The Water Is Dirtier In Gotham Bay

July 20, 2014: Justice weaves three threads together for great … dancing?

//Waterfront - Burnley - Gotham City

Back in the glory years of Gotham, Burnley was a driving force of industry and shipping. But by the 1970s it was clear that even the mighty Gotham City was not immune to the rusting of the American Factory. Building upon building has been left for dead, untended to other than by large rats. Both the mammal kind and the organized crime kind. The bay has suffered years of pollution and disregard from an uninterested state and local government. Jobs have almost completely dried up and by nightfall this is not an area of town you want to find yourself in.



  • Louie The Loach (Small-time gangster who really shouldn't be in bed with Hydra)

Mood Music:
Public Enemy - Raise the Roof

Even in the daytime, Gotham seems dark. Dingy. Forboding. Maybe it's just the crumbling buildings, the fire-gutted brick structures that are falling apart daily and no one seems to notice, much less care. To compare it to NYC, much less Metropolis, well… f'geddabouddit.

It's here, however, that intel leads, and it's here that a particular SHIELD agent is checking, in and out of the husks of industry. There are cars parked on the street, but after checking, only one, two have even vaguely warm hoods, indicating they've been here for a little while. Barton's got bow in hand, arrows in quiver, and moves from flattened against a building to up a back fire escape in the next move, getting some height for a vantage. Sunglass-covered keen eyes watch for movement in likely areas, but… so far, there's nothing.

Within a building out on Cross Street…

A group of men stand around a table in a room tucked away in a small warehouse converted to an office building. It's not remarkable by any stretch, inside or out. Obviously not a public business, but rather one that runs solely on contracts.

Heh.. contracts.

"It's the right thing," one puts his hand down loudly and flatly on the top of the table with a *slam* to accent his words. "I've seen it plenty, and I'm tellin' ya, that as far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal."

On the other side of the room comes an answer, "Dangerous. More than we ever seen. We ain't gonna be able to ship nothing if it happens again."

"Then it ain't gonna happen again," finds voice from yet another.

"How the hell can you guarantee that? Can you? I don't think so…"


This is not a good neighborhood. Simon Williams is the honey badger today; he doesn't care. Yesterday morning, he was attacked in the street in New York by a group of thugs who injured children in their attempt to get him to … what? Nobody could tell what they wanted. Bullshit. He got the information on them from one of the cops who arrested them when Simon was done with them, and found out that they'd been sent by a guy named Louie who operates out of a warehouse in Burnley. So, now he's in Gotham again, which really doesn't bode well for property values.

He checks the address of the building on Cross Street - a different warehouse, a quonset, about a block away - and finds that the building is empty, showing signs of recent relocation. So, dead lead. A frustrated punch bends the aluminum wall, and Simon flushes and moves away from the building. Careful there, "hero," you'll get yourself in trouble with the Gotham cops and you don't have bribe money to make them go away.


Gotham. It's got Goth in it, after all. There's nice parts of it, parts that desperately cling to hope and times when buildings were build to be more permanent, and then there's here. Which, when she was a more grim and murdery sort, was a fairly profitable place to visit. Criminals always seem to want others like them deader than Lindsey Lohan's sense of sobriety. Still, she's heard some odd things going on. It's a chance to be heroic AND maybe let a little loose. Or something. She's curious and there's some deep, feral instinct that seems to pull her towards conflict.

It's a strange sickness. And she did have mercenary ties even though she's let most of those go. But she can always listen in, it seems. Lunair's just wily that way, even if she works really, really hard to be good. She is in her armor, something that looks sleek and a good deal more high tech than what most cops and soldiers get. It even has a visor that moves and seals itself, as needed. But she's slinking amongst boxes, remarkably quiet and still around the warehouse. Time to see what's going on.


Movement always brings Hawk's attention around, and using what little cover he's got, he checks the side.. and narrows his eyes.

Alone. Searching… in any city, that's a clue right there.

For the moment, Barton keeps an eye on the 'new player' in the field, and as the man wanders closer in his field, the archer can make a pretty good positive ID. A hiss of breath escapes, and soon after, the agent is taking off, staying low, and jumping between -close- buildings in his direction.

In the office on Cross St..

"Before any final decisions are made—"

"Too late."

"What the hell? What do you mean too late?" The tough that stands away from the other turns and stalks towards the desk. "You're gonna get us all killed. Do you have any idea—"

From outside the office, a 'guard' knocks on the door. "Hey.. pizza. It'll be here in 30 minutes."


Like the honey badger, Wonder Man may not care but that doesn't mean he's asleep or anything. He's listening and watching. He doesn't have the Kryptonian ability to hear a pin drop in Grand Central Station during rush time, from the far side of Mars. His own hearing is merely good enough to hear the conversation in the warehouse.

And therefore, the listening is what also tells him that someone is moving in a particularly careful quiet way towards him — and not in a fashion that is consistent with stupid thugs and gangsters. Might be one of the Bat-people, though. They might be a bit territorial, but they might also know where he can find Louie. So, stepping in close to a building, there's a faint <click> as he activates the ionic-powered jets at his belt, and Simon rises from the ground to roof-level … where he can also possibly see an armor (not fabric-store) clad young woman, sneaking about sneakily.


Whether or not Lunair cares is hard to say. She's emotionally stunted in a lot of ways, like an emotional bonsai, if you will. She has - pretty much normal human hearing, so she's more limited and having to inch closer or rely on visual cues. She is not a bat-peep, but she does seem fairly experienced at what she does. She peers around a box now and then, even getting under one when she feels suspicious enough to. What is it with bioweapons and hiding in boxes? It's hard to say. But she's in a box now. In her armor. In a box.


Up and over, and across and whoa!

Hawkeye saves himself from falling backwards as Simon rises to his height (more than a little startled), and manages to keep from yelping. Just.

"Jesus Christ.." he breathes, his tones a harsh whisper.

Looking down between his feet, Clint takes a moment before he raises his gaze again.

"Let me guess," comes quietly. Okay.. looks like at least two to go, as it were. "I get the files. I don't care about the people."

With his luck, it's probably a message that he's in the right place- after all, when hasn't his op been somehow interrupted or added to? And if he's wrong, well… oh well.

With that, the agent begins to make his way down, handhold and footholds easily found and taken until feet are on the ground. With bow in hand, he's flat against an outer wall before making his way into the warehouse.


There are guards. They're not moving around a lot, however. Why should they? There's no vehicular traffic, and it's only an idiot that would come around on foot. Place is in the middle of drug houses. Only people around are usually flat on their backs with nearly a flat-line for a brainscan.


"Jesus fucking Christ. You had better hope you've got it right, or I am the -hell- outta here."

"I got it, I got it. My contact… he's good. Been doing great business for years."


"I mostly need to find a guy named Louie and discuss his future prison stay," Simon answers very quietly. "There are three kids in the hospital and he's going to tell me who hired him."

He looks at the roof of the warehouse with the thug-voices coming from inside, and decides that the skylight - necessary when this place was built to allow for air to move - is just what he needs. A faint FOOSH and he is moving in an arc towards the window, and KerSMASHtinkle he's inside making a lot of noise and spectacle, which should give the archer plenty of opportunities to do whatever he does with those arrows.

The girl in the box, Simon doesn't quite notice. She must have turtled when he was moving upward.

Guards, of course, begin yelling and running. Simon slams his fist into the palm of his hand, with an audible KRAK, and says, "Any of youse guys know a guy name of Louie?"


If it's good enough for weird super soldiers, it's good enough for Lunair. And likely, she might be in hearing range especially once things go kerSMASH! The box is off to the races. She's gotta help - wait, is that Simon? That's awfully familiar and even if he uses youse, no Brooklyn cabbie she knows sounds that friendly. None. And waitaminute. Hmm. Well, if guards are yelling and running, it's probably best to give them a compelling reason. Lunair thinks a moment. She'll help Simon out by causing some havoc just outside.

More specifically, a bit of C4 and a few cars means she's now playing explosive tiddlywinks with a few of the criminal's cars, and they're probably going to be loathe to deal with whatever is OUTSIDE. That, and archer dude gonna arch. Right? Right. She's sure that's what they do. Or was it archnemesis? So much arching.


With the breaking of glass, absolutely that's a good diversion. Hawkeye's got his six, and spinning around, he begins his run in, an arrow loosed just as one guy is coming around, trying to get a bead on Simon even as the man is punching his hand to gain attention.

"What the hell— *glerk*.." and the arrow lodges into the man's throat, putting him down. (Seems SHIELD really doesn't believe in non-lethal? Or at least this archer!)

The noise from within brings the other guards around, and it's when that KABOOOOM happens outside that notice is truly taken. All over the neighborhood. And in the office within the warehouse.

Clint whips his head around to catch the flying cars doing little pirouettes in the air as they land not quite so gracefully on other cars.

-The office-

"Get on the phone, get on the phone now!" is called out. Oh hey.. Louie has contacts? "Call 'em now!"

"I'm on it, I'm— yeah.. yeah.." With cellphone to his ear, the thug has to stick a finger in the opposite ear to hear anything. Meanwhile, the others are pulling out their weapons of choice (mostly pistols. That's why they have guards!) and look to a far window to see if the coast is clear there.


The explosions are amusing and well-timed, Mickey Baye would be quite pleased. Not sure where they fit in the plot, but explosions always help with the cinematics, y'know? Simon glances around, red eyes glowing with menace.

"None of youse seems ta be answering the question. If you'se telling me where Louie is, den great. If you'se telling Louie dat I want to talk wit him, you should oughta be thinkin' about a dental plan," Simon says, and is suddenly moving, as fast as one of those deadly arrows, to SLAM open (through?) the office door.

"Gedoffa tha phone. I wanna talk to Louie. Where is he?"


They (the explosions) also provide incentives to cooperate with Simon, lest someone get chucked out there or worse. That, and the guards and everyone who noticed is probably going to worry about the pirouetting cars that flip ever so daintily (and the explosions) rather than one stealthy as stealth can be (Even WITH the purple. That's talent. Prince would be proud) archer arching and Simon doing his thing. Lunair should so go into film for special effects one day, because there's also a few fire cracker rockets going off and a couple more cars flipping around. Nay, it is not clear.

It's going to be a veritable battleground for anyone who steps out into it. But that's why Lunair waits between explosions, seeing who and what is coming out. Her box is totally the best fort.


Clint's got the immediate area covered, bow is drawn taut, arrow's nocked. "Answer the man…" is given as a warning as the one guard is on the ground, gurgling out his last breaths.

When Simon keys on the door of the office, Hawk checks the area for the file cabinets, but as he passes sweeps down to yank keys off the dying man, bow relaxed for the moment. Tossing then in the air briefly, he recatches them and pockets them for later use.

-The office-

There's more than a little consternation. No sounds of gunfire, but there was that earth-shattering kaboom outside which is sure to alert the neighborhood. Gotham police, well… they'll get there with SWAT. Anything less, they'd be taking their lives into their own hands, as it were. Not the best of areas!

When Simon bursts into their room (the door was locked, they swear!), one can almost feel the fear as the soft *click* sounds happen as guns are cocked (single action is always easier to pull down than a double! Duh!). "Who are you?" There's palpable.. concern. The guy on the phone is still there, and talking quietly in— but hangs up quickly. "They'll be— shit.." and as a delayed response, goes to pull his own gun. (Not quick, this one!)

"Louie?" The guy who'd been seated behind the desk rises slowly, his eyes narrowing as he stands fully. "Yeah?"

The cars outside, well… exactly how does one get a car to dance across the street on its nose? Talent! And the pyrotechnics that come soon after would be worth a few thousand easily, and some stragglers and homeless actually find the courage to peek outside. The effect on the inside, however? The guards that can move are getting the hell out of there. Easy pickings for one so inclined at this point.


Simon smiles, and says, "Ah, Louie. Great ta meetcha. You sent some of your boys to New York yesterday. I got no clue what they thought they was doing, as it made no sense, but what they did end up doin', sent t'ree kids to the hospital with burns and bullet wounds. So I'm gonna find out just who it was what hired you, and you're gonna pay a visit to a New York cop I know, who is really fond of kids, and oh yeah, you arrange for their medical expenses to be covered."

The red glow from Simon's eyes is getting a bit brighter, but his voice remains even, pleasant. Almost polite.

The instant Louie moves toward the files, though, he will be grabbed and held off the ground so he can't start any fires or anything. He isn't a trustworthy guy, after all.


Sadly, Lunair might have talent with the explosions and pyrotechnics, but it's never gonna win her a spot on any major talent shows. Alas. Alas. She's careful, though, trying not to get any of the onlookers who peek out. She's mostly here to bother the guards and discourage any shenanigans (eehee, shenanigans). An ugly car just explodes, far from the others. She does community service, after all.

And any guards who are getting out might be left alone. And then they might be shot with the nudity ray because the fireworks have stopped.






Those that have their guns out and aimed don't have a chance to pull those triggers. Not if a stealthy archer has any say in the matter, and it's one, two, three that go down, each with a well-aimed arrow to the chest. If that's not encouragement for Louie, well, who knows what would be?

Louie does take particular note of his guys going down, the cell phone dropping and shattering when it hits concrete floor. How can one not when more gurgling sounds?

Now, Hawkeye enters the room and strolls towards the filecabinets.

"You can't do nothin'…" starts as bravado, but fails when he recalls his buddies on the ground. That's not supposed to happen, though. Cops.. they're not supposed to—

Feet lift off the ground, and eyes widen… "Put me down, freak!!" but, yeah.. he'll be going.

Luna's got a veritable audience now. The car further down that was flipped? It'll cost the insurance company a few thousand when all the paperwork is said and done. As for the guards, the moment they're shot with the nudity rays? They shout and try to move just a little faster the hell away.


"Be grateful," Simon says in that deadly-polite voice, "that I don't just follow my natural urges. See, my cop friend wouldn't let me do that the last time, and that was a serial-murdering executioner-type assassin with a freakin' magic chainsaw. So she'd probably scold me if I took you five minutes into the Atlantic and just let go. And I'm sure your mouthpiece will get you off, but you will pay those medical expenses, and you will tell me who hired you."

Simon moves back two steps so Hawkeye can go through the papers. He's looking Louie in the eye, and that's really awkward for Louie because all he sees is that red glow with the flickery random yellow flames in the distance and …

"Gerry the Face," Louie says. "It was a favor for Gerry the Face."

"Who is Gerry the Face? I don't swim in your sewers, so I don't know the names."

"He's a guy I used to work with in Cincy, he's outa L.A. now. Drugs to the stars, or something."

"That's all you got?"

"Yeah, I swear it."

Simon doesn't put Louie down. He looks over to Hawkeye, "Find anything special?"


Lunair is doing her best to remain unseen while causing havoc. And while she has no qualms about killing (she really doesn't, but she's always wondered about that guy in the skull shirt). However, she's discovering the catlike joy of actively tormenting one's opponents for awhile.

Who's getting away? No one. The dubstep gun is out now, so it's gone from TERRIFYING MAFIA MOOKS to the Full Monty in about 0 to oh my god, Frank, stop twerkin'. Throw in a glitter grenade or two and it's quite a show. Beefcake for all! Let it not be said Lunair did not work for the hearts of the people.


Hawkeye's pulling drawer out, rifling through, then the next.. and in the back of the middle drawer is pulled a file.

"Oh hey… manifests." By cover companies run for HYDRA. They're familiar to the SHIELD agent as a matter of course. Others wouldn't and couldn't have that sort of level to gain that information.

"Yup. I… think I did." Holding it up, there's a wolfish smile on his face, "If you don't have this, I don't think your handler is going to pull you out of the drink." Just sayin'.

"He's all yours," Clint offers non-chalantly. The others on the ground have bled out, eyes glazed over. He'll yank his arrows to clean up; no specialty arrows were needed. "Need a ride to get him back?"

Clint puts up a finger and leans out the office door, issuing a shrill whistle towards the girl. Hopefully, she'll hear it.


"That would be better than me flying him there, wouldn't it?" Simon ponders, still holding Louie off the ground at arm's length. It's probably to the point of showing off, even. But maybe that's intentional. He's not even shaking with the effort.

"Sure, a ride back wouldn't suck."

He walks out past the room full of … oh, dear. Pincushions. Must be a SHIELD op. Then again, that's what it takes for someone to swing down a hole on an arrow line for a half-mile or so while the target is plummeting … yeah. That's where it was.

Simon stops short as they reach the outside. Fire. Cars. Dancing naked mooks. Some of whom should never be naked in public. This would make a great … no, no video. Absolutely no need for Simon to be seen on video with this kind of thing, it would make Murray too damn happy.

"Uh, what's going on with the dancing?" Simon asks. Louie is probably crying now.


Sure. Lunair could've pulled a 50 calibre something or other and made the place look like a battlefield. Or a few automatic weapons. Or chucked mines at their heads. She COULD do that. She has no qualms killing. But this is proving far more hilarious and entertaining. Truly, teenage girls are the most terrifying foes of all because they're cruel AND creative. They often also have the spare time to come up with ideas.

Frankie the Flayer is never gonna be taken seriously as he twerks. Never. Fortunately, despite the cacophony she's created, Lunair does hear the whistle and waves from her cover. Hi Hawkguy! And the best part is some of the mooks are covered in glitter, too. It's pain icing on the humilitation cake because glitter is the herpes of the craftworld. It will never come out. She moves towards the sound of the whistle, carefully.


"Flying would have a pretty good effect on him though," Clint notes with a shrug. As he heads out into the warehouse proper, the rest of the arrows are pulled, and he's got his file with him. "But yeah. I can bring you guys back. Got a company car a couple of blocks away."

Assuming no one's touched it. And chances are good, no one has. It screams 'don't even think about it'.

Luna's appearance is met with brows rising, the silent question there. What the hell is going on?. Barton puts a hand up, however, forestalling any response that may be forthcoming.

"Car. Couple blocks down. C'mon. I'll bring you home." He's seen her before, and as he was giving Simon a hand on his six, she was doing the same for him. Only right.

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