2014.04.12 - The Court of Owls: Amazing

What's left of the severely battered Hoods has decided to congregate on the wharfs along Gotham's riverfront; there are six of them, dressed in shabby clothes and armed with pistols tucked loosely under the hemline of their pants. Their leader -- a rough, savvy man known as Jack 'the Ripper' Rearden -- is probably the toughest of them. An ex-biker and meth-cook, he's got a face like a Cubist painting and a body full of scars. He's currently smoking a cigarette at the edge of the warehouse, waiting impatiently; on the back of his large red pick-up truck is one /hell/ of a big package. It looks more like a coffin than a cargo box; a coffin for an 8 foot tall giant, actually.
The sides of the package are marked thoroughly with 'TESLADYNE INDUSTRIES'. The other Hoods -- five -- stand around the truck warily, their hands constantly dropping to the hilt of their pistols, their eyes swooping this way and that -- searching the night sky for the man they are supposed to meet.
The man arrives... suddenly. From above. A soft *click*; then, two eyes of bright gold -- perfectly circular -- stares down at the assortment of hoodlums. He is cloaked in black; two devilish horns rise up from his head, otherwise cutting a dark silhouette from the rooftop of the warehouse -- a good three story drop. Perched much like a bird of prey, he hums as he stares down at Jack.
"You were supposed to deliver this package tomorrow," the Talon tells him. "Were you followed?"
Jack -- staring up at the figure, eyes still adjusting to the dark -- scowls. "$&@# you, man. Just $&@# you. Half our crew got butchered by some Punisher wannabe, we got the Batman on our ass, and I just looked up the thing you had us steal. This friggin'..." He turns toward the truck, flicking his cigarette toward it. "Thing..."
"You were compensated. Paid with money, and with the weaponry you found in the Tesladyne shipment."
"Half that $&@# don't work and you didn't say nothing about no goddamn superweapons. This thing -- whatever it is -- we don't want nothin' to do with it."
Cardinal could have caught up with the Talon a while ago, but decided the best approach was to find out just where his destination lay. He's now on a rooftop nearby, a directional mic in his hand and trailing back to the battery pack in the left forearm of his costume, picking up the dialogue with ease. The Punisher wannabe...Tim didn't ant to believe it, but it's not something Batman made jokes about. Tim had seen the damage Jason's death had done to Bruce. How much more could he do alive?
He keeps his body loose, shifting slightly now and again to keep from cramping. The phrase 'superweapons' makes his ears perk up, though, the dialogue saved onto a digital file he's sending straight back to the Cave.
The Red Hood would be happy to tell Tim; but right now he's busy otherwise. He's on on opposite roof, thermal imaging and his own mic telling him the whole story as well. 'Punisher Wannabe'. Pfft.
He isn't about to waste time, though. Tim will see him moving, long before the Hoods and his friend do. Or at least, he'll see the see the targeting dot-- before the echoy *thwut thwut* of grenades being launched at the warehouse skylight.
Smoke cannister first. Tear gas second. Time to take out the trash.
"You have no idea what--" Whatever was about to come out of the Talon's mouth is cut off by the sound of those *thwut thwuts*, followed by the burst of smoke that swells below, above, and around the silhouette of that menacing, golden-eyed figure. And then, in the next instant, he is -- gone.
"#&@$," Jack grunts, and in the next instant -- they're all pulling out their pistols, their eyes sweeping the area. "Eyes up! Eyes up! We got more capes, boys -- they're --"
CLUNK. That's the sound of the Talon landing on the back of the truck, now in the light. His suit is near-black; kevlar plated weave, thick and powerful -- designed for function, not style. It highlights the powerful muscle, the padded armor mimicking the near-exagerrated sinew that lurks beneath it. His fingertips end in claws -- and his head is obscured completely, leaving nothing but those golden glowing eyes... and the tipped 'horns'. Resembling, at a glance, an owl.
The Talon brings his claws down, tearing open the box without another word.
"--oh," Jack says, eyes swinging around to stare at the Talon, wide-eyed and suddenly terrified. "Oh hell no SHOOT HIM SHOOT HIM SHOOT--"
The area outside the warehouse is consumed in the sound of gunfire; another cloud of smoke swells up to surround the truck -- a pellet thrown by the Talon. It mixes with the tear-gas pellets, causing quite a lot of coughing and screaming -- and a lot more gunfire. The sound of timber being shorn apart continues, along with more panicked shouts.
Cardinal swears under his breath as chaos ensues, getting out his grappler and launching it as he takes a leap from the rooftop. God forbid we get any actual information, no, let's just shoot gas everybody stupid and hope a bunch of half-witted punks don't get themselves killed by the psycho in the owl costume. Best way to prevent that, he figures, is allowing Rambo Hood busy himself with the small fry while he handled the Talon. The last thing he needed was his hard-won collar gettiing ruined by this crap. He arcs carefully, trying to aim his swing to hit the Talon hard. This guy's already tasted Tim's boots once. Maybe second time's the charm.
Grappling down to the warehouse, he had unslung his rifle -- semi-automatic, three-round bursts. Shooting fish in a barrel for for the 'Hoods'. He sees Tim's tactics, after all, and happily applies his own; he knows that Talon isn't going to get hurt -- not one bit. Thermal imaging lets him fire into the cloud; mostly to kill the thugs - Rearden, he's happy to take alive (for a brief time, anyway).
The Talon is all Cardinal's. For now.
Shot after shot rings out as Cardinal descends for the Talon. BLAM; there goes one Hoodling; BLAM; there goes another. Through the smoke, tear-gas, and confusion, they don't seem to realize they're being picked off one by one -- thermal imagery disguises the gruesome reality behind a brilliant pantopia of colors as their heads 'pop' into bright, vivid head signatures, dropping to asphalt.
They are firing, but firing blind; panic has overtaken them. The Talon, meanwhile, is not panicking -- thermal imagery reveals he's gotten the box open, exposing what appears to be... another box. This one, made of metal; sleek in design, it has grooves across its surface -- and a small control panel. He is rapidly punching something into that control panel just as Cardinal descends, and --
THWNK.
The Talon is sent reeling off the truck, over the front-end; claws scrape across the top, sending up sparks as he manages to drop down atop of the hood -- bright yellow eyes staring at Cardinal as he hunches forward -- as if prepping for round two. Except... instead of assuming a combat stance, he just -- straightens out, to stare at him. As if the battle was already done.
Besides Cardinal, that exposed metal box makes a series of beeps... followed by a pneumatic hiss. Coolant rushes from the corners as it begins to whirr, starting to slide open...
"I'd recommend you run," the Talon informs Cardinal.
Of course, running isn't what Robins are trained to do, is it? Finding himself standing over the thing, his grapple retractng back into its launcher. He quickly snaps a red gasmask in place, the device suctioning to his face and locking as he lowers the launcher, "I suggest you come back so I don't have to," he says and, lowering his hand to launch his grapple again, this time aiming not for architecture, but for foe. With the element of surprise, that brazen stare from the Talon leaves his chest wide open, the pneumatiics from the grapple more than strong enough to yank the villain from his feet and back to Cardinal. Which allows video game fan Tim to shout a battle cry often heard over the Drake famly X-box.
"GET OVER HERE!
Rearden, Hood seeks to wound. You didn't need your foot, right, buddy?
Cardinal still tangling with the Talon, Hood drops into the warehouse afterwards, slinging the rifle back and moving to the 'box' as it opens. He'll wait about five seconds to see what's in there before deciding whether or not to drop a grenade in there... hopefully, that'll be enough time to not get himself totally wrecked by whatever's been activated.
"Nnff--" *CLUNK*
The grapple slams into the Talon's chest, snapping on tight -- and reeling him in rapidly toward Cardinal. Rather than fight it, he jerks forward -- clawtips swinging out to reach for Cardinal's shoulders, suddenly extending outward into bright, gleaming, miniature lances -- to squeeze down before slamming his forehead toward Cardinal's face, attempting to quite possibly break his nose. The motion is -- brutal, violent, and vicious.
Meanwhile, the box's lid pulls back before Hood, exposing something... orange. An orange man, actually. A very large orange man -- a very muscular orange man. He is crammed tightly inside the box, packed like a sardine; there is something almost elfin about his features -- his sharp, angular nose, his almond-shaped eyes -- that harsh, pointy widow's peak -- and his bright, vivid orange hair. A closer examination reveals the nearly 7 foot tall creature is not actually organic, however; sharp divets and creases marr the points where his joints lie -- indicating he has been assembled together from a multitude of parts to form an organic looking 'robot', of sorts. A robot who's bright red eyes have just opened; a robot who's mouth proceeds to hum with life... before speaking in a deep, resonate, synthesized voice:
"ACCESSING... ... ..."
"...CYCLOPS."
A red hot beam of concussive light spears out of his eyes, aiming to slam directly into Red Hood's face -- with enough force to neatly smash his head right off.
Cardinal expected the counterattack - it's what he would do in that position - and starts to roll backwards into a monkey flip. The claws do hit his shoulders, making Tim grunt at the sting when Talon draws blood, but avoids the headbutt. His knees and feet are undereneath, positioned to try and launch the Talon up in the air, hopefully just in time to catch Red Hood in the back and knock him out of the laser blast's path.
"Oh, sh--"
That's all the Red Hood gets out of his mouth before he jerks backward-- with the impact of the Talon, he's saved from losing his head. The red beam shears through a part of his helm with a flare of sparks, leaving his brow bared, but eyes still covered. Wild black and white hair spill out of the gap, singed by the sudden sizzle of electronics in the Hood.
Twisting with the impact, he grabs on to the stunned bird and aims to make him take the brunt off the fall from the truck, trying to get his knee into his gut or groin as they drop. Typical bat-tricks; he knows they need the Talon alive, just like they needed Rearden.
Sadly, the tear gas hasn't yet completely dispersed, and now he's got an open helm. It's not a lot of space to seep in, but sooner or later he's going to get a whiff of that and not enjoy life much.
The Talon takes the brunt of the impact -- smashing hard into the ground as that knee slams roughly into his gut. He releases a gush of air; his body snaps back into a painful arc, briefly stunned -- unable to respond as he's slammed into asphalt.
The android is able to respond, however. He's now sitting up inside his metal box -- eyes blazing a brilliant, smoldering red -- his orange torso bare. He is clad in what appear to be... green spandex pants -- and nothing else. As he scans the scene in front of him, he focuses... on Cardinal. Before thrumming:
"ACCESSING... CYCLOPS."
FWOOSH. Another blast of concussive red energy. Luckily for the two of them, the android apparently likes to announce his attacks before he makes them.
Cardinal leaps into the air to dodge the blast of energy, somersaulting to land on his feet lightly. Not hard to figure out that it's some sort of construct, which means punching and kicking is probably a waste of time. "Distract that thing!" he yells at the Hood, flinging a Cardinal dart with a flashbang in it, hoping to at least blind the thing as he tries to duck out of sight and opens the panel in the left forearm of his costume, a screen popping up immediately.
He starts typng almost frantically at a dgital keyboard. He's trying to find a signal in the thing, from wifi to radio, anythng that'll let a hero hack the software.
Cardinal leaps into the air to dodge the blast of energy, somersaulting to land on his feet lightly. Not hard to figure out that it's some sort of construct, which means punching and kicking is probably a waste of time. "Distract that thing!" he yells at the Hood, flinging a Cardinal dart with a flashbang in it, hoping to at least blind the thing as he tries to duck out of sight and opens the panel in the left forearm of his costume, a screen popping up immediately.
He starts typng almost frantically at a dgital keyboard. He's trying to find a signal in the thing, from wifi to radio, anythng that'll let a hero hack the software.
"You might have ditched the yellow R, but you're not in charge here, junior league!" 
Still, the Hood sees sense in Cardinal's words, but not before he hasn't pulled out the biggest knife in his kit and slammed in down into the Talon's shoulder, and the floor beneath him. "Don't go anywhere, sweetness, we're just getting started."
He gets up, unslinging his shotgun. "That's Amazo! He's a power duplicator! He records, magnifies and duplicates powers-- but only one at time. All the same weaknesses as a human, providing he's not channeling invulnerability."
The click-boom, click-boom of an assault shotgun, roaring into the warehouse almost drowns out his taunts. "C'mere, you enormous toy soldier! Let's play!"
The knife digs hard into the Talon's shoulder; he grunts with pain beneath the harsh force of the blow, digging deep through kevlar weave -- through muscle, through bone -- and pinning him down to the ground. A slow, growling hiss emerges from him -- just as AMAZO is briefly blinded by the flashing Cardinal bomb, leaving his rising form briefly vulnerable to the shotgun blast.
BOOM; it catches Amazo right in the chest, causing him to snap back. His chest splits open -- exposing metal bone and electronic viscera -- almost resembling the fleshy pulp of a human, but bloodless. By the time the second shot is coming, his voice is humming again, loudly:
"ACCESING..."
"...SUPERMAN."
The next shotgun blast... bounces off of his sternum with a flash of useless sparks.
The signal for Amazo's control is coming from the box; he's currently set for 'DESTROY EVERYTHING'. The code that controls his actions is guided under some heavy encryption, though.
Just knowing the source itself helps Tim out immensely. He reaches into his utility belt and says into his communicator, "Cardinal going radio silent" and plants a small thing that looks almost like a miniature Coleman lantern. A signal jammer, should shut down all the major frequencies for a four block radius. Pain in the ass for people with cellphones, but a good thing if it cuts Amazo the Wonder Elf off from its 'brain'.
"...you could at least appreciate how right I was," the Hood mutters under his breatht as he circles Amazo, shotgun holstered. Oh, how he wished he had that sliver of kryptonite Bats always kept around... 
"Alright, you big tub of bolts... C'mon, come and get me."
The new kid better pull off something amazing while Red Hood relived Robin days that sometimes he'd rather forget.
Amazo RUSHES toward Red Hood -- and by 'rush', we mean *blurs*. Superhuman speed propels him forward; his feet are no longer touching the ground -- and his arms are extending in front of him in an all-too-familiar gesture meant to emulate the Man of Steel. He is going to hit Red Hood; he is going to hit him hard.
Except, at that precise moment, the signal coming from the box that controls Amazo's brain is cut; his eyes immediately go dim -- and rather than hitting Red Hood with enough force to sunder steel, his power is cut -- leaving him with nothing but inertia to hurtle at him with.
Inertia, and a series of sparks emerging from his back -- as his voice cuts in with a series of monotonic exclamations: "ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR --"
Then: "...DEFAULT SYSTEM ACTIVATING. ACCESSING..."
"...THE HUMAN BOMB."
The Talon is gone; the knife that pinned him to the floor has been wrenched free, leaving it splattered with blood.
Well, it doesn't take an effing detective to figure out what that means, "Better run for it, Dirty Harry!" he yells, abandoning the signal jammer as lost and running for the hills, cape behind him as he will surely be backlit by a good old fashned action movie explosion any second.
That's gonna leave a mark.
The Red Hood goes off his feet with the impact of the robot; he may not be actively powered, but that's still a giant robot hurdling at him; his dodge got him a little out of the way, but the clipping blow sent him spinning to the floor, not from his knife. That, he grabs, and makes to catch up with Cardinal -- or considering he's in better shape than the younger man, pass him up completely.
Leave it to some mad genius to create a robot that announces its attacks before it makes them. But yes: It turns out the Human Bomb's primary power is... self-immolation. Specifically, a bright red plumb of explosive *FORCE* rushing out to incinerate the internal structure of Amazo; consuming the truck and the box he came from in the process -- along with the bodies of several Hoodlums. And poor ol' Jack, who had only managed to crawl away to the other side of the street during the battle -- getting caught in the emerging blast and sent to his crashing doom.
Which leaves us with... a smoldering crater, a largely disintegrated truck, six or so incinerated bodies, a hollowed out and melted android shell... and the vigilante boys, side-by-side, leaping for their lives as the explosion swells out and briefly brightens the Gotham sky.
Cardinal pushes himself up and shakes some debris and dust ofof his knees, flipping his hood back. His hair is spiked up today underneath, and his face has a weary expression. On the one hand, this guy just murdered the crap out of several criminals right in front of him. On the other hand, he was a lot of help against the android...and curiously well informed. The detective's curiosity wins out, "Amazo, huh? Old pal of yours?"
Sitting up, the Hood shakes himself off, before he glanced over. Nerdy little shit was already asking questions. Well, he could use this. He could send a message. A few fun hints. He was grinning under the mask.
"Was the Owl yours?" he asks, flipping his bloody knife in his hand. "Normally I'd give you the knife directly, but I figure you need the evidence more than I do." 
He holds it carefully in his gloved fingers, blade between them, pommel toward Cardinal. Just what would his replacement do?
Cardinal's wary nonetheless, the Hood's brutal tactics showing him to be plenty dangerous, "You can just drop it there," he says, "You've probably tainted it enough," he says. "And, if we're actually going to share, I tracked the Owl here. Same guy attacked the Riddler a few days back. Seems to be part of something bigger," he says, not bringing up the Court or the nest he found or any of Eddie's nutty theories...which maybe weren't so nutty. "What about you? Just in the neighborhood isn't about to fly..." he says. He's standing, knowing he'll need to go over the crater for evidence soon enough, but not until the pistolero was out of here.
The knife drops with a clink on the pavement.
"Just tying up loose ends. Pity Rearden didn't get out, but his list of priors... everything from armed assault to sex offenses..." The Hood doesn't mourn him. He'll never mourn people like him. "Info would have een nice, but he got what he deserved."
He was alreaady moving backward from Cardinal, gesturing as he spoke. "Riddler on the side of the angels, though, will wonders never cease. Old town has changed, hasn't she? I mean, one reformed psychopath out of all of the ones that go in and out of Arkham... Better make sure he stays on the side of angels," his voice dropped, tone turning ugly, "or I'll kill him before I let Batman put another nut in a lockup that can't hold them."
He unhooked his grapple from his belt, taking a few steps back. "For now, though-- gotta run."
Cardinal could chase him, fight him, try to wrestle him to the ground. Futile. He saw enough to know the guy's good, maybe better than him. Tim could probably take him with his staff, but the guy would pull guns and things would get ugly. As if they weren't already ugly enough.
The diatribe's interesting, both for the content and for its existence at all. This guy's not just taunting, he's telling. 'I've been here before' 'I don't like the way Batman does things' 'I'm a killer' 'I know Riddler, both before and now'. An escapee from Arkham, turning 'good'? "Sometimes angels come up from hell...sometimes they fall from heaven," Tim says back, "Which one are you, I wonder?"
"I clawed my way up from," the grave, "nothing. You wouldn't understand, living in that big mansion up on the hill, would you? Lap of luxury. But I guess now that you've gone your own way you think you're all that, don't you? Graduated frmo the red and green like Nightwing did. Reality Check: You're still a kid."
He kept walking backward, eyes on Tim; his bicolor hair, white and black showing through the gap in his helm. His hand lifted and he didn't have to look to aim it; he knew where the point would be.
"Don't get too comfy outside the nest, though," he added. "He doesn't have a real good track record with keeping birds alive. The newest one's, what, ten? Be a real damn shame if something happened to him. Or you."
And on that note? The grapple hissed and fired, and he shot upward, into the night.
Cardinal sighs and turns back towards the evidence, still cooling after the bomb. Pick through the circuitry, see what you find. Trace the truck, see where it came from. And...oh, yeah. Turn off the digital recorder that he started before the whole thing happened. He wondered if he'd find anything interesting in an analysis of the vigilante's voice. He seemed to know an awful lot...and wanted them to know he knew it...bitter...resentful...maybe even jealous.
Emotional. Tim could use that against him, if they crossed paths again.
Category:Log