Twice Knightly
The Clock Strikes 12
"Yeah. And then get yourself killed," Felix flatly replies to Ramlethal. He watches her as she makes her way over to the sleeping man, as per his suggestion. It'll definitely be a better idea to have everyone up and at 'em, at least. They can't sit here forever - but at the same time, they need to be a group before they can get anywhere. Not that Felix himself is exactly being what can be called a 'team player.' For instance, Plan B's sign language had been met with little more than an indignant groan and nothing more. It was questionable if he even understood it or not.
At least the old man seems to be coherent - even if he is evidently a heavy sleeper. Waving around that gun was a bit worrisome... but he put it away soon enough.
"Other than the fact that we just woke up here and seem like the biggest group of jackasses to have picked out? Not really."
His eyes followed Frank and Tavis as they soon turned to the soldier, attempting to reality-check him. Fexlis didn't see the point. These kinds of freakouts were a dime-a-dozen back in the UNSC. But at the same time... everyone should at least be coherent before they head out, he supposes. Dragging him along with them in that kind of state is liable to get them killed. Felix had just been planning to let him snap out of it alone, though.
Ramlathal's attempts at finding anything of note in the alleyway itself come up fruitless. It's about as dark and grimy as it can get. At most, an old newspaper flutters by her feet. Though it had been reduced to practically little more than a soggy pulp by the rain, she could probably make out what it said if she so chose to read it. At least a little bit.
As Quiet makes her way up to the roof for scouting, Felix lets out another sigh. He isn't too surprised by her weird powers or anything. The fact that they're all here at all is weird enough as is - so someone being a freak is just part of the territory, as far as he's concerned. He's already said his piece on why he thinks going ahead without the group is a bad idea, so if she wants to get herself killed anyway, then she can be his guest. He instead turns his head away from her entirely - him and the other quiet guy, who went off ahead anyway. For now, Felix stays put, focusing back on what's right in front of him.
At least the soldier seemed to be in better spirits, now.
The rooftop itself is empty, luckily enough. But as the duo draws near the ledge, the sounds of gunfire, wailing sirens and screaming of all sorts only grows louder. Thick, black smoke can already be seen in the far distance, wafting high into the air even from here. It rises in multiple locations across the city - so much so that they can even smell it. From across the way, numerous thugs can be seen holed up on rooftops. Some are just chatting with bats over their shoulders and guns in their hands, while many others are engaged in some kind of criminal activity. Ripping out ATMs, assaulting civilians and police officers alike... it's complete pandemonium.
And yet it's nothing compared to the streets below.
If the rooftops were full of them, then the streets were a total, unhinged nightmare. They clog up the entire street from beginning to end, stretching out as far as the eye can see. Men and women alike clad in dirty jackets, ripped jeans, or some form of mask only extend what had been visible across the way. Looting shops, toppling cars, setting fires. The police cars that whizz by are shot at by random thugs, and not a single one escapes without either a broken window or a blown-out tire. The last car, lingering behind the rest, is knocked entirely off the road by a garbage truck speeding in from the side. It collides with it head-on, sending the vehicle flying into a nearby wall. It lands with a THUD!, sending shards of glass flying every which way, alongside the flaming tires and scrap.
The garbage truck comes to a stop immediately, leaving very little distance between it and the downed cop car. Men climb out from the front and the back, as the thugs who were already present cheer them on from the side. The men from the garbage truck, however, appear to be clad in some kind of uniform, rather than the miscellaneous outfits of the other thugs. They all wear black and white clothing, with the black half appearing charred as if the result of some kind of horrific fire. The masks are the same, depicting frowning men with half-burnt faces. Each of them carries an assault rifle in their hands, and march to the police car with purpose.
"No, no, no-- PLEASE!" The cop cries out as he and his partner are forcibly removed from their vehicle. Not even the door remains, leaving nothing protecting them from their imminent removal. Both cops are forced onto their stomachs. The one in the driver's seat grunts and forces himself onto his hands and knees in a futile attempt to crawl away. But though he reaches for his gun, he's swiftly kicked in the face by another masked thug, who lets out a cackle.
"Where the hell do you think you're goin', pig?"
"Yeah, why don't ya oink for us?" Another beside him cackles. "Give us a good show, and we might just let one of you go."
"Might?"
A new voice can be heard - a deep, gravelly voice, almost sounding like a demon. It approaches the thugs from around the truck, the front door having been heard slamming shut after it spoke. The accompanying footsteps are so imposing that every thug present turns to meet them - masked or not. The figure makes its way around the truck, revealing a man in a suit not dissimilar from the mask-wearing thugs who accompanied him. Only his suit is far better pressed... on one side, at least. The other side is more badly burned than any of the thugs' - genuinely burned. It's far more than just a design on some jumpsuit, made with convincing latex and cotton. Those are real burns on that suit, split exactly down the middle. If either Quiet or Plan B can view the figure from this close, they can make out scars through the tattered holes in the suit.
And the burns extend to his face as well.
"The coin is what decides. Not you."
As the scarred man steps forward, the surrounding men step back.
"S-sorry, boss-- Two Face-- sir," the leading thug hastily apologizes, while his friend nods in agreement.
"It's okay," he replies, without even looking. Now, it's almost like an entirely different man speaks behind that flesh. A calmer, more reasonable man. It's as if the good and bad sides of his face each have their own distinct voices, their own personalities. "I get it. You've been wronged. Wronged by Gotham. The ones meant to serve and protect... locking you away, and beating you down, for nothing more than expressing your rights as citizens. It's manifested the discontent we see now. It's cruel... it's sickening."
Two-Face turns back to the police officer and growls in that familiar voice, as he slowly raises his gun, and the crowd begins to cheer.
"It needs to be put down like a sick dog."
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FactionGuerrilla
megar
BarrenThin2
Jeremiah
Cephrys
At least the old man seems to be coherent - even if he is evidently a heavy sleeper. Waving around that gun was a bit worrisome... but he put it away soon enough.
"Other than the fact that we just woke up here and seem like the biggest group of jackasses to have picked out? Not really."
His eyes followed Frank and Tavis as they soon turned to the soldier, attempting to reality-check him. Fexlis didn't see the point. These kinds of freakouts were a dime-a-dozen back in the UNSC. But at the same time... everyone should at least be coherent before they head out, he supposes. Dragging him along with them in that kind of state is liable to get them killed. Felix had just been planning to let him snap out of it alone, though.
Ramlathal's attempts at finding anything of note in the alleyway itself come up fruitless. It's about as dark and grimy as it can get. At most, an old newspaper flutters by her feet. Though it had been reduced to practically little more than a soggy pulp by the rain, she could probably make out what it said if she so chose to read it. At least a little bit.
As Quiet makes her way up to the roof for scouting, Felix lets out another sigh. He isn't too surprised by her weird powers or anything. The fact that they're all here at all is weird enough as is - so someone being a freak is just part of the territory, as far as he's concerned. He's already said his piece on why he thinks going ahead without the group is a bad idea, so if she wants to get herself killed anyway, then she can be his guest. He instead turns his head away from her entirely - him and the other quiet guy, who went off ahead anyway. For now, Felix stays put, focusing back on what's right in front of him.
At least the soldier seemed to be in better spirits, now.
The rooftop itself is empty, luckily enough. But as the duo draws near the ledge, the sounds of gunfire, wailing sirens and screaming of all sorts only grows louder. Thick, black smoke can already be seen in the far distance, wafting high into the air even from here. It rises in multiple locations across the city - so much so that they can even smell it. From across the way, numerous thugs can be seen holed up on rooftops. Some are just chatting with bats over their shoulders and guns in their hands, while many others are engaged in some kind of criminal activity. Ripping out ATMs, assaulting civilians and police officers alike... it's complete pandemonium.
And yet it's nothing compared to the streets below.
If the rooftops were full of them, then the streets were a total, unhinged nightmare. They clog up the entire street from beginning to end, stretching out as far as the eye can see. Men and women alike clad in dirty jackets, ripped jeans, or some form of mask only extend what had been visible across the way. Looting shops, toppling cars, setting fires. The police cars that whizz by are shot at by random thugs, and not a single one escapes without either a broken window or a blown-out tire. The last car, lingering behind the rest, is knocked entirely off the road by a garbage truck speeding in from the side. It collides with it head-on, sending the vehicle flying into a nearby wall. It lands with a THUD!, sending shards of glass flying every which way, alongside the flaming tires and scrap.
The garbage truck comes to a stop immediately, leaving very little distance between it and the downed cop car. Men climb out from the front and the back, as the thugs who were already present cheer them on from the side. The men from the garbage truck, however, appear to be clad in some kind of uniform, rather than the miscellaneous outfits of the other thugs. They all wear black and white clothing, with the black half appearing charred as if the result of some kind of horrific fire. The masks are the same, depicting frowning men with half-burnt faces. Each of them carries an assault rifle in their hands, and march to the police car with purpose.
"No, no, no-- PLEASE!" The cop cries out as he and his partner are forcibly removed from their vehicle. Not even the door remains, leaving nothing protecting them from their imminent removal. Both cops are forced onto their stomachs. The one in the driver's seat grunts and forces himself onto his hands and knees in a futile attempt to crawl away. But though he reaches for his gun, he's swiftly kicked in the face by another masked thug, who lets out a cackle.
"Where the hell do you think you're goin', pig?"
"Yeah, why don't ya oink for us?" Another beside him cackles. "Give us a good show, and we might just let one of you go."
"Might?"
A new voice can be heard - a deep, gravelly voice, almost sounding like a demon. It approaches the thugs from around the truck, the front door having been heard slamming shut after it spoke. The accompanying footsteps are so imposing that every thug present turns to meet them - masked or not. The figure makes its way around the truck, revealing a man in a suit not dissimilar from the mask-wearing thugs who accompanied him. Only his suit is far better pressed... on one side, at least. The other side is more badly burned than any of the thugs' - genuinely burned. It's far more than just a design on some jumpsuit, made with convincing latex and cotton. Those are real burns on that suit, split exactly down the middle. If either Quiet or Plan B can view the figure from this close, they can make out scars through the tattered holes in the suit.
And the burns extend to his face as well.
"The coin is what decides. Not you."
As the scarred man steps forward, the surrounding men step back.
"S-sorry, boss-- Two Face-- sir," the leading thug hastily apologizes, while his friend nods in agreement.
"It's okay," he replies, without even looking. Now, it's almost like an entirely different man speaks behind that flesh. A calmer, more reasonable man. It's as if the good and bad sides of his face each have their own distinct voices, their own personalities. "I get it. You've been wronged. Wronged by Gotham. The ones meant to serve and protect... locking you away, and beating you down, for nothing more than expressing your rights as citizens. It's manifested the discontent we see now. It's cruel... it's sickening."
Two-Face turns back to the police officer and growls in that familiar voice, as he slowly raises his gun, and the crowd begins to cheer.
"It needs to be put down like a sick dog."
DapperDogman
FactionGuerrilla
megar
BarrenThin2
Jeremiah
Cephrys
