Oct. 24th, 2011 02:49 pm
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
Maggie slammed the phone down and swore.  In the privacy of her small office, she could afford the outburst.  It made delivering the news easier. 

She swung open her door.  The organized chaos of the bullpen greeted her.  "Listen up!!"

The noise immediately died down.  "Victor Zsasz is out of lock-up and on the loose.  He killed three guards on his way out.  He is considered armed and dangerous.  I need all hands on deck to join the search ASAP.  DO NOT approach him.  I repeat... DO NOT approach him.  Locate him.  Radio in."

She glanced around, making eye contact as she went.  No injuries.  No fatalities. 

"Move your asses." 
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
 Captain Maggie Sawyer had been in a foul mood for awhile now. First that lunatic Johnny Sorrow killed nearly everyone working at Blackgate, unleashing it's criminals on the populace. Second that crazy preacher put the whole city under some kind of mind control in the name of some alien god. She'd been about to put a hole through that flaming psycho, Doctor Phosphorus', head when Sorrow reappears and backhands her into unconsciousness. And during that time the GCPD building was destroyed, forcing them to regroup elsewhere. And as if to add insult to injury, this new drug craze took root and now if she was hearing things right another new syndicate was making moves into Gotham. Does it ever fucking stop?

Maggie was currently taking a break, neither the albino nor the metal man were saying anything relevant.
[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] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
The Captain is not happy, to say the least. She has one officer out indefinitely - Romy isn't even up for filling out the paperwork following shooting the Scarecrow, little surprise that, given the circumstances. So she's been put on leave under heavy guard. Maggie knows the dangers as well as anyone... Gotham's rogues aren't going to sit quietly after one of their own was shot.

And then Cris... refused to take any down time, despite his hand. He's been helping Renee through it, but having his gun hand in a cast for at least three weeks... is hardly safe to go out on the streets with, but he insisted.

But to top it all off, ever since the headline, the GCPD offices are looking like its Christmas. Romy has been getting cards, flowers, thank you letters, outright fan mail, and then the presents... she shoots a maniac, and suddenly she's everyone's hero. The gifts just keep arriving, and its taking up valuable time to screen them, since who knows what might be Joker gas or a bomb? Plus, its getting hard to find walking room.

"Would someone find somewhere to put all this junk!"
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
All over America, cities buzz with traffic. The interstates and state highways hum with the sounds of cars, mini-vans, vans, and trucks carrying commuters, soccer teams, small appliances, and larger cargo across town or across the state or across the Continental Divide. The drone of mobility.

All over America, this morning, certain 18-wheelers pause at traffic lights, or pull over to the shoulder, or just plain stop. The drone of mobility is replaced by the cacophony of horns and shouting, with the silent percussion of fists waving in the air.

The 18-wheelers unfold, prompting speculation that this is all just some kind of crazy publicity stunt related to the upcoming summer blockbuster Origamibots. But alert children, clutching their action figures tightly, point out that Origamibots do not have TV screens in their chests. TV screens that flicker to life, revealing the face of an old man, his curly white hair sparse against his scalp. "For too long," he says, "our country has been in chaos. Our citizens are crying out for order. Our leaders are too busy profiting from our confusion to hear our cries." He straightens up, a determined look on his face. "Well, no more. There will be order. All that is necessary is for everyone to obey my robots ... they will begin escorting everyone home now. Please keep calm."

People, being people, panic.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
Rupert Thorne has seen better days.

He took a cluster of shots to the chest from Renee Montoya. He's weary, haggard, bandaged heavily and he's lost a startling amount of weight way too quickly.

His surgery and recuperation have been slow but steady, and the insanity at Blackgate has prevented most of the cops on duty from expediting his prosecution.

Not that it's that much in question. He shot a man in the head in front of witnesses. They've got him, red-handed, on a murder charge.

He's leaning on his elbows on the interrogation room table. Glaring at the mirror and waiting for someone in charge to come face him.

But it's not really a glare of hate or spite.

There's something else in his eyes.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
There isn't much to the box. It's just a room, with city-issued furniture. A table, a few chairs. A light overhead. Oh, and the one-way mirror that dominates one wall. Can't forget that.

"When's my lawyer gonna get here?" asks Johnny Franks.

"He's on his way." Detective Joely Bartlett sits down in the opposite chair. The one that hasn't had a caster removed from one leg. Franks shifts uneasily, and one chair leg scrapes noisily against the floor. "You know how traffic can be sometimes," she adds, watching him carefully. "Want some coffee?"

"No, I don't want coffee--yes, I do." He takes out his handkerchief and mops his brow. "Yeah. Coffee."

Bartlett doesn't even look at Del Arrazio when she stands up. "Sure thing. Maybe I can find you some doughnuts, too."


Jan. 30th, 2006 07:37 am
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
"Diamonds." Captain Sawyer underlines the word on the blackboard. "That's how Fries likes to be paid. If he's being paid in cash or other goods, he's going to be converting them to diamonds. Let's hit the pavement, people. Let's find this guy before we have more frozen kids on the 10 o'clock news."
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
Christmas Day. Only minutes removed from Christmas Eve.

Some people are with their families. Some people are sharing this holiday with friends, or complete strangers. Some are spending it alone. Others ignore it completely.

In some places it's snowing. In other places in the world, the "chill" comes down to a balmy seventy degrees.

On this night the world is supposed to be quiet, peaceful. Preparing for a new year, hopefully better than the last. Peace is never universal, though... not even on Christmas.

But, if even for a moment, maybe one can hope that this day unites us all.
[identity profile] laughingfish.livejournal.com
There's more than one way to skin a cat. But for information...well, the Joker only knew of one perfect clearing house for that.

The Batman.

Problematic. Usually, a meeting with the Bat results in a swift trip back to Arkham. Express.

Precautions have to be made.

A trip to the hardware store, taken in the middle of the night provided Joker with the necessary ingredients to a fertilizer bomb. Walkie-talkies from the Radio Shack next door supplied a trigger. Crude, but workable. Then, where to stash the bomb...where would it be really funny...?

Well, one of his contemporaries had always been too close to the Bat, after all.

City Hall, then. The guards were overpaid at best. Too easy to sneak up on, easier still to garotte with their own neckties. Joker blindfolded one with the murder weapon, and left him seated in front of the statue of blind lady justice, before walking unchallenged into the district attorney's office, and sliding his homemade radio-controlled fertilizer bomb inside a supply closet. Wonderful for shrapnel, office supplies can be.

Well. time to arrange a meeting. The best ways were often the easiest. He used a payphone directly across the street from City Hall, and phoned One Police Plaza.

"Hello, cops. I want to report a crime in progress..."
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
Captain Maggie Sawyer of the MCU receives a few dozen memos every day. Most of them get round-filed quickly, but this one makes her pause. It's on official stationery, and there's a signature on it, but ... a memo, for this? Not a phone call?

She picks up the phone and dials the commissioner's office. "Sir? I just got a memo from your office--no, sir, it's not that. No, not that, either. Sir, did you send out a memo informing me that the Joker is on the loose again? I see. I didn't think so. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. You may be right, sir. I will. Goodbye, sir." Hanging up the phone, she hits the intercom button. "Stacy? I want to see everyone. Now. We got a red-ball. And get Jim Gordon on the phone for me--I don't care if you have to call every rent-a-cop at Gotham U to find him, I want him now."

The old man won't want a protective detail. Tough. He's going to get one anyway.
[identity profile] renee-montoya.livejournal.com
For once, it's not too cloudy or hazy in Gotham. Out of a sense of boredom, as she has the day off, she has decided to go for a brief walk. Might be good for the stress of recent days.

Suddenly, something hits her on the head, and bounces off. She flinches, but then looks up--just as another one hits her in the nose. Swearing a little from the surprise, she backs away.

Taking refuge under the overhang of a nearby building, she looks up into the sky. Small plastic balls are falling, and bouncing off the pavement.

"Ping pong balls? It's raining ping pong balls?! Weirdness never takes a holiday in this town!"

Grumbling under her breath, she grabs an old umbrella someone has obviously abandoned and makes a run for it. One ball tears a small round hole, but otherwise there is little damage.

She runs quickly for the police station--it's closer than home.

And weirdness is never a single incident. She wonders what else is happening.
[identity profile] sonia-alcana.livejournal.com
You'd think that having lived in Gotham all one's life, one would get used to the presence of the Batman.

You'd think that after a while, the little thrill every time you spotted the Bat signal would wear off.

You'd be wrong - at least, in the case of Sonia Alcana. As she stands on the rooftop, watching as the sky is lit up with the familiar emblem, she still gets butterflies.

Just a little.

Not that she'd ever say anything.

She smiles a little. She knows it won't be long until he shows up. He may be mysterious and a bit creepy, but the Batman can always be counted on.

She's known that since she was a little girl.
[identity profile] lexcorp-media.livejournal.com
An excellent game today, here in Gotham Field. The score is 2 to 1, Giants, as we enter the bottom of the fifth inning. Martinez is up to bat...

Here's the pitch... Ball one.

Oops! Heh... looks like someone is playing a little practical joke... there's a large cloud of smoke rising from both dugouts. Not a very funny joke here in Gotham, but at least it's not purple or green. The umpire hasn't seemed to notice it, though, and Herges is ready to pitch again.

And the pitch... Wow! That one came awfully close... The umpire has called it a strike, though...

Hernandez is arguing with the umpire... looks like... Oh my god! Hernandez has attacked the umpire with his bat! Oh my god! Oh, good lord! He's not stopping!

The Giants are rushing the field... and here comes the Knights...

Ladies and gentlemen, this is... I have never seen such a thing in my life...

There's still more smoke entering the field, and... and throughout the stands... there's rioting in the stands...

...Terry? You're going to blame this on me, aren't you? Aren't you, Terry? Fire me, will you... I swear to god you'll never get a chance! YOU FU...

[identity profile] gothamflatfoot.livejournal.com
As Slade promised - as expected - nothing was done to him outside of hours upon hours of heavy sedation. The nausea and headache from the sedation passed with a night's sleep, and by the morning the retired police commissioner of Gotham City is his old self, showered and shaved and ready to leave the hospital in a fresh set of clothing fetched by his former colleagues.

Now to face the press, their inevitable questions, their incessant demands for photos and exclusive stories. He would rather face a pit of vipers.

Honestly, he regards them rather similarly.

After combing his hair and straightening his tie, Jim gives a nod to one of the guards assigned to his door (superfluously, he argued, but 'orders are orders, sir' was the response) to indicate he's ready. "Let's stop by HQ on the way to my house so I can speak to Captain Sawyer and give my report," he tells the burly sergeant leading his detail.

This will be fun. "Let me tell you, Maggie, how I was used as helpless bait for the Batman. Again."

Damn it.
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
We got ourselves a red-ball. Jim Gordon's been kidnapped. His daughter phoned and said he told her to go into hiding. She's refused police protection. CSU has so far come up with a whole lot of nothing, so I want us to canvass the campus. If anyone saw so much as his shadow, I want to know about it.

What do you think this is, a tea party? Next thing I want to hear is, "Yes, captain," followed by the sounds of your shoe leather hitting the pavement, all right?
[identity profile] blackknightone.livejournal.com
Rook Control has finally given me the green light on the advise of the Checkmate Psyche Department. The past few days they have been running on empty with leads on how to locate the Sniper Cult. The Press and Police have come up with nothing. The Knight teams have come up without anything concrete, and now the FBI is getting involved because of the direct link of this case to the Oklahoma City Bombing. Information has been hard to come by and the only thing Checkmate has over all of the other departments is my memory. It's a long shot, but somthing has to happen or someone else is going to die.

I set off in the mourning with a Pawn team in plain clothes driving around in a minivan looking all over the city. Looking for something familiar, we drove for hours until Mr Wing suggested that we look at night. Things look different at night and that was when the Sniper Cult struck last time. After dark I changed into my Black Knight uniform and set off myself. I took my rifle and full kit, there are alot of worse things out in the city than the Cult.
[identity profile] gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com
All right, people, our work isn't done. Montoya, drag that partner of yours away from the coffee pot. The Church of Blood guards have lawyered up, so I need you two to canvass the neighborhood and see if anyone spotted anything that could explain how surplus Soviet weapons made it into our town.

And anyone who thinks they need to get in touch with the Canary to "go over her statement just one more time" better have checked in first with me and the Commissioner, or they'll be walking a beat in the Bowery, got me?


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