20165/UE: Crime Prevention

UE: Crime Prevention
Date of Scene:	03 March 2025
Location:	Astoria Park
Synopsis:	Through the efforts of a native (to some) New Yorker and a couple Gotham tourists, the gang known as AP-7 has a few of its members summarily beaten down and left to wait for police pickup. A dark discovery provides more information and the realization that a once small-time gang has to decided to increase their footprint in the crime world.
Cast of Characters:	Wilson Fisk, Barbara Gordon, Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

---

Wilson Fisk has posed:
A trio of crimefighters have been drawn to the Astoria neighborhood of western Queens in response to information gathered regarding a local gang known as AP-7. Their name derives from the original seven members who had come up together in the neighborhood surrounding Astoria Park. Since then and by all reports their number has nearly tripled and their criminal exploits have grown along with their number; including one suspected but unconfirmed murder in Astoria Park itself. Over the last few months there's been talk of the end of the world, some great calamity to strike Earth in the coming weeks or months, and that's seen an increase in crime across the board. That same crime has spike considerably more in recent days and AP-7's contribution to that trend has been substantial. While a couple of their members have been detained for questioning recently, the entirety of the gang has yet to be apprehended because they haven't been located or there simply hasn't been the evidence necessary to warrant their arrest, yet.

Through the efforts of Oracle, information pertaining to the whereabouts of the AP-7 has been gathered. That information has shown that the group has taken up residence among old service tunnels accessible through Astoria Park itself. To get at the gang one must enter those tunnels through a pair of potential access points and engage them in potentially harrowing close quarters. Blueprints of the old tunnel layouts show a number of small chambers beneath the park itself that once held maintenance and utility features for the park and surrounding area that have since been decommissioned as the utilities have since been shunted into newer and updated facilities in the neighborhood. Even an old cistern connected to the tunnel network once actively assisted with flood risks throughout the borough. The old cistern hasn't been bricked off or otherwise removed from the subterranean system, even if it isn't in active use at this time.

As nightfall has settled into place, winter is working overtime to make everyone know that spring is still nearly three weeks away. As temperatures have begun to dip beneath the point of freezing, breath begins to crystallize into steamy fog and chilly cold begins to pluck at the skin to coax goose bumps into forming.

The park closes after 9pm local time and a couple hours after that a trio of heroes have assembled on a nearby rooftop to discuss their infiltration or assault plan...

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Batgirl had some dealings in New York, though she was not nearly as comfortable here as she was in Gotham City. gotham is where she had the bulk majority of her technology infrastructure, including her Blimp that masqueraded as a bilboard for Gordon Green (and Clean) Energy. But here? She just had two drones with her. The GGE Blimp was on the outskirts of city limits, but with aerial vehicle laws being drastically more controlled in the New York / Manhattan air space, she had to keep it far out. She had launched from it though, herself, and drifted in on the wings of a Bat-glider, that was now parked on a nearby rooftop, with its wings retracted and tucked gently in to a quiet and shadowy space.

In the now, Batgirl stood on a corner of the building's roof, waiting for the others to collect up with her, as she glanced at her forearm moutned computer, that illuminated her visage just a little bit in the dark. In black and dark gold, the team's Oracle was ever the iconic Bat-family member this evening, her cape gently swaying behind her shoulders, and her fiery red hair draped down her back across the smooth material of the cape in motion.

"All relevent information should be in your digital hands now." Oracle's voice quietly said to the others, as she turned to face the center of the roof area.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Ghost-Spider crouches on the rooftop's ledge, arms draped over her knees, gaze flicking between the park below and the two standing behind her. The wind tugs at her hood, biting through her suit, but she doesn't care. Rooftops are home turf. The space where she gets to be exactly who she is, no compromises.

She flicks a gloved hand, activating her left wrist display. A soft blue glow spills across her suit as a holographic projection of the tunnel layout pops up. "Alright," she says, glancing between Nightwing and Batgirl. "You guys both know what you're capable of. I say we hit 'em from both sides, but I got no idea how to split up teams."

Then, without looking, she extends an arm and points a finger squarely at Nightwing.

"And _no matter what_ you might be thinking, I do _not_ need your protection." She turns, her mask's expressive pink eyelets narrowing in amusement. "You _only_ had an advantage last time because I didn't use my webs."

The accusation is pure theatrics, but it's fun. Comfortable. They've had this argument before, in different words, on different rooftops. He'll have some quippy response ready, and she'll roll her eyes and tell him he's ridiculous, and the whole thing will be one more note in whatever weird, playful rhythm their lives have settled into.

She rocks back onto her heels, arms folding loosely over her chest. "I'm all about winging it. Even though I... technically... don't have any wings." A pause. "Aaaaanyway..."

Her focus snaps back to the projection, scanning the entrances. The park below looks quiet -- too quiet, in that way places get when trouble's lurking just beneath the surface.

"I'm taking the east entrance," she decides, tapping a finger against the glowing schematic. "Feel free to tag along if you want, but otherwise, I'll radio back when the coast is clear."

There's a teasing lilt to her voice, but the anticipation is real. That kind of edge-of-the-stage, waiting-for-the-downbeat feeling that comes before a fight. She straightens, rolling out her shoulders.

No more waiting. No more planning. It's time to move.

She steps fully up on the ledge, turns her head just enough to glance back. "Don't keep me waiting," she teases.

And then she falls backwards over the edge. A second later, there's a web-line, and with a flutter of her hooded costume, she swings towards the entrance, living up to her namesake making her approach silent -- like a ghost.

Dick Grayson has posed:
New York isn't exactly his normal stomping grounds.

It's not that he never spends time here. It's close to Gotham really - even moreso thanks to the Hyperloop. He also attended Hudson University after high school, not that it lasted long mind you, but it is relatively close by as well.

All of which is to say that he is not a stranger to these parts.

But these are not his stomping grounds. They're Ghost-Spider's and while he might have increasingly helped to draw her time and attention towards Gotham as of late, she still knows New York in ways that he never will, never could hope to really.

Though in fairness, this isn't exactly the New York that Gwen grew up in either, so there is that too. Still, it is a close substitute from everything she's shared about her other reality and she still has had five years in this New York to become well acquainted.

To a certain extent, a city is a city and criminals are criminals, the world over. It doesn't really matter where you go. From that perspective this isn't exactly rocket science. It doesn't require anything different then he would do in Gotham, with other members of the Bat Family.

So as Batgirl uploads that electronic data, Nightwing gives it a once over before giving a small nod of his head. "Seems straight forward enough. I mean, we won't know for sure until we're in it and find out if they have any surprises or not, but I don't think we need much more then a straight forward approach. If we can take out a few quick and quiet so much the better," Nightwing says easily, moving to the edge of their overlook himself.

Ghost-Spider's playful retort gets a grin from him, holding up a hand to his chest. "Did I say anything? I don't think I did. You're the one who can sense someone pointing a gun at you. Then rest of us poor sods have to actually see it," he says mildly before checking on Barbara with a shrug. "I'll go through the west entrance then," he offers up.

Then, without further adieu, the dark haired vigilante casually leaps from his perch too, glider wings extending from his arm to his body as he catches an updraft, soaring down towards his chosen entrance. As he lands, he all but disappears, his dark costume blending in with the shadows like he is just one more of them in an already dark night.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
The western tunnel entrance soon finds a pair of young men - probably in their late teens - standing outside of one of the tunnel entrance. The cherry of one cigarette blazes in the city gloom while the pair talk. One of them sports a rifle - an older style AK-74 with its stock folded - that he holds casually by one hand, resting it upon his shoulder. The other's currently got a pistol, though that's been tucked into the rear of the waistband.

On the eastern side of the complex, one of the older members of AP-7 sits hunkered down against the building that acts as an old utility shed that features a ladder that ventures into the tunnels below. He's currently sat on the ground with his back to the structure's wall with a baseball bat draped over one lap. He squints into the darkness with night vision ruined by the light overhead attached to the front of the utility shed's exterior. "What the fu--" he begins to speak of whatever it is he sees moving well above the ground in the darkness, still quite uncertain of what he's seeing as he moves to stand with the bat gripped tight in one hand. He hasn't determined a threat yet, but he's well on his way.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Two entrances have been identified for this little operation here tonight, while there were three of them on their team. Batgirl / Oracle was staying back, as backup for either the Ghost spider, or Nightwing, to fly in should either of them need reinforcements. But, that is not to say she is not actively with them.

One of the Bat-drones sweeps through the sky above where Gwen came in at, while another makes a wide angle banking turn to come in behind Nightwing, remaining up high in the darkened sky to observe the situation, as he began his infiltration.

"I can see someone with an assault rifle. It looks like Russia's finest, but I'm not quite sure, he's hiding it behind his hip, Nightwing be careful."

Batgirl had changed her position on the rooftop, and with it, the eyelets over her eyes were down, giving her enhanced vision to zoom in closer from another vantage point. "Ghost Spider, I think your guard may have seen you coming in. He looks to be on alert." Babs said, her unfiltered voice carrying softly over the shared comm network, as her eyes glanced down at her forearm computer again to observe the video feed coming to her from her drone surveilence cameras.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Not only does she have Spider-Sense flaring, but she has Batgirl in her ear giving her an eye-in-the-sky picture of what's going on before she even has to see it all for herself?

Poor guy. Gwen almost feels bad. Almost.

After slipping by overhead as little more than a silhouette, she's web-zipped her way to the side of the utility shed, clinging to the wall just above the light that's blinding his night vision. He's squinting up at her, the bat in his hand tightening, but he hasn't quite put it together yet. She could let him, see how long it takes. But that's not really sporting, is it?

Instead, she drops.

Not straight down -- that'd be predictable -- but at an angle, flipping midair so when she lands, she's already moving. One foot sweeps the bat out of his grip before he can even lift it. The other snaps up in a sharp, controlled kick that catches him under the chin, cutting off whatever expletive was about to leave his mouth.

"Pro tip?" she quips as he crumples backward. "If you're gonna sit under a giant floodlight, maybe don't _stare directly at it_."

He's out before he fully hits the ground. She crouches beside him, fingers already pulling a web-line free. Not her cleanest takedown, but not her worst. In seconds, he's hoisted up under the eaves, cocooned just enough to keep him out of sight. It's not perfect stealth, but hey -- what's a little nightmare fuel between criminals?

"We have a girl in the chair?! This is _great_."

The question is out before Gwen can even stop herself, and she's cringing mid-air.

"Sorry... God... not that kind of... ugh... I feel _so_ bad..."

Apparently, she just could not stop herself making wheelchair jokes to Barbara, and now she was over-compensating.

With him secured, she taps her wrist display, the soft blue glow barely noticeable in the dark.

"East entrance is clear. I'm heading down. Hope the signal holds."

She opens the shed door -- letting the drone in first if it wants to go -- and steps over to the hatch, giving the rusted ladder a very untrusting look before gripping it anyway. If it snaps, she's got webs. If it doesn't, great. Either way, she's done waiting.

She hops onto the first rung and descends into the tunnels, vanishing into the dark.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Oh guns.

Criminals always feel so big with a gun in their hand, if that somehow makes them invincible. While he doesn't have the near pathological hatred of firearms that Bruce has, he has seen far too much pointless gun violence on the streets of Gotham City in his two plus decades as a vigilante.

He also happens to have a brain. While guns - particularly the pray and spray variety of automatic weapons like one of his sentries boasts - can certainly make things more dangerous, they are not any sort of guarantee.

As Nightwing is about to demonstrate to the pair.

He lands lightly, almost immediately dropping into a crouch, cutting down on his profile considerably as he flits forward, making hardly a whisper of a sound as he pads forward towards that tunnel entrance. He is surely aware of that drone keeping tabs on his every movement, on his surroundings, but he pays it no mind.

Let Batgirl do her thing and he'll do his own. He has long since learned that is the best approach to these situations.

He creeps up on the man with the Russian-made AK assault rifle, seeming to slink forward just like another shadow. At least until he grabs hold of that weapon and jerks it both up and back, pulling it and the strap hard against the man's throat to cut off any sort of cry of warning, to take the weapon out of play. Then he uses the stock of that weapon to start to choke his target out.

It's a good plan, but the first sentry still manages to make a sort of gurgling sound as he flails, as he tries to break that hold. A pointless gesture given how Nightwing has it locked in, how he has his arms restrained and has turned his body just so to prevent any of the feeble kicks from landing any sort of threatening strike.

But that sound does alert the other man who whirls, staring in shocked surprise at what's going on so close by. He starts to bring up that sidearm, starts to draw a bead on the darkly-clad vigilante. Or tries to. His gun waves uncertainly, his friend consistently in the line of fire as NIghtwing glances around the man he holds, casting a grin towards the other sentry.

As his first target starts to slump, Dick pushes him forward, his unconscious form falling towards his friend, sprawling heavily into him and for a moment that gunhand is otherwise occupied.

Which is when he strikes.

In a flash one of those escrima sticks is off the magnetic strip holder along the back of his costume and in his hand, plunging straight towards the last standing target. And as his strike lands? Fifty thousand volts rip through it, that taser burst making him jerk, making him spasm and ultimately leaving both of the sentries to collapse in a heap at Nightwing's feet.

"West entrance clear. Heading on in too," he reports, the starlite lense inserts in his mask cutting through the dark gloom of the passage ahead.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
On the western side of Astoria Park a brawl breaks out, even though it's over quickly. One man choked out by the partially folded stock of his own rifle. The thug with the pistol seems to shake and tremble as something emerges from the darkness and subdues his brother-from-another-mother. "What the h-hell are you?" he demands instinctively. New York wasn't quite accustomed to the sort of intrinsic dread that Gotham City's vigilantes could instill. He tries to get a round off, but it sails wide and into the otherwise innocuous mound of earth with a door set into it that constitutes the subterranean tunnel access point. The strike from a escrima stick sends voltage coursing through the young man. He goes ridged as a result of the voltage and the squeeze of the trigger is maintained as a result of it. Thankfully it's a semi-automatic pistol that he has in hand and holding the trigger down means that it doesn't start spewing rounds at Nightwing or the general area.

On the east side a different form of terror is enacted when the Ghost-Spider cocoons her quarry and leaves it dangling from the eaves of the utility shed. Soon enough she's slipping into the shed after permitting the drone to lead the way with a quiet hum of its little engines keeping it aloft and under the guiding hand of Batgirl herself.

The tunnels below are humid and warm at least, which proves a welcome respite from the growing cold of New York City winter night. Below ground any sounds made seem to echo throughout the complex network of interconnected tunnels and side chambers. Old piping runs here and there along the ceilings and walls, while the scent of mildew hangs in the area at times. Steam can be found hissing from some of the pipes, warming the tunnels further. The shuffle of foot can be heard at times as someone in a side room can be heard moving.

The drones may find rather tight quarters to maneuver, but with careful control they can wander here and there well enough. The quiet whine of their propulsion carries as well and it's that sound that sends a head or two poking into one of the tunnels and furrowed brows casting confused, curious expressions here and there.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
The Oracle Bat-drones do attempt to get in to the tunnels first, though only Ghost Spider's manages to accomplish this. Nightwing is far too insistent that he goes in ahead of the drone, while the kind hearted Ghost Spider allows the robotic flyer to put itself in immediate harms way upon entering ahead of her.

Either way, both drones glide inside, their motors whirring softly as they float up as high as they are able, both of them utilizing infrared optics to send navigational data, and live video straight to Batgirl's eyes. The neural implant inside of Barbara's mind allows her further connectivity to her technology too, allowing her to manually fly the drones with just the information provided by the visual feed.

"Dank place we've found here.." She quietly commented in to both of her teammate's ears, keeping her voice low as she piloted both drones at the same time, from the safety of the adjacent property roof outside of the park itself.

She was the Tech Knight on the team for a reason.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Ghost-Spider moves like she belongs here, like the tunnels were designed with her in mind. She clings to the ceiling, moving in fluid silence, her grip secure against the corroded piping and damp stone.

Below and in front of her, the drone hums softly as it navigates the tight spaces, its mechanical presence unsettling the men holed up in the tunnels. She stays behind, letting it draw attention. And, sure enough, heads start poking out of side rooms, squinting into the dim light, looking down the tunnels for movement.

They never think to look up.

*Thwip*

A line of webbing snaps out, sealing the mouth of the first guy before he can even form a proper question. He stumbles backward, hands flying up, fingers clawing at the unexpected gag.

*Thwip*

The gun in his grip is next, yanked from his hand and stuck to the nearest wall.

She tilts her head, considering. Yeah, why not?

*Thwip*

The last shot hits his ankles, and with a sharp tug, he's yanked off his feet. He thrashes for a second before another line secures him upside-down, swinging slightly like a human chandelier.

Then she's moving again, trusting in her Spider-Sense and the tech on the drone. A noise here. A shadow shifting there.

"I thought you guys were super into dark, damp places," Ghost-Spider murmurs, voice playful as she perches upside-down for a moment, one knee bent, her other foot still secured to the ceiling. "Although... the only cave I've been in wasn't all that damp. Or dark, once the lights kicked on."

She pulls up her map, the faint glow casting shadows across her white suit.

Dick Grayson has posed:
By default, Nightwing doesn't go in for the same sort of fear tactics as Bruce. He is more happy focusing on speed and acrobatics to deal with the rank and file thugs he comes across instead of working to inspire them to piss their pants.

Really, tonight here in New York is no different. That the quick, ruthless style that both Batman and Gotham itself has drilled into him proves intimidating all on it's own, Nightwing still focuses on speed and stealth, especially as that last sentry gets off that solitary shot. It's possible that it was missed, down here in the tunnels. Possible.

But Nightwing's no counting on it.

Instead he flits quickly through the passageway, relying on the lense inserts in his mask to brighten the darker corners of the passage. He moves without hesitation, trusting that Batgirl's drone can keep up, that he will get any warning that she feels necessary but he doesn't wait for it to take the lead.

The abundance of warmth is almost welcome after the cool night, though that won't last. It's likely to get uncomfortable after awhile and that lingering scent of mildew and mold tickles his senses, making his expression screw up fractionally as he moves through the passage, seeking out their ultimate objective.

He might not be quite as brutal as Gotham's Dark Knight, but he doesn't play any games either - not tonight - and when the faint hum of that drone starts attracting attention, he doesn't hesitate to take out anyone who pokes their head out into the passageway in particularly ruthless fashion.

Sometimes it is another electric burst from the tazer tip on his escrima stick, sometimes it is just an old fashioned clubbing blow across the back of the head to put them down quick and hard.

What he doesn't do is linger though, continually moving onward, only ever pausing to sweep the little chambers that he passes with a quick glance, seeing if more threats will present themselves.

Otherwise he leaves the more intensive survey to his drone companion and its operator who remains outside the tunnels proper.

"So far so good," he reports quietly. "And I like my caves and underground passages civilized. Full of lights, trophies and vehicles."

Not to mention he's a bird, damnit, not a bat.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
The Bird and Spider make their way through the tunnels with a pair of Batgirl's drones following or, at times, leading the way. Their progression through the tunnels results in five more of the AP-7 being subdued, but the tunnels go deeper and deeper still. Twice, in two separate occasions, one of the thugs gets a shot off. Their attempt to bring an end to the assault on their hideout may fail, but it does alert the rest of the underground complex. Each time a shot cracks off and the snap of the explosion that heralds it echoes throughout the tunnels, a shrill scream can be heard from deeper still.

A few times Batgirl's able to key into the comms shared by her companions to share information relating to an ambushing away them around a corner or some fool attempting to hide in the shadows of some wall-mounted piping with a knife or other weapon.

Onward the pair continue, forging a path deeper beneath Astoria Park on silent feet - or in the case of Ghost-Spider, on silent hands too - until a junction in the tunnels is found. The intersection of two two tunnels merges into a third that seems to slope deeper and downward toward the old cistern below.

The issue at hand is that to venture deeper and into the old cistern means taking a solitary tunnel deeper; which means one way in and one way out. It's a prime location for an ambush and if there's any lighting to be found along the curving tunnel, it's going to prove a potentially deadly path for a couple heroes reliant on darkness and stealth to enter without someone spying their approach. The sound of a magazine being hurriedly nervously fumbled into a well may be an indicator of just how much readiness may be expected below.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Those who know Batgirl well, know that she has a wide variety of drones at her disposal. Some of them were armed to the teeth too, while others were purely stealth and agility. The ones in use tonight? They were geared toward surveilence, though were still armed with a small package of anti-asshole offensive abilities, but in the moments leading up to this intersection, Batgirl was simply navigating the drones ahead, darting them around corners, and absolutely trying to take attention off of the incoming Nightwing, and Ghost spider, to put eyes upon the drones instead. It was a way to draw heat off of her companions, and give them an advantage over the enemies laying in wait, the tricky brigands that they were.

But when the intersection came in to play, and the enemy numbers seemed to spike, that is when both drones suddenly flipped on bright LED lights, shining them around in a frantic bid to confuse the enemies.

One of the drones extended a launcher device, that popped out a powerful burst of a trio of stun darts. Electrical rounds that zipped through the air with sizzling effects, meant to drop their targets, if not outright disable them.

"Be careful, I feel like this has all the hallmarks of a trap." Oracle quietly said over the network, as the drone with Gwen rolled out a smoke launcher, and prepared to fire, should Gwen need the additional element of cover. "Let me know if you need smoke screens!" Babs called out over the subterrainian chaos.

Dick Grayson has posed:
The 'one route in, one route out' situation isn't ideal, but it is hardly daunting to the pair of them, especially since they each of have their own unique speciality.

The fact that Ghost-Spider can move along the roof or the walls as easily as anyone else could walk means that she can easily approach from an unexpected angle.

Of course, if those down below are truly alert - or just crazy fearful as seems to be the case by now - they might just open fire at anything that moves. And while Dick might be moderately interested in just how well her 'Spider-sense' lets her anticipate bullets, he's not so curious that he's about to let her get shot at unnecessarily.

But that's where Nightwing comes in. He might be a bird and not a bat, but he still has access to all of their fabulous toys in addition to a few of his own, custom homemade ones. As he meets up with Ghost-Spider, a grin slides over his face. "Fancy meeting you here," he says lightly. "If I knew date night was going to be so workout intensive, I might have done some carb loading," he says lightly, glancing down that sloping passage.

"Well, this is clearly a trap," he says, echoing Oracle's comments just moments later.

But it would seem that he has a plan. And that plan plays into their strengths. Ghost Spider can react without seeing. And the starlite lenses in his mask can cut through the dark and through fog just as nicely as you please.

So Nightwing tugs out a few items from his belt, holding them up towards his companion in this venture. "Give this five seconds and then you can start down. It's going to make a loud noise and a bright flash so don't be taken offguard," he cautions.

And with that, Nightwing begins to launch his own assault on that sloping passage, a pair of flashbangs hurled down ahead of themm clattering as they roll into the cistern at the bottom. They're followed by two more spherical devices and just after the flashbangs explode with that brilliant burst of light and sound, the two concussion grenades go off with an explosion of outward force.

Now whistling, Nightwing still grins as he palms a handful of gelatin capsules, hurling them down as well. As they impact on the cistern floor below, billowing clouds of smoke begin to gush out to fill the room, to leave the men laying in wait blind and confused.

"Lets go clean up the trash. Then maybe you can show me a few of your favorite spots in the city."

And with that, Nightwing finally darts down that path, again crouched low, weaving from side to side, on the off chance that one of them is aware enough to spot him. He plunges into the mist without hesitation, the remaining thugs outlined for him, the room lit up in a green glow, the body heat of his foes clearly marking them as he begins that graceful but oh so effective dance amongst them, those escrima sticks whirling in his hands like extensions of the limbs themselves.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Is date night ever _not_ workout intensive?"

The words are out before she really seems to realize what she might have been implying. And then her pink-rimmed eyelets narrow in a way that almost seems to make her mask blush.

Well, this is clearly a trap.

"Next move? Spring the trap," Ghost-Spider does her best Obi-Wan, eyelets smiling as she nods at Nightwing's plan.

There's no hesitation. No doubt. No questioning for more information.

She trusts him -- absolutely.

And the moment the flashbangs go off, Ghost-Spider moves.

The shockwave of sound rattles through the tunnels, bouncing off the curved walls like a thunderclap. Bright, searing light bursts outward, washing the underground chamber in stark, unnatural brilliance before plunging it back into semi-darkness. Then the concussive force hits, and the whole place shudders with the impact. Pipes rattle. Dust rains from the ceiling.

It's chaos. Perfect.

She launches herself from the ceiling, flipping down into the haze just as Nightwing's smoke capsules detonate. The mist swallows the cistern whole, turning everything into shifting shadows and distorted outlines.

Ghost-Spider doesn't need to see.

The first thug fires wildly in panic, filling the tight space with the LOUD sound of automatic gunfire.

*BRAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT*

Her Spider-Sense flares before the muzzle flash even registers, and she twists mid-air, narrowly avoiding a bullet that cracks against a stone pillar behind her. She lands low, a single palm pressed to the ground, legs tensed. Before the shooter can adjust, she fires a web straight at his gun, yanking it from his grip and sending it skidding across the slick floor.

"Yeah, let's not," she says, vaulting forward.

She plants a foot on his chest and launches off, flipping backward onto a rusted overhead pipe just as another burst of gunfire sprays through the fog. It's panicked. Blind. She grins.

A figure looms in the smoke -- one of the smarter ones, holding position, waiting for a clean shot. She drops behind him like a wraith, wrapping her legs around his shoulders and twisting. He barely has time to react before he's flipped head over heels, slamming into the ground with enough force to rattle his teeth.

Nightwing is a blur of movement beside her, those escrima sticks cracking out sharp, precise strikes that send another thug sprawling.

She rolls with the momentum, flipping off one of the pillars and into the path of the last man standing. His silhouette wavers, trying to track her through the mist.

"Hey."

He barely has time to blink before she sweeps his legs out from under him. As he goes down, she grabs a web and slingshots him across the room, straight into Nightwing's waiting fist.

And just like that, it's over.

The smoke starts to thin, revealing the scattered, unconscious forms of AP-7 thugs now decorating the floor. Ghost-Spider straightens, stretching out her arms like she just wrapped up an easy set at the gym.

"Alright," she exhales, pivoting toward Nightwing as he surveys the aftermath. "That was fun. What's next? Rooftop dinner? A walk through Central Park?"

Before he can answer, she leaps -- effortless, weightless -- and lands squarely on his back, arms draped loosely around his shoulders, legs hooked around his waist. She leans in, her breath warm against his ear.

"Has anyone ever told you how cute your butt is when you're dodging machine gun fire?"

Then she hears the quiet static over comms.

Oh.

Oh no.

The realization crashes in, and her whole body tenses.

"...Please tell me the comms are off."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
As though a moment from a summer action blockbuster, the tunnels begin to fill with strobing LEDs and smoke. Somewhere a speaker begins to play some hard-hitting techno fight mix, maybe. Somewhere else a half-breed vampire's hunting down a nest of bloodsuckers to the exact same track, probably. If not, then he's probably missing out.

The smoke offers concealment to both Ghost-Spider and Nightwing as they swing or burst into dynamic action. The sound of gunfire is sometimes punctuated by shrill, feminine screams. Under the circumstances of heavy smoke that accompanies loud concussive blasts and brilliant flashes of light, it's never a good idea to have your finger remotely close to a trigger. Someone didn't tell at least one of the AP-7 that valuable lesson. Nor do they seem keen to follow the first rule of firearm safety: 'always point your muzzle in a safe direction' or, as a particular eloquent firearms instructor somewhere once said, 'never point your weapon at something you don't want fucking destroyed'.

Three rounds fire off and at least one of them results in a shout of pain, along with a panicked, "You fuckin' shot me!"

In the expansive underground chamber that is the old cistern the sound of gunfire and the blunt force trauma induced by escrima sticks and sheer arachnid strength creates a violent symphony for the enclosed space.

Hot mics aside, the call for help is clear. From the northern section deeper in the cistern the voice of a female can be heard. High, frightened, and at the same time hopeful and eager, "Help! Please, help!" Another voice joins in a moment later. Soon a third joins, all crying out for help.

With care the drone provides first recon of the area and what it discovers is startling, but unlikely to be of any true shock to experienced crimefighters who have had encounters with the darker, seedier elements of civilization. Three young woman in their late teens or early twenties contained with what amounts to makeshift cages with blankets. The arrival of Nightwing and Ghost-Spider sees the three terrified women freed and they're quick to offering their sobbing gratitude. On the way out of the tunnels they explain their presence in the tunnels and the cages, "I was out partying one night, someone grabbed me, and that's all I remember. I woke up here. I heard one of them say something about a customer in Gotham City..."

Information pulled from some of the thug's mobile devices seems to indicate a second operation within Astoria itself that takes cargo - no doubt human cargo - along the Belt Parkway and onward into Staten Island, before making way sound to Gotham City overland. It seems that AP-7 has stepped up from a catalogue of pettier crimes into the greater world of criminal activity through human trafficking and possibly even murder.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
When Batgirl's drones picked up the sight of the women in cages, their conditions far below what even an animal should be kept, it made her heart sink. For a moment, she was reminded about why she started the Birds of Prey in the early days of the past decade of this dark work. She felt a renewed anger for the men that they had taken down in this endeavor here tonight, and a personal rage against the dark machine that created this filthy exploit.

By the time the women were outside, Batgirl was there to speak to them. The authorities were on their way, but Babs had a desire to speak on a close-to-personal level with the young women. She did not use a voice modulator, though she did keep her mask on. "Every bit of information will help..." She had told them, as she tried to ease them in to recalling bits and pieces of this ordeal, to paint a picture for the Bats to build off of.

When their home town came up, Babs had spared a glance toward Nightwing, and with a soft nod of her head, she looked back to the women. "We're going to make sure all of this is dismantled, and nothing will come back on you for it. I promise.." She quietly said, with the intention to keep tabs on the women, and make sure their lives go as easy as possible for quite some time.

It was part of the reason she earned the money she did through her various methods, one of which was to help the young women of Gotham, who suffered from the crimes of the pure evil.