2014.03.31 - Knight to King's Castle

Night falls over Bastion. The night never stops being a time for people to withdraw to their homes- to retreat to the shelter of light and warmth, especially now as Genosha is floating eastwards from Serbia and over Moldova.

It had taken all of Bruce's considerable assets to locate the floating island, despite its staggering mass. Invisible to radar, swathed in a cloaking field, the only way it could be traced was by employing a half a dozen satellites to measure minute disruptions in the magnetic field of the Earth itself.

Parachuting, then, was the way in- from a high altitude, at that. From there, it was a hike to the edge of Bastion, sneaking in from the forests that nearly abut the city in places. Exploiting the border sentries and the patrols wasn't nearly as hard, and in short order Batman was in the city proper, moving through alleys- the level, regular rooftops making access atop them impossible.

In the distance, three terraced levels up, the Spire still gleams with the moonlight, a not-subtle reminder of the power of the man at the top of that iron spike.

Batman pauses only briefly to check a small, blinking light on his HUD. Several kilometers away the Batwing flies in a holding pattern low to the ground, keeping off radar and far enough out of range to keep it from being noticeable. A digital timer appears in the upper right of his field of vision, frozen at two minutes and thirty eight seconds. If he needs to evacuate, that’s how much time he has before the craft makes it here.

Satisfied, he continues to move through the alleyways. He stays to the shadows and they cling to him in turn, his batsuit customized especially for the occasion. Though human, a broadcaster wired within the very fibers of the suit projects a beta-level mutant gene. Perhaps not enough to stand up to close, critical scrutiny but enough to let a homo sapiens pass beneath notice in the streets of the mutant capital.

His cowl patches through what sizable information he obtained on Genosha’s layout and makeup before it disappeared. A wireframe laid over the scene before he gives him an idea of his location even within labyrinthine alleyways and a small GPS tracker keeps him abreast of where he is on the map. All of it stored within the suit’s miniaturized mainframe, his connection with the Batcomputer severed for now in the cause of radio silence.

He presses on towards the Bastion.

While the night patrols are not always of a mind to investigate every sound and noise- such work so often turns out to be a mere cat- more than living beings patrol the city. One of them, a drone about the size of a basketball, whirrs past Batman. It pauses, flashing a blue light at him, and then with a small *beep* of affirmation, moves on. One of the hundreds of such 'patrol' units that monitor the city for the presence of illegal humans, neatly fooled by Batman's trick.

Passing through the industrial levels of the city is easy enough, but up onto the second steppe of the four or five that lead to the Spire brings Batman to the residential areas. Here, there are more people, active and afoot, and guard patrols more numerous. Even worse, the occassional Angel ghosts by on silent wings, stalking the night much as Batman does. Their eyes, black, facted things, see as well in night as during the day. While Batman is fast and efficient in moving along, the Angels have cause and reason to suspect anyone who moves as he does- and the little life in them gives them pause.

One Angel soars directly over Batman, powered by a silent repulsor, and turns to look at him. A familiar tingle washes over the Caped Crusader as the Angel brushes him with a psychic scan, looking for malfeasance or ill-intent on his part.

Batman stops dead and closes his eyes behind his cowl.

He has little in the way of artificial defenses against psychic incursions. Remedying that is one of his reasons for being here. Instead, he relies on ancient methods taught in a high ashram decades ago. He had expected something like this and he draws his attention inward, centering himself and focusing his mind.

In his mind he suppresses all thoughts of being Batman and his covert mission to this place. Instead within his mind rises another pattern of thoughts altogether. A thirty second timer begins to tick over in the left corner of his display. It is a complex maneuver, difficult to master and never used in this fashion. His tutors crafted it to ward off the telegraphing of attacks.

The thoughts are those of a man named Sven Daecher, a German national immigrated to Genosha in search of a new and better life. He's been out late working hard. He's keen to make a name for himself here and he's spending more time there than at home. His thoughts themselves are in German, as it is his native tongue. He pauses as the scan regards him, his thoughts innocent enough - or as innocent as any man's.

When the counter finally reaches zero, the word 'Halfpace' flashes up before his vision. The trigger word sends the custom-made Daecher personality back into the recesses of his mind and once more Batman emerges. He grunts to himself, the sensation a discomforting one but not one that he hadn't prepared for. He can only hope that he draws no such attention in the future as he moves on.

The Angel turns its face away and glides off a hundred yards, finding a place among two other statues and going still, unrecognizable as being different from the stone guardians. Batman is allowed to pass without so much as a harassing glance, the crude cyborg's work done.

Avoiding the rest of the patrols proves equally easy, a matter of timing, agility, and thinking 'empty thoughts' to avoid the perpetual psychic scans that roil across the immediate area, in search of criminals and lawbreakers- or subersives.

Through the residential neighborhoods, Batman comes at last to the top steppe, the uppermost level of the city. Here is almost entirely military populations- soldiers in barracks, guards on patrol. Weapons and aircraft and all manner of devices made for making war, in neat order. Magneto's standing army may be small, but they are formidable, mutants one and all. And there is clearly a great deal more under the steppe itself than the naked eye can discern, with troops moving underground from various short buildings that seem to contain more materiel and personnel than the space allotted to them.

The final challenge to entering the Spire, then, is the gate. The sole gate that allows access to the ediface. Guards roam the walls that surround what had been the center of Fortress, before Magneto had re-christened it, and bright lights flood every nook and cranny, eliminating shadows. The gate is a complex security system in and of itself, with guards near and cameras remotely monitoring the facility itself. People come and go with some regularity, but there is careful screening and examination of each person as they enter, including facial recognition, a badge scan, and a massive scanning apparatus that resembles an x-ray backscatter device.

This is the tough part.

Batman has little trouble getting close to the gate, keeping to the shadows and maintaining his cover in the shadows. As a guard passes him by he sweeps out like a malevolent shadow, capturing the unsuspecting man within the folds of his cape and drawing him silently into his hiding place. Careful pressure is applied about the neck arteries, consciousness ebbing away before the man ceases to struggle. Satisfied, the Dark Knight lays him down and observes him critically.

A razor-sharp batarang extends from between his fingers, slicing the guard's badge free from the cord that secures it. He tucks it away for the moment, withdrawing something else from his belt. It extends in his hands before he holds it over the unconscious man's face, a dim blue light scanning the contours of his face before digitizing them. Batman then pulls his cowl free, revealing his face for a moment before he holds the strange machine over his own features.

A miniaturized version of a three dimensional printer fashions a replica of the man's prominent features and adheres them to Bruce's own face with a spray of spirit gum. It takes a moment before it is done and when it is he twitches his face twice to test the limits of his new disguise. Satisfied, he dispossesses the guard of his clothes and puts them on over the Batsuit. The cowl and cape tucked down the back of the military uniform he now wears.

He exhales deeply as he rises to his feet, stepping out of the shadows and towards the scanner. The badge in its place. His facial features suitably contorted. All that's left now is the big, intimidating machine. Beneath the stolen uniform his Batsuit's fibers provide a skintight layering of lead, concealing all but the equipment that came with his pilfered clothing. He steps through.

The guards go through the motions. Scan the badge. A facial ID. Another scan from a genetic marker drone, this one affixed to a steel rod. Half a dozen guards stand at ease around the immediate area, on a twelve-foot wall flanking the entryway. None of them are paying overmuch attention to the foot traffic below, but then again, none of them are holding weapons, for some reason. There's a sense that imminent disaster awaits anyone who is caught trying to sneak in.

The scanner descends up and down, emitting a red light. It plys up and down Batman, then goes to rest.

And there's a long, long wait. Not substantially longer than the others, but long enough to make anyone not made from stern stuff sweat a bit under the collar as the long seconds tick by. One guard's face goes blank, then he gestures for Batman to 'move along', tilting his head towards the Spire and moving out of the immediate way of the disguised Caped Crusader. He's a giant of a mutant, easily eight feet tall, and weighing probably four hundred or more pounds. The doors to the Spire are open, each fifteen feet tall and probably a ton each, fashioned of some dense metal that looks as dark as blued steel.

Once inside the Spire, the security seems apparently lighter. More guards in uniform on casual patrol, keeping an eye on things, than actively looking for intruders. A reception desk, of all things, is at the front of the entryway, next to the elevator lobby. An un-uniformed man sits at that desk, reading something on his digital tablet and keeping an eye on the phones at the desk.

The Batman-in-disguise makes no effort to pause and pump the guards for information. An internet search brought up a hi-res photograph of the Spire and afford him the rough location of the throne room. Asking where he should go would only raise suspicions that he cannot afford to raise here in the belly of the beast. He walks purposefully, as though he knows precisely where he is going, by the guards and receptionist towards the bank of elevators.

As he passes he makes eye contact with the receptionist and gestures upwards, as though to say he's been summoned. Nothing about the way he moves in this uniform would scream Batman even if they were intimately familiar with the way he moves. His shoulders slouch a little like a guard in the last hours of a double shift and his stride is casual yet militant. Alfred's acting lessons pay off.

The receptionist smiles at Batman, lifting a hand in a wave. The doors open at a gesture from his badge, and once inside, the elevator doors close, leaving him in a solid steel box, the doors almost seamlessly pressed together. Not even a roof access is to be had.

When the doors open, it's onto a... rather odd scene. It's a sitting room, of all things. Entirely done in stainless steel, to even include the two chairs facing each other. Color and texture stand out in startling contrast, soft carpets and pillows decorating it with an eye towards a thoughtful, if spartan aesthetic. The view is spectacular, if somewhat dimmed- a gorgeous image of the city below, through what must be two-way glass of some kind.

And around the corner comes Magneto, wearing a floor-length, belted tunic with a simple cloak hanging from his shoulders. He applauds softly, the subtle gesture at odds with his young, virile features.

"I am thoroughly impressed," Magneto says, folding his hands and letting them hang loosely in front of him. "There are very, very few individuals with the skill to penetrate to the Spire itself," he informs the man. "I imagine you had a fair difficulty getting even to the Spire itself. Kudos," he offers.

"So, Batman. May I offer you a drink?" he says, gesturing to the nicely set little wet bar in the corner. "Or, perhaps tea or water, if you're not of a mind to libate?"

"No," Batman answers, fishing the cowl from the uniform and drawing it over his disguised face. It fits well enough, and any discomfort is not telegraphed in the least. He shrugs off the rest of the uniform, standing there in his batsuit. If things go poorly then he doesn't want to be wearing it. He nudges the discarded items aside with a foot, not taking his eye from Magneto.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Give an old man leave to keep a few secrets to himself," Magneto says with a low laugh. He goes to the bar and pours himself two fingers of a bottle of scotch, so old the label is peeling in places. He cheers Batman and takes a sip, settling into a comfortably relaxed perch on the back of one of the stainless seats- which look as if they're part of the floor itself.

"If I tell you, then I take all of the fun out of it." He sips his scotch, eyes never leaving Batman, then straightens up his posture. "So, how can I help you?" he inquires of the man, the perfect image of polite manners. "My ego wants to assume you are simply here to speak with me, but that seems unlikely. The Justice League /does/ have my phone number," Magneto says, taking another sip of his scotch.

“I’m not here on the League’s behalf,” Batman answers plainly, not moving from his place just before the elevator door, “I’m here for my own edification. It’s not every day that entire countries take to the sky and then disappear.”

He doesn’t mention how hard it was to find Genosha. As he speaks he looks Magneto over critically, taking into account anything and everything about him. He’s met him up close before, so now he weighs up what he sees now against what he saw then. He also pays close attention to the spire around him, looking for anything that might resemble a computer or information systems conduit.

Though the opaque white eyepieces of his cowl betray nothing about where he is looking.

"I'm glad you appreciate the effort. It was not easy," Magneto says, candidly. "It took the utmost effort, as I'm sure you can imagine." He gestures vaguely at the omnipresent light that hovers vaguely over the center of Genosha, a miniature second moon in the sky. There seems to be a communications device of some sort mounted in a few places, likely an internal comms system, and what looks like a suspiciously shaped metal plate installed in a wall near a comfortable desk chair, with seams virtually invisible to the naked eye sealing it away.

"But please, there is no reason to dance around the issue. The League has taken exception to my actions in the Balkans, particularly my temporary occupation of Serbia. You are here to determine if I am genuine in my intentions, or if this is part of a 'master plan' of world domination, aaaaand I want to say... looking for some critical weakness you can exploit?" he says, in a speculative tone. He hoists his scotch glass. "I am vulnerable to the appeal of a particularly good bottle of McClellan, though I would hardly call that an Achille's heel. Perhaps more of a soft spot?" he say contemplatively. "No, that is not quite right, other." He frowns. "What is the word I'm looking for. Dash, that will bother me," he mutters distractedly.

“Proclivity,” Batman answers shortly, turning his head slightly so the myriad sensors in his cowl might scan the composition and purpose of the suspicious plate.

He draws his cape around himself, stoic and still with all of his form ensconced in shadow save for his face and chest. Beneath the cape, his hands reach for a small object tucked away in his belt. A minimum metal bugging device, consisting primarily of plastics. Not so much to listen in but rather to allow remote access to whatever computer systems may be set up. He turns it over in his fingers, waiting for an opportune moment.

“What are your intentions, then? What you did was an act of war.”

"My intentions are to liberate imprisoned mutants, Batman," Magneto says, his tone one of gentle reprimand- an instructor attending a student. "As I have stated, repeatedly, and unequivocably. The... petty machinations of politics largely do not concern me, save for where they interfere with my mission."

Magneto takes another sip of his scotch, rattling around the steel spheres inside of the glass. The metal plate makes readings ambiguous, but it's obviously some kind of computer system behind the steel plate. Accessibility, however, is almost certainly limited to someone with Magneto's unique gifts, given the mechanism that holds it shut.

"And if I recall correctly, the United States rather single-handedly launched an invasion into Iraq with unilateral action," Magneto reminds Batman, gesturing vaguely with the glass. "And on multiple occassions, the United States has launched invasions of soverign states to retrieve imprisoned United States citizens. I view imprisoned mutants in the same light."

"Noble goal," Batman answers, still staring at the plate, "But the way you're approaching it is causing concern. After a certain point they're going to fight rather than flight."

He can't deny that this isn't how he'd approach the situation himself. He has little time for politics himself but standing with the League means supporting them in this. Besides, he doesn't completely trust the Master of Magnetism's motives.

"How safe are your mutants going to be when someone decides to throw every resource they have at shooting you out of the sky?"

Magneto shrugs. "I wager safer under my auspices than languishing in an internment camp, to be experimented upon or simply perish due to exposure and malnutrition," Magneto points out. "And frankly, they are welcome to try," he says with idle confidence. "I know full well what I am doing, and what I risk. Moldova and Romania both ceded the issue in lieu of an occupation," Magneto points out. "Granted, they are not a world power," Magneto hastens to add. "I recognize that. But it has made a difference, worldwide. I have eyes and ears the world over, and they are reporting in many locales that mutants are recieving more humane and equal treatment. Some that had been unjustly imprisoned have been- coincidentally- released from jails in fear of retaliation."

Magneto spreads his hands. "Cause and effect at work, my friend," Magneto says, with an earnest smile that manages to be paternal. "Much of your unique appeal relies on your aura of fear, the mystique of your reputation preceding you. Criminals now rarely risk activity in your city because they are afraid of your reputation, if not you yourself. Your sole foes are madmen and criminal masterminds, men who are your intellectual peers. I may not be able to liberate every mutant on Earth, but I can certainly deter the kind of appalling treatment they recevied in Serbia."

"You say you're prepared for an attack on your citadel," Batman replies, turning the miniature bug over in his fingers behind the cape, "But I'm here. It shows you don't think of everything. You aren't prepared for everything."

The Dark Knight, however, is. He lifts his chin slightly, looking to the ceiling, the panel and then back at Magneto.

"And what happens when you run out of space? There are more mutants on Earth than you can house here. Will you annex more land? You're playing a dangerous game."

"You play a game equally hazardous, my friend," Magneto points out. "But you are among the best players in the world. I can anticipate a great deal, but I cannot anticipate everything. It is a fool's gambit to assume one /has/," Magneto points out. "Your progress through the city was impressive. I shall have to revisit my security procedures in place and deduce how you slipped through so many of our safeguards. I cannot imagine you are eager to share with me how you bypassed my defenses," Magneto points out in a droll tone.

"But that is neither here nor there," Magneto says, keeping his steady, penetrating blue eyes on Batman. "There is a short game and a long one at stake here. One cannot plan indefinitely for the long term and ignore the short term, and it is equally foolish to disregard the future in favor of short term goals." He smiles enigmatically at Batman and finishes off his scotch, walking back to the bar to put the glass back. He levitates the spheres with a gesture, shaking the scotch off of them, and putting them back into a frosted steel container, to chill.

It is then that Batman leverages whatever minute opportunity he might have. He didn't come here to fight. In truth he did not even come here looking to confront Magneto. His plan was to slip in and out without being noticed with assets in place to allow him to keep a closer eye on the flying isle of Genosha.

He retrieves from his belt a second device, a powerful electromagnet that pales in comparison to the powers the Master of Magnetism can employ but is still military grade in its strength. An experimental device that only just reached the prototype stage at WayneTech before being relegated to the vault until further funding could be found. In truth, it bypassed the vault and went straight to the Bat's utility belt.

He depresses the button on the top, the device still concealed behind his cape, and directs it at the conspicuous steel plate. There's no effort to pull it away nor permanently rend a space. No, all he needs is an opening to toss the bug in there. Even a scant inch would be enough for such an accomplished marksman with thrown weapons.

"I'm not worried."

At the exact moment the device hits, Magneto clinks the spheres into his glass and turns back to Batman with a smile. "Because you are fear incarnate, no?" he says with humor in his voice. The Imperator steeples his fingers at stomach level, for want of something in his hands. "It is a shame you are serving the rather hypocritical interests of the Justice League. For a human, you have remarkable talents- and that is not a compliment I offer casually," he adds.

"So, do you have any other questions of me, Batman?" he inquires with a solicitous, polite tone, as if Batman had been any other guest who had just stopped by for a cup of afternoon tea. "I have been quite up front thus far, I believe. I should hope the League reconsiders my application for membership, after these events. If a man is going to try and straddle the world, it seemed to me to be a more sensible tact for the League to work /with/ me to address these problems. By the by, have you looked into North Korea? Shocking what that pretentious boy is doing there. If you wish to find a country that is in desperate need of intervention, I should think that would be one of your first stops."

"This isn't an intercession," Batman answers plainly, depositing the magnet back in his belt and sealing it, "It's a warning. Your interests might be purely in mutantkind but I'm not so elitist."

As he speaks, the Dark Knight stalks slowly across the room towards the window looking out over the Bastion skyline below. He remains there, cape drawn about himself once more.

"If this turns to war, people will die. I won't let it happen."

"People will die either way," Magneto points out. He makes a casual gesture and the windows- which are some kind of transparent steel- slide open. A rough guess would put their weight at into the multi-ton region. "And I cannot let my people suffer under the lash of their oppressors, anymore than you can let Gotham's criminal underworld harangue and torture her citizens. You and I are more alike than I think you want to admit, Batman."

Magneto settles into the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "And I respect you for your goals and intentions. It is merely a shame that politics put us at cross ends in this disagreement."

Batman merely stands there, cape drawn about himself, as the windows open and let the air in. He steps up onto the sill, glancing back over his shoulder at Magneto warily.

"It is."

Then, he is gone. Maybe Magneto blinked. Maybe he really is that quick. But there is no sign of him tensing up to plummet down into the space below. No sound or momentary steeling of his senses to brave what would surely be a fatal fall. Instead he simply vanishes in silence.

Far below he glides, his cape flung out at his sides and rigid to afford him greater verticality. He dips and swoops on currents of air, propelling himself just off the floating island's shore where the Batwing momentarily waits with its hatch open.

Magneto rises and inhales the fresh European air, watching Batman soar off into the distance. He stands there until the Dark Knight vanishes even from his exceptional vision, then goes back to the bar for another drink, settling more spheres into the glass and pouring himself a much fuller glass. He takes a slow, steadying breath, the only sign of how much Batman had unsettled his nerves, and slugs back two full gulps, quickly.

He goes to the intercom and presses the button. "Daniel, would you be so kind as to change course to objective alpha?" Magneto says. He smiles, looking over his shoulder at where the tiny bug had been planted. "And increase speed. It is past time we attended Von Doom. Far, far past time." He releases the 'call' button and walks back to the window, savouring his scotch, and smiling to himself in a satisfied manner.

Knight moves to King's Castle 1. Check. But not mate.