211/Journalistic Imperilment

Journalistic Imperilment
Date of Scene:	01 March 2020
Location:	An only moderately spooky looking warehouse in the shipping district of New York.
Synopsis:	Lois investigates Poseidon Shipping, and finds more than she bargained for.
Cast of Characters:	Natasha Cranston, Lois Lane

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Natasha Cranston has posed:
    One thing that divides the world of journalism between Pulitzer Prize winners and would-bes and also-rans is the ability to not just pay attention to what's going on, but to read the implications between the lines. Case in point: The new CEO of Cranston Multinational divests three subsidiaries before she's even had time to let her seat warm up, and Dave only manages to squeeze a three-paragraph column about how the markets responded to the move out of it. Of course, that's why he's never gotten past the third page, or off the financial beat.

    Meanwhile, that same revelation has Lois committing not-quite-but-technically illegal entry into the main shipping warehouse of Poseidon Exports, one of said subsidiaries whose name was significantly more ambitious than its accomplishments...

Lois Lane has posed:
When you've got a bad asset, it makes sense to get rid of it. But when you've got a body to hide, it also makes sense to get rid of that on a timely basis. The question is... was Cranston Multinational simply liquidating useless assets to invest the extra capital elsewhere, or was there a reason to ditch the companies--maybe there were things not being said to the public. Maybe not literal bodies, but there could be /something/. It didn't hurt to check. If things were on the up-and-up, great. If not, she'd make sure the public knew the kind of dealings that were going on.

By now, Lois has done this enough to know that when you're sneaking around it's best to wear a comfortable, unassuming outfit. Something that's easy to move in, but also something to keep from sticking out. If you're caught, you want to blend in as much as possible, give yourself many outs. Dressed in a pair of sneakers, jeans, and a comfortable grey shirt under a brown jacket, she looks just like that.

She causually tests a nearby door, finding that it hadn't been locked yet and slips inside, looking for anything that might give her clues. An open shipping crate, some paperwork with inventory... she pushes aside the idle thought that there are some people who would /seriously/ disapprove of her method here, but she's got to check things out. Besides, if she's caught, she's already hatched up several stories for her presense.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    ... Well, now. Of course, Lois isn't a business manager herself but she's been in and out of places like this often enough to have a sense for how they're supposed to work - and how they /aren't/ supposed to work. And right now, there are entirely too many people moving around with a sense of urgency outside of normal office hours.

    On the plus side, so many busy people moving around means one more person looking busy will be harder to notice. On the minus side, it means that she's all the more likely to be spotted quickly if she does something too obviously out of character...

Lois Lane has posed:
Tricky. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Lois takes a careful note of the amount of people and, in general, their appearance. Well, so much for being one of the grunts, but she might be able to come up with a clever enough costume. She edges her way over to what she can only assume is the office, and opens the door as if that's exactly where she's supposed to be.

That is, of course, for the benefit of the potential person who might be behind the door. She's got her bluff skills all the ready.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Fortune would appear to favour the bold, at least for now. There doesn't appear to be anyone in the office at the moment, but there are a few clipboards and pens scattered around - whatever's currently going on is apparently urgent enough that not everyone is as careful cleaning up as they should be.

Lois Lane has posed:
Grabbing one of the clipboards and a pen immediately upon entering, Lois takes a quick peek around. Her first scan is for paperwork--anything that looks official or like a list. Regardless of her findings, she also grabs for any paper she can and neatly clips it onto the clip board, doing her best to make it look official. Taking a hair tie out of her pocket, she puts her hair up in a messy bun, fussing with it for a second before grabbing the clipboard again.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Ledgers, memos, schedules... Some of these look promising, but it's probably not a good idea to get too obviously engrossed in reading them closely right now.

    Professional bun, professional outfit, clipboard... Obvious professional overseeing person who is definitely supposed to be here.

Lois Lane has posed:
Grabbing a couple of papers that might be of use, Lois shoves them into the inner pocket of her jacket on the offchance she loses the clipboard. Stepping out of the office, she shuts the door behind her and makes her way in the general direction of where she saw the most action.

When she does walk, she walks confidently, and when she stops she looks down at her clipboard and flips the pages back and forth as if reading the information there. It's a careful dance, moving between decent hiding place to decent hiding place in the hopes that a glance in her direction won't cause suspicion. She makes her way towards what seems to be a good spot to have a view of what's going on, but what might be mostly concealed.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    It's really amazing how well even a simple disguise can work. With the clipboard, people seem to now be actively trying to /avoid/ drawing her attention -- which, come to think of it, is another possible warning sign right there...

    There is a certain... Uniformity to the ledger entries. A certain sameness to the patterns that suggests, to her trained and suspicious mind, that they were concocted out of whole cloth in order to cover something up rather than actual records of imports and exports. Another document has entirely too many vague references saying nothing more than "Cargo received" without stating what kind of cargo, how much of it, where it came from... And who came to pick it up later...

Lois Lane has posed:
Her reporter senses tingling, Lois is convinced that there is something untoward going on in this warehouse. The paperwork doesn't seem to help much other than confirm the suspicions, but she's got no real evidence of what's going on. Her gaze shifts about the cargo, looking for an open box or, failing that, a crate that seems far enough away that she can slip over and open it.

There's no story if it's just 'suspicious documents found'. She can't just leave now, she can practically taste the evidence.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    It's that kind of dedication to finding the story that has made Lois the famous reporter that she is. Of course, there is one major downside to being a famous reporter, and it can be very adequately summed up by the way one worker that looks just a shade smarter than the average around here giving her a long look and then saying "... Wait a minute, I seen you before... You're that Lois Lane broad!"

Lois Lane has posed:
Shit. This is the second time in the last few weeks she's been ID'd on sight. Lois briefly wonders if she needs to start wearing a blonde wig. It's fight or flight at this point, and she chooses the verbal fight. Resting the clipboard on her hip, she scowls at him as she presents her bluff.

"Yeah, right, I wish. You think if I was her I'd be working in this shithole?"

After all, what's more universal than a lousy job?

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Unfortunately, he appears to have been loud enough that other people have stopped to look at her - and there are more glares, now. "Nah, I think he's right," says a voice behind her, a meaty hand reaching over her shoulder to grab the clipboard from her hands. "What's she got here, huh?"

Lois Lane has posed:
Verbal fighting done, now all she's got left is flight. There's no way she can bluff her way out of this now. As the man grabs the clipboard, Lois uses the attention he's paying to it as the distraction she needs to duck under his arm and attempt to move behind him to dart for the nearest stack of boxes or equipment. Part of her is /really/ worried. There's a lot of them in this warehouse and she's not sure where to find the nearest exit. She's willing to lose the story on this if she can get out.

She's got a trump card, but it's certainly a risk to him as well. She'll only play it if she has to.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    There's a certain way this sort of thing invariably goes, and Lois, a veteran of many close journalistic calls, is intimately familiar with it, so the cry of "Get her!" comes as absolutely no surprise... And, less happily, neither does the equally familiar sound of a safety coming off and the words "Stop running and put your hands in the air!" from entirely too close by to bet on a miss...

Lois Lane has posed:
The only thing she's got left to do is to type a hurried text message. All it is is an address. Unfortunately for Lois, warehouses don't always have great cell reception, the phone hanging on 'sending' perpetually as she slips it into her pocket again. Hopefully, it's not enough to get her shot. She puts her hands up, carefully creeping out.

"Okay, no need to get jumpy. Coming out now. You certainly don't want to shoot /me/. You want that kind of attention on this place?"

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    "You /are/ trespassing, and if matters were pressed you might be amazed at the number of people who will attest that they were /sure/ they saw you draw what looked very much like a weapon, leaving me no choice. A tragic misunderstanding, but an... Understandable one, wouldn't you agree?"

    The gun's owner comes into sight, looking /entirely/ too pleased with his own clever reasoning for anyone's comfort. His suit is about two grades better than the ones worn by the people who are currently taking her arms and tying them together behind her back. "But I think before we do anything hasty we're going to have a word about what you think you were doing here..."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Right, like they're going to believe that," Lois rolls her eyes. "Besides, I estimate you've probably got... two hours, tops, before someone starts looking for me. That's the thing with reporting... you check in. So if I'm not alive in two hours to check in... well, I guess you'll have to work pretty hard to get all of this stuff out of here. I imagine that would cost a lot, wouldn't it?"

There's a pause. "You'd also have to explain why you were carrying a gun at work. Got a proper permit on that thing? Faking something like this is trouble you certainly don't need." Her hands are still up. She's cooperating nicely.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The man looks at her with some uncertainty, and for a moment it looks like he's buying it, but then he smiles again. It's still not a nice smile. "A clever bluff, miss Lane, but I've read your work. You wouldn't tell anyone where you were going if there was a risk that one of your colleagues might scoop you."

    Meanwhile, the man who grabbed her clipboard looks up from leafing through it. "Looks like she got into the fake ledgers, boss," he offers, eliciting a pained wince from 'the boss'. "Quite, and I'm sure she thanks you for confirming her suspicions."

    He glares briefly at the suddenly very penitent flunky, then turns back to Lois. "Of course, now that we've confirmed you know too much, you very much have a problem..."

Lois Lane has posed:
"That a risk you're willing to take?" Lois at least has a good poker face. "That's a lot of money you're willing to gamble with." She gestures a bit with her head towards the boxes. Her hands stay where they are. Don't want them to get jumpy. "But you seem like reasonable people. You want to get the job done right."

She offers a smile, trying to look like she's still in control of the situation. "You want to get out of here with your goods, I don't want to get shot. So here's the plan. You lock me in that office of yours, get your goods out. Because someone's going to show up. But you get out? You don't leave evidence. As it stands you need to clean up your mess, not make more of it."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The 'Boss' considers this, fairly obviously weighing the possible consequences of shooting a nosy reporter and the trouble of disposing of a corpse against the possible consequences of said reporter describing them to the police later on. The internal debate goes on for quite a bit longer than Lois probably finds comfortable, but ultimately he nods. "We have your word that you'll tell the police everything happened too fast for you to get a good look at anyone's face?" he asks, flicking the safety back on and holstering his gun.

Lois Lane has posed:
There's a bit of relief that Lois hopes doesn't show on her face. "I mean, if I'm not going to get shot, certainly. If those are my choices, obviously I'm going to choose the option that doesn't get me killed." She doesn't trust that he's being honest, but she doesn't really have a choice at this point. She's just going to stay as aware as possible.

"I'd hurry if I were you though. You know, to be safe."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    A nod, and some pointed fingers. "You, you. Take her to the corner office, tie her to a chair, lock the door. Everyone else, back to cleaning this place up. Move it, the floor show's over."

    People move to obey, and if she has to be fair to her captors they're surprisingly polite about manhandling her. She's certainly had worse, and at least in this case the chair is relatively comfortable and the office is heated.

    ... Of course, just about then is when the ceiling lights flicker and go out, bathing the office -- and judging by the shouts of surprise and alarm outside the door, the rest of the warehouse -- in darkness...

Lois Lane has posed:
It's a tolerable situation. Not getting shot is the positive of this situation, so she'll take getting tied to a chair over getting shot any day. Lois is willing to wait it out, when the lights go out. Now she's very glad to be in the office. There's at least one gun that she's seen out there and guns plus darkness equal no good. At least it's less likely she'll get shot in /here/.

Of course, it's never a power failure. It's never /just/ a power failure. There's something coming. She's hoping it's someone ready to swoop in and stop whatever shipping fraud is going on. She's hoping it's not out of a frying pan and into a fire, because it certainly might be.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Any hope that it might be just a power failure dies quickly when she first hears the laughter. Loud, unnerving, almost /inhuman/ laughter, echoing through the hallways outside. Of course, to anyone who's ever been to Gotham there is a very strong and highly negative association to that concept, but after a moment more she realizes that it's different. This isn't the near-hysterical gleeful cackle of a mad clown; it's almost /sane/ - and she's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

    She can't quite make out what it's saying, however, but the first gunshots -- multiple shooters, poor trigger discipline, and what does it say about her life that she can reliably tell the difference -- ring out shortly after...

Lois Lane has posed:
Frying pan? Fire? Lois isn't entirely sure what's going on. The laughter, the fact it doesn't sound like the cackling of someone who's completely deranged is the scary part. And gunfire? In the dark? Exactly what she was worried about. She's not sure who, exactly, is winning in all this, but someone either finds this situation funny, or is having fun and she's not sure she likes this.

Instead of sitting there and waiting for whatever is going on out there, she's working to wriggle out of the ropes as best as possible. The darkness doesn't matter too much, since she has to do it solely by feel anyway, but the darkness still gives her the sense that she has to hurry.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The people who tied her up were clearly experienced at it -- another data point her mind idly registers -- but she has been tied up by experts before, and these weren't experts. For one, they weren't paying attention to how tense she was holding herself when they tied her up, and if she exhales and relaxes enough there's just enough leeway to slip one arm free if she doesn't mind being sore all day tomorrow.

    A stray shot shatters the office door window and reminds her that flat on the ground might be a much safer position than tied to a chair right now, although the total amount of gunfire seems to have decreased -- and even as she considers that, there's the almost equally familiar sound of a fist hitting flesh and a body hitting the ground shortly after.

Lois Lane has posed:
"Crap," Lois mutters. Deciding to risk the pain, she contorts a bit and wriggles her arm out to get free. Her next instinct is indeed, to get to the ground, especially when she hears someone go down. There might not be more gunfire, but if she can wedge her way into a corner, perhaps the figure won't manage to see her. She clutches her sore arm a little as she crawls into what she thinks is a safe spot, then just listens and waits.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Time always seems to take longer when you're crouched in a corner somewhere waiting for the shooting to stop... But in reality it's only a few more minutes until silence falls.

    Silence... And the sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor outside, stopping by the door. There's a brief rattle as the handle is tried and the door found to be locked, then a pause, and then a well-placed kick from a heavy boot shatters the lock and knocks the door open.

Lois Lane has posed:
There's no telling who it is, friend or foe. In the darkness and the silence, it's impossible to tell. Given the circumstances, given the fact that there may, in fact, be at least one dead body out there, Lois remains absolutely still and silent. Perhaps whoever it was didn't know she was there and was merely looting the office. Could they see in the dark? Was she actually hidden where she was at?

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Heavy footsteps. Rubber soles, heavy boots. A rustle of cloth against cloth. Whoever it is comes to a halt in the middle of the room, well away from where she's hiding.

    "You might as well come out now; I promise that I am nothing /you/ need to fear..." comes a voice that barely sounds human at all.

Lois Lane has posed:
Is that a voice she can trust? It's not exactly comforting, but it's at least saying things she'd like to hear at the moment. Lois considers her options, then slowly starts to emerge from her hiding spot. "I'm... assuming thanks are in order? Who /are/ you?"

Natasha Cranston has posed:
It's not /total/ darkness, and by now her eyes have somewhat adjusted, although not quite enough that she'd trust them to navigate by. Even so, there's not terribly much to see - the vague impression of a tall figure, their body mostly concealed under a cloak of some sort, a splotch of what's probably dark red just beneath a pair of blue eyes that seem to almost be glowing, and all of a sudden she's not quite sure whether that question shouldn't have been '/What/ are you?'.

    "... Miss Lane. You /are/ unexpected," the figure replies, nodding their head briefly. "I take it you came here in search of a story -- and, judging by the locked door, found more of one than you bargained for."

    The figure reaches out to extend a hand - gloved, but otherwise empty. "I'm sure you'd prefer a more congenial place to talk than here."

Lois Lane has posed:
"I'm often unexpected," Lois agrees. That much is true--she certainly surprised the guys in the warehouse. "Uh, but yeah, I felt something was off so I thought I'd check it out. I wasn't really expecting so many." It certainly was a surprise. "But you're right. I certainly would prefer somewhere else right now." Especially since she doesn't want to be around here any longer than she has to. She reaches out to take the gloved hand, even if she's entirely uncertain as to this... person's intentions.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Quality leather, and the kind of firm grip that suggests a lot of strength under careful control. "Yes, that was sloppy of them. I suspect they felt their hand was forced and they had to bury their evidence before anyone came looking," the figure comments as Lois is guided out of the room and down the corridor, only briefly impeded by one or two unconscious bodies.

    Starlight filtering in from the skylights give a bit more detail -- the black slouch hat covering their head, and what she'd assumed was some kind of cape turns out to be an opera cloak over a greatcoat. The scarf turns out to be a deeper shade of crimson than she'd thought, and it covers every part of the face that the hat doesn't -- aside from the eyes, which crinkle in brief amusement. "And to be fair, the fact that we both showed up here tonight means they weren't actually wrong..."

Lois Lane has posed:
Lois is used to that sort of a handhold--controlled strength was not something she was a stranger to. She follows along with the figure, taking in what little bits she could see with the dim light from above. She's remembering details. The reporter's eye is always on the story, even if it's not the one she expects. Some stories, though, stay secret until necessary.

"I'd say that means we're spot on. What clued you in on this? If you're searching out more, there are two other facilities that might have more of... well, this. This is just the first I've investigated."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    A barked laugh. "One of my agents uncovered evidence that the company had ties to the Marcone family," the figure replies, casually naming one of the major organized crime groups, specializing in drug smuggling. "When they were cut loose again they realized that clearly /someone/ Knew, and took steps to destroy as much evidence as they could."

    Another door, and they're standing outside, and the figure turns to regard Lois, those eyes seeming to look straight into her soul and reading every sin she's ever committed or considered committing... And then the moment passes, and a memory stick is pressed into her hand. "This contains a copy of their computer data. I'm sure you'll be able to find some use for it..."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Drugs. I figured it was either that or they were making copies of the Maltese Falcon." The latter part is Lois trying to make a joke. It's her attempt to ease the tension--if not for this figure, then for herself. She continues her way through until they're out, blinking a little as she finally gets more of a chance to study the figure in better lighting. It's creepy.

The stick is taken, and Lois looks at it for a moment. "So are you going to give me a name to call you? I'll keep it off the record."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The figure chuckles. "I am known as the Shadow," they reply, releasing Lois' hand now that there's enough light for her to see by. "My agents have already alerted the police. They should be here in a few more minutes at the most; you have just enough time to decide for yourself whether you want to give them a statement."

    The figure offers a curt bow that somehow seems sincere courtesy rather than mockery. "But I shall be taking my leave. Take good care, miss Lane. The world would be a sadder place for your loss."

    And with that, the Shadow turns and walks off, almost seeming to fade into the background as they go...

Lois Lane has posed:
"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men. The Shadow knows..." Lois quotes, looking slightly amused. "Good choice." But the figure is right. She does have to make a choice to stay or go, and this particular time she opts not to stay. "I do appreciate the thoughtfulness... and I appreciate the assistance as well." She takes a moment to watch the Shadow disappear with a bit of a tired look. She needs to get ho--

She quickly pulls out her phone. Text message still pending. She quickly taps out another one of "Nevermind" and sends. At least this way, they should arrive at the same time and she wouldn't have a worried Clark all the way at the warehouse. Now, she'll head home and try to ignore her sore shoulder.