The Midtown Obfuscate

March 09, 2014:

A number of heroes respond to word of a gang war. Things aren't what they seem.

Hell's Kitchen

Dewitt Park in NYC


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…


"Chaos is inherent in all compounded things. Strive on with diligence." — Buddha

Clinton Precinct - NYPD - Hell's Kitchen New York
2:13 AM

"Hey Sara, you got that paperwork for the one-car accident with the drunk? Sara?"

Gary Pullman munches on a donut as he looks back for Sara. He's large with reddish brown hair-what's left of it anyways-and a deep handlebar mustache that seems to dive between his jowls. Sara Westphal, the short, fit woman 15 years his younger is busy though, and cannot answer him. Dispatch has just gotten a call.

"911 What's your emergency?," Sara says before holding up a finger towards Pullman to tell him to shhhh. Lucky for Pullman. He usually gets the other finger from Westphal when he bugs her about paperwork that isn't even her responsibility. As Sara takes the call, her boss stands in the background; still munching the donut.

"Oh my goodness, you guys have to hurry," comes the young female voice. "I'm looking out my window down over at DeWitt Park. A gunfight just started, there's like 2 dozen guys out there just unloading on each other."

Westphal turns serious, "Ma'am, are you safe?"

"Yeah, it's across the street and it looks like they're all just shooting at each other. Whoa!!!"

"Hello!?" Westphal asks. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, it looks like …I don't know if that was a rocket launcher or what."

"Ma'am, we're getting SWAT teams out to the park right away."

- - - -

2:14 AM

The evening dark flashes on and off, almost like at a disco party, with all of the machine gun fire. There's yelling and confusion and it seems as though each side is shouting out tactical information to their troops, trying to get a better handle on the battle. And make no mistake, that's what this seems to be. It's not a simple gang fight, it's not some skirmish. It's deliberate in nature and the weapons being used are military grade.


A large ball of fire rises up in the middle of the park as one side flings a device towards the other. A few minutes later tear gas is thrown from both sides as each try to desperately take cover behind the trees of the nearby forest area, the playground equipment, and the fountains.

- - - - -

11:37 PM

An attractive blonde trudges into an already lit living room from the hallway in a short, sheer nightgown.

"Adam, what is it? Why are you still awake?"

Officer Adam Moat of the Midtown precinct is awake as he has been at night, every single night since he personally witnessed Spider-Man assassinate one of the Vice Presidents of OsCorp. It was harrowing, to say the least. A young cop, he was asked to check out the perimeter from above at the building adjacent to the one which was exploding in flames.

By the time he'd drawn his weapon, Spider-Man had already gotten away.

The Precinct Chief had already put the kibosh on the whole investigation, telling him that other witnesses had been there, on the roof, and were sure the shot did not come from Spider-Man. Moat had a hard time believing that, and was overcome by the thought of putting Spider-Man away. It devoured all of his time off the clock and a good deal of time on the clock. Even to the point of harming some of his other work.

"I'll be to bed soon, honey. I just gotta get this case cracked."

"You can crack cases when you make detective, Adam. Until then, babe, you need your rest."

"Steph, when I crack this they'll have no choice but to make me a detective.

Heroes abound in this city that never sleeps, and three make their appearance in the same moment. A sliver as thin as the space between two atoms opens in the air. Brilliant light streams out in every color of the rainbow, presaging the appearance of three of the mightiest beings in the planes. Three gods who walk the earth.
Among those surging forth from the light is a woman taller even than the average man, topping six feet with black hair, gleaming armor, and a sword that seems capable of cutting a single strand of hair in half lengthwise. This is held in one hand. The other holds a golden chalice chased with silver and gems and half full of mead.
She strides with purpose and not much of a wobble toward the firefight, anger lining her features, and the Lady Sif proclaims in a voice that may well cut through the gunfire:
"We give you one chance! Drop your weapons now, and you will not be forced to face the WRATH OF THE GODS." Another breath: "Particularly not the wrath of the gods /interrupted/ from their festivities!"

Its fair to say that Shift knew this was going down. These sorts of gang battles don't just happen every day, and given his contacts in the criminal sphere, he knew where, when, and even some of the who's. He knew there would be heavy hardware. But as far as Kwabena Odame is concerned, it's not his problem.

He's there to spectate.

Neither of the warring gangs have any particular interest in him (that he knows of), and vice versa. Shift holds no stake in what at happens here, but that could easily change. This is exactly why he's chosen to set himself up, masked up and in his costume of unstable molecules, inside an old barred up convenience store across the street. He's got a cigarette burning, and a cup of coffee in his left hand, silver eyes peering out from the mask as they watch the impressive firefight with the telltale squint of a smirk.

Thor belches sonorously. The sound echoes like a megaphone echoing around the block. "Aye! Asgard is here to… render aid… to someone! Avast,ye mortals!" he says, holding Mjolnir skyward and slopping a bit of mead from the mug in his left hand. "Fear the wrath of Thor and the Warriors, Sif and Amora!" he bellows. He hangs an arm over Sif and Amora's shoulders, hugging both women close.

"Have I told you two how /great/ you two are?" he slurrs at the women, hugging them tight.

Late night. When the teenagers and sparkling vampires come out. Well, there's a Lunair about. Those things are not native to the area, and one has to be careful not to let them multiply. Lunair might've had an idea this was going down. Though, she's far more mercenary and seems content to pick off any and all, should it suit her whim and paycheck. She's /generally/ on the side of good but it's hard to tell. Sometimes, she just likes to test her ability. And any chance she gets to use military grade ordnance? Is just a bonus! She like, never gets to just let loose. So, if someone is diligent and sharp eyed, they might notice a woman in black armor with a futuristic black, folding visor at the front of the helmet and Lunair's player sucks harder than a Bieber remake of the Titanic (now with dubstep Celine Dion) meets Twilight mash-up at describing armor but it's a sleek kind of armor, okay?

Nevertheless, she is making her way to the fringe and - is that a freaking shoulder mounted rocket launcher? It totally is! Wait. What was that loud noise? Lunair looks confused. Really confused. Drunken viking pirates? Uh oh. This might be serious.

Walking down the street a block away a figure all in black comes to a slow halt as he begins to notice the chaos. For a moment, he just stares in its direction, the rapid gunfire and intermitent explosions taking his mind far away. Then, all at once, he snaps out of it and starts booking it towards the fighting, shedding his coat as he runs to expose his metallic left arm and combat gear.

When he turns the corner and comes face to face with the battle, Bucky lets out a low, muttered curse, draws a hefty M1911 from a hip holster and books it towards the outskirts of the battle, looking to bury a round in the lower spine of the nearest automatic weapon wielding gangster and steal his gun.

Logan is sitting in the Institute's kitchen drinking a beer when he hears Cal's voice on the speaker system. Grunting to himself, the old man pushes away from the counter and heads for his room. 'Costume' for Logan consists of fetching a leather jacket from his closet and waiting for Cal to show up. There's a not to the other mutant when he BLINKs in, "A'right, let's go then." BLINK, they're in the park, and look there's a fight going on over there. A serious gunfight. Uh-oh. "What in the $&@* is going on here, Cal?" As he asks the question, the old mutant is already starting to jog closer to the scene.

Do not ask how Amora got roped into drinking with the others. She's not drunk enough to be uproariously loud like Sif and Thor, thankfully, but it's easy to see that she is not the most sturdy thing to walk on two feet right now. "By Freyja's left tit, I hate you both," she hisses while stepping through the portal.

The chaos is not lost to her and Amora pauses, touching Thor's arm while addressing both of her fellow Asgardians. "I do not know of these weapons the mortals wield," she points out. "But I suppose it matters not. Shall we offer our aid?" Of course, Sif and Thor both already pretty much seem like they're looking to get into the fight, but well.

Just because he's in Gotham doesn't mean that the Bats don't know what's going on around. At least one of them has been monitoring Gang activity, especially since some Gangs in Gotham seem to be working with Gangs in New York City for…something. It could be drugs, it could be illicit arms…but Nightwing plans on finding out.

When he arrives in Manhattan this time, he's prepared. He's costumed, masked, and has his gear with him. No more falling five stories without a grapple gun! It doesn't take long to scan the police monitors and find where the showdown is happening. It's not hard to get to Central Park, especially when one is swinging about the rooftops. He finally takes a perch on a portico of the Ritz Carlton and lifts Bat-noculars to his eyes only to do a double-take.

How the Hell did He-Man and She-Ra get here?

The sound of a big V-8 is a wonderful thing, especially a finely tuned big block but well that's sort've drowned out. The appearance of a mottled grey trophy truck around the corner likely draws little attention, but the fact it's a mixture of ceramic plates, nomex, kevlar, armor steel and god knows what else that gets out? Well there you go, that might just get somone's attention yaknow. There's a bullpup tucked into the crook of it's shoulder, with a neat articulated steel ammo chute leading back into a backpack. Yaknow, your typical combat framed robot stuff. Boots coming down hard as Eight strokes the stubby charging handle to bring the weapon to life, crossing around behind Thor almost casually.
"Oh hey Thor, you come to fight or just watch?"Eight finally passes by, ever so casually wading into the firefight. Theres an odd -whirrr- as Eight passes, and a rush of air from above somewhere but well it's hard to pick out an armed combat drone that's tagging along amidst all this shooting. Using that drone and it's flir to locate the heaviest weapons on the battlefield first, because well smallarms isn't much of a worry.

6:37 PM

"Hey Moat, didn't your shift end at 5?" Officer Sanderson peeks into Moat's cubicle.

"Yeah, Sandy. Just finishing some stuff up."

"Didn't Chief Jones tell you to let it go?"

Moat spins a bit in his chair and raises his eyebrow at his friend, "Sandy. I was there. I saw it as it happened. Jones wasn't, and frankly Jones is bein' a goddamn fool about this. When have you ever heard of a Chief not wanting to bring a fugitive to justice? This is bullshit."

"It might be, but you kinda gotta do what your boss says, bro."

"I'm going to do the right thing, Sandy. Come hell or high water."

Sanderson sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, Adam. You got a hell of a lady sittin at home, countin' down the days till she marries your stank ass this summer. Think about what's important man. And important isn't gonna be found in those files. It's a non-starter. Be smart. Get the hell out of here man."

- - - -

From their vantage point, Mimic and Logan can hear the incessant popping of assault rifles. To Logan's ears they sound a bit tinny, a bit unlike other weaponry he would have heard in his long history of getting involved in this sort of thing.

No one seems to outwardly heed Sif's call for reason. A couple of men in black whose backs are turned to her turn their necks and view the woman, but they turn back quickly and keep firing to the far end of the park. Likewise, they don't seem to immediately answer Thor. Are they just too worried about their own skins.

A canister ricochet's off the top of a statue and clinks over across the street right near where Kwabena is viewing the carnage. The smoke billows out from the canister and shrouds things, and will undoubtedly begin to seep towards where he is.

Lunair is able to gain a pretty good spot as she makes her way towards the edge of the park. If she's noticed, no one seems to bother to fire at her. Those men, or soldiers really, that she sees all seem focused at returning fire. One lights a device of some sort and then chucks it as hard as he can across the middle of the park and towards the other side.


The round from Winter Soldier's M1911 snares one of the men in the spine and he screams loudly, dropping the weapon and bringing both hands up to wriggle around on the ground amid his shrieking. The weapon is there, for the taking. The man next to the downed fella holds his hands up in surprise and drops his gun, "Wait wait! Don't shoot! I surrender!"


At Amora's feet falls a smoke bomb, sure to get her clothes stinky even if the smoke might not have the same effect on her that it does humans. Nightwing's binoculars will show him the glow from the popping machine guns and explosions erupting from thrown devices. No one seems to be downed, yet, except for the Winter Soldeir's target, who he'll see is wriggling on the ground.

Eight's drone will fly overhead and pick up the following information: The limit of the arms are machine guns, explosive devices and smoke bombs. Both of the sides seem to have the same weaponry, and both seem to have about the same amount. Only one casualty so far.

Daredevil glides through the battle with seemingly little care for his own safety. He doublesmacks the first foe he comes to on the side of the head with a doublestrike from the small sticks in his hand. A third lifts their gun at him, more in a defensive pose, but Daredevil takes him out at the knees.

"Beats the hell out of me." Mimic answers, shifting into metal as he keeps pace with Wolverine. It gives them a chance to see exactly what's going on. "But the police aren't equipped to handle military grade hardware." Pause. "Asgardians are though. Isn't that the woman who was at the fire? Now we know who she is." Though not be name. Once they've had a chance to evaluate the situation, he says "Okay, let's leave one side for the drunk gods to play with. We'll take the other." BLINK. Both he and Logan disappear but separately and reappear about tend feet apart in the middle of one gang's 'territory'. He reaches out to crush the barrel of one machine gun. "Stop that. You might hurt someone."

Their lack of respect is disappointing. When the smoke bomb appears at Amora's feet, Sif stares at it in deep displeasure and shock that grows swiftly to anger. "I think NOT!" she cries, darting forward and punting the smoke bomb back the way it came.
Turning back to her friends, she proclaims thus: "I will seek the leader of this side. Perhaps he — or she…"
She blinks sharply, wincing as a stray bullet knocks her in the temple. "What was I saying?"

Behind the mask, Shift's eyes go from squinty-smirk to wide-eyed and disbelieving. They are staring right at the Asgardians. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters to himself, before eyeing the coffee he'd picked up at a late night cafe. "Some muddahfuck put crack in dis?"

This is precisely when a stray bullet shatters the window, pierces a hole in his mug of coffee, and darts through his body into a can of beans behind him. There's no blood, of course, and Kwabena seems more upset that there's hot coffee spilling all over his gloved hand than the fact that he just got shot. This is, of course, because bullets tend to pass right through him, when all things are equal.

Its the canister and the tear gas that causes him to scowl. "Ruining all my fun," he starts, but is interrupted by another stray bullet, this one a series of semiautomatic rounds, and while they pass through his arms and chest leaving little tufts of smoke behind, they all but obliterate his pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey sitting behind him.

"Son of a… BITCH!"

The Ghanaian bursts upright, leaps onto the grocery rack behind, and lobs himself at the steel gates and shattered window. With a POOF! in comic book style background font, he bursts into a thick cloud of black smoke, slipping through the holes and bars and into that cloud of tear gas.

Said Shift-Cloud comes roiling from one of the tear gas clouds in a manner that doesn't make sense. When it hits the ground between a trio of thugs, the cloud rapidly collects itself and forms into the fleshy shape of Shift again. "What's up, shitbags?"

Theres likely a period of disorientation, during which Shift draws his anger, hardens his fists, and begins swinging from one face to the other with hands that are harder than stone.

Thor grabs Sif's head and kisses her brow firmly. "We were sallying forth, into battle!" he roars, turning Sif around and aiming her at the guys shooting at one another. He gives Sif a shove and a comradely slap on the rear. "Go forth, my shield-maiden, and smite them!" He reaches for Mjolnir and misses, falling sideways on his face. The God of Thunder is also the God of Not Spilling his Mead, and he grabs Mjolnir properly, taking a heavy slam of his mean from Volstagg's Endless Mug of Mead, and throws himself into the air, holding Amora in one arm.

"Amora! Deploy thyself amongst them, and show them the enchantments of your repute!" He drops Amora off near half of the gangbangers, then with an unsteady lurch, flings himself at another.

"Avaunt, carrion!" he bellows, picking the man up by the scruff of his shirt. "Cease thy battle!" He lifts Mjolnir skywards, summoning a tremendous *Crack* of lightning from a clear sky overhead. "Or else I shall smite thee, and see to it that the Ladies Sif and Amora put you in their clutches!"

He brings the man close to his groggy face. "…and /not in a fun way/," he adds in an ominous snarl.

Hot coffee hurts, in Shift's defense. Also, Lunair has a freaking rocket launcher. She might register on the drone. Slinking along like the world's deadliest ferret down Indiana Jones' stairs, Lunair slinks. Slinkimalinki. Someone miiiiiiight notice the gal in armor almost running alternately between two and four legs to ensure maximum slinkitude. And she finds a good spot. And there's a really ugly car nearby.

Sorry, Mr. Orange Pontiac Aztek. It is time for Lunair to be heroic and take out the ugly car in the name of Style, Fashion and Decent Taste. Or rather, it happens to be a nice, incidental target without actually rocket launchering someone in the face. However, her firing the thing just under the Pontiac means it goes flying up, flips over and explodes Michael Bay style. Then any trace of the launcher disappears as she shifts - to decide which weapon she wants.

And thus, the Winter Soldier is confused. With a clearly well practiced move he ejects the clip from the weapon he obtained from the 'soldier' and peers curiously at the 'ammunition' inside. With an angry grunt, he thrusts it at the surrendering man and steps up to him, locking his metal hand around his throat. "Explain. Now," he grunts, jamming the barrel of the M1911 into the thug's gut.

Then there's thunder, and Bucky's head snaps around to glare at the drunken Asgardian. Then around to Eight and Lunair wading into the midst of the chaos. Over there's a Metal Mutant and slowly it dawns on him. "Sonuvabitch," he groans, and points the gun towards Logan.

And fires.

"Ain't just military grade," Logan answers Mimic gruffly. With the pairing of heightened hearing and tours of duty in World War I, World War II, Vietnam, Korea, and countless black op and myriad other operations, the man knows what a mother !#!(@!*# gun sounds like. "Something's different. They ain't just shootin' normal bullets, I'm thinkin. Watch your ass, Cal."

There's a grunt as the man notes the Asgardians, squinting towards them briefly before nodding to Cal, "Yeah, the black-haired one is Mister Thundergod's girlfriend or something of the sort." The proof is in the ass slap. "Ran into them in a bar. And alright, let's go," the old canucklehead answers Cal before they blink to the side of the field opposite where Amora and company are.


Popping claws, there's suddenly a total of six feet worth of unbelievably sharp adamantium now sticking out of the squat old mutant's hands. Taking advantage of his sudden teleported appearance, Wolverine lunges forward, claws swiping through the nearest man's gun like a hot knife through butter. Or you know, like a set of adamantium claws through a machine gun.

And then the canucklehead gets shot by an evil brainwashed assassin named Bucky McThinksHe'sRussian. Noooooo. Is this the end of Logan!? What will become of him!? NEXT TIME, ON 'AS THE BLACK OPS GANG WAR TURNS'.

The punted canister gets Amora to smirk a bit lopsidedly and she casts a sideward look at Sif. "Thank you." And then Thor's giving her an order and she nods, once while hoisted aloft by the Thunder God. (Could this be an argument for a 'friends don't let friends fly drunk PDA?).

Once she is posisioned she starts to chant, her hands held over her head and her fingers seemingly twitching as she 'writes' arcane symbols in the air. When the spell is done a fairly strong concussive force is released, strong enough to perhaps put some of the gang members flat on their backsides.

The punted canister gets Amora to smirk a bit lopsidedly and she casts a sideward look at Sif. "Thank you." And then Thor's giving her an order and she nods, once while hoisted aloft by the Thunder God. (Could this be an argument for a 'friends don't let friends fly drunk PDA?).

Once she is posisioned she starts to chant, her hands held over her head and her fingers seemingly twitching as she 'writes' arcane symbols in the air. When the spell is done a fairly strong concussive force is released, strong enough to perhaps put some of the gang members flat on their backsides.

What he wouldn't give for some popcorn right now!

Nightwing watches the battle below and notes all those joining in the fray. He's not immune to bullets, nor is he willing to take up the arms and shoot the guys back. He takes a moment to think before he swiftly makes his way into the park. Finding shadows there should be a bit easier and he's formulated something of an idea. It's a bit half-baked, but it was that or watch and he didn't come all the way here for a show that didn't involve musical numbers.

Unlike the others, he doesn't dive into the fracas. Instead, Nightwing remains on the fringe. As one guy moves into his immediate area, he sneaks up behind him, taps the man on the shoulder, and when he turns around, goes to punch him in the jaw. If the guy has a smoke bomb, he's going to grab and lob it…at the gang-bangers! Booyah!

The Drone does not offer much warning, it does not tell men to halt their fire. No it swings a pintle mounted minigun from it's fuselage, climbing in altitude all the further. There is a faint -whirrrr-, which a few of the more military oriented heroes present might recognize if only because it's so insanely distinctive. That, is what a minigun sounds like when spooling up to fire. The firing, follows almost immediately afterward. -BRRRRT- goes the GShG-7.62 comes to life, six thousand rounds a minute worth of thirty caliber minigun goodness. Aimed with earie accuracy downward at any gang-banger with any manner of explosive device. No, it isn't going for "wounding" shots. No it isn't shooting rubber "mercy" bullets. That's real deal soviet surplus 7.62x54mmR raining down. Tracers, muzzle flash and presumably sparks from their impact against the ground? Yeah Eight's little flying drone brings the pain, sorta artfully actually.
Eight's not exactly hunting for loose change over there itself, no it's got things to do and people to shoot all it's own. "Hey cocksucker!"Swinging that shotgun up on the nearest gang banger with well any firearm of any sort. "Fuck your couch!" Eight's got a shotgun of course, a belt fed shotgun to be exact. So letting off a string of buckshot, sufficient perhaps for more than a wee bit of overkill? You should sort've expect such things perhaps, because seriously fuck that guy. Eight's head is already swiveling in search of the next target though before it's even done firing at it's first foe for the evening.

10:43 PM

There's a hard wrapping at the home of Adam Moat and Stephanie Reis. With Adam in the back room, Steph decides she'll do the answering. Even as she makes her way, she can hear Adam from the bedroom. "Who the hell is that? It's damn near 11 o'clock."

Stephanie looks into the peep hole and sees a well dressed man carrying a large envelope

- - - - -

The machine gun crumbles easily in Mimic's hand. Almost two easy. Almost as if it's not a real gun at all. The man holds his hands up at Mimic and almost seems to laugh, "I surrender!"

Sif's punt sends the smoke bomb from whence it came and a few moments later she can hear the coughing it causes. But as she's hit in the temple, she'll realize there was…there was never a bullet at all. Just a little ball of soft pellets, designed to bruise, not kill.

Though it must have appeared that it was a gun shot that broke the window by Shift, it was actually another stray canister. In fact, no bullets seem to have pierced much of anything to be honest. When Shift ends up in the fray, he pummels these poor guys who desperately try to give up before being unceremoniously crushed in the face with large stonehands.

Thor easily apprehends one of the guys who seems to be getting a kick out of being apprehended by The Real Thor. "Be assured, Sire! I shall not dream of continuing my efforts. You are victorious!" he says with a smirk.

A group of soldiers turn around and cheer as the car goes up in flames. "Sweet!" yells one of them. "Did you see that!?" says another.

Meanwhile, as the gun gets pointed by Winter Soldier, the guy flips out and raises his hands in the air, "I wanna talk to my lawyer, I wanna talk to my lawyer, I wanna talk to my lawyer!" Not as fun when a gun is getting pointed in your face.

The gun that Logan slices in half does not look like it's standard grade at all as it clatters to the ground, but Logan hasn't got the time to tell anyone before he gets laid out by one of Bucky's bullets.

KABOOOOM! Amora's blast knocks a six-pack of gang banger soldiers on their ass and skitters their guns out everywhere. All in a goddess' days work.

Nightwing knocks the guy out cold and a canister falls to his feet, just as the former Boy Wonder had hoped. The canister is thrown with great efficacy right into the fray where it makes things almost impossible to see or breathe in there. Almost immediately four gangbangers, sans guns, run out from the middle of the attack.

rDaredevil reaches to one of the guns and goes down to a knee, inspecting it with his hands after he removes a glove. He's about to say something right before Eight starts blasting gang bangers to high heaven. "WAIT! NOOOOOO!"

But things get dire as Eight begins to slaughter gangbangers left and right with round after round of his machine gun. Immediately a masked man takes off his hood and tries to call uncle. Those who keep up with villain profiles will know him as the Prankster, "Wait! Wait! Don't shoot! We surrender!"

- - - - -

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Reis," says the man with the slicked back hair. "Is your fiance home?"

It's clear that Stephanie looks a little nervous but after getting her bearings she nods. "Can I tell him who's here?"

"Jack Studwell," the man says, lying.

Stephanie turns to go get Adam, but he's already almost at the door. He tugs at her shirt pulling her behind the door. "Hi," Adam says as he comes out from behind the door to stare at "Studwell." "What can I help you with?"

"Actually, Officer Moat, it's me who can help you." Studwell hands over the brown envelope. Stephanie, taking interest, opens the door more fully, now, and Adam is too interested to even notice. "What is this?"

"It's what you've been looking for, Adam. Compliments of a friend." Studwell gives a polite bow to Stephanie, "Good evening Miss Reis. Sorry to bother you so late."

Stephanie closes the door as Studwell leaves down the hallway, but Adam is already at the table, pushing a pizza box out of the way and tearing into the envelope.

He pulls out the contents and gets a confused look on his face. Inside there are pictures of Spider-Man and others of a young man, thin and wiry. There's a smaller folder inside and he pulls it open. A small stack of paperwork seems to have been collected. Phone records, transcripts of wire taps, mortgage documents, copies of receipts to sporting good stores. He looks to the name at the top of the phone records; it's a name that does not immediately ring a bell.

Adam looks up at the wall, trying to make sense of all of this.

"Who in the hell is Peter Parker?"

Not shooting normal bullets? Logan knows that between his own powers and Colossus', Mimic doesn't have much to worry about bullets. So a warning to be careful gets attention paid to it. At least until the gun crumbles like a toy. Wolverine, are they shooting blanks?" Even with all the gunfire, Logan should hear it over the team comm. "This is a diversion. Someone wants the police here in force."

Sif rubs at her temple, stooping and squinting at the squashed slug that struck her. It's weak even for Midgardian bullets. She plucks it from the grass and crushes it between her fingers, calling out to the others: "Hold, my brethren! Their bullets are… squashy! They could not harm even mortal flesh with these; no greater than a bruise!"
She looks left and right, baffled: "Is this some strange tourney ground?"

Shift is halfway through coming about to smash a third jaw with his super-solid fists, when of all voices, it's that of Sif's he hears. He pulls his swing, draws himself back, and looks first at the two thugs he's laid out before eyeballing the third. Then, he looks at his gloved fists, covered in blood. Beneath the mask he snarls, and reaches for the third thug's neck with a fast motion. "What in de hell is going on here?" he demands.

"What madness is this?" Thor asks drunkenly, sounding baffled. He tosses the man negligently aside, then strides towards Sif and Amora (a bit unsteadily). "I have no sense of what is proceeding here. This seemed pitched war, but they surrender so readily! Is this some deception, or some bizarre game these mortals play?" he demands of the two women.

"Damnation! I said play. Everyone drink!" He pounds back six heavy gulps of his mead, then passes the decanter to Sif, making the rounds through the Asgardians. It's apparently some obscure Aesir drinking game they're at, and Thor just fouled. "Everyone drink!"

Yay! Lunair blew up a car! And it was great! Except now a robodude is murdering people and hmm. She's not sure what to make of it, to be truthful. Experimentally, Lunair watches the chaos. She looks quizzical. And then she decides to try the dubstep gun.

Bucky doesn't even have time to second guess his actions. Instead, he roughly tosses the man in his grip to the ground and books it after Eight, firing shot after shot at the drone overhead. When (and if) he gets close to the 'man,' he dives forward, intending on tackling him off his feet whether he had stopped shooting or not. "Stop, they're firing blanks!" he calls out ahead of him, trying to convey it to anyone who hadn't yet realized what the hell was going on.

Let's just hope Logan doesn't know who shot him, because man… That's going to be a pain to explain.

Of course, with everyone shooting fake bullets, Logan is the one who eats a real bullet. It doesn't do much more than jerk the old mutant back a half step of course, and a few seconds later there's no more bullet in Logan, the bit of metal clinking against the ground when his body forces it out. Scowling, he looks over at Calvin, "Yeah, most of them are shooting blanks. Round 'em up for the cops." Wolverine doesn't leap into action to play hero for the jokesters however. Shaking his head, he moves to punch the nearest one in the face. "^!@#!& idiots."

"Stay down, or I will seek out the Thunder God and let him deal with you." Amora glares at those felled by her spell but then turns around, not too worried about whether or not those men will try anything. They did just get knocked on their ass, after all, and could very well be very reluctant when it comes to risking pissing off the green-clad, blonde-haired sorceres.

Sif is heard and she turns to look at her, her lips now pressed into a tight line. "Still best to put a stop to them," she calls out while her hands raise again. She won't kill them but any other 'bad guys' will be thrown on their asses too, if she has to.

Or at least that's the plan until she sees Thor stride towards Sif and her and she lowers her hands. "Is this not a war," she queries sincerely. This is the type of thing they should put a swift end to, no? "Advise us, my prince. How are we to deal with this threat?"

When there's the call out to stop fighting and that the gang-bangers surrender, Nightwing glances about at the others. Unlike a certain Bat-Mentor, he doesn't slink back into the shadows yet. Instead, he just demands, "What the Hell is going on here?"

It's that or just head off now that the threat has been removed.

It isn't the shouts that stops Eight, it's the shrapnel. You see Eight has an 8 gauge automatic shotgun, which means a lot of balls. Some of these balls of course hit that fake gun, which obviously sends plastic tumbling. Eight's already swiveling to the second target, when it lifts it's finger off the trigger completely. So Bucky catches eight by surprise, no really. That said, the tackle doesn't work so well. Eight's not terribly light, but it is terribly strong. So Whilst Bucky gets a solid hit in, Eight remains standing. "I just figured that out, thankyou for informing me in a timely manner."It's hard to detect sarcasm with a robot, no joke it is.
There are bodies though, and ain't none of them are moving. The Drone has -pulped- three of the poor hoods, I mean like we're talking DNA not dental records. Slap chop sorts of itty bits, with gore and bits of bone and so fourth everywhere. The one Eight shot, well they're dead as hell too. They've been ripped nearly in half, theres really no saving them here, it' old testament sort've injuries. "Would you like to fight me now, or shall we proceed to discover who lead me to kill these men?"


The man closest to Mimic nods vigorously with his hands in the air, "I'd like to talk to my lawyer!"

Sif's loud voice seems to cut through the confusion and the fray, rising above the battle. Once the jig is up, the soldiers begin throwing down their weapons.

One guy even splats a packet of ketchup on himself for good measure.

The guys with the smashed faces roll around, one of them is pretty hurt so he doesn't find this as funny as the other one. The other looks up to Shift with a broken nose and laughs, "I'd like to discuss this matter with my lawyer please!"

One of the men near Thor raises his eyebrows expectantly, "You mind if I get a swig of that?"

"Oh shit!" says one of the gang members as Bucky goes to tackle Eight. It's one of those moments where the bad guys are rooting for the good guys to save their ass.

The shot from the dubstep gun fans out towards the group, taking it's menacing motion with it and bringing embarrassment to all those who encounter it. Of course, it will also bring a stop to whoever it hits.

Almost as soon as Logan's words leave his mouth, the sirens can be heard as the police finally arrive. A stream of SWAT officers jump out of the vans and start to make their way for the borders of the park.

When Amora raises her hands at one of the bad guys, he shrieks and leaps into the bushes. "Please lady, I give up!"

"Uhm," says the guy at Nightwing's feet. He gives a forced wince-smile, "I'm invoking the 5th amendment? I'd like to see my lawyer now?"

Eight's words sort of linger in the air as the police arrive and start arresting the gangmembers. It will take them hours to sort out the story and by that time, most of those who need to get scarce will get scarce.

- - - - -


A small tanker sits in the midnight blue abyss, making its way for a late night rendezvous down at the docks. But the tanker will not make its scheduled stop tonight.

Silently, a small hover-craft boat, carrying the DREADNOKS, slips up alongside the tanker and within moments, the crew is climbing the ladders up and into the cabin, where taking over the crew is relatively business. A couple of well placed shots and the tanker is theirs for the tanking.

"I hate bein' out to sea. This better be worth it," Buzzer tells Monkeywrench, just before getting a slap to the back of the head from Zarana. "Shut up, you imbeciles!"

"It will be worth it," Zartan says, his black makeup glistening in the moonlight. "We now have control of the largest shipment of illegal drugs in 20 years. In 15 minutes when we dock, we'll hand over the keys to Fisk's men and they'll hand us our money."

As Buzzer rubs his head, he begins to smile. Easy money.

- - - - -


Two uniformed guards lead a man with a hoodie down into the inner workings of the electrical system of the prison.

"You sure the cameras will be erased once it happens?" one of the men asks the hooded figure.

"Of course it will," responds Electro. He's lying, but that won't matter much.

Electro begins to scrape the rubber away from two mighty coils.

"And you will be millionaires before your heads hit your pillow tonight," Electro says, lying again.

The man reaches up to wrap both his hands around the coils and begins to course more and more electricity into the system, causing it to overload.

Upwards, there's commotion as all the lights begin to flicker outside the cells. For a moment, there is nothing, and then a moment later, each of the cell doors open slowly.

And it's not just the cell doors, it's every single door all the way out.

_ _ _ _


"Wait, wait," says Sylvester Gray as he watches his computer from his late night accounting prepwork for tax season. "Hector, this is not good. This is not good at all."

"What happened?"

"I dunno! I dunno!" I was looking at our bank records and it's a live feed. I click on this over here to input the schedule CGY24, and I click back and it's saying we're 43 million less in liquid cash from 20 minutes ago."

"What the hell is going on?"

"I dunno! I'll get the Swiss on the phone and see what the hell is goin on. This has gotta be a mistake."

- - - - -


KRACKAPOW KRACKAPOW KRACKAPOW. No less than 13 explosions rock one of America's best guarded penitentiaries.

KGBeast looks up at Deadshot from their hiding spot as the latter finishes loading his weaponry.

"Guess that did it," he says in a thick Russian accent. "You ready?"

"Of course."

Both men leap into the crater hole left in the wall and the inside of the building is a warzone. Both men begin picking off guards left and right as criminal after criminal begin pouring out from the multitude of holes created by the explosions

- - - - -


Burt Kenyon, AKA HITMAN, sits at his spot, obscured by rocks and nearly untraceable. Well, it'll be traceable, but not till he's long, long gone.

As FranceAir flight 249 begins it's descent, Hitman begins making his preparations. The rocket launcher is propped on his shoulder. The sights are set. He double checks and makes sure everything is in order. Just as the plane roars above him (don't worry, he has ear plugs), he lets out one final exhale and squeezes the trigger.

The missile jets out from the gun and takes flight, a little dip before leaping up into the sky higher and higher.

Hitman doesn't even bother to watch the plane explode into a million pieces of debris and several large fireballs. He's on the move; his escape plan already well rehearsed.

- - - - -

Kingpin sets the cell phone down upon his ornate table after pressing the end button. He sits back but cannot bring himself to smile.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I just don't get it." Stanton looks a little worried, as if the urge to look smart in front of Kingpin is outweighed by his sheer confusion and that this confusion will make Fisk lose faith in him.

"Why go to all this trouble? It seems like so much overkill."

Fisk can't help but chuckle now and nods to Stanton. "It might seem that way," he large voice bellows. "But in a world with superheroes, you need super plans. The old rules and the small rules just don't work anymore. To really make your mark you need to think big, act big, and perform big."

"But why the Spider-Man thing?" Stanton asks.

"Oh, that's just because I find him annoying. And what do you do with an annoying bug, Stanton?" Fisk asks.

"You squish him."

- - - - -


From his vantage point in his beat up Mercury Sable, Officer Adam Moat can see directly into Peter Parker's window with the benefit of a pair of binoculars.

Inside, Peter's stretching his back and flings a red mask onto his bed. As his arms flail out, it's clear he's wearing some sort of suit. A red spider-rumples before straightening out after the stretch. Peter reaches down to shrug out of the shirt and get ready for bed.

"Gotchya, you fuckin' murderer," says Officer Moat quietly. "You're mine."


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