2014.04.10 - Welcome Back

The spring rains just keep coming. Doesn't stop crime in Gotham, though-- this new crop of masked men is looking to move in on the vice trade; human trafficking, illicit drugs, the works. They apparently haven't learned that this city belongs to the Bat. Or maybe they just think they can take him.

Right now? They're moving into a shit part of town, a convoy coming in from the docks under cover of night. Three armored cars, transporting goods and money and guns, and six armed men on motorcycles. Rumor has it they're meeting people -- maybe the guys from the Tesladyne theft, maybe something else.

Maybe it's just dye in the water, to see what comes up.

"Batgirl," Batman's voice rumbles over the communicator, "Make visual contact with the convoy and prepare for assault pattern sigma."

Atop a stony parapet, the Dark Knight watches. The rain casts a strange, shimmering aura about him though the cold and the wet does nothing to stir him from his vigil. He notes the armored cars and the men on the motorcycles. His heads-up display marks each criminal with a vivid red outline before transmitting it to Batgirl's own, making the men visible even through the rain and darkness.

Batgirl moves along one of the roof-tops opposite Batman, leaping over the gap between a pair of buildings to keep the convoy in her sight. She was eager to prove herself to Batman and when he tells her to make 'contact' of any kind, to the young woman it was an open invitation to do what she did best.

She watches the men on the motorcycles, removing a cluster of batarangs from her utility belt and predicting their movements over the next few moments. She smiled beneath her mask as she prepared to begin her assault with Batman.

Blissfully unaware of their followers, they pull into the warehouse location, the three armored cars stop-- one of the riders parts and opens the doors-- only to stop and begin to wave, panicked. Something has gone wrong with the meet, but there's no violence yet.

Three riders stay mounted, while two more park and come to investigate. The lieutenant in charge gets out of the lead truck, and with one of his friends, gun drawn, enters the warehouse. Everyone's on high alert now-- drivers and 'shotgun' in each truck tense, the guards now eyeing the streets and rooftops, wary and waiting.

“Hold,” Batman warns over the comm, leaning in closer as his cowl’s eyepieces zoom in closer on the action below, “Something’s going on.”

He’d tracked the convoy. Gotten the measure of the men involved and the best way to counter them. He’d even run the makes and models of their vehicles through the database in order to know how best to disable them. The fact that they seem concerned without either of them having made a move yet is cause to wait. There is no sense in charging into a situation you don’t understand.

“Alfred. Check if the GCPD are running any operations here tonight.”

He almost growls. The last thing he need are the heavy-handed boys in blue stepping on his toes.

Batgirl wanted to move on the men she was watching, every fiber of her being desired to spring into action. Instead she sat still, one with the shadows as the rain that beats down upon her costume, sliding off the waterproof material.

Observing the men for several moments and trying to make sense of their panic, she transmits to Batman almost hesitantly as the words slowly form upon her lips with some trouble, "Very. Scared." She must have been referring to the men below.

Funny, Batman, but there are no GCPD operations going on in the area, planned or otherwise.

Very scared is a good description. One of the men signals to one of the trucks to start backing in, but they begin to argue heatedly- the driver wants to leave, but the lieutenant wants whatever happens to be inside. But the argument is cut short by the sudden exit of blood and brains from the lieutenant's skull-- and then, high power rounds begin to chew through the door, driver; on the other side, 'shotgun' barely leaps free.

After that, all hell breaks loose; men dismount from their bikes, beginning to fire on the warehouse. They're shouting now; 'where is he?' 'it can't be just one guy' and so on, but who can hear over the din of gunfire?

"..." Is the only response Batman gets from Batgirl when he gives the signal to attack. The quartet of Batarangs fly out from her hands towards the interior of the building, hopefully towards the shooters as she leaps off the second story building.

Somersaulting she lands on top of one of the trucks and smiles just a little to herself at the exertion and effort required, her next target already picked out as she rolls off the roof of the truck.

The thug likely never saw it coming as the assassin-turned crime fighter slammed her hand down on his shoulder to quickly knock him unconscious without any major harm done; hopefully.

Batman takes down a man and his bike; the shooter behind the cycle takes his impact hard, and then the bike takes any breath he might've had out. He groans, but he's stunned.

His friends, however, are not. Some of them are suddenly fumblnig wit weapons that have been cracked from their hands, while one is clutching a bleeding arm before his head abruptly kicks back with the impact of a bullet entering his temple. He slumps, dead.

The gang is now scattering--one of the trucks is trying to take off, get away, and he peels out wildly, hitting the corner of one of his fellow trucks in his attempt to escape. Cries of 'it's the Bat!' go up, and the attacker(s?) in the warehouse are abruptly of less concern as they all search for new cover, or to engage Gotham's cowled defenders.

The man under Batman doesn't even get a second look as the Dark Knight rises to his feet, only pausing to twist the man's head just far enough that his brain bumps against the inside of his skull and knocks him out. Permanent damage will be negligible. A severe headache. A stiff neck. Hospital time? Perhaps. That's not his concern.

As he turns, the Bat's hand moves swiftly from his belt before pointing with splayed fingers at the nearest of the armored cars. Two batarangs, small but unusually bulky and each blinking with a pulsating blue light, whistle forth to lodge themselves in the tires. Timed, compartmentalized explosives to take out the wheels.

Then he's moving again, diving at the next man with near-inhuman grace and refined brutality.

It could be said that Batgirl had a death wish of sorts or perhaps she was just incredibly brave or foolish. Instead of focussing on the thugs outside with Batman, she runs towards the warehouse, using the near-by vehicles and terrain for cover.

She removes a few Batarangs from her utility belt and takes a deep breath as she prepared to attack the shooters inside, as soon as she got a look at them that is.

A quick transmission to Batman is sent in her clipped vocabulary, "Inside. Going."

Batman easily disables the fleeing truck; one now has a dead driver, and the other? He's fleeing on foot, completely unwilling to stay here and die. Which is what seems to have happened to a number of men...

And what happened the "Hoods" they were meeting. The interior of the warehouse is a veritable charnal house. Dead men everywhere. Gunned down, blown up... and their stolen Tesladyne gear? Most of it seems to be intact, if the cases are blood spattered.

Sitting on one of the boxes, though, is a man in a red hood. Upon seeing Batgirl, he gives a little finger wave.

“Hnh,” Batman grunts into the communicator – the only sign that he heard and understood Batgirl’s intentions. There’s no need to warn her or demand she wait for him. She’s as skilled a fighter as he is with the capacity to be far greater. There’s no need to coddle her.

While Batgirl investigates the inside, Batman focuses on the fleeing suspects outside. Those that aren’t dead are chased down with extreme prejudice. The fleeing driver’s feet find themselves suddenly bound together at the ankles by flying bolas, sending him toppling to the ground with a thud.

“Report,” he growls to Batgirl.

There is a brief pause in her step as Batgirl enters the warehouse and sees the carnage that was wrought upon these unfortunate criminals. She takes in the sights and finds her gaze settling upon the red hooded man sitting on the crate before her.

The man had just waved to her. She began to watch him closely, not leaping into combat like a berserk animal but instead observing him; trying to get a read on who he was.

She replies to Batman softly, "All.. Dead." A pause, "Man in Hood here."

The man in the hood is-- a walking conflict. On one hand, he's awed by her-- she's beautiful, Batman is beautiful, in their work. He stopped shooting and watched, though his gun was still in his hand. Next to him was a duffle bag.

But there was also simmering resentment, a hate that boiled and festered, and below that... below that... hurt. So much betrayal and hurt, in the passive-aggressive motion of his hand. There is so much at play here.

"I left you the big goods. They're not really my thing," he said-- and then grabbed his grapple claw and pointed it up through the skylight. In a moment, he was moving, zipping upward like he was born to fly.

“Hood?”

Batman can’t help but let the puzzled query past his lips. Finishing up with the last of the thugs, he turns on his heels and immediately makes for the warehouse. Instead of stepping through the door, however, he takes an alternate route. He draws the grapnel gun from his belt, compressed air sending a line darting towards the roof before retracting it and drawing him up and after it at speed.

He lands on the roof without a sound, stalking across before dropping in through a half-opened skylight and perching in the rafters above. He glares at the ‘Man in Hood’ – it’s bad enough the criminals need gimmicks, worse that they stick with that old, played out one. His eyes narrow as the Man launches himself towards the skylight. Act now.

As the Red Hood rushes upward, the Batman lurches forward from the shadows. He drives his fist squarely across the jaw of the Man’s mask, attempting to grapple and fall with him back to the floor of the warehouse. His cape slows the descent, leaving it little more than an uncomfortable ‘thud’.

Batgirl had been ready to spring into action, her own Grappling Gun already in hand as she notices the hooded man starting to make his escape. It's an unnecessary and ultimately futile action though.

It was futile simply because Batman was here and he tended to be a step ahead of everyone. She stands ready when the pair come crashing down into the warehouse once more, but does not interfere in what she saw as clearly a one versus one duel.

If Batman needed her help, she knew he would ask. She watches the two men from the shadows, silent.

There's something wrong, Batman. There's no way he should have been able to twist with that. Predict it-- even land on the roof and roll with it. No cape to slow him down, he's all grace and strength, landing in a crouch not far from where he was /expected/ to land.

"Nice shot, but not good enough." He's already backflipping, to buy himself space. He lifted his gun, firing off rapid, expert shots, but it's almost like he's just... testing the armor, like he knows they won't penetrate.

"Looks like you improved the weave! Nice... We're all new and improved. New armor. New Batgirl. League trained, no less. Must be quite the coup."

But then again... so is he.

Batman immediately moves to the side when the gun is drawn, rolling to avoid the bullets. Still, he catches one in the chest. Ngh. Uniform stands up to it but nevertheless he feels a rib crack beneath the armor of his suit. He lets out the slightest, wheezing breath but that is all there is to betray that he has been harmed at all.

"Poor shot," he goads, fists clenching at his sides as he glares at the Hood, "You're more used to your fists, aren't you?"

Though he does not read body language like the open book Batgirl sees it as, he can still pick things up here and there. All he sees, however, is the underlying rage. The cockiness. The weakness that can be exploited.

Immediately he darts forward, dropping to one knee bringing up an armored fist. It's a short, sharp jab directed to snake about the Hood's defenses and land on his left kidney.

Every fiber of her being wanted to leap into combat, to test herself against this opponent so she could have proven herself to Batman. Instead, she is forced to sit back and wait for the pair of men to duke it out; man to man.

She watches the pair closely, recognizing some elements of her own training in Red Hood's fighting style as well as elements of Batman's? She ponders this for a moment as she reads the emotion of Batman's opponent, she recognized some of it all too well.

"You know I'm not really trying," the Hood says, oozing the cockiness. He wasn't aiming for the vitals. For the soft points under the arm, for the specific juncture in the neck and jaw. He knows where to hit. He simply /isn't/.

It was a test-- just like flashing his gaps is a test. Plating over the kidneys -- like the body armor has been specifically designed to guard against nerve strikes. Because it has: it's designed to take a beating from someone who won't go for a finishing move. It's practically a love note to Batman's unimitable takedowns. He gives lashes out with a few of his own--but these take them to the next level. They're out to hurt, to maim, to ruin. If it were anyone else, anyone at all, and they landed-- they'd ruin a man. Leave him a cripple.

With Batman, at best, they'll tickle. But he knows that. To his bones, he does. It's less combat now and more like a dance, giving out cues and responding to Batman's strikes of reply.

Batman attacks not with frustration now but with curiosity. No longer is he aiming to hurt but instead just to see. The defenses that seem to suggest prior knowledge. The body armor that suggests the same. All of these are clues. Batman presses his assault, as though testing for weaknesses. But this in itself is a dangerous thing. He notices the measures taken to defend against his standard arsenal and adapts accordingly.

“Batgirl,” he growls over the communicator in his cowl. Drawing her into the fray. Another combatant. One who reads the human body like the written word.

His attacks search and probe. There will be a weakness. No defense is perfect and without one. The more he searches, the closer he comes to finding it.

Batgirl had been waiting for this very moment, pride swelled within her chest Batman called for her to join in the fight. He had needed her, that to her was worth something.

Having taken note of Red Hoods fighting style over the course of the fight, she joined the fray with a flurry of blows; a right handed open palm strike towards Red Hood's chest, followed up by an immediate snap kick towards his knee meant to disable him if it his.

She growls at Red Hood claiming he wasn't trying and says, "Shut Up." She seems intent upon taking him down.

"Tapping out already?" He tut-tuts, chiding the Batman. "And after I left you an early father's day gift!"

He sees her coming-- and reaches out for one last good bye lovetap; this time the strike leaves something behind that magnetizes and clings to one of the studs holding the kevlar armor together. There's a red, blinking light-- and after that? He's out of the way, dodging Batgirl now, purely defensive in his need to escape.

"Be seeing you!" he calls, almost merry. He's dashing now, for the edge of the roof, grapple in hand again. "It was good to see you at work."

The sharped charge? That'll blow in ten seconds. It's a concussion blast-- small and shaped, enough to eat through kevlar just like his. It'll bruise and rupture flesh, crack bone, but it won't kill him. Not like that, anyway.

The Red Hood won't be there to see it, though.

Batman grunts, stepping back as his HUD displays a big, red warning as the foreign body magnetizes and sticks to his suit. He’ll have to break the fight off. No choice. But the Red Hood has left behind a trail to follow. Clues that can piece together who he might be.

He reaches up to grab the explosive, almost roaring with the strain of yanking the high-powered magnet free from its mooring. For its size, it takes all his strength to get it free. The magnet-bomb in hand, he hurls it away from him. He’s already judged it by size and composition. The suit’s external sensors sniffing out the major chemical compounds used in its manufacture. Not an explosion that will cause any severe structural damage.

“Hngh,” he grunts as the explosive detonates far enough away from the pair of them, only now feeling the pain of the fractured rib on his right side. The distant sound of sirens gets his attention.

“Extract,” he orders Batgirl through gritted teeth. The last thing he needs is a series of murders being pinned on him and his. He has enough to deal with.

He doesn’t wait for her to respond. Instead he makes his way towards the rooftops. The Batmobile already en route.

Batgirl seems astonished that Jason had avoided her, but if he had been trained by the League and Batman he /had/ to be good. She nods her head once to Batman when he gives the order to extract and rushes out of the warehouse following an alternate route that will allow her to catch up with him and make an escape in the batmobile.

She couldn't help but wonder who that hooded man had been though, she had seen what he was going through to a degree and in some way; she couldn't help but empathize.

More than anything, she wanted to fight him, one on one so that he couldn't hurt Batman again.