19971/Tough on the tires

Tough on the tires
Date of Scene:	30 January 2025
Location:	Gotham Expressway
Synopsis:	A tactical retreat is harried by mobile gangers seeking revenge for destroying their stash. Ducking bullets and delivering back double, the duo of Huntress and Bluebird escape consequences and deserve some donuts before debriefing their latest patrol outing.
Cast of Characters:	Harper Row, Helena Bertinelli

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Harper Row has posed:
The operation tonight was going to get high marks. With the amount of opposition and resources on hand, a quick strike to harass and deny the criminal element was the best use of tonight's patrol. Part of an extended campaign to make life miserable for that clownish gang.

Bluebird's handling of the motorcycle was the best use of her skills, because that would open up Huntress to use both deadly hands.

But...there had been that regretable loss of someone's bike. And so it was now two making due with what was left. What's sharing a bike between such close allies anyways?

Bullets and flechettes screamed a few inches above their heads as Harper sped along the expressway, thankfully almost dead due to the hour of the morning. Pursuit was coming. Most gangs would be willing to cut their losses, but these lunatics needed the Birds to pay for their destruction and disruption in blood and broken bones.

"OhmyGod! Aren't they supposed to give up before the cops and firefighters arrive to put out the flames!"

Calliope music from one of the chase vehicles was getting louder. Nitro, weird gadgets and non-Darwinian tech employed to catch up and kill the heroes.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Usually they'd each have a bike but, as noted, bikes have been lost and so the two vigilantes are nestled body to body on the hog in question. Helena trusts Harper to hold onto the handlebars and keep them from crashing into a tree like a stormtrooper in a forest.

Yeah, she finally watched the Star Wars movies, okay, she had some downtime over the holidays.

Huntress grits her teeth and lifts her crossbow, firing a well-aimed bolt to shatter the windshield of the car right behind her, the men's eyes widening in horror as the glass is blasted away and leaving them unprotected.

"Payback's a bitch and so am I!" she shouts as she fires another bolt. This one doesn't hit flesh, though, but instead drives into the steering column of the cheap hoopty in pursuit of the Birds, locking the wheel in place. He won't be making any tight turns.

"TAKE A LEFT!"

Harper Row has posed:
Not being able to hang left like Harper, the hooligans with the makeshift Crook-Lock realizing to their mounting horror, ululate in screams and roars audible enough to reach the Birds' ears.

Bluebird does as she's told, thighs squeezing the chassis as she leans her body to the left and steers the handlebars so that their progress lays down fresh rubber ripping the wear-nubs off the wheels and they veer, almost drifting along a collector ramp.

The stricken wheel-locked vehicle behind them almost misses the median with the safety barriers, but hits it with enough force to almost carve a full third off the truck and send it in a spinning parabola of punishing physics. The circus music keeps going but become an asthmatic bizarre rendition of tooting and squealing.

"Tell me you did that on purpose!" Harper yells above the wind. "It sounds baaaaaaad!" and then laughs maniacally. There's a bit of a squeal from somewhere in their own engine as their route takes them up and into a series of serpentine turns before allows options for getting off or keep on eating miles through Gotham's concrete jungle. "I think they might have clipped us. Hang on tight!"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli grins fervently, "Of course it was on purpose! I'm very purposeful!"

And it's true, she mostly did that on purpose, although the subsequent clatter and mayhem may have exceeded even her plans. With the two of them careening wildly through the streets, Huntress grips firmly at the bike underneath her, holding on for dear life as she tucks away her crossbow and pulls a pair of pistols. She doesn't use regular guns much, since Batman has a little hissy fit about them, but they're too useful for her to give them up entirely.

"I never did like clowns much," she mutters as she opens fire on the men in pursuit, making them duck down unless they want a face full of lead. Which is what she intended. Right?

Harper Row has posed:
"No one likes them!" Harper yells, ducking her head at return fire that's more wild than accurate. "I think they're from another dimension, and those that do should be on some sort of watch list!"

A little impromptu stomping with her left heel and Bluebird is indenting a portion of the exhaust system to restrict a bit more outflow. Keeping one hand on a handle, the other palms at the fuel tank until the cap comes loose and dangles on a chair like the stopper in a bathtub. "Hey Huntress! Hey!" Rifling in her jacket, Harper produces a little vial and pops it in the tank before wrestling the cap back on. "Gonna give them something to try and laugh about in 30 seconds! Shit...I think that was the small one. Couldn't have packed the big one..." she mutters.

The engine of the bike coughs, parts of the engine glowing an ugly hue, like the barrel of an overfired machinegun. "Maybe 15 seconds! Eat shit clowns!"

Both hands go to the handles. "Anyone you tag is gonna find out they're the lucky ones!"

The vehicle barely gaining on the birds thunders up, and their occupants are a bunch of chickens the way they keep bobbing their heads, intent on ramming rather than riddling with bullets.

The muffler of the bike suddenly explodes, sending shrapnel and thick scintillating sticky aerosol to paint the vehicle and faces and turn the road into an artificial skating rink without the ice.

And a lovely violent boost of speed to the motorcycle. Ludicrous Speeeeeeed!

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli puts her guns away and lifts her gauntleted hands up in the traditional Stone Cold Steve Austin double bird gesture. She even sticks her tongue out for good measure. Who says committing ultraviolence on the deserving of Gotham City can't be fun?

Huntress keeps her head on a swivel, measuring where they are in the city, "Ten blocks south, then take the overpass. We can pick up some donuts before heading back to the lair," she says. The lair, of course, being her modest apartment. No secret doors or hidden computers, but the sofa did flip out into a bed.

The sirens in the distance promise doom for the clowns in question. A nice trip to Blackgate would do them good this time of year. Too bad they missed the gift exchange last month.