2012-10-31 You Reap What You Sow

Gotham City is not a pleasant place. Crime boils underneath the surface, lunatics and criminals seem almost drawn to the location, and when here, find somewhere all too eager to embrace them. Yet, there are those who seek to clean up these dark streets. Even on All Hallow&apos;s Eve, when the moon hangs deep in the sky and the darkness swaddles every corner like a blanket. One might think that tonight, of all nights, the threats on Gotham&apos;s streets would take on a more supernatural air.

But what shatters the silence in the warehouse district is not the moan of a monster or the wailing of a spirit. It is far more mundane. Sudden, violent, and loud.

The warehouse isn&apos;t large; perhaps five hundred square feet. As these things go, relatively small. One of a lot, anonymous and unremarkable, excepting the fact that the large warehouse door at the front has just been slammed into by a pickup truck. The truck itself seems stable, sturdy compared to the flimsy sheet metal that it has just torn through, but now there is rising panic in the air as the two on-duty security guards find themselves facing down an armed gang.

What of the warehouse? Well, it is surprisingly well lit; the windows have been tinted black so that from the outside, it seems as though there is no light at all. But inside, bright flourescent lights banish most of the shadows. There are also stacks upon stacks of pallets with various products; canned goods mostly. Canned coffee, canned beans, canned tuna fish, which all combine to make this place a veritable maze of preserved foodstuffs.

And it is a gang. Thirteen men in all, two in the cab of the truck, eight in the back of the pickup, and three covering the back door. They are of varying sizes and builds, but all of them are wearing ski masks, and all of them are well armed; most with handguns, though one man in each team has a crowbar rather than a gun. There is one exception to this general rule.

A true behemoth of a man takes up much of the back of the truck. He is not armed, and he is not wearing a mask. He stands at just below eight feet tall, built like a tank and so sturdy that the impact with the building doesn&apos;t seem to have fazed him in the slightest. It is this man who alone remains silent and apparently calm in the ensuing chaos.

The noise is deafening as the gang storms the warehouse; the guards overwhelmed and panicked. They shout at each other, at the guards, and for the general joy of shouting. Slogans such as &apos;Free the planet!&apos; &apos;Tear down the man!&apos; and &apos;For her love!&apos; are all common... but there&apos;s a certain purpose to their movements which belies this mad frenzy of sudden chaos.

They are all trying to reach the center of the warehouse.

Hang around trouble long enough, cause enough of it on your own, and you learn to recognize the signs of when more of it is inbound. That truck the thugs arrived in came from somewhere, covering that distance on public roadways. Roadways that are also shared by many other people, including a certain black and white mercenary woman who is, on all counts, having a really lousy week.

When the truck crashes through and starts disgorging armed baddies there&apos;s one more vehicle that makes the turn and starts closing the distance, slowly and steadily at first. All of that changes with the sudden thundering of a large, supercharged engine winding up for the pitch, screaming like a mechanical banshee as the headlights flick to life an instant before the driver aims to ram right through the growing nest of thugs. Maybe Domino will get one, maybe two or three. At the very least, she&apos;s counting on getting their attention. Never bring a crowbar to a demolition derby.

Through the gates, past the guards, beyond the doors and dangerously close to the back end of that truck the black Jaguar sails, suddenly pitching forward then almost gracefully sliding sideways between two rows covered in canned goods. When it finally rocks to a halt the lone occupant is out of her seat and rolling out to the warehouse floor, keeping low and using her own vehicle for cover. There&apos;s a good amount of distance between her and the bad guys, but she&apos;s always been a good shot. That&apos;s the part that matters!

Experience with Halloween night tells some in the city that while supernatural forces may favor the infamous holiday in some respects, it&apos;s the petty crime that takes a flying leap every year. Vandalism, robbery, roving gangs high on celebratory narcotics and candy corns; at one time it approached anarchy. Now, the new impunity with which criminal organizations could move and operate in the city has been decidedly curtailed-- Devil&apos;s Night and its dreadful impact lessened.

It&apos;s no longer an excuse for rampant, citywide hits and destruction; but it&apos;s still a night for plenty of tricks. Not so different from any other in Gotham, save perhaps the prevelance of the innocent about in the earlier hours of the evening, and the increased fashionability of masks and costumes. The transition of Gotham&apos;s City&apos;s kingpins from ruling class has been a slow and often subtle one, terrorized by a ghost most have never even gotten a good look at.

The Dark Knight&apos;s team is carefully monitoring the city tonight, by street and sky and satellite-- this won&apos;t be the first armed breakin the Bat has responded to, tonight. He descends from somewhere on high, his transport well hidden in the clouds above, the Caped Crusader&apos;s form little more than a shadow itself as he lands amidst a flourish of bat-winged cape, scanning first the movement below in thermal images rendered by the advanced technology in his cowl, and then cutting back to the flow of electricity through the warehouse&apos;s systems.

The abrupt penetration of the metal door to the loading dock is impressive in its own right, but the weak point on these structures? Almost always the ceiling. Constructs of sheeting and plaster supported mostly by the skeletal framework of still crisscrossing within-- so it is that Batman&apos;s arrival is not announced, so much as suggested. An armored fist crushes a precise point in that rooftop, and wiring is unceremoniously ripped out with little fanfare, tossed aside on the roof.

Within the warehouse, the power abruptly stops flowing; those fluourescents ominously wink out.

Rife with gang warfare and shady deals by well-organized criminals, it&apos;s hardly rare for Gotham to attract this kind of trouble; there are reasons it has such a stalwart protector as the Bat, a man who in turn commands a loyal following of likeminded souls. Darkness may reign, but it can never truly be at ease. It&apos;s through this nervous underbelly that Psylocke has cut a swathe in recent weeks, her visits to Gotham increasingly dangerous as she follows a long and convoluted trail of weapon shipments - on the surface this is hardly Halloweeny either, but business is business. And crime never sleeps. Even, apparently, when all it has to be awake for...

Is tinned food.

The Violet Butterfly is nearby when the first explosive noises reach her ears. In fact, she&apos;s dangerously close, the preceding flash of activity registered on her telepathic signals causing her to redirect her step. Clad in relatively mundane street attire; black jeans, boots, and a gray-and-black lycra sports top beneath a shiny new leather jacket, she looks suited for the area not far flung from the docks, where goths and bikers make their hangout amidst some of the city&apos;s seedier bars and clubs. Her sleek purple hair, tumbling past her shoulders, just makes the image complete. Though the younger woman walking next to her might confuse things...

Which is precisely why she&apos;s glad to have Jubilation Lee along. Though not immediately cluing her fellow X-Woman in (at least directly), the mysterious kunoichi gives all the usual signals of trouble brewing, her manner intensifying from the loose, relaxed mood she&apos;s been in since they got off their business for the day. Her step quickens too, not more than a few seconds before gunfire lights the night. "Oh dear," she murmurs to the girl beside her, flashing a faux-coy grin as the sound of an engine approaches them, beginning to accelerate.

Domino&apos;s Jaguar.

"Jynn won&apos;t be pleased to have miss this. Impromptu training session?"

The last offer is made with cheerful vigour, as the telepath starts to flick out her wrists. Tires howl through the charged air, and her pulse quickens, the increase of her walking pace concurrent, until suddenly she&apos;s breaking away at a sprint. She trusts Jubilee to get out of the vehicle&apos;s charging path, but she&apos;s got other ideas; using her powerful legs to come as close to matching speed with it as she can, caught in the slipstream-- as she /leaps/ and clamps down on the car&apos;s rearend, purple hair streaming behind her.


 * ”Don&apos;t rush in.”| She transmits to Jubilee. |”Be smart. Be stealthy.”|

You know, like she totally isn&apos;t as she hits the ground inside the warehouse and rolls to one side, adrenaline already bursting through her veins as she inserts herself directly into the midst of an unknown enemy.

As much as Jubilation Lee loves Halloween, she enjoys palling with her older friends a lot more. Psylocke is not only one of the few X-Men who&apos;s cool enough not to pretend she&apos;s too young for things, but has been cool enough to bring her along on something official, important, potentially dangerous. And that&apos;s her kind of Halloween Night.

Still, it does mean fitting in, so Jubes parrots the taller woman&apos;s look to a degree: Black flared jeans and a leather jacket and boots. Still, beneath the jacket is a sleeveless black top, and she&apos;s wound a dark red sash around her waist in subconscious imitation of Betsy. She&apos;s also still wearing her signature wheel earrings and red shades, so the outfit has zero disguise potential.

And then, Stuff Happens. "Those sounded like shots..." she says, completely unnecessarily, just so Psylocke knows she&apos;s paying attention. After all, the woman next to her can&apos;t read her mind. And seems to have noticed the shots.

And something else: A speeding car racing right down on them! "Training squared, Bets!" Jubes calls, already dashing for the side of the alley.

And just like that, Psylocke is on the back of that car and being carried straight into the middle of the noisy mess in that warehouse. "Fudgesicles... at least she ought to be easy to follow. Impromptu training is right!" Doing her best to be smart and stealthy, she gets out of the glare of the dim alley lights and hurries for the warehouse. Which mysteriously now has no lights. At least everybody inside ought to be too blind from the glare and making too much noise to notice her!

Having come back into town to help back with the rec center and to check on his apartment, Jynn decided that tonight he would be going out on the town. It happened last year the gangs tried to raid halloween parties and such, and well now that he&apos;s gotten a bit more experience, he was looking for something bigger. Dressed in a pair of baggy black pants, what is of the old kung fu style, a black sash that is tied and cynched at the waist and drops down along his leg, he has on a red t-shirt with a Ryu Hyabusa like black gi over it. Well his sensei is a ninja, might as well play the part right?

Moving down into the warehouse district, he hears the explosion go off. Stopping where he was, he looks up in the sky to see if he can catch the hint of smoke which he does and begins following it along with the sounds of possible crackling from the fire.

The darkness in the warehouse does slow the onslaught somewhat; as does the sudden arrival of car. Two men are hit, and they go down hard. Merely mortal, they groan and twist, which, probably means that they are, at least, likely to get up again.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, we&apos;re going to die, we&apos;re going to die, and me, just a week away from retirement." Babbles one guard to the other. Who responds, "John. You&apos;re thirty years old. Shut the hell up and get on the phone to the damn cops already!"

The would-be looters are about as composed as one might expect. Interestingly, they don&apos;t seem to immediately care that another car has crashed into them. It takes a moment for the realization to hit that this isn&apos;t just another set of enthusiastic allies, and then four of the gang take cover behind their own car in the gloom of the warehouse. As it is so very dark, their wild fire is just that; the bark of angry and desperate people which signifies nothing. Except, perhaps, the wisdom of keeping one&apos;s head down. "Back off!" One of them shouts, "This ain&apos;t no time fer sharin&apos;! We&apos;re taking this prize back all to ourselves!"

The large man doesn&apos;t seem slowed by the darkness in the least. Then again, he also doesn&apos;t seem slowed by things like &apos;incredibly heavy pallets of goods&apos;, as he takes the simplest and most direct route to his destination. Walking with a steady, measured pace, he smashes his way through the obstacles, which sends tins scattering and providing even more in the way of chaos, as the thieves find themselves with yet more things which can trip them up alongside the darkness and the confusion.

The three entering from the back seem to have things going pretty much their way, though. A streetlight outside means they can see roughly what they are doing, and they seem to have marginally more coordination than the mad rush. One whispering to the others, "Keep an eye on your back. I don&apos;t think we&apos;re alone out here."

..Did someone just ride in on the back of Domino&apos;s car..? Eh, no time to fret over that. She&apos;s about to line up the first target in the sights of her pistol when the whole warehouse plunges into darkness. In an instant all she&apos;s able to see are the shelves beside her from the car&apos;s lights. "Aw, -come- on..!"

Of course, she thinks that the bad guys killed the lights. Who else would have done such a thing? Some masked vigilante that dresses up like some sort of animal? Hah! Yeah, right. Dom&apos;s retaliation barely gathers momentum before she has to stop, popping open the glovebox and fishing out a flare gun that she keeps there just for moments like this one, and the occasional oil tanker that seems like it could be doing her more good when exploding into a fifty mile an hour fireball.

"Let there be light." There&apos;s a hefty *Whump!* as the large barreled pistol leaps backward in her hand, lobbing a bright crimson ball of fire across the warehouse toward the parked truck. It&apos;s not likely to hurt anyone, but it will let those without nightvision cowls have some idea of what the heck they&apos;re trying to attack!

As long as Dom&apos;s still by her car she pulls the short barreled shotgun out from beneath the rear bumper, too. Buckshot against a crowd will probably work more favorabily than pistol rounds designed to kill the moment they strike. Let&apos;s go for the wound factor tonight.

Normally a rooftop isn&apos;t the best vantage point to scout out happenings /inside/ a structure, but the Bat&apos;s equipment is hardly standard issue, either. Scanning along multiple wavelengths and filters, similarly unfettered by the presence of the ceiling-- much less the darkness beyond. The two vehicles are his initial interest; getaway cars. At least, that&apos;s the obvious conclusion, even if the inhabitant of the one seems to be shooting at the initial assault from the /other/. It&apos;s not a time to take chances. The pellets that leap from utility belt to hand almost of their own accord are innocuous enough; smallish, matte black, cylindrical.

What happens when one is dropped above the pickup&apos;s hood, and the other above the Jaguar&apos;s, however? Decidedly more dramatic. There&apos;s light that dwarfs Domino&apos;s flare, for just a moment at least, as concentrated thermite charges erupt with an internal chemical reaction that sets something akin to superheated lava dripping through-- and then down from the warehouse ceiling in silvery droplets. When they touch either vehicle, they don&apos;t stop. The exterior is like so much butter, and the engine blocks? Those are only going to slow the thermite payload down so much. At the end of the night, one could expect a fair little hole -under- each, where the unassuming little devices finally burn out their mojo.

"Stay near the perimeter, keep your heads down, don&apos;t make a sound." It crackles over the guards&apos; radios, as if the Dark Knight had one of his own. Instead of throwing himself into the fray directly, the rooftop stalker moves silently towards the back, and drops another small, black pellet off the edge. A flick of his wrist sets the bounce to carry it inside the door, amidst the backdoor breaching brigade, where it erupts with a quiet hiss into colorless, odorless gas-- one&apos;s average thug or thief is unlikely to even realize it&apos;s happened.

Anyone who comes in contact with said cloud, however? Lights /up/ on the Batman&apos;s cowl-concealed HUD, and to tracking systems Gothamwide-- and then some.

&apos;Darkness, darkness, be my blanket. Cover me with this endless night.&apos;

Inwardly deadpanning the lyrics, Betsy rolls smoothly to her feet in the sudden pitch. It&apos;s a jarring occurence to any creature without the gift of nocturnal vision; though she has the rather useful advantage of not requiring her regrettably normal eyesight to see. It takes a momentary focus to power up her third eye, during which she slips along the evenly-corrugated length of a stacked pallet, wondering as she does what exactly these thugs want that&apos;s in /tins/. It doesn&apos;t take much of a leap to assume this operation is a cover.

But right now, she doesn&apos;t care. As she adjusts to a purely telepathic gaze, the sketching of neural pathways and thought echoes leaving a detailed wireframe map that&apos;s as much sensory as it is visual. It&apos;s actually less limiting than normal sight-- she doesn&apos;t need to cling to the same tired angles, though this does mean extrapolating a great deal more data.

It also doesn&apos;t particuarly help when it comes to bullets.

A few streaks of hot lead pound into the tins a few feet to her right, throwing a puff of something edible and probably rather sticky into the gloom. Psylocke blocks out the distraction, continuing to step along the rows and rows of tinned goods - taking her further from the wildest of the firing - and reaching out to briefly get a handle on the eclectic scattering of minds. With well over a dozen to work through she&apos;s dealing in swiftly-gleaned vagaries, but she&apos;s got a reasonable map of the premises and at least an idea of numbers. She makes the generally safe assumption that anyone huddling together is probably a crook, as is anyone panicking and shooting at individuals. Domino&apos;s exuberantly chaotic self seems... familiar.

Less so the more focused, angry chaos of the presumed source of all that other noise.

"I&apos;m inside, and it&apos;s hot. Head round the back. Three, together. Go quiet and they&apos;ll never hear until you&apos;re on top of them. Hit and run, Miss Lee. If you&apos;re in trouble..." Suddenly there&apos;s an exploding car. It&apos;s so surprising, in a situation like this, that it doesn&apos;t come even close to stoppung the fondly teasing note as Psylocke continues, pushing herself from the stack of tins behind. "You don&apos;t need to shout for me to hear you. Remember what happened last time?"

Her role as coordinator and instructor done for the moment, Betsy heads from organized calm to disorganized crime as she takes off with a high, flipping leap, arms briefly thrust out in cruciform to send her into a slow forward roll. This brings her feet into contact with the top of a towering stack of tins, which wobbles and begins to give way... entirely unprovoked by the kunoichi&apos;s expert rebound. "Excuse me!" She calls to the titanic brute below--

Approximately half a second before she falls through her second and third consecutive flips, lithe body gaining a ridiculous amount of momentum as it plummets toward the eight-foot behemoth. It&apos;s her feet that lead the way on the end of that third spin, both punky boots coming down with crushing force upon the collarbone to either side of his too-small head. There are millions of men who&apos;d be dropped like a sack of potatoes at this precise instant; but she&apos;d be most disappointed were this that easy. She came for a workout.

"Care to show a girl a good time, /big boy/--?!"

A harsh smile twisting her lips, she means to use the moment of contact to sink her weight and carry out a fourth flip, backwards this time, in a more genuine attempt to stagger him while she lands with acrobatic grace to his gargantuan fore.

Habit. Jubilee&apos;s no telepath, and getting used to Psylocke talking in her mind has been a difficult trick. She still can&apos;t quite grasp why the ninja-&apos;path can do that when she can&apos;t read her mind. But for the moment she follows the advice, hurrying for the back of the warehouse, grateful for the padding on her bootsoles that muffles her steps. It sounds like there&apos;s no time to waste. She winces at the sound of an explosion inside the warehouse that lights the filthy windows with a red-orange glare.


 * ”Whoa! Watch out, Bets! Somebody&apos;s got explosives!”| She&apos;s coming up on the back door now, which is easily visible thanks to the light from the burning truck. |”And last time? /Totally/ not my fault. It&apos;s not like you explained this whole mind-to-mind thing to me,”| she replies, a little defensively. The fighting, the acrobatics, the detective work, those come easily. Simple telepathic tricks are hard! |”Coming up on the back door now. This is gonna be fun!”|

And she is indeed by the back door by now, careful to only peek around the edge of it, looking for moving shadows against the light of the flames. It&apos;s trickier than Psylocke makes it look. But she&apos;s got their number in moments, slipping easily inside and behind a convenient cargo pallet. "Hi, boys! Wanna dance?" she calls cheerfully as she steps out, spraying a shotgun-burst of brilliant plasmoids at the bunched trio, then ducking behind another pallet. Hopefully she can knock them down and blind them at the same time!

Having made it to the warehouse and now scanning the area, he could hear screams from inside as there is something deffienently going down tonight. He frowns, it never stops, it never ends, his hands clenches into fists. He knows he can&apos;t go in there running, checking the windows from where he is, he sees that it&apos;s dark inside, but there is fire so there is possibly flickering light. Gunshots as well, so taking out one of his semi-automatic pistols, he slowly creeps towards the back door which he finds slightly ajar.

Part of him wants to rush in, but another part tells him that he&apos;s gotten his ass beat the last few times he&apos;s did that. Granted taht was only a few years ago, but he wanted to air on the side of caution. Moving close to the wall then slowly creeping up the steps. But as he does so, an asian girl moves up the steps and enters inside the room. Seeing the flickering of lights from her attack, Jynn moves in and because of the light show, he sees antoher man taking perfect aim on Jubilee, Jynn rolls in then falls to his stomach as he fires two shots right into the mans chest. Catching him off guard, rolling again as he gets to his feet, Jynn looks over to Jubes, "Dont&apos; announce yourself next time." he tells her as he quickly draws his second gun. The man on teh ground is breathing, but is hurt, there is no bullet holes in him due to the nature of Jynns guns, which uses gel pellets which hits very hard and does enough blunt damage but doesn&apos;t peirce teh skin. Looking around the area tehy are in, Jynn doesn&apos;t see anyone else. He puts away his guns and takes out plastic ties, and begins to quickly tie up the three men then bind them to a metal railing before moving on to look for others.

There are a lot of superheroes in this pot, and the broth? Well, it isn&apos;t so much ruined, yet, but it is certainly foaming in an alarming fashion...

Batman&apos;s plan works perfectly, knocking out both immediate means of transportation and causing the nearer thugs to let out startled yelps. For the most part, these are not hardened soldiers or mercenaries; they aren&apos;t used to the loud bangs and brilliant flares which are sometimes part of an urban combat environment.

They also very aren&apos;t ready for the lights to come back on. All of this probably combines to help more than anything else in keeping the volume of fire directed at the interlopers down. It certainly helps to keep the two guards - who really are just rent-a-cops and aren&apos;t paid enough for this - motivated to obey the mysterious and gravely voice which interrupts their radio signals.

Jubilee and Jynn take the back, and Jubilee&apos;s entrance startles the trio. They, however, are more professional, and one of them was covering the other two- gun raised up high. The &apos;leader&apos; who spoke dives forwards, out of the path of the orbs, he breaks into a sprint off to the left, almost as though he&apos;d been expecting it. The back of the other turns around quickly, and raises his gun... he&apos;s a little shaky, though, those plasma orbs had burst against his back and shoulder, wrecking his coat and taking a toll on the bullet proof vest beneath.

The man who&apos;d been guarding the pair has just enough time to sight Jubilee before his aim is knocked wild by Jynn&apos;s gunfire, and he hits the ground hard. Broken ribs, probably, even through the vest, but he&apos;s still... trying... to get... up!

Psylocke, though, gets halfway through her dive when she realizes something is very wrong. There are a lot of minds here; twelve thugs, two guards, Batman, Jynn, Jubilee, Domino...

But not the man she&apos;s diving at.

The behemoth does not even try to defend itself when the blow comes. Both feet smash in deep, and its head crunches down into its neck with a sickening crunch, like the sound of celery stalks breaking. Juicy. And both hands come up to the side of its head.

The return blow does not make it move an inch, and when its hands wrench upwards, the &apos;skin&apos; of its face has torn apart, revealing dark green underneath down the left hand side. Its eyes are two glimmering pools of darkness. Slowly, lips peel backwards, and reveal not teeth, but row after row of vicious, curved thorns, dripping with venemous fluid.

~Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~

..Wait a second. That smell... Domino&apos;s smelled this before. Kinda smells like...

Thermite.

The space in front of Domino suddenly glows a brilliant orange as melted slag from the ceiling pours down onto the pristine black paint, almost immediately followed by the flaring hellfire of that charge as it falls into place and torches a person-sized hole clean into, then through, the engine block.

In an instant Domino leaps backward and hits the ground on her backside, staring at first then quickly pinching her eyes shut and looking away at the blinding nature of that chemical reaction taking place. "What the -Fuck?!- Aw, god -Damnit,- that&apos;s just not right!"

Y&apos;know what, to hell with those thugs! The trunk still works, barely. ..The lights to the warehouse, as well. Huh. Dom pops the trunk open and all but throws the shotgun into the back, her face set in grim determination as she shoves some of her possessions aside to uncover tonight&apos;s upgraded weapon of choice. "Better hope you&apos;ve got half my luck, you sonuvabitch," she says with conviction while pulling out a rocket launcher and hefting it onto her shoulder. Whatever trashed her car also got the truck that the baddies rode in on, which means the source of those grenades is on the move. All she has to do..is find the source. Then, she&apos;s going to light this place up like the freaking Fourth of July. This girl&apos;s not playing around anymore!

&apos;All she has to do is find the source.&apos; It&apos;s a mantra that works for pretty much anyone who wants to take a piece out of the Bat-- it&apos;s just so, so, so much simpler to say than it is to /achieve/. Case in point, the Dark Knight isn&apos;t even noticed by the duo that rush into the back to engage the armed thugs, his trackers pinging back the location of the bolting safecracking leader as surely as the occupied pair below.

The Bat is off the rooftop a moment later, dropping down and using the top of the doorframe as a makeshift trapeze, both feet leading into the staggering, blinded thug that had the misfortune of facing Jubilee when those burning bursts paffed off in his face. It&apos;s not quite equal to the misfortune of both of the Dark Knight&apos;s booted feet, and his precisely aligned momentum, crashing squarely into one, though-- the goon all but launched away from his point of entry, into one of the still-standing shelves; or at least it was, before with a loud creak and clatter it crashes to the ground, bearing its payload and the mook groundward.

There&apos;s just enough time taken as he lands to /stomp/ the rising fellow, cracking another rib and likely robbing the breath he was gathering, before the Caped Crusader abruptly all but disappears again, firing a high velocity grapnel line into the shadows now cast in wild, flickering shapes across the warehouse ceiling. Abruptly launched skyward, Batman is as much one of those shadows as a part of them, as he takes the high road to pursue the bolting &apos;brains&apos; of the outfit.

It&apos;s not just reading Jubilee&apos;s mind that&apos;s next to impossible, but everything that involves her telepathy. Even finding the spunky mallrat&apos;s location; a feat that&apos;s simple even with others of similar gifts to Betsy herself, so long as they&apos;re not making a special effort to prevent it. Relying a great deal on pure power and instinct, the violet-eye telepath hasn&apos;t given an explanation because she... doesn&apos;t really have one, though they can at least communicate provided she&apos;s already aware the girl is nearby and receptive. She just doesn&apos;t question that part. Trying to understand the mind of Jubilation Lee is like trying to understand algebra.

Right now, Psylocke has bigger problems than algebra. Much, much bigger problems.

That first clue throws off her quip, giving it a wildly alert edge as she rebouds nonetheless, but as much in confusion than through mad ninja planning alone. There&apos;s that dawning sense of very human precognition that something is about to go very wrong indeed, and it quite ruins the intended perfection of her landing. Her feet should touch simultaneously, but one knocks against a can, slipping out from under the kunoichi and forcing her to convert to a three-point landing, an outflung palm replacing the trailing leg before it can set own an instant later.

Meanwhile her third eye is busy observing from a point a couple of feet above her head, a vaguely ethereal sketching of violet butterfly wings visible in the spooky light of Domino&apos;s flare. What was a distinctly un-Halloweeny night off the beaten track of costumed kooks... suddenly becomes quite horrifying appropriate, as the telepath watches the unveiling of a dripping maw, missing in her very first impression that this foe isn&apos;t exactly meaty, beaty, big and bouncy. It&apos;s a planty, thorny, creepy-crawly quite unlike anything she&apos;s ninja&apos;d before.

Tentatively, and for no apparent reason, Betsy sniffs the air.

"Ugh," she says on the outbreath as she pushes herself upright and begins to retreat backward, one well-judged step at a time, through the troublesome littering of tins and the lingering risk of flying shrapnel. "You smell like my last diet." Her voice is even and even a little cold, not matching the smile that remains on her lips. This is nightmarish, sure, but it&apos;s answered her need for a physical challenge. "Would it have killed them to send a steak monster?"

She doesn&apos;t make any attempt to attack-- actually quite the opposite, she /wants/ to be attacked, ensuring she doesn&apos;t retreat quicker than the celeriac behemoth can keep up with her. She&apos;s throwing all her considerable agility and mental focus into dodging whatever comes her way, keeping a bird&apos;s eye with her telepathic vision as she attempts to draw it into the fray unfolding behind. With bullets, exploding cars and gods know what else...

Surely it&apos;s only going to take a few moments before grilled vegetables are on the menu.

Jubilee blinks at the suddenly-arrived gunman, who has a familiar voice and at least /seems/ to have her continued survival in mind. "Dude! I had &apos;em!" she protests, wincing, leaning around the edge of the pallet of goods for another blast. That&apos;s all she has time for before /something/ big and black /swoops/ through the back door she&apos;d passed through seconds before, smashing into the man she&apos;d managed to blind (stupid plasmoids never work as well as she wants them to)! The man does a Three Stooges backfall into the bottom of a shelf, which quickly repays his discourtesy by smashing down on top of him. The dark, man-shaped form lands on top of the resulting tangle, thumps a foot down, then lifts an arm and simply /vanishes/! But she&apos;d had just enough time to catch sight of a distinctive silhouette, one that looks very...

Batlike!

"Holy fudge... he&apos;s real!" Jubilation Lee whispers, staring up into the shadowy rafters. "The Batman&apos;s /real/! And I saw him!" And a young heroine rediscovers how to be amazed.

Trouble is, she&apos;s still got a job to do. One goon under a shelf. One down under gunfire, but trying to get up. But there were three! Almost offhandedly, she steps over and gives him a good stomp on the chest, unconsciously imitating the Batman, and leaves him in a gasping, breathless heap. Strange... seems like he was wearing some kind of protection, but flexible armor is all but useless against brute blunt trauma. Then she puts her back to another pallet, doing her best to blend with its lumpy, dusty shape. "There&apos;s one more guy..." she calls, pitching her voice carefully, peeking around the edge of her cover. "Do you see him?"

Oh, right. |”Bets! One of the three got away, and I can&apos;t see him. It looks like these guys are armored, too. I don&apos;t think they&apos;re with the door crashers. Can you tell me what direction to look in?”| Time for a little actual teamwork!

Yes, Jynn remembers Jubes and actually enjoyed their talk but right now there is no time for idle chit-chat. Especially when his mind is in battle mode. Looking up and hearing the sounds of stomping, he looks in the direction of where Batman has pretty much soundly stomped the leader into the ground and keeps moving. A brow raises slightly, "Damn he is." is all he says as he turns around towards the gunmen he shot who also is now stomped into a few times by Jubilee. He gives a small smirk before he moves to one of the palets.

Looking through the smoke, Jynn sees the third guy. "Cover me." he calls to Jubes but keeping his voice low so that she only hears him. He stands up and runs past Jubilee, leaping up on the railing and running on it as if he&apos;s running on cement. He flips off the railing, to land rolling along the ground getting up and keeping up his speed. Jynn has to admit parkour has it&apos;s uses in a fight after all. Keeping up with the man, and moving so as to not let the guy see him as he starts to close in on him, hoping to over take him here quickly.

Sometimes, you should be careful what you wish for.

The plant monster raises both arms above its head, and with an utterly inhuman roar, brings them both down, hard, where Psylocke was a moment ago. The howling scream has nothing animal or human in it; it is a cry born of a throat which was never meant to utter sound. It is a bellow which alone brings dust down from the ceiling, the noise of nature enraged beyond reason, forced into /action/.

And it shatters the floor to dust.

A thin layer of concrete over wood, that&apos;s all that supports this building; the warehouse floor having been largely hollowed out. And it is cold down there, jets of steam from ruptured systems pour upwards, but what is most worrying is that the floor was built by the lowest bidder, and now those cracks are spreading out throughout the entire warehouse, the weight shifting and buckling in an alarming fashion.

There&apos;s about a three foot drop before the reason for this hidden area becomes known. There are barrels down there; large ones and small ones. But they all share some things in common. They are all marked with two symbols. The first, a large skull and crossbones. The second declaring the chemical composition: Dichlorophenoxyacetic acid, and trichlorophenoxyacetic acid. All of the containers are a lurid orange in color.

For those readers who are not chemists: This is Agent Orange. The most infamous herbicide ever produced. Whose production has been banned since the 1970s.

And there&apos;s enough here to wipe out a good chunk of the plant life in the state.

Needless to say, the ground moving sends things into disarray. The thugs are now trying to take aim at the /crazy woman with the rocket launcher/ above all other targets, and whilst bullets are sent her way, there&apos;s little chance they&apos;ll get close with the earth shaking. The ones who aren&apos;t armed with guns, though, are busily trying to reach down into the uncovered and unexpected store, to grab and manhandle one of the larger canisters. "Just get one and run!" One of them squeaks, "She&apos;ll, she&apos;ll understand we couldn&apos;t get it /all/."

The two thugs that Batman took a personal interest in are roundly put down for the count between himself and Jubilee, but the ringleader is still running from Jynn when the world lurches violently to the left. He, looks momentarily startled, but when he sees what is happening, he takes a dive behind a stack of wobbling pallets, and shouts.

"Back OFF kids, I don&apos;t want ta hurt ya, but this AIN&apos;T gonna end well for ANY of us if we don&apos;t hurry up an&apos; shift OUT Of here!"

Given the jets of steam now sprouting from ruptured containment systems and an increasingly audible whine from overworked power systems, he might just have a point.

And the plant monster? Well, /it/ isn&apos;t being dissuaded by the world starting to fall apart. Psylocke has attacked it. Instinct says to devour anything that gets in its way.

&apos;There&apos;s one more guy!&apos; "Yeah..." Domino mutters under her breath as a malicious grin starts to take shape. "There is." Kicking butt and grappeling to the rafters all takes time. Between the sounds of combat and Jubilee calling out in surprise, Dom knows what part of the warehouse to pan the launcher&apos;s sights across. There--there it is! A flicker of the shadows, a mysterious object sailing upward on a thin cable...

"Gotcha."

The Jaguar&apos;s trunk gets scorched from the sudden backlash of a rocket as it screams out of the hollow metal tube perched upon Dom&apos;s shoulder, the warhead virtually teleporting itself from the launcher across the warehouse to the rafters right near Batman&apos;s location. The resulting explosion sends tinned goods flying -everywhere,- likely toppling some of the shelves and causing plenty of damage to that part of the warehouse as a whole. It&apos;s not pretty for anyone other than the woman who pulled the trigger, sneering as she lowers the spent weapon then tosses it back into the trunk. She never did find extra rockets for it. Probably for the best, the warehouse might not survive another! Case in point, the ground is shaking and buckling, and it isn&apos;t from her doing this time!

She takes the moment of chaos and confusion to grab another gun in either hand then set off in a dead run for cover. If she didn&apos;t get this guy (and there&apos;s a distinct chance that he&apos;s still alive and kicking somewhere out there,) then she needs to make herself a much more difficult target. Batman may have taken down a lot of foes in his day, but Dom&apos;s born and bred with some serious training, and even more outlandish good luck. Such as when she&apos;s running for cover and slips on a tin of preserves, sliding across the concrete and stopping -just- shy of falling into a fissure leading into the chemical-laiden lower level. It&apos;s..going to be an interesting night.

The Dark Knight had already theorized that -something- was hidden in climate-controlled conditions under the warehouse, but before his own people can turn up the appropriate records-- or lack thereof-- Captain Celery has crushed his way into near-catastrophe. Batman has just enough time to land amidst the crisscrossing girders supporting the warehouse&apos;s ceiling before the backdraft of the rocket widens previously narrowing eyeslits. The Bat works on instinct, reflexes honed beyond what the human eye should allow, and in those first instants he simply shoves off the ceiling, straight back groundwards.

His course oriented to land amidst the scattered rubble and fallen shelving, the sudden voluntary acceleration is nonetheless vastly augmented by the shockwave of the exploding rocket, bits of plaster, rock, and steel raining almost /everywhere/ in a widespread shower that&apos;s concentrated above the Bat. He lands hard on a knee and hand, covering his neck with cape and the other armored arm as debris rain down with bruising force-- it might break some bones if he weren&apos;t in the batsuit.

On a personal level, the Caped Crusader would certainly like to reprioritize to Domino; or perhaps the hulking, murderous plant-thing. Instead, he locks his suit&apos;s telemetric data in, even as she races from cover to cover, and releases a trio of bladed black batarangs skyward with an arming tap of a dimly glimmering control. Two of the magnetically guided, whirling buzzsaws crackle with electricity and pursue Domino with an eerie, whistling report.

The third shows no such electrifying aura, and instead locks in on the rocket launcher&apos;s new resting place, thudding dully into the back of the Jaguar before a sharp blast sends a spray of gun parts and car bits out the tortured transport&apos;s back end. For his part, Batman doesn&apos;t even try to immediately rejoin the fray-- he knocks his way through the floor with the reinforced spikes on his gauntlets, tearing away crumbling concrete, then wood, and finally slapping a gas mask over his face.

It locks into the cowl as the Dark Knight descends, his attention shifting to the failing stabilization systems. |"Get GCPD hazmat on full alert."| Oracle&apos;s probably already doing just that.

Unable to keep the full extent of her combative faculties and continue tracking every active mind around the warehouse - from her perspective this is like playing the lead guitar part of Guns N&apos; Roses &apos;Sweet Child o&apos; Mine&apos; while simultaneously dancing and singing in an amateur production of &apos;The Sound of Music&apos; - Psylocke is only distantly aware of those leaving, whether on their own two feet or the blackened wings of Gotham&apos;s darkest (k)night.

She&apos;s aware of Jubilee addressing her, however. |”I think you can assume the armoured ones are at least /men/.”| That enigmatic comment is left to hang as Betsy busies herself retreating in the wake of her too-earthly foe. |”I&apos;ve got two running, two down. Are you alone out there?”|

And then she&apos;s suddenly far MORE aware of the seething celerybeast destroying the floor very almost beneath her, as she steps into a sideward spin transitioning to a neat handspring that sees her outflung palm placed directly over one of the quickly-rupturing cracks in the fragile floor. Violet eyes widen despite the fact she&apos;s not exactly using them right now, and the kunoichi speeds her motion back onto powerful legs, landing hard enough to further splinter the fragmenting concrete shell. Breaking into a dash, she makes it past the raging monster&apos;s flank before once more leaving the ground, this time firing off a burst of telekinetic power to keep her levitated in the air for juuuust long enough to refocus that self-same energy...

Into a violent explosion of sheer, bloody-minded force aimed to solidly impact against the eight-foot mass of thorns and bad attitude. It&apos;s such a pronounced blast that Betsy lights up like a second flare in the warehouse depths, wings of electric fire scorching the air to either side as she unleashes the telekinetic equivalent of a wrecking ball.

Through absolutely no kind of coincidence whatsoever, if she can hit the monstrosity dead-centre, it&apos;s perfectly placed to send the thing plummeting toward the corner of the warehouse now filled with superheated tin shrapnel courtesy of Domino&apos;s explosive personality.

With her brief levitation over, Psylocke herself is sent shooting backwards in an aerial crouch, planting her palm a second time as she rushes over the rapidly-retreating floor toward the rear exit of the building. As she tries to control, her third eye gives her the full, troubling view of what&apos;s been unveiled beneath the warehouse. That... that makes things more complicated than she&apos;d bargained on. A chemistry degree she does not have. But as a former secret agent...


 * ”Don&apos;t fire toward the building, Jubilee! ...and don&apos;t breathe more than you have to.”|

Well, that should be a simple instruction to follow.

"Whoa..." Jubilee watches in amazement as Jynn runs off through the darkness, defying gravity as he chases after the third guy, who&apos;s pretty spry in his own right. That might be a long chase. "Dude, how do I hit /him/ and not /you/?" she calls after him. Jynn&apos;s right in her line of fire

Barely a second later, that doesn&apos;t matter. The ground&apos;s shaking! And not in a California &apos;quake kind of way, but the flexy, springy way of a wooden floor that&apos;s giving serious thought to collapsing. "Whoa! Jynn, get off the rails!" she calls after him, stumbling and catching hold of the pallet she&apos;d been using as a hiding place. Which is rocking and swaying, too. This is /soo/ not her night.

And it&apos;s getting worse. There&apos;s a sudden streak of fire, and /something/ explodes up in the rafters! A shower of canned goods barely misses the Chinese-American teen, mostly by virtue of her not being on the side of the pallet facing the explosion. But that rocket exploded around the same place she saw the Batman leave the ground... give or take a few feet and about fifty feet of altitude. Oh, fudge...


 * ”Bets, one of the runners is Jynn! He came in late. Do you sense the Batman anywhere, &apos;cuz he&apos;s here too?! Did that rocket get him?! I&apos;m totally not blasting at the building!”| She is, however, pulling her sash from around her waist and wrapping it firmly over her nose and mouth as she runs over the unsteady floor to catch up with Jynn. She pauses to throw a few blasts of plasmoid fireworks around where the third man took cover, to keep him honest as she ducks for cover herself. |”Do you need help? It sounds really bad over there!”|

The unfortunate plant-monster is hurled away with crushing force. This, alone, would not be enough to end it. Though the monster&apos;s chest is caved inwards, there&apos;s a brutal force behind it; an awareness which knows only that it is supposed to destroy. To slaughter these monstrous humans. But the shrapnel digs in deep, and when it hits the ground, it is with a wet, heavy slap. One last, pitiful groan and then it falls silent.

Somewhere, a pair of beautifully green eyes narrow, and darker lips press into a tight, thin line. A sultry voice murmurs, "Mmn. A /woman/ who can hold my attention..."

But the warehouse is full of so much more chaos. The one coherent thief was trying to make a snatching lunge for one of the smaller canisters; something which looks like it might have been designed to fit in a hand-held device. But Jubilee&apos;s shower of exploding orbs pop and spark, and make him draw his hand back with a hiss. He brandishes his crowbar in Jynn&apos;s general direction, but mostly, the ski-masked man sounds... upset? Frustrated?

"Stupid bloody kids!" He spits, angrily. "This whole damn place is going to fall down around our ears, and YOU still want to scrap! YOU&apos;RE RUINING EVERYTHING!"

Given the way the upper warehouse is now lurching along with the lower, this seems like a reasonable fear. Lumps of ceiling and shelving are tumbling down from above, and the thugs finally manage to pry one of the larger barrels out, hauling it up, they start manhandling it as a group towards the gaping hole that... used to be the main entrance.

And it seems like Oracle definitely does not disappoint; already the sound of sirens is ringing out. It&apos;ll be a few minutes before they manage to get here yet, but the cavalry are on the way.

If you don&apos;t look like a gang-banger or have the detonation of military grade ordinance to explain, anyway!

Aaand that would be the sound of Domino&apos;s -car exploding.- Lucky for her, she stored all of the really important pieces of gear in a safehouse after a recent run-in with a certain man displaced from his own timeline. The launcher..that will be missed, but it was a Vietnam-era souvenier that she ripped from the hands of anti-mutant protestors from this very city more than a month ago. What happens in Gotham stays in Gotham, apparently!

Also, whew. That was a little too close to the edge for her liking... Man, what -is- all of that stuff down there? Dom promptly rolls onto her front, hops up onto her hands and knees, and spies two tiny black things flying through the air. Toward her. They&apos;re actually -seeking her out,- darting around the corner and everything! Before she can give it much thought she tosses the shotgun up and catches it by the pistol grip, holding it at arm&apos;s length and firing off a blast of buckshot. One of the airborne devices explodes in a vapor of alloys and electronic scrap--"Pull!"--but one shot is all she can manage without having her other hand ready to rechamber it. As she twists about and tries to ready herself for round two, that remaining batarang sweeps around and comes at her from behind.

Domino can&apos;t luck out when she can&apos;t see it coming.

In a flash her world transforms into one of blinding, searing agony, contact made right between the shoulders. There&apos;s a sudden, reflexive "GNNGH!" forced out from her chest before she stumbles and skids across the floor, her legs taking on the consistency of wet noodles with the swiftness of one snapping their fingers. The armor cuts some of the jolt out, but until she can pull herself back together she&apos;s not going to be doing a whole lot of running or fighting!

Luckily, being tased and fighting for consciousness means that she isn&apos;t inhaling much of those fumes. Maybe the cops won&apos;t see her, either!

The Dark Knight frowns again once he lands amidst the crumbling rubble, the stockpile of barrels, and the (generously) cold war-era surplus gear (barely) running to contain it. With an efficient hand and no small shortage of help from the electromagnetic imaging in his cowl, Batman quickly shuts the machinery /off/-- as if he&apos;d actually been trained in its use. Frayed wires are effectively grounded out with a quick spray of gel, and the hissing climate control conduits depressurize and die off. At the least, it should stop the machinery itself from bringing the warehouse down around them.

Now, the battle raging above, and the structural damage to the warehouse frame? That&apos;s an entirely different matter. There&apos;s a groan somewhere between pain and frustration and deep, intent thought as the Dark Knight narrows his eyes upwards, scanning locations of said combatants... but also eyeing the heave and sway of the warehouse itself. Swiftly moving beneath the ragged hole he initially tore to descend, the Caped Crusader launches a second grapnel, this one straight upwards; despite the protests of his muscles, he follows it in almost that same instant.

Latching himself by a carabiner affixed to his belt to the swaying rooftop, the Dark Knight fires several more lines: one lashes truck to the wall, the other car to the truck, a third precisely leveraged in a central point and carefully looped around the adjacent girders as he braces and /tugs/, muscles tensing, flexing, straining to the breaking point-- and then beyond. Muscle tissue tears, bone creaks in protest, metal line grates on makeshift steel pulley; but the vehicles do move, lurching together and left, truck half falling into the ragged hole in the concrete as both settle into the crumbling mass atop the barrels- a notably softer impact than the falling debris from the soon-to-collapse superstructure may be.

"Get... everyone.... /CLEAR/." It&apos;s bellowed from said ceiling, actually reinforcing the opinion of the safecracker-- this time. For one thing, the Bat doesn&apos;t intend to leave him running free from the scene.

Ka, as they so succinctly say, boom.

By the time the car&apos;s detonation has added to the burninating chaos within, Psylocke is well on her way toward the back of the warehouse. Her initial slide doesn&apos;t give her that much momentum, but as the floor continues to buckle and shatter, she twists into a lithe-bodied roll and comes up sprinting, weaving in and out of falling barrels. A brief glance back over her shoulder takes in the scene, and the falling Domino. A frown creases Betsy&apos;s olivine brow. Every second she tarries is another breathing in deadly gases... likely a match even for mutant physiology.

Her frantic decision-making is cut short by a falling rain of overhead wires, sparking and hissing. Whirling about, she leaps like a cat, body stretching from toe to raised fingertip in a long, beautifully-toned line, and lands on the other side, unharmed.

Wait, what did Jubilee just say?


 * ”*Batman* is here?”| It&apos;s less starstruck and more astonished that she somehow missed the presence of the Dark Knight. They&apos;ve never crossed paths, but she&apos;s heard the legends and... perhaps arrogantly assumed herself a stealthy match. She&apos;ll be rather put out if he&apos;s seen her. Now crouched near the edge of the shaking building, she turns about again to scan the interior; at least near enough now she can escape at brief enough notice to risk it. |”Hold--”|

She finds that indistinct consciousness before a pair of keen, keen eyes lock onto her from below. The will at the other end compares to few others she&apos;s felt-- and she doesn&apos;t probe. Even with such indistinction it&apos;s emphatically clear exactly who this shrouded human is. The fact he /is/ human, and is down there and not in a blind panic? It would almost be enough by itself.


 * ”Never mind. He&apos;s alive. Don&apos;t need help, either...”|

Just need to be good. Damn good. Mind racing, the telepath cuts off that section of her powerset entirely - for the next few moments, Jubilee&apos;s thoughts won&apos;t be heard no matter how clearly they&apos;re offered, and she can&apos;t keep tabs on any movements in or out of the building. Throwing all her eggs in the basket labelled &apos;telekinesis&apos; and counting them - shut up it makes complete sense you guys - she breathes a long-suffering, "Bloody hell," and plunges back into the smouldering, quaking fray of the warehouse. A single beam provides her access most of the way in, now, and it&apos;s about to give way-- which is why she moves /fast/, a blur of violet fire as she fires on all cylinders. A leap turns into a twisting horizontal fall in due course, her path carrying her seemingly clear /through/ the downed, drooling form of Domino.

Until she emerges at the opposite side with the other woman draped across her shoulders.

"To hell with /getting clear/!" She yells up at the rafters, before plunging deep into her own psyche. There&apos;s a very palpable difference between telepathy and telekinesis, but they both crucially draw upon the mind of the user. Using the frustration and desperation she&apos;s feeling as a fulcrum, Psylocke further pushes the limits of her power to expel a violent wave of driving force not just forward-- not at a single target, but in a pair of broad crescent-shaped arcs to either side of her body. The only location she doesn&apos;t explicitly target is up, toward the Bat; all four walls, and the outer limits of the collapsing ceiling are suddenly subjected to a titanic explosion of mental energy. Violet wings spread once more...

And rise up enough to send a beacon signal to the arriving authorities. There&apos;s no disguising such an exertion of power from a telekinetic whose control amounts to being very good at aiming a sledgehammer. It&apos;s visually stunning, bright and virulent.

On every other level it&apos;s just sort of scary. It /is/ Halloween.

"Let&apos;s..." She finishes weakly, in the aftermath, struggling to remain conscious, "Clean up..."

"/We&apos;re/ ruining everything?! Dude, /you&apos;re/ the one breaking into a warehouse!" Jubilee fires back at the masked man, somewhat muffled by her makeshift breathing mask. Not the Batman; technically, his is a cowl, not that she&apos;d know. She didn&apos;t get /that/ good of a look! "What are you looking for in a warehouse full of canned tuna and green beans anyway? Is it stock-up night or something? Got plans for a /really/ big, bad casserole?" Jubilee is an ANGRY little firecracker tonight. Psylocke&apos;s in a fight for her life, Jynn&apos;s hurt, some nut is firing /rockets/ inside the warehouse, the floor&apos;s collapsing, more stuff is /exploding/ not too far away, and an urban legend that happens to be her personal hero might be dead. And, because of aforementioned makeshift breathing gear, her pants feel decidedly like they might fall down. Cookies and chocolate milk on the couch is /not/ going to fix her night! Not even in front of a good movie!

She fires a couple more bursts his way, scorching the edges of the pallet. Even that isn&apos;t coming close to dispelling her frustration. She does it one-handed; the other hand is latched onto her jeans, just in case. "You okay?" she calls to Jynn, carefully not using his name. Trouble is, she hasn&apos;t got anything else to call him. "I don&apos;t think this place is gonna hold together much longer... can we nab him and go?" She&apos;s flanking him to do just that.

...when she gets a message from Psylocke. |”Yes! He&apos;s here! And thank you!”| Well, that&apos;s two less worries. Five more to go! Having flanked the guy, she steps in as he takes aim at Jynn again, grabbing hold of his automatic weapon and snapping it up off-aim, then giving him a good knee in the groin and smacking him on the jaw with the buttstock of his own gun. He folds like a bad poker hand. "Yes!" Jubilee exults, letting the man fall and making a triumphant fistshake... and quickly lowering her hand again in a frantic grab as her new jeans start to slide. Good News: It&apos;s pretty dark in here. Bad News: White catches any kind of light at all, even mixed with pink stripes. "Fudge... wardrobe malfunction!"

And now someone&apos;s shouting overhead! It&apos;s a deep, growly voice, the sort one might expect of a masked hero, actually. The Batman? "We&apos;re there!" she calls back, pulling up her jeans and looking to Jynn. "Help me! The other two are still back by the door!" She grabs hold and begins dragging the groaning would-be robber towards the nearest way out that&apos;s not on fire or falling into the ground.

Smoke. Fire. Heat. Explosions, creepy crawly mutant green giant play dead on the ground somewhere. If anyone thought Gotham wasn&apos;t dangerous, is seriously smoking a lot of crack mixed with some of that OH WEE. Because hell Jynn hasn&apos;t seen some of this until now. But here he is, his ankle hurting, a warehouse threatening to fall down on them all, and group of dumb thevies trying to steal creates of some very dangerous toxic sludge and he and others are trying to stop them all the while trying to keep out of range of a happy rocket trigger finger psycho shooting all over the place.

Shaking his head, he was gonig to have someone for the cops to take in tonight and that someone is the asshole leader not far from him. Putting on a spurt of speed, ignoring the pain in his ankle, Jynn dashes forward, grunting as pain shoots straight up his right leg. Coming into view he leaps and spins in mid-air throwing a kick towards the leaders head aiming to take him out in one blow. Upon landing, he will spin around and make sure the man is knocked out cold before gesturing to Jubilee, "We gotta get him out of here. I don&apos;t know who all is in here but this building isn&apos;t going to last much longer." he tells her as he reaches down and punches the guy in the face hard to make sure he is out. There are just some rules you follow and well from a great movie, always Double Tap.

To take the weight of the world on your shoulders is something that no man, save perhaps the Man of Steel, could possibly manage. Even taking the weight of these vehicles, bearing the structure of this single warehouse in this one district of a relatively small city in one nation of the world is enough to set Batman&apos;s back on fire; enough to strain the talents of Psylocke. No matter how flashy and brilliant the moment of glory is, make no mistake, this is torture.

"I&apos;m NOT taking flak from a girl who can&apos;t ... nngh, even find pants that /fit/."

That &apos;nngh&apos; from the safecracker comes as his fingers finally snare the tiny tin of orange death, and that grabbed and stuffed into the inside of his jacket, he turns directly into Jynn&apos;s foot.

He&apos;s a criminal, not a fighter, and he goes down hard. Which... isn&apos;t necessarily the best thing right now. He&apos;s going to need help to get out of here too, if the combined efforts of Batman and Psylocke prove insufficient to keep the bowing roof from collapsing in entirely.

Outside, the men with the canister are now doing their level best to flee from the scene. Without anyone left capable of directly opposing them, it looks like they might just manage it, too. Though thankfully, with the nanites that Batman had released earlier, tracking them down is unlikely to be /too/ difficult of a task.

Alright, so Domino may have blanked out a few seconds there. Getting picked up, the huge blast of psychic energy, blissfully unaware of it all!

And for the record, any and all amounts of saliva remain exactly where it&apos;s supposed to be. That only becomes a problem when she&apos;s had a few teeth knocked out. Or she&apos;s had way too much to drink and falls asleep on her stomach.

From Psylocke&apos;s shoulder, the wiry but built woman weighed down with lots of lethal weaponry stirs slightly, groaning "Next time..a little more foreplay before you break out the taser, kiddo..."

..Heywait. She&apos;s not lying in a hotel bed. Then who is..? And where is..? And what the fuck smells like jasmine?!

Dom slits her eyes open and finds herself face to body with another woman. It&apos;s..rather sobering, as far as unexpected life experiences go. "Ah..damnit, sorry, you didn&apos;t need to hear that. Hey..did you know the building&apos;s about to collapse..? Just an FYI. Carry on. Me with, if you don&apos;t mind."

Burning, aching, searing agony fills every exerted inch of the Dark Knight&apos;s body. It&apos;s all he c@an do not to simply go limp where he is, as Jynn and Jubilee&apos;s parcel helpfully puts contraband on his own person. As Psylocke shoves back against the collapsing warehouse. It&apos;s enough to shift his own anchored position, eyes flipping hither and yon as large chunks of the structure whip off away from their otherwise predestined descent. The outlines of the fleeing criminals stay crisply in his vision even once they&apos;ve cleared the warehouse, cleared normal scanning range.

In the instants before he drops from his perch, the Dark Knight taps a few preprogrammed controls on a concealed pad in his belt-- then simply released the carabiner, falling into what one might expect to be a heap, from the rapid acceleration floorwards. There&apos;s not so much as a thump, however. If anyone saw him fall, it would be a rather notable disconnect. Similarly silent, at least relative to the creaking, sizzling groans of the dying warehouse, are the pellets of molecular acid that are hurled out directly in front, clearing rubble in a sizzling, quickly self-neutralizing hiss that leads the Dark Knight straight towards the back of the warehouse.

A final capsule opens a new door directly in his path, through the back wall, as the Caped Crusader cuts across Jynn and Jubilee&apos;s exit, nods to indicate the not-a-door, and all but throws himself out of it. Twisting in midair to grapnel upwards-- way upwards-- the Bat finds a new perch upon the outstretched metal arm of an industrial crane hanging way out over the harbor. It gives him a bird&apos;s eye vantage point of the flight, a moment to gather his breath without coming under renewed attack, and a chance to study the scene as the others scatter, and the GCPD rides into view (at least his) down the road.

Oh, and those buttons he pressed? Well, the Dark Knight isn&apos;t the only one capable of tracking the thieves. A dark, armored car, the bastard offspring of a supercar and an APC, roars out of a side alleyway and cuts diagonally across the street, up another alley running through the banks of warehouses, suddenly cutting off their intended route. The car stops dead in front of the men, and headlights flash on, then flare brighter. The batmobile revs its engine, the afterburning turbine lets out an angry roar with a high-pitched undertone of whine, and for just an instant, there&apos;s a squeal of tires burning from an autopiloted brakestand.

Those b-movies and horror episodes where a car is trying to kill people? It looks a lot like that. If those cars were heavily armored, and reputed to be just as heavily /armed/.

"It&apos;s hard enough..." Grits Psylocke, head swimming not solely through the exertion of her powers. She&apos;s breathing hard too, a fact which has nothing at all to do with foreplay or the dizzying length to which she&apos;s attracted to the woman slung across her back. Though that would be vastly more simple an excuse than the actual rationale behind her (attempted; they&apos;re not out of the woods yet) rescue. "To carry you, without being ordered around."

There&apos;s only one way to go from there, exhausted as she is, and that&apos;s to put one foot in front of the other and pray the whole place doesn&apos;t come tumbling down. Nearer to the opposite end of the warehouse than her other (actual?) allies, the violet-eyed telepath narrows her gaze and presses on, trying to ignore the rancid aftertaste of chemicals in the air. The warehouse continues to creak and moan around them, threatening to bury the pair in the averted rubble.

But somehow, through some unlikely auspice or by the grace of some eldritch deity...

Psylocke makes it out through the warehouse doors blasted apart what, at this point, feels like hours ago, by the arrival of that sturdy truck. It&apos;s then, with one last lurch, that a wide section of corrugated iron around the ravaged portal gives way... silhouetting Betsy Braddock and her patch-eyed burden in a twisted pastiche of a black-and-white comedy classic.

In the ensuing cloud of noise, and dust, the burden is unshouldered without particular care.

"You&apos;re lucky," gasps the X-Woman, "That this was the /second/ time you&apos;ve been useful to me." Almost bent double, she&apos;s forced to drop to a crouch, sunk onto her haunches with purple hair tumbling about wan features, one hand drifting toward the ground. Her fingers extend tiredly, as though searching to ensure the world is still beneath her feet and that she must - therefore - still be alive. Despite the burning in her lungs that may or may not be partly imagined. "Would you mind... not carrying so much /stuff/ next time? Either that, or a diet could be in order. I most heartfully recommend staying away from celery."

With that, she pushes herself to her feet, wary of the nearing sirens.

"Pants that don&apos;t fit... that&apos;s all he can think of?" Jubilee mutters, finally getting her armload of thug outside. She drops him near a dumpster, fittingly enough, and looks up, trying to hear where the sirens are coming from. "Oh, fudge... might wanna hurry!" she calls back to Jynn, pulling the wrapped sash from her face. Her pants need it more. "That&apos;s getting close, quick! I&apos;d better find Bets." Which will no doubt require explaining, but she hasn&apos;t got time. "Follow me or don&apos;t, but don&apos;t stay here!"

Fortunately, she does find her favorite purple-haired ninja around another side of the now-collapsed building, with a woman she doesn&apos;t know. "Bets! Thank goodness," she says, dropping to her knees and moving to support the weary woman. "Wow, you look like you&apos;ve been through a tornado! Here, just lean on me..." She&apos;s already her friend, but she&apos;ll still help her to carry on. S&apos;what friends do.

Explosions, combat, an urban legend, and a chance to hang out with one of her coolest teammates. Totally Jubilee&apos;s kind of Halloween!

Having knocked the guy out and with help from Jubes, they get the man out of the building. Jynn is having a bit of problem walking but still he manages to keep his end of the crook up. "Some people don&apos;t know how to talk shit Jubes." he tells her offering a smirk. But moments ago he couldn&apos;t help but be in a bit of awe when he saw the Urban Legend in flesh. Odd, but then again it&apos;s Gotham City, the Bats home and also home to Jynn who has been doing his fair share of taking out the trash too. But again outside, he takes the do-rag off and tucks it in his pocket. He can hear the sirens and knows they need to go and before he can say anything Jubes is telling him to follow her or not but she had to go check on a friend. "Alright." he says.

Running limping as quickly as he can, when he rounds the building as it&apos;s falling and Bets name is called his eyes go big, "So this is how I find out your name sensei?" he asks as he looks at Psylocke. Shaking his head but he does smile when he sees her. Walking over to her other side, "Come on, you can come with me to my place. Rest and lay low until she is able to get back on her feet." Feeling the weight of Psylock on his shoulder and on his bad ankle Jynn grimaces but doesn&apos;t let it stop him. "COme on." he says as he starts ushering them up the street.

If there&apos;s one thing that can be said for these guys, it is that they just don&apos;t quit. Batman&apos;s Batmobile is a menacing sight and lesser men would flee for their lives from it, but these guys heft the barrel of deadly chemicals between them, and take off down a narrow alley. Driven by whatever madness compelled them to take up this insane quest...

But then, don&apos;t all men go a little crazy, when they are in love?

The apparent leader&apos;s mask has fallen to the side, revealing, in the flickering light of the warehouse, an indellible lipstick print across his exposed cheek. As the warehouse falls down around them, it&apos;ll be up to the rescue services to drag out the other KO&apos;d survivors; though thankfully, they are on the scene quick enough to ensure that this is exactly what happens.

Though not quick enough to capture the fleeing mutants as they hobble away from a job well done.

Because whilst things might not have gone perfectly... undoubtedly, without the help of everyone here, things could have gone an awful lot worse, too. The collapsing warehouse won&apos;t release any death-cloud, and so far tonight, nobody has died.

Though now, these dark roots have been exposed to the world, only time will tell how deep they go...

"Normally I don&apos;t, but my car sorta blew up," Domino replies in regards to all of her gear as though it&apos;s the most natural conversation in all the world to be having. "As for being lucky, you&apos;re just singin&apos; my tune," she says with a dry chuckle. "Glad to be useful, I guess. Care to go for a third round?"

With a whole lot of care Dom stands on her own feet again (would have been nice of her to carry herself thirty seconds ago...) They&apos;re outside the building. A bunch of them are, in fact. Here&apos;s two more people! Seems like everyone&apos;s friendly, too. She&apos;s only lost one car and ..some hard to replace gear. Grr. Point is, she can&apos;t exactly run out of here, she&apos;s got a stubby and highly illegal battle rifle hanging from one shoulder and a cut-down shotgun from the other, and she has no transportation. However, there&apos;s a parking lot here. Some of the spaces even have cars. There she stands, looking over the offerings. She chooses not by looks, not by opinions, but purely by instinct. -That- one.

"Thanks, I&apos;ll manage from here," she says to Jubilee. "I.. think." Practically dragging herself along, she wanders over to the beat up Honda Civic parked there and tries the door handle.

It&apos;s unlocked.

She heavily drops herself into the cramped hatchback and tosses her two bigger guns into the back, first checking the ignition then lowering the visor with an open palm ready and waiting to catch the keys as they fall out of hiding and into her hand. "Jackpot."

The engine turns over with a cough of blueish smoke, one of the cylinders stubbornly refusing to fire. But, it&apos;s idling. Dom turns to look at the others nearby, asking "Any of you coming with or not?"

It can be hard to stand both against the world, or for it. Fortunately it&apos;s a lot easier when you have someone to support you; and it&apos;s with a tired, heartfelt smile that Betsy accepts the assistance of the young Chinese girl - and not for the first time, at that.

"Thank you," she says with a bit of a sigh, getting back up with help she didn&apos;t dare expect, glancing sidelong to Jubilee as she does. "*You* look like you&apos;ve been out for a relaxing night on the town." You know, like they had planned originally, albeit with a fair heaping of kung fu at the end; something that might be off the menu until the morning and a hearty breakfast or two. Shifting her attention to Jynn, showing no surprise at his arrival - again thanks to Jubilee, this time for sharing her otherwise impenetrable thoughts.

"Not quite the workout I had planned for you," she murmurs, with no apology for the withheld information. What&apos;s in a name, right? "So which one of you got the other out of trouble?" It&apos;s a fair question, until she makes it rhetorical with a soft snort of laughter. "Do I want to know?"

She&apos;ll find out later. As Domino moves to leave, she draws the final burst of attention.

"Somehow, I think you&apos;re just fine on your own. We&apos;ll..." She pauses, not with uncertainty but to meet the smartmouthed mercenary with a broad smirk, the ironic echo cutting even over her weariness. "We&apos;ll manage. I&apos;m sure you and I will get that third round soon enough."

Spoken without the benefit of a precognitive nightmare. Place your bets.