Gotham: Downtown

        Awe-inspiring. Or perhaps an urban nightmare. This part of the
city is home to giants of brick and mortar, towering edifices with bulky
foundations and heavily ornamented facades. Chimneys, girders, crosswalks
mingle in the upper reaches of the gothic and art deco skyscrapers. Long
shadows are cast over the seemingly minuscule sidewalks and intersections
where most of Gotham's traffic merges, with statues of gargoyles and icons
of civic pride looking down upon the passersby. Everything seems
cluttered; advertisements protruding over rooftops in garish display,
water towers and powerlines, windblown trash, even the people on the
streets themselves. Amidst the traffic noises, one may occasionally hear
the rattle of the elevated train that snakes it way above the darkened
streets, or the distant foghorn from the harbor in the middle distance.

----

It's a cold night, but not wet. One of the last 24-hour convenience stores
in the area - certainly the last in the block - is brightly lit; yellow,
vaguely dirty light spills through the metal gridwork on the windows,
illuminating the sidewalk. Inside, a bored teenaged guy sits behind the
counter, flipping through a magazine. Outside, a tall, very
unhealthy-looking man lurks in the alley next to the store, loading a
rather large assault rifle.

The Guardian of Gotham City cuts across the skyline, swinging at intervals
from rooftop to rooftop, eyes scanning the sidewalks for signs of anything
strange in the rhythm of the streets. He releases the line and drops to
land soundlessly on the roof of a storage building on the outskirts of
Downtown.

Batman thinks . o O (No signs of those snipers. I hope to God Dick and
Canary know what they're doing...)

Checking his watch, the man in the alley turns to look at the sky, and
grins to himself. . o O (The Director will be pleased...everything is as
he said, and the boy suspects nothing.) A flicker of doubt crosses his
broad features, then is erased with the thought, (Of course it is the
right one. Augusto, you worry for nothing. Trust your Director.)
Wordlessly, yet with all the sound of an air conditioner crashing to the
pavement from four stories up, the heavily-armed man crashes dramatically
through the door. It bangs into the comic rack, knocking it over, and the
kid behind the counter groans. "Dammit, why doncha be more caref- holy
/shit/!" Yeah, his voice cracked, there - he must've seen the gun.

The rattling sound reaches the acutely tuned senses of Batman on his
sloping perch. With a very brief glance in the direction of the noise, he
moves with panther-like prowess to the ledge and then drops off into the
darkened alleyways that crisscross the downtown backstreets. Moving
through the alleyway by foot, he hops a few bums and assorted trash on his
way towards the source of the noise.

"You will not move, and you will not talk..." hisses Augusto, leveling his
weapon at the teenager's head. He steps into the store the rest of the
way, eyes flickering from side to side, as he looks for watchers, and
follows the paranoia-created movements in his peripheral vision. "...until
I say. You will not press the silent alarm. You will not yell or draw
undue attention to this place." He's at the counter now, weapon still
pointed at the wide-eyed clerk's head. "Now you will get out from behind
the counter, and walk in front of me."

The kid pales to the point you think he's going to faint. "Look, do you
want the money? I can give you the mon-" He bites off his words when the
man's eyes narrow and his finger tightens on the trigger. And he does
exactly what the man says, stepping out to walk in front of him.

The Dark Knight slows his pace to halt behind a column a few feet out from
the alleyway facing the convenience store. He studies the situation
critically, gauging the weapon, the man weidling it, and the state of the
hostage. That which he can make out beyond the glass and displays blocking
his vision of the scene, anyways.

As soon as the kid steps in front of him, Augusto takes out a hand grenade
and pulls the pin, keeping the catch depressed. He grabs the kid around
his skinny neck, laughing softly...then tightening his grip into a
chokehold when the hapless teenager reflexively struggles. "You will come
with me, your Highness, and you will not make problems for me. The
Director wishes your presence at his home."

Your Highness? Licking his lips carefully, the teenager says quietly,
frightened almost out of his wits, "I think you got the wrong guy, man."

It doesn't even matter, it seems. The man pushes the boy along in front of
him, keeping him well aware of the live grenade by its pressure on his
neck.

Batman watches the two figures move, eyes concentrated for the moment on
the grenade in Augusto's hand. He can't hear what they're saying, but
there's plenty of evidence that the hostage-taker is on a knife's edge
mentally speaking. He gauges the distance and angle of the figures from
his current position in a second, then takes a module from his belt.

The two move outside, Augusto meticulously directing the kid with a
combination of hissed commands and insistent nudges. He's leading him back
to the alley, looking around with darting glances and waving his rifle
around impressively (but uselessly). The kid, and probably also any cops
who might happen by, wouldn't know he needs both hands to fire the thing.

Batman steps to one side of the column, darting across the street in a
slight crouch, the edge of his cape briefly brushing the asphalt as he
moves to another alleyway. One he knows intersects with the one Augusto is
taking his hostage.

(Be grateful there was no one else in the store,) thinks Augusto, face
set. Is it ever set any other way? Doesn't look it. (It would have
entertained, but the mission is more important than entertainment.) Wow,
people still think like that. He directs the kid down the alleyway,
intending to cut through several neighborhoods, back to his vehicle. The
boy wordlessly complies - when you have a live grenade pressed against
your neck, arguing isn't smart.

The black shadow form of Batman slides along a wall; waiting, watching.
Holding his position by a boxy brown metal dumpster, the Caped Crusader
keeps the small paralysis dart in his left hand's gloved palm, his other
hand splayed out on the ground, kneeling.

Batman thinks . o O (Doesn't look familiar; but the eyes say it all.)

The vehicle - 'car' doesn't do this thing justice - is parked several
streets down, and Augusto relaxes almost imperceptibly when he sees it.
The kid only gets flinchier. Luckily, he's a sci-fi guy: while he's
certainly scared spitless, he's also telling himself what a great story
this would make. "Inside," hisses Augusto, pointing the rifle at the
teenager again, lowering the grenade. He opens the driver's side door with
the grenade hand, jerking his head toward the vehicle - it seems the kid's
meant to climb over.

The paralysis dart hisses through the air, aimed at the wrist joint of
Augusto's 'grenade hand'. The intent is to paralyze the hand in its grip.
The drug may numb the entire arm, but the effect will not last more than a
few seconds.

Augusto lets out a brief cry, surprised and angry, like a stung bear. His
hand tenses and he spins quickly, neglecting the boy in the vehicle,
looking for the source of his sudden discomfort.

The kid, not wanting to die, not wanting to become Quick & Easy Target #1
for the searching anger of the terrorist, cowers expertly in the van.

Rising like a phantom from the darker corners of the nighttime alley,
Batman appears from his cover, seeming to float for a brief moment, cape
unfurled, reaching out around him like clawed hands. He is, in fact,
leaping forwards, arms outstretched to try and pin the gunman and contain
the armed grenade.

Batman emits a bonechilling animal cry as he makes his desperate lunge.

Reduced to an animalistic state himself, Augusto roars, trying to make his
body do what he commands it to - but his hand - now his arm - isn't
cooperating. He raises his other arm, the rifle...then it clatters to the
ground, as he decides to rely on his fists instead. And by that time, the
Bat is upon him. He swings aimlessly, trying to do some damage, any
damage; he wills his arm to come to life.

The kid has enough sense to get the hell out of the vehicle, out of the
way. He fumbles with the door, then practically falls out, running across
the street.

Batman takes a blow to the side of his head. A heavy, stunningly powerful
blow, delivered by Augusto's insane rage more than by his natural physical
power. As things go black and then white for a moment, Batman's natural
reflexes kick in, and his right hand gropes to catch onto the fist with
the grenade, and hold it. . o O (Keep...alert...concussion blast'd kill us
both in this alley...

Fathers be praised; Augusto has the use of his hand back. And if his
mission fails, he knows what he is to do. But this Bat...this /creature/
of Gotham, of the night...it is only a hindrance, no? The thought suddenly
crosses Augusto's anger-hazed mind that he has left the child
unsupervised, and he may have escaped. That instant of inattention is all
it takes for Batman to get a firm hold on his flailing hand...which snaps
his mind right back to the immediate problem. Augusto lets out another
inarticulate roar, other hand moving to swing at Batman again.

Batman bows his head suddenly, ducking the arc of the swing, and butting
his head (ears first) into the stomach of the crazed assailant. Hoping to
wedge the grenade from the man's hand as he recieves the blow and possibly
falls back, Batman looks quickly to the dumpster to his side, preparing to
kick it open in a split second, weight shifting slightly to one leg.

Eyes opening wide in surprise, Augusto does indeed fall back, hands in
front of him. He's not paying a log of attention to the grenade, and there
- now it's gone. (This is kind of a slow quasiterrorist.) He's not sure
where it went...he's actually not really thinking at all anymore. Crashing
roughly against the side of his vehicle, the guy sets off his own car
alarm. Ow. Which makes him think the police are coming, too. His
instructions in this instance were very specific. Augusto takes a pistol
from his belt and points it at his head.

(OOC) Augusto dammits, that wasn't clear at all. Um.

(OOC) Augusto says, "He *thinks* the police are coming - and if he's
failed so badly that the police show up, he's supposed to off himself."

Batman kicks the lid of the dumpster open, tosses the grenade into it,
lets the lid shut. Its all one fluid motion, a combination of uncanny
reflexes, martial arts and gymnastics training, and the fact that he's
Bruce Wayne. He tenses for the coming explosion, and sees the pistol
appear in Augusto's hand. A split second before the dumpster's insides are
racked by the (hopefully) dampened explosion, he sees the pistol...

The explosion in the barrel of the hand pistol is drowned out by the sound
of the explosion in the dumpster, muffled though it may be. And the kid
watching from across the street doesn't see that part. He sees the grenade
go in the trash, the lid slam down; he sees Batman; he sees the big van.
He doesn't see his erstwhile captor blow his head open. Then he hears
silence.

Batman looks down at the smoking skull of the dead man, shoulders
slouched, hands clenched at his sides. With a white stare he slowly
glances up towards the former hostage, kicking the pistol from the limp
fingers of Augusto. Moving over the hood of the van and approaching the
teen, he says "Batman here. Hostage taking. Suicide. Fifth and Abelard
Avenues." into his mask radio.

Face white, the kid shrinks back as Batman approaches, but stands his
ground. Batman's one of the good guys. He stopped the psycho, now, too,
right? Nothing to be afraid of...right. Silently, he looks up at the
looming figure.

Batman asks "You alright?" of the kid, briefly looking him over for wounds
or signs of panic attack or worse. An oily thought slithers through his
mind, however, some part of him wanting to blame the boy for his failure
to prevent the man's death at his own hand. Blaming the boy who couldn't
save his parents for the same failure.

"Y-yeah," stammers the teenager, straightening, trying to seem like more
than he is. He jams his hands into his pockets, hoping that'll stop them
from shaking. "Y-you said...suicide. That psycho guy...killed himself?"
What's in his eyes? Fear, still. Curiosity. A total lack of knowledge of
the situation, other than the fact that he was dragged from his job with
threats on his life.

Batman nods a grudging nod. "No idea what he wanted?" he asks, his voice
calm in spite of his inwardly turned anger and frustration.

The boy shakes his head, unconsciously taking his hands from his pockets
and hugging his arms across his chest, cold. "He called me Your Highness,
and said something about a Director, but I guess he was just on drugs or
something."

Batman gives another faint nod of his head, frowning contemplatively at
the ground. "Curious. Well, you should stay over here..." he motions to a
point away from the body but still in view of the street. "...police are
on their way. Tell them what happened if you can; if not, don't worry.
It'll come in time."

The boy looks dubiously at the spot, then nods. "I gue- hey! The store's
been...no one's been in there, I'm gonna lose my job..!" Oh sure, he
didn't panic /then/, but he's gonna panic /now/?

Batman holds up a hand, saying "Relax. They'll understand. Just relax." He
stands there, waiting for the wail of sirens, his stance growing more
casual, as if to help the teen feel more at ease in his naturally strange
company.

Shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, the kid waits
for the sirens, too. It's not as though, y'know, Batman wasn't a great guy
or anything...it's just that he's /Batman/, for cryin' out loud. Then
there they are...the kid moves further out into the light, where the
police can easily see him as they pull up.

With a last glance to the crumpled body of Augusto, Batman fades into the
alleyway, as per habit, his mind dark and foggy with self-recrimination.