2014.02.25 - On The Trail

It was just before eight in the morning when Dinah returned 'home' on her bike. It'd been a week since she'd been here, and was stunned by the massive amount of work that'd already taken place. Slade's contractor team was beyond efficient: most of her walls had already been revamped with this, bulletproof steel reinforcement, and a crew of men were bringing in numerous security consoles and tools from a truck. A small, muscular German man walked up to Dinah, his expression both warm and serious.
"Miss Dinah Laurel Lance, I presume," he said, hand jutting out for a shake. This was definitely 'Peabody', the man in charge of rebuild. Dinah took his hand, cupping both her hands around him, giving it a shake. The two at once began a long discussion about Gotham crime, which turned into a discussion on security, which led into a shared breakfast, which led to a sharing of childhood stories. Peabody himself had a rather dynamic life, growing up in Maine, having several stories of having to defend himself or his family against heinous thugs. It's what brought him into his line of work in the first place. With the stroke of 9:45am, Dinah had decided it was time to head out, and bid the crew farewell, sliding on her trademark leather jacket.
Today was going to be a day of visiting addresses across Gotham in an attempt to continue tracking the source of the high-tech weaponry. Neither she nor Commissioner Gordon were particularly thrilled that S.H.I.E.L.D. has essentially taken over the investigation, but at least they gave her this the list. Dinah pulled out a crumbled sheet of paper and glanced over the forty-one addresses, selecting the one that was furthest from her. She jumped on her motorcycle and tore off, recklessly reaching top speed as fast as she could. In her haste, she was oblivious to a tucked-away black van a few blocks away.
A few blocks further, Dinah knew that she was going on a bit of a wild goose chase, but a lead was still a lead. The warehouse that she and Tony Stark discovered was full of weapons, indeed, all confiscated. Twelve arrests were made that day, with Lady Bullseye being the lucky one to get sent to a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell. She wasn't talking. The organization also discovered a communications apparatus, which sent out a scrambled single. The source of which was difficult to trace, but they did manage to isolate the forty-one locations that the signal had bounced. That's how Dinah got the list.
The moment Dinah turned onto an empty street, four or five gunfire shots rang out in rapid succession, managing to hit the ground within inches of her back tire. Glancing down to her mirror, she saw a large, armored black van. Did she SERIOUSLY miss this following her? Shaking her head, she went into a defensive, coordinated driving pattern; a series of horizontal sweeps, in a graceful effort to make herself a more difficult target. Mercenaries? Possible, with a 200k bounty on her head. She'd sent a text to Domino last night asking for progress: no response. A few more shots were fired, but they blessedly missed... 'They aren't very good at this', Dinah thought.
Dinah considered tactics in a few seconds: Glancing over to the warehouses to her left, she saw a long, raised docking platform and numerous ramps. She turned sharply and rolled up one: a route the van couldn't follow, but they could certainly still shoot. Dinah took the few seconds to check out her pursuers: two men in the front of the van, both had their arms out the window, with handguns. A few more shots. Dinah could feel her bullet-dodging luck diminishing, realizing that she was an easier target against a wall like this. When the corner rounded, Dinah slowed her bike some, jumped off it, letting it drop to the ground, its metal scratching along the asphalt. She took a quick, sharp breath, and nestled herself around the edge of the corner.
Three seconds later, the van turned the corner. They might've seen Dinah, but before they had a chance to react--to even stop the van--Dinah released a cry. A directed, angry, ear-splitting wail rattled the back of the van violently, bending it. The tire blew out. The windshield and windows broke. The men inside covered their ears.
After a five second silence, raced to the van's driver seat, flung the door open, and yanked the driver straight out of it. She threw him to the ground, kicked away his handgun, and sent a disturbing, jaw-crackling elbow into his head. It didn't take long before the other driver was given a similar treatment, and Dinah took a look at them. Maggia, not independent. If they couldn't get to her house anymore, they were going to jump her outside of it. That was the organizations whole M.O.: pushing. 
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Ninety minutes and a Gotham PD report later, Dinah had investigated her fifth site from the list. It looked like a winner: large, fortified, isolated, suspiciously lacking many windows, with a history of shady business. Seeing how fond of hidden security cameras the Maggia seemed to be, she decided to keep a safe distance. The back entrance was doorless--even entry panel-less, save for a thick-metal rollup, presumably for vehicles. The front entrance was a 8x8 concave rectangle. This door was also quite thick, possibly even titanium, Dinah postulated. She saw a tiny air vent on its side, and laughed to herself: most air vents aren't crawl-able like in the movies. A key code security panel was in the front. Dinah wasn't particularly good with those, so she was going to need to return here for help. Good ol' fashioned breaking and entering: for Justice! She cynically laughed at the idea.
Dinah revved up her bike, and drove only a few feet before she heard a little beep. Her phone. She looked down: it was a text message from Domino. "More info forthcoming. But I know who's running the Gotham movement. It's Madame Masque." Dinah knew of her: been doing her homework. She looked up again at the facility, scanning it for any last bits of information, and her eye rolled across a very small window on the third floor. She stared at it for a few seconds, and..did she see someone looking at her? Yes, eyes. Golden eyes. This was the spot.
Category:Log