4203/Revenge of the Paw

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Revenge of the Paw
Date of Scene: 22 November 2020
Location: The Narrows - Miagani Island
Synopsis: The violence in Gotham is dealt with. For now. Will the Bat Clan hunt down Frank Castle? Will the city develop a squirrel proof dumpster? And who will track down the hidden hand behind the Paw of the Beast first? The Bat Family or Shiva?
Cast of Characters: Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Frank Castle, Doreen Green, Stephanie Brown, Sandra Wu-San, Kate Kane




Bruce Wayne has posed:
Just another night in Gotham City.

A cold, rainy unpleasant night, though that seems to just be a given, at least if one is to judge by outsiders alone. The sky above is overcast, the clouds a dark, steely grey that blot out any trace of the night sky. Rain does not come down in sheets but instead is a persistent, cold drizzle that seems to just soak through jackets in particularly unpleasant fashion.

At the best of times the Narrows is not exactly the sort of place one wants to be after dark. It's not really the sort of place one wants to be during the day either, but at least the predators are a little less open about their dealings. At least along most streets. There's always exceptions though.

The LoBoys practically run the south end of the Narrows. One of Gotham's oldest gangs, they have long since turned an old warehouse into a fortified bunker. Eight foot high concrete walls topped with barb wire surrounds a building that looks just as squat, sturdy and impenatrable. A dozen or so motorcycles fill the courtyard outside at all hours, members coming and going. Another typical night.

At least it was. Until about three minutes ago.

The Gotham Underworld is always a shifting, twisted sort of thing. Factions rise and fall, sometimes in a blink of an eye. Sometimes it depends on who happens to currently not be in residence at Arkham. But sometimes outsiders make a play for a slice of the action. Outsiders like the so-called Paw of the Beast that tried to make a splash with their recent attempt to run high-end weapons through Gotham.

That didn't go so well. And one of the reasons are the aforementioned LoBoys. So tonight is about revenge. Tonight is about making a statement.

That statement started about three minutes ago when several explosive projectiles were launched from neighboring rooftops at that concrete barrier. As solid and impressive an obstruction as it appeared, a large section of it is now crumbled rubble. A black, acrid smoke rises up into the night air and the sound of gunshots -- of automatic weapons fire -- has surely sent any semi-respectable resident of the narrows cowering for cover as their street errupts in violence.

The courtyaard of the LoBoys is now filled with a half-dozen bleeding bodies, those pristine motorcycles they were so proud of smashed to bits. That heavy, steel reinforced door now hangs from hinges and two dozen or so grim-faced mercenaries advance towards the building.

Gotham City's own little war.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Monitor the comms, check.

Enjoy the luxury of working in Pajama pants, check.

Send response teams to explosions in the Narrows? What the hell even...

>>All individuals on patrol in and around the Narrows. Reports have come in of massive explosions and automatic weapons fire at the compound of the LoBoys. Coverage in that area is spotty at best, but I have a drone inbound to give aerial intel.<< It's the androgynous voice of The Oracle across all Bat/Bird comms.

The half eaten sandwich is pushed away, Babs sucking her fingers before going to work on the keyboard to assume command of both a pair of her drones as well as any CCTV cameras in the area.. ATMs, traffic cams, whatever she can get her greedy little 'Paws' on (amirite?)...

(no?)

"Alright, I really need to work on getting drones in place before shit hits the entire fan in the Narrows.. Knowing my luck though, some crackhead would accidentally find it."

Frank Castle has posed:
New York is typically a central warzone for the war... but the Punisher is a global presence. Gotham is usually controlled chaos left for the Bat to handle, but when word comes over the underworld contacts Microchip keeps in touch with of a major hit? Operations were shifted, and the Punisher saw the opportunity to deal with matters, as well as grab some heavy weaponry for his collection.

He had already setup a few blocks down in one of the higher buildings, waiting for the attack to start. A little snipers nest ready to be torn down at a moments notice for the Punisher to join the fray close up, if need be.

By the time those RPGs were launched, Punisher had begun to aquire all the rooftop targets... and was already shooting for headshots on those he could see with a silenced, customized M24 downrange.

He's the silent, out of the way wrench in the works, trying to get collateral damage under control.

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green ate at Belly Burger.. she at a LOT at Belly Burger actually. Tippy-Toe, one of her 'head squirrels', was hidden inside of her raincoat so it was easy to sneak her food, "That place really lives up to its' name doesn't it?" She pats her belly, the rain not bothering her as she carries her leftover strawberry milkshake. Tippy-Toe agrees with 'squee' of relief and plops down on Doreen's left shoulder, her own tiny rain coat preventing that meticulously groomed fur from being ruined.

Sadly Doreen's tail doesn't have anything protecting it, "I guess I'll be taking two showers tonight huh?" And that's when the gun fire starts.. like right in front of her, "Huh?!" It was pretty quiet just moments ago! Doreen looks at her phone, checks 'my location', "Uhm.. Tippy-Toe? We've been walking in the wrong direction for the past thirty minutes. We went down Mourn Street earlier.. we were supposed to go down Moore Street! That's the way back to the train!"

Squirrel Girl crouches down and peers ahead, trying not to be noticed, whispering to TT, "But it sounds bad. We can't just let people get hurt! Those bullets could go anywhere! This looks like a job for the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl!" She winces, "Doesn't sound as inspiring in a whisper but.. it will have to do!" She pulls her goggles over her face and starts to slowly move forward.

Stephanie Brown has posed:
The feeds built into Stephanie Brown's Batgirl suit will tell Barbara that the stalwart young crimefighter is on her way. Racing through the streets at speeds that would not be possible but for the Batcycle that has now replaced the personal bike. That one was also from Barbara, come to think of it.

<< Hey if you could tell where things needed to be in advance, we would have to come up with a nickname for you that says you're a fortune teller. >> The grin that can be heard in Batgirl's voice confirms it was an intentional joke for 'Oracle'.

The bike weaves through traffic, driving up the center line as it closes in on The Narrows. Up ahead there's a bright flash as a rocket is launched from a rooftop, hitting off in the distance with a loud, deep WHUMP! << Guess that wasn't their only arms deal. Rockets. >>

Batgirl heads for the building the rocket was launched from. Just about the time she starts braking, she flips on an autopilot and hits the ejection seat. It launches her into the air towards the roof, with a good twenty MPH of forward momentum still. It's all Stephanie can do to not cackle as she clears the roof of the squat building, cape flapping behind her, and lands in the middle behind the rocketeer that is over at the roof's edge. "What, your mom never bought you that model rocket kit when you were a kid and now you're overcompensating?" she asks him, alerting him to her presence as a pair of batarangs are pulled out of her belt.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
A bunker fortified for war.
A costly new rivalry ready to boil.
A stylized business card at a Gotham tea house attached to a generous offer.

What better place for a woman in search of meditative calm to go than a crumbling tenement in one of the worse parts of one of America's worst places?

The statement started about three minutes ago; Shiva's left eye twitched towards a glint in the distance a beat prior as the currents of the world subtly shifted about her towards eerie, pregnant stillness. Slowly, she began to uncurl her legs and stand.

Two minutes ago, the air was alight with fire and death, engine roars and vengeful screams; above it all, Lady Shiva paced along a clothesline while laundry fluttered on the violent winds stirring from below.

One minute ago, a bloody and ballsy LoBoy beat an invader half to death with the twisted, blackened handlebars from his ride; as the LoBoy was - inevitably - cut down by a fresh Digit of the Beast streaming in to replace the fallen merc, Lady Shiva clung to an ~impenetrable wall with one hand while her other index finger carefully grazed along barbed wire.

The courtyard of the LoBoys is filled with half a dozen bleeding bodies; as black smoke begins to thin, Lady Shiva emerges, strolling through the breach.

Strolling towards the mercenary tide.

Strolling towards one mercenary in particular: whichever one happens to lead the charge.

Strolling, until she's close enough to prod aggressive instincts towards aiming a semi-automatic rifle towards the crazy bitch walking through a warzone--

Until she isn't so much 'walking' through it as she's 'MOVING'.

Until her index finger's two knuckles deep in the mercenary's right eye socket.

"'No'," she begins, succinct and toneless. "I'm not interested; you may pass that along to your superior, should you have the chance. More important in this moment, though: where, pray, is your CO tonight?"

With dark eyes locked unerringly upon her target and her free arm hanging loose at her side, she seems entirely unconcerned with the presence of two dozen or so /other/ charging mercenaries within mere feet of her... and maybe that's because she is.

Whether they choose to press their attack or not is hardly /her/ decision, her problem, her concern.

Kate Kane has posed:
    It had only been a minute or so ago, that Kate Kane had been making a pair of sandwiches that are doomed to go half-eaten. Not in the sense that they won't be finished, but more in the sense that only half of the intended recipients would be able to eat them. This has already soured her mood, which only gets further soured by the violence happening across town.

    She has long since abandoned a good night, dropping down onto an overcharged motorcycle while a set of preprogrammed (Thanks Oracle) algorithms take control of traffic lights and give her a clear heading at breakneck speeds to the site of the incident. It helps, of course, that at her speed, Knight-One is hard to see, and before long, she's arriving at a parking garage only a few buildings away from the horrible mess. The echo of her cycle coming up the ramps only halts when it hard stops at the edge of the garage's rooftop, flinging her rather stylishly- not that anyone's watching- into the air between buildings, where her cape unfurls and gives her enough lift to soar over a few deserted rooftops...

    And onto the nearest over-armed thug with a form of airborne vengeance. Over the side, she tosses a handful of small, black spheres. When they hit the ground, the smokescreen they provide will be helpful to those on the street, whom she hopes to join soon.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
One would think that three minutes would be plenty of time to start seeing some sort of police response. But so far there is no sign of police presence yet. Gotham might not be quite the cesspool of corruption it may have been a decade or more ago, but this is still the Narrows and there are not many uniforms that willingly venture into that twisting maze of streets without plenty of back-up. Even fewer who do so when the echo of gunfire fills the air.

It is certainly handy to have eyes in the sky as it were. At least for those local vigilantes of a Bat persuassion. Certainly there are plenty to be seen from that eagle eyed view. Which is good, because the neighborhood is certainly not a hot bed of other surveillance devices to hack into. Oh, there are traffic cams, and ATM cams and all the like. They just tend to get smashed, or painted over on a regular basis. Fortuantely a few have survived thanks to clever positioning, at least one with a rather good sightline of that now devestated courtyard.

So the all-seeing Oracle is likely to see the trio of rocket-launcher wielding thugs go down, each in turn as they set about reloading their weapons for another strike, collapsing like marionettes with their strings cut in turn, slumped in place in each of their three outlooks.

The new Batgirl gets an even closer view of just what's occuring, the mercenary no doubt surprised to be confronted so soon after their assult can begin. But before he can offer a reply he too can go down. There might be no sound, but there is no mistaking it for him simply slipping in the rain. Even in the dark, even in the rain there is no mistaking that brief splash of blood, the dark stain on the rooftop as the mercenary collapses at her feet.

No doubt those looking on can also see those heavily armed mercenaries advance towards the now gapping hole in the outer wall surrounding the LoBoy's hideout. They do not yet seem to be aware that their heavy weapon support is down as they cover one another, moving into position. As they reach the opening, a pair of them lay down cover fire, spraying the half-open doorway of the bunker with gunfire while the others pour into the courtyard.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Or at least they start to. Before they can move a half dozen or so steps into the courtyard they find themselves confronted. Not by the big, burly bikers that they thought might -- might -- give them some sort of fight. No. Confronted by a rather unassuming looking woman who appears to be entirely unarmed. The lead merc looks almost incredulous, shaking his head and glancing back at the men that follow in disbelief. "Are you crazy? Look, get the hell out of the way and we'll deal with you later. Or we can deal with you now. Permanent like," he says gruffly, reaching out to try and shove her away from him.

That might be the last thing he ever does. But it's certainly not the end of the mercenaries problems. Not as those little black sphere's hit the ground at their rear, that gap i nthe concrete wall suddenly filled with an expanding cloud of smoke. And that bat-like shape that seems to swoop overhead, so very menacing to Gotham's criminals.

<< I'm two minutes out >> Gotham's Dark Knight comes in over their highly secured comm system, that subvocal mic hardly letting any of the surrounding sound of the Batmobile's engine revving into a a higher gear leak through. It is always the frustration. He can't be in several places at once and sometimes even the best detective work doesn't let them be prepared for every crime, every act of violence. So while he might have been practically on the other side of the island, that sleek, dark vehicle speeds through the rainy night, a controlled skid sliding it around one corner as it races towards the latest crisis to envelop his city.

Frank Castle has posed:
By the time Stephanie is making her quip, the RPG men around the rooftops are getting their heads blown off out of nowhere, one by one.

Whoever is doing it is /very/ good too, the aim is precise, and each headshot is within seconds of each other.

Meanwhile, once the RPG launchers are dealt with, the Punisher adjusts his aim to begin scanning for more targets... and begins to observe the main 'battle'.

No matter, they can wait.

With Shiva and company distracting the main group, the Punisher begins to find and pick off the outliers and stragglers, trying to keep the fighting from getting out of hand.

It's unlikely that those on the ground won't notice the sudden help, with bodies suddenly dropping out of nowhere.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
With the drone moving closer from a more secure section of Gotham, Babs works with what she's got.. a few ATM cameras and a traffic light, one of which is giving her pretty good cover view of the individuals firing the rockets.. at least until they go down like a sack. "Okay... That looked like sniper fire." Which would make sense from a highly fortified complex, but the LoBoys aren't exactly known for their NAVY SEALS level of threat adjacent tactics.

>>There is a sniper in the area. I do not have eyes on them yet, but my drone is thirty seconds out and I should be able to give you better coverage of the entire complex.<< Thank you Kate for the sandwich. Babs takes a bite from hers and turns to a different monitor/keyboard on her setup.

"Gonna need some satellite coverage for this." A temporary backdoor into one of Waynes satellites should give her enough aerial to start pinpointing targets. Any longer than a few seconds and it'll set off alerts and get her booted, but... it pays to know the boss or something?

She certainly didn't ask permission.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
ALSO

>>Batgirl, you have been fined 1 credit for the verbal morality code for that joke.<<

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green peeks around a corner to get an idea as to what is going on. Dangerously close to the fighting? Yes but now there's other heroes flying in and distracting them. Doreen can hardly contain her excitement but keeps to whispering, "Tippy-Toe we just walked into a sting operation! Gotham's greatest heroes are already here and they are already starting to kick butt! Let's see what we can do to help.."

There aren't a lot of squirrels in city limits outside of parks or areas with lots of trees. The most urban areas are home to more rats than anything. Nope these guys will not be swarmed with squirrels tonight.. lucky for them!

Squirrel Girl's hands are removed from her jacket to reveal that she's wearing her claws now, just in case, "Tippy-Toe see if you can find something... smell to throw at one of them. Or something goopy, yucky, whatever! Just something we can use to distract them."

Tippy-Toe whispers a few chitters, Doreen shakes her head in disagreement, "Nope.. if we had a plane maybe. The Nuts and Boots Army won't be able to get to us this deep into the city. A few maybe.. but we won't ask them to run into a gun fight unless we have to. For now just.. look for something we can throw. A garbage can would work even.."

Stephanie Brown has posed:
<< EWWWWW. I can confirm a sniper. Going after the guys with rockets. Doesn't quite seem like the LoBoys to have anyone set up like this so fast. >> Batgirl crouches by the man for a moment, checking his pulse though she knows it's futile with the size of the hole in his head. She reaches up to close his eyes and looks out into the rainy night, frowning.

She rises and moves over to the roof's edge. Her batarangs go back in her belt and she shoots her grapple into the top of a telephone pole just below where the wires are at. She swings down, winching herself in to shorten the line in time before she goes splat into the pavement, and swings herself on an arc over the wall surrounding the LoBoys compound. She lands inside with a roll to bleed of momentum, coming up with a batarang back in her hand. She sends it flying towards one of the attackers on the edge of the smoke.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
She allows him to touch her.

(It's more instructive, that way.)

"Where is your CO?" she asks, her breathing unhurried even as she twists the mercenary's arm until things bones and ligaments begin to pop--

-- /burst/, bloody and sharp--

-- wildly out of place.

The clutch, the sideways step away from his inertia, the initial twist-- an entire curriculum in the perils of shoving strange, dead-eyed women around is taught between heartbeats; as Lady Shiva locks in her grip, she takes a half step forward to curl her leg around his, looking to drive him to his knees by grinding her heel into one of them.

"An arm for an answer," she murmurs, squatting to be /sure/ he hears her. "It's a fair trade, isn't it?"

Black pods burst and smoke billows up all around she and he.

"Would you prefer to haggle?" she continues after several moments, still as composed as before the billowing.

She grinds her heel.
She wrenches 'til broken bones approach a forty-five degree angle.

"Where is your CO?" she repeats.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate lingered on the rooftop for a moment, surrounded by nearly-headless men. She doesn't like it, but she's sparing little sympathy for a group of dead killers. Instead of trying to pursue the sniper- a difficult task at the best of times, let alone someone as capable as the Punisher- she instead makes her target the army on the street. She'd generated a smokescreen, and it was time to make use of it.

    She is in sight leaping headlong from the rooftop, like a diver. In the last few moments, joints in her suit lock in such a way as to spread the impact, to give her sadly human body enough support that when she lands, it doesn't break her... Just the person she lands on.

    From the opposite side of the smokescreen, there is a loud thud and a masculine cry of pain, the odd crack of a few broken bones... And one less shadow amongst the army. The others will open fire, but by then, Batwoman is long gone, moving on from her first victim to the multitude of others present, displacing little of the smoke. The light from the muzzles in the dark is visible, and then one is off target, firing wildly into the air as its owner screams in sudden terror and pain.

    Paradoxically, only moments later, there is the noise of discharging electricity, and another man, on the opposite axis of the crowd, falls with a thud and the telltale noise of being heavily shocked.

    Batwoman herself remains entirely unseen within the smoke.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
It is almost always easiest to beg for forgiveness later rather then ask for permission. Not that it is all that likely that Oracle would do either mind. Nor does she need to. Whatever the official Wayne Industries line might be there is no a satelitte in geo-synchronous orbit for telecommunication reasons. At least not for official ones anyway. And certainly no communications satelitte would need so an array of powerful cameras. Cameras that that respond to Oracle's commands, zooming in closer and closer down onto the streets of the city, then right into the streets of the Narrows, cutting even through the cloud cover that might otherwise prove an obstacle to give her the required bird's eye view.

It is not *quite* as clear an image as she might get once that drone is on the scene, but it still gives her a good overview of what's going on.

And what's going on is pretty chaotic, as one would imagine. If the black, acrid smoke and smoldering remains of a dozen motorcycles weren't enough to put up plenty of obscuring mist, the smoke pellets laid down at that gap in the wall certainly helps, the sound of coughing within giving a pretty clear indication of where some of the mercs might be as they scamper towards the fringes of the cover to try and get free. Of course, making it to the fringes of the cloud cover might not prove to be a good thing -- especially as those long distance, precision shots continue to down the heavily armed mercs as they come into the line of sight of the Punisher.

Those that don't make themselves easy targets for the sniper are only slightly better off. Batgirl won't kill them of course, but they are not exactly in a position to defend theselves as they stagger out of the fog. One tries to bring his rifle to bear on her, tries to line up a shot and before the weapon is even lifted to his shoulder that batarang takes him in the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the pavement.

If they were just a little closer to Robinson Park the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl might have her army of squirrels. But the Narrows is not known for its abundance of greenery. No trees line the streets here. This could indeed be exactly what they had in mind when they coined the term 'concrete jungle'. But while there might not be any squirrels, there is a whole lot of garbage. Alleys run between the row housing and squalid, rundown apartment buildings, populated with dumpsters and trash cans aplenty. And even the rain does not entirely wash away the unpleasant odors that seem to emmanate from each and every one. Definitely a target rich environment.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
In the courtyard it all happens so fast. It's unclear what the sneering mercenary was expecting -- but it sure as hell wasn't that. He doesn't even call out, doesn't so much as shift to try and counter her. One moment he is shoving her shoulder, psuhing her away and the next he is gaping almost in disbelief as that beefy arm becomes little more then a chunk of meat, twisted and broken and ruined as he finds himself on the ground, eyes widen with sudden terror. "Aaaaagh, fu... fu... what did you..." he pants out, pained gasps escaping him, voice hoarse from the scream. And then she grinds that heel. The screaming starts anew and while she might not have any weapons, those other mercenaries nearby take an uncertain step back. "I don't know! I swear I don't know! ...sposed to be an easy job. Just blow some shit up, kill a few local punks. Said there might be an audition. Said we'd know it when we saw it..." he pants.

If Shiva was the one auditioning someone is probably very impressed. Or possibly terrified after trying to play games with her.

As unnerving as Shiva might be, it is just as unnerving as one of the other mercs in the courtyard suddenly goes down in a heap, again no warning offered, only a brief spray of blood and bone as the man collapses in a lifeless heap. All about the courtyard men whirl, instinctively seeking out the threat, rifles raised.

Suddenly that billowing cloud of smoke might not seem so threatening. Indeed, it might be welcome cover from the vigilante's that begin to pick them off one by one. Cover from the unseen sniper who kills them in the dead of night. Cover from the dead-eyes woman who moves like nothing they've ever seen before. But for those that begin to sink back into the smoke, they likely regret it in short order. Sharp cries go up before they are abruptly silenced. The sound of gunfire that sounds now is increasinly rattled, increasingly sporatic. Panic gunfire. What moments ago look liked a professional incursion by tempered soldiers is abruptly breaking down.

He can almost countdown the seconds as he all but flies across town, rapidly zeroing in on the disturbance. But not rapidly enough. Ninety seconds out. Sixty seconds out. He listens to the comm traffic between Oracle and the others, glances at the display on the Batmobie's dash as the satelittle imagery appears. And he fights back that impatience, keeping cool as the sleek black vehicle careen's it's way through those twisted, narrow streets.

Frank Castle has posed:
"Too long." The Punisher abruptly notes... before the M24 is taken out of the window and the sniper abruptly disappears from satellite view.

Inside the building, the Punisher is moving to another window, keeping people guessing as to his location.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
MCustom M24, high tech scope, and an ability to use it.

Babs isn't a gun girl, persay, but she knows her way around them from years out in the field breaking up gun deals. The fact that the rifle itself resembles its original design in form alone. A soft whistle echos through the open air loft in the Clocktower. "That's impressive."

Where there is high end weaponry, however, there is high end comms gear. Nobody sits in an abandoned building with a sniper rifle just hoping a fight breaks out, whoever that is was doing recon of their own. They just happened to be doing it in the virtual playground of the most prolific hacker in all of Gotham, if not all of the world.

She's busy at work using her drone, now on the scene, as a remote access point. Snooping for any snooping device with a digital signal she can interface with. Something to get eyes on the eyes in the window, if not out right contact.

But Oracle's job isn't just to play games with technology.

Not with Wayne Tech Satellites providing her coverage of the entire battlefield (Because that is exactly what it is). She's deciphering all this data and dishing it out to HUDs, highlighting key points, specifically targets, and entry points into the compound that will take Batgirl/Woman/Man around the flanks of the mercenaries.

Her right hand goes out, after adjusting her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, to a control panel for her drone. Moving the joystick with a practiced ease, bringing the small flying camera right into the action.. but more importantly.. launching micro cameras all around the compound to give her a 360 degree visual field down on the ground level.

Running that footage through her computer to create a wireframe digital map, highlighting biometric data, and sharing it to all of the Batclan.

>>Sitting high on Delphi, The Oracle provides.<<

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green is the one who spies the couple of nearby trash cans. Tippy-Toe squeaks quietly and then coughs as Doreen lifts a goopy bag of what appears to be fresh, mostly liquid pet poop. Probably from a dog who wasn't feeling good.

Doreen can't help but hold her nose with one hand and hold the bag with the other, "This will work, now we just have to get in range of one of the mercs who aren't quite so close to their friends. We throw the poop from the cover of darkness.. then we strike.."

Luckily she is able to get a bead on one of them and THROW the bag hard enough, and at just the right angle so that it does in fact land on the mercs head. The brown mess cascades down his body. Doreen second guesses the idea of attacking the courtyard JUST yet and slinks back around the corner, peeking out again from cover.

Tippy-Toe chitters quietly and Doreen is stiffling laughter, "Maybe he'll walk back here to investigate.. we can take him out quietly if he does.. if a bunch of them scramble back here we'll have to get up on top of a building.." She looks up, fire escape, perfect!

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Seeing the man on the rooftop take a bullet has cut into Stephanie's normal mood for a fight. Which tends to be something near to joyous as often as not. Instead there is a grim determination pressing her lips into a straight line as she moves in to the edge of the fog to meet the men.

She kicks the rifle away from the man she downed with the batarang, and then turns to face another man bringing his rifle to bear on her. Batgirl moves into him, pushing the gun to the side and delivering a knee to the man's solar plexus. As he crouches over, the other knee follows it into his head, sending him reeling.

The sound of boots on concrete whirl Batgirl around, but not before a rifle butt is swung at her head. It connects, making the heroine see stars for a moment. In her moment of being stunned, her hand fumbles at her utility belt, grabbing at pouch. Feeling pellets in hand she tosses them his way, not sure if they are smoke or flash pellets.

The sudden flare of light answers that question.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
"'An audition'," Lady Shiva repeats.

Where some might tap their chins or biceps, Shiva twists her heel and deliberately angles what's left of her new friend's arm in a way that emphasizes brutal, unnatural pressure without adjust the angles of bones any further.

Really, it's more about helping him think.

"Tell me your name," she then states.

Patient thing that she is, she waits amidst smoke and gunfire and careening, collapsing bodies for him to spit it out-- if, indeed, he does spit it out: in five seconds or after he spills - whichever comes first - she lets him fall as he may. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll wind up too crumpled on the ground to make a good target for one of the Punisher's shells.

None of the other mercenaries earn so much as a twitch in their direction, and - in turn - none seem terribly eager to approach with so many other, less easily avoided forms of hell raining down on them. Her eyes are closed when she walks out of the cloud; when they open again, they're set on one of those penetrable walls.

On a point beyond the wall.

On a sidewalk leading down the block, into an alley...

One of Batwoman's diving assaults earns a fleeting glance, but - by and large - the leather and silk-clad woman's focus is on walking out of the compound.

Down the sidewalk.

Towards an alley.

Provided that that war offers enough distractions to make impeding her stroll unpalatable, of course.

Kate Kane has posed:
    The melee- if it can even be called that- in the fog continues unabated. How the woman can see anything in this pea soup is anyone's guess, but she clearly can. Much moreso than what had been considered well-trained mercenary troops. The signs of life within the fog increase somewhat as more retreat into it, and then begin to dwindle.

    Seven becomes five. Five becomes two.

    Then, there are none within the smoke. No footsteps, no panic firing. Just silence.

    The noise from the fog occurs next nearest to Stephanie, as from whence there was nothing, and noone, there is suddenly very much a person. Clad in black, a red bat emblazoned on her chest. Her clothing made of a fabric shimmering like something liquidous yet not. The fury with which she bursts from the smoke, her long hair seeming like blood in her wake, is difficult to describe.

    The flash had tipped her off, and had already rendered the 'soldier' off-balance. Her leg connects with his, and his knee buckles from the pressure of the hit. Further off-balance, much of the required strength to do what she wants comes from his already-coming fall. Unluckily for the well equipped soldier, the number of belts required to hold his gear means that there are plenty of available handholds, and Kate grips both the loop meant to drag his body if he falls, and the belt around his waist, to bring him up, and then back down in an arc over her head... And down onto his.

    He'll live, but it definitely didn't feel nice. Her hand is already there for Steph to grab, when she feels ready to stand up again.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
If there is one saving grace it is that anyone half-way respectable knows not to be out on the streets of the Narrows after dark so there are no onlookers, no gawkers. Even the windows of the nearby buildings are devoid of any signs of life, the inhabitants no doubt flush on the floor, as far away as they can get. Sadly this is not the first time they've seen such a thing.

Well... maybe not quite like this.

A number of the low-rise apartment buildings that line the streets in this part of the neighborhood operate at leass than full capacity. Some of the apartments are abandonned. Some house squatters. None are likely to get in the way of a grim-faced gunman as he moves from room to room, seeking out new vantage points to extract a toll on the criminal element down below.

Increasingly the scene is one of total chaos. But now Oracle -- and by proxy the entire Batclan -- certainly have just about all the info they could ask for about the situation. Those drone cameras give them a perfect view of the LoBoy's compound, the different angles making sure that even the rising cloud of smoke does not interfere. But they also have a clear view of the nearby streets and rooftops as well. Good information is the hallmark of how the Dark Knight operates and he certainly emphasizes the same in each and everyone of his protegees. Oracle just lets them take that the to Nth degree as that mountain of information is spread across the team.

Fewer and fewer figures move in that courtyard now. Between Batgirl and Batwoman a number are sprawled out, incapacitated. Others have been downed by the Punisher and his sniper rifle. And that one unfortunate who may never regain use of his arm, downed by Shiva. A bare handful of the two dozen or so figures that advanced on the LoBoys still remain upright. But probably not for long.

A pair of them advance on Batgirl, particularly after managing to catch her offguard with the butt-end of that automatic rifle. "Big, bad Bats huh?" one of them sneers, flipping that weapon around to put an end to at least one of Gotham's troublesome vigilantes. Which is when the world explodes into bright, searing light, weapons falling from their hands as they try to shield their eyes. Too little, too late. Of course that blinding flash might feel good compared to the beating that Batwoman lays down on them. Even if they could see if it unlikely that they could put up much of a fight. Without their eyes? Yeah, that's a mismatch if there there was one. It is short, brutal and coldly efficient. Batman would almost assuredly be impressed. Not enough to smile. Maybe the barest of nods. High praise is all relative.

At least one of them --last man standing! -- remembers their purpose here and even as the rest of his fellow mercs go down, he draws one of the incendiary grenades at his side, hurling it in one smooth motion towards the open doorway that leads into the LoBoy's bunker. Only then does he whirl and begin to run away, head long into the cloud of waiting smoke.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Of course at least one of the hired guns already had the sense to abandon the courtyard, to seek out the deeper shadows on the other side of the street, backing away slowly, looking for any signs of pursuit. Not looking in the right direction. At least if he wanted to avoid the swift delivery of the less than pleasant package that Squirrel Girl has arranged. The bag does indeed burst, it's disgusting contents dribbling down over the man as he sputters and gags at the smell, whirling towards the nearest alleyway. "I don't know who did that, but you're dead! Dead!" he shouts, any notion of discretion going out the door.

The man quite literally under SHiva's heel can barely speak, his face a rictus of pain and fear. "Donnally, name's Donally," he manages, words a hoarse whisper. "Let go. Please," he manages, a breathless, desperate plea. And then he slips into merciful unconsciousness.

Down the street, about a block away, a quartet of black vans are parked in alleyways on either side of the street. All are silent, their engines off, their lights offering no illumination to the dark streets of the Narrows. Only a single man waits by them, the solitary sentry left to insure that no one interferes with their rides. He occasionally glances up the street, a small frown on his face, the sound of gunfire increasingly sporatic, the occasional screams that puncture the night disturbingly filled with fear or anguish. Not exactly what he expected. Hefting his rifle, he peers into the gloom. Poor sap. He has no idea what is about to descend on him.

Out of that smoke, out of the darkness the roar of the Batmobile finally arrives on the scene, drawing up to a stop, the canopy sliding back as Gotham's Dark Knight emerges. He doesn't need to look around to take in the scene, to get the lay of the land. Oracle has already provided that much. And much much more. <<Any word on the sniper? >> he asks grimly across the comms. He can be ruthless. He can be brutal even at times. But there are lines that he doesn't cross and -- at least in his city -- those are lines he doesn't let anyone cross.

Frank Castle has posed:
As Batman speaks, the Punisher is already at another window, checking the situation with a monocular, just inside the window proper.

It's at this time that Oracle can manage a glance at the Punisher from that window; skull vest, gear web with enough military grade equipment to rival Batman himself, and the trenchcoat.

It's clear, however, that the fighting is over with, and visual inspection confirms it, along with the lack of sounds.... so instead of setting up again, the Punisher steps away from the window again, shouldering the M24 as he heads out of sight.

The main fighting is over with. Time to go collect the RPGs while the others are busy with cleanup.

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Batgirl reaches up, taking Batwoman's hand to help her rise. She rubs at the side of her head and tells the downed man. "Bad? Definitely. Big? Are you telling me the diet isn't working?"

She turns and takes in the sight of the courtyard. Smoke rising from burning motorcycles, blown apart by rockets and the gasoline from the tanks on fire. She's looking for reaction from the LoBoys when she sees the grenade arc towards the building.

"Oh no you don't," she calls out to him, pulling out her metal bo staff which telescopes open just before she throws it. It lodges between his legs and knocks him down, his jaw bouncing off the concrete in a way that is probably going to require a trip to the dentist.

<< Grenade in the building! >> she calls out, both aloud and over comms for anyone in a position to deal with it.

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green makes a chittering sound, wanting the merc to hear her, and then jumps up, grabbing onto the fire escape's lowest point, her natural agility allowing her to flip up, and then land safely on the platform.

She whispers to Tippy-Toe, "Okay as soon as he's below, we jump down on top of him. Do what you gotta do girlfriend.. we are not above poking eyes out tonight.." Tippy-Toe squeaks sharply, her face very very serious.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
>>I am still trying to get facial recognition on him.<< Says Oracle of the sniper, >>Milspec comms equipment, high level encryption in place. I can not hack the device, but maybe...<< She sends a request access via an even more encrypted channel. The kind of knock knock knock that those in the know associate with the Bat and, those even more in the know, are aware belongs to the hacker Oracle.

>>Whoever that sniper is, he knows his craft though. Has deep connections or bottomless pockets.<< It doesn't let her know who it is, but it limits the number of people it /could/ be.

Just as she says that, however, her drone catches sight of the vest moving between windows. >>Uh... Running footage through database.<< Certainly her access to police records in Gotham/NYC would hit a ping on The Punisher eventually.

>>I will let you know as soon as I have a confirmation.<< Peeking over at the cowl-cams to see how Batgirl, and specifically, Batwoman are doing. Expecting nothing short of a bunch of broken bodies though.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
Lady Shiva is a fair woman.

"Surrender your phone, radio, or assorted other communication devices," wafts from the darkness to the sentry's right.

Donnally was surrounded by dozens of others like him; dealing with one necessitated dealing with all of them.

Immediately.

But taking his arm was a thing of brutal efficacy, an abrupt show of force meant to end a fight before one began rather than-- well.

A fight.

Conflict.

An opportunity for two souls to clash, so that both might learn something of themselves and their place in the world.

"Surrender your keys. Drop your weapon."

There was nothing fair about it, for there was no room for fairness in that moment.

"Raise your hands."

As boot heels click along concrete, predator's eyes scan every inch of the sentry, sizing; gauging.

Judging.

It's only fair that he be allowed to meet her on the only field she sees a prayer for his survival on: that of sound reason and force of will.

"Or don't," she offers as she passes through a dingy yellow shaft from a street lamp. Cold, brown eyes settle on his.

"The choice is yours."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The timing of that bo staff toss literally couldn't have been any better. The LoBoys are criminals. Dangerous criminals. But no one deserves to be blown up. Especially not with fire. The staff strikes the last of the mercenaries right in the legs just as he releases that grenade and turns to start to run. He ends up falling right on his face, the sound cringe-worthy. If they didn't hear worse. Perhaps more importantly though is the fact that the incendiary grenade rattles towards the door, catching the edge of the reinforced steel barrier that barely hangs by it's hinges, rattling away into a corner where it explodes in a bright flash of light and fire -- leaving the concrete walls and bunker scorched black and smoking. But no one is hurt.

They might not acknowledge it, but the LoBoys owe a big thank you to the last people they might have expected.

The rooftops might be monitored by Oracle's extensive drone coverage, but there is certainly no one in a position up there to do very much about the Punisher claiming the rocket launchers or RPGs that wait. A certain Dark Knight will probably not be very happy how the night turned out in that regards.

Across the street from the shattered compound the armed mercenary -- that unpleasant, slimy mess dripping down over him -- steps into the dark alley, reaching out and flicking a switch atop his weapon, a tactical flashlight springing to life, sweeping over the alley with it's garbage and debris, focused on the dumpster straight ahead -- the most natural cover in the narrow passage. "You're almost out of hiding spots. Think you're so funny, huh? We'll see how funny you are with a hole in your forehead," he shouts as he rushes those last few feet to round the edge of the dumpster... and find only more refuse. Shoulda looked up.

Down the block the lone sentry gives a little start of surprise as he is approached by that lone woman. Not only by herself, but making demands. If he had seen what happened to Donnally he would probably be only too quick to obey, to do anything really to avoid a similar level of persuassion being applied to himself.

Ignorance really isn't bliss. Not for him at least. Instead his gun is raised, pointed towards Shiva. "Wrong place, wrong time lady. Sucks to be you," he says, starting to pull the trigger...

Listening to Oracle's report, Batman gives the slightest of nods, striding over to join the pair of women who linger in the courtyard -- now devoid of any hostiles. At least conscious ones. Looking over the some of the downed men his eyes narrow behind that cowl, the line of his mouth tightening, if anything. It could be a trick of light from the still smoldering motorcycles. "These look like the same sorts from the docks last week," he says flatly.

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Batgirl spots some of the Paws heading out of the smoke screen that Batwoman laid down, heading for a vehicle that brought them. She runs over, scooping up her bo staff with a foot beneath it to toss it up. It's caught out of the air and whacked into the head of the grenade thrower to keep him down.

Then she's off to the races! Batgirl sprints across the pavement outside the compound, cap flowing behind her as she runs at the van that the armed men are climbing into.

They slam the doors and put it in gear just as she gets there. Batgirl leaps, grabbing ahold of the top and pulling herself up on it as they drive off down the street, careening back and forth to try to dislodge her, while Batgirl is trying to get something from her utility belt to disable the vehicle, though hanging on for dear life has most of her attention at the moment. Off they disappear into the twisting streets of The Narrows.

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green grins in silence as the dummy ends up standing right where she wants him. She fishes around in her pocket for her phone again, quietly sets it to take a photo, and then drops from the fire escape with her legs spread, ready to wrap them around the merc's neck when she lands on him.

She calls out, "HEY!" When the merc looks up she snaps a picture of his poop covered face and it's not long before her legs wrap around his neck.

Tippy-Toe is biting into his nose and clawing his eyes while Doreen is pulling on his hair... very hard.

And now she's riding the merc back out into the courtyard where Batman and the others are. Yep they are going to see them.. and this merc is gonna go viral online soon...

Barbara Gordon has posed:
The drone hovers down from its aerial position, >>Whoever the sniper is, they were wearing a military grade body armor with a white skull on the front. He had enough high tech gadgets to give us a temporary run for our money too. I have partial facial recognition running through the database though.<<

The cameras continue to feed her, and through her everyone, info, but there's precious little left to feed them with all the mercenaries delt with in the main courtyard. Definitely not your typical monday nig- oh whatever, this is Gotham. This is /definitely/ just a monday night.

At least in the Narrows.

>>Sending a secure alert to GCPD and emergency services. Should have EMTs inbound. Routing traffic lights to get them here quicker.<<

Viral in so many ways. Babs narrows her eyes at Doreen and her squirrel are.. double teaming some Merc.. "Well... that's certainly a thing that has happened now..." With that there is another bite of her sandwich. Actually, it's Kate's sandwich. She's not eating it anyways.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The sentry chooses.

A leather boot hits the ground.

Hidden machinery's squeeezed into place.

Brown eyes cut forward--
-- fire blooms around gunmetal--
-- a reed sways in the wind--
-- lead flies--

Lady Shiva is a fair woman; she is not a merciful one.

"It remains to be seen," emanates from a foot behind the sentry as Shiva - having turned a forward step into an evasive flip on a dime - lands, "whether this was, indeed, a worthy use of my time."

Three fingers curled together into a claw lash a point just east of his lower spine. From there, jagged icicles dart through his veins, his muscles, his nerves...

"But I recognize a single point of egress when I see one," she lowly states, right in his ear.

A slow, counter-clockwise twist deepens bitter, biting cold into numbness sweeping through his system.

"Tell me:" she intones as her free arm wraps around his neck to ensure he remains upright even when his muscles eventually - inevitably - succumb to her touch, "whose money was worth the use of your legs?"

"Tell me:" she intones, already scanning him for obvious pockets, pouches, and so forth, "whose audition you were tasked with facilitating?"

Frank Castle has posed:
By this point, Barbara will have a clear top down look at the Punisher on the rooftops, picking up RPG launchers like candy into one armpit after another, before moving to a fire escape to start heading to the street.

"Autodrive, drive by pickup." Punisher orders into the commlink.

As he heads down, a white non-descript van begins to speed it's way over to the groundside for the fire escape.

Kate Kane has posed:
    Kate does want to linger with Bruce to do some of the detective work. However, some amount of duty does call. When Steph bounds off to cause herself some probably undue bodily harm, Kate's frown tightens just like Batman's does. However, she does stick around for a short period of time.

    "Four corpses on the roof. Better access to identifiers than the ones down here, with the authorities on the way." she states, looking up towards the roof that she'd leapt from. "You'll have more time to work if you need it. Loop me in." Terse and fast, Kate then turns, pulling the grapnel free from her belt and firing it off towards the rooftop of the garage where she'd left her motorcycle. Within a few moments, it'll rip her in that direction, up and over the lip of the topmost level.

    "I'll be around for what you find out, but in the meantime..."

    She only disappears for a short while, before Knight-One comes flying over the side of the building, landing on the pavement with a gratuitous metallic thud, and then driving- incredibly, despite its drop, unharmed- off in the direction of the vehicle that Stephanie was clinging to.

    On a private comm channel to the clocktower, Kate's voice pipes in. "Oracle. Get me a route to their car, and put my sandwich down."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Once upon a time he might have given chase as Batgirl takes off after some of the fleeing mercenaries. But Barbara surrendered her identity for a reason. Stephanie has come a long way. Part of that involves a greater level of trust given then might have been offered in the past.

Besides, if she gets into any real trouble he is sure that Oracle will give them plenty of heads-up. What they do will never be easy. But this level of information definitely tilts the playing field in their favor.

<<Copy that>> he replies, noting the details with interest, storing them away for the moment. If there's a record of whoever their mystery sniper is, he has no doubt that the redheaded computer whiz will have the information soon. Patience is a virtue. Even when it feels like the situation demands immediate action. He's learned his lessons well. His gaze turns towards Batwoman, nodding at her suggestion. He will have a little more time with those on the roof. They might not be able to talk any longer but people don't realize just how much can still be learned. By the clothes they wear, the gear they carry. The devil is in the details. And he knows the devil well. "I will," he promises. This is clearly not over, but he doesn't bother telling her that. She probably can tell every bit as well as he can.

Of course as much as the Dark Knight prepares for everything, he's not quite prepared for the scene that presents itself as the last mercenary standing staggers back towards the courtyard, screaming bloody murder as a squirrel dangles from his nose, a little stream of blood seeming to mix with a much less pleasant ooze that drips from his head. And there, riding his shoulders and pulling his hair might be an even more unexpected sight.

He tilts his head slightly, watching the display, still expressionless as always. But it's almost possible to sense how much he wants to show something. Maybe disbelief. Maybe amusement. Maybe anger. <<Well, I'm glad you're seeing it too>> he says flatly over the comms. He'd hate to think he was losing his mind.

The gun goes off, but Shiva is simply not there, the lone sentry blinking in surprise, not entirely sure where his target could have went -- half doubting that she was ever there at all. At least until he hears the voice behind him, given no time to whirl before those icy coldness rips through his body, those lower limbs and he collapses, only barely catching himself on the hood of the van, half sprawled across it. Now he sees her again, sees her through fear shrouded eyes. "I don't know. We get paid by a shell company. Safer that way he said. Didn't tell us about who we were auditioning. Just that he would be watching. That what they could do would be eye-opening," he whispers shakily, one hand delving in his pocket, slowly and carefully pulling out a burner cellphone. "Don't hurt me..."

Barbara Gordon has posed:
How did she know?!

>>As if I would eat your sandwich... what kind of monster do you take me for.<< As she takes another bite of the sandwich for which she is professing innocence. >>Tracking them on traffic cams.<< It's a lot of work accessing those cameras in rapid succession, or it would be if Babs didn't already have backdoors into the DMVs systems... >>High lighting the best route to intercept them on your HUD.<<

Her mouth might sound full.

It is not full of sandwich.

Honest Abe.

Tongue out, licking a bit of loose mayo from the corner of her mouth, >>I am putting together the recreation for your now, Batman.<< As best she can from what she's viewed, sifted, and run through her computer. None of it is exact science, but he'll be able to find /something/ in the limited amount of digital playback Oracle can offer from the Satellite, Camera feeds. There's a method to her madness with those drones and their micro-camera placement. Not all of which involves Doreen and her Squirrel chewing on a mercenary for a live studio audience.

>>I got full facial on the Skull sniper too. Looks like one Frank Castle, also known as The Punisher. Relevant files upload to the Batcomputer.<<

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green extends her legs... really really hard. The merc is launched forward and onto the ground as Doreen lands on her feet. Tippy-Toe flips and lands on Doreen's right shoulder. Squirrel Girl approaches the merc and places a foot on his chest, "Anyone got a pair of cuffs? This guy's no good. Disaster averted! Bullets are no longer flying and a neighborhood saved!"

Tippy-Toe calls out with a high pitched sound in agreement, "Oh!" She looks at Batman and the others, "I'm Squirrel Girl! I'm a superhero! I usually protect New York City but.. well tonight was kind of a chance opportunity to help clean up..."

She looks down at the merc, "...the trash."

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The phone's plucked from the collapsing sentry's fingers. The keys, fetched from a pocket after a brisk frisk.

"You were offered a choice," Shiva simply states as he fades out.

Keys and phone in hand, she scrolls through one while using the other to unlock driver's side doors one after the other. Now and again, her eyes dart from the screen into the alley, searching for small, heavy objects. If there are any numbers stored in the phone's contacts or history, she'll eventually pick one out, place a call, and cradle the phone to her ear.

Numbers or not, though, Shiva multi-tasks: as suitable objects are found, they're carted to one van after another and carefully positioned on driver's side floors; once the objects are in place, she commences turning ignitions, one after another.

And soon after the engines are running--

--

*SKRRRRRR!*
*VRRRRRRRRRRRR!!*
*KRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAASH!!!*...

-- the vans are too, in whatever directions the mercs might've left them pointed.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Castle. While the Dark Knight's focus might be Gotham City, it is not to the exclusion of all other places. He keeps informed about all manner of things. <<This isn't his normal stomping grounds. We might need to start paying closer attention to Mr. Castle's activities>> he says flatly over that comm system, hardly even needing to move his mouth for the sub-vocal mic to pick up his murmured words. Because they just don't have enough to do just with the threats native to Gotham City.

Or maybe this is Oracle's reward for getting bumped upstairs as it were. Pile on that work even higher.

Under the best of circumstances Batman is not much of a talker. Straight and to the point. These, these are not the best of circumstances. Or maybe he just doesn't trust what he would say to the unlikely hero in front of him. For a moment he simply regards Squirrel Girl in silence, that dark cape like a shroud draped around him -- and with even less expression then a corpse. Finally he dips his head ever so slightly. He's not so sure that she cleaned up the trash in these circumstances. It looks more then she choose to smear it all over the unfortunate mercenary who whimpers on the ground, clutching his face. And probably questioning his life decisions. Still, he pulls out a pair of Bat-cuffs and offers them to the young woman.

For a moment it almost looks like he might say something. But instead something like a soft sigh escapes him and he turns away, pulling out a grapnel from his utility belt and aimming it towards the roof. The sound of releasing compressed air hisses, the solid thunk of titanium tongs sinking into brick clinks overhead. And before he takes to the rooftop he glances back once. "Thank you," he offers. Not quite grudingly, but reluctant.

Still, she didn't kill anyone like some people.

And with that, he takes to the rooftops...

Down the street it will not take Shiva long to set the vans up so that they careen off out of where they are parked into the alley, slamming out into the street. And possibly into each other if timed right. Either way there is screeching of rubber and metal -- eyes perhaps drawn her way. Whether from cameras above or a cowled-gaze up on the roof.

As for the phone, only one incoming number is there, one that goes unanswered when she tries it. But perhaps a place to start...

Doreen Green has posed:
Doreen Green catches the cuffs and quickly applies them to the merc. Now that the bad guy has been apprehended, she can consider Batman, she doesn't know for sure that it was him, but she's heard of a "Batman" who protects Gotham from all manner of scum and villainy.

It could be him... maybe it wasn't! Either way Doreen knows that she has assisted some of Gotham's greatest heroes. She looks down at the merc, "If you ever find yourself out of jail, just remember, Squirrel Girl never forgets a face, especially a villainy face. No matter where you run.. or hide.. the Nuts and Boots Army will find you if you go evil again, and you'll be right back here again. Think about that."

She looks up, "So who's calling the cops?"