[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
Open crates containing plastic wrapped components and pallets bearing specialized and custom made equipment formed a semi circle around the main terminal station and over sized High Density monitor. The overhead lights punctuated a stark contrast of light in the immediate area when compared to the deep shadows around. Now and then the flash of light from an arc-welder would flare up and the distinct smell of welded metal would cut sharply into the air.

Tim's legs stuck out from an exposed panel in the wall behind the steel and chrome workstation. The sounds of diligent labor partially muffled by the paneling testified to his connection to the evidence of the welder's activity.

"Amanda Waller."
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
Gotham's winters are bitter and merciless. The bite in the air right now could do real damage to exposed anatomy if left unprotected for more than a few minutes. Tim pulled the hood of his cape over his head to give his ears a reprieve.

Moving like a ghost, he flitted silently between shadows making no sound at all as he bounded to the neighboring rooftop. Carefully he came to the edge and peered down into the alleyway.

Gold light lit up the dirty and garbage strewn snow, the illumination spilling from an open loading dock where men hurriedly moved crates into a waiting van. The vehicle's motor was running and it's driver looked up and down the alley with nervous impatience.

Drake sized up his targets and pulled a few tools from his belt.
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
The 'crunch crunch' of the snow accompanies Connor's stride through the dirty snow of the Gotham sidewalk. The top of his head and shoulders are already dusted in white as the weather continues to deposit a smattering of snowfall on the city. The sun is still creeping above the horizon as he makes his way through the bleak and decaying neighborhood of tenements and warehouses. The streets are more deserted than one might expect, but not entirely empty either. Many of the buildings here were abandoned and half of those that weren't were occupied by squatters seeking to escape the cold. It bothered him, but Tim had given him some perspective on the matter. They couldn't save everybody, not immediately, but they were doing good work.

Even so, deep inside he felt that there should be something more they could do for the 'right now'.

Reaching, his destination he balanced the cardboard drink caddie and the small brown paper sack in one hand as he pressed the door buzzer with the other. The responding tone sounded off shortly after, it's buzz an inconsistent drone similar to a dying insect.

Kicking the snow off his boots, he entered and made short work of the three story climb of stairs. Not that the cold bothered him at all, but the warmth being maintained in the large open space of the third floor was a welcome sensation. His Smallville High jacket got tossed on the second hand couch they had salvaged. The hot chocolates and the bag with breakfast burritos got deposited in the kitchenette. Connor looked around.

"Hey Bat-Mite, you here?"
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
This neighborhood in the East End was riddled with decrepit infrastructure, from crumbling roads to questionable sewer lines this part of Gotham rarely received the kind of attention to it's decaying bones that the more 'acceptable' areas of the city did from civic coffers. Grants from the Wayne foundation had served as a vital lifeline for years now, but even the generous donations from that philanthropic arm made only a few dents in the general state of disrepair. Recent event hadn't improved the situation.

In the last year, the city had been sieged by the extra terrestrial forces of Apokalips. During the conflict, considerable damage had been done to several neighborhoods and this one had been no exception. The city had survived other disasters, some frighteningly enough had been worse. Stoic in it's fortitude Gotham was once again slowly plodding it's way back to health again, but progress had been practically glacial so far.

Even so, a city road crew had been working daily on the street below. The crater like pothole, clogged sewer drains, and faulty street lights were all being attended to. Despite the noise, no one was complaining, least of all the newest tenants.
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
The place looked like a dump from the outside. The inside however...ok it looked like a dump too. The location was perfect however. Crime heavy neighborhood, poor lighting, and a number of city service tunnels ran underneath the property. It was the ideal spot for what he had in mind.

Tim poked one of the beams. The rotten wood practically gave like a crumbling sponge at his finger pressure.

"How are you with a hammer?"
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
Smoke and dust was settling down on everything. It sort of looked like those pitcures of towns getting dusted by ash from a volcano, except not so disastrous as that. More like a 'pain in my butt, I just washed my car!' kinda inconvenience...but Connor personally felt like no one had a right to complain.

They did just kick a big tentacle covered monster-thing back to it's own weirdo dimension after all. A little dust and smoke seemed like getting off easy in the big picture.

Shaking the debris out of his hair, he clears the grit out of his eyes as well.
Looking over to the his impromptu partner, he grins.

"We kicked it's ass."
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
Six hours of sleep. He'd sleep in if the roosters would let him. Life starts moving before sunup on the farm.

Lumbering out of bed, he splashes water on his face and looks around blearily for something to wear.
Ma has breakfast already on the table by the time he makes it to the kitchen. He grabs the funnies from Pa's paper and the family enjoys breakfast together, drawing strength from each other for the new day. A kiss on the head from Ma and a scratch on the head for Krypto.

Waiting by the tractor, he's joined by Pa and the two of them head out to the fields talking and laughing.

Family, it's everything.
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
It's roughly 3:30 in the morning when Connor touches down in the cornfields. His face feels bigger than it should be and it hurts to take more than shallow breaths.

Krypto lands next to him, the white dog constantly snuffling Connor with worried concern.

"It's okay buddy. I'm just... owwww." He holds his side until the sharp stabbing pain subsides and he can draw breath again.

Krypto looks at him dubiously and whines.

"Ok, I'm beat up, but we gotta do this."

What would take a few minutes normally ends up taking a better part of an hour as Connor painfully limps through his various chores on the farm. Come four thirty, he pounds home the last fence post and wearilly makes his way to the house.

Carefully they open the back door, taking care to be quiet. A shower would be REALLY nice, but his bed sounds way nicer. Hopefully he could make it to the bedroom without anyone noticing...
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
Trance music was ambient in the air. Loud enough to set the tone of the scene, but not so much that it interfered with socialization or intimate conversation. The lighting was low and diffuse, coming from multiple sources and it added to the atmosphere. The open bar was facilitated by roving cocktail waitresses and waiters. Both guests and hosts were dressed in the casual yet flashy mode of the trendy nightclub scene and everyone there was either pretty or rich, or both.

Many were decidedly underage as well.

Connor, clad in a white silk shirt with matching white pants felt entirely out of place. Tim and Steph had assured him that the outfit was exactly what the scene would call for and that the copious hair gel was also a must to complete the look. Even so, he felt like a tool.

He moved through the party , nervously clinging to his can of soder cola as a defense against offers of stronger beverages. Not that there was likely to be anything here that could touch his constitution, but the soder felt like a safety blanket in the midst of this impromptu live action reenactment of 'Less Than Zero' he found himself in. He'd rather just be hitting something, all things considered. Undercover was not his bag.

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] mr-henshaw.livejournal.com
Across planet Earth on every major television network, every radio and every live stream using satellites to broadcast, the head and shoulders of the Cyborg Superman appears. Using his mastery over technopathy he broadcasts his message.

"People of Earth. Some few of you may know me as Hank Henshaw. I am also known to many as the Cyborg Superman. To most however, I am seen as the destroyer of Coast City."

The backdrop behind Henshaw's face turns to an image of the emblem of Neo Rann, rippling as if in the wind. "Not long ago I was released from my imprisonment on Oa by the Green Lantern Guardians, who assured me of my freedom. Wanting to start a new life for myself and for my friends, fellow outsiders, we met with representatives from species all over the known galaxy. It was made clear to us that a great threat existed in the universe, and this threat was known as Rann. A planet whose technology rivals even that of the beings that invaded Gotham City in your United States of America in recent months. With charters from multiple intelligent races and conglomerates I ended the Rannian threat, and occupied their abandoned territory."

An image of Neo Rann's position in the galaxy compared to that of Earth replaces the emblem. "Neo Rann poses no threat to planet Earth. We simply wish to build a home for outsiders such as myself. Yet at this very moment we are under attack by so-called heroes of Earth, including Green Lanterns who had until recently condoned my freedom." Henshaw raises a fist. "Once again I say we pose no threat to Earth, but were Earth attacked would you not make a retributive strike? I want it to be known that if the hand of Neo Rann is forced against Earth it is a reluctant gesture, and one forced by the aggression of your metahumans and the galactic vigilante squad known as the Green Lantern Corps. Any deaths on your world due to Neo Rann's reprisals can be laid at their doors. I offer peace providing they withdraw from Neo Rann this very instant."

Henshaw clenches his jaw and a solitary tear rolls down his cheek. "Please make them stop the violence, for we do not wish to harm anybody upon your planet. If we are forced to take actions, the blood is on the hands of the men and women you call your heroes. All we want is peace."

The transmission is cut, and back on Neo Rann the image of Henshaw turns to Malefic and smiles.


What do the people of Earth think of this?
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
It's a sunny day on the Bay and Titans's tower gleams in the light as it watches over the city across the water.
Resembling Frank Loyd Wright's 'Falling Water' masterpiece, the Tower is also a state of the art fortress of technology and a fortified bulwark against those who would seek to contest it's protective vigil.

But that's not really on anyone's mind right now.

Inside, the Titans have assembled, not in response to a dire emergency or immanent threat, but for Pizza!

Superhoy's not the tech head of the team, but he makes for a fun tour guide. Leading their new guest through the many levels of the building (above and bellow ground), he provides an entertaining (if not the most technically accurate) stream of commentary on each of the rooms.

"So yeah, we had to spend a week getting the stains off the walls. I mean I'm glad Raven blew him up, but trying to pick bits of Chemo out of the carpet sucks."

He looks over to Scarab and cocks his head.
"Am I rambling?"

Walking into the main lounge, they are met with an impressive display of Pizza excellence. Bart knows his 'zza.
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
They saved the day. They won!
Batman was going to be Debbie Downer about it, but as far as Conner was concerned, they pimp slapped freaking DARKSEID out of Gotham. THAT was a cause to celebrate.

A quick tour of Gotham's skies confirms Robin's search grid and he comes back to Gotham Square where most of the cape and cowl crew had collected. A swoop and an indulgent loop-the-loop and he lands near Scarab.

"Hey bro! Those were some badass moves back there!"
[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] azure-avenger.livejournal.com
Beetle sets the Bug down on a hill - the lights of Gotham would be visible from here, if not for Grodd's actions at the power plant. Still, there's a few disturbingly orange glows reflecting off the clouds overhead - the first signs of Darkseid claiming the city for his own.

The unaffected population of Gotham has been, for the most part, evacuated thanks to the quick thinking of Dr. Fate - Bludhaven emergency responders are already tending to the injured nearby.

So now, the heroes - and possibly some of the villains - have breathing room to actually come up with a plan.
[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
"Ummm a Deep Dish slice..wait two slices, yeah two and a large Soder cola. Thanks!"

Kon eagerly receives the plate of Pizza and fills up his paper cup at the soda fountain. Careful to avoid spilling his precious cargo, he makes it back to the table at the window looking out onto Telegraph street. Blondie's Pizza is a well know favorite of the area, so it's always doing brisk business. Fortunately it's not packed right now.

Nudging his backpack further under the table with a foot Kon settles down ready to devour lunch. Homework can happen later.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
At the corner of Hollywood and Vine, the ground begins to tremble on an early summer evening - the hardy native Californians ignore the tremor at first, accustomed to such things living this close to the San Andreas fault. The hissing gasses and wave of heat might be ignored as well - after all, this is where movies are made - but the follow-up is all too real.

Demons begin to pour forth from the fissure that quickly forms - their twisted, red-black bodies bending unnaturally as their charred wings expand, feeling the freedom of the air for the first time in age untold.

Hell on Earth begins here.


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