2014.04.01 - When in Rome pt I

Finding the Joker.

Where does one begin? SHIELD has no leads. This might be a little surprising, if Captain America was not familiar with the Gotham office, but apparently this is very common with the man. Countless files would be offered. His crimes. His captures. His escapes. There is no rhyme or reason to any of it, beyond the obsession with Batman. He's done horrible things, terrible things. Many of them would be impossible to stomach. Among the worst was paralyzing Barbara Gordon and then capturing her father, subjecting him to psychological torment that included pictures of his naked, crippled daughter bleeding on the floor.

One would tire of it eventually. It's no use. A profile is impossible. But SHIELD does have agents on the field, lurking on the fringe of the underworld as informants. A man on a street corner beside a liquor shop would be the lead given. Supposedly, he's a front man for the Joker, who disperses payments to grunts not close enough to the inner circle. If there's anywhere to start, it's him.

And a man meeting that exact description is indeed lurking in said alley, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, fedora concealing most of his features. He walks in slow circles, eyeballing everything that passes by with wariness...

Operation Fair Ground was green lit by SHIELDs Gotham Office as soon as Captain America passed through the door. It's not that he's mobilized all the assets available to the clandestine organization, so much as he's put a very modest amount of resources to good use. There's always more and he doesn't want to make huge waves in Gotham City besides that.

Certainly not if he doesn't have to.

The Captain takes front on the mission into South Gotham, following the small amount of information provided by Agent contacts to the alleyway where the presumed associate of the Joker is eyeballing his surroundings like a one legged cat in a rocking chair factory. Across the street in a rundown van, 'Fair Ground HQ' is observing the situation and coordinating the single team with Cap whose on ground at a corner market Chinese booth. He's wearing a heavy duster buttoned up to the neck with his hair slicked back, and a bowl of lo mien noodles steaming in front of him. Eyeing the alleyway through the reflective surface of a window behind the booths owner.

"These noodles seem a little bland, is there any soy sauce?" Which might seem like an odd comment, since the soy sauce is RIGHT THERE... But the observers report back into the comm unit in his ear, "Negative, no soy sauce yet, Captain."

Eventually, a man walks up to the alley-hidden man. They come close together, face to face, backs exposed to the street within the shadows. A shuffling of arms implies that things exchanged hands. The new figure begins to march rapidly to the right, in a hurry to get away, before the support target resumes his weasel-like observations of the surroundings... Was that a confirmation?

"Captain, a package changed hands." The Observer informs from the van, Cap saw it in the reflection, but they've got a front line view of the alleyway.

"Tip the waitress." Steve says and pushes away from the counter and drops a few bills down beside his untouched noodles. "I'm going to go compliment the chef."

The two man team assigned to Fun House, a 'girlfriend/boyfriend' couple fronting as a pair of druggies, move to follow the new contact. Which just leaves Steve to handle the shifty eyed associate in the alleyway.

Both hands shove down into his pockets as he jogs across the street towards the open end of the dark corridor. Always watching from the corners of his eyes though he keeps his head turned down low.

Apparently, this particular front is actually rather perceptive. He glances down a couple times towards the departing figure, and eyes linger on the couple harmlessly crossing the street. Paranoia and suspicion of everyone and everything. Valuable in his line of work, especially when it happens to be true. When Captain America starts approaching, he's observed for a few moments. Watched like a hawk. And then without warning, the target turns and breaks into a run down the alley! It's long and narrow, chain link fence roughly three meters high at the end... he moves to knock trashcans over in his wake, surprising a homeless man in his hasty egress trying to nap beside the steam pipes of the laundromat opposite the liquor store.

"Target's on the move." Cap says and breaks into a dead run after the man down the alleyway. Leaping over fallen trashcans and homeless men with the ease of an Olympic gold medalist. "Stop!" He shouts down the alley, but doubts it'll be as effective, even with the booming sound of authority in his voice.

To their credit, the couple keep tailing after their assignment. Everyone may be a little on edge, as this could very well be a trap, but SHIELD breeds professional agents.

The man in question is... well, he's used to running. That's something. Is he peak human at sprinting? Hell no. Leaping up, he starts to climb the chain mesh fence, but Captain America would easily reach him before he can swing both legs over. It's a question of how gentle he wants to yank him back over, or if he'd let him complete his clumsy climb and continue impotently running... if the desire is to drag him down, it would be quite easy to do, and he'd offer no resistance beyond flailing and trying to pull out a knife, which would be disarmed with the difficulty of a babe.

Cap isn't quite as brutal with running suspects as would be the local heroing population, but he's certainly no stranger to handling them either. The man's halfway over the fence and Steve slows a touch, but just enough to let the other get his feet down on the ground. The First Avenger leaps over the fence as if it were three feet high and lands in a crouch on the other side and steps up close to his prey.

When the knife comes out, his hand closes around the attacking wrist and the other slaps it harmlessly out from the man's grasp. Both hands close up into his jacket and hoist him up against the wall, "The way I see it, you have two options. The first option is answer my questions. The second option isn't as pretty: But I'll skip to the end, you still answer my questions. So it's up to you how painful you want it to be." While he's not into the whole torture thing, he needs the information that his contacts says this man can provide...

When in Rome.

Okay. That kind of leap is only one the likes of the Bat family can do. Whirling around as the other man descends, the knife comes out just in time to be disarmed. He's whirled into the wall and thumps heavily, panting as he feebly kicks his feet. "Holy... Holy crap. Captain America." That seems to cause an exhale of relief for some reason, laxness felt in his limbs. "You...? The hard way? Mr. All-American? Go fuck yourself. I'm not telling you anything." He even has the audacity to sneer, and attempt a *spit* right towards the eyehole of the icon. Someone's a little cock-sure. Agents report following the second man is continuing without issue. His paced slowed after a couple blocks, and nothing seems out of the ordinary.

That's just the kind of reaction Steve was briefed on when he got to the Gotham Office. The spittle hits him right along the big A on his forehead and he narrows his eyes in response. The man is pulled away from the wall with all the ease of a man holding a house cat and left to dangle a good two feet off the ground by the collar of his jacket.

When. in. Rome.

Captain America, the First Avenger, likely the most upstanding human being on the planet glares at the lowlife whose spit on him like everything he's ever done amounts to zero? Thankfully, Steve isn't in the business of letting his anger rule him.

"Yes, Captain America." In a voice that's entirely too calm for the situation. Entirely too relaxed despite holding a man two feet off the ground. He takes a step away from the wall and his flexed arms never twitch beneath the weight of holding the fellow up. "This isn't a coca cola commercial and I might not have a reputation for being very aggressive. But I'm feeling creative and there's a lot of ways to make a man talk that don't involve breaking anything vital."

Cap releases one hand and grabs hold of the man's leg, then throws him straight up in the air like a baseball. "I tell you what, let's play catch."

"Captain America's a boy scout. You won't hurt me. I've not broken no real rules." Sure, he pulled a knife, but with the revolving prisons of Gotham jurisdiction he'd be out in a few days on that charge. Although being hurled in the air is a new one. Batman doesn't have the raw power to do that with such ease, and he's pinwheeling, presumably caught each time. "The hell-is this-supposed to do... You new to this part of town? You don't know Gotham. People we work for, they gut us for squealing. You, you'll just jail m--Ow!!" He crashes heavily on the ground, wincing and curling into a ball. "Th,that's assault! Goddamn assault by a VIGILANTE!!" Although he no longer sounds quite so sardonic.

Captain America, kneels down beside where the man 'slipped' through his hands and drapes his arms across his knees, "Listen." He says in that same calm voice, he almost seems apologetic about it all, if it weren't for how intently he's staring at the thug. "You've clearly got the wrong idea about what's going on here and I'm pretty sure that's mostly my fault."

Steve continues listening to the reports from the agents, but his blue eyes are focused intently on the man curled up in a ball in front of him. "I want to know where to find the man you work for." Flexing his fingers beneath the armored gloves, "And you should probably think about the phrase 'extenuating circumstances'."

Panting heavily, slowly the man rolls on his hands and knees, but does nothing else to indicate he's going to run or otherwise cause further issues. The point was made that Steve did something highly unexpected. "The news... what if the news heard what you're doing in here..." His uncertain eyes move to meet Captain America's. "I know what the Joker did to draw your attention. And you know how awful it was. Yeah. Real sob story. ...Now imagine being on his payroll." There's a haunted look in his eyes, one that might incite genuine pity despite the circumstances. "You really think... you can do worse to me than he can...?!" His head shakes heavily, dropping down to thump it on the alley floor. "If,if anyone even SEES me with you here, they... he'd KILL me. So... fuck it." He huffs out slowly, and gives another location, this one a few miles away. A 'money lending' business. "That the man who pays me. But he's a real hardball. Good luck, boy scout. Now get the hell away from me before you get me in a body bag...!!" SHIELD checks would indicate a history of suspicious behavior, but nothing stuck when investigated, and legally it's in the 'known to be evil, but can't be solved by the police' field. Maybe Captain America is starting to see why vigilantes operate the way they do. When you are fighting parasites and serial killers, who hide in the dark, refusing to come out...

Everything about the last ten minutes has Steve hating Gotham City with every fiber of his being. He could never operate like this, not for long periods of time, not without losing part of himself to the darkness he was trying to stop...

Cap isn't afraid of much, certainly doesn't 'fear' Joker, but this? This is horrible because it has an entire city drawn up into it like a spiders web. The clown really isn't the cause of it, either; he's just a symptom. So as the All American hero stands up from his kneeling position beside the man who gave him the information he needed... he just shakes his head. "I don't want that." No matter what the man did, Cap isn't a killer. He 'has' and he probably 'will', but not like this and certainly not at the hands of some psychopath.

He doesn't sit around waxing nostalgically with the guy either. He cannot save someone who doesn't want to be saved and, probably the worst part is, if the guy seemed genuine? He probably would try to save him.

"Did you get that address?" "Copy Captain." The voice on the other end heard it all... If this is going to work without breaking him down, Steve is going to have to figure out how to do this 'his' way. Because Gotham will eat him alive.

The man left behind on the opposite side of the chain link fence pushes to his feet, limping away further into the darkness with haste. No plead was made. No sign of wanting help. No. It was the eyes of someone lost. Maybe he truly believes that Captain America couldn't ever protect him from the Joker. And he may be right; ultimately, Steve is playing with an unknown element. If he truly knows and respects Batman for his capabilities, then this man can be no more underestimated than Red Skull or the Winter Soldier... if in a much different way.

Travel to the new sight is uneventful. It's still early evening, and the store in question is a simple building, painted yellow with countless chips. It reads LOANS AND ADVANCES, INQUIRE WITHIN on a dirty window. Two shady looking individuals hover on the outside, and civilians give it a huge berth, crossing the street to not get near the pair. Now and then, an unsavory element enters for a period of time before leaving. Everything adds up. But despite it, on the side of the law, this isn't a bust Captain America can make... he'd have to bend the rules...

Captain America spends the time between the two locations considering exactly what it is he's doing. He knows, deep down, that the Joker needs to be brought to justice, but to what lengths is he allowed to go to achieve that goal? In a war zone all bets are off. Everything is allowed because wars aren't made to be pretty, but this isn't war and if he degrades what he stands for to achieve the goal infront of him, has he achieved anything at all?

The answer to that question is not an easy one to answer. On the one hand, he does respect Batman and on the other, Cap works under a particular set of rules that have to be observed. Not because anyone would ever fault him for bending them to bring the clown in, but because he couldn't look at himself afterwards no matter what anyone else said.

As they pull into position around the new location, he watches the building through a set of high powered binoculars. Watches and considers the options of which he 'legally' has none. Moral ambiguity really isn't something he is known for, but more than that, he's not comfortable with it. "I think it's time we found the Bat."

For the last few days he's continuously tried to tell himself that he would be able to do the things he had to here in Gotham, but this isn't his playground. No matter how strong he is or how right he might be, this whole operation requires a different touch. "Keep eyes on the place." He tells the observer who will in short order have a new HQ set up in one of the buildings not far from the LOANS and ADVANCES.

One of the SHIELD operatives comes in with something that might be exciting to Steve. "The owner of this place is a lawyer, but he made a big mistake last week. Broke a serious law with his filing. He did a good job hiding it, but not good enough that we didn't dig it up. He could lose his liscense over it. And get jail time for the attempt to conceal. The whole trial, an important one for a few thugs, would be tossed out. You should be able to pressure him with that." After a few moments, it's offered, "...If you wanted." But contacting a member of the Bat Family is never a bad idea, in general... yet that would be deferring the personal insult to someone else, one Captain America stated, maybe even to the grieving family, he'd personally rectify...

Steve listens to the operatives report from the back of the van, looking down at the helmet held between his hands as it's all detailed out to him. The information is fragile, at best. It's an in, but he'll have to take a lot of liberties with the application and that's new territory. As he considers it he turns the helmet around in his hands, looking at the little grooves from past fights. Though they always weigh on his mind, the notion of 'why' he does it is in the hearts of the daughter and granddaughter who just lost someone very dear to them.

In the end, it's not a very difficult decision to make.

He slides the helmet over his head and pushes open the back doors of the van with shield in tow. "Cover the back exit." He says to the operator assigned to the mission. "Roger that." The reply is as crisp as he expects it, they're bolstered by him being involved. They 'believe' in him. Think he'll do the right thing. Even when they're asked to do really questionable things to accomplish it, Captain America stands for something.

The Sentinel walks across the street, again wearing the trench coat over his shield and armor towards the pair of goons. This part of it doesn't bother him, facing two armed men? That's a walk in the park. It's the next part that he's going to have trouble with. "I want to speak with the owner."

The two goons give Captain America an incredibly persuasive stinkeye, against someone who might be intimidated by people a few inches past six feet. But they don't have remarkable builds, and seem to be generic muscle. Better than the squealer in the alley, but they might take two punches. One, if he tried it hard. "It's a free city." grunts the left. "Yeah. No law against standing." allows the other. The glass door would jingle loudly once pushed open.

And then a man in a purple suit is all grins, hair slicked back with so much palmade he's a fire hazard to the entire city block. 'Weasel' defines him exactly, someone of Italian heritage. Small, but peppy. The office has many motivational posters, a few desks, and a large safe in one corner. Three more men 'lurk' within, obviously protection and not clients.

"Wow! Captain America!" he says, once he gets close enough. Attempting to shake his hand vigorously. "I admire another All-American. I'm a lawyer, you know! People call me an ambulance chaser, but usually I don't catch them!" He laughs, gesturing to a diploma on the wall before offering a business card for Jimmy DeGrassi. It says 'You are never in trouble with Jimmy on the Job!' with a picture of him doing double finger-guns with a glint on his smile. "But we also do payday advances and loans. Gotta branch out the business, huh? Bought a Check Cashing place, why not get the license and do it also? Win-win!"

He talks really, really fast. Smiling, hands are on his hips. "How can I help you today? Need fronted Avengers cash for a new cowl? Interest rates are low, low, LOW if you pay back within two weeks!" He's already moving towards a pile of forms, burrowing through them. A cat calendar is on a wall, and for some reason a yellow bell hangs from a ceiling with a dangling cord.

This is probably not the sort of man that Steve had anticipated dealing with.

Steve steps into the office and glances around in the dim lighting with a little turn of his head. When the weasel reaches out to shake his hand, Cap returns it and even offers a little grin. No sense getting into it right there in the middle of the street where any random Joe could get hurt in the crossfire if this goes south. No, best to take it inside, have a seat and let the Lawyer talk himself into a coma before putting his cards out on the table.

People like this guy aren't what he's use to, that much is certain, but he's come to realize that this is the world now. Ambulance chasers scoring big paydays for people who probably didn't have injuries at all. "Mister DeGrassi." Reading it right off the card held between his fingers, "I'm going to cut to the chase. You have a reputation for being a pretty difficult man to get to talk and I haven't got a whole lot of time on my hands to convince you of civic duty, so instead I'm going to explain to you the legal ramifications of filing property under another man's name, so you don't have to pay the taxes on the building I guess... and you're going to be answer me a few questions. At which point, I'm going to stand up, shake your hand, and walk out of here without contacting my friends down at the court house."

Steve leans back in the chair, "The best part about this plan is that you don't lose your license or go to prison. You don't look like the sort of fellow that does very well in prison, Mr. DeGrassi."

"I... ah..." immediately DeGrassi pales, before gesturing sharply at the other tree men. They quickly file out, leaving the door to shut with another 'ding!'. The lawyer then settles opposite Captain America, grin returning after it faltered. "It sounds like you are attempting to blackmail me for some particular information. Am I hearing you correctly? The great Captain America, confronting something with shifty legal terms, and making demands...!!"

Suddenly he stands up, and starts ringing the bell loudly. "HA! I knew it! You ARE Captain America!!" He jabs a finger out, and it would thump into the other man's chest a few times unless otherwise slapped away. "Because *that*, my friend, is the American way." He then settles down, lifting his feet and thunking them on folders and papers, reclining with hands behind his head. "We could do the whole verbal sparring, but I doubt you are in the mood, and SHIELD is more heat than I want. I'm just a broker, Mr. America. I don't *HURT* people. So who are you looking for? Penguin? Two-Face? I hear the Riddler is redeemed these days, though..."

The Bell is a curiosity and Steve's eyes go up to it when the Lawyer bounces up to give it a ring. The finger, on the other hand, is less so. It taps into his chest once, but then he's brushing it away. "I'm not blackmailing you, Mr DeGrassi. I'm exchanging legal ramification for information of a bigger nature. The truth is, if I took you in on the charges, you would eventually see the benefit of making a deal in the case. I'm cutting out the middle man and preserving your dignity in the process."

Which, if he's caught the vibe of exactly how even the criminals of Gotham feel about the Clown, is about to be a very different sort of conversation. Once the man sits down and kicks up his feet, Cap leans back and crosses his arms over his wide chest. "No, I'm looking for the Joker." Said with a little ice in his tone, so as not to convey the misconception that he's somehow joking, himself. ---

"Joker." All humor leaves the lawyer's face. "That's not a good name to be looking for. Yeah. You really are new in town, like the clown implied with his... message... I apologize, I don't condone that sort of thing." He picks up a hat from his desk, puts it over his heart, and then bows his head forward a few moments. Then returns it. "Yes. The Joker, like any other criminal, needs to launder funds. I'm one of those people. Let's cut to the chase. I don't know where Joker is. But I happen to know one of his inner crew. A leg-breaker named Smiley. He's one of the fanatics who is broken into a nice, neat pawn by the Harlequin of Crime. He's the one I deal with. Scary fellow, but probably not to someone big and strong like you." A smack to the side of Captain America's shoulder is attempted. "So let's say I tell you where he is. And, if you happen to, say, find him by accident, then nobody's hands are dirty. You are just a stalwart hero doing his job!"

Captain America doesn't buy the act, but he doesn't say anything about it either. When his shoulder is smacked, he barely even moves. Beneath the jacket he's very clearly wearing armor, but that much was a given... and his eyes are a cool stare. "Fair enough. Where's the pawn shop?"

As always the observers are in the truck catching the conversation on Cap's end. This is going to make for one interesting report.

"Smiley is in an ice cream parlor on his downtime. It's a nasty part of the city. I'd be careful going this late." He offers an address, yet again a few miles away. "He's built huge, and wears white face paint with a very tiny hat. But never smiles. I guess that's how he got his name? Anyway, good luck! And, ah, of course that filing was an ACCIDENT. I presume it won't come up again... or my own recordings of this meeting might leak out, too..." There's a smirk from DeGrassi. There's likely hidden cameras or microphones about; when you do business like this, you want insurance. But the good Captain is hardly the sort to do this normally... although his journey appears to be nearing an end.

Captain America forces a smile and nods to DeGrassi, "Of course." Said as he pushes up from his seat and turns towards the door back out into the street. This sort of leg work really isn't his specialty, that much is certain, but there's a certain subtly to it that is almost... almost refreshing. The following of clues from one point to another? Steve finds himself mildly enjoying the chase, though he inwardly wishes it weren't so dirty at the end. Maybe there's something to it?

"Have a good evening, Mr. DeGrassi." The bell rings once more as the Captain steps back out into the crisp Gotham night. His gaze shifts up and down the street before moving back over to the parked van several blocks down from the LOANS office. It's not until he's back inside and his helmet is removed that he really takes stock of exactly how convoluted this entire city seems to be. Are they 'all' like this? Truth be told, he's very rarely stopped fighting long enough to see exactly how far America had fallen from what he remembered. "One last stop." To the observer, who glances back at him and nods.

The final trip is uneventful, outside the neighborhood getting worse and worse. When the car comes to a stop, it's apparent an incident is happening in the alley beside the ice cream parlor that Smiley is supposed to be in. Someone is shrieking in pain for help, and there's a strange CRACK noise now and again. A civilian on the street marches quickly past without glancing, knowing well how to survive around here in one piece. Out here, the only ones who would respond in time are the vigilantes... and only then, if you are lucky. The interior of the sundae shop, looking old-timey like a barber house, is all dirty windows, lights showing a few people speaking to themselves at the counter. They can easily hear what is going on, but none fit the profile of Smiley...

Cap recognizes the kind of place the sundae shop use to be. He's pretty sure he'd even ate at this one, decades ago, before shipping off to Europe in fact. What the place was and what it is now, however? The darkness that clings to this city is almost palpable. Every city in America has a neighborhood that people avoid, but this seems to be the normal rather than the exception... So when the van pulls up, he's staring at the parlor like a relic because it certainly doesn't hold the same nostalgia that it use to.

But there's no mistaking the sound of a beating in an alley. The occasional crack likely a baseball bat? The way tonight's been going though, there's really no telling. Regardless, it appears this is that unfortunates lucky day. As vigilante he may not be, he's still a hero. So when he steps out of the van he's moving towards the alley with the shield sliding off his back and up onto his right arm. Maybe, by some miracle, the iconic nature of who he is can shine some much needed life into the area... Walking past civilians who don't even hazard a glance at their fellow man getting beaten?

"What's going on down here?"

Within the alley, a huge figure has a bloodied baseball bat hefted into the air. His back is to Captain America at the moment, but slowly turns and lowers the weapon. White paint on his face. Red circles on each cheek. A great splotch of red around a frowning face. Smiley; he's certainly built big, almost seven feet. The man gasping at his feet is curled up, arm and leg clearly broken, shuddering now and then as shock begins setting in. It doesn't look to be a civilian, but nobody probably deserves what's being done here. "Help... help..." the man wheezes wearing a bloodied leather jacket, hair blond and glazed eyes blue. "You're C-Captain... America..." Idle message from Pepper Potts: At a friend's house, replies will be slow. You paged Pepper Potts with 'Hey there. :)'

Steve sees the grotesque brutality of Smiley's attack on the man laying on the dirty alley floor. It would be impossible for him to miss the mess that is the man's broken legs and twisted body, even as he's staring at Smiley with his massive stature and bloody weapon hanging down at his side. Instinctively, his hand closes around the grip of his shield and turns it just a little so the protective surface is covering the left side of his leg and abdomen.

"Yes I am."

Smiley says nothing. He just slowly twists his head and lifts his chin, until there's a loud pop. A dull, growling sort of sound leaves him. Heavy, lumbering footsteps take him in the direction of Captain America, no fear within his twisted eyes. Drips from the bat trail behind him, figure whimpering behind. "HEY! It's really him!" comes a shout from behind. The three men from the sundae shop are out now, one pulling out a pistol, two others knives. "Captain Fuckin' America!" "Imagine our rep if we gut HIM!!" No fear? No horror? They see the boy scout as a potential trophy...? What sort of sick world is he standing in?

The twisted nature of this city is not lost on Cap. A place that breeds the kind of monsters that beat each other nearly to death then look on the ones who try to protect them as mantle pieces are just another symptom. But this part?

This part Steve understands.

When the threat presents itself and the guilty parties make the decision easy, Cap can pretend this is a battlefield. The voices from behind him has him glancing backwards at the pair, picking the whole fight apart in his head.

The gun goes first. Spin onto your back foot and let the shield loose on the dumpster to the man's left. The ricochet will bounce it across his wrist and stumble his partner up when it lodges between his legs.

Two down, one temporarily. Focus on Smiley. He's bigger, so take out his left knee with a quick punch just beneath the patellar ligament to limit his mobility. Turn and kick the trashcan lid at the gunman's face as he scrambles to his feet.

Pivot, punch Smiley across the jaw. Carry through and grab his bat to hurl at the knife man's chest. Spin into a roundhouse to Smiley's temple.

Steve eyes harden behind the mask. "This will not end the way you think it will."

Now he just has to wait for them to attack him.

Three of these people are mooks who obviously haven't encountered Captain America. He's assuredly not the lesser of anyone in this city in combat. Two shots go off, but are easily ducked before the shield ricochets and takes out his pistol, a cry of pain heard as it clatters away. He does indeed stagger into his partner with a knife, getting shoved away in annoyance as the third begins to rush forward. "He ain't got his shi--" Thump. The shield, having rebounded off a nearby lamp pole, strikes him in the back of the head as it returns to Captain America. He goes down with a clatter. Smiley continues to march forward, breath coming in slow exhales through marching lips. However, things go a little south as he twists to punch at Smiley. The blow hits a surprisingly solid knee, only slightly dislocating it. And the bat whirls down with surprising force and speed, aimed at Captain America's upper body. This likely interrupts the throw of the trashcan lid; the mental plan is mildly shifted. Two are still up, the gunman running towards his weapon, second knife man advancing, and Smiley still very much frowning.

The bat smashes down against the back of his shoulders with the kind of force that knocks most men clear out of their senses and even Captain America with all the benefits of the Super Serum is jolted by the raw power of the attack. Not so much that he's out of the fight, but it smarts him on a very important lesson: Don't underestimate the abilities of these men.

It's a lesson he's learned early in the brawl, one that he takes quickly to heart.

Cap dives forward from under the hulking seven foot mass of flesh that is Smiley and comes up on his feet to step three paces up the wall where he turns and hurls his shield straight down at the ground in front of the gunman. The vibranium shield sends out a reverberating 'pinnnnnn' as it connects with the concrete and rockets right back up towards the man's chest with the kind of force that could throw a man backwards several feet.

The pivoting leap off the wall puts him back in contention with Smiley. The paint on his face a mocking gesture of contempt, the blood on that bat the hallmark of every bully the Captain has ever faced in his life. He runs at the man, coming up short with his arm swinging in an arc aimed to strike that left knee again. Mobility is going to be key against the brute.

The lesson is slightly different. The three men charging heedlessly? No threat. A dozen of them, maybe two, he could take down with a few grazes and punches. But Smiley appears to be more able than intended; Joker seems to have hired a rather able knee-breaker. That does imply he's intended to be a physical threat. It's not that Steve will have any troubles with him... just that he's a few notches higher than his mental plan accounted for in the raw brute department. He struck Captain America so hard the bat actually /cracked/. The shield hits the gunman just as he turns to lift the weapon up again, catching him clean with cracked ribs and sending him flying away. Again a vicious blow strikes Smiley, and this time he falters. But a huge hand descends, trying to catch Captain America by whatever might be handy. What complicates matters here isn't the listless speed, but that the last of the thugs to be taken down is now lunging with his knife towards his back. This might be mildly troublesome. Mildly.

The last of the men is spied as he lunges, but there's a giant hand coming down to complicate the matter. With his shield laying a few feet away on the alley floor, Steve is caught between a rock and a sharp place... He dives off to the left, past the knee he's been working on with each attack against Smiley, figuring that a slice across his armored side would be far better than being held in place and stabbed repeatedly.

The blade slips between the junction of his Kevlar armor and digs the point just beneath his bottom rib, but it's hardly a killing blow and by no means the worst injury he's suffered in the middle of a fight. His shoulder tucks and he rolls through the dive and slaps the lid of a trashcan into his right hand. It's immediately hurled at the last remaining thug with all the accuracy of his shield, but without all the vibranium impact. A tin trash lid thrown by Captain America, however, is still a brutal piece of weaponry.

Crack. The lid hits the knife man, who actually ducked into it. Just as predicted; he's read like a glove. It's Smiley who seems... blank. There's no sign of a martial stance, nothing but a limping, lumbering movement in the direction of Captain America. Fearless. He is reactionary; there is no doubt he will get a few hits in, but his raw power is not much lower than the peak Serum-laden man. Getting struck by him hurts. There's plenty of time to retrieve his shield -- it's like the last remaining goon is some sort of zombie, relentlessly following, bat dragging along the ground in a smear that rasps and clacks with the occasional bounce...

Inwardly, Steve realizes that he's going to have to get information out of this guy and from the look of him, it is going to be easier to interrogate a brick.

Still, with that back dragging behind him and the pain radiating between his shoulders where it has already hit him, that thought is going to have to take a backseat to the primary action of actually bringing the 'zombie' down. The bat whirls over the top of a diving Captain who rolls onto his shield and brings it up just as another strike smashes into the vibranium protection with enough force to push him further into his kneeling position beneath it. The vibration rattling through his armored arm nearly shakes it right out of his grasp, if not for the comforting grip around the throwing handle, he might well be on his knees without anything between himself and that hulking beast.

He rolls backwards and then rushes towards the brute, now using his shield in much the same manner as he was his fist moments before, knifing it straight towards Smiley's knee. Then up in a wide arc aimed for the underside of his jaw.

The bat's impact on the shield breaks it; it shatters in two, fragments flying all over before the blow to his knee finally does what's intended, breaking or dislocating it. Down Smiley goes, but to a kneel. And then the shield strikes up, hitting him dead in the face. He leans back, blood sputtering up... but manages one last, violent swing towards Captain America's face before crashing on his back, and allowing the handle to bounce away. His breath still comes slow and measured, and it's clear he's trying to get back up. Best not to allow that.

The strike to his face is like a looping hay maker from a drunken gorilla. It is with all certainty that without the protection of his armored mask, the sheer force of it may have clobbered him, but good. As it is, it throws the Sentinel backwards and has him shaking his head to clear the flash of lights that threaten to dominate his vision.

"whoa..." He'd not expected it, not the strength behind it nor the slight taste of blood in his mouth. There's no time to think about it, not with Smiley trying to get to his feet. Cap pushes up to his feet and steps over to the temporarily downed sundae shop owner. "Alright knucklehead... I was going to ask you some questions, but I doubt you'd be able to answer and I don't think we're going to agree on the particular points of 'civic duty'..." The shield comes up and then right back down on the center of the big man's forehead. The impact is hard, but not so hard to crack his skull, and the bounce off the concrete should be enough to knock the guy out.

At least he hopes.

Then he's glancing at the man who was the source of Smiley's rage only moments ago. "I'm really going to hope you're feeling patriotic right about now." Spitting blood over into a pile of trash.

Smiley's struck with intense force. The shield resonates hard, and the crack upon the ground seems to stun him as much as knock him out. A second blow would make sure. The man bleeding on the ground is panting, shivering still. "I... I know. Wh,where the man is... who can tell you where the Joker's at. Right this moment. Was... b,being beaten for trying to leave..." He coughs up more blood. Lung punctured. SHIELD is going to have to give him trauma care for sure. "It's... a guy in an alley... beside a liquor store." He's then given the exact same address that he started from.

Steve sees Smiley squirming and hears the bleeding guys assertion that this was all one big circle and cannot help but press his lips together in exasperation. The shield comes down on Smiley's head once more, this time making sure it puts him down for a nap and turns to regard the bloody man on the ground. It's frustrating in a way that he's not really sure he's ever felt before. Frustrating because he's read the Joker's psychological profile and is certain that this is just the kind of thing he would orchestrate JUST to be frustrating.

"Send an agent back to the liquor store and pick up the first contact." Said into his comms, "And bring a trauma team in." Cap kneels down beside the man and tears open his shirt with a quick jerk at the neckline. He's no doctor, but he's seen enough wounded soldiers to know this is not a good thing. "You have a punctured lung." Said to the man, "I've got a medical team coming to help." He reaches down to one of the purple bruises on the man's side, "Pneumothorax.. That means your lung is deflating where it was punctured. We'll stabilize you and get you to hospital."

"A-Allright... I'll... definitely turn. But... B-But... I shouldn't. Man. He said if, if I let Smiley do that, I could leave, but h--" Suddenly there's the crack of a gunshot. It likely makes Captain America recoil, but the intended target was not him. A shadowy figure deep in the alley has a smoking pistol, and whirls out of sight immediately. The fallen man is dead, shot through the temple, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Has that ever happened to him before? Back in the gruesome reality of genuine war, trying to help someone, assure them they would live, only for them to fall through his fingers...?

War is a horrible thing. Even as he's trying to get the man stabilized, waiting for the SHIELD response team to send in medical personnel, he can sense that finally he's made a break into this city. That he's finally got somewhere without having to lower his morals into the gutter from which he digs each bit of information out of the filth. He wants to tell the man to be quiet, to wait, that there will be plenty of time for him to tell him where to find the Joker once they've given him medical treatment. Every thing he 'wants' is waylaid by a bullet ringing out of the shadows, snatching someone that was already at deaths doorstep right out of his fingers.

Cap stares into the shadows from where he's sure the gun had to have gone off. The sound of the recoil echoing through the alley is a clear line right to the culprit. "Did anyone have eyes on shooter?"

The round of answers in the negative isn't surprising.

Steve stands up and rushes down the street, but even as the man's death sits heavy on his conscious, the question still rattles in his brain: Why didn't they shoot 'him' instead? They could have missed.. they might not have killed him... or more omenous yet... the Joker didn't want them to.

Thirty feet is gone in a heartbeat, and the man's back is visible. But the alleys here are narrow, and he shifts around another before a good shot with the shield being thrown could be managed. Reaching it, there's the crash and heft of the figure, now starting up a fire escape. After a few moments, the SHIELD patrol comes in, and is solemn. "We... we found the man. He was just standing there. When we got to him... he was dead. White face. Red lips. Smilex. ...He had a piece of paper on him. I... Sir, I'm conflicted on reporting this to you." There's genuine concern there.

Steve is in pursuit, leaping up to grab hold of the fire escape in some attempt to close some of the distance between himself and the man trying to get away from him. Hand over hand, he's climbing skyward with his eyes focused up in case the man above him tries to take a shot down at his pursuer, "Report off, Agent." Said into the comms, bracing himself despite the steel in his voice.

The person being chased is acrobatic. Exceptionally so. And there's a flash of spandex visible now. Wait, is it actually a male? Suddenly they begin a series of acrobatics making it completely certain it's nobody mundane. Bracing themselves, a swan leap takes them into open air, landing upon an air conditioner before a second leap takes them to a pipe. Grasping it, Harley Quinn pulls down her lower eyelid and sticks out her tongue. "It was a note. Address. Said for you to get there in 10 minutes... or someone else dies. 'You want to find me, here I am'. It had to be the lawyer. He must have told Joker when you left. Or even the man you first shook down. We really don't know how his intelligence operation works..."

Captain America is no slouch when it comes to acrobatics, but is he the match for Harley Quinn? Not likely. Even with his Super Soldier augmented abilities, he's far to heavy to make a graceful transition from the ladder over to that air conditioning unit without crashing it down to the ground.

And he's just received a welcome letter from the very man he's been chasing all night. His head starts to swim a little when the note is read out to him. That someone will die if he's not there in 10 minutes. So instead of following after the clownette, he drops down from where he was holding to the ladder and lands in a dust spreading crouch in the alley beneath him. "Bring the van to my location, asap."

There will be time later to find out how the Joker figured out he was looking for him, but he hasn't exactly been subtle. Nor does his presence seem as imposing as that of the Batman's when it comes to Gotham's underbelly.

He jogs out to the street and slides into the van, immediately pulling up the digital map of the city on the computer situated in the back of the mobile command unit. "Psychological profile says that he's a master manipulator. How much of what's happened tonight has been his plan?" Wondered aloud, still carrying that steel in his voice despite the turmoil in his mind. Three people have died already, how many more will? "I want a team on standby. Operation: Jack in the Box is green lit. From now on, operation control is Stage One. The go command is 'You've got jokes'." Agents report in the affirmative.

Things are going to get worse before they get better.

"Our profiles have shown a consistent pattern of this type of incident." The SHIELD agent reports. "A dozen people on his case file show him nearly impossible to find, unless he wishes it. Even by Batman. Yet he can find others with ease, or find them while hidden, or draw them into traps that seem impossible. He has killed people in Secret Service, half a country away. An ability to brainwash people, turn them into pawns. That, plus the fear of being in the eyes of a madman. It's possible his network is much broader and deeper than we realized." Batman would maybe know. He could have been brought in, but wasn't. Is that why two more people died? Because Steve is going into this blind, assuming he knows what to do, and how to do it?

Seven minutes before the deadline, the van screeches to a halt. There's a large two story warehouse, enclosed in a wire frame fence. A white banner is above the open sliding mesh, allowing the vehicle entry; it says only WELCOME!.

It's true that Steve was under a lot of misconceptions about what he was walking into. He's use to matching off against madmen, but nobody who worked so effectively from the shadows that it seemed to be a game designed years in advance. As he steps out of the back of the van, he cannot help the feeling that he's overstepped his bounds by a large margin. That there's a reason that Batman works in the clandestine manner that he does and that involving him, besides being professional courtesy, was probably fundamentally necessary.

He knows the Joker better than anyone.

There is bound to be a trap. He's already figured that into his plan of attack, but what he doesn't yet know is exactly what kind of welcome to expect. The whole night he's known only one thing, this is a different kind of game he's playing and he barely understands any of the rules. That doesn't change anything for him. His shield slides onto his back and he overlooks the welcome sign with an understandable amount of apprehension. Not for fear for himself, but for what the madman who put it up is capable of. And that's the reason he's here.

"On my go command, all teams converge on this location. Stage one remains in observation ready for extraction..." This wont be easy, he's done making that mistake. But when has anything ever been easy? Steve knows he's made mistakes tonight. Ones that have cost people's lives, but now it's time to make good on his promise. "You got my attention, clown. Now it's time you stopped underestimating me."

"Less than two minutes!" A SHIELD operative states over the comm links. The structure is like a tank; all the buildings are shuttered and barred, the buildings heavy steel with no knobs, and there's no idea of the layout. Rapidly brought up schematics show it to be an open bottom floor, with a second floor of walkways between iron grids, leading to a large office. It hasn't been used in several years. Even the roof has scrap metal welded down on the ceiling windows. Breaching could be organized, but it'd take too long. Too long.

However, the two massive metal doors right in front of the open mesh gate seem... unlocked. A length of chain is through the handles, but hangs limp. A gleam of light through a crack in the middle. The front way -- the only way to get within in time.

And exactly the way Joker wishes for him to go, with the timer clicking down.

Steve stares at the only openning available to him with a little quirk of his brow. It's certainly not the way he would have liked to do it, but with a timer clicking down and people's lives in danger, he really doesn't have much of an option. That is not to say he's going to go in blind, however. He starts running, but his shield is the first thing to go through the doors, hurled in an under arm toss for the middle most crack with enough force to knock a wooden door clear off it's hinges, and hopefully plenty enough to push these two open. The shield thuds back in his direction, caught as he passes by the point of it's descent. No matter what happens now, he's on the Joker's dance card.

The door bursts inwards, length of chain wildly yanking out and clattering to the ground. Within is two dozen men; many of them have those unique, manic-looking delectation that only those in Joker's inner circle possess. Wild Mohawks. Painted grins. Tributes to the madness that has ensnared them. They wield items from chains, to baseball bats, to simple iron knuckles. And they all surround a girl, bound at the hands and on her knees, gag in her mouth.

And then there's a loud BANG!

Blood erupts from the front of her chest, but the right side; not the heart. She falls over, shuddering.

Up upon the second level bridge is the grinning face of the Joker. Purple suit impeccable, grinning ear to ear as he holds a smoking revolver in my hand. "Oh... Oh MY!! I'm SORRY! I didn't... well, I didn't think you'd *MAKE* it on time!!" Those nearest the door are already beginning to advance on Captain America. They are better prepared. The glazed eyes of PCP, Meth, heavy tranquilizers. Fearless, occasionally drooling pawns, programmed for one purpose.

"I guess I'm a bit premature. Hahaha!! Some men have that issue, I'm not getting any YOUNGER, while you stay the same, saluting soldier!! But..." With a frown, he slaps the side of his cheek with a glove. "I missed. She's still alive. But the poor thing, I think I NICKED something..." A pool of blood is forming under the victim alarmingly fast.

"You can still save her, maybe. If you can GET to her in time...!!"

The scene inside is like something out of a horror picture. Monsters surrounding a poor woman, chest erupting in a fountain of blood, and then they're all advancing on him like mindless automatons ready to do the psychotic clowns dark works. Two dozen men, some of them with the look of absolute insanity blazing in their eyes and others with something... else. Likely drug induced courage.

Steve looks first to the clown, then down to the woman on the other side of this wall of men ready to engage him. How many of them could he take down before the woman bled out? He wanted to move her, but he doubted the Joker would let him do so and he was absolutely certain that the men would try to stop him... First instinct was to leap over them, get in the middle and try to limit how many could actually engage him at once.

Instead he stands his ground, tightening his grip on his shoulder as they approach. The grim determination of what's about to happen is only made worse by the reality that if he doesn't hurry that woman's going to die. No time to decide, his whole body goes behind a massive throw of his shield. One of the far walls... it might well assume that he's missed his intended target as it clatters around the room under the power of his strength, until it starts heading right towards the Joker up on his catwalk.

Then he barrels into the center of those men, hands up to protect his head and neck. Every strike is meant to bring one of them down. Slapping at throats, grabbing and throwing one into another. There's no time for anything other than all out violence.

Steve Rogers; completely not holding back. This is a rare sight. A savageness to each blow. Cracking noses. Shattering ribs. Breaking arms. Countless blows rain down on him, some painful, some not; adrenaline would make most of the pain begin to numb him, even as brass knuckles strike at his face, a knife snapping at the hilt as it fails to get through his advanced armor. Sweep of chain swung at the side of his knee. Seven. Seven are down. That leaves 16 still up.

"One... Two... Three... FOU-WHOOPS!" The Joker ducks as it ricochets towards him, but he's still clipped heavily on the shoulder and the gun goes spiraling down, clattering near the woman. "Ohh, you play ROUGH." His limb hangs limp, dislocated, but he simply grins. Slowly pacing back and forth, before grasping his shoulder and *TWISTING* it back into socket with a sickening pop. Not once does his expression flicker.

"Help... Help..." Somewhere a midst the hell of battle, the fading voice of the woman calling out. SHIELD is asking to come in. With deadly force.

Steve distinctly hears the call of that woman crying out for help as his arm comes up to act as a shield against the swing of a chain that wraps itself around his forearm. He pulls with all his might and yanks the goon holding it towards him and nearly takes the man's head off with a cloth-line that also throws him in the direction of another of his friends.

Armed, the little stings of a dozen blows are distant right now, but he can feel that one of his ribs is certainly bruised if not cracked or worse, broken. The chain snaps out like a whip across the side of one of the remaining 16's face, Cap turning to deflect a knife strike away with the lateral aspect of his left hand. The wielder taken off balance as all his force keeps moving forward rather than stopping against the intended target.

He hears, too, the pleas from SHIELD agents ready to storm the warehouse. He's already lost so many, caused two people to die and a third lays bleeding only a dozen feet away. And what trick might the Joker have up his sleeve? How sure can he be that the clown WANTS agents storming the building?

With all those attackers on him and the life draining out of the poor woman, Steve dives past another goon and takes a ball bat across the back of his shoulders. The armor takes most of the force, but it still hurts... PCP fueled strength nearly knocks his wind from him. The shield, he rolls over top of it and slaps it with his palm so it flips up into one hand and lets fly at another goon from his half kneeling position.

"'You've got Jokes' Joker..." Hoping like hell he's not running his comrades into a horrible trap.

The moment that the SHIELD agents burst in, guns blazing, a number of people go down. Sprays of lead tearing through them, reducing them to a handful in no time. But suddenly the lights in the warehouse go black. Pitch black. And then a clatter of something glass breaking nearby. Only ambient light from the open door behind shows a series of silhouettes. SHIELD members are rushing forward, flashlights turned on almost immediately. And revealing an expanding cloud of purple gas. "SMILE...!!" one starts, before collapsing. Two others succumb. The rest pull down gas masks, but the only ones remaining standing have faces slowly growing rigid. After a few moments, something's horribly wrong. "Wh... this shit's acidic!!" "Filter's frying... grr... graakk!!" Many pour back out to collapse outside the warehouse, in various states of poison. The only areas clear being the iron staircase leading to the ascended catwalks.

Now farther along, Joker's eyes shine playfully. He beckons at Steve Rogers, before slowly walking along without haste through the ascended office door, pulling it shut with a clack behind.

His first instinct was a good one, but a desire to bring this thing to a conclusion forced him to make a 'good' decision tactically, but without the ability to actually survey the area... The gas cloud surrounds Steve and he takes a deep breath just before it would envelop him and rushes straight through to the staircase leading up after the Joker.

Once he's out of the acidic cloud that burns at his exposed jaw and sizzles dangerously where it touched his armor, he's looking back down at the grotesque grins on the agents who were unlucky enough to be in the initial burst of smilex. The others? "Report." He says in a cold voice, choked from the poison and fights at the tingle of a grin that wants so very badly to tug at one corner of his mouth.

If he'd actually breathed that stuff in? He cannot know for sure if his imunities would have saved him.

Shield on arm, Captain America follows after the clown. Hurling his projectile at the office door with a audible grunt behind the throw.

"He... he dropped a beaker of Smilex when the lights went down. ...Spread fast. Cough. W,we brought antidotes of course... causalities minimum..." Minimum. But not zero. Outside the fact Joker just sacrificed every man that was down there in his own morbid little game. The moment the door closes the shield impacts it, breaking inwards with a clatter. A body is heard thumping to the ground.

Minimum.

Those are words a Squad leader never likes to hear. No matter what the mission, casualties are taken poorly, but under the circumstances? "Try to get eyes on the surrounding buildings..." Asking more of these Agents who have just taken a lung full of this terrible chemical. Those are the hardest directions to give, when wounded have to keep fighting.

The shield rebounds back into Cap's hands as he walks purposefully towards the open doorway and the thudding sound that echoed from the other side. His eyes burn from the smilex, but the grin is already starting to fade after popping his own antidote from one of the multipockets on his belt.

His hand slides behind the guard and grabs the throwing handle, passing across the threshold with his eyes looking for any telling signs of another trap...

Face down on the ground within the room is the Joker, looking somewhat crumpled. One arm is beneath his chest, the other stretched out. There's a trap door in one corner, which apparently he was making his way for. Now the entire bottom area is in a meter and a half of that acidic Smilex, which standard gas masks are apparently not effective on. Was he knocked unconscious...? Every instinct rings within Steve that he is. But also, a doubt, as if it's impossible to be that simple. Such a contrast might be... disconcerting to a normally stable mind.

Every time Steve's made a decision based on what logic might dictate he's been abysmally wrong. Trying to predict the Joker has been an exercise in futility, so the simple fact that he's still trying is as the saying goes: Doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.

Another instinct inside him says to pull his pistol and unload the entire clip into the clown's back. So he plays at the Clown's game a little and yanks the Colt 1911 from it's holster and jerks back the receiver to echo out the unmistakable 'chik chik'.

There's still no movement from the Joker. It would be easy. Terribly easy. He simply lays there, limp as a babe. A man who has killed hundreds. Literally. The case files grew more horrible as the tally went higher. And even if he's brought to justice here and now, everything he's done will be remained. Temporary. Always temporary. He has never been caged longer than he felt like, an unending cycle of Batman's refusal to kill, and this man's insatiable appetite for it...

Captain America, pillar of all that is right and just, stands in the belly of the best staring at the crumpled form of the Joker laid out like a rag-doll in front of him with a pistol in one hand and his shield strapped to the other. His expression is hardened by the course the night has taken. The endless cycle of decisions that always seemed to be a product of the Joker's twisted idea of fun. 'How does Batman do this?'

'Night after night, how does he keep going without putting one of these monsters down?'

Steve has killed. In war, people die. It's a fact that he has both accepted and never really gotten comfortable with. When the enemy is threatening and it's them or the people fighting alongside him; there's no decision needed... But this isn't a war.

The gun turns over slowly in his hand twisting the barrel in one direction, then another. This is murder. This is corruption. This is the joke.

"For everything you've done, you deserve to die." He says with a bit of venom in his voice, "But I understand why Batman hasn't killed you now... I never could before." He's several steps away, fully expecting the clown to suddenly spring to life and attack with some insane weapon. "He toes a dark line in this city... has to walk where nobody ever should. But you're not the sickness, Joker. You're just one of the symptoms. All you are is the sniffles... barely even worthy of calling out of work and one day? The city is going to become immune to you."

"Until then. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you..."

"...What?"

Suddenly Joker's hand impacts the ground, then the other, and he hauls himself to his feet like some kind of zombie. Twisting, there's something within his eyes that Steve may have never seen within a human being before. Never thought possible, outside the twisted demons of the abyss. The full, bared teeth of his monstrous insanity at full effect.

"...WHAT?!" He twists towards Captain America, tousled hair wild, no longer smiling. "You DARE call me that?! You?! A stupid boy scout, who's done nothing but watch people die as I LAUGHED?! Would YOU grow immune to that? Wouldn't YOU go mad?! You feel it, right? That tickle still, on the corner of your mouth... just smile. Smile, and laugh. And it all goes away."

But the Joker is still not smiling. "I was having fun before. But now... you've made me *mad.*" He's injured. The strike to his back was not joked. Slouched forward, left hand twitching as if control is limited. But there's still an immense sense of danger to the man, an aura of unpredictable chaos.

"Take me down. Do it. Show me your form of JUSTICE works here..."

"You have the right to wait until a lawyer is present." Steve says, right over top of the Joker's speech. Staring at the unpredictable monster with just the hint of a smirk on his face. Blood oozes from a wound on his lip and trails down from what is no doubt a broken nose, he feels none of it. Not right now. Not the bruised ribs or the ache of his skull where chains and bats and brace knuckles rattled his head inside the armored helmet.

"If you can't afford one, one will be appointed to you..." The pistol still hangs down at his side, the shield held in a vice grip on his left arm. "Do you understand these rights?" The pang of each of those deaths strikes true in the First Avenger. He feels them as keenly as if they were personal friends or loved ones, no matter what their lot in life.. but to make this personal would be playing right into the clown's game.

"No." Joker suddenly states. "I don't understand them. Who says I have to obey? Who is it that decided who is the boss? Who decided who gets to be judge, jury, and executioner?! Someone, somewhere, saw the CHAOS in this world. And installed those petty little morals. Look at an innocent child. Are they innocent and pure? No. They are cruel and abusive. They will kill while laughing. People are ANIMALS. You just wear society's leash much tighter than others."

He reaches into his rumpled vest, and pulls something out. A dead man's switch. "There is a reason nobody in Gotham crosses me. Have you ever heard that term? 'There are two people you never anger. The Batman. And...'"

He gestures, expression manic. "AND?!" Steve probably does know the answer to this. And he probably knew it before he got involved, got baited by his message. But he had likely never thought it would be like *this.*

There's no denying that Steve didn't know what to expect from the Joker. Never could have even if he'd had a thousand years to plan for this night been prepared for the monster he was playing the game against. The game itself is alien to him. Captain America 'does not' understand Gotham's rules. He's no stranger to the mentality, perhaps, but to see it given a living breathing representation? No. He'll freely admit he's got a new found respect for the chaos that is The Joker.

But he's not afraid of it either. That much is clear in his eyes. Whatever the Joker plans, whatever trick is up his sleeves, Steve isn't going to back down from it. Steve Rogers isn't Batman, but he is Captain America. "You're not the first knucklehead to pull a bomb out of the jacket, Joker." Cap eyes the switch.

"You're wrong about people. You see this corrupt city and you think it's the norm, it isn't. I think the only person you've got fooled is yourself... and honestly? That is kind of funny..."

Steve is suddenly in motion. His shield flies from his arm with all the serum fueled speed of the Super Soldier aimed for the deadman's switch.

"No." Joker states, simply. "This city is the closest to seeing what the world is really like. What SOCIETY is really like. Pointless, painful, and dark. A helpless nobody, grinded through the cogs. How would you know? Being a nobody, a background character in the movie that is life?! Maybe some people decide enough is enough, and RIP THE COGS OUT. You can hide from it all you want... fight it all you want... but monsters have existed since the dawn of man. And they will exist until we destroy ourselves...!!"

The shield is gone in an eye blink. The dead man's switch is destroyed, clattering to the ground, leaving just the remnants of the trigger held down by his finger. But the Joker ducks down low, twisting and leaping to the side. The ricochet misses him. From his vest, he hurls a series of spiraling glass lab tubes, purple liquid sloshing within...

"You have no idea how well I know that story. You're nihilistic ideology is exactly the sort of insanity I've spent my whole life fighting." The words said in true comic fashion, "You scare people into think you're something special. That by the grace of your vicious nature you represent the truth behind society. Save it. I've fought the God of Chaos... you're a pale comparison." Steve rushes after the Joker when the tubes are let to fly from his hands, when the switch flies away broken now released to exact whatever final vengeance the clown had planned for tonight. Cap leaps and catches his shield in a spin, then lets it fly after the Joker once more. Each of those test tubes hitting around him, each releasing the horrible contents into the room as the First Avenger pushes every muscle to tackle the the clown whether his shield hits or not.

"You'll fight it until you die!! And it won't change a THING!! That's... what... makes... it... POINTLESS!!" The Joker states with a cackle. Although what happens from the Dead Man's switch might be generally surprising, as a thick purple mist hisses out from the broken tubes, billowing up thickly. Just as Captain America catches and swings. An intensely loud horn. "BAZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGA!!" followed by a strobe light flash and a few heavy bursts of confetti. Heavily struck, the Joker staggers into a full-body tackle. But a hand slaps out, quick as someone going after a gnat, in all the confusion. Intentful on nothing more than tapping Steve's exposed chin. It would result in just the slightest prick of pain.

With everything going on, there's very little chance Steve is going to be able to keep his chin from being tapped by the hand. Still he presses his feet, like a linemen, his feet keep moving towards the window, carrying the clown with him as he barrels right through the glass. The gas, it burns to the touch, but he's holding his breath like some sort of Olympic swimmer. Still, nothing can keep it from seeping into his nostrils and his body fights the effects even as the recently consumed antidote wrestles with the powerful chemical.

If they go through the window, if both are in tow: Steve will turn so he takes the brunt of the fall across his back, but holds on like everything depends on it. He clutches like a child gripping a teddy bear... He is not a weak man.

A bear hug from Captain America is something else indeed.

Captain America would realize it too late, most likely. That there's no burn from the gas. Nothing. It smells like grapes. But the tackle through the window happens regardless, and the downside of twisting to land upon his back is that now Captain America is within the true poison; about a meter high, still thickly rolling a midst the statuesque forms around him. Whatever he was tapped with wasn't Smilex. A quick-acting paralyzer. "Hah... hahah... do you feel it yet?!" Joker hisses, trying to wrench himself free. But the cocktail attacks the nerves directly. A normal person would be rigid and stiff in a heartbeat. The effect on Captain America, even diluted, might not be good. "...The... the urge to SMILE?!" Being bathed in the Joker's poison all the while is probably not going to be helping matters.

Captain America fights for every inch he takes against the paralytic. His back hits the ground and forces him to take a deep breath of the thick gas coating the lower floor of the warehouse, but still he fights. If willpower alone was enough to overcome the effects of the toxin, the First Avenger would be miles beyond the pack, but... too many injuries. Every one of them taking their toll on his stamina. Too much gas, even with the antidote... and the paralytic?

He feels something he's not felt in a very long time... weak.

But even before the super soldier program, Steve Rogers was a fighter. The thick cloud hides his body from view, so when both armored gloves wrap into the lapel of the Clown's jacket and yank him down towards the armored headbutt, it's likely a bit of a surprise of his very own.

The headbutt does surprise the Joker. His nose deforms, blood spurting out, but he yanks himself free to twist and fall on his back adjacent. Breathing deep, and doing short, jittery laughs. "T-T-Taken out by my own toxin... Is,Isn't that a laugh... th-the true joke?!" Captain America's inherent resistance and the remnants of antidote are staving it off, but he'd feel that irresistible curl of the lips, swirling with the paralyzing injection he got before the one-story plummet. "Hoisted... by my own petard!!" SHIELD flashlights are swirling through the mist, finding Captain America in short order and settling on him.

The hands reach down for him, but everything seems kind of funny right now and the giggles are right there, but still the Captain fights to break into the laughter. Each hand that grabs him is one he grabs hold of to pull himself up to his feet... Up onto legs that at first refuse to support his weight, but with the assistance of those agents.

His face is twisted into a grin, but every muscle in his face strains against it. Twisting his head with the sheer will 'not' to be effected. No matter how futile the fight. Between the paralytic and the smilex gas, coupled with all the injuries from the sustained fight against dozens of the Joker's men... Still Steve fights... nostrils flaring, eyes watering, both hands clinched into fists so tight that the leather grinds against his knuckles.

Until one of the agents slides a ventilator over his face. Guns trained on where they hear the sound of the Joker's voice.

Steve Rogers doesn't laugh, but he does cry. Crying under the strain of not giving in to the hilarity of the situation, until he's not standing of his own accord anymore, but slumping against the shoulders of Agents holding him up.

"...Just kidding." Joker states, inhaling deeply before sitting up suddenly. He blows out a slow hiss of the gas, grunting in pain. "Bit of kick to it, this flavor..." He pushes himself to his feet with ginger care as Steve struggles. "Well... I hope you enjoyed the greeting to Gotham, kiddo. Give it a few days. Once you feel that crack... then you'll be one of us..."

Like a zombie he shuffles forward towards the back, feet skidding across the concrete ground. The whirling lights are focused on Steve as they rush forward. Another dark silhouette isn't an immediate concern among so many struck dead and rigid, and any attempt to speak to warn them, notify them, would only end in sobbing laughs with so much of the Smilex in his system. "The masks won't hold long... get him out of here!!" He'd be herded towards the open door, dim with the light of a city. Three black plastic bags over those SHIELD operatives who did not get out in time for the antidote to work.

Just another day in Gotham.

Carried out on the arms of the Agents, Steve's mind is racing in some attempt to find clarity a midst the chaotic desire to break into laughter. Several agents rush to his side carrying a large dose of the antidote in a injector gun and push it right up against his exposed carotid for a quick relief from what is very clearly a painful force to keep his body under his own control.

Each time he tries to get a foot beneath him, it buckles and each time he's grabbed by the agents flanking him to bring him back to his feet. They know him well enough to know that as long as a breath remains in his lungs, he's walking out of here... even if with assistance.

So many dead.

Blurry eyes look to the bags and his shoulders rock in what almost becomes uproarious laughter, but for the sudden jerk of his head.. covered in bruises, bleeding, full of toxin enough to break most men's back beneath the force of laughter, Captain America takes stock of what exactly he's accomplished here tonight.

In the clearing outside the warehouse a smaller SHIELD hover copter descends to extract the Captain. When the call went out that things went sideways, nothing was going to stop them from getting him out of their alive. He's ushered into the back, holding his sides and glaring at the doorway were that gas still rolls with the wooshing heavy winds created by the chopper. He stares in the direction he watched the Joker retreat.

But then he's laying on his back coughing as the paralytic finally steals the last of his strength. If not for the antidote? Only the rhythmic breathing and cold stare goes into something like a recharge mode.

The hover copter starts to rise into the Gotham night until one of the Agents rushes out carrying something... "Stop, wait.." He runs over to the back and lays the Captain's shield on his chest.

They didn't catch the Joker, they were wholly unprepared for him, but Captain America is still an icon.

A hand slaps the door and the agents take up defensive positions around it as it carriers him back to HQ.