14458/Bird Stake Out

Bird Stake Out
Date of Scene:	20 March 2023
Location:	The Narrows - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	Huntress and Bluebird do a little recon of some illegal street racing. A prelude to efforts to stall a rumoured Heist involving super fast vroom-vrooms.
Cast of Characters:	Harper Row, Helena Bertinelli

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Harper Row has posed:
What are a couple of gals doing atop a roof in the Narrows? When they're using code names, it's a high probability it's serious business. The hour is quite late, the sort of time that is when the latest Plays and Shows thanking their patrons for coming and sending them on their way. They don't have to go home but they can't stay there. This particular part of the Narrows was eerily quiet, but there's a growing presence of vehicles dispensing with that.

Harper is up against the edge of the brick and mortar that makes up the corner this 6 story brownstone. She's brought binoculars, she's brought audio equipment, she's brought a hot thermos. A growing number of strange reports has been coming in about vehicles that are neither street legal, nor the common burnout hot rod. Something weird enough to peek Harper's tech-head interest and politely ask if Helena would accompany her for a much valued second opinion. She's just sipping a cup of something hot and caffinated when the sounds of engines is growling and growing.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli isn't much of a car person as far as racing and tuning go. She favors tuning her bike for obvious reasons, but when it comes to her car, it's a Maserati Ghibli. A luxury car, sure, but a 4-door sedan. Not that it can't perform well. She's Italian. So are her vehicles. But odd tuner/tech for cars? Nope. Not her balliwick. Leaving that expertise to Harper, she's here to support.

Hearing the approaching vehicles, Huntress glances up. "Those sound.. odd? Is that what we're after?"

Harper Row has posed:
Below on the street, that particularly long stretch of road would be quite inviting for some souped up cars or motorcycles to try and win some glory. The asphalt has seen better years for sure, and it is like the scar tissue of a prize fighter with the amount of patchwork repairs and skid marks. But it sure is level and long. Further down, some intersections are seeing a gathering of vehicles and people as well. And with those figures, lit only by partially working streetlamps, comes the tell-tale silhouettes and suggestions of weapons. Not drawn, but to an experienced gal, a holster there and a slung SMG there.

Harper moves her elbows to better prop her sights, one hand on the instrument, one hand on the cup of coffee. She balances on her tummy, teetering riskily. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks for coming by the way...Hey, for street racers...is that normal to carry that much artillery?" Harper murmers, and then curses as she burns her upper lip by an over-enthusiastic second sip.

Something odd for a simple street race is coming. A tractor trailer is twisting around a corner, flanked by a quartet of black bikes. Looking like gleaming metal landsharks, or something from a movie set. They flank the tractor trailer like they were escorting an internation dignitary, but the only thing on the flatbed is...Well, it looks like a couple armoured trucks to ferry money to and from banks.

Harper licks at her singed lip with the tip of her tongue, frowning and turning her head to Helena, confused by what she's seeing.

To an experienced eye, such as Huntress perhaps, there'd be more than a few hints of something that the riders of the Bikes possess. Would take one to know one. Killers. Or agents. Or Mercenaries. There's a flicker of something coming from their helmets. Worn optics, the kind of things that can paint targets on a spectrum beyond normal eyesight.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli looks down from their vantage point at the gathering riders and vehicles. "This is Gotham. Going to the store for milk and eggs is worthy of rolling up in an armored car usually" she notes dryly.

"But yes. It's noteworthy." Then the truck comes around the corner.

"This is definitely beyond normal street racing. They've got some sort of night vision or other sort of optical sensors on their helmets." Glancing toward Harper she asks quietly, "What was it your source said this meeting was going to be? A street race? I'm not buying it."

Harper Row has posed:
The tractor trailer rolls to a stop with a chirp of brakes, and the motorcycles move with oily precision to idle near the corners of the big rig. Their helmeted heads sweep the street, all the while much less professional looking sorts are loitering near intersections further up the street. There are definitely some slick looking candy-coloured cars coming to part on side streets, groupings of similar colour schemes suggest clusters of interested parties.

A few lighted windows in neighbouring buildings show curious silhouettes, but with the growing assortment of trouble on the street, these lights wink out. Most people living here choosing to make like a hole in the wall rather than be visibly gawking.

Harper purses her lips and nods in the affirmative. She sets down the steaming cup on the edge of the roof, the heat of it being snatched into a undulating dance by the wind. "They said some gang, The Burnouts, and some other group...Yeet, typically are getting bolder and bolder with making life miserable for residents. I thought, okay, cops could probably break that up. But, there was some manner of...recruiting going on? By some third party that was slicker than shit. Sure okay I thought, maybe someone wants to find fresh talent and scoop up a diamond from the gutter. It could happen, right? But packing firepower? Doesn't sound like a legit sponsor to me. Showing up in high te-" Harper's brain catches up and she peers back over the edge of the roof for another gander. "What the heck."

Two individuals exit the cab of the big rig, dressed like bouncers to some rich as shit nightclub owned by the Mob. They have earpieces, sunglasses (at night), and are armed with SMGs. One carries keys, holding them out as a bunch of racing boys with differing jackets step away from their posse's.

Harper murmers, her nails scratching the brick, chipping her nails. "Now who are these assholes..."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli watches and listens. As the truck stops and its occupants climb out, she shakes her head, "This is more than simple gang activity or street racing. We need to get eyes on what's in that truck. If we're lucky they'll open it up and give us a free show. If not? We're going to have to do this the old fashioned, hard way." Going down there and kicking everyone's asses to get direct access.

Harper Row has posed:
The two street racing types accept the keys. Two sets of keys. And there's two armoured cars and the rig. Harper clucks her tongue. "Yeah, just street racing my pierced hoo-hah." Bluebird nearly tips over the hot cup as she reaches along the roof for a better grip so she can lean out a bit more. "Should we tag 'em?" The young Bird asks with a hush. Her pulse is climbing, as evidenced by the higher level of respiration. Her breath fairly visible with huffing and puffing. A few other nervous tells to her body language. A young foal feeling all frisky. Helena's read on the situation helps with laying things out and Harper turns back to watch. "Funny...I heard those two were rivals. The racers. Weird they'd be willing to meet up together for...this."