19167/Gala's Gotham Getaway

Gala's Gotham Getaway
Date of Scene:	28 September 2024
Location:	Abandoned Subway
Synopsis:	Hot the heels of the Gallery where Gala intended to do terrible art, the Birds of Prey, allies and a vigilante with ties to Gala nearly scuffle over rights to take her down. And whether it should be a very permanent way. The hijacking of a Subway car by Gala's henchmen turn into a high-speed takedown sequel and a rescue of civilians. Gala's ramping up her campaign to turn Gotham into the worst kind of art. But she's thwarted from worse, again.
Cast of Characters:	Harper Row, Violet Paige, Helena Bertinelli, Bobbi Morse

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Harper Row has posed:
After preventing an artistic massacre at the Gallery, some of Gala's minions had tried to flee down the service elevator. They hadn't gotten that far of course, and the conscious and unconscious alike were waiting to be processed, limbs restrained and rendered mostly safe for pickup by the Police.

But down at the bottom of the service elevator, a rough-cut access through old basements, old coal hoppers, and into some of Gotham's old subway system. There was plenty of evidence of foot traffic, those boot prints and drips of paint. But that's so subtle next to the intense swaths of grafitti freshly daubbed along these tunnels like there were advertising troglodyte warrens into madness and lunatic colour combinations. The rails nearby still vibrate from the passage of ~something~ that's riding them. A faint scent of blood, nicotine and perfume waft about the place like a bad habit. Signature scents to someone in particular that has a penchant for making murder into an artform. Discarded duffle bags lay near this section of the rail, probably belonging to the victims and perps when they were offloaded just earlier. Spare batteries, SDcards and cigarette butts.

Violet Paige has posed:
Searching the subways and sewers of Gotham has not been an easy task. Mother Panic herself is just one woman and with her limited access to secure databases (not every super rich vigilante has direct access to GCPD and other law enforcement channels) she's forward to do her detective work the old fashioned way.

Gumshoe her way around the city.

Thankfully one of her informants does have certain ways and means. Eyes in the dark. Chittering little vermin who report back to him.

Which is how she ended up here. An abandoned old subway tunnel. The ideal place to stash a getaway vehicle that runs on the rails. No villain wants to use a regular station now do they? All those eyes and ears. CCTV cameras. And potentially (if perhaps unlikely) law enforcement who won't take a bribe.

The optics on her helmet glow a neon pink as she prowls around. Searching for clues. Info from informants can only take you so far after all!

To help out her search Mother Panic has a little trick up her sleeve though. A compact cannister loaded with luminol and an aerosolising agent. Released into the air it'll mix with blood, Mother Panic knows Gala likes making people bleed, and hopefully the trail will light up with a blue glow.

The tricky bit in Gotham? Following the trail for the right serial killer...

Harper Row has posed:
Bluebird is late to the afterparty, having helped upstairs with some neutralizing of thugs and staring at her allies and the aftermath of their kickasery skills. But it's nagging her about where that woman in white got to. She swears Huntress or the Question was in pursuit, but the Birds and allies scattered to the wind a bit to sniff for clues and chase down leads. So here she is, following the bloodcrumbs, using her own HUD to try and check for heat signatures and traps. It's been slow going.

She's also nervous, because when Mother Panic joined the fray upstairs, there was nothing too subtle or restrained that she could perceive. What helped is that she assisted in taking down the baddies, and also seemed to have a connection to this Gala person.

"Alriiiiighty..." Bluebird scampers on up after Violet, and she's not as silent as Huntress so she's probably detectable, not having spied anyone either than herself and the local fauna. "Where'd you and your easel go, weirdo...Gawd, I would have worn my new boots. Bet Batman would have brought rat repellent just in case. 'Homebase? This is Bluebird, come in? I'm taking a deep dive down below to poke around. Will gather a bit more intel and report back. Hello?'" Unfortunately, this far underground, probably only her girlfriend could penetrate with a signal. And she's not about to bother her about that.

Violet Paige has posed:
It's good no-one had rat repellent! Because it's the rats who work for Mother Panic's contact....

Still there probably isn't enough rat repellent in the world to clear Gotham City. And even if there is how would you even go about applying it all? The tunnels beneath the city are a maze. It's doubtful even the Batman himself knows them all. And given the way tunnels are prone to collapsing, being altered, or freshly dug. The maze is constantly evolving...

The sensor pods on Mother Panics helmet aren't anything like as sleek as a Batsuit. And contribute a lot to a vaguely fox-like appearance which is entirely unintentional. No they're shaped that way because it's /efficient/. And it just takes a few scattered stones falling as Bluebird scrambles up the rubble to put Mother Panic on high alert.

The mist of luminol continues to spread. Lighting up splatters of blood so they glow like they're made of some sort of ghostly ectoplasm.

So when the woman in white bounds out of the darkness it'd be easy enough to mistake her for some vengeful spirit. If not for the neon purple eyes that is. Neon just isn't something you expect from the supernatural. Unless you're being tormented by ghosts from the 1980s. Thankfully for Bluebird there is a distinct lack of giant shoulder pads!

So at least the six foot tall woman in white isn't the restless undead.

It does, on the other hand, also mean that chunky looking metal gauntlet she's swinging is real.

Harper Row has posed:
The luminol is just a dabbling by the tracks, where the thugs had cut through and cleared more rubble to access those basements leading to the gallery. The victims must have been a little roughed up, treated unkind. But those strange weapons bearing paint and blast-paste and acid, they react to the Luminol. Any instincts thinking Gala was doing her usual mixology with blood seem to be true. But what may be surprising, are those subway rails, and how they glow like leylines of blue. The damned wheels of the getaway vehicle must have been greased with a macabre fluid as well. And there's no better calling card for someone following her, paricularly Mother Panic, of which way Gala went. And is hoping for the chase.

Bluebird creeps in, chattering away to keep herself company in the dark, all alone, so she thinks. Unable to get a response apart from static.

When motion comes towards her, she's hoping it's just Huntress come to chastise her lack of stealth. Sneaking up on allies seems to be an unofficial Rep game after all. But it's not an ally.

"Jebus!" Bluebird commits to a hasty roll as quick as she can, her fight or flight response firmly on the former. She's heard and seen what those big alloy mitts can do. A duo of smoke capsules are ejected from her wrists a couple of seconds later, as a matter of instinct. Evasion can come before attack. That's what her feet or zap-truncheon can be responsible for if she avoids getting smushed.

Violet Paige has posed:
That right hook swings across the space Bluebird just vacated. Cybernetically enhanced muscles powering it through with enough force the air displacement leaves a slice in the smoke cloud. Little specks of blood from the earlier conflict make the knuckles of each fist twinkle like stars in the subterranean gloom.

Thankfully there's no follow up attack.

Just the slow pacing steps of Mother Panic walking forward through the smoke.

"You're not with /her/ are you?" she wonders. Voice distorted by her helmet. Removing all trace of Humanity that might allow audio identification. "Too off brand for Gala to stomach." Given Gala's penchant for the macabre that's probably a compliment.

"Following me? Or her?" Servos whirr as her gauntlets clench into fists. A hint that Bluebird better choose her words wisely unless she's out for a brawl....

Harper Row has posed:
Bluebird sucks in breath and rolls along until she can get back to her feet. Her little smoke 'splosions not artistic, but relatively effective against mundane mooks. "...Maybe? I chum around a lot!" she quips before that question attains more clarification.

"No! Yes! Yes!" she follows up before having to clarify herself. her fists ball up and she strikes a fighting stance, though she's not eager to get within arms reach of those gauntlets. "No friend of whomever this Gala weirdo is. But, can't deny we're wondering who you are, ~and~ where Gala got to." she grimaces. "You're going to have to let the Bird of Prey pinch her before she does worse. It's kinda our thing. Locking up ~psychos~." she enunciates, and it's possible she's inviting more than Gala into that category depending on how things go.

Violet Paige has posed:
The helmet mounted acid sprays adjust their angle. Did Bluebird see them in action before? Maybe! Even if she didn't they look a little too much like weapons to be anything friendly.

"/Have to/ huh?" Mother Panic notes. "I don't think you understand. She knows my /face/. My /name/. My /family/. She's a mad dog who needs putting down. But first she's going to tell me everything she knows about some very bad people."

Those servos whine louder. Like they're squeezing hard enough to strain the system. High pitched and definitely beyond the safe tolerances.

"People with her connections don't go to jail in Gotham," she snarls. "She doesn't just do this shit for fun you know. People commission her work. The people she works with can buy judges like you'd order take-out." A beats pause. "She once set fire to a room filled with kids to cover her escape. Do you really want to let her off with prison?"

Harper Row has posed:
Bluebird's eye lenses are mostly opaque, but she gives enough tells to hint at her being rather concerned with all manner of elements of that white armor. Those are powered sounds, the sorts of things that augment or are gizmo'd up the wazzoo. And if there's one things she's keen about, it's that.

"Better prison than curtains for good." Harper tries through gritted teeth. She can't make herself look bigger, so she'll go with scrappy. "We don't go easy on criminals. We make them pay, and we make it hurt, and if we make 'em sorry then that's icing on the cake."

She's not dead yet, or punched across the room so she risks more words. "We cage her, then we can work on those connections, and squeeze or beat them out of her. Or in the case of my friends...much more effective ways to make her chirp. Arkham can hold her once we stop her."

Knuckles crack in her hands and she rolls her shoulders. "We have a code where we don't have to kill, even if we can. Sorry about whatever history you've got with her, but if goes down in Gotham, the Birds and the Bats can either be an ally...or something unpleasant. It's your choice whether we're breathing down your neck or not. Our...restraint...means we don't have to punch the cops as well. Well...not ~too~ much."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
The Huntress never lost track of Bluebird, even amidst the chaotic melee of earlier. They came in together, they'd leave together. Simple rules. She's kept herself stealthy, though, lurking in Harper's wake, watching her back and then observing her interactionsn with Mother Panic. When she over hears the discussion, she decides to make herself known.

Huntress intrudes with a sharp word, "Not that I don't sympathize. Sometimes you just want to put them down for good." She had agreed to the rules of play in Gotham, mostly to avoid harassment. It helped that she had already killed the people she really needed to kill. With a few exceptions. And if they popped up, well, she would deal with it then.

She has her crossbow sideslung, hands at the ready for close combat, gloved in purple and black. "Plenty of cops in Gotham deserve a shot or two."

She stares down Mother Panic and puts herself between the new vigilante and Bluebird. "Now you can make your peace with the way things have to be or I can teach you the manners you need to behave. Either one's fine with me. You pick, girlie."

Violet Paige has posed:
The modulators don't really do laughter well. But Mother Panic laughs nonetheless.

"Better deal with a problem once than over and over," she counters. She may well share Huntresses point of view in that regard. "And Arkham? Place has more break outs than it does admissions."

Her gaze shifts slightly to one side. At the crumbling support columns of the tunnel.

"You sure you want to throw down?" she wonders. "One good punch and the whole place starts to fall down. I know I can get myself out if it does but.. you ladies really want to risk getting buried alive?" Or more likely. Crushed to paste. "These people. They have operated in Gotham for years. Probably fucking decades. And I bet the Batman doesn't even know their names."

"We're not talking dirty cops and street dealers. These are Gotham's elite. Doctors, lawyers, bankers, all helping people with so much money they are beyond the law."

Her stance shifts. Expecting a fight.

"You sure about that?" she looks at Helena. "Last person tried to make me do anything. It went poorly for her."

Harper Row has posed:
The relief that Harper feels when Helena stealthily comes onto the scene is a relief. A wash of warm confidence that sluices away the icey tension, helping her nerves reduce their Defcon level. It's probably what the general public feels when a Bird or a Bat swoops down in the nick of time. And then she has to give her head a shake and break that spell, feeling a little guilty and weird she identified with those other folks' positions. She's a vigilante herself, damn it. She eyes Huntress' back and sets her jaw forward. She's a tough mutt. 'And it's two against one.' she wants to growl out petulantly.

Oh crap.

This is looking like a real face-off, and Harper moves out to try and back up Huntress, her anxiety spiking again. "Listen to her." she says with a strained throat.

There's a ~krump~ from where the northern tunnel snakes off into poorly lit corridors of transit. Some manner of impact or explosive touch off. Places where this old line probably intersects with more frequented areas. Those rails on the ground thrum like tuning forks as a vehicle upon them is in motion, and one of those no-no's for foundation strength is tested. Dust rattles down and vermin squeal as they vacate to hidey-holes.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli cocks her head as she hears the explosive. "They weren't me."

She steps back though and grabs at Harper's wrist to pull her along, "That said, you've got a point. No use all of us getting buried here. We can knock each other's teeth out later. Might even be fun. First, let's try not to die."

Nobody knew more about the corruption of Gotham's elite than Huntress. The name Bertinelli might be forgotten by some, but the memory hole only came from willful forgetting. Her family had been among's Gotham's first and foremost, once upon a time. Then the fairy tale ended and only the Mafia Princess came out alive. And she'd been hunting the dragons who burned down their house ever since.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

Violet Paige has posed:
"She's getting away," Mother Panic snarls. Conflict forgotten. "Can't lose this lead."

She turns to sprint /towards/ the sound of the explosion. Who knows though. If not for the delay caused by Bluebird and Huntress she might have been standing a lot closer to that explosion than was healthy....

Not that she'll ever admit it even if it's true.

The vibrating lines might act as a pointer for where they need to go. Or they might be a sign of an onrushing subway train. But you never know unless you look. Lets just hope she's got good reflexes if it's the train.

Cybernetic strength kicks in as she sprints off.

"Try and keep up."

Harper Row has posed:
Harper's got to work on her reaction time. She's suddenly nabbed at the wrist and yanked into motion, staring open mouthed. But at least she's quick catching up, the physical touch snaps her out of wherever her head is at and she's making like a proper team member. "Not die. Check." she huffs and gets her legs really moving, casting a glance to Mother Panic, "I think she's feeling strongly about this."

Up ahead, the first coils of smoke and detritus made into an aerosol are flooding back towards the vigilantes that are seeking the source. Acrid smells that belong to High Ex mingling with the musty damp of Gotham's underground. And the panic-migration of the things that make this place a haven.

Whomever had incoming subway car on their bingo card gets to dab it with a marker. Rocketing down the track the passenger train looks to have been separated from the herd, but very much still in motion. Propelled in fact, bunted and shoved along by a reclaimed service Shunt done up in a riot of colours that better belong in a rave. It's not a full speed yet, but it looks like that is the intention. Flashes of light come from behind some of the glass windows, of figures stalking through and shoving a dozen occupants into seats or up against the windows. Sparks fly off the wheels as the subway car takes the corner towards the trio, having to slow just a little and almost topple over before righting itself to run down anything on the track.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli reaches up and unclasps her cloak, letting it fall down behind so as not to create any drag. They're trying to move fast, after all and whatever stealth and armor benefits she gets from the cape, she's not going to get killed for it. She leans into the run, body low, her hand remaining firmly gripped at Harper's wrist.

"Keep up, c'mon, you can do it," she says, a harsh hiss interlaced with the anger that always burns beneath the surface of Helena's skin. She was angry at the idea of dying down here, angry at the idea of Bluebird dying with her over whatever petty bullshit Mother Panic and this Gala character have between them. She already has a grudge to live and die for, she doesn't need to be dragged into somebody else's.

But that's life in Gotham, isn't it? Just an intersection of vendettas, with the whole damn city burning down in the crossfire. Fucking Gotham City.

She sees the subway car and lets out a sharp bark of warning, helping to yank Harper aside with her. She calls out after Mother Panic, "This place stinks. Find us a damn ladder already."

Violet Paige has posed:
The thing is. An explosion diverting a runaway subway cart onto /this/ line? It can't possibly be good for the people on the train can it? The tunnel barely holding together as it is. If they keep speeding up they'll likely plough into another train or jump the tracks when they rejoin the live system on a junction that's long been out or service...

"Are you kidding?" She calls out. Already leaping for the side of the train. "All a-fucking-board."

Thankfully that momentary reduction in speed gives a window for leaping. And those hydraulic gloves? They make it easy to grab hold and not getting dislodged by the flow of air.

"One of you must know how to stop a runaway train right?"

They're Batman's posse. They /must/ know how. They do this stuff all the right... right?

If not there's always plan B. For break things.

Speaking of which... THWUMP. One of those gauntlets slams against the window. More to warn anyone inside to get away than to break it. It's not until the area's clear that she'll try and SMASH.

Harper Row has posed:
Harper's conditioning is put to the test, and she does her best. This is the kind of encouragement that'll get her going until her lungs are burning: Huntress in the zone and demanding results when the chips are down. She is intimidating, and a role model for the Never-Robin. Harper delves deep, trying to up her game and be ready to headbutt that subway or die trying. That's the vibe she's going for at least. She also starts looking for something to jump for, send a tether at, to gain some limited altitude. "It'll rip our arms off if we just jump for it, right?" she asks, teeth bared.

"Awww heck." Bluebird's free hand goes to her waist and she tears off her hook-launcher and cord. Thankfully, having hitched a ride with Helena and shared a way down earlier, she's still got her spare. A little HUD-assisted squint and she's flinging a cast to a series of overhead ancient pipes. "Here comes the rewind! Grab me and I'll g-" she shouts at Helena as the slack gets picked up and the next moment will have her not matching speed with the subway car, but theoretically will cast her and Huntress up enough to gain the roof.

The subway car itself looks like the interior is being given grafitti treatment by hostiles inside. More of those clowns from the Gallery, and they've taken over, and spraying citizens and interior alike after sending all this wheeled madness down the track. If they knew the trio of vigilantes were down here, it's uncertain. But the sudden sight of Mother Panic latched onto the side has them turning their sprayspooge guns on that window and liberally washing that whole section in purple, green and gold thick paint.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
A Mockingbird works in mysterious ways. Then again, that's simply how all of SHIELD rolls. Managing to sneak a fast one in under the Bat Family is its own trick which requires at least a security level of 6 or higher to know about.

As the graffiti'd subway whooshes down through the tunnel with others already in pursuit there's an unexpected *Whump-thump-thump!* from above. It sounds an awful lot like someone dropping onto the roof and having no choice but to match the speed of the thing they are landing upon.

"That never gets any easier" Bobbi grunts as she pushes up into a crouch along the roofline. "Good timing though" she thinks aloud, noting that she's not the only one here who is looking to make a change for the better.

As the other three work to catch up the agent's head pokes over one edge of the car, notably following the sound of something striking glass (hello, Mother Panic!)

"Hey, do you know if this line stops on Fourth?" she asks with a big friendly smile.

The others are given an encouraging motion. She'd offer a hand up if she could reach!

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli can't help but be tempted by the thugs down below. The opportunity to kick a few more asses is always hard to resist. She had been intending to try to get Harper up to the front to see if she could jam the controls of the thing, slow it down. But then Mockingbird comes in like an angel to save the day.

Helena was no angel, however.

"Go, I'll cover you!" she shouts to Harper and even Mother Panic, urging them to take the chance to escape first. She draws her crossbow and unleashes a bolt, pinning one of the more adventurous painters hands into the wall. No escape for that one. Not technically a kill, though, right? Accidents do happen.

The strangest thing is that, through it all, Huntress does something she very rarely does: smiling. Seems like Gotham's most ruthless nightstalker is having fun.

Violet Paige has posed:
When the train turns out to be filled with goons, Gothams primary contribution to the national labour market, Mother Panic is stuck in a potentially sticky situation. For one thing smashing her way in is now a /terrible/ idea. And for another leaning back to get out of the way... Well it's not great either.

Short cape danger close to the wheels. The air pressure trying to rip her off the side. Never mind the occasional sign or sparking light fixture on the side of the tunnel that threatens to smash her to bits.

But if this window is no good. There is always the next. Hand over hand. Inch by inch. She begins to haul herself along the side of the train. Staying just low enough she's below the window line. Anyone gets close enough to lean out and shoot at her? They get the acid treatment!

And hey if Huntress and Mockingbird cause a big enough distraction? She can always brute force her way inside. Rip the doors free or give some further down windows a beating.

Harper Row has posed:
The threats inside the subway car have realized that there's not just one, but multiple adversaries making their horrible life choices even more difficult. The screaming and whimpering (some gurgling) citizens that have been hijacked are abandoned in favour of flensing the would-be heroic types. Those that can act on their impulses and orders that is. Some are finding themselves painfully disarmed by bolts through valuable extremities. His buddy lances shot after shot at the direction the bolt came, firing with zero disclipine and mucho fear.

The chaos of the moment magnifies as Harper obeys and starts clambering her way towards the front of the subway car by means of hook-book and hand-holds. She'd really benefit from Mother Panic's strong-arming her way along, but she'll take the high road and dangle-scramble her way to the front of the car. "I got this!" she yells, the rushing air snatching at her words as the subway car is absolutely beset on all sides. She's ridden enough of these to know there's usually a way to emergency brake this into a banshee wail and doom the wheels to inexorable deceleration. Just gotta avoid getting Mad-max'd under the wheels. Easy!

With all the paint, spackle and gloop, the interior of the subway car is turning into a Willy Wonka Day-Glo dystopia. The Gothamite civvies are at least staying low and crumpled out of the way, but they have to, being victims to the whims of an artistic psycho. But the combatants, about six in all, are now turning streams of flechettes at the windows of the subway car, trying to wing Birds and their allies alike. The sound of the projectiles is like weed-whippers torturing corrugated metal, stripping paint and gnawing rough gouges into teh alloy of the walls and turning seats into dandelion fluff on the wind.

One foolish thug tries to lean out, gripping onto a ruined wall panel only to get a face-full of acid from Mother Panic and turn into a gibbering wailing melting dude.

Bobbi better be agile as shots are sent up to where she thump-a-thumped atop.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Landing on the subway has not done Mockingbird any favors. Dealing with the sticky clear goo was one matter but all of those wicked little flechettes have still made their mark. She can feel some of them still poking around under her skin, further aggravated by her most recent stunts. Already it's clear she's not the only one in a rough time.

Oh, and the baddies inside the car wised up about her addition to the party as well. More flechettes perforate the roof right next to her, prompting a hiss and rapid tuck and roll. Those things hurt! She doesn't wanna get hit anymore!

"Timely distraction incoming!"

Spread out across the top as pipes and signal lights whip by uncomfortably close, Bobbi pulls a small disk from her belt and slaps it onto the train's metal skin. A quick twist of a dial then she smacks it with an elbow and rolls away, leading to a short countdown before a two foot wide circle is suddenly blasted straight down into the car below. Quick entry!

The next part is also going to hurt but she needs to press speed and surprise while she can. Morse drops down into the car's interior, catching a pair of overhead straps to unroll herself into a violent kick to the first guy she sees.

Duck -- grab baton -- aim for the knee! -- look behind! -- second baton already in hand thrown toward face -- gun! -- shoulder-roll down narrow walkway -- baton-tase dudebro in the nuts -- not enough room to move GET OFF THE FLOOR BOBBI!

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Huntress doesn't have the kind of skills or gadgetry that can do anything about an uncontrolled subway car, explosions or the potential and oncoming collapse of the tunnel. Her upbringing tells her to say a prayer, sign of the cross, all that jazz. She still wears the cross, sometimes, but she doesn't really believe anymore. How can she, given everything she's seen?

Although one thing about Catholicism does make sense - any God of this world is bloodthirsty. But then so is The Huntress.

She kicks one of the painters in the thigh, charley horsing his muscle, making it cramp with the force of her impact. With him distracted. she seizes his weapon, shifting it around, wrapping the hose around his throat and pulling him to the floor of the subway car, the two of them rolling around with the violent motion of the car as Huntress chokes them unconscious, their mask shoved askew as she hisses in his ear, "This is MY art," she says.

She tosses him aside and gets back to her feet. Seeing Bobbi handling the others, Huntress goes in pursuit of Bluebird, having made the mechanic girl's survival her primary mission.

Violet Paige has posed:
Mother Panic slips for a moment as a panel from the side of the subway cart tears lose. Hanging one handed, the panel still held death grip tight in her flailing hand, the metal piece from the train showering her with sprawls as it catches against walls and floor.

The servos whine and her hand opens. Letting the metal clang away into the darkness.

Swinging herself up, just in time to avoid being dashed against a signpost, she hits the window with inhuman force. Sending showers of safety glass and resin into the carriage. Followed by the six foot tall Mother Panic. Barrelling into a goon. Her driving into him in a rapid one two three headbutting. Until he's definitely out the fight.

"First one to give up Gala gets to keep his teeth," she snarls. "Everyone else. You are well and truely /fucked/."

She grabs for one of the metal bars set into the carriage. The kind passengers grip when things get a little bumpy. And tears it lose like it's nothing. Then advances on the next goon. Sweeping it back and forth with wild abandon.

You don't need accuracy when there's no-where to hide.

Harper Row has posed:
These Baddies don't have the tactical wherewithal to rise up to this challenge. They're dishing it out, but their attention keeps getting divided something fierce. Cover doesn't seem to be an advantage when Shield Agents can come making ACME holes in the ceiling and come in like a series of thunderbolts of crippling pain.

And former Assassins coming close, weaving in and forcing sleepytimes. Offering a very short and terrifying bedtime story before everything goes black.

It just so happens that the goon that Mother Panic is promising to introduce to the metal bar is the last after the rest have been laid out. It's hard to see their expression through the goggles and paintball mask, but their eyes are very wide. They drop to their knees, their hands empty of nozzled-weapon. A muffled mush-mouthed garble comes from their mask. Like a storm-trooper's distortion and hampered by a rolled up pair of socks in the mouth. He gesticulates in a panic, trying to signal his surrender.

Harper meanwhile squints into the rushing dark ahead, toe-hooks anchoring for purchase as she stares down the front blunt face of the subway car. The damn thing is being forced forward by the Service shunt. It's a risky jump, but she commits to it while her allies are handling the worse threats. She lands in a way to guarantee bruises, but manages to avoid becoming a ruin on the rails. The controls are locked out, so she takes a page out of brute-forcing things and throws the emergency brakes. The sparks might look pretty from anyone ~not~ on this subterranean hellride, but up close it's a wrenching shrieking spectacle. Harper is thrown against the controls where she holds on for dear life while the reinforced brake pads start to glow and metal tries to decide whether to weld to itself or simply fly apart under all the stresses.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
As Mockingbird is finding her footing again Huntress is strangling one of those baddies with the hose of his own weapon, enough to lift him off of his feet. Respect! One of her batons is given a quick flick into the air, catching it and using it to pop off a salute to the Batgal in gratitude. It's easily followed up with a backward kick to one of the guys already on the floor. No, you stay right where you are, sir.

Comms would be helpful but she already knows enough about Bluebird to know she'll be looking into the technical aspects of dealing with their speeding train dilemma, and it seems like Huntress is also heading that way so Harper's going to be in good hands.

Which means Morse has more people to take out her frustrations on over having gotten shoooot...Mother Panic is mopping the floor with the last ones standing.

Right! Now there's the matter of the one guy frantically pointing to his mouth and not making a lot of sense as far as words go. It doesn't take special training to put these pieces together, not after what they already saw at the art studio.

"They can't breathe."

This she can do something about. Hopefully. Going out by suffocation's pretty awful, she doesn't want to see this happen. Where there are people in need of help she'll do her best, only pausing when the train lurches with a shrill howl of brakes and steel on steel friction as she stumbles down the aisle and trips backward over one of the downed dudes. "Ack! That last stop comes up so fast."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena Bertinelli manages to catch up with Harper just as the brakes get put on. She grabs a hold of one of the bars by the door, her legs swinging over the gap that Bluebird jumped just moments before. She lets out a laugh, "You did it! God damn you did it!" she shouts out in exhultation.

Getting her feet again, she leaps across and joins Harper in tight confines of the control area, even as the whole thing shakes and rattles around her. "Mockingbird and the Psychonaut are cleaning up the rest of the Splatterpunks. If any of that shit stains my costume, I'm gonna find that Gala bitch and I'm gonna make her drink a gallon of acrylic latex."

Purple, of course.

Violet Paige has posed:
Mother Panic steps forward. Looming over him, metal bar raised high, and then sweeping it forward. But not, as you might be thinking, to bludgeon him to a bloody pulp.

Shock horror!

No she brings the bar down behind him, almost like she's about to give him a hug, and then bends the metal around his upper body and arms. Twisting metal into a circular restraint.

Who needs handcuffs when you have stainless steel and super strength?

Metal groans as it's twisted. But the woman herself? Barely seems to break a sweat. Never mind that there's a distinct burnt rubber smell and her boots look like she's been dragged along by a train. Nothing to see there.

"So long as she talks first I'll hold the god damned funnel," she calls out down the train. Enhanced sensors picking up the comment about killing Gala. Maybe she can work with these Birds of Prey after all....

Still. Probably best if maybe the innocent passengers don't suffocate right? Uh. Shame she's not exactly built for fine manipulation of objects in her suit. "This is gonna hurt but..." she winces under the helmet. "Better than dying."

Rather than try ham fist the resin off she jabs it with the climbing spikes. It's controlled enough she's not punching anyone in the face. But she's still trying to break resin that's stuck to skin. Even with her precision working overtime all those bumps and jolts of the train... it's not ideal conditions for fine motor skills.

Maybe she'll make an anonymous donation to some plastic surgeons. Maybe a couple of dentists.