Bullet To The Face Gag

July 18, 2014:

After the transmission of a contract hit on the Joker - Black Cell mercenaries and Deathstroke the Terminator show up to take the Ace of Knaves down. Batman intervenes with some help from the Catwoman. (Part one of the Clown Hunt - Emits by Batman).

Characters

NPCs: Black Cell (mercenary outfit)

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

The Joker has been on a spree, one that hasn't gone un-noticed and it would appear Gotham is overly excited for their turn. So much so, they have a surprise party eagerly anticipating the arrival of the notorious Clown Prince of Crime.

The Joker was messaged earlier by one of his more reliable flunkies, Scab, who wears a stylish red cap and water ruined facepaint. Water ruined why? Gotham is pouring rain right now. The rain storm is near flood level warnings and Chinatown to the East End are getting the major brunt of this torrential downpour.

The Jokerz gang member stands near a stone pagoda that stands about twelve feet tall facing the dock towards the west where an actual 'floating' restaurant called the Mazu is situated, it's closed down right now, after hours and with the flood warning ironically the Mazu, patron of sailors that she is, isn't the safest place to be. Scabs is pacing from left to right even twice doing a circle around the pagoda before lighting up yet another cigarette. He has been waiting for the boss man for some time and at this point doesn't actually think the man will show. He's busy tormenting New York and Metropolis anyways, right?

The Joker is watching… from a distance, under the cover of an alley. This is odd and mad as the Clown Prince is, he knows it. The Joker contacts, intimidates and generally pesters his flunkies. Not the other way around. Ordinarily he'd have just ignored Scab… but he's been mildly useful in the past and the message was interesting enough for him to take a break from torturing Melinda May in New York and come back down to his old stomping grounds, visit one of his 'toyboxes' and 'recruit' a couple of psychotic behavioral health patients, and then show up.

Scab has just been standing there… alone… for an hour. Which is boring as all hell. Fiiiiiiine. Time to lighten the mood a bit.

In his purple pinstripes, the man himself steps into the light and begins to cross the street.

"Hellooooo Scabby… been a good boy lately? I certainly hope not. What's all this now?" He's looking nonchalant, but his mind is already literaly going in a dozen directions.

Shhkt-thunk. Deathstroke stares down through the pouring rain and growing darkness, his eye narrowing behind his mask. He shifts his hand a bit and with another shhkt, the staff collapses back down into it's more portable length. With a foot he nudges the now unconscious sniper to the side before squatting down. He never takes his eyes off of the meet happening by the water, his hands not needing his eyes to disassemble the sniper rifle and remove the firing pin before putting it all back together again, the process taking seconds. Then he calmly reaches out to grip the man's radio on his belt, and crush it into useless plastic scrapes in his armored fist. Should the snipe come to before this is over, he'll be little threat on a roof with a pistol.

There. The Target.

Slade smirks a bit behind his mask and he quickly glances around, trying to spot the other marksmen, he assumes at least three, but given the Joker's reputation, maybe as many as a half dozen. Damn. That's a lot of angles to cover at once. Now, if only Slade had brought something that would allow him to … oh yeah. He did. Behind his maks, Deathstroke grins wider.
Nervous? Scabs is always nervous around the Joker. He's the man after all. A very very very scary bad man.
"Hey, Mr. Joker, sir, boss man. It's good to see you… I uhm…" Scabs fidgets with his cigarette taking it out of his mouth to flick it off towards a very large puddle. "I'm glad you came, I mean, theres uh…"

Krrkt. A sound too far away for the Clowns to hear blips through one earpiece to another, "Feedback coming off your mic, Graves. Fix it."

"That isn't mine. I think it's Pike's."

"Shut up, we have incoming. Someone visually confirm our target."

"Too much rain, I think it's fuckin' with our systems. Graves, you're closest get in and confirm target.

"On it. " A bomber jacket hardly conceals all of the twelve gauge and it's ten round box magazine the man carries against his side. By hardly this means not at all to the perceptive eye or the right angle. It's a lovely weapon really, one can see why the man would want to pack that around, especially since it's capable of semi-automatic fire. His face is rugged, a beard, a ball cap pulled low and an earpiece. A mercenary. Just like the rest of his team. "Almost there… " Graves whispers to himself. The mic not depressed. He's about twenty feet to the Joker's left behind a park bench sytlized with Chinese dragons. "It's him. Pike take your shot."

Another voice chimes up, "Pike, take your shot." The body in a sprawl at Deathstroke's feet sports a tag on it that neatly reads Pike across it.

"Maybe this rain is causing interference. Javier, you're up. Take the shot."

Across the rooftop from Deathstroke another weapon is trained on the Joker as breathing slows and regulates. "Almost got him…"

Annoyingly, about a foot from a really good shot the pale white man just stops, hands thrust into his pockets… which are bulging a bit suspiciously. "Scabby Scabby Scabby…" The clown says shaking his head as the psychopaths stalk out into the street behind him armed with… paintball guns? "Why so serious? You called me. I'm here. I assume there's a good reason." The last word is very drawn out. This whole thing is just strange and while the Joker may not suspect an ambush, he is not given to wasting his time… well, he's not given to having his time wasted by others at any rate.

Slade listens in on the merc's radio frequency, and he frowns, "Javier," he says calmly into his built in mic, "don't take the shot. You boys have stumbled onto a hunt outside your pay range. This is a professional courtesy: Move on. Now." He doesn't give his name, nothing, just that little speech. Then he begins to count, trusting that they'll do a head count, they'll realize Pike is down, one of the spotters will look his way… In short. They'll figure out who they're dealing with in short order. And as a reminder… Deathstroke lifts the MK-19 from the roof where he placed it and calmly unslings the 24 round bandolero chain from his chest and feed the first into the empty breech atop the weapon. Click. Clack. CA-CHAK. With the first grenade loaded Slade effortlessly lifts the launcher to his hip where he rests it idly and turns his eyes to look straight across the empty space, down the scope now pointed his direction, and into Javier's eyes. He then uses his free hand to make a 'shoo-shoo' motion, and holds up five fingers.

Four. Three. Two…

"Real sorry Joker sir but they tracked me down and made me do this. Told me they'd cut me up piece by piece which, I didn't care but then they grabbed Ralphy." Ralphy being Scabs pet Schnauzer. "You know Ralphy is the only thing my dear ole' me-maw left behind."

Scabs turns around now and begins to run.

"It's him!" Graves shouts loudly in to his mic, a shout loud enough the Joker should also hear. That shotgun is already flying upwards a round chambering and about to burst free of the barrel.

"Javier take the shot!" The leader yells from his observation point. A van parked a block away with a decent view of the open lot before the Mazu, the lot the Joker stands in right now. "Javier! FIRE! Ignore that fucker on our coms. FIRE!"

Nothing.

No response - Javier is fixated like Deathstroke is some magical snake charmer. "I can't this fucker is el diablo… it's the Terminator, man and he has some kinda really big fucking gun."

"Grab your balls and shoot Javier!"

"I'll take the shot." A third sniper snaps out and the man lives up to his word, he fires that skip fire round at the ground near Joker. It's not meant to be a direct shot, it's one that will strike near the loony supervillain and snap up in to him. A wounding shot mean to incapacitate and injure.

All hell has just broken loose.

This is where time appears to slow in movies, the music changes and gunshots start to sound out in all directions, it's like the Alamo gone high-tech. The target? The Joker. The reward? Upwards of a hundred k. Even dead he'll still fetch a pretty penny. Though at this point it doesn't look like the unnamed mercs are going for dead.

The Joker is already in motion the moment he hears the shot. The first thing that comes out of his pocket is a little tranq pistol. One shot snaps out at Scabs. The payload? Not opiates. Opiates are boring. These darts are filled with a cocktail of LSD and Amphetamines. One of Joker's more 'fun' mixtures… which is to say, there's no real gaurentee of being able to survive the trip.

The skip round doesn't hit the Joker's spine as intended. Instead it pieces a lung and draws a peal of crazed laughter from the madman. That should slow him down. But it isn't. Well, not yet anyway. The other hand comes out with what looks like a military smoke grenade. He hurls it into the nearest building with a gun armed person in it. Purple smoke begins to billow out, but slightly more to the point… those grenades get hot. Very, very, very hot.

The two psychos with paintball guns begin to lay about seemingly at random. Their weapons seem to be filled with slightly unconventional paint balls… which is to say, actually plastic shells filled with ammonia and bleach.

Slade moves with a shocking speed as the sound of the shot reaches him and time slows to a crawl for him. He gauges the sound, the direction, the most likely location for a third sniper to be to take the shot that was, and then with a calm efficacy he drops two rounds from the MK-19, one into the wall next to the window where the shot was most likely fired from, if not killing the man then certainly knocking him out of his perch, and a second into the window itself, turning the room into a box filled with concussion waves and shrapnel. Even before the second round hits, he's turning and putting two rounds, one in front and one behind the man with the shotgun who's nearest Joker, mercilessly intending to turn the man into salsa on the spot. If Joker thought some drugged out tranqs would bring the chaos, then this is proof that he needs to carry bigger tranq guns, because the four explosions sound off in under two seconds, and this waterfront section of Gotham is instantly a warzone.

"JAVIER SHOOT YOU COWARDLY SON OF A BITCH!" The leader in the van shouts again.
"Shoot who?"
Javier responds no longer pointing his weapon down at the Joker but towards Deathstroke, "This is over our heads, just like he said."
"We're on our way out. Javier, you're fired."

Two snipers down and the man with the shot gun vanishes in a plume of smoke, shrapnel and guts.
Scabs himself is twitching and convulsing on the ground looking like a junky who just OD'd yet, he is smiling real big with foamy saliva burbling up around his smeared lips.

More smoke, more explosions and the colorful mixture of Joker's chaos mingles with that of Deathstroke's grenade launcher.

That van's doors open up as do the SUV behind it and another seven men armed with assault rifles and Kevlar begin to make their move towards Mazu square, the warzone. Two of them are already peeling off to offer cover fire and strafe the rooftops near Deathstroke with live rounds.

"Keep him off our asses as we secure the target. Kill anyone who gets in our way." The leader's a lean man with hawkish features and a berret. Also what appears to be a cybernetic arm. Fancy. Low quality cybernetics but still a pricey piece of jewelry.

The Joker is moving at a run now, despite what is very probably a collapsed lung. He's also not out of smoke grenades, using them like sort of incendiary bricks as he chucks them into buildings and at flammable things. The smoke, thick and vaguely caustic, that they make is really just a bonus. "Ah now this is how it should be. Anarchy. Chaos. This is the kind of thing Gotham deserves. No, the world deserves this."

Slade sighs and he doesn't bother to take cover. He doesn't wear the body armor because it's fancy, he wears it because it's fucking bulletproof. They'll have to get much larger guns then whatever AKs or M4s they're popping off with now. Like his gun. Which as he calmly walks along the edge of the roof, almost lazily sends a round into the van behind them, blowing the vehicle four feet skyward and landing it on it's side in a wreck of twisted steel and burning gasoline. "Javier, run." Slade says into the coms as he decides now's the time to make everyone duck for cover. Mostly the mercenaries who're going after his paycheck. He doesn't look to kill, but he's none to careful not to either. In fact, he sort of… nonchalanatly sprays the area in front of and near the charging mercs with the remaining dozen and a half grenades, doing as much damage and spreading as much chaos as possible. As an after thought he sends the final explosive sailing in Joker's general direction, just to keep the insane little terrorist honest.

Ish.

The men racing after the Joker are pulling on pro-masks though one of them is looking for his leg as grenades rain down upon them and weapon fire. Five of the six are still moving. They have good medical insurance apparently.

"Keep cover fire on us." The Leader demands.

"We can't slow him. He's got armor on."

"Get the RPG."

"Bruno is already loading up."

Slade may or may not see at this point one of those two giving cover fire is loading up a shoulder mounted RPG-7 and aiming it directly at him.

"He's injured, Mosh, get him."

A shorter man with a blonde Mohawk nods in races after the Joker leaping like a monkey over a small cement uprising before springing off painted up post. Acrobatic little parkour-free-running merc from the looks of it and he's closing the gap between himself and Mr.J very quickly, "Not shit are ya?" Mosh taunts the Ace of Knaves. His English accent clear as day.

The heavy rain has obscured something very important. Something dark and alive with high-tech engine whir and the slow rotating assistance of VTOL capabilities; hovering above the scene the Batwing rotates in place, circling around as it maps out the area, optical sensors homing in on each of the assaulters, Deathstroke and the Joker included.

The grim visage of the pilot stares at the lit up display in front of him, "Get the Clown. Keep him away from Deathstroke." Batman glances over his shoulder at Catwoman, "I'm trusting you in this Selina. Don't try anything funny and don't get careless." Or reckless, or wild, or daring, or any number of antics the woman is prone too. "Remember our talk."

~"Master Bruce, perhaps the two of you should consider your options here. This is the Joker you're about to risk your neck for…"~
"Not now, Alfred."

The cockpit's hatch pops open admitting Catwoman and Batman to the rainstorm outside. No more words from the Dark Knight he simply drops towards Chinatown and the fire-fighting below. His target, Deathstroke. He is trusting Catwoman can deal with the mercenaries and the Joker.

Smoke, billowing upward in clouds while hails of gunfire spark light into the density and they seem like a small applause to the show below the uproarious cheer of explosions.

Catwoman is already watching this chaos unfold beneath, like watching from /above/ the storm instead of waiting for it to hit you from below. She is listening to the Bat lecture despite how intent she looks down upon the firefight of those baited out for a clown head on a poo-poo platter. Glancing back at Batman, she reaches up, a smart and fast movement like she is about to salute him, but instead fingertips grip her goggles and tug them down and into place over those azure eyes.

"I'm not a funny girl." Dulcet toned, on smirking lips as her other hand slides down the curve of her hip and wraps around the pommel of her whip. One step… two, her back to the open door of the hovering Bat-hicle to look at the comm and blow the disembodied Alfred a kiss as se falls backwards towards the street without a net.

Falling is freedom, even as the down-pouring rain is slicking the skein on the black suit, as if the rapid downfall needs the lubrication to make a landing demise all that more messy..

Another sound of lightning cracks out and on the eave of the floating Japanese restaurant leather coils like a serpent, tightening jus before impact as Catwoman performs her own version of a landing entering into parkour done with the tact only she could pull off. Perfeect aim and perhaps some luck if it allowed, her body twists into a somersault and a spin to switch her directive, running along the side of a building and passing Joker to head for his pursuant, Mosh, leaping from the wall and catching him by his neck betwixt thighs in her push off, pivoting once more to attempt and lift him off the ground with her still partially airborne grapple and slam him face first into the building.

The 'clown' disappears into an alleyway, giggling. One of his 'clown' flunkies gets frankly pretty well eviscerated by shrapnel that only nicks him, adding a dash of crimson to his otherwise pale complexion. What's a splash of color, really. The manic giggling doesn't subside. Not in the least. By the sound of things he's about halfway down that alley and there's a lot of 'clanking'.

Several fires have started as the smoke grenades, aside from spewing purple and green smoke everywhere, have set their surroundings alight. Well, it's not like this place couldn't use some urban renewal anyway.

Slade drops the empty MK 19 on the rooftop and quirks a brow behind as he spots the man with the RPG taking aim. "That's better." he says as he turns to face the rocket launcher carrying merc and spreads his arms wide as if he were going to hug the man. He flicks his fingers in a 'take your best shot' motion even as he slowly shifts his position by taking only a trio of quick steps to the side. He repositions so that when Batman lands, he's between Slade and the RPG, "Fancy meeting you here."

Mosh as artful a dodger as he usually is was about to plug a round in to Joker's colorful ass when a pair of muscular shapely thighs wraps about his head, "Oh bullocks." His whispered between the smother of leather before he finds himself kissing concrete violently. Another merc down. "We've lost visual on the Joker and it looks like they're some kinda… ninja dominatrix… over here that just took out Mosh."

The Leader has paused to take down one of the Joker's stooges, the submachine gun in his hand having just been used to riddle the man with a buncha new holes. "DO not lose him or it's your heads!" Four still pursue the Joker, leaping and evading as they disregard Catwoman in their race. One of them pauses long enough to lob a grenade her direction before proceeding after their target. The race is on.

Batman lands with his usual stylish flare or lack of (silence included). The cape around his shoulders plumes out only to steeple back in as he stands up, "First the Scarecrow and now the Joker? You're overstaying your welcome in Gotham, Deathstroke." Almost casually Batman sways to the side so that RPG rocket sails past his shoulder and towards Slade. Perks of the Batwing playing overwatch and it's connectivity to the Dark Knight's HUD display. Whether it hits Deathstroke or not Batman will be in motion following it. He's not stupid, Deathstroke doesn't go down that easily.

It's heaven or hell, the unconsciousness Mosh meets and the way he does so. But Catwoman has no care for the limp figure that falls to the street beneath her as she clings to the wall in a stillness that mimics that of a praying mantis, a wavering hover over the surface, hanging vertically along brickwork and ready to spring in that four legged sprawl.

The reflection of one of the four is given back as he pauses to toss his exploding gift in her direction, springing her into action, liquid shadow once more moving as the whip recoils and cracks outward, aiding in a run that has her sprining upward and disappearing over the curved lip of an oriental roof.

Her landing though, has her in the alley where plumes of purple and green smoke mingle to swirl like the plumage of a peacocks fanned tail, the statuesque feline figure a shadow cutting through it as her voice is a cadence of bells bordering on explosive chaos.

"Where is your female counterpart? I am sure the queen of hearts must be nearby, I do so miss my work with her. Never missed a /smile/." Catwoman calls into the war and waits to hear if Joker bothers to reply, the whip swinging like a pendulum beside her as she walks casually onward, keeping on alert for those other three pursuers as well.

"Harley is taking care of her babies. New Yorkers can be so rough on animals. Not to worry though…" The Joker is an outline in the smoke and he's got… something. Cha-click "… She'll be along shortly."

The moment the mercenary pursuit rounds into the alley, there he is, forty feed away aiming an M-79 grenade launcher at them. Sure, it's a single shot deal, and not as fancy as Slade's but it'll do quite nicely for these folks.

Especially loaded as it is with white phosphorus. "Hello Gentlemen. As your boss said, you're fired."

BOOM

Slade shrugs slightly, "I go where the work is. Do a better job of keeping your street clean and you'll see me less often." Deathstroke points out, "It isn't like I'm being paid to hunt the innocent." if someone can afford Slade's prices, chances are they did /something/ to deserve it, otherwise there are cheaper simpler ways of getting rid of them. As Batman sways, Deathstroke drops low in a spin, his arm snapping out and hurling a trio of vicious looking throwing spikes at the Detective. They've done this dance before, they know each other well. The Mercs, the thugs, even the Joker is an unwelcome distraction and simply placed aside for the time being. There are greater threats on the rooftops tonight. The distant explosion brings a chuckle, "People are dying Batman and it is on your hands. Walk away. Return to whatever cave you crawled from, chase gangsters and catch the Penguin in Old Town stealing someones financial data so he can trade the stock tomorrow. Just walk away, and you'll never have to walk through a mountain of bodies with their faces stretched into rictus smiles of agony."

Before those two closest men follow the Joker the man in the beret can be heard shouting something about a "Bottleneck" too late, both men end up in a bath of incendiary fire. The shrill pain filled death screams of terror are coupled with the smell of burning ozone and flesh as the white phosporus spreads cutting off that route leaving the Catwoman zoned off with just the Joker. There are still Black Cell mercenaries present but they're re-routing and re-grouping before they proceed.

"It doesn't work like that, Slade." Batman counters as his cape slaps out the weighted ends of it catching the thrown spikes. While a batarang is exchanged arcing through the air towards the Soldier-for-Hire. The Caped Crusader right behind that thrown distraction with a booted roundhouse. "You're endangering innocents right now. People have already died, why attack the Joker in the middle of the city? I thought you were a professional, not some cold-blooded killer. The heavy ordinance seems a bit much doesn't it?"

Batman knows he can slow Deathstroke but not stop him. Not without preparation and that isn't something he has right now. Catwoman is hopefully managing with the Joker.

"We can't reach the Joker, what are your orders, sir?"

The comms spark up, Bruno who fired the RPG round that was a complete whiff (it sailed off towards the bay behind the restaurant harmlessly). "I see the Batman and Deathstroke fighting on the roof. Should we engage?"

"Suppressive fire on them and we'll see if we can reach the Clown. If we can't we'll withdraw. Keep those two pined until I give you word. Out."

Bruno nods towards his companion as he begins to reload another explosive round. His friend drops in to a prone position and begins to fire off bursts at the Detective and the Super-Soldier. He makes a game of it even, one for Slade, one for Batman. Two for Slade. Two for Batman. Meanwhile the rest of the surviving Black Cell mercs try to find a new plan of attack before the Joker gets away.

Catwoman had no feelings on Harley's 'babies', Bud and Lou. Hyenas are their own genus all together and so they never got the treatment of aversion that canines may get, but they got a wary eye. Empathy could be given at Joker's words though on how city types treat the local animals - her own especially.

Following the voice she is finding herself staring at the end of that launcher, casually stepping to the side and pressing the line of her spine along one wall of the alley in time to feel the heat of the weapons passing emission aimed for the others.

"I do hope thay are alright." The hyenas, not the mercs, she never really cared for headhunters, not her m.o.

Though the sounds of further gunfire and explosions get a flash of a strained grin amd an annoyed glance towards the rooftops. "As much as I enjoy parties, this is not my bag. A girl is bound to break a nail at this.." Curling her fingers just before her partially masked face those hooked metal claws reveal and then sink back in beneath glove tips. "Do we have to wait long?"

The Joker loads a new shell into the launcher and looks up in the direction of Batman and Slade, hearing the sounds of very loud fighting. "Mmmmm. Well this has been a proper surprise party, but it seems our guests of honor are busy with one another." He reaches into a pocket and throws a handful of 'jacks' at the end of the alleyway, each one a small explosive designed to react to pressure.

There's a long moment where it looks like he's 'considering' shooting Catwoman entirely for fun, but then he shrugs and the manic gleam in his eye is replaced by a cold, dispassionate look. "We can go." He says with a nod. "I'm sure Harley'd love to see you, if you've got no other plans tonight, Catsy." Plans that involve blind, flying mammals, for example.

Slade follows the thrown spikes with himself, the two armored men colliding atop the roof with a sound like hammers on a tree. There's no more talking now as the pair get to work, merely the hiss of exhaled breath and the shuffling of careful perfect footwork atop the roof's surface as they jockey back and forth. Armored knuckles crack the side of Deathstroke's helm and his elbow drops low, driving into the armor over the muscle of Batman's thigh. A knee grazes Slade's ribs, the knife edge of his hand just misses a blow that would have broken Batman's collarbone. Batman is argueably the better fighter, he has studied further abroad, more styles, esoteric arts, but Slade is plainly the more lethal as he holds nothing back, fights dirty, and for all Batman's money his armor is inferior to the Nth metal the US Government gave Slade all those years ago. They seperate from the first clash, neither breathing hard but neither relaxed either and slowly Slade circles, hsi feet skimming the rooftop as he moves, keeping his balance settled. Right up until a pair of PTING's! off of his stomach cause him to grunt and spin away from Batman gaining even more distance. "Really?!" he says into the air, "No professional courtesy anymore!" At least this time it wasn't Lawton, that guy is just /the worst/. Deathstroke drops back another pair of steps and a modified M16 slides down off of his back and snaps up tightly high on his shoulder. He mutters as he flicks it to semi-auto fire with his thumb, "You couldn't just walk away could you!" he says unhappily at Batman.

"No more killing!" Even out of breath and in pain Batman's voice booms out while Slade levels the weapon. A lunge that ends up with a shoulder tackle sends them both sliding in slaps of armor plated limbs to drop off the rooftop towards the ground below. Amidst this tangling press punches and kicks proceed until a powerful beyond human levels kick sends the Batman cascading in a sort of pinwheel through the air and he clips off the side of a moving truck bed only to end up in a mess on the cement next to it.

A groan escapes the Bat.

Blood trickling out of his cracked lips, "I said no more." He hisses as a black shadow descends from the clouds above to shine a spotlight down upon Deathstroke.
There is a whir of guns and the Batwing's forward mounted canons pop out in display, "I assure you Mr.Wilson these will pierce your armor at this range and I may not be the best of shots but the automated computer system on this vessel is quite advanced. I advise you to take this in to consideration before I unload both 2,000 round drums in to your person." Alfred's stern voice is loudspeaker-ed enough to get his point across.

The Black Cell mercs radio chatter has them calling for a cease-fire and a retreat, the cost vs reward at this point has been unbalanced. "This is Black Cell to SRD Oh Seven, we're pulling out feel free to move in." The man with the beret and the cybernetic arm fires off one more random stray shot spitefully towards the direction the Joker and Catwoman escaped before climbing back in to that van. Those still straggling also begin to withdraw before the GCPD and the SRD move in. A news chopper has already been spotted once through the din.

The Joker's consideration with the manic look in his gaze has her knowing well what he is weighing in, and she does not flinch, her gaze unwavering behind those goggles that are streaked with raindrops that fall heavily between structures where the Black Cell was having difficulty reaching.

"I prefer somewhere dry, and I am sure you prefer somewhere where you cannot be located easily…" Catwoman pauses as she hears the two in an obvious fray, a sound familiar and unmistakable as two large and trained armored bodies collide. "..by either of them." A single digit rises and pints upward, but the hooked claw takes perfect aim in their direction on the other side of that 'wall'.

The whip that had fallen to her side and rested its coils in a puddle now curls upward with a deft flick of her wrist, dripping from those small tails into the puddle at her feet. With the sound of Alfreds voice demanding a cease her eyes lift to the heavens where the Batwing hovers and sheds its light from. "No… No plans. Just to get out of here unscathed. Sound good?" That revealed tilt of a smile on Catwoman's lips reads easily 'I'll scratch your back…' Just before she heads past the Joker and lashes her whip upward, finding purchase, assured with a tug.

Looking back at him she extends a hand and curls her fingers in a beckoning motion. "Coming?"

The Clown Prince laughs - though it's a cold, humorless laugh and not his earlier manic cackling - and coughs blood. "Yes. Back scratching, that most quintessential Gotham activity. Well… when in Rome." Moving over to Catsy he extands his (somewhat scorched) hand and takes her gloved one.
"Unscathed may be a bit late for me, but I'll take what we can get."

Deathstroke lands hard. Sure, he got the upper hand, but he had to sacrifice an otherwise comfortable landing to do so, and when his armor slams him into the concrete, the breath is driven from him like a blast of wind and for just a moment or two his vision shrinks down to a single pinpoint of light. Ow. Sadly, he can still hear. He rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself to his feet, his vision clearing even as his mind works out which way is properly 'up' again. He turns then, one hand falling to the collapsed staff on his thigh and he takes a step Batman's direction, an audible snarl slipping out around the mask… But of course, unlike Deathstroke, Batman doesn't work alone. Slade lifts a hand to shield his eye from the spotlight and he stares at the ship for a minute, "Pennyworth." he says with a tone of something edging on respect. He seems to consider the situation, his eyes dropping down to stare at Bruce's injured form, and he pushes the length of Promethium back into it's holster on his leg, "Wintergreen spoke highly of you." while he's staring at Batman it's not him he's speaking to, "Billy didn't speak highly of anyone." he looks back up at the plane-copter-thingie, "It earns you a one time pass. But you may want to consider, if you'd let me handle my business the body count in your city would have met a precipitous drop." he turns towards where the last explosion came from, "This hunt isn't over," he says towards Batman, "it's just over for tonight." he then tosses a lazy salute towards the Batwing and turns to go. Later computer analysis of the assassin's walking gait will indicate some injuries nearly perfectly masked.
Nearly.

Batman uses the truck that broke his fall to straighten up whilst using Alfred's distraction to collect his breathing and route his thoughts, to focus past the pain and discomfort.
"I'll be waiting." The warrior promises the other. Mentally he is collected now at least, physically is a different story. Once Slade departs a line drops from the hovering vehicle and the Caped Crusader grabs a hold, drawn upwards.
"Catwoman isn't responding." He murmurs to the console as it changes colors from remote control elsewhere to manual.
"Surely you are not surprised."
Alfred responds.
"No. Not surprised." Just disappointed. The Joker of all things had to be rescued tonight, he took a beating he could not afford and Catwoman has just disappeared off the grid. Also this is only night one since the 'contract' for Joker and his crew went live.
"I'm sure she is quite alright, Master Bruce."
"That isn't my concern. Prepare the medical table and get in contact with the others. We're going to need assistance." A scream of engines and the Batwing zips past an incoming GCPD helicopter.

===

GCPD law enforcement personnel responded to explosions and a fightfight in Mazu Square Chinatown last night at around 11:38 PM. According to reports a shoot out between the Joker and Batman is to blame.

SRD operatives were already at the scene when police officers arrived and gave eye witness accounts of what transpired. What started out as arson on behalf of the Joker and his 'gang' turned in to an all out turf-war between them and the Batman. As you can see from the footage Mazu Square looks like a warzone, several restaurants in the plaza are nothing but ruin, there is a reported causality and thirteen injuries to go along with the incident. The fires that followed were only just put out three hours ago. Behind me you can see some of the damages and the firecrews very carefully zoning the area off. They're fearful that there could be more explosives that were not detonated.

This was quite the "tussle" and with the return of the Bat and his alleged arch-enemy the Joker is this the sort of activity we have to be concerned about? Military grade weaponry was at use here and just two blocks away you'll find the residential district of Xining.

I myself as a resident of Gotham am truly afraid but isn't that what characters like the Joker want from us? Fear, terror and to question our security? Bravo villainy, you're succeeding where this reporter is concerned, bravo.

This is Becky Narita with the Gotham Globe wishing you a safe and wonderful evening.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License