2013.05.17 - Univited Guests

It's a foggy night. One would almost think Gotham had become some pulp noir London from the looks of it, even a fog horn on some shipping vessel sounds off in the distance over the watery darkness beyond. The weather is neither cold nor warm it is simply stagnant.
Dick Grayson aka Nightwing can feel the sweat-bead roll off of his forehead as he perches on an overhanging slab of wood knotted with broken nails where over a dozen sign posts had been before. This time it was a seafood shack, before this it had been a frozen chocolate banana booth, before that a fishing supplies... This new one wouldn't last either. 
The racketeering around these parts was parasitic to the point of smothering. Whoever is running this side of the wharf has no idea how to run a business. He bleeds small businesses dry and in turn they get put out of business and migrate. That spells no money for the clown in charge around here. Which says that he's unintelligent and sloppy, he'll mess up. That is what Nightwing has been waiting for.
The perspiring Nightwing knows he is out of it right now, juggling detective work and being a costumed vigilante is a tough line, means little sleep and no personal time. It also means the only work outs he gets anymore is rooftop running. Which he had just done. Can't get too overworked though, have to save that energy for other things. Still, a nice brisk workout never hurt anyone and fortunately he has those de-odorizing sprays of Batman's keeps any scent from sneaking out. Tonight has been a bizarre one on the surveillance front, he's watched an odd array of characters enter the /condemned/ marked structure across from him. It's not illegal what they're doing beyond trespassing but it's strange. It has his curiousity piqued and right now he is just watching. Counting heads and playing observer.
Someone else is playing shadow as well tonight. As a group of thug-like guys pull up in a dark sedan, they seem clueless to the rider that's attached itself to their roof. From above, it's not too hard to pick out, given the flap of the long, dark cape. When the car slows, the dark-clad figure moves into a fluid backroll and then launches into a leap as her feet touch the roof just above the back window. The peaked ears on the cowl screams 'bat', but the figure is too small, to slight, and too dark to be the Batman. No grey to break up the black, just the brief flash of the outline on her chest in yellow. Batgirl hits the ground as brakelights flare, rolling into the shadows behind some crates.
Its the kind of night for top hatted serial killers and cockney accents, for shadowy deals and...well you get the idea. The kind of night that Frederick Jaeger had long ago decided was detrimental to his health. Still, its hard to argue with the moral imperative that a costumed identity provides. Where others play the game of shadows and subterfuge, it is high technology and a few judicious steps that render Dragnet utterly imperceptible to those around him. Well, those that don't directly bump into him directly at any rate. Its probably why he takes the least precautions out of the three one, one of those handy piles of crates that never seems to be questioned and makes for convenient cover in so many first person shooters. The faceplates sensory enhancements kick into full gear, allowing full spectrum vision and extending his hearing beyond the human limitation. With the AIDOS at...no, as his fingertips, its a wonder he isn't a shining example of heroism and vigilante justice.
The answer is very very simple. Because while he's just good enough at it to justify going out and doing this every night, and he does have that moral imperative, Dragnet is, to put it mildly, a coward. So the overwhelming technical advantage is often squandered in the name of over apprehension and nervousness. Even in the cloak of near perfect invisibility, he still shudders reflexively. 'Just another night. Its just another night. You've done this. You can keep doing this.' He repeats to himself, barely audibly.
Nightwing has counted around a dozen men entering the condemned building. That doesn't figure in to how many were already in there before the others arrived. This many people in one place at this hour isn't usually a great sign but still nothing criminal has occurred yet. Maybe something won't, but considering several of those men went in there with small arms it's safe to assume something will.
Fingers curl down around a small cylinder and draw it up the zoom on it combined with nightvision lensing picks out the newcommers and their passenger. If curiosity wasn't at it's high point already it is now. Which one of you is that? Ti... no, Oracle's ward Batgirl. Half-tempted to check the comms and ask if Barbara was in this he doesn't. If she was she'd let him know right? Hard to tell.
Dragnet on the otherhand goes unseen. There is a shadowy figure before the doorway that seems to stop each group of men and women that enter, like a bouncer. Not exactly unseen but still remaining hidden the form can be witnesssed peeling away from the darkness under the entrance's overhang then he'll fade back inside once guests had been checked. It's been on the wire for these vigilantes that there has been a strange influx of outside criminal organizations in the past several weeks around this side of Gotham. Indvidually they might have even ran in to one or two of them committing petty crimes or simply just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Batgirl doesn't clutter the comms with chatter. Big surprise there, eh? The trio in the sedan were fleeing an altercation on the other side of town and, given Oracle mentioning that something bigger might be brewing when Batgirl mentioned there being more activity than usual the little bat decided to follow the car instead of forcing it off the road. Now, as the group heads inside, Batgirl slips from shadow to shadow to get to the building itself, looking for someway in that's not quite so blatant as the front door. She's not expecting anyone else to also be watching, and hasn't picked up on Nightwing or Dragnet yet.
On Dragnet's side of the reflective faceplate, he's checking distances, processing sensory info, checking ammunition and energy levels. Perhaps some kind of mantra, the constant stream of data. He still works for Oracle...kind of. He'll get the all-calls, but the personal communication seems to have slowed to a crawl. He's picked up a few hoods that have seemed overly talkative in the past few weeks, which has lead him to his own personal stakeout which has grown progressively more complicated. Which effectively means that he was as in the dark as Nightwing as as to Batgirl's involvement. He keeps a brisk place as he moves closer, mindful to pick a different segment of cover or shadow that Batgirl does. She needs it more than he does, and spending the night in explanations would seem to be counterproductive for all involved. In a true case of right hand not knowing what the left is doing, he is aware of Batgirl, but not Nightwing. AIDOS is set to a hard default of short bursts of heavily encrypted audio...strictly speaking, it doesn't /have/ an open communications channel. Which would add to the hilarity of the evening if he were cognizant of it. Slowly he raises his right arm, gauntlet calculating firing solutions between himself and the 'doorman'.
The building itself is an old late 1800s structure that once acted a warehouse and for a time was converted over in to a slum housing for sailors and out of work families after that it had been restructored and broken up to work a several shops and once more that was reverted in to a warehouse yet again. Who knows what it's previous purpose was but it has a myriad of entryways the clever can exploit. Notably a top attached addon which might have been a managers house or someplace for live in workers to stay. The door is barely on it's hinges all it takes is some small bit of aid to get it to lose it's grip on the frame and allow entry in to the creaky floors within. Floors that sit above the rather colorful meeting going on.
Nightwing doesn't bother moving from his perch. Keeping a vigil eye from a distance to watch Batgirl's handywork; this is after all the first time he has seen her in action and he knows little to nothing about the relatively new cape.
Batgirl moves with a fluid surety that comes from knowing exactly how her body can move. There's no pausing to look for the best way up, to the casual observer it's like she's been here before and had time to study it. Cracks, ledges a bare fingersbredth wide, the jut of a stone. Gloved fingers and booted toes find all of them and she pulls herself up the building with sure strength. The door above is carefully pried open and she slips inside like a shadow. It's a situation that she should probably have called Oracle on, just in case she needed backup. Should have.
Dragnet has been pushing his body, sure enough. Or as much as one can on the street with limited access to equipment and requiring conservation of energy. Still, theres no way he could pull off the Batgirl's show of skill. So...he opts for a simpler option. Namely, the front door. Which, he now realizes in retrospect, is still guarded by a hulking specimen of humanity. He slips in close, reaching up and tapping the mountain of meat on the shoulder before discharging one of the gas canisters at point blank range before he can make a sound, the opiate hopefully overloading his senses before he can make a sound. He makes a valiant attempt to gracefully catch the guy as he comes down, but even his enhanced strength there is still the matter of physics and he nearly goes down from the effort, but he begins the earnest effort of dragging him a little ways out of sight before....it bears repeating, sashaying under the cover of dynamic camouflage...THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR.
"I believe that is everyone." A nasal sounding voice can be heard as Batgirl makes her way inside Below her the voices are audible and through cracks here and there in the floor between this and the one below she can make out movement. Plenty of it. 
"All accounted for? Sound off if you would." A second voice.
"Sound off? You can see all of us. Lets just get to business." A third.
"Dr. Zusman representing A.I.M." A fourth voice.
"Just call me K, of the Lords of the Living Lightning." Yet another.
"K? As in like M.I.B.'s Agent K? And weren't you called the Legion of the Living Lightning? Doe sit make you feel more important to call yourselves the Lords now or something?" Another talker.
"We've evolved and are trying to promote a different view. It was researched that this is a much more imperious and imposing name. People take us more seriously with it." K responds.
"Hahaha! So what hes is sayings is thats they didnts feels tough enoughs the ways theys soundeds befores. What bunch of dildos." A bizarre accent tosses in to the mix.
"Enough all of you. Who cares what they call themselves now and it will take an hour for all of you to sound off and go through this bickering. Forget I said to do as much. Number 4 just read the list off to me and if you're here raise your hand." That second voice sounding exasperated already.
"Legi... er Lords of Lightning, A.I.M., Hydra, Black Dragon Society, Cyber NInjas, Sons of the Serpent, Secret Empire, Militiamen, Ultimatum, The Inquisition, it would appear Trenchcoat Mafia are not present nor are several others, we will proceed without them right?" Unknown henchman with the clipboard.
"Yes." The second voice responds. "We'll proceed someone can just take notes for them."
"This is so ridiculous." Someone near giggles and silence descends upon the gathering as if they all turned to look at the man. "Oh come on, I'm not the only one thinking it."
"You will silence yourself so we can commence the meeting." Number two growls.
"I'm trying, I'm trying. I'm sorry it's just quite comical is all.
"What about it is comical? This is serious here. You want the respect and power you deserve? The only way to do that is by banding together which is what we are doing now. Pooling our collective expertise and resources to further the might of /ALL/ of us here and you want to sit there and make a mockery of this?" Number 2 is getting down to business now.
"Okay. I'm sorry I will stop laughing just please lets carry on."
"Very well, bring up the display if you would Omega."
"Sir." Omega as he is named responds and something below lights up. Cracks through the floor indicate the lighting in the room changed.
"Our projected plan." #2 begins to speak as loud laughter erupts and silence descends. "OH COME ON!? Seriously we are not serious here right!? Bwhahahahah! Oh god oh god, my sides hurt." Still more silence. Dead silence aside from the laughter and what sounds like shuffling. "Oh shit, please don't kill me. I was just joking, you know, having a laugh... erk... urgh... someone... erk.
For Dragnet taking the man down is relatively easy considering he has the drop on him. The gas expelled has the man flailing briefly takes a swing but ends up going wide and staggering past to wobble at the knees then collapse. Through the front door Dragnet goes to enter in to a hallway that descends to a short stairwell and a grand opening. A warehouse floor covered in boxes, tarp covered crates and a makeshift giant table in the center of the room. Around this makeshift table is a brilliantly colorful array of human beings wearing an assortment of uniforms all of them recognizable in some form or another from criminal databases, news, the internet and bad LSD trips. There is all and all around seventeen visible men and women. Including the man in the red Nazi replica style uniform holding alot a man in all black. Perhaps one of the Black Dragon Society or a Cyberninja. Who can tell, so many to choose from and he does look rather ninja-ish. On the display behind them stands another man with a clipboard in a Hydra outfit in bold across the lit up screen it reads Minion's International Liberation Front.
Batgirl creeps over the boards above, light on her feet to minimize any creaking. Hands reach out to grab hold of trusses and rafters to take her weight as she moves about to find a spot where she can actually *see* the people below. The voices mean so little, even the tones. She might be able to pick up some of the words but she'd have to really concentrate. She can catch an arrow out of the air while dodging a bullet and kicking a door down but follow a simple conversation? Nope. Can't multitask there. Eyes behind the black lenses of her featureless mask pick out where people are, but when the Nazi-styled guy hoists the man in black up off the floor by the throat with intent to choke him to death, sneaking is suddenly not on the table. A foot stomps downward, breaking the already weak boards and giving Batgirl a spot to drop down through. As soon as she clears the wood, a batarang is cutting through the air for the Nazi's hand to try to get him to release the other man before arms go wide to steady her descent. Toes hit the floor, knees flex and then she's pushing off into a forward flip towards the table.
Drag is pretty sure he's seen this in one of his more...odd dreams. Usually this is at the point where he realizes he's wearing a barrel or he's standing on a bridge made of rainbow or ice cream. The vagrant lifestyle seems to have been a bit hard on his subconscious mind. he rolls his neck, moving into a better position to observe when...oh. A Batgirl. Or some other vaguely black and yellow shaped slightly feminine projectile which descends from the roof. "Gotta give it up for a ballsy entrance." He says with obvious, well, its not quite admiration, but its safe to say being near-invisible with a lack of facial features being perceived through his faceplate has a lot of advantages when one goes utterly slackjawed. With the grenades an obvious bad choice given Batgirl's rather sudden shifts in trajectory (And his fervent desire not to fill her nostrils with supercharged opiate), he instead opts to employ the dazzler on one gauntlet, aiming for as many sensitive retinas as he can gain access to. He sprints for the nearest AIDOS-sized bit of obstruction, leaning out just far enough to fire the taser from the top-mount on his forearm on the opposing gauntlet.
Surprise resounds around the gathering and an instant later lightning arcs from a blue and yellow clad man, what sounds like a musket goes off from one of the Militiamen, several throwing stars sail through the air and the Red clad man's hand recoils as he releases a shriek, clutching his wrist to look at the Batarang. His victim in all black falls to the ground coughing and hacking as he clutches his throat. 
"M.I.L.F. we're under attack! Destroy them!"
"Oh shit. It's the Batman!" Cries one man.
"We warned you about Gotham, no one listened." One of the Black Dragon's shouts. "Another! EEE I'm blind!" Arms defensively folding up over a chest and face. 
"I see spots!" From one end of the warehouse to the next the henchmen united release shouts as they flail about in a disoriented scramble.
One of those leather clad bikers takes aim at where Dragnet is and releases a spray of laser like shots out of what looks like a normal submachine gun. Not quite though, obviously. Chaos everywhere.
That ripped free batarang is hurled at Batgirl only to be knocked out of the air by a wingding, one of Nightwing's own personal throwing objects. The action so obscured in the mayhem and confusion no one but Batgirl herself would have the ability to even comprehend it happens. The Redclad nazi henchleader doesn't even seem to register.
The batarang comes winging back towards Batgirl but she doesn't try to move out of the way. She's already tracking the wingding on the way to intercept. Her boots touch the table and her body drops, hands planted her feet push off and her heel comes across the jaw of one of the guys at the table, sending him crashing backwards, tumbling the chair over. Batgirl is still moving, one action blending into the next in a constant stream. Her feet find purchase on the edge of that now-overturned chair, what should be precarious seeming so solid for her and an elbow is slammed backwards to the chair's neighbor.
Dragnet meanwhile does his utmost to not be swiss cheesed by laser fire, for though the nano-kevlar he wears would resist a large portion of it, it was designed to interact with the stealth system and conduct energy for the various weapons and sensory mounts, and thus isn't exactly the sterling model of protection that say a certain billionaire genius philanthropist playboy might use. So he is forced to weather the storm of submachine gun fire, occasionally peeking out to either fire one of the gas canisters into a group of four mooks that has come to close, retracting the prongs of tasers as the both simultaneously deploy, shocking another two into submission. When stealth fails, Drag relies on shock and awe. Every so often the dazzlers are swept in wide arcs, so as to keep the minions firing blind. He really doesn't want to take the chance they could actually hit him. Because lasers hurt. Musketballs hurt. Everything in this business bloody hurts.
Nightwing is tracking how many are going down. Already Batgirl has taken out another two which drops the number to around thirteen. He's already snared an additional around the wrist and drug him upwards by a beam from above before gracefully flipping through the air to plant a foot alongside the henchman's covered head. The modified hot poker / torture tool the Inquisition member holding clanging off the concrete floor.
Redshirt still clutching his hand watches the display of Batgirl pulling some remarkable Chinese martial arts flick super moves and begins to back away. What happened to his brother before him will not happen to him as well. "MILF WILL LIVE ON!" He cries out loudly. "None of you shall be forgotten!" With a roll and a spring the man is racing towards the back of the building, throwing crates and boxes down behind him.
A backflip and a half twist in the air with his arms out wide and Nightwing is evading stray laser, bullet and musket rounds. Landing he sweeps the legs out from under one of the Militiamen causing the man to fall in a crash to the floor. His outdated weapon clattering across the floor.
"What is that... six left?" He questions outloud.
"You'll not take me alive! DEATH BY SCIENCE!!!" Shouts Dr.Zusman of A.I.M. a large blocky object strapped to his chest with a handle on it being aimed towards Batgirl and Nightwing. A strange hum sound begins to come out of it. Nothing happens. Several heartbeats more nothing still happens. "Wait for it! Wait for it!" On the side of the device a bar is actually visible. One that is slowly rising from green to yellow to orange to red. Currently it is just climbing out of yellow.
"Handle the rest I'll get the runner." Nightwing says brushing off the A.I.M. scientist as a no threat before he is sprinting off as well. The rest being Zusman and his very very scary device and five others.
"Heeeyah!" Is heard and motion no doubt detected near Dragnet as a man with a electrical enveloped ninjato sails at him, flanked by one of the Lords of Living Lightning who is apparently amping the Cyberninjas weapon with an electrical rod that is creating a very vibrant charged link between the two of their weapons. How about that, teamwork and friendship exists amongst badguys too.
Batgirl gives Nightwing a nod, though if he notices is up for debate. She drops down into a forward roll from her perch on the chair edge under the table towards Dr. Zusman, between his legs to spring up with her back to his. One arm hooks backwards around his neck and she leans forward while dropping to one knee to use the good doctor as a projectile towards one of the others at the table. The doctor is still in the air while Batgirl is launching herself towards one of the others, sliding down the length of the table and punching another in the face.
She flies through the air with the greatest of ease. That daring young Batgirl on the flying trapeze...which probably has little relevancy to what Dragnet is doing at this exact moment, but its useful for the sake of comparison. In contrast to her extreme martial confidence, the only thing Dragnet can do when faced with the cyberninja attacking him is. Scream back at him...and do something between the chicken dance and a pelvic thrust. Isn't that what you are supposed to do in these situations?! That being said, he ducks and valiantly rolls away for cover, hoping sheer incredulity is enough to get him clear of cyberninja and lightning lord both. And then repay them promptly with a gas canister. And incidentally, this one actually does probably go straight in the face of one or the other as Dragnet coordinates fire while very much hoping to not be found more interesting than the aforementioned daring lass.
The AIM machine actually does work. It works in firing a microwaved ray through the air in a cone like beam that melts through the ceiling roof and beyond then fades fortunately not hitting the man Zusman just collided with. When he lands he lands heavily and on it releasing a loud *wuff* of sound as air expels from his lungs and his body goes limp upon his unprepared catcher.
Canister to the face beats Cyberninja's not so stealthy attack, feet in the air the man collapses as his sword swats back and manages to tangle with the Lightning Lords rod. The ensuing smell and chatter to wiggle of entwined bodies rather a comical display before both of them end up in a sprawl atop one another. That well aimed canister worked out nicely.
Within minutes the duo should have the entire crowd of mooks tied and bound just as Nightwing re-appears empty handed unfortunately. "So, it seems out friend had a boat waiting for him. We're all done here? Good job, guys." The black clad blue striped and stylized vigilant says while wearing a surprisingly uncharacteristic-to-Gotham-crusaders smile on his features. "I can see we have a new /big guy/." 
As the last of the thugs falls over, Batgirl rises up to her full height. All... five foot two of it. The peaked ears do give her another three or so inches though. The cape falls forward over her shoulders, draping her like a shroud and her head tilts over to the side a bit in a quizical manner, the small movement accented by those long ears. There's no witty commentary back from her, and with that mask there will be no smiles from her either. She may not be Bruce, but she certainly has her own creepy air.
Dragnet finally looks over at Batgirl, then at Nightwing. Its fortunate his facial features are concealed, because he has none of the mystique that either of the other two vigilantes has. He quickly taps the left forearm and gauntlet mounts, rolling his neck back and forth and shrugging shoulders. No creepiness here, at least none that the armor does not provide through sheer virtue of its design. "I've been around. Usually I try not to be seen for this long by anyone." That being said, the cloak falls over the armor and he disappears from sight, though his modulated voice still carries. "We have a mutual friend, I think. Fond of big green glowing heads." He says in what he hopes is a casual tone. In truth it probably betrays a bit more nervousness than he would like, but at least amongst Bats or Birds or what have you he has a sort-of acceptance for the time being. Well, as long as its not the Big Bat. He Dragnet won't go near even with a cross and garlic. "Just glad it went off without a hitch." He finally allows. Betraying just a fraction of the several hundred metric ton of anxiety he had about the whole affair.
"Eerie." Nightwing comments after staring at Batgirl for several seconds. His response more due to uncanny resemblance over the creepy presence the young woman has about her. A tip of his head and he inspects Dragnet as well, "And your name? Actually scratch that. Introductions can wait. Lets gather some of this up and go have a chat somewhere less conspicuous."
Category:Log