New York City Mayhem

July 16 2014: The Joker and Harley lure an odd assortment of heroic types into an elaborate, and deadly trap

Queens Industrial Park

A largely abandoned industrial area currently undergoing a great deal of construction and rennovation



  • Mutants, Gangers and Meth-Lions

Mood Music:
[* None]

New York has proven itself far more entertaining than Gotham, at least in the Joker's opinion. And some of the city's denizens have proven themselves almost as entertaining as the Batman himself. Why, with her attitude and skills, Melinda May is almost a Batman with boobs! It's late in the summer evening, the sun having fully set and that half glimmer of orange on the horizon finally fading to the dark velvety blue, when a woman stumbles onto the street of an industrial area. A business woman, her hose torn, her dress-suit in shambles, her shoes gone. The blonde woman's glasses are askew as she sobs and has to use the building beside her to keep her upright. "Please! Somebody?"


Melinda May is driving through aforementioned industrial area in a rather yawn-inspiringly generic little Toyota with Richard Dragon, on their way to somewhere. Or perhaps from somewhere. Difficult to tell. "…and that's it? You just left?" She glances at the man, and when she looks back at the road she has to stomp on the brakes as the tattered businesswoman stumbles out into the street directly in front of the car. Thank goodness for adhering to the low speed limit.

Constantine sighs. He'd /just/ left the Nowhere Market, and was walking home. No more good deeds today! No! Go home, activate the wards, and read a book about eldritch beings from Beyond. That's a weekday home alone for Constantine.

John stops when the car does, though, standing about thirty feet away. Hands move automatically to light up a cigarette and a plume of smoke lifts from a cherry tip, floating in a haze around the Brit's head. He watches with a flat expression, blending in easily in his old trenchcoat and mortician-black suit, tie loose around his neck.


Riding along in that Toyota, Dragon looks a touch displeased, though perhaps it's more that he just dislikes this particular make of vehicle… or Melinda's driving.

Looking sidelong at her, the tall man crinkles his nose and tells her, "I understand your surprise but I valued the feelings of the other individual there. I was not going to betray them." There's a small wave of his hand absently as he murmurs, "Besides, the man was crippled, most likely his underlings have already killed him." Very blunt, very direct in their discussion, but then when the two are in private that's just sort of how they are.


The woman lifts her arms to her face as the car brakes sharply, flinching as if worried that the car was going to hit her. She backs away, pressing herself to the building, before looking passed her arms to see who it is. Terror is written on her features, along with the tear streaked mascara running down her cheeks. "Please? Please help me?"


Melinda May manages to not utter a curse at coming distressingly close to hitting that woman. Hitting the car's hazard lights and leaving it to idle in neutral with the parking brake on, she hands her phone to Richard before moving to disembark from the car. "Call it in."


Holding the cellphone in his hand, Dragon climbs partially out of the car as Melinda May heads off to be terribly helpful. He cocks an eyebrow as he stands there with the small device right there, his gaze a touch hazy as he tilts his head and says. "I've not used a cellphone before."

But then she's already rushing off to the aid of the person and he looks down, hits 911… then hits the green button. Ah. Modern Convenience. He brings it up to his ear, waits for the answer. "Yes, hello. I require police assistance I believe." He covers the phone and looks around for the address… the conversation continues.


"Nope. Nope nope nope." John walks another twenty feet away and hides in a shadow, smoking his cigarette. Things don't just go pear-shaped, they go shaped in Non-Euclidian, mind-warping ways when John's around. He burns the cigarette so fast it looks like a little chimney around his head. It's not exactly covert, but then again, stealth comes in many forms, and a chain-smoking guy in a trench coat is about as inconspicuous as it gets.


The woman stumbles over to May, grabbing her upper arms as she starts to plead with her. "You have to help us. He's crazy. I barely got out alive. Some gang. Please!" The cherry off of Constantine's cigarette causes the business woman to scream and point. "They found me! Oh god!"


Melinda May pulls out of the woman's grasp as quickly as the woman grabs for her, but then gets a hold of her forearms to try and cover up the defensive gesture. "Look, just calm down. Emergency services are on their way." She doesn't turn to look in the direction pointed out, trusting Richard to be keeping an eye out. Instead, she tries to lead the woman over toward the idling Toyota.

Constantine makes his cigarette disappear into a pocket, remaining slumped against the wall and more or less just… chills. He's not leaving, and continues to shake his head and mutter something along the lines of 'Just go home, John,' but he makes no movement to leave.


Indeed, Richard Drakonovski stands there with one foot upon the doorjam of the car, leaning a bit against the roof of it as he keeps an eye on Melinda and occasionally considers the surrounding area. He finishes up his small discussion with the charming lady on the other end of the emergency services line, pockets the phone and turns to look over towards Melinda. "They're on their way. " His attention then falls upon the young woman under Melinda's care and he furrows his brow as he considers them both.


The woman shakes her head, her eyes as wide as saucers. "It was awful! Terrible! They had us tied up. I used my nail file. I tried… I think I hurt one of them!" She then breaks down into sobs again, her shoulders shaking as she covers her face.

It's an industrial area, so it is hardly surprising to hear the sounds of heavy machinery in the area. It's even not at all startling to see cranes moving. Unless one recalls that it *is* night time. Two blocks in every direction, large cranes seem to be lowering tall concrete barriers into place.


Spotlights switch on, one spotlighting May, another Richard, another Constantine… Just because. Loudspeakers, apparently mounted on the buildings around them switch on. "Helloooooooooo." A voice that may be very, very familiar to Melinda May says. "I'm so glad you could all make it. Pardon our dust, we wouldn't want emergency services interrupting our little… audition, would we? I want to welcome you to the first ever annual Joker Bloodbowl. You, my friends, are the first ever contestants. This will be a trial of strength, of courage… hehehehehe… and of endurance. Let's see if you can keep the poor little escaped prisoner from getting all gobbled up by the things that go bump in the night. Or in this case, rawr in the night."

There's a grinding noise and several doorways swing open on their own around the group, all admitting a pair of hungry lionesses out. There's probably a good dozen of them.


Melinda May is trying to get the woman to lean against the car's front fender when THAT. VOICE. starts over the loudspeakers. She does cuss now, luridly, in Mandarin, then pulls the woman a bit less gently toward Richard and the open car door. "Get in the car," she snaps at the woman tersely, planning to make sure she's locked inside where the lions have less of a chance of getting at her. Richard simply gets a look from her. This is ground zero, hope you're prepared.


Stepping to stand beside Melinda, he tells her casually. "I've fought bears before. Not lions. Any advice?" The tall man tilts his head to the side, his neck making a short series of cartilaginous cracks. Drakonovski then rests his hands at his sides and shifts his weight just enough to present a ready stance. He considers his surroundings, the emerging tigresses, and then shakes his head to himself with a thought unvoiced.

Constantine reaches into his pocket and pulls out a can of spray paint and a lighter. He rattle it once, shakes it, and promptly shoots a three-foot jet of flame at the nearest lioness.

"You Americans, you watch nothing but ESPN and your damned football," he quips, stepping to join the group. "Tune into animal planet. Lions are naturally scared of people," he says in that cultured British accent. "Fire, especially. Here, someone hold this. I need to do something that will take a minute," he says, passing the improvised flamethrower off to either Melinda or Drakonvski, and then starts rummaging in his apparently voluminous jacket pockets. First he produces a flask and takes a hit. Priorities and all.


There are perks to being a vagrant with your very own bit of high technology stealth armor. That being? That when the part time gigs for people who have to be able to forget your face and name are sparse, one can very easily find vacant lots to sleep in. Being a nomad of a rather serial sort, the vigilante/hero/hobo of a thousand justices (Who are we kidding, really) tends to sleep in bursts short enough to be covered by the AIDOS's power system. Which would explain why instead of having his usual tactical advantage he wakes up all blue and glowing and covered in powered armor….in a garbage bin. In the middle of an industrial park. That apparently has a lot mored wildlife than when he fell asleep. Shaking the sleep from his eyes, he makes the move to rub his eyes…but the helmet covers that, so instead it just looks like he is trying to guard his face. Nope, critters are still here. People of various what is presumed to be heroic or villainous intent are still here. Once AGAIN, he has woken up in the worst possible place. Maybe he should check into a homeless shelter like a normal person.

He pulls down the lid of the garbage bin, using it to perform a detailed sweep of the area. Or maybe he's just hoping not to be noticed. "God……damnit." He hisses through voice augmentation. It sounds entirely more heroic than he meant it. God damnit indeed.


The tattered and torn business woman shrieks in terror at the sound of the voice, curling up into a small ball. Or she would if not for the fact that she is being lifted and practically thrown into Richard's arms. She looks at the lions as they start to emerge out of the surrounding buildings and doesn't need to be told twice to get into the car. She practically dives in, slamming the door behind her and locking the doors. She climbs into the back seat, looking for something to cower under. Finding an emergency blanket, she hides under that, looking like a silvery, shivery wreck.


A spotlight shines on a… trashcan? With a man in glowy blue armor peeking out of it? "What's this?" The Joker laughs as the lionesses back from the flame and bare fangs, closing in steadily on the group in a tightening circle of muscle and fur. "Another hero type? Awwww, he brought proper tights. Good for him."

Another pair of doors creak open and another four lionesses stalk out toward Dragnet. "You know, ordinarily lions are indeed afraid of people… and don't like to eat them. Fortunately these ones are starving… and have a bit of an amphetamine habit. Bad lionesses."

The creatures growl and roar and lunge forward in a surprisingly coordinated pack attack at anything in sight


Melinda May sees that the businesswoman is now locked in the car… fine. Whatever. Good enough for now. When the lionesses get closer than she'd care for, she takes a quick step up the car's front bumper and onto the hood, not caring about getting dents in the car's bodywork. Hastily pulling that black silk sash of hers out of a pocket, she sets both ends whirring with every intention of bashing any feline that gets too close for her taste.

And as Melinda moves, Richard Dragon uses the faint distraction it serves to do what Kung Fu Masters do best. He terribly gracefully steps to the side as one of the lionesses lunges after the woman and uncoils a kick with a blurring fast whipcrack of speed aiming to slam the poor starving drugged up creature into the side of the car even as he swirls to the side.

His arms snap up into stance, another creature /dives/ through the air at him with a feral roar and claws slashing. Only a moment to slip to the side, fabric tearing as the tall martial artist avoids the strike and counters with a wicked elbow behind the neck of the poor creature.

Drakonovski then turns to face the others, one hand extending forward, a foot sliding slowly across the hard concrete as he shifts to another stance, eyes narrowing. "They're faster than bears, though."


"Ok, fine, fuck you very much, too," Constantine says, as no one bothers to use the little flamethrower he'd offered. He fishes in his pockets for some chalk and some sulfur, and a few other things, throwing them onto the ground. He stoops and starts sketching quickly, occasionally using the improvised weapon to hurl flames at a tiger that gets too close to him, singing whiskers with searing heat.

"I need someone to watch my back!" Constantine shouts, sketching with one eye on the tigers. "Would one of you mind making sure nothing eats me while I'm busy saving us?"


Dragnet entrenches himself within his questionably sanitary pillbox, studying the lions, and then peering up at the spotlight. "I know that voice…." Th voice modulator makes him sound like a cross between Morgan Freeman and W. Morgan Shepherd put into a blender and having chainsmoked for about two and a half decades. It does a masterful job of concealing his utter terror when the bleariness of human vision and awareness is jumpstarted by stimulant cocktail and sudden, horrifying realization of just whose funhouse this is. His jaw locks, trying to keep teeth from chattering as systems come online. Or to be more accurate, the man in the suit comes online. "Sorry, my crack is better." He mumbles with the last traces of sleepiness, firing off a pair of gas canisters from the right gauntlet towards the approaching predators, each discharging its highly potent opiate payload into the air around them.


The emergency blanket in the back seat is moving an awful lot. What is that woman doing in there? Feet kick out and she writhes, almost as if she is having some sort of fit in there. Great! She's epileptic as well?

As if the starved and drugged lionesses aren't enough, the haunting laughter of the spotted hyena is heard as well. Two hyenas start to stalk out from yet another set of doors. They head straight for the car, circling it and snapping at anything that comes close. It seems the car is their territory now.


Three of the four lions… just drop, put right the hell to sleep by the opiates. The fourth one just sort of… staggers off. Several lionesses lunge in sequence at May and dragon only to be batted, kung fu'd or sash'd in the face and head. And Constantine… seems to be very unpopular. Fire bad. May pretty. Stay away from the fire and eat the Ma- ouch! That's a weighted sash! And a Richard Dragon.

"Ooooh. Well if you were about to die you'd have to salute me… and you may still yet."

The doors grind again and a number, about twenty for a number, of clown maked thugs with small caliber submachine guns and flaming bottles of booze… some of which appear to be half empty, emerge. "ROUND TWO!" Joker intones in a video game voice… done by a psycho. "FIGHT!"

Bullets start flying.


Melinda May kicks at one last lioness and then … the hyenas appear. Yeah. More cussing in Mandarin. She aims for the head of one of the two barking nasty creatures with one end of her sash and then the clowns with submachine guns start in. CRAP. One chance. She jumps down off of the hood of the Toyota with an attempt to do her imitation of a frozen turkey hitting a dog's back, and regardless of whether or not that works she yanks on the driver's side door to try and open it. It's a new model, should have that feature that the driver's door won't stay locked if the engine is running and the car is not moving. Hopefully.


Leaping over the car and landing on the other side of it, Dragon takes cover even as he glances after Melinda May to make sure she's fine for the moment. He grimaces and says to himself, "I hate guns." Even as he shifts cover over to one of those concrete jersey barriers nearby. He glances in Constantine's direction, then hears the call of the man for cover. So he closes the distance in that direction.

Towards Constantine he says simply, "If there is something you intend to do…" He eyes the blonde British fellow, "I suggest you do it quickly. They have molotov cocktails."

"So, I'm going to make a couple of observations," Constantine says with way, way too calm a voice, writing rapidly on the ground. "One, the girl in the car is being guarded by a pair of rabid hyenas. I don't know about you, but that's kind of suspicious. I'd shoot her in the foot, just to be safe. Two," he adds, throwing some sulfur and brimstone into a pile, "we're being shot at. I'm not wild about this," he says, flinching as a few bullets hit the car next to him. He keeps moving with deliberate, practiced motions.

"Three, you're all very, very lucky that someone owes me a favor."

He lights the sulfur and dodges to the side, just as a yawning, purple gate opens up. From it emerges a ghostly apparition- a man wearing the British fatigues of World War II, carrying a rifle in one hand.

"John's in trouble! C'mon lads!" he shouts, waving a hand. "Chaaaaarge!"

And /forty/ ghostly green apparitions surge out of the rift, firing their classic battle-rifles at the Joker's minions. The lead bullets whip through them harmlessly, but their guns seem to fire very /real/ bullets in response, their fire accurate and measured.

John reaches into his pocket for a surprisingly modern semi-automatic pistol, chambers a round, and fires a few shots at the hyenas, attempting to drive them away from the car, then empties the magazine at the advancing thugs with Molotovs in their hands.


With his stealth system still recouping from its near total expenditure from his nap in Casa De Sewage, Dragnet finds his options for sneaking around and flanking and getting the hell out of here to be limited. So he keeps the lid of the trash can just open enough to fire off the occasional gas canister into clumps of the clowns. How immune they may or may not be due to the Joker's taste in administering recreational drugs to people, but the gas should at least keep them uncluttered or stumbling through poor visibility. However, lest we think the gas is his sole trick, the other gauntlet kicks to light and the most visually assaultive technicolor dream splash is discharged view laser dazzler into the eyes of any unfortunate enough to try and assail his domain. For he is the Iron Vagrant. Let none fuck with his trash bin.


It's almost comical. Just as Melinda is getting in the car, the woman that was in the car is getting out. But she's not the business woman any more. She's dressed in some sort of clown outfit, red and black. The back door opens and the harlequin bounds out, flipping to get away from the car as quickly as possible and right on over towards the man that is shooting at the hyenas.

She bats her eyes at him, giving him a sweet smile. Her face is still just her face, with the runny black over her eyes and cheeks. She spins then, with a speed that has to be supernatural, and aims to kick the poor bugger in the face. "Don't shoot my BABIES!"

The hyena that gets pelted in the head yelps and slinks away, glaring at the car angrily. The one that got landed on lays in a heap on the pavement, whimpering.


"Two down, one to go. You're doing so well. Finish this last one…" A disjointed, female computer's voice breaks through over Joker. "And there will be cake."

"Yes, there ill be cake." Or maybe not. Cake has been known to be a lie. May barrels through a knot of clowns as Dragnet and John's ghosts absolutely make a mess of them. In short order there are not any left… And then a trio of unearthly roars sounds from the rooftops. Three orge like-mutants, eight feet tall and four hundred pouds of solid muscle descend onto the scene. One right behind Constantine and Richard Dragon. One in the middle of the 'arena' about forty feet away from the car and… one… right… atop Casa De Sewage. Right. On. Top.

One concrete barrier becomes a weapon and gets swept right at Richard Dragon and Constantine’s heads. The one atop Dragnet pounds his fists on the bin top like a gorilla.

The Joker's profile comes into view atop a roof… with what looks suspiciously like an RPG on his shoulder… with the warhead brightly painted with the word 'Bang'.


Melinda May is doing her best imitation of Death Race 2000, running down every clown-masked moron that dares try to aim at Richard or Constantine. But then, one of those ogre-like /things/ shows up nearby. She revs the poor sad little Corolla's engine to get its attention, then peels out away from the thing, trying to pull it off onto a merry chase that will hopefully end with the ogre-thing doing its best Juggernaut imitation against one of the 'arena' barrier walls.


Even as Harley Quinn is uncoiling with that preternaturally fast kick, suddenly in between her and Constantine is the one man who was watching the sorcerer's back.

There's a short /thud/ as the tall man catches her strike on his shoulder, grimacing a bit even as he steps in, grasping her ankle and turning in a blurringly fast gyre of motion. It's just enough to lift her bodily and try to send her hurtling straight past Constantine and towards those encroaching titan creatures.

He steps forward, beside Constantine even as Dragon takes stance and readies himself. A glance is given upwards for an instant, then he says quickly. "I suggest you run." And as he says this he takes his own advice as he _charges_ towards the large creatures and Harley Quinn herself.

"Thank you, sir," Constantine says primly. Constantine whips a hand into his (endlessly deep) duster pocket and flings a fistful of dust at the ogre's head, ducking underneath the broad swing of the concrete. The stuff glitters like diamonds, a twinkling haze in the air that is the magical equivalent of knockout dust. Great dreams guaranteed or your money back.

"Fellow on the roof with a rocket launcher!" Constantine announces in that same droll voice, taking the Dragon's advice and running like a Frenchman. "If a few of you lads would be good enough to lay some suppressive fire down?" he requests, as the rest of the ghosts go after the other ogres with guns, knives, and bayonets. He finds a safe concrete wall to kneel behind and reloads, calmly and smoothly, looking around the corner at the fight to see what the flying hell is going to land on the area next.


Dragnet meanwhile is in perhaps the safest place he can be at the moment. Which really isn't saying much considering he is pinned inside a garbage disposal by a mutant. The microscopic nanomachines that work oh so hard to keep the suit in working order and maintain an optimal environment from fabrication are probably coughing or sputtering if that is in fact what little mechanical organisms do, but the life cycle of the standard nanobot really isn't important right now. Dragnet looks about, noticing the distinct lack of light and how utterly compacted he is between the lid and…someones very, very old sandwich and comes to a conclusion. "If whatever turned out the lights chucks this thing, I am well and truly screwed…" So it is then that he starts digging himself deeper in the trash, perhaps to insulate himself from Murphy's law as much as he can. It is then that the shoulder mounted mass driver uncoils to its proper mount. This is either a brilliant idea, or a very stupid one. <Calculating penetration and distance from target to prevent permanent cessation of life functions…> scrolls across the inside of his helmet. <WARNING: Mass Driver not at optimal safe distance. Would you like to continue with this course of action?>

"….oh hell, why not." Dragnet groans, as he prepares once again to do something in what is a lifetimes worth of suboptimal and stupid decisions. A single round in fired, the tungsten penetrating through the bin door and flying up a considerable distance before it releases its payload of concussive energy. The results? Well, one hopes there isn't a whole lot of supermutant guts painting the bin door when he tries to get free. Or that he doesn't blow himself to bits. <1…2…3…> God help us all.


Harley's kick doesn't make the contact she had hoped it would, not cracking Constantine's skull like a melon. Instead, it is captured by the martial artist and then she is spun around like some odd imitation of Torvill and Dean. Only Dean seems to have let go of Torvill in mid spin. That will lose some points by the judges. Harley goes flying towards the titan clown giggling happily as she flies. "Weeeeeeee!"

That springy little clown girl lands with her feet on the chest of the mutated giant clown and uses him as a spring board to roll away. She picks up a pair of the automatic weapons that were dropped by the Round 2 clowns and turns to the men that are starting to run, following their footsteps with bullets.


There's… a lot of really… strange things happening at once. The glitter dust doesn't put the mutant near Dragon down… which is not to say it had no effect. The thing's reflexes are notably slowed and it's looking at Richard cross eyed… er… more cross eyed anyway. It still has a concrete barrier though and it hefts it up and prepares to bring it down on the martial artists in its best 'Hulk Smash' impersonation… well, if the Hulk were a narcoleptic.

May has gotten the attention of mutant oaf number deux and it's chasing her around the arena getting increasingly frustrated at its inability to actually catch her. Then May does something that seems blindingly stupid. She accellerates at top speed for the nearest barrier. The oaf sprints behind her. Muscles strain. He's going to catch her. Or she's going to crash. And then at the last moment she puts herself into a spin in the other direction and the oaf barrels right into the barrier, knocking it down and aside as May deftly regains control of the car.

The ogre atop Dragnet's sanctum trashorum flies upward, carried in an arc by the concussive penetrator. The lid flies up with him leaving Dragnet a perfect view of what moments later becomes an orge soup deluge above him. Also with a perfect view of Constantine crouching nearby… and an RPG lighting off right at the two of them.

"You're fired." Joker laughs in his best Donald Trump impersonation.

The RPG sends Constantine flying through the air. Magic is one thing, but HE explosions are something else. The man Hell spat back flies through the air and smacks his head on a balustrade, knocking him out cold.


While Harley tracks him and Constantine with her wild cavalcade of fire, Dragon is darting diagonally away from her as he closes the distance with that one large mutant. He skids to a halt even as the creature brings up that jersey barrier, getting ready to bring it crashing down.

In a bare instant, Dragon considers the factors. Harlequin firing towards him, the Mutant swinging at him, his movement between them. He tries to balance all of those things… and time it just right as he _dives_ between them into a roll aimed at taking cover, trying to get them to perhaps fire at each other as he moves past.


Well, the trajectory was off, he honestly expected it to go off above and behind the mutant, but one can't have everything. But… it’s dead. Oh shit. He'll never be able to sleep in a Gotham doorway again! He curses inaudibly in what is best described as a mishmash of his grandmothers German and a thousand other improvised tongues, and right now he's less afraid of the funhouse and more what happens if he ever shows up in Bat territory will know. Can't Kill, Bat Will Know. It was the one rule! There is a visible shiver as he pops out of the trash, and then looks down at the unconscious Constantine. Well, it’s a good time to run anyway. He picks up the unceremoniously concussed Constantine and slings him up over one shoulder (helped in no part by armor enhanced musculature), firing off a few more gas cartridges as he goes. He may even drop off Constantine at a hospital in the midst of him…running like mad!


The girl with the guns is a little mad. One of her poor babies has been injured and the other is slinking into the alley, licking its gunshot wound that Constantine favored it with. And so, Richard picked the best place to hide as she just plows the field with bullets. And yes, that includes the back of said Ogre Clown. Her smile and giggle as she does it are rather disturbing, but the fire in her baby blues is all hatred. They hurt her BABIES!


The orgre goes down with a pitiful noise and a muted whump. May slides the car between Richard and the crazed Harley and throws the door open. She doesn't even have to say any. The directive is clear: Get in. Over the PA system the Joker is laughing manically as the group of heroes destroys his 'obstacles' and cameras capture every moment of it.

"That was a wonderful bit of mayhem. Don't worry. We'll be in touch. Harley? Shall we retire?"

Above statement notwithstanding… the Clown Prince does appear to be reloading.


Diving into the car as bullets ping-whine-zing all around him, Dragon ducks under cover as May starts to drive off. He settles into a hunched over posture and says sidelong, "But we were winning."

Back to: RP Logs

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License