2014.04.16 - The Court of Owls: Cat vs Owl

Batman and 'friends' aren't the only ones out there gathering intel on the Court of Owls; whispers of movement in the shadows -- and of dangerous, high end technology -- have reached the ears of the Powers That Be. And one of those Powers That Be has hired a professional to act.

Shen Kuei's orders are simple; gather intel about the Court of Owls, and retrieve a particularly important piece of technology said Court has managed to take hold of. The trail of money, bodies, and black market deals has lead him here: To the Powers' office.

It's a lovely little gothic building owned by a business that holds one of the most powerful monopolies in Gotham -- the power utilities. And the owner of that business is (in a stroke of deeply convenient naming) the Powers family -- specifically, the patriarch of that family, Richard Powers.

He is a man with extensive connections in the criminal underworld, using his company to help run several complex money laundering schemes. He is also, according to Shen Kuei's contact, a member of the reclusive Court of Owls -- and the man who possesses the piece of technology Shen Kuei has been contracted to acquire. Said acquisition will require an aggressive, late-night intrusion in the offices of Powers Industries... which is why Shen Kuei is currently slipping in to the office's 26th story window, into the darkness of one of its many meeting rooms. To find the laptop of Richard Powers -- and on it, information regarding the Court of Owls -- and the piece of technology cryptically referred to as 'the Dimensional Tunneler'.

Shen Kuei has been privy to an amount of information already that many have struggled to get for some time by his employers. The simple existence of the entity itself is postulated, and sufficient proof for the Cat's standards. And the desire to acquire certain technology. Of course, he does not work in such a simplistic fashion. His own considerable information networks are taken, coming up with a man named Edward Nygma, who was vehement by phone at the time the Owls were real. If two people believe it is true, and wish for such information... the chances of it being a trap are significantly less.

Normally, he would attempt and negotiate with the Owls, to see if they were be willing to pay him *not* to try and meddle in affairs; yet he's been offered quite a bit by this particular organization. He has a clause to remove going for the highest bidder. And they paid it.

During the bloodbaths, the carnage, the whispers and the secrets, the Cat had worked covertly. Ancient records were dug up. Lines were connected. Sealed facilities full of confidential information bypassed without issue, putting together the pieces of the puzzle slowly but surely. It has been a week. Mr. Nygma vanished. A shame, if that is the case, he likely has important information. But...

Yes. It would seem that they do exist. ...The name, that is. The Court of Owls. And the legends and myths were derived from some true incidents, many of which had been concealed. The McHeighs. Murdered, on a particular day. The Waynes, murdered on a particular day. Thirty-five years apart. Coincidence? Maybe. Going back thirty-five years further though, the pattern continues, yet well hidden. Two wealthy people. One surviving son. Growing up successful at business. It goes back much farther than he would have expected.

Perched on the edge of a building overlooking the compound his research and resources have pointed him at, the Cat focuses on one thing, stroking at his chin. If they have been doing this for maybe centuries... then why now, why this time, make it a murder and stand out? And why, on the same day as the Waynes, ruled a tragic accident? ...Did they mean to sculpt him into something, and failed? Is this all an elaborate set-up to replace Bruce? A slap in his face? A hint that they exist? The date and the change of modus operandi is not coincidence. Interesting.

Shen Kuei likes it interesting.

It is with that he's now settled within the darkened room of the building proper, gently sliding it shut behind. He wears only his minimalist outfit now, armoured beyond ceramics on the outside of his right arm, glasses settled carefully. It's the right floor, but not the right office. This one was slightly ajar, meaning the security system wasn't activated. Laziness is always the best method of infiltration.

Eyes glance along the door, looking for the tell-tale signs of alarm systems. A slender black tube then attaches to the side of his glasses, popping under to glance to and fro at what's on the other side. There should be motion detectors, even in a civilian building. But what else might he see?

The standard security features apply: Motion detectors. Heat detectors. A few closed circuit cameras. Nothing that Shen Kuei can't overcome. In the darkness of the meeting room, there isn't much to survey -- but in the room ahead, two doors over... that's where Mr. Powers' office lies.

Once Shen Kuei arrives, he will find the office is rather Spartan, with an 'organic' feel -- a smooth, curved black desk that lacks hard edges; a bookshelf groaning beneath the weight of various tomes on warfare, technology, and biology. An unusual rack of grotesque masks on the wall (including at least one freakish looking owl mask). A laptop -- Shen Kuei's target -- on the desk. And...

...Mr. Powers, dressed in a sharp business suit, sitting at the desk in front of the laptop -- a small hole now occupying the side of his head. His left hand still holds the pistol; the scent of gunsmoke is still in the air. A small, elegant suicide note is written on the desk beside him; his eyes are glazed, staring silently at the ceiling.

Nothing difficult, indeed. With slow, exhaling breathes, Shen Kuei controls his body temperature. Slowly and surely the excess heat bleeds away. He feels cold. Cool. Like the rushing water. The only camera that is watching the doors of both his office and Mr. Powers is his target; he fires a short, intense EMP blast from the end of his camera, knocking it on the fritz for about two minutes. Nothing unusual, to those in the business, especially given the rest are working.

The door opens, slowly. He moves as if in slow motion, flowing steps not enough to trigger them. Evading the perspective of the cameras. Focused on his breathing. Heat signature below the threshold of the monitors in the room. And then a gloved hand finds the office door, pushing it open gently. Slipping within, it is closed behind with a whisper the moment the closed circuit camera pops back online, showing nothing out of the ordinary.

It seems he was too late. Approaching Mr. Powers, glancing around at the surrounding items with curiosity, the note is glanced over without being touched. His boots and gloves are specially lined; forensics will never know he was in this room, weight distribution not even disturbing the carpet.

Have things turned south for the Owls...?

Maybe. Or maybe...

...the number of people who can theoretically sneak up on Shen Kuei is probably quite low. Whatever that number is, Shen Kuei might need to increase it by one -- because shortly after he does his walk around the deceased Mr. Powers (inspecting the wholly generic and boring suicide note), he discovers he is not alone -- only because the room's other occupant decides to greet him.

"Good evening." The voice is metallic; a synthesizer designed to disguise the voice. Two bright, luminescent eyes flash from the ceiling in the corner; a figure is perched, there -- his legs spread, knees pushed against opposite walls, claw-like hands extended out above him. The armor he wears is sleek; kevlar weave, dark black -- shaped in exagerrated proportions to his muscle mass. Probably enhances his strength, too.

The man's suit is all function -- except for the mask. Behind those two luminescent eyes is the mask of an owl.

Indeed, few people can sneak up on the Cat. And the primary reason is not his extreme sense of hearing; it that he can feel the heartbeat of chi within others. There's no tension, no leap away, no sense of fright at the words. He simply reaches up to adjust his glasses and pivot to face the imposing figure. Mirrored lenses conceal the slow examination up and down. "Good evening." he repeats, in a conversational tone. Fingers interlace with two fingers extended, eyes narrowing. Then he can feel it, deep within, a whirl of essence... "So you can suppress your chi. I commend you on your martial training. I'm afraid we're at an impasse of etiquette. You certainly know who I am. Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself...?"

"No."

The figure descends from the corner of the ceiling, landing with scarcely a sound. The eyes continue to glow, locked upon Shen Kuei. "As I recall, before undertaking a mission, you seek your targets out to determine whether or not they are willing to pay more for you to not take on a mission."

The Owl pauses, for just a moment -- before continuing: "Whatever it is, I'll double it."

"That's a shame." The Cat offers, hands entering the pockets of his flowing trench coat. He simply stands opposite, quiet as the other man descends to land. This is a rare figure indeed. A man against whom the sheer menace and fear of the hulking Talon outfit does not seem to affect.

"Normally, that is true. But I found the Court of Owls notoriously difficult to even confirm existed. On top of that, I have a special clause when being hired to exclude bidding, which I accepted due to those circumstances."

A slight bow forward it done, genuinely apologetic with eyes closed. "Regretfully, my contract has already been finalized. Or I would have certainly accepted that offer."

"I see. That is unfortunate." The Owl allows the silence to speak for him, for a while. But when he grows tired of what it has to say:

"Then one of us will die."

The Talon sinks into a stance. His fingertips extend; razor-sharp claws gleam from the shadows.

"If you wish." the Cat states, raising up and keeping his hands within his pockets. "Although for a man of your talents... why pollute yourself with such armour? Does it not slow you? Would you trade strength for speed? It would seem you had poor mentors. For there are many methods of achieving power and defense while sacrificing nothing..."

He finally assumes a flowing stance, one that seems defensive. A slow exhale follows, every muscle visible going lax. It would feel like there is an aura in the air, the strength of a crouched tiger prepared to pounce behind the slender man.

But he came ill-prepared. He did not expect a talon. He has no proper melee weapons at the moment. A glance is done around. Such a posh office; might there be a letter opener?

There is; one directly behind Shen Kuei, upon the desk -- neatly placed upon a small metal dais, balanced precariously.

The Talon does not respond to Shen Kuei's critique of the suit; he only watches, silently -- assessing the stance, the aura, the skill. And then--

The Talon's eyes go dark. Before coming back, hard -- LEDs strobing in a series of brilliant light flashes meant not only to briefly blind, but disorient -- as the Talon strikes.

The armor does slow him down; but that's not all. Whatever Shen Kuei can glimpse through the strobes during that charge tells a simple tale: He is an older fighter. Highly experienced. Deeply technical; function over form, brutality over elegance. Raw strength, tempered with extraordinary dedication to technique. He only practices chi now to defend against it.

He is coming in like a freight train. The armor whirrs around him, increasing his strength to an absurd degree -- a fist capable of punching through concrete aims at the center of Shen Kuei's chest, intent on slamming into it -- and through it.

The flash of light is quite brilliant and pretty. But it causes no reaction, no recoil, no distraction. The glasses worn by the Cat have multiple diffusing layers, that go opaque at flares of light. A trick, hmm? That speaks poorly to Shen Kuei about the true combative ability of the opponent opposite.

A leaping backflip takes the Cat to the table, couched as he grasps the letter opener in a reverse grip. His hand slips within his trench coat, and rather than leap away, he actually rushes *forward*; to flash by in a snap, as his right hand blur. A heavy bruise forms on his left arm where the slightest graze of that fist touched him.

This is no normal Talon. Had he not dedicated himself to pure strength, he might have fully shifted that fist enough to intercept him.

But of greater concern might be the two four-pointed throwing stars, hurled with force enough able to stick into steel, each aimed to strike one of those glowing eyepieces as he maneuvered to land in a crouch behind.

"--hnh--" The stars strike; the eyes instantly go out -- as the forward momentum of the Talon causes him to hip-check the desk. Poor Richard Powers; he and his furniture are sent reeling back, smashing into the window -- glass buckling beneath the impact. The Talon has already turned as Shen Kuei lands, clawtips driving into the ground to arrest his momentum -- gouging deep valleys into the floor, sparks flying beneath the screech of metal against metal.

Three throwing blades -- ornate, balanced knives, each no larger than a man's thumb, no wider than a slip of paper -- are flung from the other hand, as the Talon turns -- each aimed, in turn, for Shen Kuei's face as he lands. They are antiques, but well-crafted for their purpose -- and each is coated in poison.

Keeping his stance for the moment, Shen Kuei remains crouched. For some reason he paused a moment when the Owl impacted the desk, which means he was open for the unexpected fling of throwing knives. Whirling sideways, the first misses clean, the second nicks the corner of his glasses and causes a significant chip of plastic, and the third clacks against a ceramic plate, forearm brought up to deflect it cleanly. Keeping his grip with his left hand upon the letter opener, his right remains poised in front of him. "A man of tricks, masks, and armor. I see no pride of a martial artist here. Only a mundane Iron Man..."

And then, rising to stand, the Talon rips his claws out from the floor he sank them into, twisting to flick his fingers toward Shen Kuei once again -- another series of three knives, once again aimed for his face. The blades are a distraction, meant to keep him busy -- busy enough for the Talon to reach down and seize the desk behind him, lifting it up in one hand with a whirr of that internal exoskeleton -- charging, with the table swinging about horizontally -- intent, apparently, on breaking it over Shen Kuei's back.

"Pride," the Talon finally speaks, "is an obstacle. Only success matters."

Once more, Shen Kuei whirls in a flowing manner. One blade tearing through his trench coat to meet air, the other scarcely dodged, the third struck away with the blade of the letter opener. Landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet, as he slowly exhales and then lets out a loud "KIAI!!"

This might be unexpected, but a whirling kick intercepts the desk, causing it to detonate into a million shards of harmless wood. The Cat is like a black ghost in the midst, zipping left and right before leaping and catching something. In the midst the letter opener is swung with incredible force, trying to bury it in the back of the hulking figure's knee, aiming for a seam in the segmented armour.

The thing he aims to catch? The laptop of the former Mr. Powers, right before it thumps into the ground to break.

"You are right, Mr. Owl. Success is what matters. And my contract never stipulated I had to fight one of your ilk. Only to confirm you exist... and retrieve this particular item."

He's too fast; the Talon is too slow. The explosion of the table was -- unexpected, though the Talon does not panic. There is only cold calculation in the way he twists and releases his grip upon the remaining shards of the table, assuming a defensive stance... a moment too late for the lightning-quick Shen Kuei -- who's knife slams home into the back of his leg. Driving him down to one knee.

To his credit, he doesn't call out in pain; there is only an intake of air -- a slight, muffled sound in his throat -- as he turns to face the Cat, still half-kneeling -- just as he catches the laptop. Right before...

"--then you lose." The words are spoken a moment after the Talon has fired something -- a wrist-mounted grappler. The cable isn't long, and it's not extraordinarily accurate, either. But though the Talon is aiming for the laptop, he's not going to be too broken up if he misses it -- so long as he gets within half a foot of it.

Because the grappler? Happens to contain a very powerful electromagnet.

"...?!" Shen Kuei is more than capable of reacting quick enough to jerk the laptop into the air away from a direct impact, but the grappler whirls up, snapping upon the bottom. There's an immediate mild curse from the Cat; that can't be good for the hard-drive, he imagines. Landing on the ledge of the window, he makes no immediate move, keeping tight hold. There's technology able to recover the majority of the data, at least. As long as he can keep possession of it...

Luckily for Shen Kuei's mission, the grappler only has two methods to cling to objects -- the three-pronged collapsible claws and the electromagnet contained in the base. The claws don't hit the laptop at the right angle to snag it, and the electromagnet -- while excellent at frying hard-drives -- isn't so good at attaching to plastic. The grappler hits, then disconnects with a clunk, whirring back to the Talon's wrist; whether or not the hard-drive has been entirely fried by the contact remains to be seen.

The Talon would charge, but having a knife in the back of the knee makes that a rather tricky proposition -- so instead, he reaches for that very same knife -- drawing it out from the back of his knee and hurling it straight at Shen Kuei's head. One last bid to try and strike him out.

The Cat does not look very happy at the moment. He suddenly snaps up his right arm and angles it just so, heavily swiping up at just the moment of impact. The knife still strikes the ceramic hard enough to crack it into a dozen pieces that begin to fall away, revealing metal plating beneath, still dented by the tip. But as the letter opener, bent badly, is spiralling away, suddenly Shen Kuei whirls out his hand, catching it between two fingers by the hilt. Glancing at the blood on the tip, "This will make a nice consolation prize." And then he hurls himself backwards, window shattering. A black line is clasped to the windowsill below him, but he only descends a few stories in a heartbeat before whirling forward, striking another window and bursting within. He hardly expects the Owl above to not rush up and sever it at first opportunity...

Of course. The cord is swiftly severed, but it does little good; Shen Kuei has already descended below through the next window. And despite being fully capable of pursuing even with an injured leg, the Talon knows well enough he cannot overtake Shen Kuei's speed; not with his injuries, and not in this armor.

And so, the Cat escapes the Owl -- and leaves him with a cut to remember him by.