19524/GN:R&R - The First Raid

GN:R&R - The First Raid
Date of Scene:	25 November 2024
Location:	The Narrows - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	Gotham's newest gang in The Narrows, the Rustborn, attempt to heist a truck load of medical supplies from the Gotham Narrows Bridge. They're stopped by a couple of Gotham's own crusaders along with some outside help. Jaina Hudson is taken hostage briefly and rescued, and Batgirl's drones are busy tracking a single escaped van to try to determine where the supplies were supposed to be delivered.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Stirling Winchester, Jaina Hudson
Tinyplot:	Gotham Nights: Rust and Ruin

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The Rustborn are a new gang in Gotham, but their rise has been rapid and brutal, centered in the Narrows, one of the city's most desperate and lawless areas.

What began as a loose collection of small-time thugs has developed a reputation for violent extortion and, now, audacious heists. Their signature markings are jagged, rust-colored paint streaks across their masks and gear, and witness accounts describe them as brutal murderers. The gang's leader remains unknown, but for now, their focus seems to be the Narrows.

The overpass hums faintly with the muffled sounds of Gotham below -- cars stuck in endless traffic, horns blaring in frustration, and the occasional shout that rises above it all. The streetlights here flicker weakly, casting uneven shadows over the wet pavement, slick from a drizzle that's been falling steadily for the past hour. Smoke from a nearby factory hangs in the air, clinging to the concrete barriers and swirling lazily in the breeze, giving the entire scene a hazy, oppressive feel.

The supply truck is stopped dead in the center of the overpass, its cab tilted at an angle as if the driver had tried to swerve and failed. Its side door is wrenched open, the interior of the trailer spilling crates marked with medical supply labels onto the ground. The driver, a man in a faded uniform, is shouting and swinging a wrench at a pair of figures trying to drag him out. His delivery assistant crouches behind the truck's rear wheels, phone clutched tightly in her shaking hands, eyes darting toward the nearest Rustborn enforcer every few seconds.

It's chaos.

The Rustborn have picked their moment well. Rush hour means no quick response from emergency services -- the roads are jam packed. The overpass is boxed in on both ends by stalled cars, drivers sitting nervously in their vehicles, some filming with shaky cell phones, others frozen in fear. Four rust-colored vans with mismatched plates idles a few yards away, their back doors thrown open to make room for the crates. Between them sits what can best be described as a Mad Max style monster truck with armored tires and a snow plow on the front. It's covered in what appear to be rusting metal plates and spikes.

Gang members dominate the scene, perhaps a dozen of them, their gear patched together with scrap metal and rust-painted masks obscuring their faces. Most of them seem to have handguns in holsters, and a few uses them liberally, firing into the air to keep civilians from interfering, while others barks orders, shoving their accomplices to move faster.

It may not seem like a military operation, but they at least have some semblance of order.

The rain makes their movements slippery, but they're organized. Every shout and action feels practiced, deliberate. They've done this before.

The call for help had come several minutes ago -- first from the delivery assistant's shaky voice on the emergency line, then forwarded through channels faster than the GCPD could act.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Operations like this, tend to get whispers, murmers, hushed rumors, set in clandestine meetings. These rumors tend to filter through ears, and eventually will get picked up by contacts, that will eventually get them spread in to the web that was the Oracle AI system, operated out of the Clocktower in Old Gotham. Barbara Gordon had specifically bult this Oracle AI system to monitor Gotham's pulse. It was designed, based on nearly a decade of being stuck in front of her computers, and delving ever more deeply in to the world of programming, surveilence, and information networking. It all boiled down to her having some ideas of something happening tonight, and likely on the Narrows suspension bridge.

Barbara had sent out an info dump on all of the Bat-family members active tonight, but it was that time of year, where there was all manner of odd things unfolding during the ramping up seasonal holidays. The weather may be getting colder, but with Two Face's henchmen out in droves, the Joker on the loose again, it seemed there was never a shortage of crime heating up.

When the proverbial shit did hit the fan on the Gotham City bridge, it only took a few minutes, before the screaching of a jet engine roared past the bridge itself. But when eyes looked up, there would be nothing in the sky. The jet plane that just roared past the bridge, didn't move over it, but instead, the agile little jet had just flown directly beneath the bridge. On a south bound flight path, the black winged plane banked to the west, and pulled its nose up, twisting its air frame up and around, until its wings turned in a 180 degree pattern, leaving it leveling out, and aiming back toward the bridge.

The Bat-wing flew at tremendous speeds toward the Gotham City bridge under siege, and its screaching engines were not anything short of meant to let the Rusters know that one of, if not THE Bat, was here...

Dick Grayson has posed:
Rush hour can be an unpleasant sort of time to be out and about in any major metropolitan city. That's just a fact of life. Cram millions of people into a relatively confined space and then have most of them try to get to or from work at the same time? No transportation system is going to handle that entirely gracefully.

Of course, the situation in Gotham is a little more complex then with most. Because Gotham isn't just any big city, it is a big city that is spread across several islands in addition to the mainland. Indeed, the heart of the city is spread across three fairly large island and several more smaller ones - one of which is the Narrows. Which means that traffic is further chokepointed by the system of bridges and tunnels that lead between them and off onto the mainland as well.

Throw in the time of year, with full dark starting to fall so early. Throw in the fact that no one with any good sense lingers in the Narrows after dark if they don't have to and, well, it isn't hard to see why things would grind to a standstill, why traffic on the Gotham Narrows Bridge would be more of a parking lot then a street.

Or why the Rustborn would decide that now was the time to strike.

Dick Grayson is just coming off a two week period that included a fairly steady diet of night shifts with the GCPD. Such is the life of an officer sometimes. So it hadn't really been part of the plan to take to the streets tonight, at least not until a little later in the evening.

But plans are a pretty... fluid thing in Gotham at the best of times.

At least the advanced notice provided by Barbara provided some opportunity to get the jump on things and while the Bat crew might have any number of means to get about the city, after suiting up in his Nightwing outfit, Dick choose the ground route. Crazy, given the traffic? It would be, at least if any of them drove like sane people.

His one concession to the time of day, to the fact that so many of Gotham City streets would have been reduced to a parking lot is the fact that the Nightbird is left parked in his cave and one of the Batcycles is instead in use. The sleek motorcycle races down the jam-packed streets of the city, slowing only slightly in concession to the narrow passages left between the lanes of traffic. But even then he practically flies by practically stopped cars. When use of the sidewalk is light enough not to endanger anyone, he does occasionally jump the curve and takes that shortcut as well.

As the Narrows Bridge comes into view, that disturbance up ahead in the center of it becomes increasingly obvious and Nightwing leans forward, gunning the engine of that motorcycle as it leaps ahead.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
Gotham isn't Pathfinder's usually stomping grounds, but word of a particularly violent street gang there have piqued his curiosity. The vigilante's attired in his blend of camouflage, helmet and armor, tactical crap and guns would make him stick out a bit if he weren't trying to go unobserved during his rooftop hopping over in the Narrows.

The Narrows has been compared to literal warzones and so Pathfinder is on high alert, though he keeps his firearms slung and holstered, preferring to have his hands free when possible. His keen eyes are peeled. His enhanced hearing, only amplified by his ear protection, is keyed up for sudden noises. Even his nose is on alert. It's damned difficult to get the drop on the man or for something to slip past him.

Even as he's searching for signs of the gang his police scanner tells him exactly where to find them. Pathfinder checks a reinforced touch screen mobile device to get an idea of where he's headed before setting off.

From one particular rooftop he's spotted it might just be possible to leap onto an onramp and sneak among the stalled vehicles to get to where these thugs are menacing people. It may be time to teach them some manners.

The plane screeches past and Stirling whips his head around to try to track it. Is that a Bat-Plane? Then the roar of a motorcycle approaching. Another vigilante maybe? A chuckle escapes as he says quietly, "I don't think these guys are in for a very pleasant time."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"YOU DRIVE LIKE A MANIAC!"

Though the words are shouted right beside Nightwing's ear, they don't sound at all like a protest. In fact, Ghost-Spider's smile can almost certainly be heard in her voice, even over the roar of the bike's powerful engine. One benefit to her costume was that she didn't need to wear goggles to shield her eyes from the seemingly hundred-mile-an-hour raindrops that felt like needles, on her arms and legs, but she does in up rather thoroughly drenched.

Nevertheless, she's on the back of that bike, and though she's leaned forward with him, it seems mostly to avoid the worst of the high-speed drizzle rather than any concern about hanging on. In fact, as she rides along, she even brings up her wrist-mounted display and keys in a few things, switching her built-in comms over to a channel she'd given Dick (and Stirling, as it so happens, and.. well.. if Dick has something digital, you just KNOW Barbara knows about it, too).

<< "Does it ever NOT rain in Gotham? We may seriously need to revisit me borrowing a bike as a daily commuter, unless you have one with a bubble. Otherwise I'm going to have to change my name to Soggy-Spider." >>

The Rustborn's operation grinds to a halt as the thunderous roar of the Batwing's engines cuts through the hazy, rain-soaked night. Heads snap upward, masked faces craning toward the source of the sound. This time, the sleek silhouette of the aircraft breaks through the drizzle, faint but unmistakable as it banks sharply to the west before twisting in a tight 180-degree maneuver. For a brief moment, it hangs against the backdrop of the clouds, its black wings glinting faintly in the dim streetlights below.

"Shit, was that -- ?" one of the Rustborn thugs mutters, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

The leader steps forward, his rust-streaked mask tilting skyward as the Batwing disappears back into the haze. He doesn't miss a beat. Slamming his gloved fist against the hood of the supply truck, he silences his men with a sharp glare. "Focus! Load the crates!" he barks, his voice cutting through the rain like a whip. "Bat or not, this is Rustborn territory now! You don't stop for shadows!"

But even as he speaks, the tension among the gang members is palpable. A few glance nervously at one another, hands tightening on their weapons. The younger thug crouched by the tires of the monster truck mutters under his breath, "You hear stories, man. You hear what happens when he shows up... you think it's _him_?"

The leader rounds on him, yanking him to his feet by the collar. "You see him yet? No? Then shut your mouth and do your job before I make you regret it." He shoves the younger man hard, sending him stumbling back toward the waiting crates.

Despite the leader's bravado, the gang's earlier arrogance begins to fray. Another jet-engine roar from the Batwing is near deafening, the engines screaming as it loops back toward the bridge. The faint, flickering silhouette reappears through the rain, just enough to keep their unease alive.

The leader tries to rally his men, pointing to the vans. "Move! If you're scared now, wait until the Boss hears you froze up!" His voice is steady, but even he can't help casting a wary glance toward the darkened sky.

For all their bluster, the Rustborn aren't exactly Gotham's most seasoned criminals.

<< "Looks like somebody brought a freaking jet to a scrap-metal fight. I wish we had one of those. We tried to do a signal one time, but people freaked out because it was a giant spider in the sky. Mass chaos. People complained to the mayor. It's New York... go figure. Okay! There's the bridge.. I'll take the high road." >>

*thwip*

And with a web-line shot up into the drizzle towards one of the stanchions, Gwen's weight leaves the back of the bike, her white-and-black costumed form soaring into the sky.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
It was true, a jet engine in this close to the city was a sure fire way to get everyone in every nearby building pressing their noses to the glass. The Bat-wing was capable of stealth flight, it was capable of flying very quietly, but that feature was dialed back right now, as the intended purpose of the engine's whining turbines was to pierce ears, and rattle jaws inside one's skull. It was to let the entire city know that something was going down, but more specifically, it was to let those of this Rustborn group--- clearly well organized-- know that this city wasn't standing for it anymore.

The Bat-wing continued its maneuvers, soaring past the bridge once again, the plane entirely under the control of an AI pilot, its cockpit having been vacated shortly after the first pass... but most eyes likely hadn't seen that, as most had likely followed after the plane's form itself.

Batgirl, standing atop one of the bridge's pylons, stared down at the situation below, her black and dark gold cape whipping in the cold winds around her armored body, her autumnal red hair flowing over her right shoulder, as her green eyes took in the sight of what was happening, and a small frown touched her lips. "Everyone on channel?" She asked, her feminine voice speaking up on the Bat-fam network, and also on Gwen's line too.

"We got some kind of an armored vehicle, and a whole lot of goons, the kind that would make Furiosa quake in her shoddy boots. I'm running distraction with the plane. Heading down to see if I can't break things up with a little bit of counter chaos..."

A second later, and Babs stepped off of the wet stone ledge, her cape going rigid, as she took flight. Her flight path was a downward swooping angle, one that would expose her to any eyes looking upward, but all they'd see was 'The Bat' soaring through the sky between the lines of the suspension bridge, high in the air.

Right behind the Bat? A line of six bat-drones in a diamond flight pattern trailing after Batgirl, each one suddenly opening up on the visible threats down below. Smoke and tear gas pellets firing down at the Mad Max goons, peppering the ground and bursting in to rapidly blossoming waves of smokey and teary eyed fumes!

Mixed in with the gas and smoke, however, was another type of device, this one a listening device. It slaps down hard against the armor plating of the Rustborn's armored vehicle, its high tech microphone hoping to capture some of what the thugs were shouting to one another...

Batgirl sweeps through the sky, and comes down in to the shadows of one of the bridge's overpass structures, now ahead of the goons, she taps a button on her helmet's controls, her wrist computer screen active, lowering eyelets over her verdent green pupils. an augmented reality display covers Batgirl's vision, allowing her to tag potential targets, as she watches the aftermath of her smoke and gas deployment.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Of course there are only a few options to truly get around an urban environment in both effective and relatively speedy fashion.

There is Batgirl's option. The airborn approach. No traffic to worry about and a sort of overview of what is going on that can certainly be advantageous at times.

Of course there have been a few Batmobiles over the years that have been closer to armored tanks then cars in their own way. Obstacle ahead? Not really a problem. Just roll right over it like it isn't there. Also fairly effective, though it can be fairly hard on the cars parked throughout the city.

Or there is Nightwing's option on this particular night. Take one of the Batcycles and drive like a freaking maniac, racing in amongst the cars on the street, taking to the sidewalks, using every alley short cut or park or vacant lot that you know about and keep that boots on the ground kind of perspective.

He made his choice and he'll stick with it.

Not that it doesn't come with certain drawbacks, on nights like this. That steady downpour of rain becomes a whole lot colder and a whole lot more biting when it hits you going at around eighty miles an hour. There's not a lot of forgiveness there and while the Kevlar-Nomex weave of his costume takes a lot of the sting out of it, it's still cold and leaves his dark hair plastered across his forehead, a wet sheen to it as they race beneath the orange glow of the street lights that cast their illumination over the streets below.

<< I'll have you know that I have almost never had an accident, >> he retorts over that comm to the Spider who clings to the back of his bike. << I don't count the ones where I've deliberately rammed my vehicle into something. That's not an accident. It's a deliberate tactic," he points out.

It's an arguement with some merit.

<< Oh, don't worry about the rain. Soon it's going to be cold enough that it's the snow, ice and freezing rain that you're going to have to worry about, >> he adds sardonically, perhaps not quite making the argument that is likely to win Gwen over.

Gotham weather, right?

The roar of the engine of the Batcycle might be loud enough to force them to utilize comms, but it is still lost beneath the sheer volume coming from Batgirl's arrival, the overhead blast of those pwoerful engines making their own approach practically stealthy in contrast. Not exactly a bad thing. << Spiders filling the sky? I can't imagine why that didn't win over any people, >> Nightwing adds slyly, right before Ghost-Spider *thwips* her way right off the back of that motorcycle, taking to a higher ground.

<< We see them, >> he offers up to Batgirl's report. << I'm just about on the scene too, >> the darkly-clad vigilante adds, bringing the Batcycle to a screeching halt.

As that motorcycle begins to a skidding stop, Dick is already flipping right over the front windshield. He might lack the supernatural agility of Ghost-Spider, but he still has more then enough practice at tumbling. Flipping through the air, he lands on the hood of a nearby car in a crouch, the escrima sticks that fasten to the magnetic strips along his back already in his hands as he uses the distraction provided by the others to slink in closer.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
<< "Fancy seeing you folks. Pathfinder here, friend of the Spooky Arachnid. This is an away game for me, so I'll let you take the lead. Let me know if you need some concealment, I've got a smoke grenade and a great throwing arm... Whoa! Nice!" >>

That's when Batgirl beats him to the punch with the plane's munitions.

<< "Great minds think alike." >>

He's moving fast, running in a crouch as fast, if not faster, than most people can sprint. The cars provide him with a place to hide from the gangsters as he tries to move in closer to them, ready to get in tight and do some fancy clobbering when the opportunity presents itself. Much like Nightwing he's more than willing to allow the other heroes to draw fire. They've all been having their costumed adventures much longer than he has.

<< "Intentionally ramming something with a vehicle is definitely not an accident. Its just how you get the job done sometimes." >>

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The scene on the bridge erupts into chaos as Batgirl's drones unleash their payload. Tear gas and smoke pellets scatter across the overpass, bursting into thick clouds that quickly envelop the Rustborn. The acrid fumes bite at their eyes and throats, and their confident shouts devolve into coughing and cursing.

"Dammit! Where's this coming from?" one of the thugs yells, waving his crowbar uselessly at the growing haze. Another pulls his mask tighter over his face, as if it'll help against the gas. It doesn't.

The leader stumbles out of the worst of the smoke, one hand pressed against his face, the other gripping the side of the supply truck for balance. "Keep moving!" he barks, his voice muffled and hoarse. "Get the crates loaded, now!"

The younger thugs hesitate, stumbling blindly through the smoke, tripping over the scattered crates and slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. One of them, coughing violently, yells, "I can't see shit!"

"Shut up and get in the vans!" the leader snaps, glaring back at his men. "Meet up at Riverside!"

Riverside could mean a lot of things in this context, but Barbara with her AI-driven Oracle probably has a better idea than most what they could mean -- Riverside Salvage, a sprawling, derelict scrapyard near the edge of the Narrows.

The drizzle has finally begun to let up, but the wet pavement reflects the orange glow of the bridge lights and the swirling shadows of the smoke. Drivers stuck in traffic watch the scene unfold with wide eyes, some filming through cracked windows, others hunkering low in their seats, as if that'll make them invisible to the chaos just yards away.

A teenager in the back seat of a beat-up sedan presses her face against the glass, her phone held up to record. "Is that... is that Batgirl?" she whispers, her voice caught somewhere between awe and terror.

Above it all, Ghost-Spider perches on one of the bridge's stanchions, her white-and-black suit glinting faintly in the hazy light. Her HUD scans the chaos below, highlighting targets in shades of red as she adjusts her position. Her voice cuts into the comms, equal parts surprise and curiosity.

<< "Is that Batgirl?!" >> Ghost-Spider inadvertently asks the question on comms in the _exactly_ same tone as the girl in the sedan.

<< "And Pathfinder's here?! Hey, Bud!" >> There's a beat, then she adds awkwardly, << "I don't really have grenades or anything, so I'll leave the cool concealment stuff to you guys. I'm more of a 'jump in and hope for the best' kind of girl." >>

The leader barks more orders, trying to regain control. "Get in the vans! Move it!" He pulls his handgun, firing into the air to punctuate his command.

<< "Speaking of jumping in," >> Ghost-Spider mutters, firing a webline and swinging down into the fray.

She lands lightly on the roof of one of the rusted vans with a soft thud, crouched low as her hood flutters around her shoulders. Her mask shifts slightly, the subtle hint of an arched eyebrow. "Smoke everywhere, rusted-out vans... did one of you forget to check the engine oil?"

The thugs freeze, stunned for a moment as they process the new arrival. One of them stammers, "Who the hell -- "

"Ghost-Spider," she interrupts smoothly, standing tall now. Her posture is relaxed, her tone almost conversational. "And judging by this mess, you could really use a better logistics plan. Ever hear of forklifts?"

The leader's grip tightens on his handgun as he growls, "Take her down!"

Shots erupt in her direction, but Ghost-Spider is already moving, flipping off of the van and into the smoke. One of the goons yelps in surprise as he's hit with a line of webbing in his middle and yanked off balance, colliding into the side of the van with a resounding THUNK.

Amid the chaos, several of the thugs have taken the opportunity to visit different vehicles close by, grabbing open doors or busting out windows and ordering the occupants out, starting to collect hostages to hold the Bat -- and now the Spider -- off for just a little bit longer.

Jaina Hudson has posed:
Jaina Hudson has been stuck in this God awful Gotham traffic for entirely too long. A rather expensive looking black Range Rover, parked several, uh... pockets of cards further along the bridge than the bulk of the action is taking place. She's listening to Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 35 and... scowling. What's she scowling at? The gridlock? The music? Something else? A cigarette burns in her left hand, adding a little bit of extra acridity to Batgirl's gas and smoke, but at least she isn't stinking up the interior.

And, you know. At least they the bad guys don't have to smash in the windows of her Rover.

"GET OUT OF THE CAR!" screams a rather angry looking man.

Jaina lets out a stream of smoke towards his house, clear and dour irritation on her expression -- and one that says 'are you kidding me?'. Now, there is a non-zero chance that this enterprising young upstart has known of Jaina. It's quite possible that he has even met her, ah. Other half, we'll say! But it's an easy mistake to make. Tensions are high. There's, like, smoke and stuff. And Jaina, owing to her unique ability to be two places at once, does a little better than most at keeping her criminal activities under wraps.

She does look really irritated.

"You're joking," she deadpans, to which the man responds with a slamming of his weapon against the side of the Rover, which causes a visible cringe.

"Okay! Okay okay! God," Jaina says. She taps the automatic-uppies button on the windows of her Rover and lets herself out, fully intent on locking the car door behind her as she shuffles out, hands up (and keys dangling from one).

She is dressed in what can only be described as a very sassy pantsuit and heels.

"Can we make this quick, though? I'm already late enough as it is. I have tickets to Hamlet, and--"
"SHUT UP!!!"
"Eugh..."

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Batgirl resided inside one of the bridge pylon towers, immersed in the shadows of the artfully designed stonework, watching as the rain fell hard upon the bridge, and the denizens that populated it amongst this emergency moment. Water poured down around her, as she took in various targets, and utilized that listening device to try and make some sense of the disarray that seemed to be this Rustborn crew. She inwardly grimaced at what was unfolding, but there was no time to toil over it right now, as there was work to be done, and she was trained by Gotham's Protector, to get said work done in as timely a fashion as possible.

Another command was sent to her flock of flying Bat-drones, through the neural-link inside of her mind, issuing her drones to spread out, and begin a distracting op on the Rustborn going for the civilian vehicles.

Three drones per side of the bridge, each one picking a target and firing off a sudden charge of a small flash bang, directly aimed at the feet of the thug reaching for car doors.

The one closest to the tower that the Batgirl resided in, was the first to get distracted enough to take his eyes away from the tower that he was backed up in to the shadows of, and he paid the price for it. Arms wrapped around his body, a device slapped against his face. He was pulled from the ground, and yanked up in to the darkness of the tower above! Seconds passed, and the man was left to sway from a reinforced capture line, dangling high above in the sky, as more flashing, and more ear-throbbing booms littered the bridge, hopefully disrupting the thugs as much as making sure people lock their car doors!

"All outside help is appreciated tonight..." Batgirl's modulated voice spoke over the network, coming across in its more theatrical demonic tone now.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Every particular set of heroes bring their own sorts of tactics into the fray.

Some of them can wade right on in, trusting to invulnerability or durability to stand up to anything their goes can throw at them. Others linger at a distance and try to pick off their foes before they can ever get close.

While the Bats of Gotham might vary things up to utilize the best tactics in any particular situation, this is a pretty good example of their general approach. Distraction, misdireciton, battlefield control and stealth, all combining with a sort of ruthless efficiency towards any hostiles in play to take them out of the equation as quickly and occasionally as visciously as possible.

They don't have invulnerable skin and while the kevlar weave of their armor might protect them, there's always a risk. So turning things to their advantage is pretty much essential.

In this particular case, Nightwing doesn't need to worry about adding his own smoke pellets to the general confusion. Batgirl has already taken care of that and while it would seem that blanketing the area in a foggy haze would potentially be just as problematic for themselves as it is for their enemies, the starlite lense inserts in Nightwing's mask cut through that obscuring haze, casting the world in a greenish glow that leaves his various targets all cleanly outlined against that backdrop, even through the tendrils of mist that shift and swirl.

And unlike conventional nightvision, the flood of headlights and shine over the bridge does not immediately render it all inoperable.

So the athletic figure creeps forward amidst the fog, working first on going after the stragglers, those members of the Rustborn that linger around the fringe of the fight. The ones most likely to turn their attention to some of the other vehicles trapped on the bridge, who might try to grab hostages to protect themselves. Their safety is the first priority and so Nightwing slinks through that smoke cloud in near silence, moving amongst the vehicles like another shadow, a trick of the light.

Approaching the closest of those figures from behind, he lifts up one arm, holding it cocked, ready to strike before darting forward. His free hand immediately reaches around and clamps over the man's mouth, muffling any attempt to call out as he drags him back a step or two, out of the way.

Then he brings that end of the escrima stick right down against the back of his neck, sending volts of electricity coursing through the Rustborn thug. The figure jerks in his grip, the taser charge not traveling through Nightwing's own insulated costume or gauntlets and after spasming for a moment he slumps, unconscious. Then it's just a matter of quickly binding his hands behind his back before the shadowy Gotham vigilante is darting back into the mists, picking his way closer towards the center of activity, thinning the herd one by one.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
Taking hostages? Those scumbags are in dire need of a few months in traction before a lengthy prison sentence! Pathfinder is on the case, ready to indulge in some old fashioned hand to hand combat. As the Ghost-Spider disappears into the smoke, Pathfinder utilizes his superior senses to locate the opposing force amidst the smoke and tear gas. His eyes are covered by goggles, at least, and Pathfinder's been around this stuff enough that he can function in it just fine. Still, he'll hold his breath as he uses smoke and tear gas as concealment to get behind a gangster and pull him into a rear naked choke, cutting off air supply to his brain and silently rendering him unconscious.

As soon as Pathfinder's dropped his Rustborn to the ground he's off towards one who has chosen to grab a hostage. The hostage? A nervous kid on his driver's permit. The poor guy is being held from behind by a menacing figure with a gun to his head.

<< "Hostage situations are more difficult to solve non-lethally, aren't they? I'll have to source some 12 gauge taser shells." >>

He doesn't really need one at this time, though. The bad guy ahead of him hasn't spotted him yet and the counter terrorist is on him in an instant, pulling the gun away from the hostage's head and twisting it out of the gunman's grasp and into his own. With a swift, powerful movement he slams the slide into the bridge of the Rustborn's nose before a short stomp to kneecap that results in an audible 'SNAP' sound. As he lets out a scream and falls to the ground the hero delivers a short, round kick to the head that knocks the gangster unconscious. With a look at the learner's permit guy the older soldier grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him down behind a vehicle and says, "Crouch run to safety. Keep cars between you and the bad guys. I'll make sure they don't chase you."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The chaos of tear gas, smoke, and the growing presence of heroes turn the Rustborn's confidence into barely contained panic. Thanks to Batgirl, Nightwing, and Pathfinder, the bulk of the hostages they were attempting to take were thwarted before they ever made it to the vans.

But Jaina's captor drags her toward the monster truck, the hulking vehicle coughing thick black smoke as its engine roars. The cab door swings open, and a thug inside reaches out, barking at his partner to "hurry it up!" as he reaches for the woman to drag her up and inside the armored vehicle. The truck inches forward, its spiked tires crunching over loose debris scattered across the bridge.

Overhead, Ghost-Spider swings out of the haze, her movements graceful despite the chaos. She coughs sharply, her mask filtering some of the gas but not enough to shield her completely. "What is this? The Notebook? I don't usually cry at these things..."

She shoots a webline upward, pulling herself higher to avoid the worst of the lingering fumes. Perching briefly on a swaying suspension cable, she surveys the scene through her HUD, her eyes narrowing behind her mask.

The vans rumble to life, engines growling as they begin lining up behind the monster truck, and from her vantage point, Ghost-Spider mutters into her comms. << "They're starting their engines. Vans and... what is that thing? A tank? A giant plow? Did somebody think Mad Max needed a reboot? Whatever it is, they're trying to take a woman. We're gonna need to stop that thing sooner rather than later." >>

One of the Rustborn catches sight of Ghost-Spider perched above and raises his handgun, firing a few panicked shots out of the window of his van in her direction. The bullets go wide, one ricocheting off the suspension cable and another vanishing into the smoke. "She's up there!"

The monster truck's engine roars louder, its plow shoving forward as it muscles its way through the traffic, clearing a path amid the screech of tires and crunch of metal, the vans beginning to inch into position behind it. Even amidst the chaos, the Rustborn's plan is still clear -- they're trying to force their way off the bridge, and they're willing to leave bodies behind if it means making their escape.

Once more, Ghost-Spider is on the move, swinging down from the suspension bridge and landing on the hood of one of the parked cars. With a *thwip-thwip*, both of her web-shooters fire lines that attach to the rear of that tank-vehicle, but it sees her teal Chuck Taylors firmly crunching into the hood of the car she's standing on, dragging her forward, and then...

*snap*

The web-lines both snap.

<< "I'm open to suggestions." >>

Jaina Hudson has posed:
Poor Jaina. If only she were being held hostage by one of those /other/ bad guys, she might be strolling coolly back to her Range Rover right now. But then I wouldn't have anything to pose about, so I suppose /I/ can't complain too much.

She's (relatively) cooperative as she's pushed and shoved up towards the monster truck, hands held up in the air in a way that lifts her sport coat up over her abdomen to where the high-waisted, pleated slacks (sassy pantsuit) are belted around her waist. She looks expensive, but that doesn't stop her from being MANHANDLED up into the monster truck, dragged by her forearm and shoved into the back seat, where she ends up in some no-name bad guy's lap, owing to the fact that they probably weren't expecting guests.

"Nice pantsuit. Is that the Prada Fall Lineup?"
"..."

The Monster Truck engines roar to life before she can answer, and she sort of 'ack-tumbles' backwards at the sudden change in momentum and inertia. But all things considered, she doesn't actually look too put off by all of this. Definitely not screaming. But then again, this is Gotham. This might not be her first hostage situation.

Jaina does, however, give a brief check to the tiny little watch on her wrist to eye the time. At this rate, she still might make it to Hamlet!

Barbara Gordon has posed:
There were a lot of moving parts in this ordeal here tonight, and to say it was stressful would be an understatement, at least to Barbara.

Two more of the perimeter thugs from the Rustborn, are vanished in to the shadows of the bridge tower. Their screams vanish up in to the darkness, left to be muffled by whatever means the Bat's employ to subdue the vocalizations of their prey. They dangle not too far from one another, left upside down, swaying, and viewing each other in similar perdicaments, as the only real thing left 'right side up' to their inverted viewpoints.

"Don't focus on the vehicle." Batgirl's growling voice said over the comms. "Get inside to the occupants. Rip the driver out, if you have to." She said, as she utilized a cutting tool to disconnect parts of the bridge's facade. With a creaking of metal, a giant beam fell across one of the roadways, giving what could be either enough to stop the tank of a monster truck, or at least provide one hell of a stpeed bump, while the others figured out a game plan for disabling it.

Batgirl dropped from the darkness, her cape flaring out behind her, as her golden boots touched down on to the edge of the pylon she'd just dropped across the road. She came down in a crouched position, as she watched the fleeing Rustborn, and the waves of dispersing smoke, and gas, rolling across the bridge roadways.

Batgirl reached for her belt, as the tank vehicle progressed closer and closer toward her position on that new roadblock. Her gloved hand snapped to her utility belt, and from her right hip, she pulled out a small round device. Her thumb depressed a button on its edge, and with a series of brightly glowing blue lights, Babs hurled the freeze-grenade at the windscreen of the tank, intending to turn the glass itself in to ice, with reverse-engineered Mr. Freeze technology.

If one was to ever ask Babs, which of the Gotham notorious villains she admired the work of most, it would most assuredly be that of Freeze.

Dick Grayson has posed:
As the tear gas comes out, Nightwing doesn't even miss a beat, simply retrieving a rebreather from one of the compartments tucked away in his gautlets and slipping it into his mouth. Between it and the mask that protects his eyes he doesn't even notice that little extra treat that has been laid down to make things that much more difficult for these so-called Rustborn. Even the subvocal mics that he uses means that he can continue to communicate over the comm without any difficulty, though he keeps that to a minimum, preferring to keep his stealthy approach just that.

That is admittedly easier to do in all the chaos and Nightwing continues to slink through the fog without a sound, casually sliding across the hood's of cars where they present an obstruction and continuing to pick of stragglers where he can. But with time an increasing factor, with Ghost-Spider letting them all know that they are preparing to roll out - and that they have a hostage in tow - he no longer always has the time for stealth takedowns.

The emphasis slides from silent to quick and the darkly-clad vigilante speeds his path across the bridge, the evening breeze starting to break up that obscuring cloud of mist, increasingly blowing it over the edge and out over the dark waters of the river below.

As those steps quicken, the shadow that Nightwing casts becomes a little more pronounced even in the mist, his movements no longer entirely concealed even if they are obscured. Though with that underlying tear gas, plenty of the Rustborn not yet in their vehicles are probably more worried about their eyes watering and the gagging that has them all but crippled anyway.

Not that the Gotham vigilante takes any chances as he moves past them, those escrima sticks whirling in his hand, lashing out with quick, sharp blows to the backs of heads where practical, sending his targets crashing down, unconscious. Or aimmed at limbs - knees and elbows - where not quite so practical, still taking them out of commission, adding their pained cries to the increasing panic gripping the newest gang on Gotham's scene.

<< I've got the vehicle, depending on how hardened it is. Lets focus on getting that hostage away from them, >> Dick agrees softly over that subvocal mic. In a smooth motion, one of those escrima sticks slips right back over his shoulder, fastening back into place along the magnetic strip that holds it in place. But he just stays in motion, gauntleted hand dipping down to pluck one of his wingdings from it's place, the winged-shaped throwing knife a little larger and more substantial then most of them.

Largely because it isn't made to hit people. Instead a pulsing blue light flashes in the center of the uniquely-shaped blade and he hurls it at the back of that monster truck, the sharp metal slicing into the vehicle, embedding itself there before the mini-EMP flares in a bright blue flash.

And kills all but the most hardened electronics in the vehicle.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
<< "What are the chances that thing's not armored?" >>

Pathfinder sees Ghost-Spider's difficulty, launching into a sprint in the direction of the huge vehicle. He's faster than he has any right to be, flinging himself bodily over vehicles before running atop a line of cars towards the truck. His senses do their best to keep him appraised of the goings on.

As Pathfinder pursues the fleeing Rustborn behemoth he loosens the sling on the short barreled suppressed rifle across his back and takes it in his hands, smoothly bringing it up and popping off a few rounds into the truck's closest tire to little effect, not slowing down more than a bit the whole time. "Figured."

But Batgirl's got brains, that's for sure. Her idea for slowing down the vehicle and then icing the windshield is just the thing they need! As the debris falls across the bridge Pathfinder puts forth even greater effort into hauling ass, doing his damnedest to get to the hostage before the Rustborn can escape with them. The line of cars is ending, the monster truck is right there... About to pull away... then there's a flash and the vehicle stalls and Pathfinder leaps from the last car to try to grab onto the top of the truck's tailgate!

Traveling through the air he extends his arms, letting his rifle dangle by its sling as he tries to grasp his target! Pathfinder's hands find purchase!

<< "You folks are damn good at this!" >>

Effortlessly, he pulls himself up so he can plant his feet and push off with a jump towards the roof of the truck. Somewhere along the way a knife appears in his hand. Hoping the iced windshield is brittle enough to break now, he raises the knife over his head in an ice pick grip and brings it down with all the strength he possesses!

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The Rustborn's operation descends further into chaos as Batgirl's freeze grenade frosts over the plow's windshield and Nightwing's EMP shuts down their engine -- and everything else inside. Its roaring engine chokes off with a mechanical groan, and it isn't long after that Pathfinder's knife crashes through the iced-over windshield, sending shards of safety glass showering over the occupants inside, including Jaina.

"We'll kill her!" shouts one thug, covering his head as the frozen shards rain down. Another scrambles for his weapon, fumbling in the tight confines of the cab, but the disruption leaves them paralyzed for a critical moment.

The vans, now stuck behind the monster truck, lurch with frustration. The two in the lead nudge forward, metal bumpers grinding against civilian vehicles, trying to force their way through. Drivers trapped in traffic scream and honk, backing up as much as the cramped space allows. The rear vans, however, begin reversing erratically, their drivers shouting curses into the smoky air as they attempt to escape the chaos.

Ghost-Spider is already on the move. Swinging from the suspension cables, she lands on the roof of the closest van with a thud, her teal Chucks squeaking against the wet metal. "Okay, Rusties," she mutters under her breath. "Let's park this circus."

She moves fast, firing off web-lines to tether the rear van to the one ahead of it, crisscrossing her sticky connections to make escape nearly impossible. Her movements are fluid and efficient, vaulting between vans like a gymnast.

One thug climbs halfway out of the side door of the second van, his gun aimed sloppily at Ghost-Spider. "Hey, freak!" he shouts, but before he can fire, a well-placed web snaps his weapon from his grip. "Sorry, you've played with your noise-makers enough tonight," she quips, her voice cutting through the chaos as she webs him back into the van, sealing the door shut for good measure.

That last van breaks free, weaving through stalled traffic like a battering ram. Horns blare and metal scrapes as the vehicle smashes through civilian cars, its driver hellbent on escaping with the stolen goods.

<< "Batgirl, I'm really hoping that was one of your cool toys I saw blinking on that van. Chances you can track it to wherever it's going?" >>

The thugs still loyal enough to the cause attempt a last stand, pulling weapons and shouting orders, but the writing is on the wall. Civilians trapped in the chaos seize the opportunity to escape, ducking behind abandoned cars and making a break for safety, their frantic movements spurred on by the mounting pressure.

The Rustborn are cornered. The bridge is theirs no longer, but there is still danger. Jaina still remains trapped perilously in that cab with two thugs, and the Rustborn that Ghost-Spider has trapped inside those three tethered vans are getting restless, banging on the doors to get out and kicking out windows, pistols in hand.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
On the street now, Batgirl is marching between the vehicles of civilians, many of whom are staring out their windows as she strides right past their cars. She comes right up behind one of the Rustborn holding a shotgun, and with a sudden, and violent kick to the side of his knee, she snaps his leg in half at the bone, making him cry out in sudden agony, as he tries to swing his shotgun around to the nearly six foot tall redhead Bat-lady that just attacked him. She grabs hold of the barrel of his weapon, however, and bends the metal in to a gnarled mess, before she rips it from his hands, and strikes him across the side of his jaw with the butt end of the wooden stock. The man is dropped, and Babs casts the weapon aside.

"Any vehicles that leave this bridge, will be tailed by my drones. It might be best to let some go, to disperse the danger, and track them, or find quieter places to confront them, and spare dangerous elements to this already ridiculous situation." Babs growled in her demoness voice, the modulator on her vocalizer system masking her natural voice.

She marches toward the disabled tank, only to be rushed by a hiding Dusborn, who swings a heavy lead pipe at Batgirl's side. She raises a gauntlet up to block the incoming attack, sparks flying across her form, as she feels the transfer of kinetic energy from his muscles in to her strength enhanced armor suit. She blocked his attack, and her free hand moved an item from her belt up to the sky. She fired a grapple line in to the air, which unravelled a long cord over and over, until it was caught in the sky by one of her drones. As the drone flew off, Babs quickly latched it on to the muscle bound Rustborn man, who pulled his weapon back for another attack, this one meant to bash Babs over her masked head. Only his eyes went wide, as the wire went taught, and he was suddenly yanked off of his feet, dropping his weapon!

The man was sent skyward, his arms and legs flailing, as the Bat-drone carried him off toward the river, the audible sounds of him screaming in abject terror growing softer and softer...

Batgirl just exhaled, and proceeded onward.

Jaina Hudson has posed:
Jaina Hudson is a socialite. A silver spoon trust fund baby who has never /really/ wanted for anything in her life, at least in the material sense. Which is to say that she's probably never seen much combat. Never seen much violence. Strange, then, that she seems rather calm when a freeze grenade pelts the windshield of the monster truck she's been abducted into. Stranger still that she's calm and unblinking at the repeated strikes against the glass by a sharp, pointed object. She's not unreactive. There's still a flinch when that glass gives way, and caves in. But it's only when the man in the car with her declares that he'll kill her, when Jaina Hudson knows that it's time to play her part as the terrified socialite.

Ugh. This is the worst part of these things.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" she squeals, and ducks to the side to cover her head when that glass rains down. The change in posture causes her torso to be thrown precariously over the Rust-Goons arm, pinning it between his body and the weapon that he's attempting to draw. It isn't a masterful bit of martial arts work, but it's one of those things that's clearly explainable, albeit annoying, timing if you're the bad guy. And if he tries to wrestle her off, she'll make it very inconvenient for him to draw that pistol, all the while sliding a free hand down the outside of his opposite leg to fish a side arm out of his thigh holster. Jaina Hudson is skilled, you see, at the art of the deception. She knows things about... angles, and optics, and accidents. In all of this chaos, it's not unusual for weapons to discharge entirely on their own. Especially when men like this are not exactly the type to leave their safeties off. Which is why Jaina will turn that pistol inward, towards the man's knee. A subtle turn -- the barrel is maybe an inch tipped towards the right, and squeeze her thumb over the holster right where the trigger sits in the housing. Counting on it to--

            *POP*

A bullet erupts from the chamber, piercing through the holster and tearing into the man's knee, where it will travel a painfully long distance through his tibia, where it will get stuck, sizzling, somewhere in the marrow.

"EEEEEEEEEEE!" Jaina continues to squeal, though it likely blends with a scream of pain. But that involuntary tremor caused by the wound is enough for Jaina to wrestle the man's main weapon from him and shove it towards the floor, leaving that side-arm still secured within its thigh holster.

"Help meeeeeeaaaahhhhh! They're going kill mayyyyyyyy!"

Dick Grayson has posed:
There can be that temptation at times, to round up every single bad guy, to make sure they are left trussed up for the GCPD to pick up before they enter the legal system. That's definitely understandable, especially in a place like Gotham City where every criminal off the streets feels like a victory.

But it isn't always the smart play. Sometimes there is an advantage to be found in letting a few of the rats scurry away. That has long been a part of the Bat M.O., even going back to his earliest days. Let the villains spread stories, spread rumors. Let them inspire fear in each other. Let the tales grow with each telling.

Or sometimes the desired outcome is different. Sometimes you let the rats scurry away to find out exactly where their rat hole happens to be. So the problem can be dealt with on a more permanent basis.

Dick resists the impulse to head back to his Batcycle and rush to purse the fleeing Rustborn given that Batgirl has the means to keep tabs on them. Making sure the hostage that they took is taken care of and that all of the little rats that they already have well in hand are left in a suitably pliable state for when the authorities arrive.

While his masked gaze remains focused on the monster truck with it's hostage and threatening thugs inside, two of those vans with still active Rustborn do happen to be right on his way so as he passes, Nightwing casually smashes one of the rear windows with a gauntleted fist, the gelatin pellet clutched in his hand hurled against the floor inside, bursting open as knockout gas begins to flood the confined space of the vehicle, engulfing that first group in it's cloud, their shouts and beating on the doors and windows quickly growing less violent and more subdued.

That second van gets the same treatment as he strolls past, the interior of the vehicle swiftly obscured in that cloud of expanding smoke before he zeroes in on that principle target.

Coming up beside the disabled monster truck, he flicks a brief nod towards Batgirl, creeping along, hearing the commotion within. Crouched down, with those inside distracted he probably isn't even noticed until he pops up, taking advantage of the already shattered glass to plunge that escrima stick still in his hand directly into the shoulder of one of the goons, letting that fifty-thousand volts of electricity shoot right through the man, sending him into a little seizure before he too is incapacityed.

<< Agreed, >> Nightwing murmurs over the comm. << Lets secure the scene and get out of here before the authorities arrive. >>

The wail of sirens and the flashing of lights in the distance as the approaching GCPD cruisers crawl along the pack streets is a good indication that they still have a little bit of time.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
'I will always place the mission first'

One of the lines of the Soldier's Creed. Despite there being two men going for guns in front of him, Pathfinder doesn't hesitate when the windshield explodes inward. The guy saying something about killing the hostage? He gets grabbed by his lapels and physically hauled out of the front of the truck before a fist finds his face to put him to sleep before he's tossed aside.

Then there's a gunshot! The other gangster is screaming and his primary weapon is loose! The commando starts to duck really low to where he's now standing on the hood, ready to dive into the cab to take care of business. Nightwing's there with the knockout, though, neatly neutralizing that threat! Pathfinder looks at the other costumed adventurer and says approvingly, "Very smooth."

<< "Roger that. Letting them retreat." >>

Then his attention swings to the hostage, "Hey. You're safe. Are you injured? Do you need any sort of help still?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The aftermath of the Rustborn's crumbling operation is chaos. Civilians trapped in their cars peer out from behind cracked windows, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. The distant wail of sirens grows louder, mingling with the low thrum of a helicopter that's also approaching, its searchlight cutting through the dissipating smoke.

The vans behind the now-disabled plow sit in disarray. One of them rocks violently as the trapped occupants inside shout and bang against the doors. They aim their pistols at the webbed-shut exits, firing sporadically in hopes of freeing themselves, but the confined space and ricochets only add to their panic. Outside, Nightwing's knockout gas fills their interiors, muffling the shouting until it subsides into groans and silence.

Ghost-Spider watches all of this unfold from her perch atop the last van still occupied. Her widened eyelets betray her surprise, particularly at Batgirl's efficient, brutal takedowns. The flash-bang, the drone-assisted grappling -- yeah, Batgirl's not playing. Ghost-Spider mutters under her breath, "Note to self: don't piss off Batgirl."

She'd never actually tested her innate Spider-reflexes against Nightwing's years of training in a sparring ring. She hadn't even gone up against Pathfinder, yet, even though he'd offered to train her. She definitely wasn't excited to try her luck against Batgirl after _that_ display.

Rain drips from the edges of her hood and onto the already slick van roof. She hops lightly to a suspension cable for a better view, her soaked suit clinging uncomfortably. "God, I need a dryer setting on this thing," she mutters.

The final van, now barreling through traffic, grinds over the curb, shoving aside a smaller car. Horns blare, and a civilian dives out of the way as the van careens forward, scraping against a streetlamp as it veers off the bridge's main road.

<< "Cool. I'll let 'em go, too. I'd like to know where they end up, so maybe Nightwing can follow up. Unless you... you know... don't mind a Spider making Batcave calls." >>

Up by the plow, Pathfinder's direct assault and Nightwing's electrifying takedown leave the remaining thug too disoriented to resist. His weapon clatters to the floor as he groans, slumping against the door.

Ghost-Spider drops back down to the bridge road, landing in a crouch beside an abandoned car. She surveys the scene for a beat, then speaks into the comms.

<< "Looks like we've got this under control. I'll take a quick pass to check on the civvies, make sure no one took a stray bullet, and then I'll... meet up later." >>

Find her own way home, she means.

Her tone softens slightly as she adds, << "You guys are scary good at this, by the way. Thanks for letting me tag along." >>

Then she fires a webline towards one of the stanchions, swinging off to weave through the stalled traffic. Behind her, the GCPD sirens draw ever closer.

Jaina Hudson has posed:
Well. That's certainly a swift dispatching. It's difficult to tell for Jaina exactly what happens. One moment, she's sort of leaned over the lap of the man she'd shot with his own pistol, and the next, the driver of the monster truck is being foisted out of the vehicle by Pathfinder, and the guy she's lying over is being electrocuted with a stun baton.

Yikes!

She sort of shoots up and scurries backwards just before Nightwing's stick jabs into the man's chest, sparing herself a lesson in the conductive nature of human bodies. And when he spasms, and squeezes, she watches the blood from his gunshot wound soak through his pants and roll down along his knee towards his calf.

She looks convincingly shellshocked, anyway, when Pathfinder addresses her. Like there's a ringing in her ears and all she can really hear is some Charlie-Brown-like 'womp womp womping'. Just another millionaire heiress saved by Gotham's vigilante heroes! Never mind the tiny cuts on her face from glass, these sorts of things happen. Better than a bullet between those pretty brown almond-shaped eyes.

Jaina can't really hear the words the man is saying in this heightened state of adrenaline. Or maybe she can. The easiest way to tell a convincing lie is to believe it herself. So instead of answer Pathfinder's questions with anything verbal, she just sort of nods with wide eyes. And then shakes her head. Though it's quite clear that she's got absolutely no idea what he's saying at all.

"I'm ahhh... oh... I'm okay," she says, after a long pause, the ringing in her ears replaced by the sound of far-off sirens rapidly closing in.

"Thanks," she adds.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
At the disabled tank, Batgirl observed it for a moment, some part of her admiring the engineering work, even if it was a bit cobbled together, it was still an impressive feat, in some ways. She noted Nightwing's arrival too, and he got a confident nod from her, before she turned to look toward the fleeing vans.

Babs raised her left arm up, her eyes dropping to her wrist computer, as she commanded her drones to tag and follow the specific van vehicles fleeting the scene. "We'll know where they're going, and if needs be, we can cut them off at the pass." Yes, she just said it. Shut up, she watched a Western last night before bed.

The augmented reality lenses covering her eyes rolled back, revealing her green pupils, as she lowered her wrist display, and looked to where the GCPD blues and reds were coming in from, immediately knowing which precinct they were likely coming from. With a breath taken, Babs turned again, walking past some of the citizens in their vehicles, her eyes checking on some of the cars that looked most effected by the chaos here tonight. She paused beside one, and a window came down, a teenager's face looking out at her, and taking a photo with her camera phone, which was immediately scrambled by some of Barbara's image defense systems. She turned to look at the teenager, and offered her a lopsided smirk.

When Babs moved on, the young woman in the car turned a batarang around in her hands, holding it up with a big smile on her lips, the black weapon made from steel, and designed in a threateningly badass way.

"Thank you all for the help tonight." Batgirl told everyone on the open comms.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Practice makes perfect.

And Gotham City gives the Bat Family an awful lot of practice when it comes to dealing with the assortment of criminals that crowd the city streets. The Rustborn might be something different - time will tell - but Nightwing has been doing this for more then two decades at this point. That's what happens when you're particularly precocious and start beating up bad guys when still a pre-teen. He's seen a lot of criminals with a lot of bluster come and go.

The Bat Family is still here.

He lingers for just a moment at the side of the monster truck, tugging open the door and offering a hand to help Jaina down. While the cold, autumn rain might not be particularly pleasant, it beats sitting in the back of the truck with the bleeding and unconscious man that tried to abduct you he would imagine. "Medical personnel should be on site momentarily to see to you," he says quietly, turning to secure the Rustborn in the truck.

Then it is time for him to make himself scarce.

He doesn't stand on ceremony though and when Ghost-Spider makes the comment about catching up, he only flashes a brief grin upwards, before he is trotting back over towards the waiting Bat-Cycle, sliding into place there. << Yes, no seriousi njuries, one self-inflicted gunshot, >> he adds, even if it was with a little secretive help from their poorly chosen hostage. <<Good job, >> he agrees.

Then the motorcycle's engine comes to life with a powerful roar and in seconds Nightwing is peeling away from the scene. One potential crisis has been adverted.

But the night is still young. And this is Gotham City afterall.

Stirling Winchester has posed:
<< "You're welcome. It was great working with you all." >>

Pathfinder nods to the former hostage, gives her a thumbs up and then gives himself a fresh opportunity to look around at their surroundings. Yep, emergency services are going to be here shortly and there's no more need of vigilantism at the moment. Time to make himself scarce.

<< "If you need me for an AAR Spider's got my contact information." >>

It doesn't take him too long to disappear from sight. He's not up to snuff with the Bat Family, but this isn't his first rodeo.