2012-08-07 Admissions

In the aftermath of the human trafficking incident, Dragnet is...fiddling. Tinkering would be a generous word at his checking of launcher pressure, the exact parceling of the liquid that disperses into the knockout gas that is his trademark. There is even a glance at energy levels for the mass concussion cannon, but that seems an afterthought. He is in Gotham, and to date no HYDRA mechs or chesspiece automotive vehicles have assaulted him, so for now it remains unfired. If anything, its just a cursory examination to see that its there. One wouldn't call where he has holed up a 'lair', but it serves the purpose as a place he can store the armor, the various accessories, the various prefabricated tools of the trade fabricated by his omnitool. Its dark, its not easily accessible, its nondistinct, and its not a cave.

The impulse to open the channel is a strange one, perhaps a sign that he is coming out of survival mode, but he sends the tightly encoded burst just the same. "You there Handsome Doctor Man?" There are suspicions that the armored vigilante holds that he may have rather hastily misspoke in his initial assessment of Oracle, but its comfortable, even in its ridiculousness. "I heard how it went on the news. Good work." Not that his praise or approval might mean much, but a genuine pat on the back from someone who admires the work is a rare thing. Vigilantes, from what Dragnet has derived, are secretive and emotionally repressed bunch. He almost forgets to switch on the voice modulator, but a last minute service to his own fear of being traced or labeled leads him to decide on a nice smokers lung....shadowy, masculine, possibly even competent. Everything he hopes one day to be, or at least pretend to do so.

|| "Couldn't have been done without your intel, and your tracker, Dragnet. You did good," || comes the androgynous reply. Oracle seems disinclined to correct his notion about her identity. Babs isn't sitting at her computers, she's sitting on her couch in the tower, eating pop tarts and watching the Olympics. Fortunately the noise reduction of her headset cancels out the sound from the TV.

"I hope I'm not disturbing." Even through the smoky, Starcraft Ghosty sort of tones, he probably still radiates more than a little uncertainty. A nervousness that comes just as much from inexperience as a fear of imposing. The Charlie and his Angels are the only tentative protection he might have against his life catching up to him, and he is loath to abuse it. He checks the mixture again, producing a syringe and drawing it out. 'Active ingredient seems to be separable from the gas mixture itself, possible creating a potent smokescreen. Possible dispersal by means of flamethrowerlike apparatus on gauntlet' He jots down on a scrap of paper. "The armor knows this sort of thing better than I do, most days. I just try to put one foot in front of the other and try not to land on my face."

|| "The armor knows? Is it an AI?" || Oracle asks. She honestly knows very little about Dragnet yet, but so far his abilities have come in quite useful for the Birds.

Dragnet pauses a moment, and the shrug is almost audibly. "Honestly? I've never been able to have a conversation with it, or see anything that might indicate a personality. Still, there are....echoes. Processes that are executed with minimal input, an almost sentient ability to modulate and correct for things a simple machine should not. I had no idea what was needed when you asked for a tracker, but it managed to create a crude yet effective model with no direction. I have to initiate interaction, but it seems to go above and beyond what is expected, or perceive and account for variables I would never have thought of." There is a pause, a rolling of the shoulder as he removes the gauntlets, gingerly inspecting them with a set of precision tools created by the omnitool. "The specter of an A.I., the ghost of a machine, I guess. Its all speculation on my part, but none of my initial examination accounted for anything like the....'behavior' it has demonstrated since I stopped running and started acting like a vigilante. It didn't come with a manual."

|| "Sort of like the Greatest American Hero?" || Babs asks. Maybe she's a really old handsome doctor man. Or watches too much retro tv. || "So you didn't build the armor, I take it?" || She has pulled her tablet into her lap and begins typing in the information Dragnet is providing to add to her database on him.

Ah, but this is dangerous territory. Still, in for a sliver, in for a pound. Fortunately, all Dragnet has managed to watch is old tv, when he can't get some kind of news. "Yeah. Except there was no manual to lose. I would have thought my nervousness and repeated...mishaps would have revealed that." Its not accusatory, or snarky, its just surprise. Clearly Dragnet places a great deal of faith in the Voice. It hasn't tried to screw him over just yet, and it...he has been reasonable to him thus far. Finally, after reflecting, he goes with truth. Truth is cathartic after all. "I didn't. Have not found out who did, either. I've looked up every possible lead on Stark International, Waynetech, anything I could get my hands on, but none of the major conglomerates that have the budget or the requisite interest in this technology had anything like it. Its not superior, or even inferior necessarily, but it _is_ on a different design track." He doesn't tell Oracle half of the things he took off of the suit. He didn't want to be carrying more firepower than he could conceivably learn how to use. There was also temptation in having that kind of weaponry. He still remembers some of the ideas, some of the designs, but to replicate them....that would necessitate the resources, but also a need. Dragnet doesn't want to ever have that need.

|| "I can probably do some research on that for you, but it'd require you trust me enough to give me the details of how you acquired it, Dragnet," || Oracle explains. She wrinkles her nose, pondering doing searches on the camo tech at OsCorp, LexCorp, and a few other major tech companies. Bruce might know more.

There is a hiss and an intake of breath. His fist clenches reflexively and he almost nicks himself with the syringe he is balancing the knockout gas with. A dilution agent, so that anyone exposed woke up after a reasonable span of time. "There was a free for all open season on a warehouse in Metropolis about a year ago. I grabbed it in the confusion." He really leaves it to her to fill in the blanks, or not too. He isn't going to lie, but he is wary of judgement. The Batman's rules are harsh indeed, and he is uncertain if the Oracle is in the same camp.

|| "At least in your hands it can do some good. When you're ready, you can give me the address of that warehouse. I should be able to track down who owned it, even if the ownership is buried under shell companies." || Oracle lays that out there, with the caveat that he can take his time to tell her. It's a start. Mostly she worries that someone out there is actively looking for their missing armor and might track Dragnet down via the rumor mill. Not knowing who they might be up against makes Oracle twitchy.

He's not a mindreader, but every once in a while Dragnet picks up little things. ""Its a burned out husk, but...heres the address of where it stood. I tried tracking it down again after a few months. Maybe thought if I put it back I'd be left alone. No such luck, but heres everything I managed to collect." Visuals sent to Oracle of footage from the armors optics, images of various burnt out crates and barrels. Its timestamped May 1, 2012. "There are already people looking for me, boss." He says, as if answering 'her' concerns. "Sometimes its just a few clueless idiots out to make a few bucks, sometimes its a bigger fish altogether. Part of why I said yes in spite of my concerns about joining your group. I'm not a hero, Oracle. Heck, even Batman...especially Batman scares me, and I'm supposed to be on the same side." Even if it was a recent conversion. "I don't want to cause you or the Birds any trouble, I just thought you should know." That Dragnet, he comes with baggage.

|| "People aren't Oracle, Dragnet. I'm the best there is, hands down. If it can be found, I'll find it. I just want to be sure we're all prepared if someone comes sniffing around. We won't let anyone hurt you," || Oracle vows. She is going to have a really long night of writing up search algorithms to match images, news reports dates, locations, then dig back into city permits and financials.

"My boss isn't people. Got it." Dragnet laughs behind the faceplate. "I'm not worried about me. I'm good at hiding and running away, if you hadn't already noticed. I just don't want anybody to do anything stupid for me. I'm not worth it." To say nothing of the fact he would feel bad if a bunch of pretty girls got hurt for him. Which brings up another interesting point. "So uh...Charlie? On that note, how long do I get to stay with the team before you return to your senses and realize I'm a testosterone spike in a sea of estrogen?"

|| "As long as you need us, Dragnet. And you DO need us. You can't run away forever, and you have the hero gene in you. Otherwise you'd have sold that suit and run away to a Caribbean island by now." || Babs grins as she stretches her arms over her head on her couch. || "We all start somewhere. We don't become Batman over night." ||

"Oh I disagree. I'm always running. I just want to try and be productive while doing so. It could also be raging stupidity instead of a 'hero gene', but its a nice thought. I think I will keep it." Dragnet cocks his head as he places the gauntlet to lock back onto his arm. "Considering the alternatives, surrounding myself with highly talented, highly motivated street warriors of justice seemed mildly safer than what I was doing originally. Less likely to run out of ammunition, for one. For the other, no one is going to notice me when they have much more pleasant means of butt kicking to be worried about."

|| "Memo to me, work on your self confidence and self worth, Angsty McAngst-muffin," || Oracle quips. She is grinning though. || "I have to go hack some mafia bank accounts. Give a holler if you need me. Oracle out." ||