multiversallogs | it seems like everything i've heard just might be true

Who: Bruce Wayne, some Militia agents, and the fog. Later, Seoraj.
What: The jig isn't up, but only by chance.
Where: Serpolet and beyond. Eventually, Stoneshell.
When: Yesterdayish.
Notes: Batman can't win every time, also the Militia sucks. In this post, asskickings, and also an explosion; if anyone has a character in Serpolet they might have seen/heard it.
Warnings: Violence! Also fog horrors. And uh, feelings.

Bruce's primary thought as he flattens himself further against the wall is that he really, really should have seen this coming. So far he's not sure how, but there's a solution to every equation, and the fact that he missed this is bothering him almost as much as the fact that it's happening.

The safehouse he's been keeping in Serpolet doesn't hold the full-stop keys to his plans or identities (nothing does, he isn't stupid), but there's enough in there that he doesn't want someone clever enough to find the flat in the first place getting their hands on. He arrived as soon as the alarm pingback alerted him, but now he's stuck unable to get closer – Militia agents are already inside and casing the rest of the building, prepping to begin to tear the place apart. He's been waiting to see if they'll clear out of the apartment itself, even for just a minute – he can't let them keep any of it or pull any of it out, but he really doesn't want to have to do what's beginning to look like an inevitability as the minutes tick by. When he hears the one in charge give a decisive sounding order and the tell-tale noise of a sledgehammer hitting drywall, his stomach turns.

Telling himself that it's not any different from when Logan kills people in front of him doesn't actually help. He clicks the detonator in his pocket anyway.

The explosion is immediate and devastating. He rigged it – like every location he uses – to pulverize everything inside of it past the point of use, recognition, or reconstruction. Practically, he's going to be irritated at the loss of the supplies he had there – but morally? There were Militia agents in there. Barring xenian powers, there's no way they'll survive the blast. Bruce would be on his way to a guilt-filled spiral if not for the sudden pale purple constructs that slam into him the second he moves.

For a heartbeat (that feels like an eternity), Bruce has no idea what's going on. The impact leaves him dazed, breathless, somewhat crushed – literally – his hands scramble against the thing that's crushing him and he recognizes it as a telekenetic projection. His brain tries to put together how the hell they saw him, where they came from, how- he feels a rib crack, the pain is sharp enough to yank him out of his daze; he sees the woman who must be the culprit, hooded, standing at the bottom of the alley, her fist extended towards him. Bruce manages to slam his arm on the crumbling wall behind him in a desperate attempt to activate a device he's not even sure will work, but might buy him a second if it does-

It does, the frequency tearing through the space around him and causing immediate ear-splitting feedback from all Militia communication devices (and, something he'll have to think about later, sparking from the force-pike he can see from up here, attached to her back). It breaks her concentration enough that the construct flickers, and Bruce drops down and bolts – the noise also gives him a timely head's up about the squadron of agents barreling up the stairs after him. Great. Over the side of the building it is, then-- and immediately, he's hit with the telekenetic construct again, and slammed into the opposite building's brick wall. Something breaks; he's not paying attention to the pain. When the pressure suddenly lets up, he's not comforted; indeed, the sudden looming humanoid figure rushing at him must be her superior. He takes the hit and his ears ring, but it's worth it to get the guy in close enough to grab him and pull - the crack and the noise he makes means his arm broke, but the sound of clamoring footsteps means this isn't going to be a one-on-one fight.

Beggars can't be choosers. When he makes it out, the Spatters is a fine option as any, even if he can barely see and he tastes blood (too much of it) in his mouth. But the Spatters are still too close, and he knows he only scraped out by half a breath-- he stumbles further east, blindly, and when he finally falls, it's down an incline littered with broken (bones?) matter and plants that move in ways not dictated by the air.

Fog closes in where he was standing, and Bruce doesn't get up.

Threaded | Flat

After the Militia broadcast, Seoraj's first thought is what'd he do; it sparks a brief internal struggle over an admittedly uncharitable response versus the fact that he's almost certainly right. He thinks about how long it's been since they talked, he thinks about using his CiD and doesn't bother acknowledging the reason why he doesn't. He thinks, briefly, about other reasons why it might not suit him not to hear from him a while.

He waits to hear something, turning the hammer that Meg left with him over in his hands (tests the heft, is unsurprised to find it ideal) and not, this time, setting it aside the way he has before. He has less to say than usual at the local in the evenings, but he doesn't stop going - lets himself be talked into a bit of casual gambling, sits with the storytellers who like the fireside, and listens to what the people around him haven't got to say either. Without seeming to, he marks those who don't greet him any more; his position here has bought him consideration that doesn't usually much include his cohort, but he isn't the only one looking to see which way the wind is blowing. Stoneshell is a good, quiet place to live. He supposes they'd like it to stay that way.

The horse returns to him, riderless, before any word.

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