2012-07-31 Ship Traffic

The Gotham Docks are probably safer by night than they are by day. By night, the Bat-Family and the GCPD tend to keep a sharp eye on them. This is why Carmine Falcone has decided to do his smuggling by day, in the light of the sun, when police and vigilante security is light and standard security guards can be bribed or threatened. Oracle has been keeping an eye on his import/export business though, and she knows something is coming in today that is likely illicit. There were payments made from one of his shell companies to both the Kazakhstan and Gotham City port authority overseers. Bribes to make them look the other way at the discrepancies in the ship weights and manifests.

Oracle contacted Dragnet in the wee hours of the morning, directing him to Pier 14, where the Gentle Song is scheduled to dock at 9 AM sharp.

Dragnet, unfortunately, has Bon Jovi on the brain. Something about working on the docks and how tough it is. But you got to hold on to what we got, right? Right? Dragnet tries to shake the words of one of New Jersey's more musically divisive sonic exports as he peers down from the rooftop. The brightness does not help matters, as the necessity for an alternative vision mode might put him in a slightly more serious frame of mind. It isn't that he doesn't take it seriously, he just knows that a casual air of confidence and thinking about something else keeps him from dwelling on the fact he is spying on what are likely armed thugs, even if they are playing the part...hell, maybe they are longshoremen. Speaking of..."I could have been a contender." He says offhandedly as he moves still closer, his camouflage muffling sound, venting heat, generally making him as stealthy in broad daylight as Bat...Bat...that guy....is in the shadows. Its a useful thing, to disappear in the wee hours of.....9 in the morning. "Surprised more folks don't do it this way, boss. Having to stop or watch this sort of thing in broad daylight would play hell with the circadian rhythm of any bat or bird." Ah, the benefits of sonic dampening. He could hoot and holler and dance the remigold and he wouldn't get more than a few people who might poke around, not knowing quite what they are looking for.

|| "The Roman is smarter than your average rat, Dragnet," || Oracle's androgynous voice notes over the comm. || "It's why he's still operating in Gotham despite every vigilante and cop worth their salt wants him behind bars." || Babs is usually not up this early, and she's sitting in her PJs in her chair, slurping coffee to stay awake. She's hacked into the dock security cameras prior, but found them disconnected, likely part of the bribe. She has a satellite overhead, giving her a top-down view, but Dragnet is her eyes and ears today.

|| "Whatever he's moving, he doesn't want seen. There are no ships docking within eyesight of this one between midnight last night, and two today. He has a big window of virtual anonymity. He just wasn't counting on us." || She has her satellite recording data as the ship finishes offloading the standard cargo on the manifest. A dock official comes over to pay the standard workers who leave immediately. A bunch of Falcone goons take their places and enter the ship to get the cargo not on the list.

Dragnet moves in slightly closer, gas grenades primed but the gauntlet does not come up. This is just his kind of mission, complete with...cardboard boxes? He looks at them, considers them with entirely too much sincerity, then moves on with a sigh. "This is the part where you tell me I am the Daywalker, destined to save all the Vampire Justicars in Gotham from the ravages of having to stay up past 4 in the morning?" He rolls his neck, cracking his knuckles as he drops into a low crouch, slowly moving towards the ship, but not so that anyone might notice any hint of air resistance. He is new to the vigilante game, but skulking is an art form. Not being noticed and ignored? The suit enhanced those traits, it did not create them.

"I know this is what I'm here to find out, but any idea what I'm dealing with or looking for exactly? This is...was...sort of above anything I'm used to doing." Well, routinely. Every once in a while he faces down a HYDRA walker or plays car chess with Loki, but theose were contrived instances with either no exit present, or an ability to assist from the cover of camouflage and a great deal of cover available. "I know how this sort of thing would be done, but not the why or the what."

|| "The reason you're here is because I have no idea what he's moving. And if /I/ have no idea, it has to be important. I'm Oracle, the all seeing." || Babs is smirking behind the keys and she sips her coffee while zooming her satellite in on the space outside the hatch the goons went in through. They come back out in pairs carrying...coffins?

|| "What the--?" || She zooms in. Yep, pine boxes. Coffins. || "Please tell me there aren't vampires in those," || she says. || "Can you check them for heat signatures, Dragnet?" ||

The faceplate shifts just a bit, layers of material moving about on the microscopic level. Dragnet leans in closer, looking towards the nearest coffin. "Heat signature and build consistent with human female." Its Gotham, he shouldn't need to specify, but in this strange new world of gods and aliens and superheroes, he tries to be helpful as possible. Also, it keeps him from throwing up. Theres an audible retching sound that comes, and it is all that the man behind the armor, Frederick Jager, not the Dragnet, can do to keep the contents of breakfast where it belongs. "I think I prefer the night. There just seems to be something wrong about someone doing this in plain sight."

Barbara grimaces and she begins recording data, typing quickly into the computer and pulling up rumors boards and missing persons reports from Kazakhstan. Lots of young women having gone missing. Mostly runaways and drug addicts. || "Possible human trafficking. Check their heart rates. If they're low, he likely had them sedated for the trip." || There are a dozen coffins total.

She begins pulling up statistics on the girls who went missing recently enough to have been put on that ship. || "Can you measure dimensions? Is there a woman who is 5'10" and another who is 4'11"?" || . Those are the tallest, and the shortest, of the missing persons falling inside that window.

Dragnet sweeps wide, head craning, trying to tag each coffin as it comes past. "Definitely need to get a targeting VI on this thing...." He mutters. Its not quite as useful when one is primarily a hand to hand combatant or a grenadier, but this would be a highly useful non-combat application. "Yeah....yeah. 5'10 was the first one I spotted, 4'11 isn't coming up yet, but...." He utters, then spots one of the coffins newest to be unloaded. "There. Got her."

Babs closes her eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer for the girls. || "Do you have a tracer of some sort you can put on one of the coffins?" || Oracle asks. If there are some, there are probably more. Stopping them here might trigger Falcone to dispose of the rest. Can't take the risk. || "We need to find out where he's sending them, so we can shut this down." ||

"Gimme a second to cook something up." He inputs a few commands into the omnitool, and with a chirp it sets to work fabricating a crude, but functional GPS. Its no factory in miniature, but it does do a handy job at storing small things and making a few essential vigilante tools on the sly. He sneaks along parallel with the men lugging the coffins, slipping the small tracer on the bottom of one of the coffins. It isn't a terribly advanced tracer, but it will at least have the advantage of durability. Breaking from the pack, he activates it, looking up at the sky, as if the Handsome Doctor Man really is up there in the sky. "Should be coming up now. Its nothing fancy, but can be switched on and off at your description, and should be accurate within...10 feet."

Babs smiles at the ingenuity of the young man. || "Excellent. I'll turn it off for now, just in case Carmine has scanners going wherever he's bring them. You can wave off now, Dragnet. I'll get the Birds assembled and we'll reactivate it when we're ready to move." || Oracle begins typing in alerts to the rest of the gals.

"Just a guy in a fancy set of under-drawers that came with a few bonus features. Glad I could help" A poor man's Iron Man. He says this modestly, more than content to disappear into....the.....daylight. Its really good that he can cloak himself, because its not even close to an intimidating the way he saunters off. Still, as he passes the cardboard boxes, he can't help himself, once he is out of the way of the goons. He crouches, takes the cardboard box, and sneaks off with it securely held above him. He's been doing surveillance on human traffickers and GPS'ing midgets. One would hope that he can find something to salvage the day, even if it is a small chuckle.