Should cancel out the effects of the Fearless drug on your rotund friend."

"Woah woah woah, that’s potent stuff. Who’s to say it won’t just fry his mind?" Rigger asked anxiously.

"No one, of course, but there was a guard here that stockpiled the stuff," Kuttler deflected. "From what I was able to piece together, he was some kind of supervillian, went by the name ‘Chinese Tiger.’"

"We… appreciate the gesture, but if it’s all the same to you, I think we’ll wait until we’re back in Gotham, and cure him then," Chuck spoke, as he slid the glass bottle into his yellow utility belt for safe keeping.

"Fine. Use it or don’t," Kuttler shrugged, standing back up. "But when your sauce spraying friend tears your throat out, remember I gave you an out," he replied, as he walked back towards the exit. "I’ll see you in the courtyard tomorrow. That is, if the offer still stands."

"It does- I mean, sure, great!" Chuck stuttered, a little taken aback by Kuttler’s sudden change of heart. "But… what about that ankle monitor?" he asked, pointing down at Kuttler’s feet. "Shouldn’t we-?"

"That old thing?" Kuttler looked down, and to The Misfits’ surprise, casually unbuckled it and dropped it in the bin. "I reprogrammed that months ago. I just fancied the time off."

"Right, of course you did," Chuck tutted. "What exactly changed your mind?"

Kuttler glanced over at Blake before answering. "Let’s just say I had an enlightening talk with one of your teammates," he smirked, before turning back to face them. "Oh, and of course, thanks to you, Abner Krill knows where I am and he’ll want revenge: The first thing he’ll do once he’s healed, will be to sell off my location to the Society remnants I testified against. And frankly, I’m simply too emotionally drained to draft a countermeasure against Bane or his allies… I could do with the meat shields."

"Bane’s in Slabside, bud, he’s not going anywhere," Blake reassured him.

"The same Slabside that Killer Moth broke into a month ago?" Kuttler spoke, as he raised a condemning eyebrow.

"Ok, fair point," he swallowed.

"Uh-huh. The courtyard. Tomorrow at 12pm. Don’t keep me waiting," he ordered them, before leaving the way he came, still swatting away Pelton’s advances.

"Well, he seemed lovely," Ten said dryly.


Gar was slumped against the wall, waiting for Chuck as he exited the infirmary, flicking his lighter on and off obsessively

"You shouldn’t smoke indoors," Chuck advised him.

"I wasn’t." Gar confessed. "So. Who won? The game, I mean," he clarified.

"Funny you should ask: the Dean called it off. Apparently, some Freddy Krueger lookalike ran onto the campus, and threatened a hundred students with a flamethrower."

"Jeez, what’re the chances?" Gar wondered aloud.

"Oh, I dunno… One in a million," Chuck replied, eyeing him up.

Gar paused. "I… might have been projecting my anger onto a bunch of amateur cosplayers.

"Not to worry, we’ve all been there."

"Still, Krueger. Nice chance of pace. About a dozen students stopped me earlier and said ‘Nice Deadpool, bro. Have a chimichanga on me.’ Irritating as hell," he frowned. "He gonna be ok?" he changed trajectory.

"Flannegan? He’s tough, he’ll pull through," Chuck reiterated.

"Not who I meant," Gar spoke, as he watched Mayo shuffle past them into the infirmary, a bunch of crumpled flowers in his hand, no doubt a last minute gift, hand-picked from the gardens.

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "We’ll get him cured once we’re back in Gotham. If we ever make it…" he added tiredly.

"We will. Drury has a plan, I know it," Gar vouched for him. "But it’s weird, right? I mean, you and I both know what Fearless can do to a person; the chaos, the anger, the devastation… it turned you into a reckless thrill-seeker, submerged Two-Face’s better half and it barely even worked on Dekker. Kid could’ve killed us all if he wanted to, or at least try. Yet even with that crap pumping through his veins; nothing holding him back; free to do anything, say anything without consequence, all Mayo really wanted, was to win a damn paintball game. just gain a little bit- a tiny sliver of recognition from his peers."

Chuck reflected on this, and pulled the glass bottle of Diaxymine out of his belt to examine it.

"What’s the stuff Kuttler gave you anyway?" Gar inquired.

"Supposed to be Anti-Psychotics," Chuck explained.

"’Supposed to be,’" Gar rolled his eyes. "Between you and me, I’m pretty sick of experimental drugs."

"Boy, I hear you there…" he chuckled softly. "Listen, Gar-"

"What?" he snapped suddenly.

"Just… I’m sorry about Jenna."

Gar’s features softened, as he flicked his lighter shut. "Me too."

==Study Room F==

Day 17

"So, this is what you wear for a living, huh?" Jeff raised an eyebrow at both Blake and Chuck’s suits.

"I don’t know, you fill that costume out nicely," Britta smiled.

"I made you boys sandwiches for the journey home," Shirley said, offering Chuck an enormous bag of filled sandwiches. Though unlikely to eat them himself, due to the high fat content, Chuck felt it best not to tell her, and instead thanked Shirley politely.

Chuck hugged the girls, shook Jeff’s hand and patted Troy and Abed on the back. "Pierce," he nodded. "It has been an experience."

"Urgh, I’m always getting shafted," he grumbled. "But not as much as Jeff in gay bars," he chuckled.

"Dude, read the room," Blake shook his head disapprovingly.

Chuck looked over at the Misfits’ table, where Mayo had been silently drawing for a while, and took a deep breath. "Hey, buddy," he approached, examining each of his sketches. "Who’s this guy?"

"Malcolm Fleming. He’s a cucumber," Mayo sniffed.

"And this one, that his friend?" Chuck pointed to the second figure.

"Stephen Tucker. A gherkin."

Chuck smiled, as he reached into his rucksack and handed Mayo a large parcel. "Here. I want you to have this. I know it’s not perfect. Dekker, for all his quirks, knows how to make a suit much better than I ever could, but I made I do."

"I don’t understand. You’re not mad?" he asked, puzzled.

"It’s paintball, Mitch," Chuck winked. "No one got hurt. That’s the main thing."

"Flannegan might disagree there-" Blake calmly pointed out.

"Most people didn’t get hurt, Chuck corrected himself, shooting daggers Blake’s way. "Thing is, you’re one of us. A Misfit, Mitch. It’s time we treated you like one."

"Thank you," Mitch nodded sincerely, as he pulled the black and red costume from out of the bag. "I love it."

"What about it, Jeff? A final rousing speech?" Abed asked.

Jeff smirked. "Actually, Abed, I think Chuck should do the honours."

"Actually, we really have to go," Chuck began, as he rose to his feet. "Kuttler would kill us if we’re late. Literally, probably… Look, they’re your people, Jeff. Look after them, love them. Care for them. Because remember, they may all be misfits, but together, you’re all so much stronger."

"Well, I don’t know if I’d class myself as a misfit-" Britta began, her protests drowned out by the Study Group’s collective groans.

"Then find another name," Chuck encouraged them. "But find it together. Because, uh, because that one’s already taken- branding was always Drury’s thing."

"Ooh, actually have a couple ideas in mind." Annie said, as she pulled out a massive binder. Jeff looked up at Chuck, and smiled gratefully. Chuck nodded back and rested his hand on the door handle. ‘Hell Yeah.’

"Oh, before I forget- in two or three days, you might be emailed a YouTube link from a Montgomery Sharpe. Don’t open it," he added.

As Chuck left, Troy turned back to the rest of the group. "Do any of you guys know who that is?"


"Drury, you’re always gonna do something stupid… That’s why I love you. We’ll win. We always do, you old softie. Because we don’t-?"

Because we don’t give up. Yeah. Someday. Because of you.."

"You’re just tired Drury, that’s all. Just tired."

"To doing something stupid," Drury lamented.

"You were flashing back, weren’t you?"

"I’m sorry?" Drury asked, turning his head away from the trophy cabinet.

Abed shrugged. "Just now. It looked like you were having a flashback to something."

Walker smiled weakly. "Yeah, yeah. something like that."

"I’m Abed," he said, offering him his hand.

"Drury," Walker nodded as he shook his hand.

"Yo, Abed, could you give us some space please?" Chuck asked.

"Cool," he replied, as he disappeared down the hall. "Cool cool cool."

"Kuttler’s on board," Chuck revealed. "He’ll want to be paid obviously, but I think we can probably pull enough money together, right?"

"Yeah, Joe texted me," he nodded. "What happened to you anyway?" Drury asked, eying Chuck’s shattered visor suspiciously, "I thought it was just a paintball game."

"Oh, I died," Chuck said bashfully. "Well, I should’ve. Mitch used condiments, so it didn’t technically count."

"Ah. Typical, really," Drury winked. He looked down at his watch.

"C’mon, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting," he said, glancing at the otherwise empty, paint soaked hallway.

"Sure," Drury lay his hand on the trophy cabinet and smiled faintly, gesturing to a framed photo. "Here, take a look at this, please: Gotham University, interschool basketball championships 2001, I actually competed in that- I’m the scrawny kid with the broken leg, see? And, sure, the Mathletes lost, but that’s life, ain’t it?"

"Yeah…" Chuck smiled encouragingly.

"And there, in the opposing team’s photo… There she is. My Tiger Lily. Funny coincidence, right?" Drury, was pointing to a blond girl in the back. "Didn’t even know she existed. Imagine."

"I guess," Chuck nodded.

"Just like that time in Gaige’s office, or that Janus Christmas party… I missed out on several more happy years because… because I didn’t know what was right in front of me."

Chuck bowed his head. "I never believed in all that star-crossed, meant-to-be kind of love myself. First Maria, then Pam. But you and Miranda? I think that maybe, maybe that was the closest thing to it. And, I dunno, maybe the universe knew that too. You look at these photos and you see it as a missed opportunity, sure. But I see it as a gift. You got to know that the two of you had more time together than even you knew."

"Maybe," Drury said softly, his eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you."

"Any time," Chuck replied, before changing the subject back to the here and now. "I finally read those files by the way. The ones we stole from Batman. You know what that Zolomon guy can do, right? He’s not just fast, he slows down time. And it’s not just him, I mean look at the Pirate, or Pike. I mean, we joke, but Carson beat the crap out of us last time. And seeing what Krill of all people did to Flannegan… Even with Kuttler backing us, I just don’t know." Chuck nodded solemnly. "Like, you do realise that we can’t just drive back into Gotham in a highly conspicuous Bat-Truck? The Bats will be on us before we even reach city limits."

"I know," Drury responded. "I know. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have a plan, Chuck. Maybe not a good one, definitely not a popular one, but I do have one. It’s just… You’re not gonna like it."

"Well, that’s a first," Chuck joked.

"Hah. Stick to the herbal tea, Chuck," Drury smiled back. "Let someone else handle the sarcasm."


"God, that was the longest six months of my life," Flannegan declared, as he stretched his back out, the rest of the Misfits following closely behind him.

"We were there three weeks, tops," Rigger pointed out.

"I know what I said," Flannegan replied stiffly.

As they walked out to the courtyard, Blake and Joey jumped back in fright, Gar and Flannegan drew their weapons, Kuttler ducked behind Walker and Reardon took a deep breath.
Waiting for them outside, flanked by some twenty armed men, was The Great White Shark. Behind him, the Bookworm nodded to Walker affirmatively.

"Look, boys. Hitchhikers," White joked. "A little bug told me you lot needed a lift."

"Uh, Drury?" Chuck asked, awaiting an explanation.

"I mean, I said you wouldn’t like it."

==Gotham City==

Hellhound exited the Stacked Deck through the back alley and smiled, riffling through a stack of newly acquired green bills. All in a day’s work… Dekker would take his cut, of course: but there was no need to split it evenly. After all, he was the one doing all the work. A trash can toppled over behind him, and he spun around. "Who’s there?" he called out to the dark, reaching for the knife in his pocket.

"Your worst nightmares. Your nastiest dreams," a raspy voice hissed.

Hellhound stumbled back in fright, tripping over an empty tin of cat food. "Hey, no hard feelings, man," he insisted. "I didn’t actually believe in any of that crap: It was just a trick, a con, a dirty grift! I didn’t actually do anything: that thing, with the knife and the fat guy? That was all the Misfits, I swear!"

"I believe you," the King of Cats agreed, as he bent down, and licked his face. "Good doggy."

"Ahem," a second voice called out. "Sorry to intrude upon this, ah, tender moment, but my partners have a proposal for you."

"Ah, the clever-clogs," the King recognised Day. "How did you find us?"

"I followed the smell," Day said stiffly.

"Oho," The King laughed. "Clever!"

"You’ve taken a new form, I see," Day noted. "Which poor unfortunate host is it this time?"

"A City Counsellor from Hub City. A frequent adulterer not worth your pity," the King giggled maliciously, the moonlight glinting off of his leather catsuit.

"Curious. But what if I told you that we could do better? Restore you to your former glory: So to speak."

"I’m listening," the King replied, his green eyes narrowing. "But if you don’t mind, first, I’d like to finish my supper," he announced, gesturing to Hellhound’s incapacitated body.

Julian’s skin crawled. He despised being the middle man between the clown and these… creeps. "Do what you have to. Just don’t make a mess."

"Clever Clogs, please," the King scowled. "I make no such promises."

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