Summary: Batfolks investigate the supply of Man-Bat-laced drugs, ruining the day for some drug dealers.
Rating: PG-13 for Brutal Violence and Language
The last few nights have been busy one. Somepne has been lacing the local drug supplies in Gotham with trace amounts of Dr. Kirk Langstrom's Man-Bat formula. The sum effect has been strung out derelicts with the sudden addition of being giant flying beasts as well. Thankfully, the attacks have been slowly dying out as the druggies learn to make sure their source can be trusted. Still, new shipments come in all the time, and it is up to Batman to figure out what to do about it. And for the moment, he needs some help, so his newest protege has been brought along as well.
Currently, the black-clad duo are on the roof of a warehouse staring down through binoculars at a gathering of thugs and drug dealers below milling around below, several carrying shotguns and automatic rifles. The chit-chat is mostly casual, talking about this guys bitch or that guys bitch, though passing mentions of "Where's the fucking re-up?" are uttered. For the moment, Batman waits, stark still, and offering Cassandra a helpful, "Hold steady, until we get the dope."
She doesn't even nod, to acknowledge Batman. She's heard him. And her stillness should be answer enough for the man whose taken her in, helped shape her purpose. And give her an outlet for her guilt. And such a large outlet it is. Paitence is one of her virtues, waiting, until the opportune time to strike. She will move on his lead, and not one millisecond sooner.
The night continues to stretch on, seemingly uneventful. Eventually the thugs start to wonder if they're wasting their time, some saying they've been stood up with all the monster scare. But finally there is a knock on one side of the room behind a garage door. Three thugs rush over and get the door open, allowing a pickup truck access into the room, three big cartons held in the bed of the truck. "That's our target. Remember our rule, try to not get shot." And with that, Batman makes his move, extending his wings out to allow him to glide down silently in the shadows, slinking along the side and disappearing into the shadows.
Uncoiling, the teen begins to run along the rooftop, silently, moving down the length of the truck into the next alley; she drops down into the darkness and shadows, so as to pinch off the escape route of the thugs, as well as potentially blindside them.
With her soft-footed landing, the woman in the all-black bat-costume begins to quietly stalk and sneak towards the back of the truck.
The drug dealers start the work of unloading the truck. The total number of targets is seven, five that were already hear, the driver of the truck and a buddy of his who seems to be the main contact in the deal. "Alright alright alright boys, we got your A-class dope right here. Hope we didn't keep you sweat for too long." Groans all around. "Okay okay, point taken, but trust me, good things come to those who wait." "How do we know if your stash is clean?" asks one of the annoyed buyers, with the seller looking offended by the question. "Guys, come on...this is me you're talking about...would I lead you-"
That question never finishes as two smoke bombs are rolled into the center of the little convention, soon after exploding. The balls quickly fill the area up with smoke, obscuring the area. Coughing is quick to commence, with the seller screaming out "Oh fuck, its the Bat! Kill 'im!" Several guns start to go off, shooting blindly out of the disorienting fog. Marking the targest easily enough, as Batman starts to dart into the smokey fray, quickly knocking out the closest armed goon, then claiming his next pal before he can give away his location, or identity.
Silly Batman. Always playing the fellow who draws all the attention. Cassandra takes a running leap upon the trunk of the truck, leaping off of it, and letting the cape billow behind her freely, as she lands a perfectly dangerous kick to the back of one of the gun-toting aiming goons. And even as she's landing, her fist is snaking out sideways to take out the one next to him in fluid, flawless motions.
Sure, she's messed up in the head. But, the girl can fight like the devil.
With four of the five armed thugs already downed, things don't look good for the druggies. Still, they won't go down without a fight, and the single remaining buyer that stands is directly between Batman and Batgirl. Lifting his gun, he aims back in the direction of the truck, towards Batgirl. Unfortunately, he doesn't consider being flanked from behind, with a pair of arms coming up. He's quick enough to choke out, and is pulled to the ground with ease.
The driver of the truck may not have brought a gun with him, but he's not exactly unarmed. Reached down, he pulls a knife out of his boot and starts to stalk. Seeing a shot at the more feminine of the bat-figures, he lunges forward. It isn't the most graceful stab, but his aim is true if Cassandra's amazing senses fail her uncharacistically. Meanwhile, the dealer himself has decided that this deal has clearly gone sour and is quick to hope in the driver's seat, attempting to rev up the engine of the truck, but having a little trouble getting it to turn over. Its an old truck.
It's too bad for the driver he chose to attack Cassandra, instead of Batman. She already knew exactly what the truck driver was going to do, even as his brain told his muscles where to go. She intercepts the movement, locking his lunging arm between hers, - one of her arms up, the other down, and she applies pressure even as her knee lifts to sink soundly into the exposed kidney.
Much more pressure, and his arm will snap like a twig. And, she probably will unless Batman indicates through even the slightest physical motion he disapproves.
Batman has made his one rule very clear, and as long as broken bones aren't lethal, he doesn't seem to make any motion for her to stop. After all, can't stab with a broken arm. Well, you can, but its not...oh look, he's trying to getaway! Reaching into his utility belt, the Dark Knight pulls out his weaponized grappling hook and points it at the truck as the dealer finally get the engine to rev and starts to pull away. The grappling hook has another idea however, shooting out to attach itself to the rear axle of the truck before the wire is wrapped twice around the finned gloves of Batman, creating enough pressure to first halt the truck, and when the dealer tries to rev his way away, actually pull the wheels clean off. That truck is going nowhere.
Snap. Cassandra throws the body to the ground, looking about herself for more surprises. Listening. Watching, for other movements - escapees - or, noises from inside the truck. As the truck takes off, and loses it's axle, Batgirl is already headed towards it, running full tilt, and quite speedy at that. She moves up the driver's side, unconcerned about the possibility of the driver seeing her in the rearview mirror. Heck. Maybe she wants him to. To instill the fear.
The crew in the warehouse seems to either be knocked out or whimpering (or in the poor driver's case, screaming) in pain. The dealer is cursing and slamming on his car horn for a few seconds before looking in his rearview and raising an eyebrow. "The hell..." he muses, before he moves to get out of the car, his hands held up in a submissive pose. "Okay okay, you got me. Call the cops, I don't want to end up like Paco over there," he says, gesturing his head towards the driver. "Though I got ask, what happened to the other Batgirl?" he muses, giving Cassandra the once over. "Gotta say, I dig your tai-"
The compliment is interupted by the thug being grabbed from behind and slammed into the hood of the car. Batman looms over the dealer and grabs him by the lapel of his jacket. "These drugs are they clean?" The thug seems dazed for the moment, before Batman tosses him to the ground, giving Batgirl covering duty. "Don't make her angry. You wouldn't like her when she gets angry." Silently, he's not sure if Cassandra actually gets angry, but the threat should be enough to keep him from misbehaving as Batman pulls another gizmo out of utility belt.
Poor Paco. Cassandra takes her cue, flawlessly. She grabs the man's free hand, and twists it in a simple, yet, very effective judo-submission hold where one can snap the wrist cleanly. She says one word. Crisp. Clear. One of the few words currently in her vocabulary. "Talk." By the pressure she's applying that is continual in it's increase, he has just a short period before it snaps, and she starts anew.
"Owowowow, yes, its clean! Its clean!" he swears, falling to his knees as bending his head down. "Jesus, you're going to break it aren't you?" As the dealer begs for his poor wrists life, Batman pulls a small pinch of the dope into one hand and sprinkles it on the gizmo, a sensor of sorts. "Batgirl," he says, leaving the 'hold off on breaking his wrist' implied in his tone. Eventually, a ding comes from the sensor and Batman frowns...more than usual. "Sorry Francis, it seems like you're not being completely honest with me," he says, putting his sensor away and getting in the dealer's face. "So now that I know you're a liar, you're going to have a harder time convincing me. So lets start simple. Where did you get this load?" A slight short glance is given to Batgirl, as if to say she's on duty again.
A sharp, sudden blow of focused power, right into the man's exposed kidney is given, only seconds after she releases the wrist. But, she doesn't stop there. She takes some of the drug in her gloved hand, and yanks the man's head back. "Clean?" She asks, briskly. One word sentences, or very short sentences are about all she can formulate, easily. She understands the words. Their meanings.
It's actually getting them from her brain, to her tongue where the problem is. Her hollow, black eyes stare at the drug-dealers. "Test," she declares. And she moves her hand as if to force-feed the drug-dealer his own stash. Afterall, if its clean, he has nothing to worry about, right?
"Your toy must be broken, Bats, because my stash is fresh and clean as," the man apparently named Francis says, before seeing his stash being brought close to his face. "Waitwait, no, don't put that anywhere near my..." he starts, trying to push and pull himself away. Batman moves in the direction that Francis is trying to escape too. More grabbing-and-slamming, this time against a wall. "Your contact. Now," Batman demands, taking Cassandra's short sentence style under advisement.
Francis looks from Batman to Batgirl, to the stash that he was almost forcefed. He panics for a few seconds, before finally sighing and giving up. "Durgo. Durgo is my contact." "And does he know its dirty?" "I don't know." "Wrong answer," he says, tossing the body towards Batgirl for more torture.
It *really* hurts, when your kneecaps meet a solidly placed forwards kick at the and of a foot that's been trained to land preciesly for power and punctuation. The man will need a good deal of rehab, even if the kneecap isn't broken.
She doesn't give the man time to recooperate, however. A swift hand snakes out, to grab his hair, and slam him against the side of the truck. Again, her head tilts. Her fingers sink into the interlocking mechanism of bones, forcing the mans jaws open.
"Talk," she says, holding him still. Her other hand raises up, holding the powder of the drugs. "Test."
Another pause, but brief. "Choose."
Francis doesn't have much time to scream in abject pain before he's explained his options. He shakes his head a few times before speaking rapidly. "Okayfinefine, just get that shhhit away from me already." He glares towards Batman. "Your little partner needs an attitude adjustment," he growls. "I think she's fine, now tell me about Durgo." The man looks like he's about to struggle again for a second, but he quickly reconsiders. "Durgo has been the main contact for just about anything for a while. Coke, herion, PCP, you name it, she's the contact. So yeah, best bet she's dealing dirty, and better bet, she knows it. She ain't going to admit it though." Batman glowers down at the man. "And yet you still sell, knowing that it could be laced with the Man-Bat formula?" Francis growls and spits on the ground. "Hey, don't judge me. A usex car dealer inherits a real lemon, does he just scrap it? Hell no. I got a line, I sell it. I'm no user because I'm not an idiot, so if its dirty that is far, FAR from my problem."
Batman makes a short motion for Batgirl to release the punk, quick to pick him up, putting slight weight on his legs to add additional pain to his already throbbing knees. "See, it is your problem. Because you're injecting it into the veins of this city. MY city. So now you're not just a drug dealer, you're a full blown public nuisance. If the DA is clever, maybe even a terrorist. For now, just know that you're lucky I didn't let my partner here kill you where you stand." Before Francis can respons, a strong right hook knocks the man out cold, and Batman is already in full-stride out of the building. "Back to the car. Now."
Probably one of the things Batman can appreciate about Cassandra, at least, for now, is she follows orders, cleanly. She doesn't talk back, or argue. Neither does she ask questions. She just - does. This is cathartic for her, these exercises. Absolution.
Without even a nod of acknowledgement, she moves fleet-footed, towards the Batmobile.