8122/Who Watches the Watchers

Who Watches the Watchers
Date of Scene:	04 October 2021
Location:	St. Bridget's Church
Synopsis:	One of the Miagani Watch was murdered last night, and the GCPD are eager to brush a death in the Narrows off as gang violence. But there's more to it than that. Anarky and Red Robin are on the case.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are a lot of eyes on the Narrows nowadays. Of course just about every politician that runs for office in Gotham has something to say about the Neighborhood That Law Enforcement Forgot. It's a common patrol spot for the Bats, but there are other forces at work.

    Some of which happen to be the inhabitants of the Narrows themselves, no longer content to be under the thumb of the gangs that prowl the streets here. The Miagani Watch, as they've come to be known.

    Their presence has slowly expanded from a coalition of a single block's residents to much of the southeast section of the Narrows. Volunteer-based, they focus on information sharing, keeping watchful eyes from behind curtains, over the edge of rooftops, and on fire escapes.

    And one of them has been murdered.

    The body is no longer here. The GCPD have come and gone during the daylight hours, because that's really the only time they'll enter the Narrows, and only then with significant SWAT protection. But Red Robin doesn't have those same restrictions, and he's plenty willing to put in the work to discover what really happened. The police tape still criss-crosses the church's door, and he ducks underneath it as he heads inside.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    And surprise surprise, one of the people offering support to the Miagani Watch is... Anarky. Naturally he didn't bother to talk to Tim about this - after all, he does lots of stuff that isn't Red Robin's business. They understand one another in that regard. But when Red Robin sneaks under the police tape and heads inside, Anarky is already perched on top of a rail in the sanctuary, gripping it with one hand.
    He doesn't say anything, when Red Robin arrives, and the mask ruins any ability to read his mood.

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's enough of Red Robin's face visible beyond his domino mask to read his expression, which is... grim. Mouth set in a line, brow furrowed, gaze clearly sweeping back and forth by the way his head is moving. When he comes upon Anarky, he doesn't visibly react. Maybe he's just good at hiding his surprise. Maybe he's not surprised at all.

    Did he know Anarky was involved, or did he just suspect? Either way, Tim avoids the pool of blood that has dried into the wooden floors, in front of the altar. "Did you know him?" he asks, voice hushed. It's more out of respect of the church being someone's last resting place, gruesome though it may have been, rather than its existence as a holy place.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I know a lot of people." Lonnie says. "He used to be a drug dealer." He remains perched where he is, "He got out of that business - but he was helping to get prescriptions to people in the narrows who needed them but couldn't afford them. The cops are going to say this is a drug deal gone bad." His head dips, slightly.
    "But I assure you, he wasn't selling anymore. I'd know."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin skirts around the space where Tomas Sandoval--known aliases: Big T (when he was running drugs), Sandy (to the rest of the Watch)--was found dead early yesterday morning. He's careful where he puts his feet, and no doubt he's taking scans of the floor as he moves, not that any evidence would really be left after the police have come and gone. "They already are," he says.

    Naturally, Tim has some kind of access to the scuttlebutt at GCPD headquarters. There's at least one good cop out there who doesn't remember him as the annoying kid who kept giving them trouble.

    For a long moment, he just looks down at the blood stain. And then he crosses the rest of the distance and reaches up to put his hand on Lonnie's shoulder. "I know. I believe you. We're going to find out who did this to him."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Anarky looks up - somehow he got the lenses on his mask to be flat black, so it's like staring into nothing. "I'm a realist, Red Robin. This is the roughest part of a rough town and sometimes people get hurt." He unfolds himself. "This isn't personal." He walks over to where Sandy's corpse was found. "I knew him, I helped him, but we weren't friends."
    "It's only about what's just. Because somebody killed this man and cared enough to hide the reason why."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Are you really going to try that with me?" Red Robin asks as he tracks Anarky's path from his perch to where the outline of the corpse would have been left if this were a noir detective film. But it isn't. There's just blood. "The whole 'I don't care, I'm only here to disrupt the status quo of the GCPD's neglectful practices' thing falls flat when I know how much you actually do care."

    He sighs then, and tilts his head down to tap at the control panel in his left gauntlet. "I'm just waiting on the crime scene photos."

    Of course, as soon as Tim says that, a notification pops up in his HUD. A few more taps send them off to be processed by the Roost's computer system.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Anarky's white mask betrays nothing of his real face. He tilts his head and says, "You're ruining my mystique, here, Red." The vocal distorter he uses makes his voice sound cold and oddly flat, but there's something wry in his tone there. "I am here to disrupt the status quo of the GCPD's neglectful practices. But I always care."
    He leans one hand against a pillar, as he casually waits.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin watches as the progress bar slowly ticks towards 100% in front of his eyes. "What mystique?" he asks, and there's no voice modulation in place to make him sound so deadpan: that's just pure Tim. "I pick up your dog's poop, I'm not sure how much mystique you're expecting to still have at this point."

    The notification noise as the post-processing of the crime scene photos is only heard by Tim, of course, but the fact that he unclips something from his belt and starts to move probably is a good indicator that things are happening.

    "Here," he says, and tosses something lightly over to Anarky. It's a small device, able to be mounted in place temporarily. Then he points up at a spot above Lonnie's head, on a pillar.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The grumble Anarky makes is oddly distorted. "I don't flirt with YOU in costume," He says before he holds out a gloved hand for the widget - he takes it in his fingers, "Is this because I'm taller than you?" He asks, as he stretches up onto his tip-toes to put it into place.
    "You know you've never been able to manage 'fierce'. The best you manage is to come off as 'stern'."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Your concept of flirting needs work, then," is all Red Robin says as he hands over the device--some sort of laser, by the looks of it, though it'd require actually prying open and looking at its guts to really identify--and then he crosses over to the other side of the space.

    He calls out a "Yes," over his shoulder as he carefully climbs up onto a pew and stretches up on his toes to place a second device, same as the other one, up on the wall. As he climbs back down, he huffs out a breath. "We all have our strengths. Don't discount the power of 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed'."

    As he walks back over, Tim taps at his control panel, and the devices flicker to life. Within moments, the overlaying projections from each manage to produce an impressive three-dimensional display of the positioning of Tomas Sandoval's body and the evidence found in the area immediately surrounding him.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Anarky mumbles. "Holographic projectors. What happens when you hneed to go low-tech?" He steps back, and watches - because if pressed, he has to cave and admit that Red Robin is a better detective than he is, so he might as well just watch him work.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Once the projection has stopped flickering, Red Robin spends a few more moments fiddling with the settings, and the fairly simplistic shape of the body begins to resolve itself into finer detail. "Usually I just have this as an AR feed in my HUD," he explains as he crouches down, elbows going to his knees as he folds his hands in front of his mouth. The implication is that the projection is for Lonnie's benefit, since Tim isn't here doing this alone.

    "Hmm." It's not the last thoughtful noise he makes as he moves around, and then crouches down again, examining the projection of the body from several different angles. And then he straightens back up and stands in front of the altar. "The blood splatter here is...." Whatever Tim's thinking, he doesn't finish the sentence, just stares at it for a while longer.

    Obviously, he's not used to having someone else here with him.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Anarky walks over, and positions himself approximately where the shooter was standing. "9MM, probably a glock. Shooter was about 5'9." He aims an imaginary gun. "Based on the shape of the spray and how he landed on the ground, he was turning away from the shooter when he got hit. That means it was someone he wasn't afraid of, or someone he wasn't anticipating would attack him here."
    "I'm not completely foreign to this sort of thing, after all."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Yeah, I'd say no taller than 5'10, accounting for variations in shooting technique," Red Robin agrees, and he steps out of the 'path' of the imaginary bullet Anarky would fire from his position. "The arterial spray from when the bullet exited through the side of his neck, though, it looks..."

    Another moment passes where Tim is silent, caught up in his own thoughts as he bends forward to examine it again. He's nearly nose-to-nose with the surface of the altar, though of course he doesn't actually touch it. "It almost looks too perfect. I don't know. What do you think?"

    He moves out of the way so that Lonnie can come over, and in the meantime he walks over to the bullet hole in the nearby wall. There's no bullet remaining embedded within it, obviously. "Why was he here in the first place, though? Sandoval's family was Catholic, but he converted to Buddhism during his last stint in prison. And this isn't exactly an active place of worship, despite signs that someone still cares for it."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I'm surprised you don't know." Anarky says, "It's not an active place of worship anymore, but it's used as a neutral meeting ground for settling disputes over territory or other problems. Even hard-bitten criminals balk at pulling guns in the presence of the Blessed Virgin." Anarky doesn't sound contemptuous or reverent when he says that, merely factual.
    "But whoever did this wasn't abiding by those rules." He considers that. "I think... what it means is that they were a good shot, and they didn't just pull and shoot, they aimed and timed it. They wanted it to be a messy, horrible death. This was..." He looks back down at the blood spray. "Vengeful."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin takes a sample from the surface of the wall immediately surrounding the bullet hole, and then he stores it away in his belt for later analysis. "The Narrows is incredibly difficult to monitor. There's a real lack of information sources available to us, between the lack of government monitoring tech and no GCPD patrol presence. Even the locals don't usually want to talk to us; they're distrustful of outsiders as a rule."

    Then he tips his head. "With yourself as an obvious exception. You spend time on the ground here, though." That's Tim acknowledging where Lonnie has outpaced him, and the rest of the Bats.

    He comes back over to stand at Anarky's side. "I have a theory, but it's... probably nothing. What's more likely is that this was done here to send a message. Probably to the Watch, but even that's no guarantee."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Vox populi, vox dei." Anarky says, before his expression face turns toward Tim. He gestures with one hand - a silent invitation for Red Robin to elaborate on his hunch. His other hand rests on his belt, thumb curled into it, as he looks at the holographic projection.
    "Have I ever told you, I like the feathering on your cape? It makes you look suitably dramatic. More cape's always suited you better than less cape. I sometimes miss mine."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "--quum tumultuositas vulgi semper insaniae proxima sit," Red Robin finishes, though he tips his head. They're quoting very different sources, no doubt.

    He's silent for a moment after Anarky waves his hand, perhaps to gather his thoughts. "What if the arterial spray is so perfect because it's not real? Judging by the downward pattern, Sandoval dropped to his knees and fell straight forward. And maybe he did, but I'd expect to see a little bit more... well, mess."

    As he finishes that sentence, he points towards the bullet hole in the wall. "There was no blood or tissue found on the bullet, which isn't unheard of, given the type of round used...." That's all he has to say at present, apparently. He shrugs as he folds his arms over his chest. "I'll follow up on it back home but it's probably nothing," he admits.

    Then he turns on his heel to send his cape swirling about, though it's not a particularly dramatic movement. Given that the cape is weighted, he'd have to put more effort into it than that. "Thanks. I nearly made the mask more bird-like too but pulled myself back at the last second." His eyes narrow, behind his lenses. "They're useful, but I'm not sure the aesthetic your old costume would really translate. Besides," he looks up at one of the stained glass windows, dark against the backdrop of the Gotham sky at night. "I can't pull off fierce, but you can. Especially in combination with the mask."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "...Vivis cacas." Anarky says, as he crosses his arms. "It does seem very odd. Like... someone stabbed him in the neck or-" Lonnie tilts his head, "Bit him and then faked a gunshot to cover it up?" He gives his head a little bit of a shake. "I wonder... but, no - they keep a low profile in this Gotham these days, because even vampires are afraid of running into the Batman in the dark-"
    "...But I can't help but shake the idea that this was something from his past caught up with him. Before he gave it up, he was a pretty terrible person. But he caught pneumonia in prison and swore he'd change his ways if he lived. He kept his word."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin's shoulders roll, abruptly, to disguise a shiver at the mention of vampires. "Oh great. There's enough supernatural in this city already without the addition of the nosferatu," he mutters. "Maybe it's not even his blood. I doubt the GCPD are even going to do the due diligence of running it."

    And that makes Tim lift a hand and pinch at the bridge of his nose, through his mask. "I have to break into the precinct and get the samples they collected." This realization has him tilting his head back and sighing up into the open air. "Likely the case, yeah. Which means we need to start tracking down past associates. Do you want to take point on that? They're more likely to talk to you."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I'll see what I can find out. I'll go talk to some of his old associates and see if any of his enemies recently got out of prison or if anybody else he had issues with's been active on the streets or looking for trouble. Somebody will know something." Lonnie sighs. "You pack Jim Gordon's pipe with powdered sparklers ONE time and all of a sudden people won't let you break into police departments anymore." He shrugs his shoulders and walks away. "He didn't even singe his moustache."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Somebody usually knows something," Red Robin agrees. He contemplates the holographic projection of Tomas Sandoval's corpse for a final moment before he taps his control screen, and the projectors go dark. The church is much darker now after being illuminated by the blue glow of 3D mesh shapes, and it takes a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust behind his lenses.

    First he glances over his shoulder at Anarky's retreating back, and then he turns on his heel, pace quickening to catch up. He reaches out to wrap his hand around Lonnie's wrist. "I know I don't need to say this, but be careful." Tim bites the inside of his cheek. "Just... keep in touch." His grip slackens and he steps back, shoulders hunched up awkwardly as he looks away.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Anarky stops when Red Robin grabs his wrist - and then he shifts, so that Tim's gloved hand drops into his. He gives it a brief, warm squeeze. "You know how to call me." He says, "...I'll see you later, babe." Then he leaves - through the back. No reason to walk into the loving arms of the GCPD after all.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim squeezes Lonnie's hand back, tight, and that's the last sign of any unease he allows himself to show. "Don't forget about breakfast," he calls out after Anarky's retreating back.

    Then Red Robin lingers in the church for a while longer. There are samples for him to collect still, no doubt, and a couple of hours to go before the optimal time to break into GCPD HQ. He does spend a final few moments standing between the pews, looking at the phantom image of the Miagani Watch's recent dead that his mind conjures up, before his chin lifts to the benevolent face of the Virgin Mother staring down at the same spot. There's a frown etched onto his features as he leaves, cape flowing behind him.