multiversallogs | Let's follow the cops back home

Entry tags:

Let's follow the cops back home

Who: Stephanie Brown, Bruce Wayne, CLOSED
What: Beating up the militia, Bat-dickery
Where: Militia dude's hotel room
When: Night time, a little after this
Notes: Sorry for spamming. Sorry for everything I choose to be. Also I purposefully didn't give the guy a name because of ~reasons~ but also a little bit because I am lazy
Warnings: Police brutality, violence, NPC death, swearing

It feels good to have a proper lead. Knowing where to look for her target gives her hope that she's going to find him and beat the shit out of him soon. The thought of wanting to kill him is still there, and even while knowing Babs will support her, it scares her a little. But she can't worry about that now; she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it. For now, she stakes out a spot above a popular militia bar that the kids mentioned the man frequents and slides down the lenses on her cowl to zoom in. It's a long night of watching people wander in and out of the bar at varying stages of drunkenness, but eventually she spots her target and flips the lenses up so she can see properly as she follows him.

She tosses up the possibility of trying to plant a tracer on him, but she isn't sure how well the technology would work in Baedal, and it might be too risky anyway. She's been doing this whole investigation the hard, low tech way from the beginning and she figures she might as well finish it up in the same fashion; so stalking it is.

He heads back to a cheap hotel, and Steph wonders if he's even officially a member of the militia anymore. She's a little surprised his own people haven't made him disappear, like they did to Henry Mau Jennings, but she figures it might have something to do with the fact his CiD didn't send the transmission. No one can actually trace him back to the leaked video, so maybe they just fired him rather than... doing whatever it is they do with people who piss them off. Either way, his living standards must have dropped a lot, considering the state of his room and how drunk he is as he stumbles back there. She'd feel sorry for him if she hadn't seen him hitting kids.

She wants to go straight in, but she knows Babs would kill her if she did that without relaying the information about the target's location first, so she makes a note of the address and goes home.

The next night, after having discussed a plan of attack with Babs, Steph heads back to the hotel room at about 3am. She approaches carefully, taking the back route because even shitty hotels have lights out the front and someone creeping into a room might raise suspicion. She's glad he's on the first floor; it means she doesn't have to perch awkwardly outside a second or third story window and try to peer in.

There's not much to see, so she switches her lenses to infrared and peers in. There's two main sources of heat; one is a body shaped blob curled up in a bed, and the other is a smaller, square shaped near the wall, which Steph assumes is a heater. She flicks her lenses back to normal, not wanting to risk night vision in case the militia agent turns a light on before she beats him senseless. The window has a lock on it, but it's easy to jimmy open, and she's relieved that it doesn't even squeak as she slides the window open. There are heavy drapes, but they've been pushed to the side already, so she doesn't have to worry about them, instead focusing on getting in the room without making a sound. That completed, she extends her bo staff and approaches the bed. The man's breathing is steady, and slow, and he hasn't stirred since Steph opened the window.

He stirs when she raises her bo staff and smashes it into his stomach. He lets out a sound between a shout and a gasp for breath, and his fly open, fixing on Steph. She doesn't expect what comes next.

Her left shoulder dislocates when she hits the wall she was just thrown back against, and she crumples to the ground, bo staff falling out of her grasp. She has no idea how he did that, considering he didn't lift a finger and none of the kids had mentioned him having powers. Before she can even get to her feet, she feels a force around her throat pulling her up, and the man has crawled out of bed and started towards her. He's got a hand on his stomach where she hit him, but he seems fine otherwise.

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" He's about two feet away as Steph's fingers try to grab onto something that isn't really there. She doesn't answer, but that just makes him slam her against the wall again, "I knew one of you lot would come for me, bet you didn't think I'd fight back."

"I was hoping you would," Steph manages to say, despite the pressure around her throat, "Makes it more fun when I beat the shit out of you."

He laughs, it sounds hollow and cruel, "I think you've got it the wrong way around? Are you even old enough to be out after midnight?" His hand moves to her jaw, fingers sliding under the edge of her cowl like he's going to tug it off. It's the best piece of luck she's had all night, because her costume's rigged to electrocute anyone who tries to do that.

She doesn't waste any time when he flinches back after the shock - it's not enough to hurt anyone badly, just enough to startle them - because the pressure is gone. She slams her first into his face, feeling his nose break under her knuckles and she follows it up with a kick to his knee, trying to break that too and send him down.

He stumbles but doesn't fall, and then he's fighting back, using his powers to throw Steph across the room again. She can't stifle the small pained cry that comes when she lands on her dislocated shoulder, but she doesn't let it slow her down. Her left hand slides into a pouch of her utility belt, even as she runs from the next attack. Something winds around her legs anyway, and the next thing she knows, she's hanging upside down by her ankles, staring at the man's face. It sends a little thrill of satisfaction through her to see how much blood is coming from his broken nose.

"You think what I did to that kid was bad, wait until I finish with you." She wonders if that's supposed to make her scared, because it just makes her angry. She spits in his face and while he's busy shouting abuse at her and wiping saliva from his face, she depresses the button on the batarang she grabbed, and drops it at his feet. He doesn't seem to notice, because he doesn't do anything about it, choosing to shake her violently up and down instead. It hurts like a bitch, but Steph goes loose and waits the five seconds for the batarang to explode and release a sticky mess of goop that covers the man's feet, trapping him to the floor.

"What the hell?!" She gets thrown across the room again, but manages to land on her feet this time, facing her opponent for a split second before she dives out of the way. She can't see his attacks, but he tends to move like he's throwing something at her, and it's enough of a hint to get her moving. The lamp on the bedside table catches the attack instead, ending up in a dozen pieces.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"You've got it the wrong way 'round," Steph replies with a confidence she doesn't feel, but it doesn't stop her from throwing another batarang.

That was a stupid move, Steph realizes it about two seconds too late when it comes flying back at her with doubled momentum and slices across her thigh. Her sharp batarangs are specifically designed to cut through body armour, and her own is no different. She hisses in pain but keeps moving despite the protests in her shoulder and now her leg; she can feel warm blood leaking form the wound. They'll have company soon, someone has to have heard the noise from their fight. She can't risk more militia showing up.

She tries for another close range attack, while he's distracted at trying to free his feet from the goop, but she can't even land a punch before she's flying backwards. The back of her knees hit the bed and she manages to keep her feet. That is, until the whole room comes flying at her. He's grabbed every loose object and flung it in her direction; she tries to dodge as best she can, but the nightstand hits the left side of her back, and she feels a rib or two crack. It hurts, but she realizes that she has the advantage because while he's throwing things at her, he won't be paying enough attention to block her attacks.

She throws every single sharp batarang she has. Some of them get deflected, or hit one of the flying objects before they can hit him, but when Steph manages to stop moving long enough to look, he's bleeding from the arm, lower leg, collarbone, and a batarang is actually embedded into his stomach. He definitely isn't attacking now, as his fingers fumble at the bloody batarang and try to pull it out of his stomach. Steph moves as quick as she can, ignoring the assorted pain signals her body is sending to her brain, and launches herself at him. They both go down and he screams as one of his ankles snap. The goop was still holding him upright, and something had to give.

He punches her in the face, and that's just another pain signal to ignore as she puts her hands over his where the batarang is, and she pushes down, blocking out his groans of pain as it's driven entirely into his torso with a slick, squelching sound. His powers must be based on his ability to focus, because while Steph feels like she's being battered from every side, he can't seem to work up the energy to push her off.

The sound of footsteps is suddenly outside the door, lots of them, and she knows that someone's called the militia. In less than ten seconds, she smashes her fist into the man's face one last time, grabs her bo staff and scrambles out the window. The door smashes open and someone shoots at her, but it barely grazes her already injured arm. There's no way she can outrun them all, not in the condition she's in, but there a few batarangs left in her belt and she pulls out the two she needs now. She's running even as she turns and throws them; one goes into the room and the other sticks into a window sill where a militia agent is lining up a second shot at her. She doesn't bother to see the result, she can hear the shouts that come once the stun grenade has gone off, and the crack of ice that will cover the window.

It'll give her a few minutes before they'll be able to re-organize themselves and make their way the long way around to the back of the hotel and Steph takes every advantage she can get, sticking to empty streets and putting as much distance between herself and the militia as she can. She's grateful for her bo staff, using it as a walking stick is taking some pressure off her leg, although she's still losing a lot of blood. After a while, she collapses it and sticks it back in her belt, then pulls out her grapple gun. Once on a roof, she gives herself a moment to rest and catalogue her injuries; dislocated shoulder, a deep, still bleeding cut on her right thigh, potentially broken ribs, and one of her molars feels loose. She doesn't bother trying to work out what feels bruised, she imagines she'll be almost entirely black and blue under her costume. She's starting to get dizzy from blood loss and pain, but now isn't the time to worry about that.

She has to keep moving.

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It's not the first night Bruce has been out since he's made the unholy upgrades to his body armor, but it's still well within the realm of being considered a test run. Not that this means much - Bruce's idea of acceptably safe testing parameters are only slightly less combustive than his normal operating procedures. Despite this, Bruce hasn't set out to do more than reconnaissance, tonight - however high risk that it might be.

At home, Bruce doesn't need any bells and whistles to stay hidden - and in Baedal, even those with senses beyond mortal ken are hard pressed to pin him down. The fact that he is now equipped with armor that throws off those that trump him with blood and magic makes him even more of a frustratingly difficult target. As far as the men he's observing are concerned, he might as well not exist - and considering these men are a contingent of Militia agents on patrol, this is a very good thing.

In Dryside they move without casting aspirations of fear; people are accustomed to the Militia in acclimated, if not positive ways. In his observations he has seen his fair share of completely justified, even righteous acts conducted by agents like these - it's not black and white. The corruption is far more sinister, a job that will take a scalpel and a sledgehammer to go after a whole nest of hydras. He has to wonder, as he walks in the shadows, if there are any among them outraged or heartbroken over their more cruel peers, or if it's apathy - if their secret histories hold accounts of attempted rebellion picked at long before CeidaryBlue523 existed.

Put it on the list of things he'd like to know.

It becomes apparent nearly immediately into the evening that this contingent is waiting for something, but adeptly appearing as if they aren't - merely working. He cases them, and picks up that they're communicating with another garrison. Why? It takes some closer finessed work to pick up where their corresponding team is, but when he does (across the river), he decides to triangulate the area and go looking for whatever it is they're looking for. That he doesn't know what is irrelevant. There are only so many things they'd be out waiting to spring a trap on; hopefully it's something related to the Candlelighters versus an elaborate setup to torch a busload of innocent children. Time to go hunting.

Parts luck and a hunch puts him in the north edge of the canton when violent commotion at a motel casts a sleepy corner of town into a much busier one, especially with the desk clerk running out across the street and holing up at a diner like that. Even shielded, Bruce has to drop pretty gracelessly from his vantage point to get out of the expected line of fire from the inevitable conflict. He watches the girl leave - somewhat haphazardly - moving so that he can intercept her later, and sends a simple snap grenade at the diner as he leaves; hopefully it'll be enough to make them think the damage moved that way, versus after the escaping target.

It's clear to him at once: they were waiting for someone to come for one of the disgraced agents. He knows the location. And he knows judging by all the blood he's finding as he makes short work of tracking the escaping woman that this isn't going to be a simple exchange of words. She'd better quit moving and get her heart rate down.

Steph ~~wastes~~ takes the time to put a compression bandage on her leg. It's some weird, sticky and sterile patch that hurts as it goes on, but it does a great job of stopping the blood flow. As soon as it's on, she's moving again. The explosion doesn't go unnoticed, but she can't tell it's exact location and she just hopes it doesn't mean they're following her.

It's hard to use a grapple gun with only one good arm, so she leaves it in her belt for now, sticking to running and jumping across the rooftops. Her landings are messy, ending in stumbles ninety percent of the time and once or twice she has to pick herself up off the rooftop before she can start running again.

After about five minutes that feel like an eternity and a misjudged jump that ended with her on her knees, Steph stops. Everything hurts. It's not the worst pain she's been in, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to just curl up in a ball and cry. On the plus side, it's stopping her from thinking about the potentially dead man she left behind. Her breathing is harsh, and she forces herself to slow it down so she can listen for signs of pursuit. When there's nothing, she pushes herself up, and looks around as well, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when she can't see anyone following her.

When Steph falls, Bruce lands gracefully on the other corner of the roof. Even if she hadn't taken such a hit it'd have been quiet, but even his minimal noise is masked by that. In the dark, at this angle, the armor makes him appear almost invisible - a trick he can hack even without it, given the right momentum - but for now he disengages the alchemist's trick when she turns away, making the black material of his gear visible under the moonlight.

Still crouched on the roof ledge, Bruce shifts his weight, deliberately letting one boot scratch against the concrete. He's far enough away that even if she threw something at him he'd have enough warning to block it, though he's not sure if she's got any kneejerk reactions left in her, at this point.

When she spots him, the sight is this: a man resting on his heels on the roof's ledge dressed in a mix of modern tactical gear and pieces that almost look like they belong in a museum on some ancient warrior, all black, almost blending in completely against the night sky. Nothing about him is bare; even his face is covered. His body language isn't threatening, but very aware - as soon as she turns, he'll raise one hand. Cease fire.

There's something to be said for panic and desperation. As soon as she hears his boot scuff, her bo staff is out, extended and she's turned to point it at him. Her arm's shaking a little as she does, but it's better than nothing.

She looks him over, instanty reassured that he's not wearing the typical militia outfit, but that doesn't mean he can't be a threat. But still, her first though is vigilante, and she really, really hopes it's true. She can't win another fight.

"What do you want?" She tries to keep her voice steady, as if that'll hide how injured she is.

It doesn't matter what she sounds like; Bruce can see her, has been watching her for some minutes now.

Seeing her full on, he almost wishes he hadn't. The emblem on her chest is unsettling, infuriating, hurtful, laughable. None of the emotions that stir serve any purpose, so he sets them aside and lets bitterness simmer, as it's wont to do. Is she one of them? Some unknown player in a game he only has minimal knowledge of? The colors of it make him want to laugh, humorless - like some kind of mass produced toy.

Outwardly he doesn't miss a beat. He points at her leg. "You've left an easy trail." His voice is soft-spoken, and synthesized. "You're not going to make it when they catch up."

Here to help, despite the appropriation.

"I'm not down yet," but she's close to it, and there's not much point arguing. Steph might have her pride, and she might be stupid sometimes, but she doesn't have a death wish. If this man's a threat, he probably would have attacked her by now.

After a moment of silence, she lowers her bo staff, leaning on it as she looks at him, "You know how to pop a dislocated shoulder back in?" Because it's pretty obvious that's one of her main injuries, if the way she's holding her arm to her chest is any indication.

Edited 2012-02-22 07:46 (UTC)

Instead of answering verbally, he rises, maintaining his distant body language, and moves over to her to get it done. There's no time to waste, here, and even though he's clearly hustling her to speed it up, movements efficient, his hands are almost gentle on her. Up close, his armor is intricate even though it's unadorned - pieces of leather, metal, canvas, arranged and fixed on him in a way that goes far beyond someone mashing tactical gear together.

Quietly, "They're using their own as bait."

For you, would be the implication there - Stephanie and all others who are going after the 'disgraced' Militia agents.

She grits her teeth and doesn't make a sound when he pushes her shoulder back in, but she wavers a little on her feet. She takes a few seconds to steady herself, then she's standing up straight again and putting her bo staff away.

"I should've known," it was too suspcious that neither Karen nor the militia agent himself had been taken out by their own, like Henry Jennings had been. She can blame herself later, there's no time for it now. "You coming with me?"

She wouldn't blame him for leaving; there's every chance she won't make it home tonight with the militia on her tail. If she can even risk going home.

He's about to ask her (somewhat incredulously) if she's even going to make it out of the canton if he doesn't, when there's a tell-tale thunk in the distance behind them. Someone's coming up on the roof of the building she was on last.

Without waiting to ask, or so much as check and see if Steph is paying attention, Bruce steps forward and - with as little rough discomfort as he can, but it's not like they've got options - grabs her. Almost in the same heartbeat, with one arm around her middle, her back to his chest, Bruce moves backwards and sends them over the side of the building. He uses the serrated edge of his gauntlet to catch against a windowpane for a split-second, which slows their fall enough for him to get a proper grip on the next one, so that they don't splatter onto the stone alley floor. Hopefully she isn't too disoriented, because as soon as his feet are on the ground he's all but dragging her along with him around towards the street, flicking something small and glass back the way they came; nothing appears to come of it.

No one's around, but even so, he doesn't keep them out in the relative open for long, darting quickly towards the alleys and backs of houses that'll take them to the river's edge.

Steph tenses for a brief second, worried he's about to hurt her, but then her brain catches up to exactly what's happening and she goes with it. She holds onto the arm that's across her stomach and braces as best she can for when they hit the ground. She still stumbles again, her right leg is more than a little shaky but there's not much she can do about that and she'd rather not be dragged along by mystery dude. So she finds her feet and runs as fast as she can.

There's an urge to ask where they're going, but she's too out of breath to talk, so she keeps the question to herself for now.

Edited (one day I will learn how to use words properly) 2012-02-22 09:25 (UTC)

They are going, despite the weather and the risk of infection, right into the water. If she protests she's getting yanked - he doesn't mean to be bruising, but if the Militia has any kind of scent or vitals trackers, they're screwed due to her injuries. The Gross Tar will end the trail, a great rushing equalizer.

This far north, the current is deadly, and Bruce keeps a hold on her so they don't get separated or sucked under. It is, to put it in one vast understatement, no fun. But this guy must not suck halfway at his ninja shit, because he's able to fire a grapple hook from the water and connect them to the El Train's overpass on the Head line. Getting up onto the skeletal metal bridge is another one of those unfun tasks, but it's manageable - and most importantly, they're now completely in the clear.

His mask, of course, remained perfectly in place the entire time.

"Still breathing?"

She groans in protest right before they go into the river, but forces herself to keep afloat and swim alongisde the man. She gets a few mouthfuls of water, which she spits out and tries not to drown. It's a mostly successful process.

Being pulled up to the bridge while holding onto her must be hell on Bruce's arm and shoulder. She feels a little guilty about him going through all this shit just to help her out. It's a relief, though, once they're on the bridge; she can put a listtle distance between herself and Bruce and do a cursory check of her injuries, to make sure they haven't worsened.

"Barely. I have got to stop going into that river," She wonders if Ilde would be able to tell she went in again. She hopes not, Ilde's gonna start thinking she's really incompetant.

All things considered, it's one of the least annoying troublesome evades he's had to do; he's not riddled with bullets, she's not dying of weaponized narcotics. Another night in the life.

Or it would be, if the girl next to him wasn't wearing his emblem.

For a while he says nothing, maybe taking in the atmosphere, listening. Maybe he's watching her. It's hard to tell.

Finally: "Are you an assassin or an investigator?"

She's pretty sure he's watching her, or maybe she's just paranoid. Either way, she's grateful for the chance to stop and rest. She pokes idly at her leg, hissing in pain, but it's stopped bleeding so she's pretty sure she isn't gonna did.

The question he asks makes her feel sick, because it reminds her she just killed someone, and Bats don't kill. She has to take a few deep breaths before she can answer, although maybe her reaction will be enough, "Vigilante is the official term, I think. But I'm not... If I could've arrested him and let the law deal with him, I would've." And that's really the best answer she can give, without forcing herself to talk about having killed him.

There appears to be no reaction in him. He doesn't say anything, and his posture doesn't change. The weight of his gaze, if she can feel it - genuinely perceived or imagined in paranoia - remains. Vigilante and assassin are not mutually exclusive, but she seems to be choking on the notion of murder. He wonders who taught her that. (And how well, for her to be scrambling to unlearn it, blood-soaked and bruised.)

"There are many questions still to be answered about the Militia."

Even without the synthesizer, his voice would sound dispassionate, free of clues about his emotional state, if he's judging, guiding, or critiquing her. There's a faint high-pitched rumble in the distance, and he moves finally, rising to balance against the far supportive cables. She should move, too, unless she'd like to get run over by the El Train in a few minutes.

It's something to think about. Questions, that is. Questions that no acting Militia agent or properly power-fearing citizen will answer. Ones that could be coughed up by someone with a big enough chip on their shoulder; are they cleaning up the city, killing these men, or are they doing the Militia's dirtywork for them, silencing potential leaks and making themselves targets at the same time?

(Why the hell is she alone? How old is she?)

Steph follows Bruce, moving out of the train's path. It'd be kinda depressing if she went splat against a train, after surviving that scuffle. She doesn't answer his question straight away, trying to formulate a response that won't say too much, without her having to lie. Eventually she settles on, "It's being looked into." She doesn't say I or we on purpose. This man might've saved her life, but that isn't a reason to instantly trust him, and the importance of keeping Oracle a secret is so ingrained. But her and Babs both know there's more to do than just picking off the militia one by one.

He's not asking for her input or help - just putting it out there, because even though Bruce doesn't have some kind of irrational rage trigger about killing (and he's not losing any sleep over abusive Militia agents), recklessly offing potential sources of information is less than productive. The only reason he isn't pointing that out with more aggression is he doesn't want to appear to be the person who sent those transmissions. Her display is better planned and executed here tonight than Tim's near-death experience at The Vault, but she's galaxies away from him trusting her. With this, with anything.

He bites it back. Do it right or stay home.

Baedal isn't his city.

It deserves the attention, though.

"Look harder." Now, the flat tone bleeds through even with the vocal distortion. And take that off your chest. The tangle of frustrating emotions, wanting her to disappear and also wanting her to be competent enough not to watch - just pisses him off. (What doesn't piss Bruce Wayne off?)

The train screeches closer, the track shakes.

"Planning on it," she smiles at him, but it's really more of a sneer because she recognizes that tone. It's one she got sick of hearing from Tim, from Bruce, even from Cass, and she's not going to take it from some stranger, even if he saved her life.

"I'm not just some little girl playing dress up," That might be too much, but she thinks she has the right to be a little snippy, considering her night. She also realizes the way he's acting probably isn't related to the fact she's a girl, but being the outsider in the Batboys club has made her a little oversensitive.

If she's defensive it means she knows, which is better than being too self-inflated to recognize her faults. But the idea that her ego or efforts should be coddled in this violent profession is laughable; all of her must be strong, from her fists to her heart. To be unbalanced is to fail.

"Perception isn't important. What you do is."

Whether or not she can hear him over the sound of the train - who knows. Bruce's use of synthesizers has trained him out of shouting and growling, and so he doesn't bother to project.

He engages the stealth mode on his armor again. When the train passes, he's gone.

She totally had a witty comeback prepared for that, but then he's gone and she's left scowling at empty space, so she settles on shouting, "That's only cool when I do it!" And damn does she miss the invisibility tech she used to have.

She waits around for a little longer, thinking over what he said and psyching herself up for moving again. He was right about needing to look harder into the militia, and she's already starting to think of ways to do it. She'll talk to Babs later, right now getting home and patched up is on the top of her to do list.

With a sigh, she starts the journey home, careful to take odd routes and to constantly check no one's following her. It takes her almost an hour to get home.

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Let's follow the cops back home

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