Summary:
January 22, 2015: Lunair gets bothered by some goons and meets US Agent, who totally federally sanctions them. A lot.
Gotham Bowery
It's Gotham bowery. The jagged streets really do represent the spirit of Gotham pretty well. It's one of the rougher parts of Gotham, which is probably like saying one of the rougher parts of sandpaper.
Characters
NPCs
- Goons(TM).
- <Use same pattern for all npcs>
Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]
This is one of the rougher parts of Gotham. Although, that's a lot like saying the roughter part of a side of sandpaper. Even the pigeons carry switchblades, or something. At night, the sheer complexity and ingenuity displayed in converting the rough, broken roads into so many stores, fighting pits, more illegal businesses than you should shake a nightstick at and even living quarters for the broke and/or criminally inclined. Or if one just has a wish to stop living. Any beat cop who gets stuck out here seems less than thrilled, and sticks to patrolling the more well lit bits.
It's actually a fairly quiet evening due to the cold front rolling in. Criminals be criminal, but few enjoy being cold. Likely, if one looks and has sufficiently sharp, trained eyes, they can spot a few deals, a bouncer working a fighting pit featuring the use of cestii (cestuses? He doesn't know ancient languges! Just get inside!) and after a long, quiet moment, a rocket launcher hitting a car.
It goes up into the air, sparks and debris rising with it. A few soldiers pop out from nearby, training guns. It's a small skirmish, but enough to send the petty criminals scampering.
A black clad figure leaps down from a rooftop amidst the soldiers, one with the shadows before its sudden appearance. Swift violence follows, displaying masterful martial skill. One man is grasped and fling into a wall, another taking a kick to the point of his chin to send him flying. Then a spray of gunfire hits his shield and…
Wait, his shield?
Yes, citizens of Gotham, it's not Batman. It's the new hero of Gotham: John Walker, the U.S. Agent. Suck on that, pointy ears. You're not the only one who can stop crime around here.
"FEDERAL AGENT! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS, PUT YOUR FACES ON THE GROUND OR YOU WILL BE SANCTIONED WITH EXTREME VIOLENCE!" he cries, backlit by the burning car.
They were about to answer the rocket launcher with bullets, but it seems they just got a heaping helping of FREEDOM. Or ownage. Or both. It would seem the one who blew up the car is not on the side of the soldiers, as no further rocket launching fire follows. Actually, it's quite quiet. It was a small skirmish, 3 to 5 guys hassling… who or whatever had that rocket launcher.
Actually, the answer comes only as a youthful sounding giggle. Oh. Oh wow. But there's silence. Whomever it is stays silent otherwise, at least - for a long moment. Until she peeks up over the side, the visor on an alarmingly sleek, high tech helmet coming back. "Sorry." And then back down. What an odd person? She was up and to the side, one story above with whatever she had. But at least she's being quiet and cooperative. For now. Although, one of the soldiers voices, "Are you SERIOUS, man?"
U.S. Agent boots the questioning soldier in the gut, the force of his blow actually lifting the man from the ground, his feet flying out from under him to make him land on his face and chest, "I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, SON!' he says, putting his foot on the back of the thug's neck as he lashes out with his shield, hitting another to send him flying up and over the burning car. He turns his head towards the giggle.
"Unknown vigilante: identify yourself and state your business." he calls out, only to feel the remaining thug try to stab him in the back with a switchblade that snaps against his body armor.
Agent slowly, slowly turns his head and just stares at him.
Oh snap. Armory/Lunair winces, seeing the guy get booted in the gut. The thug is probably going to just be quiet now. Sure, there's a few mil at stake probably, but he's already got a boot on the back of his neck. They're getting thumped but good. At least Lunair has a policy not to bother feds or cops if she can help it. Nevertheless, she slowly peeks over the edge of her cover. "Armory! Was taking home groceries. Kind of a long story, mister," Pause. Wait. "Wait." What did grandpa say about - nevermind. She can't remember. "I'll stay here if it's a big- er, there's a gu— Oooh, that was a bad idea."
She watches quietly as the last thing tries to stab him in the back. If her visor were open, it would reveal her eyes are wide, as Agent turns his head and stares at the thug. She stifles a giggle at least. The thug has an 'oh shit' expression on his face, looking between Agent and the broken switchblade. He throws the handle at Agent's mask/face and starts to bolt. "Screw this!"
U.S. Agent reacts quickly, snatching the back of the punk's jacket and yanking him off his feet, swinging to toss him, the punk flying about ten feet, flipping head over heels, until he lands on the top of his head with an audible bonk, knocking him unconscious.
"Step out where I can see you, Armory. I like that codename. Nice work with the rocket. Come down here and lemme get a look at you, soldier."
Wince. Lunair tries not to look after seeing the guy go flying. But the bonk tells her everything. She cautiously peeks out from behind cover. Carefully, she emerges and hops down. Her armor seems to be sleek, yanked out of a video game. Definitely articulated from how she lands neatly on the sidewalk to little effect. She takes a moment to straighten up. Weirdly, there's no rocket launcher behind her and she doesn't /appear/ to be armed.
"Okay. And thank you. That's nice of you to say." Whomever she is, she seems pretty polite. She does carefully make her way over through the busted road. "Um. Sorry about the car." Peer. She's covered fully, in armor. It's sensible, too. Probably something custom built. She seems curious in turn.
U.S. Agent looks over at the car, "I'm sure they have insurance. Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Any cook'll tell ya that," he says.
He cocks his head at the girl who comes out, pausing only for a moment to kneel down and zip tie each of the apprehended, getting some grunts and moans when he wrenches their arms into place at the small of their back. He holds a finger up to Lunair, "Just a second, ma'am. All right, LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT! ANYTHING YOU SCUMBAGS SAY CAN BE HELD AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO A BLEEDING HEART LIBERAL ATTORNEY! IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD ONE, YOU'LL GET A COMMIE PUBLIC DEFENDER. YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST FOR ASSAULT, PROPERTY DAMAGE AND GENERALLY BEING WORTHLESS PIECES OF HORSE SHIT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR RIGHTS? IF SO, GIVE ME A SIR, YES, SIR! OTHERWISE, I WILL REPEAT THEM RIGHT IN YOUR GOD DAMNED EARS! SO, DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR RIGHTS?"
A weak chorus of 'sir, yes sir' comes up from the half-conscious ones.
"…" Lunair isn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Fair enough," She offers quietly. At least he's not upset about it. There's some relief. Lunair goes quiet, tilting her head a moment in turn. "Sure." As he holds a finger up to her. She keeps her hands neatly at her sides. There's no holsters or pouches on her armor (Sorry, Liefield) visible. She listens to his shouted speech, eyes wide as dinner plates again behind her visor.
…it really is a good thing her face isn't visible, or it would be obvious she's more than a little surprised and startled by US Agent over there. Well, he seems pretty talented. The rest really can't answer, probably conked out a good while. At least the whole thing works to keep them /all/ duly cowed. She secretly suspects he could turn a rocket launched right back around just by shouting at it. She's pretty sure.
U.S. Agent nods and taps on his ear, "Operator, this is Agent John Walker with Homeland Security. I have suspects here on the corner of Neal and Adams, already subdued. No rush, I'm sure the local precinct's still wiping the donut powder off their asscracks," he says.
He looks up and then remembers that his new acquaintance is not only present, but female, "Er, sorry about the crude language, ma'am. I'm afraid the Marines did a number on my manners. My sainted mother would be slappin' me silly to hear my talk that way in front of a lady, even a lady who knows how to handle a high-explosive." he says.
"So, you one of the local superheroes or what?"
Boggle. Although, in his defense, her armor doesn't really highlight the fact she's female. Lunair apparently created it to be practical. Nevertheless, she seems to be set to 'headtilt', and curious. "Huh? Oh. Um. It's okay. You were just - in the moment," She offers. "It's nice of you to say that and apologize though," Lunair considers it. Actually, kinda reminds her of grandpa when he mentions the marines. Huh. She doesn't seem ruffled.
Lunair pauses at his question. "Sortofnotreally? I usually work elsewhere. Sorta hard to be heroic in the usual sense with guns and all. So I usually do work with um, sometimes as a contractor and stuff." That's probably a polite way of mentioning she works with some agencies and does gun stuff. "I take it you work here now? I thought this was um, bat - bat … uh… Batguy? People? Their sort of gig, usually."
U.S. Agent is fairly observant and enough of a sexist to read body language one way or another. If Lunair had turned out to be a boy, he'd have just assumed he was kind of a sissy. He listens to her explanation and nods.
"You ask me, most heroes carry guns," he says, patting his own sidearm, a nine millimeter on his belt. "Anyone who doesn't own a gun is askin' to be a victim, especially in a city like this. Legally purchased and registered, of course," he says. "Contractor, huh? So, you're kind of a merc? Like Blackwater or whatever the hell they're calling themselves these days?"
Lunair, sadly, lacks such skills. Someone might even consider her more than a little lacking naturally. Nevertheless, she listens. She tries, at least.
A faint smile. "Fair enough. It's hard for me to register mine. They only exist temporarily. And sooooort of. I'm not really with any group like that. I pay the bills, sometimes pick off human traffickers and I go to school. It's not so bad, honestly." She shrugs. "I probably should sign up to something more offical someday but …" She trails off, seeming a little uneasy. "It's probably wise to think carefully on that sort of thing. A lot of good people I know have those, too. But um. What do you - get called, usually, mister…?"
U.S. Agent nods. He has friends in the mercenary industry, guys he knew in the service or worked with out in the field. Good guys and gals - mostly he thought it a waste that the government couldn't find a good use for 'em, but he couldn't blame anyone for going into the private sector. Nothing more American than using your talent for violence to make a shitload of money. Walker might do it himself someday - but, for now, he wanted to work in law enforcement, and that meant a government job. If he went back to more formally military interests…maybe.
"John Walker. Codename: U.S. Agent. I'm the director of Homeland Security here in Gotham. The costume's some yahoo upstairs' idea, but I can't say it doesn't look good and I like the shield. I don't have much of a budget, but I might have use for somebody on occasion with a hand for firearms - even if they're temporary, whatever that means."
Lunair tends to pick up contracts that pick off generally bad people. Being a child soldier kind of tanks one's prospect for many industries. Lunair listens. After all, she has at least one living relative who survived 'nam, knows a few agents and all. She doesn't seem too ruffled in the slightest. People need to make their ways, no different than eras with swords and horses. Guns just make force multiplication a lot easier.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Walker or the Agent," She replies. "My name's Lunair. But I've sort of been in and out of hiding lately," She admits. "I don't mind staying in contact, then. I can -" Pause. "Er, well. Uh. That'd be cool." She seems worried. "And watch. I create things. More specifically, weapons and armor. Ta da." She pulls up an AAR-12, then makes it disappear. No shells, no gun, nothing remains. "I can't keep them permanently." Something something balance of matter in the universe.
U.S. Agent raises an eyebrow, "That, young lady, is what they call a goddamn useful talent. Shit, that's the kind of power that makes a man weak in the knees, but that's just the gun-lovin' country boy in me talkin'. A girl who could make a shotgun out of thin air'd have the pick of the boys back home in Georgia," he says. "And John's just fine. I ain't in the service anymore, so formalities don't mean much, less'n you got a rank and I don't see any stars on your shoulders.
"To me, the balance of the universe should always tilt towards more guns. But that's just me and the Constitution of the United States talkin'."
Lunair pauses. "Ehm. Well, it's nearly any weapon. So it's handy, but sort of - /focused/. My armor? I do that myself, or to others as I need. I'm not sure what it is all I do. It's a learning experience, really." She is turning bright red inside of her helmet. "So my overhead costs are low," In other words? Mercing is probably *really* profitable for her. She seems pretty flattered though. "I see. And no… they don't really let mutants sign up like that," She shakes her head. "I mean, no one knows unless I pull something or they test me, but." It seems unfair and more than a little improper, perhaps. "Okay, John. You can call me Luna or Lunair, then." Nod.
"Interesting way to put it," She seems quietly amused. Lunair is touched! Someone who isn't terrified and/or horrified by her powers! "I just uhm. Have a bit of a. HYDRA problem. So I - can't be around too long." fidget. She looks over her shoulders. "Otherwise, I'm glad to lend a hand when I can. It's sort of a long story."
U.S. Agent purses his lips, "In my opinion, the whole world has a HYDRA problem. Lucky, I grew up learnin' how to kill snakes. Just gotta cut their heads off and stomp 'em real good." he says. "I ain't gonna pry, but I'd be happy to help you take care of any of 'em. Mutant don't mean nothin' t'me, as long as you're an American. YOu are an American, right? You ain't a Canadian tryin' to pass?" he says, although his tone sounds - well, maybe teasing? It's hard to tell with him. He doesn't do humor well.
"Fair enough," Lunair replies. "I don't know what they want this time. I'm hoping it's not to vivisect me or something," She shivers a little. "That seems like a wise approach. And yup." Nod. She accepts it as a light teasing and goes with it. "But thanks. That's really nice of you," Lunair is duly grateful. Really, it's been a rough couple of weeks. "I probably shouldn't hold you up, though?" She's not sure if he has OFFICIAL STUFF to be doing, or what.
U.S. Agent reaches into his belt and draws out his card, all official, with JOHN WALKER printed in bold and a little patriot holding an American flag off to one side. "Stay in touch. If you need help, don't hesitate to call. I'm here to help, after all. And, while I don't have to be going, the police will be here to pick these weasels up soon, and I'm a-guessin' you're not exactly eager to be put on the witness list, huh?" he grins.
"Go on, skedaddle, I got these guys. Next time I see ya, I'm gonna have you make me a big fuckin' gun. Deal?"
Oooh, official. Neat! Lunair's kind of impressionable. She carefully accepts it. "Thanks. Will do," She nods. Then a long pause at his question. "Ehm, not particularly. I don't mind helping but it's - I don't really show off the powers too much," She admits. Not to mention, she rocket launchered a car in pursuit. Awkward. "I can't stick around too long in general. I wouldn't want anyone hurt by HYDRA for my sake, if I can help it." This troubles her deeply from the sound of her voice.
Lunair nods, and waves. "Sure thing. Thank you! And it is a deal. Have a good evening!" And she will quietly scamper into the night.
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