[identity profile] j-onn-j-onzz.livejournal.com
Espionage is something J'onn is uniquely suited for.  Invisibility.  The ability to shapeshift.  Mindreading.   Being able to appear as anyone...or to simply not appear at all.

J'onn speaks a silent prayer that these abilities will be enough.

He made a conscious choice to come into the city from the opposite side of where he know Robin and some other comrades were currently located.   He was trying to find the area that he saw in the vision...and by that, hoping to find Blackfire. 
[identity profile] 10xspeedoflight.livejournal.com
There's a glowing blur of red and yellow light shooting through Bludhaven. It's not as familiar a sight there as it is in somewhere like Central or Keystone City, but most people know who it is that leaves an intangible yet thick trail of those colours along roads and sidewalks, across lakes and through parks. The Flash builds up speed as he tears towards the Gotham River, and then runs straight across the surface of the water, arriving at Gotham Docks a split second after he started running.

Barry looks behind him, and within a microt his grandson is with him. He holds a finder to his lips as soon as Bart appears, as there are voices in the docks of Gotham. The voices are chanting. For once, Barry creeps slowly as he makes his way towards the source of the chanting. A warehouse. There are no windows, as is befitting of most warehouses, so he slides one of the doors open a fraction to look inside.

Dock workers, sailors, men and women from around the area all lay flat on the ground, on their stomachs with their heads raised. Their bodies all point in the same direction, and they all strain to look up at the effigy of Darkseid that sits on top of a standard packing crate. There doesn't appear to be a master of ceremonies, so there's no point interfering with the mindless cultists. Not given the possibility that one of them may raise an alarm. Barry silently closes the door again, and turns to Bart.

"Probably about a hundred people in there, all chanting that they'd die for Darkseid. As far as damage assessments go, I wouldn't call this a good start. At least they're not hurting anyone though." Barry sighs, and wonders where they should head next. "I wonder what the other scouts have found."
[identity profile] themightyoracle.livejournal.com
 It had been too long since their last one; a lot had happened between then and now to prevent it, but it was time, at last, for the Birds of Prey to assemble once more.

Many times, it was just Babs and Dinah in attendance for what they'd taken to calling their 'BoP parties'. Occasionally, some of the other girls, and/or honorary male members joined in, but all that really was needed were two or more Birds, a bottle of tequila for margaritas, ice cream, and the optional chick flick. So far this evening, the two founding members of the Birds of Prey were sharing the bottle alone, but the night was still young.

So far, it wasn't a very festive atmosphere. Barbara wasn't much of a drinker, but she had a shot glass of tequila in her hand, having skipped the margarita part entirely. She wasn't quite as thin has she had been recently, but her cheeks were still a bit more hollow than they should be. The apparent death of her mentor was taking less of a toll than her stubborn refusal to accept it as fact.

Babs hadn't spoken about it to anyone but Dick, and a few messages exchanged with Arthur. She wasn't sure what Dinah would have to say about it, but she <i>was</i> certain Di would make her talk.

Eventually. 
[identity profile] femme-du-chat.livejournal.com
It must be a combination of things that started it.

Selina Kyle has always had light fingers and a tendancy to pick up objects that didn't belong to her. It wasn't always with the intent to /take/ them but more to give her hands something to do. Of course, it was relatively simple to just take them if you were to forget, intentionally or purposefully, that you had the item in your hands. Little things were stolen this way when she was younger - pencils, books, the occasional set of keys.

Of course, things took an entirely different turn once she started thinking about it on purpose.

It was fun. It was exciting. And it ended up being liberating in ways she'd never have imagined.

So, it isn't much of a surprise when she starts finding knick-knacks and trinkets coming home with her. The seeds were planted in who she is and given light and water by a certain former Boy Wonder.

There is no moment of self-reflection as she's climbing out of the jewlery store skylight. Why /anyone/ in Gotham has a skylight anymore, let alone a jewelry store is a mystery to her but it certainly does make things interesting in all the best ways. Gaining purchase on the roof, she feels a smile she hasn't felt in some time resting on her lips.
[identity profile] femme-du-chat.livejournal.com
Everything has been a little off today, something strange with the world. The whole thing just seems a bit strange and, well, there is one person who knows everything about everything. Or at least she usually does.

Selina ends up on Oracle's doorstep, though she's nominally visiting the other woman, Barbara Gordon. The two of them have had ups and downs - better and worse times. Right now, though, they're in a good patch of relationship.

It'll be interesting to see if that lasts through this encounter.
[identity profile] jla-forgotten.livejournal.com
The last fight had been a matter of power, of brutality.

This time, Roulette wants to offer something a little different to her crowd. Some of those in the crowd hadn't been able to handle the warrior women and the end result of it all last time.

Well, this time there will be no costumes, no super strength - nothing more than human ability.

This match has been arranged specially once Roulette realized what she had on her hands. It has cost her a pretty penny to do, too. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, I bring you something a little different. Tonight, I bring you a fight with no powers, no costumes. Nothing but deadly skill, precision and grace."
[identity profile] sexy-huntress.livejournal.com
Even vigilantes having an existential crisis need to eat. Helena's had to pull herself together in order to restock her fridge - and her wine supply - and brave the world. Perhaps predictably, she waits until the late evening to leave her apartment; perhaps it's because she will miss the school crowds, or perhaps the broad daylight seems like too much self-exposure to deal with. The daylight hours have long been associated with her teaching, a job she no longer possesses and thinks at this point that she can never go back to.

She's had to check a few times to reassure herself that she's still receiving the stipend from Oracle, and each time has hated that she's relying on someone else for their help, or that she's even worried about what the redhead thinks in the first place. But she hasn't, at least, to her knowledge, been fired.

Yet.

She sticks to the essentials - she's never been that much of an adventurous cook to begin with - and begins loading up the trunk of her car.
[identity profile] last-joke-x.livejournal.com
Submersing himself in work was a coping mechanism. Much how some people use humor to mask their insecurities or how to deal with a difficult situation. Jason felt like being out longer. To have his knuckles bruised and try out some new equipment, but he had other responsibilities. Those that meant more than just those that concerned beating himself up.

There was the issue of dealing with some inner city organizations that the Titans were going to have a possible connection to. There was hopefully bumping into Helena before he would have to be sent elsewhere by his own hand or some other. And lastly he would have to force himself to not be so closed and try to force teamwork in his mind.

But first would be a shower. Getting caught in a meth lab fire and being fired upon did cause a bit of smell. And his current attire of hidden body armor, boots, and tactical gear with weapons didn’t fit the bill for the other priorities he had. So dabbing out the stale cigarette, the front door is opened with his voice trailing in a muffled and exhausted manner.

“Honey. I’m home.”
[identity profile] sexy-huntress.livejournal.com
Caller ID is a wonderful thing. It lets her ignore everyone. That is, until she finally lost her temper two nights ago and tore the cord from the wall so hard it pulled a large chunk of drywall with it. She has ignored her comms. She hasn't patrolled in over a week. In the relative safety of her apartment, she has found her days punctuated by periods of consciousness and unconsciousness rather than by the hours, assisted in those brief times she can sleep by drinking until she cannot keep her eyes open any longer.

Helena doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want their lectures, or their sympathy, or their attempts to understand. All she cares about, can think about, is that Emma is dead, and the hollow platitude of 'mercy killing' does nothing to justify or even begin to alleviate the agony the decision has caused her.

She has killed before, in the past; when Gotham was a No Man's Land of chaos and overrun with irreverence for human life. Killed men who raped, who beat, who murdered. Their demises were retribution; ugly, scarred, and defined by rage and hate.

Emma had none of these things. She was just a child, harboring so much potential, burdened with parents who cared nothing for her present or her future. Helena had become a teacher for children like her, acutely aware herself of just how much importance one good mentor could have on a young and impressionable life. A life now lost forever.

Helena sits now upon the floor in her living room, another opened bottle of wine at her side while she once more leafs through her student's work. All the items she took from the girl's locker, spread out before her upon the coffee table like some kind of impromptu, informal shrine.

It's been a long time since she prayed, or had any faith in God. She's certain, now more than ever, that nobody's listening. She does not want forgiveness, and she will not seek it. There is no deity in this universe who can offer her absolution.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_darkknight_/
Wonder Woman has, as requested, provided a replicant to Batman for examination and, he hopes, elucidation about what's going on.

What he has is a replicant of Flamebird, and how the replicant is being controlled is the golden lasso around its neck courtesy of Wonder Woman.

"Diana," Batman mumbles as he gets the replicant on the scanning table, "try to keep her still. Shouldn't take long."
[identity profile] gotham-grrl.livejournal.com
It's been quite some time since her capture by Onomatopoeia. Since finding her 'student' in the trap with her, and then finding out her 'student' was the trap.

Emma's seat has been vacant since. And Helena becomes more of the Huntress everytime she sees it. The few contacts she has have been largely uncontacted. All communication with Oracle has been job-related, and even that's been sparing. She hasn't talked to Jason or Dinah at all.

Everyone else under the Big Bad Bat family can go to Hell for all she cares right now.

Today, however, saw the limit. Emma's parents came to school to clean out her locker. They've given up. Helena hasn't. She owes that little girl everything she can possibly do, so it's time she set to it.

Huntress is going to work.
[identity profile] clackclickbang.livejournal.com

Onomatopoeia sits in a cell in the Watchtower. Perfectly transparent on the outside, but somehow coloured with pleasing hues on the inside. A step up from some of the places she'd been held in the past. She's still got the cuffs on, and her black pants, top, and jacket. The four "heroes* bundled her in here after frisking her for any concealed weapons. Her hood hangs loose at the back of her neck, wrapped loosely about her throat with a cord. The small green light from somewhere in her neck is gently visible.

"Hmm..." She hoped they would bring in writing materials. She really didn't want to have to cough up more blood. They'd not even washed off the blood already on her chin and down her top. She'd loosen the bandages she had wrapped tightly about her chest, if she could. It was how she appeared male. She wasn't big-chested, but had always thought it a good idea to appear male. There are far more male ex-cons than female ones. Sometimes it made it difficult to breathe, especially when running away from a crime, but it was a boost to the adrenaline. She pulled against the cuffs deliberately again. Keep that pain coming.

She looked around the room. She knew they were out there, watching her. She blushed slightly, surprisingly. That wasn't common. But she was used to watching others, not the other way around. She'd seen a couple of other "heroes" on the short trip to her cell. They just looked at her. Probably didn't recognise her without her mask. Probably wouldn't recognise her *with* her mask. She wasn't the most well-known criminal in the world.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock..." if she had a watch on, she'd check it. As it happened, she didn't, so the point was moot. She wondered whether there were mind-readers up here. What they'd read in her mind... She had no idea. She was suddenly feeling anxious. Would they see something that she didn't even recall? Read some thought that had been crushed beneath the pain, fear, fury and sorrow she had experienced in her life? Or would they only pick up surface thoughts? She had no experience of these things. Still, she expressed her feelings about it. 

"Gulp." She hated herself for making such a ridiculous noise. It couldn't be helped though. It wasn't comedic, and it was certainly no cartoon sound-effect. She always hoped that if a "hero" interrogated her it would be Superman. She'd seen him on the television, watched his interviews, and he looked nice, and he looked genuine... but she had a feeling it wouldn't be someone so calm and controlled. She pulled on the cuffs again. Make the blood flow. Feel the pain.

Exit

Aug. 13th, 2008 11:12 am
[identity profile] last-joke-x.livejournal.com
There was that sound that just gave a remembrance that didn’t bring anything present to his mind. All any of this meant was the need to gain distance. The person that they picked up was the closest indication of a clue or lead since they got to this location. He was more worried with the safety of the entire team than over what else they may find at this location. So upon hearing the ticking and the additional tocking from their prisoner, Red can think of the only logical solution.

“We’re outta here! Out out out!”

He’s not worried about Jesse getting out in enough time, but Huntress and Flamebird will leave before he does. That way he at least has positive control over their numbers and can make sure he’s the last one within. It’s his waiting in the hallways and on the way to the door that he catches the sight of the object poking out of the other Onomatopoeia.

Cold fury

Jul. 18th, 2008 06:18 pm
[identity profile] gotham-grrl.livejournal.com
When the group heading out to hunt down Onomatopoeia gets to the teleporter, they'll find an angry Gotham girl waiting for them.

It won't take much of a conversation for them to know that she's going, and no one's going to argue otherwise. Jason can't protect her from everything--not that she's the type of girl to be protected, a fact he knows all too well--and this one is personal.

She's going to find out where Emma is, no matter what she has to do.

"Is everyone ready?"
[identity profile] brainiac-lives.livejournal.com
Dr Mid-Nite applies the anaesthetic and antiseptic, and the scalpel makes its way across the stitched area, neatly parting Emma's skin.

What it reveals, Dr Mid-Nite only gets to take in for a second. Instead of blood, or meat, or anything resembling a human, Emma's insides are entirely circuitry, wired through with pink and red diodes to give the impression of a healthy human body. Whoever Emma is, and wherever Emma is, this definitely isn't her. This is some kind of replication.

More disturbing is the bomb, which Mid-Nite only sees for an instant. It's built like a claymore, facing outward toward whoever might cut into the skin around it. It explodes, with a "Braakkkkkk" sound, as sharp pieces of metal, wood and small nails fly out and in to Mid-Nite, flinging him backwards across the room, punctured with multiple wounds across his face and body.

-

"Well done, Onomatopoeia. I find these results incredibly telling... How long it takes for Todd to snap, Bertinelli to burst into hysterics... All excellent." Brainiac hands over a card. "Go to an ATM and type in 3528. You'll have access to all the money promised."

Brainiac starts to leave. "I know what you're wondering. Why go to all this trouble, when we could have killed Cross, Bertinelli, Kane and Todd in their sleep? That's not my purpose. All these... humans. All these... 'heroes'. Are any of them truly fearless? How far do we have to push them before they'll be completely drained, and completely able to become... drones. Manchurian Candidates, may be a better description."

"I noticed that you've got some kind of attachment to Kane. Foolish. You should not be trying to save these creatures from their idiocies if they cannot save themselves. I will be leaving now... I should not need to reiterate that our connection should not be revealed to anyone. Nobody, not even the child of Jor-El knows I'm here on Earth, which is why I picked such a vocally challenged serv- accomplice. Enjoy your reward."

Brainiac makes his way out of Onomatopoeia's building, knowing that the heroes have the address. The reason for showing it to Huntress on that monitor? Bertinelli and Todd are just the sorts of 'hero' to lose their temper and beat Onomatopoeia to death. Another interesting thing to monitor, which is why he left a small recording device in the villain's house.

Pulling his collar up, he walked out into the rain, and away from Star City.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_bird_of_flame_/
In the room with the bright lights, Flamebird has made her way to the table, so the good doctor can stitch her shoulder back up. She isn't looking forward to this at all. The extremely bright lights aren't helping with how she feels either.

As if the throbbing pain and the feeling a little light headed from the blood loss and any number of other things.

"Tell me what I can to do help you, doctor."

Having all three of them focusing on her shoulder doesn't seem like a good idea. So far there haven't been any crazy death traps but this feels like that sort of place. Who knows who else may or may not be in here with them.

"Robin..." Flamebird pauses for a moment after speaking that name, a faint look of surprise crossing her face for a moment, "You see what you can find here, okay?" She takes over holding the shirt to her shoulder.

Word Games

May. 5th, 2008 05:09 pm
[identity profile] clackclickbang.livejournal.com

Onomatopoeia sits in a dark room, staring at a bank of monitors through his mask. Most of the screens are black-and-white, a couple are colour. The vision is blurred as well. Onomatopoeia doesn't care. The sound system is perfect, state-of-the-art and the most expensive he could buy. He wanted to hear the sounds. A rat scuttles over his boots. "Squeak, squeak..." he whispers, watching the bottom-left monitor most intently. It's almost totally dark, but after shifting the zoom, he can make out three bodies. Another body is on the monitor to the far right, but he doesn't take his eyes off the other three for now. He watches their forms.

"Hfff.... hfff...." He mimics their breathing. "Zzzzz...." A smile forms beneath his hood. His fingers flick up towards the control panel, and lights come on throughout the rooms he's observing, all different colours. The three figures are now bathed in a sickly yellow light, the room they're housed in covered in photos of themselves with writing all over them. There seems to be no visible point of entry. The solitary figure in the other room is lit in a dark red glow. Her room is perhaps more bizarre.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock..." Onomatopoeia watches them start to wake, and waits to see and most importantly, hear, their reactions.

[identity profile] delphicgreen.livejournal.com
Oracle pushes back from the keyboard.  She's still connected, though.  There is a bluetooth ear piece that connects her still to her network.  Most of the important systems have been trained to take vocal commands for basic functions.  If something serious breaks out, she'll have to reattach herself to the terminal.

The glasses come off and she rubs at her eyes.  Not for the first time, she thinks about getting corrective surgery but the time off, the time she'd have to take off to heal from it is not something she's prepared to handle.  Making her way into the kitchen, she grabs a mug and pours herself some coffee, adding cream and a bit of sugar before she rolls herself back in.

It might be dusk where she's at but that just means a whole new work day is dawning.
[identity profile] seriouslyevil.livejournal.com
Oh, if Selina knew where he was right now, there was a good chance she'd kill him.

However, where he was right now was less important than where he had ben earlier. Not to mention what he had left behind.

He glanced at his watch, waiting for a few more precious seconds tick off. Once the he decided the time was right, he flicked open a cell phone, and dialed the number this least favorite kitty.

Ring, ring, Selina Kyle. And you might want to pick up sooner than later.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_bird_of_flame_/
And that hero is Flamebird!

Er... Bette Kane! Who is Flamebird. But Not Really.

But REALLY! She IS Flamebird!

It is fantastic to be out here among the rooftops, swinging and looking for the bad guys - because there are always bad guys.

Bette had a hard time putting the costume on. Something about it made her head hurt like nothing else. That's why she stopped thinking so hard about it. After that she felt soooo much better. The throbbing pain went away and here she is, jumping and spinning and swinging and lookin' for the bad guys.

Ugh. Even just thinking about how she'd been thinking about it makes her head feel like it might split open anyway. Which is excellent because she doesn't have any time to think about all of that stuff now.

There are guys robbing the bank!

Profile

jla_watchtower: (Default)
JLA Watchtower (Archive)

November 2016

S M T W T F S
  12345
6 789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 22nd, 2017 10:32 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios