Gotham: Waterfront

        The main point of business for much of this port city, the
waterfront is a massive stretch of mostly industrial yards and dockside
loading docks. Rust, salt, and fog mingle alongside the dark waters of the
harbor, and row upon row of nearly identical warehouse buildings sit
around the dimly lit piers. The housing in this area is lower class, but
in relatively decent condition compared to the eastern banks of the
central river. The mournful wail of the foghorn and the cries of the
seagull echo out over the streets and loading cranes, accompanied by the
lapping sounds of the murky waters.

The mass pickup that someone leaked to the Gotham criminal-bashing
informational sources doesn't seem to have started yet. The waterfront is
quiet, ships tied down for the night, no one really about except for the
late night watchmen and a few mildly drunk crewmen lazing about The
warehouse in question is across the street from the main port office, and
there's one man sitting outside, chair leaning back against the wall,
reading a trashy romance novel. Could the rumors have been wrong?

Montoya idly pops an altoid into her mouth. She gives a little scowl as
she waits. She should be out on other pursuits. Pot busts. Dammit. She
sticks to one of the back walls, her eyes drifting over the various ragtag
mess in the area. The brunette scratches at her side trying to ignore her
bullet proof vest isnt' working.

About two buildings over to the east, hunched on a fire escape, a man in a
green hooded sweatshirt and jeans squints and watches the warehouse from
above. Word on the street has been passing around about something big
going down here, more than likely drug related but certainly illegal.
Oliver Queen merely watches for now, his weapons in the unzipped duffle
bag by his side... not quite ready, but in readiness.

Where better for a Gotham vigilante to be when on a stakeout? Why...the
rooftop of course. Antonio had been very specific when he mentioned what
was going down with the so-called warehouse. Maybe Uncle Tomaso was
downgrading from heroine to marijuana these days...but she doubted it. The
woman known as the Huntress perches atop the Port Office building right
across from the warehouse, eyes alert, watching, armed and ready. It
doesn't really matter who's behind it...right now. Beat heads in first.
Ask the questions later.

A sleek italian sportscar purrs quietly to a stop a block away. Its owner
leaps out, pressing a button on the alarm. The blonde quickly scales a
side of a warehouse wall, loping across the roof to traverese the abyss
between another building with an easy leap. Finally she creeps up on her
lead, gripping a cement sill and looking down. "Not much to re--" A tone
of feedback forces her to slip her earrings off. The Black Canary flies
without a safety net tonight.

From time to time, from a window of the warehouse, there is a hiss of
steam being released, like a hydraulic lift coming down, and the clank of
machinery. /Some/ work is being done, despite the darkened windows.
Possibly they are blocked from within.

How many vigilantes can the rooftops hold? On this evening, it may seem
that they're reaching saturation level, for there's another pair of the
night-time crimefighters that have claimed a cornice from which to peer
out at the warehouse in question. Apparently taking point in this pairing
is Gotham's former son, now of Bludhaven, the Aerial Avenger himself.
Nightwing's got a pair of hi-tech binoculars put up to his eyes as he
scans the warehouse, trying to peer into windows and the like, as he talks
to his partner. "Any idea when this was supposed to go down? Looks pretty
dead..." He keeps his voice quiet and subdued, so as to not bring
attention to their position. "And can you pass the hot chocolate?"

Crouched next to Nightwing, pouring Mrs pennyworth's Secret Hot Chocolate
from a black thermos into a black cup, another black-caped figure perches
nearby. "Don't look at me," a voice half an octave higher says. "I just
told you what I heard from less than reliable stoolies. Here."

Our watchman checks his watch - puts down Danielle Steele and rights his
chair, leaning forward. He takes his time, stretching, yawning; he's a
fairly muscular fellow. For good measure, he checks his watch again, then
knocks on the door. After a second, the door opens, and folks with good
ears or microphones can hear a muted cacophony of voices and sounds from
within. More hissing, more clanking - and the unmistakeable odor of your
friend and mine, Mary Jane. The door shuts again, and the watchman turns
around - he's holding a clipboard.
        Someone in a long coat is approaching from the east.

Montoya leans up to flick her gaze down the way. She notes the long coated
man and straightens herself up a bit swallowing the mint she'd been
working on. The woman rolls her head about on her shoulders as she then
glances back again, she's got to wait. Making the wrong move could be
trouble.

After the feedback disappears, Canary safely slips her earrings back on,
her tone a low continuous whisper of concise information. "I'm on top of
the warehouse. As you can probably hear, there's some machinery going, and
this is definately the place. One guard. I'm sensing some shadows though.
There's one vice on the ground. Might get hot here tonight. You sure we
need to be here? Mary Jane's pretty low-rpofile on the bad-guy meter." She
pauses. "I'm directly above a window, which has been painted black.
Judging from the noise, the warehouse is active."

His sense of smell heightened from years of having to track and hunt in
the woods coupled with his familarity of the scent from numerous drug
raids and one or two parties in college let Oliver Queen know this is
indeed the site of the shipment. "Someone's sampling the crop, it seems."
he mutters as he starts to slowly crawl down from his snipers nest on the
fire escape.

In the water just off the warehouse, there is a slow rolling of water, as
if something, or several somethings, were sliding smoothly beneath the
surface. A tiny glint of light, then whatever it was (they were?) it is
under the warehouse completely. Perhaps this is the appointed hour.

There is a shooting of a grappling hook that is silent as it latches onto
the appointed spot and a cloaked figure swings through the darkness to
land just behind a pair of figures that seem to be enjoying their hot
chocolate for the moment. The Huntress looks from the Teen Wonder to his
'big brother' and arches an eyebrow before she says to Robin. "You didn't
say you were bringing company...." She smirks with amusement as she
glances to Nightwing again and then steps forward to look down toward the
warehouse entrance again and wrinkles her nose. "Damn...."

Taking the black cup offered from his partner, Nightwing only gets a sip
of it, before things begin to heat up down on the street below. The
liquid's sat down on the rooftop next to him, as the Acrobatic Ace folds
up his binoculars, stashing them away in one of his boot compartments.
"Well, looks like your less than reliable sources proved right this ti-"
His next whispered words are cut off, however, by the arrival of Huntress
from behind, and the vigilante instead turns to regard the Italian woman,
a slow half-grin touching at the corner of his mouth. "Hm. Speak of the
devil." He gives Robin a quick glance from the side, before remarking. "I
hope this is as big as you said it was. It looks like you've got enough
firepower here, and I hate to think about what's going down in Bludhaven
tonight while I'm gone." As he speaks, one hand begins to access the
jumpline concealed within his other glove.

Robin looks back and forth between Huntress and Nightwing like a high
speed playback of a tennis match as he puts the thermos away. "Yeeeah,
well, I didn't expect you to run into each other right off. It'll be big.
Trust me." He flips out a Batarang and gets ready to follow suit. . o O
(You hear me crooks - be big or I'm a one dead little birdie.)

And it looks like 'big' is a decent word for it, yes. 'Heating up' would
be good, too, and so would 'coming to a head'. There're a whole crowd of
people converging on the watchman now - people of all shapes and sizes.
Good gravy, these dealers are diverse! Each one is let in only after
they've shown some form of ID to the watchman, and he's checked their name
off the list. Someone's either very foolish, or very bold. The small inner
warehouse door is open now, and the inside of the warehouse is bright and
loud. If crimefighters intend to fight crime indoors today, they better
know how to hold their breath.

Montoya curses under her breath. This looks bad. She shifts foward and
steps into another shadow trying to figure the situation. SHe can smell it
from here, "Christ...." The detective dearly hopes that the undercover
officer is in there and is somehow.. well sober. Otherwise... this looks
bad. She takes a careful step as she moves towards it.

Across town, the other half of the Birds of Prey stuffs another bite of
Ling's combo platter #7 special in her mouth. Then nearly chokes on it as
she notices the location of a couple of the other people she works with.
Her amused, and muffled voice echos softly in Dinah's ears. "Yeah, it
should be more than worth your time to be here tonight." Managing to
finish the mouthful without coughing it all over, the amusement is even
more clear now. "Very worth your time... Oh.. boy." Oh yeah, this is going
to get interesting. Can we say Overkill, boys and girls? I knew you could.
"Di.. take the..." she takes a look at the maps again, "South side..." (Or
what ever side Nightwing/Robin/Huntress aren't on). "and keep an eye out.
Something tells me you aren't the only birdy out tonight."

The Black Canary pauses, coiled atop the cement sill. Her head titls to
one side as she listens carefully to her employer's voice. "Y'okay? You
sound like you're choking." With a shake of her head, Canary moves to the
ajacent wall (South) and braces on the sill, slinking her torso down to
experimentally test the window. The fumes coming within are noticeable.
"Woo. Can you Fed-Ex a lava lamp and a glow-in-the-dark Zepplin poster?"

Oliver Queen pulls the compact bow from his duffle bag and slings a quiver
over his shoulder as he starts his descent down the fire escape of the
building just to the east of the big wearhouse. He moves at a slow but
steady climbing pace, choking a bit as the smell get stronger. "Geez...
you'd think this was the Cheech and Chong reunion tour..." he mutters, the
whitty quip heard only by himself and the wall.

A guttural laugh comes out of the door when it is opened, once time,
throaty and cackling, almost inhuman. It is about to be joined by another
when the door closes again. Nice soundproofing. Clearly prepared in
advance.

"Playtime is over, children...." The Huntress seems to say to no one in
particular and then turns to see Nightwing with his grappling ready and
smiles to the Batman's two top boys in turn. "Its showtime...." She seems
like she's going to enjoy this just a bit too much. A throw of the
grappling hook, a sleek cut through the Gotham night, and the dark haired,
female vigilante crashes through one of those darkened paned window and
does a dive, tuck, and roll across the floor. And when she comes up, its
with a kick to the groin of the nearest Big, Bad, and Ugly. Again, she
can't help but wrinkle her nose and cough a bit. What can she say...she
hates smoke.

There's smoke.. and then there's /smoke/. And it's not hard at all to see
the fruits of the MJ inside the warehouse roil out in plumes each time the
door is opened. Even as he preps his own swingline for action, Nightwing
makes a last-minute decision, grabbing a small filter-mask from another
one of his glove compartments, snapping it into place around his nose and
mouth. "Might want to..." His words of warning are lost on Huntress as she
flies off across the alleyway, but at least he can offer the advice to
Robin before he launches. "Prepare yourself for the smoke." Just doesn't
have the zing to it now that one of the party has left already though. And
not one to be left out of the party, Nightwing casts his own line out
across the gap between the buildings, his mouth set into a grim line
underneath his mask as he soars through the air to crash in through the
window next to where Helena entered the building. After the crash and the
spray of glass... It's business as usual here at the Gotham docks.

Robin gives Nightwing a look, his eyeslits quirking, looking comical above
his already snapped on re-breather. "What am I, eight?" he says in a
metallic-tinged voice. The Batarang slices through the air and catches on
the fire escape. The Teen Wnder arcs through the open window pane after
his partners. With a sommersault, he lands on his palms to lash out feet
first at a pair of thugs. "You guys are lucky I came with Nightwing -
Batman would freak if he heard I was at a rave. Although Huntress has a
thing about drugs being sold to schoolkids." His red and green coloring in
the bright light makes him look like a living lava lamp. After the kick he
does what looks like a breakdance spin. Or is this Writhing Cricket Style?

Inside the warehouse, it's - well, psychedelica revisited. Electric
Barbarella! Not quite a rave - the only people present are the
wholesalers, the retailers, associated candy girls hanging on the arms of
the wholesalers, assorted thugs (who're actually oddly thin), and...oh
shit, a bunch of clowns. There *are* roiling clouds of marijuana smoke -
it's almost as though these people're attempting to hotbox an entire
warehouse. A disco ball hangs from the ceiling, there are glowing lava
lamps sitting on top of crates clearly labelled SNAPPLE: CACTUS FLAVOR,
and a blacklight and a strobe are going. What the hell kind of pickup is
this, anyway?

Huntress kick lands squarely - not in the groin, but in the heavily
muscled midsection of a green-scaled lizardlike man, shirtless, dripping
with water, his huge jaws open, laughing at some joke. It's Croc! No, it's
not Croc. For one thing, Croc doesn't come in fours, and there are four of
these men. The one she kicked stumbles back a little and hisses, then
roars, "RAAAR!", charging at her. Dick and Tim's entrance, less on
"point", take in a few metallic boxy robots, psychedelically colored.
"Intruder." one of them buzzes. "I don't like this one bit." One has a
small clattering minigun which whirrs suddenly to life and the other
unslings a bizarre-shaped globular weapon that fires huge splats of
sticky...something. Probably something nasty. Don't get hit by it. They
start to fire at Dick and Tim crazily.

Montoya yanks a rather large handkerchief from her pocket and raises it up
to her mouth and nose. She has to hold it in place. Her free hand reaches
to her gun and she does yank it out. The noise of glass breaking has come
through and she rushes the door, "Gotham PD, You are all under arrest!"

At the very moment that Renee rushes Mr. Danielle Steele with her gun and
her hankie, Dinah finds that these wonderfully smart soundproofing people
forgot that vigilantes don't use doors: it appears that her window of
choice was unlocked, and there are convenient crates stacked up
underneath. A cloud of smoke billows out into her face. On the other side
of the building, Ollie makes his way up to the mirror of the window
Dinah's entering. Cheech and Chong indeed - he still needs to open his
window.

As The Black Canary slips in, she nearly stumbles, inhaling sharply and
taking in the equivalent to a good long 'bong hit' by street standards.
Just then feedback sounds in her ears. "Awww..." Her expletive is drowned
out by the gunfire below as she yanks off the tarnsmitters. Eager to join
the fray, the Bird of Prey slinks down...only as she progresses, her
movements become somewhat more fluid, as she swings her head distractedly
at the cacophony of sounds. She finds herself peering up at a clown. "I
hate clowns." She punches him dimly out of general principle, while
somehow avoiding gunfire. It's apparent to anyone else though that she is
under the influence, her reactions precise but oddly timed.

The glass crashes down as fine California Ash and Stainless steel hit
glass with the force of a truck. Three seconds after the final bit of the
glass waterfall cascades to the floor. Oliver Queen has jumped through the
window and landed on his feet, his sweatshirt hood pulled tight so that
his nose and mouth are covered and only his eyes are seen. Another arrow
is notched and ready to go as he glances across the room searching for a
target. It's at that point he notices all the other vigilantees and his
attention focuses on one of the robots... who soon has a wooden shaft
heading toward its' gun.

Clankety Clunk Clunk CLONK. The arrow ratchets into the spinning minigun,
the haft jamming, then splintering. The robot wheezes.
"HowmayIbeofassistance." it says metallically and flatly, like a curse. It
wheels its head up and around. "Narrowing Detection Window. Unit has
hostile intentions." Suddenly laser beams shoot out its eyes towards
Oliver. Why it didn't use those /first/ is anyone's guess.

[RP] Robin says, "My Log title - 'Bats' Not Here Man' (or Punch the Ninja
on the Left Hand Side)"

You know -- clowns are *not* your friends. Wakko Warner had it right when
he spent an entire episode with Clownophobia - these guys are *evil*.
Robin lays two of them out flat, but...they bounce right up again, if a
little dizzily. One of them sways, and the other one shakes his head then
suddenly aims a really wicked kick, kung fu style, at Robin's midsection.

Huntress looks around the area, not paying much attention to bozo who got
the swift kick when she first flew in. She looking around and blinking.
"What the -- " Killer clowns...ninjas...and arrays of other things? "You
have got - " She pauses just long enough to look at one who is waving his
hands in front of him in what she assumes in some mockery of Mantis style.
She just shakes her head and does a straight punch to the man's nose," -
to be kidding." She mutters, still coughing a bit and lifting up her cape
to filter the air a bit. Damn, she really hates smoke.

The smoke is thick enough that it's almost hard to see across the room -
fortunately however, Nightwing is only concerned with seeing far enough
ahead of him to beat up on the bad guys. And boy, are they /bad/. Killer
Clowns, Leaping Lizards, and Rampaging Robots... Oh my. The Acrobatic Ace
twists about in the air as he fights the robots that he landed near,
narrowly escaping the gunfire and globs of ... whatever that goo is, as he
beats them about the head and neck area with his escrima sticks. As one is
distracted by Green Arrow, Nightwing focuses on the remaining robot,
silently wondering why the Emerald Archer is here. And is that Black
Canary over in the other corner? "How many people did you invite to this
party?" he calls out to Robin.

As Robin spins on his back, the strobe and blacklight give the illusion
his speed rivals Impulse's. His after images catch up to him as he crosses
his ankles around the clown's knee. "I didn't write the guest list, I just
know which hot spots to crash!" he answers Nightwing. Turning on his side
and leaning on his elbow, he twists his hips throwing the Ninja Clown
bodily into his fellows. "You wobbling weebles can fall down now!" he
says.

The reader of trashy novels looks like he's not gonna go down easy - in
fact, as Renee and her gun rush him, he snarls and rips open his shirt,
revealing a blue t-shirt with the S-Shield on it. Oh yeah, this is gonna
be a long night. A couple of scantily clad men with masks and words
written on their naked chests (no, not SOY BOMB) rush out in a cloud of
smoke behind him. What're the words? They both say 'SHRUBBERY'.

The clown that Dinah punched on principle was totally not expecting that -
the influence will do that to you. He was, however, not alone - a couple
more of the painted bastards rush her, pulling moves that look like they
were glommed straight off of Virtua Fighter II.

Weebles that wobble aren't *supposed* to fall down - but Robin's very good
at what he does, and his ninja mofos were hittin' the ganja a little hard,
so when he makes his comment they start giggling. Then groaning, but not
because the joke was bad - they're honestly hurting. With the clowns on
the floor, a couple more Hedge Ninjas rush the Boy Wonder. "BANZAI! Ni!
Ni!"

The Huntress' more solid kick this time actually knocks the lizardman off
his feet. His friends close in and slash at her with claws, their
bloodshot eyes filled with an eager aggression. Is that blood around their
scaly lips? The robot attacked by Nightwing has one side of its smooth
face caved in, and it spits sparks at him. The gloop gun blats again and
with a hydraulic hiss, it brings a heavy metal leg up to kick him - a
clumsy kick but /very/ powerful.

A bolt of filthy spanish comes out of Montoya's mouth. She then
straightens out as she stops in front of little boy blue and curses out,
"Look dumbass, you certainly ain't Superman, next you certainly ain't
bullet proof." SHe cocks the gun, "While I'm sure you and your crew ain't
feeling any pain, I have no qualms about injecting you with lead. I know
I'm fast enough to get a round off in you, and I bet that a semiautomatic
weapon can squeeze off enough rounds to cause them a lot of painful
therapy..." Alright so she's choosin standing her ground and bravado.
There are dumber things to be doing.

As her timing and perception become altered, Canary actually emerges a
fluid and precise fighter. Free of the self-doubts and need to banter, she
strikes out at anything and everything in her path. This includes clown
limbs, wigs, noses, and even clown jewels. Her paranoia, mounting high at
this point, serves her well as she anticipates their moves and counters
with ferocity: internally thinking her moves far too slow as her vision
trails, when in actuality they are faster than normal due to her
overcompensation. And then...as the violence subsides, she realizes dimly
that this is perhaps wrong. She looks down at her feet. At the soft
makeshift matress of injured twitching clowns laying there. The swirl of
colors, the rainbow of their hair...

*THUD*

Canary slumps over, unconscious. Perhaops it was a hit. Or maybe two. She
lost track after the first. Isn't that always the way it goes?

If there's one thing over a decade in the hero business teaches you, it's
to develop a really good sense of when to duck for cover. Oliver is
already diving for cover and screaming something best labled "Mature
Audiences Only". He lands behind a pile of crates as the robot whose gun
he shot spins around in his general diretcion and fires its' lasers.
Keeping low, Ollie pokes his head out from the other side of the crates,
trying to see what is going on. He gazes across the room just in time to
see the Canary getting hit.

Huntress sees she's going to have to bring out the heavy artillery. She
turns to see another lizard just off to her right and notches a crossbolt.
She coughs again and does a dive, her head beginning to swim a bit, but
she's busy. Can't think about that at the moment. Note to self: Gotta get
one of those mask. She let's a bolt fly with deadly accuracy toward the
nearest scale face and then whips around and tries to let another kick fly
in the face of one who thought of trying to take advantage of an opening.
"I don't think so...."

Even in a smoke-filled room, clumsy just doen't cut it against the Aerial
Avenger. Arcing his body about in near-impossible positions, he avoids
both the slopping goo, as well as the robot's slow kick, letting the metal
leg shoot past his chest harmlessly. The attempted hit leaves the
mechanical foe dangerously open for counterattack, however, and
opportunity that Nightwing isn't about to miss. His own leg lashes out,
but in a low sweep, designed to knock the robot's remaining foot out from
underneath him. "I know this haze isn't affecting you any," he quips to
the machine as he performs the maneuver, his voice coming out slightly
muffled from behind his filter. "But why don't you take a load off like
everyone else?"

The robot smashes to the ground and says "Please don't do that again." in
a metallic voice. "Have a nice day." before clanging and shuddering to a
halt. Helena's lizard companions back off a little bit, giving her more
room as one of their number stumbles back with black blood gushing from
the wound and the other staggers with the blow of her foot. They look for
an opening, but they're never very quick to take it.

The robot who was blasting at Ollie stops and ambles clankety-clank
towards his hiding place, glowing red eyes searching. "Sir? Where did you
go? You lost something." It holds up the shattered haft of the arrow still
half-jammed in the minigun.

Robin flows from his hip throw to a crouched position, only to hear that
word come from two more Ninjas lips. "Yougottabehkinkiddinme!" he mumbles
through his filter. Deciding to play this surreal game, he mimics the
posturing Keanu Reeves stole from Bruce Lee, complete with snorting and
nose-thumbing. Just as he's about to say 'It!', the Ninjas Who Say Knee
grab both his arms and try to make a wish. With a wince, Robin leans into
one and snap kicks the other, than flips the first over his back into the
second. Spinning around he assumes a serious knife-and-hand-stance that
seems to say 'I meant to do that!' . o O (Hope Dick didn't see that.)

The eyes of Mr. Dani-El (man of) Steele blaze metaphorically. "You ain't
gettin' in, lady cop! The Shrubbery will go all Zen Kung Fu on your ass,
even if you shoot me!" He waves his hands in the air in front of Montoya,
widening his stance slightly - which proves to be rather a bad idea, as
one of his feet comes down on his novel, making him lose his footing. He
crashes into Shrubbery Number One, who blinks and exclaims, "Ni!"
Shrubbery Number Two responds with an angry "Ni! Ni ni!" and suddenly
ducks into a somersault towards Montoya, feet ending up aimed upward at
her gun and possibly her chin.

Robin's Ni-Saying Ninjae are looking more and more like sick parodies of
the Keystone Kops, as they bumble into each other in an attempt to stay
upright. The one who'd been swaying before just falls over entirely now,
but the other, the one who'd been tossed, turns unsteadily and growls, "I
am no longer the Ninja that says 'Ni'." He pauses, advancing slowly. "I am
now the Ninja that says
'Icky-icky-icky-p'tang-wooo-lalala-yararatatalalafafalafrowwwwng!"

Montoya finds her gun kicked out of her hands and winces, that's gonna
hurt. She does get her face out of the way, she turns to take an
opportunity to grab at no. 2. Her hands grip bare flesh and she starts in
on a standard Judo toss, hopefully aiming him into a near by pile of
dragons - er, garbage cans.

As the robot approaches, Ollie grabs two arrows from his quiver. As the
robot says he lost something, Ollie crouches and jumps from behind the
boxes and lets the arrow fl toward the laser eyes of the robot as he tries
to break into a run away from the robot and get to some kind of cover on
the other side of the room.

Huntress still faces off with the two lizards left, trying to focus her
attention even as her headache seems to have already redoubled. She looks
to the one who seems to have gone down, at least for the time being, and
then, just as she's about to try and finish the job...."Oh...oh...no...,"
comes the Italian woman's voice. She almost completely doubles over and
just vomits right there. Heaving up the earlier evening's dinner as it
seems the smoke and other such nasties have taken their toll and as she
just continues, it seems her concentration is definitely broken until the
episode passes.

Standing over the now apparently lifeless hunk of metal that used to be a
robot, Nightwing glances around the rest of the hazy room, the white
eye-slits in his mask narrowing as he does his best to figure out where
everyone else is at. Canary seems to be down, but took a good number of
clowns with her. Arrow's dealing with the other robot, Huntress against
the lizards, Montoya's squaring off against a pair of crazies and... The
vigilante's gaze focuses on to Robin just in time to see the youth get
snared by similarly silly ninjas, and struggle his way free. "Nice move,
Robin!" he shouts out to his junior partner for the night, half in jest
and half genuine. Despite the near call, though, the kid seems to be
holding his own - and so Nightwing decides to lend his help to someone
else. His candidate? The Huntress, who seems quite in need of help at the
moment. Launching himself towards the circle of lizards that's trying to
take advantage of her sudden episode and close in on the female vigilante,
the Acrobatic Ace does his best to clock one from behind with an escrima
stick. "Seeya later, alligator!"

Robin narrows his eyeslits and grits his teeth. He pulls back his left
hand and his right fist pistons out at the ninja's chin. "E's not pinin!'
he says in a cockney accent. His right fist flies at the ninja's gut. "E's
passed on!". Robin stomps on the ninja's right instep. "This ninja is no
more!" He stomps on the ninjas left instep. "'E's expired and gone to meet
'is maker! " He laces his fingers together and pounds the ninja on the
back. "'E's a stiff!" Robin picks the ninja up and slams him against the
wall. "Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace!" He starts to slap the ninja
forehand, backhand, forehand. "If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd
be pushing up the daisies!" Robin karate chops the ninja in the neck on
the left side. "'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory!" He chops the
ninja on the right side of the neck. "'E's off the twig!" Robin grabs the
ninja and lays him across one knee. "'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled
off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir
invisibile!" Lifting the ninja overhead with a clean-and-jerk, Robin
throws him into the crates of Cactus Snapple. "THIS IS AN EX-NINJA!"

The robot's eye is shattered and sparks fly out, though it's minigun
springs back to life as Ollie runs, springing and spanging bullets off
crates and shattering Snapple bottles. "I'm sure this is all a
misunderstanding." the robot says, twisting around uncertainly. It
couldn't hit the broadside of a bar with only one eye, apparently, but the
bullets are flying anyway. Almost more dangerous than before.

As the lizards close in on the vomiting Huntress, Nightwing completely
surprises them, one of them being utterly smashed unconscious to slump
down behind her, the other turning warily to face him and strike out with
his claws.

Honestly, with the outdoor shrubberies as stratospheric as they are, it
doesn't really take a lot of effort for a seasoned cop like Montoya to
take them out - the judo move pretty much finishes that guy off, he's
seeing dragons in the stars around his head. As for Superman and Ni #1,
well...uh, they're crying and hugging. It's best not to ask.

Even as they're getting the tar kicked out of them by the Boy Wonder, the
remains of Robin's Hedge Ninjas marvel and gibber with pleasure as he
quotes, verbatim, everyone's favorite sketch. It's not long before they're
piled on top of the clowns.

In fact, everything seems to be winding down - the air is finally
beginning to clear out, from all the smashed windows and open doors, and
now it only smells vaguely of the killer weed: the overpowering odors now
seem to be vomit and cactus Snapple.

Montoya reaches down to take up her radio, she switches it on as she
speaks breathlessly into it, "Dispatch? Send the Paddy wagon down to the
docks... seems... well seems like we've got a lot of garbage to collect
an' yeah.. send vice down here... we seem to have a lot of evidence
they'll be interested in.." She blinks at No. 1 and Superman, "Dude...
don't act that friendly when you are in the pen... better for ya.."

Oliver Queen keeps running as he hears the breaking of Snapple bottles
behind. As he runs, he reaches for one more arrow and spins around for
just a second (still running to the other side of the warehouse) to
observe the one robot still chasing him. "Why won't you DIE!?!" he screams
at the robot. The robot, it might be note, responds by saying. "Hello. My
name is Hal... " and begins to sing "Bicycle Built for Two" as Ollie takes
the newly notched arrow and lets fly for the robot's neck."

And where is Huntress? Well, she's still collapsed and doubled over on the
floor, doing her damnest to try and catch her breath as she has now fallen
into the dry heave stage. She only catches a blur that could be Nightwing
out of the corner of her eye as she watches him take down the lizards and
she gulps for air and tries to stand up of her own accord before she
totally embarrasses herself, finding a crate to try and prop herself up
on, but still, she's not in much shape to fight, she tries to aim at the
veyr last lizzy around, but then has a fit of coughs again and her eyes
water even worse, stinging, and she's glad it was a light dinner.

Which leaves pretty much just Nightwing and the last standing lizard. The
reptillian's strike was timed well enough to catch the vigilante as he was
still dealing with the other foe - but still, it seems as if the three
tears across the chest of Nightwing's costume didn't go deep enough to
draw any blood. The Aerial Avenger gives the Killer Croc-wannabe a sly
grin as he squares off, an escrima stick held at the ready in each hand.
Unfortunately, the expression can barely been seen from underneath the
filter he wears. "Should have made better use of that hit," Nightwing
reprimands. "Because you know I'm not going to be that easy on you." And
having issued the words, Nightwing follows them up with his deeds, leaping
into a full flip designed to bring the full weight and power of the
vigilante's body down on the lizard's chest, feet first. The move is a
pure blend of acrobatics and combat prowess, with his arms extended to his
sides for balance and his body a sequence of perfectly aligned angles.

The robot doesn't get the Hal joke and the lizard doesn't have the
aesthetic sense to appreciate the acrobatics, but both go down firmly.

Robin stands in the center of downed ninjas, one hand turned palm up and
the other scratching his head. "Is it just me?" he says to no one and
everyone, "oe was this too weird even for Gotham?"

Oliver Queen quickly moves to the fallen Dinah. A quick check of her pulse
shows that she's bruised and has a hell of a lump on her head, but nothing
that can't heal after a few days...

Somehow, he disappears along with Dinah in all the confusion afterward
before the cops arrive.

Montoya finds her gun and slips it back into her holster. Her eyes echo a
grin as the bright lights of the cars and the sirens comming.

Giving Robin a quick nod, he gets out a quick, "You're telling me," before
heading over to check on Huntress, and make sure that the female vigilane
is all right. Well enough to make a departure before the cops arrive, at
least. Which is what the three of them do, waiting until Montoya glances
away for that critical moment... and the next time she looks back.
Nightwing, Robin and Huntress are just gone, with only a gust of wind from
the window marking their exit.

Montoya mutters as she glances back at the now vigilante freezone, "They
are all the same....there one sec... gone the next..."