Sep. 9th, 2011 12:45 pm
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
In his particular 'calling', it doesn't matter how good you are. Eventually you will take a bullet. The trick is to be good enough to not take it in a fatal place.

Tonight, he was good enough.

But damn did it still hurt.

If he were closer to home, he'd be taking the Redbird back to the cave. There were allot of 'if's going on right now.

A quick and temporary bandage had stopped the bleeding...mostly. His armor and training had made the difference, even so he had a bullet in his arm. Damnit.

At 2am in the morning, the clinic is mostly empty. Even so, he caused a minor scene walking in like he did.

He thought about asking the volunteer nurse at the counter if the Doctor was in...but he knew she was and the rumor of his entrance had probably reached her by now.

So he stood there, waiting and bleeding.

Gunshots wounds tended to bring out the Bat-Grump in him after all.
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
Among individuals aged 20 to 35, drug overdoses are the third leading cause of premature death in Gotham City. The statistics are even higher than average in the East End. Most of those who survive the ordeal continue to abuse despite the experience. The terrible cycle, once started, rarely sees a happy conclusion. These past two weeks have been worse than usual. In the past fourteen days, she's lost four patients to drugs, all under the age of 25. From the set of symptoms present prior to death, Leslie knows she's lost four patients to the same drug. Meaningless deaths. All in the name of profit.

It makes her blood boil.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
The Chemistry Club, as it was advertised to Bane, doesn't resemble your standard meth lab. No heavies, no junkies prowling in the corners, no sleazy-looking dealers cutting drugs up with their credit cards.

This warehouse could masquerade as a S.T.A.R Labs testing chamber if you didn't look too closely. All of the staff are dressed well and wear the appropriate gear to shield themselves from the chemicals they're handling. Two or three men and women walk the aisles between workstations checking on the progress of their colleagues, and noting things down on clipboards as they observe the various tests being carried out.

Two chemists at one workstation inject unknown drugs into a caged dog and make feverish notes about the horrific effects the canine exhibits. A young woman with dead eyes pumps gas into a transparent box containing a chimpanzee, and raises an eyebrow as the chimpanzee begins to claw at its own flesh. She ticks a box and then turns her back on the animal.

One chemist, a man who goes by the name of Blakely, stands to one side of the workers and pulls a cellphone from his labcoat. He gets some glares as he uses it within the protected environment but ignores them. "Doctor; Diggs, Emmanuel and Issac have all made remarkable breakthroughs. Mm-hmm. The pills donated to Star City will mean that even those grungy youths will have something to smile about. We also have a new recruit joining us later. A big man with a big brain." He suddenly goes red and lowers his voice. "You said you wouldn't mention that. You know I can't control these things. You know it makes me feel ashamed. Yes, I know that's the point. You needn't mention my father again. I apologise."

Blakely walks to a quiet corner and looks over his shoulder to see if someone is watching. Confident that nobody cares, he continues. "So you will be making a visit to the lab tonight? Yes, I know you're not prone to exaggeration. Well we will have to tidy up a little. Well, you don't want to see dead animals all over the place, do you? Oh, okay. Well if these things don't bother you then..." Blakely begins to chew the inside of his cheek. "Don't say these things! Please! Look, I have to go. Please just.. There's no need to scare me like that."

Blakely hangs up, breathes out, and fans himself. He then storms across the lab and into a side room.

All the while unaware that a Boy Wonder is watching him...

Full Tilt

Mar. 28th, 2011 12:01 pm
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
The place is technically a private party as far as the law is concerned. The people at the door know what they are doing and it makes it virtually impossible for officers of the law to get in. Combined with an insufficient GCPD budget, the recent invasion and numerous other problems that plague the city's services, what lies behind the door is virtually a playground of the illegal and sensual. "Full Tilt" as a result has rapidly become one of the hottest club rave scenes among Gotham's teen through twenty crowd.

The music matches the chemically altered heartbeats of many in the crowd. As a rule the patrons have a few things in common. They're young, generally pretty and have cash to spend. Some only qualify in part, making up for their shortcomings in one category by being lush in the others. It's a candy land of sensory overload, altered states and vibrant indulgence. Industrial ventilation keeps the heat of the crowd under control and clever layout and surreal lighting makes the already sizable location even more grandiose and mazelike. Three levels of catwalks support platforms where neon lit watering holes preside over translucent dance stages and go-go platforms. Youth, late minors and young adults alike, swarm everywhere in daring and revealing clothes as they move and gyrate to the fast paced rhythms that threaten to deafen the ear. This is where innocence is offered up as a sacrifice on the altar of sensual abandon.
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
Darkseid has been defeated and his henchmen were routed.
With Doctor Fate's intervention the Anti-Life effect was quickly vanishing from the minds of Gotham's citizens. Even so, Batman was right. The city had suffered greatly.

Tim took a moment. It was weird referring to Dick as Batman.
Don't think about it right now. he chided himself silently, pushing the ball of emotion back down to his feet.
Time for that later.

Looking down from his vantage point, he saw Gotham. It looked wounded, like a survivor of some terrible war. It would recover. Gotham was tough and had survived grievous devastation before, but there would be scars. There were always scars.

Like a silent shadow, he drops into the dark bellow and reappears from the egress of an alleyway near Bane. The big man took some serious hits curring the conflict. His injuries are apparent.

He doesn't like Bane.
It's hard not to find some respect for him however. Off of the Venom, the man seems... different.
He's still a murderer though.
He did risk his life to help save Gotham.
He works for Waller supposedly.

Bane's a puzzle.

Even so...

Robin opens the Titans channel on his comm link.
"Flamebird. It's Robin, do you copy?
I'm at the North end of the square near the busted fountain. I've got somebody who benefit from a field medic."
[identity profile] jla-apokolips.livejournal.com
Darkseid is bored. Watching Desaad's systematic torture of hundred of Gothamites can only remain interesting for a while. He's just waiting for his power to reach its zenith through Blackfire and then...

Darkseid finds himself looking at his hands, as if expecting to see something flowing out of them. "Something is wrong." He glares at Desaad. "Toad. You are in communication with the Deacon. Have him report."
[identity profile] give-me-an-amen.livejournal.com
Deacon Joseph Blackfire has lived for far more years than any man should live. He was born centuries ago to a Hotethk Native American tribe under a blood red moon. It was seen as a sign that he would amount to become a leader of men. Blackfire became that leader time and time again, always gaining control, always to eventually lose it. Each time he lost the power, it was to the fabled King of Beasts. One century it was the man known as Walks-With-Mountain Lions. Another it was a great American hunter known as Hugo Wayne. In the 20th Century it was a vigilante known as the Batman.

Blackfire was determined to change things for the 21st Century. No longer would the power be stolen from him. Blackfire was resurrected in the 21st Century by technologies foul and unusual, futuristic yet also ancient. Devices unknown to him, buried deep beneath Gotham, worked on his body and on his soul and brought him back more powerful than before. He sought out the creator of these wonders and found the terrible Darkseid. Somehow he persuaded the god of Apokolips that his skills of manipulation and persuasion were better than Glorious Godfrey's, and that with Blackfire in his power, Darkseid could finally launch a successful invasion of Earth.

The ancient gate beneath Gotham was activated by the belief in Darkseid and in anti-life, channelled through Blackfire's soured soul. Darkseid stepped through the gate, not knowing that Blackfire was not only channelling this belief, but taking it for himself. At least half of the justifiers in Gotham are as fanatical about Blackfire as they are about Darkseid.

Blackfire stands, arms apart and legs astride the entrance to the gate. He looks like Da Vinci's diagram of a man, except his skin is charred, the Apokoliptian power coursing through his veins. He forces a smile on his face as the blue lightning runs through his body, and he finally steps free. "I am become a god, and even Darkseid will kneel before me."

The gate hums and shuts down like an old computer. The way back to Apokolips is closed.

The chant of anti-life on the surface, not that far above Blackfire's head, permeates the air. The heroes and villains around the circumference of anti-life only have one chance to disable both Blackfire and Darkseid, and that's to strike now, before the Deacon can use his new godlike ability.

On the Move

Nov. 5th, 2010 02:20 pm
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
The key to guerrilla warfare was mobility, a small unit size, tactical target selection and of course intelligence.

Mobility they had easily. Most of the team moved like wraiths in the darkened city and one could fly. Their small numbers made it easy to slip past eyes unseen and the notice of non-organic surveillance. The array of tactical backgrounds (given that half of them were trained assassins) in the unit offered considerable wisdom in selecting the right targets. Superboy's enhanced senses and aerial recon provided information that further informed their tactics.

The point was to weaken the enemy's strength, not engage in head on conflicts with superior forces. This point in particular was the issue at had at the moment.

"Ok Dessad is out as a target" Robin concludes after hearing Kon's intel.
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
The GCPD building downtown was built like a bunker. It wasn't pretty in any sense of the word, but it was solid and more importantly, very defensible. Years of weathering Gotham's particular breed of nightlife had proven a veritable crucible to shake out the building's vulnerabilities and the end product had proven to be an unforeseen godsend in the middle of the Hell Gotham had been transformed into.

The roof of the structure was the primary point of interest at this moment. From this vantage point, one could see smoke rising in columns across the crimson skyline of the city and there was a view of the smoldering ruins of the main bridges that once lead out of Gotham proper. On the roof itself, dozens of hapless uniformed officers lay unconscious in the wake of the arrival of the building's most recent interlopers. It couldn't be helped. Robin consoled himself with the silver lining that there had been no fatalities. Considering some of his temporary 'allies', that was a fairly impressive accomplishment.

It was a fairly simple matter to hook up the propane powered emergency generator to the large tarnished spotlight. Even so, time was a precious commodity now and the shrieks of Darkseid's Furies echoing in the streets of Gotham reminded Robin that every second they stayed in one place left them vulnerable. He was regretting the inclusion of Cicada and Bane into their group a little less right now.

"Okay, this should do it."

Putting one foot on the clunky machine for leverage, Robin pulls the starter cord in one even draw and is rewarded as the machine sputters to life.

"Hit it!"
[identity profile] uncommon-sensei.livejournal.com
The trek out of hell takes longer than one might expect. All those twists and turns, and the natives aren't exactly reliable for directions. Shiva, Dragon, and Tim Drake have hauled themselves out of the infernal realms, though, with no further interference from Neron. Then back through Gotham Below - finally emerging from a dark alleyway in the East End.

Dragon steps out towards the street, shielding his eyes from the strange reddish cast to the evening sky.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have taken that left turn at Purgatory?"

Seems a fresh kind of hell has come to Gotham in their absence.
[identity profile] give-me-an-amen.livejournal.com
"People of Gotham, I salute you!" It has been a long time coming, but the Deacon Joseph Blackfire is once again on a podium in Gotham square, masses around him, and being played to televisions and radios across the city. All have heard of how the holy man has cleaned up the streets in a violent yet effective pogrom of the colourful psychopaths that make up the city's rogues gallery. All have heard how Blackfire intends to make Gotham a glowing example of how a city should be in these modern times. All seem to have forgotten the man named Blackfire from a decade ago, who tried something very similar, and was supposedly killed by his own cult...

"That is right, people of Gotham. I salute each and every one of you for having to put up with characters such as the Joker, the Scarecrow, the Riddler and the Catwoman. The Batman. Oh, hoo hooo. The Bat Man. Your saviour from all of these freaks and malcontents." Blackfire chuckles as the crowd grows hushed. To many, Batman is a rumour and myth, but one that brings hope in the darkness. "You have trusted your fate to a man in a bat costume!! I salute you people for your desperate need to cling onto anything that can bring you light, but surely, Gotham has gone too far when it needs a being like that for protection!"

Blackfire waits for absolute silence before continuing. "I am no politician. I am not running for some kind of office or official position. I am an old, very old man, and I have seen the world and all its faces. All of its evil. I can tell you that there is no evil more raw and corrupt than in this city. It breaks my heart to tell you that you have all gone far too far, but it is not too late. I have performed wonders over these months, and I will show them to you."

On the large television screens erected in Gotham Square appear images of burned out houses and factories. "These are places purified by my righteous anger, Gotham City. I am no pyromaniac, do not misunderstand me. But safehouses for criminals? Brothels? Drug dens? They must all be removed like rotten flesh from around a wound." A number of men and women accompany Blackfire on the stage at this moment. "These are my brothers in arms. You may recognise some as some of the most terrifying monsters in Gotham, but through me they have found the true meaning of existence. They have no need for individuality when they work for Gotham. Gotham the being, Gotham the state of mind. You can work for Gotham too, if you do but listen to me."

Something is going on. Perhaps it's something in Blackfire's voice. More likely it's the subliminal message being played through the huge screens. The crowd begin to chant the Deacon's name. "Ha, haha. No no, I am not your leader. I am merely his disciple." He quietens the crowd down, but the television crews picked up the wave of support for Blackfire, and it's infectious.

"Do you feel... loneliness, Gotham? Alienation, perhaps? No doubt due to the state of your city, you sometimes feel fear and despair. Why, when you could live in a jewel like Metropolis, where is your sense of self-worth? They mock you, you know. The other people in America. They condemn you for your following of false idols. They misunderstand that it's all you know. But perhaps you should feel guilt, and shame. Even failure! Do not worry though, Gotham. You do not need to feel these things alone. Feel them together, and come before me. Feel them together, and be as one. Hate all others. Your hate is justified. Where were the rest of your countrymen every time your lives came under threat? Hate them! Anti-life justifies your hate!!!"

And Gotham explodes...
[identity profile] clackclickbang.livejournal.com
Rebecca Jarvis, Onomatopoeia, sits on a crate in a dockside warehouse, looking at her team-mates through tired eyes. This is her second Squad mission, and this one seems even more insane than the first. According to the briefing they all received, Cuban terrorists had smuggled a nuke into Miami somehow, and would be detonating said device within short order. Nobody had an exact time frame, nobody knew what they were waiting for, but the bomb is supposedly being guarded by fanatics with all manner of firearms. Enough to make the Suicide Squad necessary.

She looks at Count Vertigo as he clasps his cape around his neck. Rebecca sighs. She'd given up habitually using her mask, her doctor having advised that it was all part of the recovery to go without a costume. So although she has a bodysuit and a trenchcoat, no hood adorns her head.

Plastique and Bronze Tiger are talking near the warehouse doors. She's not spoken to them a great deal. She's not spoken to many of them a great deal. Cheshire seems to be more or less a psychopath, Vertigo seems arrogant as all hell, and Multiplex is just weird. Bane is strangely erudite, but... Her problem is more with their general attitude towards their crimes. None of them seem at all eager to rehabilitate. This Task Force X thing seems more just a means to get out on the street and kill more people, or steal more things.

She puts up her hand, and grabs Vertigo's attention. "Aren't we supposed to be listening in on their frequency to see when they're moving the bomb?"
[identity profile] azure-avenger.livejournal.com
A burning building in Gotham - and as likely as not, this one isn't even arson. Still, superheroes have other things to do beside catching criminals - and in this case, Blue Beetle is on the scene, gliding down from the hovering Bug above, to try and rescue people the firemen can't reach.

Flame retardant foam in his avatar's weapons arm comes in handy as he moves through the building, helping tenants to safety.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
No, man. I told you already - the wizard heroes can't scan this place. Ley lines or some shit like that. They raid it every so often just to try and keep us down, but we just scatter before they show - same as with the Injustice Gang satellite or the Lexcorp tunnelworks or that bar in Vanity or all the other places we hang.

Fucking Trickster bothering him. Somebody's got to teach that kid how this job works.

Hey, Quimby! I heard your little laser-beam nearly did in Big Blue...
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
Five minutes is all it takes. She wanders out into the hallway in search of coffee. When she returns, her midnight patient is gone. The bed is empty. The sheets are twisted and forgotten. The IV dangles, dripping its contents out onto the floor. She stands there in the doorway, staring in disbelief.

Her sleep deprived brain struggles to comprehend the facts. When she left, the Joker was unconscious. His tortured and mutilated body would not have permitted him to move with the speed needed to leave the surgical suite. Someone must have helped him. Or someone must have taken him.

There's only one person she knows who can move that fast.

Another sensation begins to build right along side the acid burn in her stomach. It's a knot. Pure, unadulterated anger. He brought her a patient to care for, regardless of her feelings. He brought her the man who killed Alfred. He expected she do everything possible to save the Joker. He removed that patient without her permission. From her clinic.

Twenty minutes later, she once again lets herself into the Manor. She bypasses the house and makes a beeline for the cave. There isn't an ounce of fear amidst the rage.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
Jesse Quick has sent out the APB.

But right now, Titans Tower is on fire in half a dozen places, and the torrential storm overhead isn't stopping the fires nearly enough. Lightning sizzles through the sky, and well over a dozen flying figures soar around the Tower, surveilling it and occasionally blasting it with something. Many more are on the ground and in the Tower itself - parts of the Tower explode periodically as the violence escalates.

The Tower is under siege, and the Titans are fighting a losing battle.

But things change, and Weather Wizard turns his head and sees:

[identity profile] phear-itself.livejournal.com
To: calculator
From: scarecrow
Subject: A new addition


You will be pleased to know that we have added the one who broke the bat into our organization. I will be speaking to some of the more trustworthy individuals who reside in my "summer home;" of course, this requires a short vacation there. Do not bother with my return ticket... someone else has promised to cover all expenses. However, if you don't hear from me within a week, assume I am stranded, and take the appropriate steps.

[identity profile] phear-itself.livejournal.com
Scarecrow followed the cruise liner at a distance, waiting.

Bane was on the cruise liner, waiting for this "Batwoman" to come and interfere with Penguin, Duquesne, and Thorne's last shipment. And Bane, Thorne, Duquesne, Penguin, and a "Batwoman" all in one place at the same time can only mean that Batman will show up, too.

He follows at a distance, watching. He sees the fight that eventually breaks out. Two Batwomen? Clever. And Batman, of course. Batman and two Batwomen against Bane. Sure enough, soon Bane ends up in the water.

That's when Scarecrow moves. The boat rockets to where Bane fell.

One of his thugs offers a hand to Bane.

"Mr. Bane," Scarecrow offers. "We have business to discuss. Come aboard."
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
Perfect, absolutely perfect. Seems the tactic worked, and goaded the Bat into attacking. With more grace than anyone his size should have, Bane takes the first swing, rolling with its impact and swinging back with a ham-sized fist of his own. Done talking, done trying to end this any other way than with sending Batman to the bottom.
Nothing personal of course, just business.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
Bane cracks his knuckles, still waiting. "Your friend here has planted a bomb on the boat, Amigo. Hope you can swim," he comments, staying between Batman and the crimelords, and thus between him and Kathy. He's in no hurry about this fight, and is certainly no raging monster to charge blindly. His eyes narrow, focusing on the Bat, and continuing the standoff while his employers do whatever they're going to with Kathy and the bomb.


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