Owner	Pose
Bruce Wayne	The Gotham Museum of History is an old building that miraculously survived the earthquakes and subsequent flooding of the Cataclysm and No Man's Land. The facade remains resplendent in its gargoyle-festooned old gothic style, while much of the inside has been gutted and replaced with more modern fixtures and aesthetics. At present, it plays host to a traveling exhibit - 'The Mysteries of Wakanda Uncovered' - which brings artefacts from that hidden nation to the United States for the first time since the colonial era. But while the museum is closed for the night, all is not well. One of the ventilation outlets on the roof has been pried open, the grating mangled and twisted on the rooftop tiles. A man wearing black coveralls and a gasmask sits there, a police-band scanner in his hand and a two-way radio clipped to his shoulder. Occasionally there's a burst of static and the sound of muffled voices reporting their situations. Inside the museum, long shadows move amongst the Wakanda exhibit. The tallest of them, slender and crooked in a tailcoat with filthy bandages concealing much of his face, points a twisted and scarred hand at ceremonial jewellery on display in a glass case. "This," the figure hisses, voice breathy as though his lungs were somehow damaged, "All of these."
Natasha Cranston	Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of Men?     Wakanda's sudden emergence on the global scene caused a great deal of uproar. The rich and mighty, as a rule, do not appreciate big surprises, especially not ones that threaten to upset the balance of power which favours them.     Worse, Wakanda's complete refusal to sell or otherwise share their technology has stuck in quite a few craws, and so confirmed-genuine Wakandan artifacts are worth several times their weight in gold to the right buyer.     As a result, the security around the Wakandan exhibit is extremely tight, guaranteed by one of the most prestigious companies in the business.     Unfortunately, they have not yet discovered that despite their rigorous background and reliability checks, their trust in one of their employees is sadly misplaced.     Harrison Parks is an excellent worker and a gifted security designer - he'll tell you so himself, at length, when you ask - and had been feeling thoroughly underappreciated, especially when someone ''else'' was assigned project lead for this particular gig.     He almost couldn't believe his fortune when he was first approached -- he'd have been tempted to pass on the information he was asked for just to spite his rival; to get paid more than a year's salary to do so was just icing on the cake.     Harrison would likely even have gotten away with it were it not for the fact that he decided to celebrate his change in fortune with expensive drinks and ditto company, and his desire to be smug overcame his sense of discretion after the third glass... And he never noticed that the waitress who kept refilling it wore a blue girasol on her left ring finger...     With the 'where' and 'what' established, all that remained was the 'when' -- and that was readily deduced when another one of the Shadow's agents reported that a certain Dispatch officer known to be crooked had deliberately arranged to take tonight's shift.     Neither the bandaged figure nor their henchpeople are aware that The Shadow Knows until a malevolent chuckle echoes through what they ''thought'' were empty hallways, slowly escalating to all-out laughter.     Anyone who has spent any serious amount of time in or adjacent to Gotham's underworld is likely to have their bowels freeze at the sound of sudden laughter, but it becomes quickly obvious that this is not ''that'' laugh -- not the mad cackling of an insane clown who might decide to murder them if there's a good punchline in it; but somehow that's only ''slightly'' reassuring.     "All souvenir shops are currently closed," the voice taunts them. "If you wish to take anything home you'll have to return during proper visiting hours..."
Bruce Wayne	A hacking cough escapes the figure in the fancy garb and bandages, lifting one hand to cover the place where his mouth would be. This affords a view of his fingers which seem to have grown far longer than is normal for a human being, twisted and malformed as though the bones had grown wild beyond instruction. Those wicked fingers tear at the bandages about his face, revealing torn lips and a mouth over-full of misshapen teeth. "They're not paying us to fight the sideshows," the figure in bandages commands, lifting a long and polished ebony cane and striking the glass case in such a way that it shatters at once, "Grab the prize and get out of here!" One of the henchmen in his gas mask levels a small assault rifle that dangles from his shoulders by a simple black strap. He unloads it in the direction of where the voice is coming, though in reality he has no idea. Puffs of plaster dust and shards of glass fly through the air as it thickens with gunsmoke. Meanwhile, the bandaged man and the three remaining goons begin to stuff the artefacts from the broken case into duffel bags.
Natasha Cranston	The rattle of gunfire drowns out the laughter as flickering shadows provide taunting targets until the rifle clicks empty -- and the moment the goon reaches down to reload a gloved fist blurs into visibility just long enough to strike him squarely in the jaw, followed by an second blow to his solar plexus, and a third to the back of his head as he doubles over.     The gunsmoke ''billows'' for a moment as an unseen shape moves quickly through it, and then one of the other goons finds his wrist seized just as he's reaching into the case for the next artifact, and something hard sweeps his ankles just as the hand gripping his wrist pulls him off-balance, sending him crashing into one of his cohorts.     "Unless they were incautious enough to pay you up front," the Shadow replies, blurring into view as they step over the tangled pair of goons, pausing just long enough to deliver a sharp kick to the face of the one on top, "--you'll find it difficult to collect."
Bruce Wayne	The goon goes down like a sack of potatoes, collapsing into a groaning heap clutching both his stomach and his head in equal measure. The others seem well-disciplined, disregarding their fallen comrade in favor of their goal. The second collapses when he's struck, the misshapen figure in bandages scooping up the fallen man's bag before immediately turning to glare at the new arrival. "You've got nothing in your bag of tricks to scare me, Shadow," he sneers, "I've been in this game far, far too long." In a sudden motion, rather than pulling away, the malformed man lunges forward. A fist sails through the air, so covered in bony protrusions that it may as well be armored. There's incredible strength behind it, far more than one would expect from a man of his size and build.
Natasha Cranston	The man's fist hits nothing but air as the Shadow's image scatters into mist and laughter. "All that time 'in the game', and all you've managed to amount to is second-rate burglary for hire?" comes the taunting reply. "Don't flatter yourself. You aren't behind bars simply because you were never worth the effort. Truth be told I'm far more interested in the identity of your employer than in you..."     The fourth man sees something move from the corner of his eyes, only to catch a right cross to the face from the other direction once he turns.     "Not that it would take much guesswork. Artifacts like these would have ''plenty'' of buyers, but most of them wouldn't be able to afford more than one or two at the most. Your employer is paying for the entire set; I expect they've already put out feelers for prospective buyers for choice items, and setting up an auction for the rest."     Another mocking chuckle. "They likely won't be pleased when they learn they won't be able to make good on that sale..."
Bruce Wayne	"Oh ... you have no idea ..." The last of the men goes down, leaving only the malformed figure in bandages. Up close, it is easy to see that he's been deeply affected by something. His bones seem to have grown out of control, distending his skull, and making him much taller and broader than he has any right to be. It's almost as if he's folded in on himself only to unfurl now. Before he can speak further, however, another voice fills the air. Deep and ominous and very, very familiar. "Helfern!" calls Gotham's Dark Knight, the Batman extending his cape behind him as he descends from above to land in the vacant space before the malformed figure. The Bat's brow visibly furrows as he looks at the man. It's clear he recognizes him, though perhaps not in this form. Inside his cowl, the eyes shift to examine different ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum. He doesn't expect the Shadow to work against him, but he'd like to know where they are all the same. Meanwhile, Helfern reaches into the bag and produces what looks like a small ritual dagger rent in a surprisingly untarnished, silvery metal run through with veins of blue. He holds it up before him like a prize knife fighter, tongue hissing through a mouth too full of fang-like teeth. "Not quite what you were expecting, is it, Batman?"
Natasha Cranston	It's still not clear just ''how'' the Shadow does what they do, but whatever it is does not appear to be localized to a single segment of the electromagnetic spectrum -- they themselves are seen only when they choose to be, but in each selected view mode, the projected shadow ''is'' visible, be it as a slightly cooler patch of floor, a lack of reflected ultraviolet, or even a slight sound occlusion confusing echolocation.     The point becomes moot, however, as the figure blurs once more back into full view, moving to flank Helfern across from the Bat, both cutting off their escape path and standing over the sack he hadn't recovered yet. One gloved hand is reaching inside their coat, as if for a gun - but their gaze briefly meets the Bat's cowl and the weapon remains undrawn - for now.
Bruce Wayne	It's a swift motion. The Bat brings his arm through the air as Helfern lunges with the dagger. There's a brief hiss, and intake of air from the Dark Knight, and then he plants a foot squarely in Helfern's midsection. The monstrous creature topples backwards towards the shadow, losing his footing. Whatever the Bat has in mind, it doesn't seem to involve interrogating the man. He seeks only to put him out of commission, and he's not beyond bringing the Shadow in as an ally at this point.
Natasha Cranston	The Shadow reacts quickly, lashing out with a snap kick to the back of Helfern's knee to cause the joint to buckle while at the same time grabbing his knife arm in a shoulder lock, exerting twisting pressure until the knife is dropped, letting leverage do the work that strength wouldn't manage. "I promise you, enlightening us as to the nature of your employer is ''still'' your least painful option by far."
Bruce Wayne	"Ahahaha!" Helfern cackles as he topples to the ground, simply falling into a heap and laying there with his hands obediently tucked behind his head, "Doesn't matter now, Shadow! It's done!" The Bat snarls, kneeling down to press his knee sharply between Helfern's shoulder blades as he brings those hands together and binds them with a pair of reinforced cuffs. He glances up towards the place his heads-up display suggests the Shadow could be, frowning beneath his cowl. "Do a perimeter check. There was a lookout on the roof, but he's dealt with. I want to make sure we're not missing anything." It's then that he glances down at the dropped dagger, turning it over in his hand. He looks at the blade, watching a rivulet of blood condense into a droplet and patter into the open palm of his other gloved hand. On his forearm, a narrow flesh wound runs the length of his forearm. With a grunt he wipes the blood from the blade, and sets about preparing for the arrival of the GCPD.