8673/A Strange Case of Mistaken Identity: Retrospective Diagnosis

A Strange Case of Mistaken Identity: Retrospective Diagnosis
Date of Scene:	22 November 2021
Location:	Arkham Asylum
Synopsis:	Nobody expects the Outsiders Inquisition.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Phoebe Beacon, Jonathan Sims

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    It'd been a normal day, for whatever value of normal the Roost generally manages with the crew of superpowered aliens, clones, mutants, and costumed vigilantes that live there. Like usual, Tim is sat at his computer, the lab door locked and the murder board of his father's life as an archaeologist-slash-tomb-raider displayed across the glass.

    He's drinking his Xth number of coffee for the day, combing through an Excel spreadsheet harvest off the old harddrive of his father's travel agent, when a text comes in from Jon.

    Tim is deep enough into his research that he nearly ignores it, except that it starts with an apology.

    Things rapidly go downhill from there.

    Jon informs him via text that he has to go stop a mugging, and Tim hacks into the Hyperloop's security systems just in time to see Jon being sedated by a group of men who are then assisted by two others in stolen EMT uniforms in loading the Archivist into a waiting ambulance.

    From that point on, the Roost's computers track the ambulance's travels across Gotham. Tim has already sprinted away from his desk, sending out an alert for the nearest Outsiders to gather up in the garage before moving out.

    He's dressed in his gear within 2 minutes, if admittedly he's still working to secure his cape down, when he steps off the elevator.

    The computer loses track of the ambulance in the industrial district, on the northern island of Gotham, but they pick up the trail via its GPS unit, after convincing the owner of NJ MedFast that it's in everyone's best interest that the stolen vehicle is found.

    But it's abandoned, in a factory parking lot. No trace of Jon or his assailants to be found.

    If not for Phoebe's quick use of some guiding magic via a pendulum, they would have been stymied for quite some time before picking up the trail again. But the spell points them towards a homeless woman warming her hands over a barrel fire in a nearby alley, who after some gentle coercion tells them of seeing a group loading a stretcher into the back of a food delivery truck.

    Red Robin slips her some cash and murmurs a few words of thanks before they depart.

    Yum-Mee Co. is a large, industrialized distribution company that supplies food to various correctional facilities on the eastern seaboard. Arkham is one of its largest customers. And both Tim and Phoebe have lived in Gotham all their lives.

    They know better than to believe in coincidences.

    This is what brings them to one of the outbuildings on the edge of Arkham Island. It can be reached via underground tunnels from both the Asylum and Penitentiary, though those coridoors are dark and musty with disuse. Still, there are recent footprints in the dirt outside the door, visible to both Balm and Red Robin through the lenses of their domino masks.

    Tim clutches his staff with one hand, and before reaching into his utility belt with the other, he flashes a series of hand signals that lays out the plan: he kicks open the door, Phoebe tosses in a smoke grenade, and they don't stop fighting until they find Jon or someone is in enough pain to tell them where he is.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't beleive in coincidence. She does believe in violence, investigation, and the power of her comforting aura. She's been carefully mum on her own issues, usually forcing a segue back to Other Topics with a tone as startchy and dry as... well. A box of corn starch.

    She had met Red Robin en-route, armored and domino'd, with her magic pack on her back, and had tailed him around, Balm perched on the roof, behind Tim, her fingertips tapping against her thigh as if there wasn't enough for them to think about -- but she looks to his signals, and she gives a nod.

    She signs back 'on your mark' -- and then draws her smoke grendade, switching her vision to heat. She rolls her left shoulder, and goes to follow Red Robin, moving in synch with him.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The 'Get Set' sign that Tim returns involves forming Vs with the pointer and middle finger of both hands, moving in a quick sideways gesture.

    The 'Go' sign is Tim's boot impacting the door.

    As soon as Phoebe's grenade has bounced off the floor once and started to hiss out smoke at the top of the arc of its next bounce, Tim has thrown himself into the room, immediately down into a deep roll to avoid potential gunfire, since they've been forced to go in with relatively little information on potential hostiles. Beyond that there are Many, and they are all Here.

    But the good news is, they don't have guns.

    Tim pushes himself out of his roll and into a handspring, landing atop the nearest heat signature of a human figure. His legs lock around the man's torso as he delivers a nasty elbow downwards right into a nose, and Tim both hears and feels the crack of bone. They tumble down to the ground together but he's already moving, swinging his staff out to sweep another goon off his feet.

    In the small room behind the door on the far wall, Jon will be able to hear shouting, and things being knocked over; the general sounds of a scuffle.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm moves in next, rebounding off a wall and taking the high road, her own extending staff coming to bear as she seems to hover in the air a moment before slamming down on the next closest heat signature. The two Outsiders, children of the Gotham night move as if they've done this all their lives. She slams down on the neck of one goon, feeling the collar bones crack beneath her weight as she brings her heel down to the face of anoter, followed by a side-long lick to sweep him off his feet. She trusn her back to Red Robin, trusting him to watch hers as she moves on to the next, swinging her staff, and using the follow-through to bring her fist up in a closed backhand to a nose and jaw.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is half-asleep by the time the scuffle starts, and he snaps his head up, blinking at the sounds. It's laborious, but he opens his mind to let himself feel if those are /familiar/ minds within hearing range... and yes, yes, those are familiar minds. Red Robin's feels /slightly/ different from Tim's, and with distractions the last time they met he didn't realize who it was, but he knows now. And... Balm's Light, familiar, and for once he doesn't feel guilty about their presence. They're doing what they've trained to do, after all.

    His throat's gone dry, he's been here for a /while/ and maybe let himself have a good cry at one point, so it takes a moment of trying to wet his tongue and lips before he can manage to shout, "In here!" It's a trap, he /knows/ it's a trap, but they're already here and he'll have to warn them once they find him.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's almost a dance, the way Balm and Red Robin move together. They've certainly rehearsed enough for it to be. The way they circle around always keeps their backs to each other, so neither ends up with a flank exposed for one of the kidnappers to take advantage of.

    Not that any of them really can, with the way they're mostly just flailing about, blinded by smoke.

    "You idiots," one roars. "Put your goggles on like we practiced!"

    Some of them do. Some of them are already bleeding, dazed and unconscious on the ground.

    Either way it's just more time that Tim and Phoebe have to mow them down. A series of batarangs emerges from the smoke cloud, whizzing through the air, and on the other side of the wall Jon will be able to hear the thunk-thunk-"AUGGHHHHH!" as the first two impact the wall and the third sinks into the meat of someone's shoulder.

    And then, "Did you hear that?" Red Robin asks, without slowing down. He grabs a goon so that Tim can slam him down into his upraised knee, and while the man is doubled over, Tim rolls over his back. As he lands on his feet he swings his staff backwards, tapping him on the ass with the electrified tip. "I think he's here."

    Once he stops twitching, the man Tim just tazed drops like a sack of potatoes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm has her aura tamped down. One lasting gift from a false friend that at least still works. She Grits her teeth a moment, hearing the thunk of a batarang hitting flesh, and she pulls one of her throwing knives and pinks one of her opponents to the other wall, and she rebounds, taking a second with her as she hits the floor, stealing their goggles with a sub-vocalized 'yoink!' and followed by using them to ensnare another's feet, and followed by a 'yeet!' as she rolls one way, then the other, breaking the knee.

    "I heard him. I can sense him." Phoebe states, and she closes her eyes, bringing her left hand up. Slowly, a circle forms, like it's loading to some game.

    "-- that way."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The amount of chaos in this room means Tim can't quite triangulate where Jon's voice is coming from, not right away. Maybe once the dust settles, but--Phoebe has his back, and lights a Beacon to lead the way.

    "Got it!" he calls out. Then he's ducking out of the way of a sloppy punch, which leaves the man who threw it open for Red Robin to get him into a grapple, easy. The man is still yelling as Tim walks him out of the smoke cloud, in the direction Balm has pointed him.

    Judging by the way Tim's pinning his arm, he's about to pop the guy's shoulder.

    And maybe this is all a trap. It seems likely, given the assurances by the unseen presence who has set this all up, claiming Jon was nothing but bait.

    Jon has had plenty of time in that room to examine every inch of it, though. There's nothing obvious rigged around the door, or along the floor. So when Tim abruptly releases the goon and kicks him hard in the back, the only thing that happens is said goon crashing through the door of the supply closet, flying past Jon to land in a heap against the wall.

    Though the rescue will have to wait for a moment. Tim spins on his heel to slam his fist against the face of the person trying to grab him from behind.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's always got Tim's back - even she has to be left open for a moment.

    Balm swings her staff around, clocking a goon up as she passes by him and collects his goggles as well with another 'yoink!', grabbing onto another, using her staff as a pivot to lock his elebow behind him, and cause the injury to bust out. There's a cry of pain followed by an elbow to the head as he crumples in front of her.

    <No joke, this is much easier when my aura is *not* healing them as we go.> she states in a wry tone of voice.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon yelps as the man goes flying past him to land in a heap. "Bloody hell!" He blinks at the man and then turns to look at the door. He's bound up in a damn straitjacket and then strapped into a chair, looking for all the world like he's supposed to be a patient in the place. He looks exhausted, but otherwise none the worse for wear; they weren't exactly roughing him up, just left him alone in the room. His glasses have slipped down his nose a bit, so he sort of squints over at the door, but he doesn't need normal sight to know who's out there.

    Oh, and there's an old CRT TV on a cart sitting in front of Jon, its screen smashed to bits by a giant shard of citrine the size of Jon's arm, helpfully crashed on through it. The magic it was made with is fading, and the citrine itself will fade soon enough, but in the meantime it's still just kind of... sitting there.

    He wets his lips again. "This is most definitely a trap!" he calls to the two of them. Coughs, winces. He really needs some water. "I don't know if they were depending on the screen to know when to spring it." He indicates the smashed CRT with his head.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "<<I bet,>>" Tim replies as he slams his heel down on someone's foot, then lands a quick palm strike into someone else's solar plexus. He's back in the cloud of smoke again, but his silhouette is highlighted by the crackling bursts of electricity that flow off the tips of his staff.

    Two quick pops as the build-up discharges, the staff striking someone against the temple and then rebounding to do the same to another as Tim spins it above his head.

    The smoke begins to clear. Balm and Red Robin stand amongst no less than a dozen men scattered across the floor.

    There is a moment where the two stand there, breathing, and then Tim nods once to Phoebe. A quick scan clears the room of any further hostiles who might challenge them, and then he steps past.

    "Probably," Red Robin agrees as the motion of his head suggests he's following the outline of the doorway. Then he bends down and points, near the bottom of the door on the outside where Jon would never have been able to see it. "Trip wire."

    Which actually hasn't been tripped... because the door opens out. And with a little help from a kidnapper that he volunteered, Tim kicked the door inwards. "Still, we're probably on a time limit. Balm, I'll cover us, get the Archivist up and moving?"

    He takes up position in front of the door.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm takes a minute to take count. Mildly concious, unconcious, too much pain to move -- she REALLY hopes these guys have good Super Hero insurance.

    The hooded Balm makes her way past Red Robin and into the closet, reaching for Jon and giving a slight smile. "Dr. Sims." she greets him with an even tone to her voice -- slightly altered thanks to electronics in the hood -- and she gets to work. a flick of a sharp blade and the straightjacket is cut. She looks to helo Jon to his feet with one arm.

    "Are you going to be able to walk?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Archivist, please, Balm," he says, taking the offered arm with his good one. "And yes, I should--" He wobbles for a moment, legs weak and tingling from being in one position for so long. "/Damn/ it," he mutters.

    He holds his right arm as if it were still in sling and cast, but brings his left wrist over so he can twist the bracer with his right hand. His eyes glow golden-yellow, and then an actual close-fitting suit of armor appears around him, also golden-yellow, banded in places, parts of it covered in intricate looping etching. There's a mask, too, because of /course/ there is. Evidently he has a magical transformation now or something.

    He blinks. "Oh. I guess it just... does that now. Alright, then." He straightens a bit, no longer needing to lean on Phoebe. "I should be able to manage until we get out. Let's go."

    He looks toward Red Robin. "We're going to need to talk," he says seriously. "But not here." Obviously.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Aside for some moaning and groaning, there's not a lot of movement out in the main room of the storage building.

    Though Tim hears it first: the heavy pounding of booted feet, from the underground hallway beyond. "Time to move," he reports, stepping over the trip-wire as he slips into the small room to try and help--

    "What."

    His tone is flat as he looks at Jon in his new getup. There's no time for staring, though, or even acknowledging the need for them to talk. Red Robin casts a sweeping glance across the room, settling on the window, which he promptly smashes with his staff. Then he balls a fist in his cape and rises up on his toes to clear the glass from the edges.

    Another look back over his shoulder. "Arm's still broken?" he asks, and then without preamble Red Robin is hauling himself up through the window. It's not a particularly tight fit, so long as you angle your body right to get out through it, but given Jon's injuries-- "Can you boost him up?" Tim asks Phoebe.

    He looks around, at the grounds of Arkham, dawn just beginning to break on the horizon. "I can haul him through." Likely Jon's arm will get jostled doing so, but better that than face down whatever trap they've sprung.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "as you wish, Archivist." Balm states evenly, and follows Tim to the window. She gives a nod, and then brings her hands down to her staff, holding it tightly.

    "Ally-oop." she states, bracing herself so that she can give the Archivist a boost to get him out.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist gives Red Robin a flat look. "If you have a problem, take it up with--never mind. I'll explain later."

    And then he goes ahead and grabs the window sill with his good arm, using Balm's boost to go ahead and pull himself through the window. His arm does indeed get jostled, and he winces and hisses at the pain, but focuses on getting out onto the grounds. Once he's far enough he'll grab Tim's arm and let the younger man haul him up so the Archivist can stand next to him, peering around at Arkham in the dawn light.

    "I hate this place," he mutters.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Teamwork makes the dreamwork, or in this case the somewhat uncomfortable hauling of a grown man out through a window... work. Point being, Jon is out and on his feet, and then Tim reaches through again, this time to offer a hand to Phoebe.

    Who will no doubt need significantly less assistance from him.

    It's a short jaunt across the Arkham grounds, after, towards one of the back walls. "You and me both," Red Robin mutters as he taps the control screen on his left gauntlet. From what appears to be out of nowhere, a line descends down, landing with a soft thump next to Jon. "Foot in the loop," he instructs, then makes sure Jon's got a good hold with his uninjured hand before he sends a command up for the Outsiders jet, stealth mode active, to haul the line back in.

    Balm and Red Robin have their grapple guns to make the journey upwards.

    The ride back to the Roost is a quiet one, at least for the Outsiders leader. No doubt Jon wants to get back in touch with his husband, but Tim keeps his thoughts to himself as he pilots the jet.

    Back in Arkham, a team of heavily armored men sweep the storage building, though they come up empty-handed.

    In his office, Hugo Strange sits back in his chair, fingers steepled. The light from his computer monitor reflects off his glasses, obscuring his expression. But slowly, a smile begins to creep across his face.