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| Blüdbath: The Gift | |||||
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| What: At long last, 'The Gift' is revealed. | |||||
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Place: A dive bar in Blüdhaven
Time: Just before closing
The term 'dive bar' means very different things in different parts of the world. In most places, a dive part is just a really shitty bar. But in Blüdhaven, it basically means you can't get from you car to the door without stepping on multiple hypodermic needles, getting stabbed by a hobo, and losing a leg from gangrene. So one can only imagine what happens on the inside.
The actual closing time was about an hour and a half ago, but this place enjoys a greater amount of leniency than some of the other dive bars in the area. After all, many of the drunken degenerates inside the bar are actually policemen. Some of whom are currently on duty. This is one of the many reasons that the Daily Planet lists Blüdhaven at the top of its annual 'Worst Places on Earth to Live' list.
But the policemen aren't the only emergency workers who've chosen this place to host their party. From the noise outside, an ambulance is pulling into the parking lot as well, sirens on. It's joined by a trio of black Range Rovers that have had varying amounts of Mad Max work done to them. One actually has a functioning .50 caliber machine gun mounted to the roof.
The ambulance's siren continues to sound, but it's joined by the sound of machine gun fire, as the Range Rover's gunner opens fire on the front door. Immediately, most of the patrons hit the ground and draw their service weapons, no matter how drunkenly or inexpert their movements.
The machine gun fire stops, and a group of orange and blue-armored thugs burst through the (now holey) door and begin performing a flawless MOUT-style room clearing maneuver.
"Bar's closed, slummies! Finish your drinks and get ready for the bloodbath!"
Ty is still the untrusted rookie in the bunch. She isn't point, but First Assault on the second team entering. So on entering, after Point covers the entry, and gives clear, Ty waits as First team slices (turns the corner to cover the wall), she enters the same way, only on the opposite side. Anyone who gets in the way gets knocked out of the way, and anyone who looks like they might become a threat get a combat boot to the face. Including Porky whose drunken self stumbled, and touched her ass. He gets an extra hard kick to the face.
After getting into firing position, Ty crouches down, and takes aim. "Clear.", she states. The woman is a true professional. While the rest are using shotguns and MP5s, she's sticking to her 1911s. Only with this, one is drawn, and she is moving tactically. Now the woman waits for the orders to come in.
Behind the bar, a manhole cover is nudged aside to allow a young woman with filthy, tangled, platinum hair to pop her head out of the hole; the first things she hears are gunfire and muffled screams.
She might've taken a beat to examine why her initial reaction to those sounds is relief, but she's too busy enjoying her first breath of fresh(-ish) air in quite some time. After exhaling, she hauls herself the rest of the way up and creeps towards the back door while her eyes dart round the surrounding alley; as soon as she makes it there, she cracks the door open to take a quick peek.
Her roughly formed plan is to slip in and loot the bodies or hold up the survivors, depending on how things go; this goes right out the window when she catches a glimpse of orange and blue bodies sweeping through the bar, however.
After nudging the door shut, she stalks towards the nearest trash can and rummages around until she finds a couple of beer bottles, eyes wide with disbelief and swiftly mounting rage all the while; as soon as she's done, she stomps right back over to the door, cracks it open and waits for an opportunity to sneak inside.
Now the plan is to hope that everyone else in the bar is too busy shooting each other to notice her darting towards the bar top itself. From there, she hopes to both give herself a better vantage of the firefight while she waits for the numbers to thin out a little, or for one of the thugs to come a little too close to her cover point; whichever comes first.
Since she smells like she's been running around a sewer for days and is wearing a blue body suit covered with a number of softly glowing orange lines, this is arguably not a prudent course of action, but even on good days, Rose Wilson was never an especially prudent person.
It's not entirely clear who exactly is in charge of this motley little band of orange and blue stormtroopers, but the one who's barking the orders at the bar's patrons is the largest and most generally-imposing of the bunch. His armor seems to mostly be made from large pieces of metal that have been welded together. Probably not the most effective, but the ramshackle look of it definitely makes a strong impression. Aside from the general orange and blue color scheme, the gear worn by the thugs isn't exactly similar enough to be considered a 'uniform.'
"All right, you heard the Boss! No survivors!"
The rest of the group starts yelling "No survivors! No survivors!" as they start spraying the place with bullets.
This might be Rose's lucky day. Sure, they've decided to kill everyone in the bar. But she isn't seen as the most immediate threat by any of the generic nameless NPC goons.
Outside, the .50 cal gunner surveys the scene inside through his thermal optics. He begins rocking back and forth behind his weapon, the excitement on his face readily apparent."Oh shit! It's glorious! Thunder and metal! All the stars are aligning in a caucophony of... like... uh..."
From the passenger's seat of the vehicle, Slade Wilson rubs his fingers across the bridge of his nose. "Please, I'm asking you politely, keep your crazy ranting to yourself. Just focus on scanning the building like a good monkey and let me know when it's clear. I don't want any surprises when I bring the package inside."
Sufficiently chastised, the gunner's head droops a bit. "Yes Boss..."
"Dark Caliber, this is Oracle. Just checking in." Oracle sounds calm and collected, as if she hasn't been listening to the massacre going on right now. "Lend me your ears and eyes."
At the same time, Slade's phone rings. It's "Secret Agent Man" again, which can only mean it's his chess buddy calling.
Ty sighs. It really sucks when both your bosses are calling at the same time! Later, she's going to remind Oracle that when she gave Ty this job...This is what she signed up for. She activates the signal. then its open Piggy season. Unlike the other mercs, Ty isn't going to just open up. Thats a waste of bullets, time, and generally makes a mess out of things. She hates cleaning up. So, the woman takes aim, fires a shot, moves on to the next target. Its a calm, collected method. The woman has detached herself from her situration, and running on talent and training. One might say that her training covered only the basics, but given that they were mastered...She has a leg up on Mercs 1-18 right now...
As soon as Rose makes it behind the counter, she breaks one of her bottles in half against a low shelf, then pops her head up to quickly scan the room.
On the way up, however, she notices something stashed just beneath the counter for rainy days and cheap customers, tucked in between a few bottles of disgustingly cheap booze; as she ducks back down, she sets the bottles on the ground beside herself, yanks her find free, then rummages through the box situated just behind it for a second or two.
The next time she pops up, she levels a shotgun at one of the mercs and sprays him - along with some percentage of the bar surrounding him - with buckshot.
"Who the hell do you assholes think you're supposed to be?!" she screams while ducking back behind her cover to frantically search for ammo that's a little better suited to armored thugs.
Oh well. Looks like Tynan is really only going to have to compare her through Mercs 1-17 from now on. The side of the mercs neck erupts in a spray of blood and little bitty pieces of skin. He really should have covered that part up better. An orange and blue turtleneck really only protects from the cold.
Sure, she isn't the only one who's taken the opportunity to shoot back, but she's certainly the first one who managed to hit a target, which suddenly makes Rose Wilson the prime target of every thug in orange and blue. However, they stick to their sectors of fire as they mop up the room, like true professionals. This means that only two of the goons begin firing back at Rose. One's got a half-empty shotgun, the other has a half-empty MP5.
Outside in his car, Slade runs his finger across the bridge of his nose AGAIN. "What the hell? This is a brand new phone! I swear I'm going to find this bitch and twist her head clean off and then.... " There's an audible beep as he presses the 'answer' button. '.... Why hello, my wonderfully-charming board game enthusiast pen pal. So lovely to hear from you again."
Oracle can hear the fight through Tynan's earpiece. :That one sounds lively." she murmurs in the Irish woman's ear. "Describe her?" Barbara shunts the noise of battle to an earpice, so that she can keep an ear to her agent, before replying to Slade.
"Hello, my dear." she says in a slightly flirty voice. "Having fun? Now that we've had a wonderful game together, I was hoping we could... move onto business."
Ty coughs once, as she continues to clear the room. Now that her sector is mostly clear, the woman starts the standard slow pace forward, watching her sector, and clearing out any survivors of the intial contact. She stays out of the lines of fire and other's sectors. Its not much longer until her sector is completely clear, and the woman managed to keep a bullet in the chamber, and one in the clip. No spray and prays from her. Just calm efficent work. She also keeps the bullets, mostly in case somebody has some balls after the firefight to try to push her....Then its a competition between 1-16, or if she's really lucky, 1-15!
The MP5's bullets sail over Rose's head, but the other thug's shotgun blast blows a hole clean through the bar, flaying the right side of her body with pellets and shrapnel while throwing her onto her left. She manages to keep hold of the gun as she sprawls across the ground, but using it is tricky: as much as she'd like to pick herself up and return fire, just tilting herself up to sit is a challenge.
"Guh..." she exhales between rapid-fire breaths as her shaking, bleeding body is slowly pulled upright, "God... damnit..." After shifting the gun to her left hand, she grips the lower shelves with whatever strength she can muster now that her arm is shredded and dags herself towards the hole. The shotgun barrel slides out, the butt is secured against her good shoulder, and as soon as she sees something orange or blue, she fires off another round.
As she pulls the trigger, her eyes dart around for matches and rags as she pieces together a plan for dealing with whoever's left once the thugs are out of other targets.
"Move onto business? You young people. No appreciation for the art of conversation..." Slade presses a button on the side of his phone, and two things happens simultaneously: The call is recorded, and a trace begins. Sure, it hasn't helped yet, but that doesn't stop the eternal optimist from trying a new approach.
From the turret, the crazy gunner starts his ranting again. "Oh shit! Oh shit! The Madonna is unveiled, the rivers will run with drowning sheep and the price of oil will plummet!"
Below him, Slade looks as if he's about to burn a hole through the bridge of his nose, so roughly is he pinching it. "Hang on just a second... I have to demonstrate leadership." He pulls a rather wicked-looking knife from its place on his belt and stabs it right in his gunner's thigh. "I told you that I don't repeat myself! Do as you're told or I swear..."
The gunner screams in pain, and immediately begins protesting. "But Boss... things are all going to shit inside. We have three... no... five men down! The team's getting torn apart in there and 'Ask the Lonely' is without a doubt Journey's best song."
A couple of seconds later, Deathstroke has his helmet on, and he's sprinting toward the bar with his sword drawn. But he's conveniently switched the call over to his Bluetooth headset. "Sorry about that. I'm all yours again." Of course, he says this right as he barrels into an ongoing gunfight.
"Would you rather I continued flirting?" Oracle's reply has traces of a chuckle in it, she was rather enjoying herself. She patiently waits as Slade stabs the moron. "Thanks. I could hear that guy over the phone. Can't you afford not-crazy cannon fodder?" Again she chuckles. "As I was saying, I belive we might be able to help one another. You've got troubles with Caped Crusaders, yes?"
She mutes her end of the phone call while she speaks with Tynan. "Make sure she doesn't die, if you can manage. I'm interested in a woman that looks at a bunch of heavily armed men and calls a challenge."
Tynan really flippin wants to facepalm right now. Now Boss One wants her to make sure that Crazy girl with shotgun lives...While we're at it, do you want a hamburger and fries Oracle? I think there's a deep fryer in this bar, in the back. I'll cook some up while I'm busy trying not to die! I'm so not getting paid enough for this job...Should have added Black Widow training too...At least, thats what Ty is thinking right now. The woman moves back, and ducks behind some cover as she switches clips in her pistol, and starts double tapping towards Rose. Hopefully Rose has the skill to get behind something more solid soon...
Some of the pooling liquor spreading behind the bar is soaked up with a more or less dry rag, then shoved down the neck of an Everclear bottle. A match is struck, the rag is lit, and the next time Rose manages to clear the top of the bar - with no small amount of grunting and straining - her cobbled together cocktail is lobbed towards the first orange and blue-clad threat she sees.
Which, given that he's barreling into the bar with a sword drawn, happens to be Slade.
A vengeful screech of, "MotherFU-- starts to come from her mouth as she makes the pitch, but the rest falls away when she realizes that her latest target looks substantially less like some jerk in Deathstroke drag, and more like, well...
"D-Dad?" The permanent scowl melts into wide-eyed shock as that word - barely loud enough to be heard over the violence - is murmured.
She doesn't duck behind the bar again, or move towards sturdier cover, but she does have the presence of mind to swing her weapon up towards another mercenary and squeeze off another round without really looking his way.
This is why you spend a couple of million dollars on a tacky (let's be honest here) battle suit. Because every once in a while, your crazy illegitimate daughter gets herself cloned, and then the clone shows up in the bar where you happen to be doing some terminating, and she throws a Molotov at your face.
Deathstroke is temporarily too stunned by the sight of his inexplicably missing daughter to actually block her attack. By the time he reacts, all he's able to do is raise a sword to shatter it in midair before it reaches him. This obviously doesn't solve the problem, as it simply spreads the fire all over him, and some of the surrounding furniture catches fire from the spray of flaming liquor.
Beneath his armor, he's probably not in danger of cooking to death immediately, but he stops anyway, and drops and rolls like anyone who's seen public service announcements. It doesn't quite put it out, but it definitely helps ruin his dramatic entrance and makes him look a bit foolish in front of his men.
But despite this, he still carries on his conversation as if nothing was wrong. "Oh... ooph... I don't know. I'm starting to think that the reason you insist on doing this over the phone is because you're actually hideous. But surely you don't expect me to believe that you're interested in exterminating my Bat Problem, do you?"
Ty just...stands there. "Dad? Thats your daughter?!", the woman asks. There's a brief pause as she looks at Rose, then at Slade, and back to Rose. "Must of gotten the looks form the mother's side...", she states with an affirmitive nod of her head. The woman just points her gun at Rose, and keeps teh woman covered. "Alright Lass. Family Reuinion stuff can wait...And no more cocktails. I'm having a hard enough time trying not to snicker...."
"You're hardly one to judge based on appearances, my dear Slade." Oracle sounds like she's grinning. "And why *wouldn't I want to help dealing with some pesky Bats?" Her tone sounds delightfully sinister, just what you'd expect from a villianess. "The best way to catch a Bat, is to lay a trap."
Again she mutes her side of th conversation to talk to Tynan. "Well, *that* complicated things. That's Slade's daughter. Unexpected; she'd dropped off the merc radar for a while. Wonder what's she been up to..."
Rose tries to snap the shotgun barrel towards Tynan, but since she needed her left arm for throwing, the gun is in her other hand right now. Pain explodes across her shoulder and along her ribs; her arm sinks and her eyes flick across the multitude of gashes and chunks of embedded shrapnel running down that side of herself.
"WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!" she instead shrieks as she presses her left hand to one of the nastier cuts. "This isn't the first time I've been to a bar, you goddamn poser!"
At least she drops behind the bar while she's yelling at Tynan, so there's that.
"Who... nngh...the hell... these people, Dad?!" A beat as she sharply bites down on her bottom lip and pulls her hand free to reach for another rag. "Deathstroke! Whatever!"
Instead of stuffing it down another bottle, she starts making a spur of the moment bandage of it, all the while eyeing a chunk of wood jutting from her shoulder.
"What are you goons waiting for?! I told you I wanted this bar CLEARED!" Thank god for toggle switches. Oracle might think he wasn't entirely stable if she could hear both of his conversations. Of course, knowing Oracle, she probably has the capacity to do just that even without patching into Tynan's headset.
One of the goons starts to turn his weapon toward Rose, only for Deathstroke to point a pistol in his direction and shout "Not HER! Everyone else! Kill everyone BUT her! Do I have to do this for you?!"
There aren't many people left to kill though, a dive bar in Bludhaven can only hold so many people. But it's perhaps interesting that there are no sirens (apart from the one coming from the ambulance parked outside). Even though cops are being murdered literally by the dozens, there isn't going to be any backup. It speaks volumes about the character of this city's police force, but it also says quite a bit about the reputation Deathstroke and his crew have built up in such a relatively short time. Shock and awe, indeed.
Deathstroke slowly stands to his feet, patches of his armor still burning. He doesn't look happy about it, but it'd probably be impossible to tell even if his face wasn't covered by his mask. "A trap, you say? Don't be cute, just tell me what you're planning and why you think I'll go along with it." Switch retoggled, cutting off his mic.
He shambles forward a few steps before regaining his footing, and then he more or less walks normally from there. "Rose? What are you doing in my city? You should have cleared this with me..." He continues walking forward, his posture pretty unthreatening for a guy who's basically taken the Jason Vorhees from Space approach to fashion. But suddenly he strikes, his hand reaching for her throat faster than the motion of a cobra.
"I happen to know the perfect bait to make the Bat run headfirst into a trap." Oracle sounds like she's smirking. "You're familiar with a Ms. Barbara Gordon? Shot and left for dead by the Joker six months ago, poor girl." There's little emotion on that sentence. "She's in a wheelchair, now. While no means defenseless, she's a good target."
She's getting good at switching conversations - and personas. "I have no idea what's about to happen. Eyes open, Dark Caliber. Ravager is as deadly as her father, and half his age."
Tynan sighs. Great, now its Slade's daughter? God help her...She wants a raise...Of course, Ty sighs a little bit as the bar is now empty of threats...save Slade and his daughter...The woman wonders if its too late to ask for a raise? Or at least Long term hazard pay!
Rose is too busy struggling with getting the shrapnel out of her arm and tying off the wound it leaves behind to point her gun at the goon drawing down on her, but he gets all the scowl an angry, terrified, teenager with buckshot in her arm can manage as she holds one end of her makeshift bandage taut between her bared teeth. By the time Slade draws down on him, she's started to go for one of the bottles she brought in with her; since the danger is averted, however, she goes back to dealing with the wound.
She's pretty much done when Slade begins questioning her, so she braces both hands against what's left of the bar and slowly pushes up towards her feet as she snaps, "I don't know what I'm doing in-- wait, your-- cihkk!"
This is not exactly the reunion she was envisioning down in the sewers, not that she's in much of a position to dwell on that, or think about much of anything beyond the hand squeezing the breath from her body. She tries to scream-- something-- as her eyes bulge, but strained noises are all that come out. She tries to fight by clawing at his wrist and kicking at him, but he's magnitudes stronger than she is; even without the armor in the way, it would be a futile effort.
"Stop squirming!" Through the one hole in his mask, Deathstroke gives his daughter a long cold stare. Holding her up in the air by the neck, he turns her first one way, and then the other. "What is this? Is this a trick? More of Oracle's doing!" He switches his voice feed back on, shouting triumphantly into his headset "Nice try, Oracle! The resemblance is uncanny. But you didn't do your homework well enough. Bishop to E4!"
For a moment, it looks very much like he might just let her asphyxiate in midair. But perhaps he's aware that there are already too many Darth Vader parallels in his life already. Whatever the reason (his heart or his shoes)... he relaxes his hold on her throat and tosses her back across the bar.
"Area clear. Bring in the package boys! We're pressed on all sides, and our enemies have resorted to subterfuge! It seems as though some of you might not be who you say you are...."
With a sword in one hand, he pulls out his trusty old HK Mk 23 and points it directly at 'Ravager's' head. "But after tonight, none of that will matter. The Gift will reveal the truth, the only truth that ultimately matters: Who is worthy."
Outside, the remainder of Deathstroke's thugs begin unloading the (still blaring) ambulance, quickly carting in several large containers, and a couple of doctors bound with zip ties and duct tape.
That... wasn't what Oracle suspected. At all. In fact, she's stunned for a moment. "What are you rambling about, Slade?" she asks, and she sounds a mix between annoyed and flabbergasted. "I haven't done anything besides lose to you at chess. I'm still pissed about that, by the way."
Rose actually kicks harder for a moment when Deathstroke yells at her, but as soon as she sees the stare, she recoils and the fight seeps right out of her.
Dangling there with her eyes locked onto his, fear starts to creep in as the reunion gets sourer by the moment. Once it begins to set in that he just might not let go, she starts to pull her leg back to deliver another useless kick, only for him to seemingly change his mind.
Of course, 'changing his mind' involves her crashing into a bunch of liquor bottles before bouncing down to the ground, but at least she can breathe again.
"I--" she croaks amidst shallow panting, "I don't..." Her arms shake as she pushes herself up towards the barrel of his gun, and whatever color's left in her face drains once she lifts her head and sees the weapon pointed at her.
"I-I didn't mean to set you on fire!" she swears. Her eyes flick towards the bottles from outside, but it's all she can do to keep herself up; trying to use them on him is out of the question at this point. "I don't even know what this is!"
Three Hours Later...
Doctors are used to working quickly under intense amounts of pressure, but very few of them have ever had to perform an operation in a room full of gun-toting maniacs who are still hyped up from the ridiculous amounts of violence they've encountered over the past few weeks. Fortunately, the procedure they're being asked to supervise is not an especially complex one to prep for, and it isn't long before they've set out the appropriate amount of stretchers and IV stands. It actually takes longer to round up the various psychos than it does to set up the impromptu trauma ward.
One of these psychos is a new addition to his crew. However, he's already been impressed with her skill. Which is why he gives Tynan something that those in his circle know to be a compliment. He simply nods at her as he passes her stretcher, his silence the only approval that any of his thugs really needs.
Several of Deathstroke's men have been severely wounded tonight. While it's impressive that a tiny girl was able to take out so many of his men on her own, this only goes so far toward endearing 'Rose' to Slade. His suspicion hasn't even remotely subsided, but he has come up with an elegant solution. As he walks past the girl who claims to be his daughter, he turns his head toward her and speaks in a voice full of threat. "You've made a mistake coming here tonight, girl. But I don't have time to interrogate you. The blood will tell me all I need to know. If you're who you say you are, perhaps you'll survive the experience. If you're lying to me, I'll push your body into the harbor with all the rest of tonight's unworthy."
He quickly moves on, trying his best to supervise nearly twenty procedures at once. "That's right, administer it to the wounded as well. These men have all earned the right to receive my gift, and I won't let a little thing like death stand in their way. It's certainly never stood in mine."
As the medical personnel do their thing, setting blood bags on the top of IV stands and hooking the bags up to their patients arms, Deathstroke does his best Boba Fett impersonation and casually strolls around the room with a rifle in his hands.
But he is not the only security present here tonight: Outside, the building is protected by a flock of silent ninjas from the League of Assassins. But Deathstroke has the ultimate insurance policy against their betrayal. He walks past the League's current leader as she prepares, his voice somewhat less suspicious, but still far from warm. "You have a great deal of confidence in yourself to attempt this. I salute the ballsiness. When this is over, maybe we can finally have that rematch, as equals?"
Cass has taken everything in stride, the young killer not even so much as flinching as the sound of weapons being fired and everything else, the assassin and her people merely keeping point as Slade and his men do their thing. When he passes by her and makes with his commentary she nods once, her way of agreeing to an other sparring match. When Slade moves on she follows him, following him closely. Not like a puppy who follows its master, no, but rather in the manner of one who has been driven to curiosity and is seeking answers so that it might be sated.
Tynan simply nods her head back, as she lays down on the stretcher. She's a bit nervious, but doesn't let it show. Her mind tries to take in everything thats going on as she takes several breaths. Whats going on? Then again, the 'Gift' is about to be revealed to her. The woman rolls her neck a little bit, and tries to get comfortable while subspacing her pistols away. The woman looks at Cass a little bit, wondering if Cass told Slade her secret. For now though, Ty has other things to worry about as she watches the doctors get to work.
Slade always did have a way with kids.
Rose is laying on her left side because her back is a roadmap of long cuts and shallow puncture wounds broken up by the occasional broken glass landmark, while the right side of her body looks as if someone took a weedwhacker to it: lots of streaming blood, very little visible flesh. The remnants of a dark blue uniform covered with a number of faintly glowing orange lines covers the rest of her body, and along with the stink of blood, sweat, and booze, the unmistakable odor of days spent running through sewer tunnels permeates the air around the white-haired girl.
It's been kind of a long night.
When Deathstroke addresses her, her glassy eyes shift in his direction without really focusing on him too tightly, communicating at least some of the pain, confusion, and anger that she can't quite work up the strength to verbalize at this point.
"Here you are, Batgirl. I told them to make sure you had the stretcher with the least amount of shit on it, but I'm not sure if they even bothered to check." Without the benefit of facial features, it's always tough to tell for certain if someone is joking. But it's generally a good idea to assume that Deathstroke isn't, even when he says something mildly humorous. He points to a mostly clean-looking stretcher in a corner of the room, and makes a motion with his hand to signify that she should pull up her sleeve. Of course, that's a bit tougher to do when you're wearing Bat-Gear, but she'll probably be able to figure it out.
Apparently he's decided to administer the transfusion to Batgirl personally, though there is something of a shortage of medics available.
"What are you all waiting for? Flip those switches, let's get this started!" The medics hurry to comply, poking needles in the last few unpoked arms and 'turning on' the IVs that have already been embedded in a patient.
Slade is pretty quick about putting the needle in Batgirl's arm, this is apparently not the first time he's had to administer an IV.
Ty watches as a medic pokes her in the arm with an IV. Then she blinks as the blood pack starts to drive down, and the blood starts to come down to her arm. The big thing she notices is that her arms are strapped down on the stretcher, and the doctors try to keep her from moving. The woman takes a couple of deep breathes, wondering just whats about to happen...She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and settles herself...
Yeah, Batgirl can figure it out, the girl not exactly a dumb bunny even if she doesn't really speak. The zipper for her tactical catsuit is unzipped and tugged down, baring her from the waist up, her modesty intact only because of the sports-bra like top she wears under it. It makes her arm accessible, the limb stretched out in offer to him once she's laid down, her expression held in a mask of neutrality.
Once he has the line in and gravity takes hold on the blood inside the pack, drawing it into the tubing, Cass' attention shifts, first to those near by and then, her focus pushing past a few bodies, she settles it upon Rose. While she gives nothing away verbally or via facial expression the fact that Slade has taken such interest in the blonde girl has her feeling a bit jealous and even territorial of the merc she has aligned herself with.
In her clocktower, Oracle can only listen in as Tynan is subjected to whatever the 'Gift' is. She doesn't know that Cass is there as well, otherwise she'd be even more worried. She can't even speak to Tynan, for fear of discovery. She crosses her fingers, and waits.
Its not the first few drops, but rather a few minutes later, Tynan's heart starts to beat a little faster. Sweat starts to pour off her rapidly. The woman twists a few times. "Doctor...its hot in here. And so dry...", she says. The first signs start to appear. The doctor starts to check her heartbeat, and pauses a moment. The mercenary twitches a few more times. "I said its hot, can I have some water?", she asks. The doctor starts to back away. Then a few more seconds. "What the f***, I asked for some f***ing water!!!", she howls before pain rips through her body.
Tynan screams out, and her back arches. Her eyes go wide, and she appears to be having a seizure. "The heat! The PAIN! GOD, I beg of ye, mercy! Save me!", she screams out. The woman thrashes about on the stretcher while a couple of doctors hold it down. Ty's mind seems to flash with unprecedented to her speed. The woman can count the people in the room without looking. She can sense their breathing. She can hear their rapid hearts. Her senses are being overloaded. And her mutant abilities are going haywire inside of her. The woman keeps screaming, ripping her voice apart at first, but it heals back up. It goes on for what seems to be an eternity (Only about 3 or 4 minutes), before the woman falls back down on the stretcher, going deathly still....
In what has been a relatively short lifetime Cass has been made to endure so much pain, pain at the hand of her 'father', David Cain, and pain at the hands of others, all meant to hone her into the weapon she is today. Because of that, she has a incredibly high pain tolerance, bested by few outside of those who have super powers. It is a blessing as it means the worst of the serum's effects takes a while longer to truly be noticed but it is also a curse as she is unused to feeling such sensations and it is more horrifying than it might be to someone else who is accustomed to feeling it regularly. At first she grits her teeth, trying to tough it out like she had been taught, trying very hard to make Slade proud of her, but it becomes too much to bear and she succumbs.
Unlike Tynan, Cass doesn't rage quite like that but she does lash out, making having to hold her down necessary, and she snarls, feral sounds that hint perfectly to the fight that is raging within her with only one scream, a raspy, almost choked off sound of horror, that all but echoes in the room. How long it takes for it to pass is anyone's guess but by the end she is still, breathing ragged, heart thudding hard in her chest and noisily in her ears, her body damp with sweat.
Oracle, in her tower far away, can only listen in horror to what is happening to both her agent, and her dear friend. She grips the arms of her wheelchair so tight her knuckles become bone-white. "Please, give them strength to survive this..." she whispers, a prayer directed to nothing. She bows her head, trembling.
Rose doesn't really notice Cass looking at her as she's rolled onto her back. Normally, getting sized up by potential competition is the sort of thing that would set all sorts of alarm bells ringing; right now, though, between blood loss and the too-familiar feeling of the IV entering her arm, she's somewhere between the bar and-- elsewhere.
The needle isn't the worst part, exactly-- though there's a terrific amount of bruising around some of the more common stick points along her good arm, and whoever is administering her IV doesn't seem to have the time or inclination to look for a spot that hasn't already been used and reused(and re-reused). It's what comes afterwards - the foreign blood pushing its way into her veins like lava - that causes her whole body to reflexively tense and draws a quiet, almost mewling noise of pain from her lips after the hard stick set a grimace on her features. It's being stretched on in agony on a filthy bed as screams begin to pour in around her, knowing that some how, some way, she put herself in this situation-- even if she hasn't the first clue of what it actually means.
It's knowing that even though she can see the last person she can remember trusting, he'd just as soon kill her as expend any time on figuring out why she's here.
"D--" she begins to say before the fire churning in her blood begins blossoming to set the rest of her body ablaze; her eyes widen in horror as they flick down at herself, and then they return to Slade. Any traces of the hardened killer who chewed through his men with buckshot and molotovs is gone, leaving a frightened girl who literally cannot remember the last time she saw her father.
"-- Daddy, wh-- I-I..." she stammers between increasingly rapid breaths, trailing into momentary silence before her mouth opens about as wide as it'll go to release a scream of her own.
It's not her first time stepping into this particular circle of hell, but it sure feels like it.
And suddenly Slade is struggling to hold down a girl who's not even half his weight. The formula is no joke, if the adrenaline-fueled surges of strength are any indication.
From different corners of the room, the sound of bones cracking can be heard as the muscles grow at a rate disproportionate to the bones. One man's spasms are so extreme that he actually snaps his own back almost in half. The cracking sound is so sickening that the medical professionals actually look like they're struggling to keep down their food.
Another man bites through his tongue, as the teeth in his mouth begin buckling under the stress.
An otherwise healthy-looking young woman's heart explodes so violently that it actually leaves a hole in her chest.
But not all of the reactions are so visibly extreme. Some of the mercenaries simply die while screaming at the top of their lungs, blood pouring out of their noses, eyes, and ears. And... probably elsewhere, but that isn't as easily-visible.
Although most of those present are wishing that they could return this gift now, there are others who are actually winning out. One of the men that Rose killed earlier suddenly begins screaming, as the chemicals in Slade's blood return him to life.
Still holding Batgirl down, Slade surveys the carnage that he's unleashed, a subtle smile lurking behind his masked face. "Yes... scream. There can be no birth without screams."
Thankfully Cass can adapt some, sparing her from some of the worst of the physical pain. But while she becomes numb to that the psychological torment begins. Memories of the abuse and torment start to play behind her closed eyes as well as the visual images of the day when she, as a child, took her first life. A past she pushed through forced upon her once again, leaving her fighting the old demons she has worked so hard to banish. "... no..." is grunted as she finds herself before the man she assassinated, a test, her mind reeling.
Gritting her teeth, her eyes open for a second, seeking his eyes even as he wears the mask, wishing for a moment that she could see him, could see if he's proud of her, to see anything besides the two-toned helmet that keeps his face concealed.
In Tynan's mind, its all calm. The young mercenary is standing in a green field. The sun is out, and everything is perfect. The woman lays down in the grass, letting the smell overwhelm her. "This is perfection.", she says with a smile. The woman starts to close her eyes, but then pauses. "How did I get here though? I can't remember.", she says. Then her father is standing next to her. "Do you feel pain?", he asks her. Ty pauses a moment, and shakes her head a little bit. And she remembers a lesson her father taught her. How do you know if you're alive? Cause you feel pain. Only the dead can't feel pain. The woman looks at her arm, and a dark bruise is there, and then starts spreading like a poison up her arm. She screams out in pain, and the sky turns black, and the grass dies away. Her father melts away, leaving a skeleton there to fall on top of her. The woman screams in her mind.
In reality, Ty hasn't moved. One would think she's dead, save there's a little bit of movement from her chest now. Its weak, but its there. Then another movement, and now she's starting to breath normally. The woman starts to open an eye, then the other. Its too bright, and noisy. Somebody shut everyone up! Ty tries to move, but is tied down. She pulls a few times...doesn't give. She growls, and tries to rip free again. Unsuccessful, The woman jerks a few times, starting to get annoyed.
Oracle forces herself to listen. She knows the screams - and other noises - will be engraved in her mind forever. Such was the price of being the silent observer of Gotham, and her sister city. Barbara didn't pray normally - strength came from within, not without. But now she finds herself praying, tears slipping down her cheeks unheeded.
Rose's scream is one among many, but as it persists - unbroken, save for the occasional need to breathe - it builds to a point where she can't hear anything beyond it. The blood and Jameson stench filling the makeshift triage, the awful wounds criss-crossing her body, the stains everywhere... all of it melts away until it's just her, her screams, and the fire of her inheritance burning away her infirmities and everything else. She only has one throat, one mouth, but her voice seems to come from all around her; soon enough, she's thrashing about on her stretcher and whipping her head around. Her injuries take some of the strength from her struggling, but there's still a good chance of her throwing herself out of her 'bed' as she desperately scans the room.
At least, until her eyes flick momentarily upwards and she sees her own baby blues staring back at her, mouth locked in an agonized 'O', body visibly aflame, and limbs inexplicably tangled with hers. The other her is a little younger-- or, perhaps, a little older; this is her first time looking in a mirror in quite a while, and even if it weren't, well-- she is kind of on fire.
Looking left, she sees another her, a little older-- or, perhaps, a little younger; to the right, another. All around her, Roses scream and writhe in a burning pile that stretches out for several bodies in any given direction. Somewhere above the carpet of herself, she can just about make out a hooded, orange and blue face with no eyes and far too many teeth locked into a sadistic smile.
After a while, she loses track of where, exactly, she is amidst the flaming mass; it hardly matters, though, because she certainly feels as if she's burning dozens of times over.
"How many?"
Now that the gift has been bestowed, and the unworthy have been purged, Slade needs far fewer doctors. Most of the medical staff that he kidnapped have ended up in pieces on the floor, like all of the other people who happened to be in the wrong dive bar tonight. However, he has kept one of them alive, to give a proper status report.
The last remaining doctor has given the remaining gift recipients/victims his utmost care, hoping against hope that he'll somehow make it out of here alive.
Slade leans back in his chair, a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. Normally he isn't a Jameson man, but for some reason it was just calling to him tonight. Perhaps his tastes are changing with age.
On the table before him, his helmet rests on its side. All of the scars and age lines on Slade's face stand out in the dim bar lighting, adding extra shadows to his visage. Sitting at this table and swilling whiskey, he looks every bit his age for a moment.
"Only three. But it appears that they'll make a full recovery. Determining what mental damage they might have is beyond my field... but physically they seem to be... impossible."
Slade sets the bottle of whiskey down on the table indifferently, staring out into space. "Three? I suppose that sounds about right. It's certainly a better survival rate than my group had. Very well. Add extra restraints, make sure they can't hurt themselves or each other. I'll take it from here."
He slowly sets the front legs of his chair back down, and stands up to his feet. Grabbing his helmet, he tucks it under his arm, and heads back upstairs to the room where members of the League of Assassins are quickly disposing of almost twenty bodies.
"Sleep tight. Tomorrow your nightmare begins in earnest."