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Fandom Gotham By Midnight

"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.

Twoface.jpg


"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 DapperDogman FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla megar megar BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 Jeremiah Jeremiah Cephrys Cephrys ​
 
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She scans the paper from where it is on the ground -- it's not like there's much to see on it.

"Gotham under attack... released prisoners... it is a riot, then."

She could have inferred it wasn't practiced warfare from the sounds alone, so that isn't of much use to her -- but what is it note is the name itself. Gotham. She's not heard of such a place before. It's concerning, to say the least of it, but she doesn't outwardly react to it at all. It clarifies the department, at least.

She lowers herself back down to the ground for a moment, feet only barely touching it, before she practically springs back up into the air, soaring up before delicately landing on the very same rooftop. She scans the city around her carefully, then. Different factions? They're clearly not all in league with each other. Some of them are, though, judging by their mode of dress... and it isn't too difficult to identify the leader of one such group from there.

Ramlethal purses her lips as she goes over what she's learned since arriving here. It is ultimately very little, and she's still unsure where exactly she stands in this equation to begin with. She could try to act, but whether or not she can take all of that alone isn't certain -- never mind the potential consequences of a foreign general stepping into what shouldn't be her business.

But even still...

"We don't learn much from just standing here..."
 
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Tavish pumped a fist against his heart, in appreciation for a fellow bibulous battlefield imbiber. There'd be no drinking in moderation in this wee company.
“Me job title’s Demoman, but me mates call me Tavish. Tavish Finnegan DeGroot, bombardier and “eppy-cur” of the finest rums and whiskeys! And the cheap scrumpy too. And if yer a fan of this,” he made a show of corking the bottle to emphasise it. “Then yer a mate of mine.”

Whether intentionally or not, Tavish seemed oblivious to the tense situation unfolding, as well as Quiet’s subtle cues. It was probably the latter: Being certifiably inebriated, and one-eyed, meant things tended to pass him by more easily. He was loud and obvious - that made space for his quieter teammates to move freely.

Tavish didn’t start paying attention to his surroundings until they suddenly became a lot more sparse - three of his teammates had already absconded to on high while he wasn’t looking.
“Eh?” He looked around in confusion. “What the bloody hell…? Bleedin ghosts. I flippin’ hate Halloween…”
The sudden crash in the distance snapped him out of his supernatural woes, and the Demoman quite quickly sobered up. Well, not exactly - but he did retrieve his grenade launcher, taking a battle ready stance and firming his grip around the stock and barrel. For a heavy anti-personnel armament, he held it quite loosely. He either had no clue what he was doing, or knew what he was doing very well.

“Trouble, lads!” He gestured to the few left in the alleyway with him. He didn’t waste time with anything like measured tactics or planning a careful approach - far from it, Tavish charged boldly out of the alley and into the open street, grenade launcher held in front of him like a battering ram.
“Leeeet’s gettaaaaam!”
Ever the go-getter.

Jeremiah Jeremiah
 
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Ramlethal's profoundly neutral gaze watches keenly as the Demoman boldly charges forward. She can respect that. And equally, she wouldn't want to leave him to handle it alone. She didn't want to handle it alone herself, after all.

"Let's begin, then."

She all but dives right off of the rooftop -- and as she does, one of her swords reappears at her feet. She lands upon it as it *soars* down and forward, following the Demoman's lead and ready to crash into the ground. She briefly muses that this still might not be the best idea she's ever had, but... she has no time to dwell on it as she effectively surfs through the air on her sword.
 
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What. The. Fuck.

The Contingency understood it was Halloween, but this was excessive. Who the hell goes to these lengths for a costume?
And they were all matching? This has to be one of the weirdest criminal gangs he's ever seen.

He couldn't think too long about it, as it seemed one of the captured cops was about to be executed. Felix wouldn't approve, but fuck it. Plan B only takes orders from very high ranking officials in agencies you don't have the clearance to know about.
Standing up straight on the edge of the roof, he glances to Quiet and Ramlethal before reaching up for a smoke grenade on his bandolier, eyeballing the gathered criminals for a moment before pulling the pin and tossing it down, hoping to flood the area around them heavily enough to conceal his entrance.

Firing another grappling hook to the building across the street, he'd leap off the roof, aiming to enter the crowd with a sudden burst of violence, kicking anyone in the way of his swing before taking off throwing punches at any thugs near the officers as he uses the thermal mode on his multi-scanner to see through the fog.
It was in the middle of one of these blows that he could hear the heavily drunk Scotsman. It seems he's bringing up the rear. Backup would certainly be nice against a group this big.
He continues using the cover of the smoke to assault any thugs nearby, attempting to bring them down with powerful blows. The only problem is that due to his thermal vision, he isn't able to discern exactly which shape was the leader of the group. He could only hope one of the people caught in the panic of his sudden assault was the head honcho.

Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - Felix/Two-Face
FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla - Quiet
Cephrys Cephrys - Demoman
megar megar - Ramlethal​
 

  • The brunette glanced backwards as she heard Plan B's approach. When she realized it was just him and not any other intruder, Quiet uncloaked herself to show she was there to the others. Ramlethal followed soon after, which eventually yielded a nod of acknowledgement to the other strangers. Her focus couldn't stay on the other two for long, though, as she turned her attention towards the horror show that lay before the trio.

    As she lifted her Int-Scope to her eyes and looked at her surroundings, she realized that she wasn't looking at a city. She was looking at a warzone.

    This situation was far worse than she could've possibly expected from the radio call; any previous worries about being a priority to the police were dashed by the sheer amount of criminals running amok the streets. This, however, also meant any potential engagement would be extremely risky with so many psychos loitering about. She put away her binoculars, reaching for the Guilty Butterfly slung over her back and bringing the nonlethal rifle to her chest. It was at this point that a bunch of gunmen ambushed a patrol car and dragged its occupants out to her sight. She watched the scene play out whilst pulling out the bolt-action's magazine to inspect it. When she saw it was still fully loaded, she put the magazine back in before noticing the apparent ringleader- some two-faced man with horrific scars all over half his body. At first, she was certain he would immediately execute the officers, but there was mention of a coin making decisions. Was this man crazy enough to let a coin decide someone's fate? If that were the case, she could probably subtly manipulate whatever outcome happened from the coin toss. As potent as her tranquilizer rounds were, they were designed to also break upon impact to leave little traces of an attack- meaning they could be used to alter an object's trajectory if aimed carefully.

    While Quiet was trying to determine the best plan of stealthy approach was, a scream in the streets prompted her to look down and see that drunkard troublemaker decide now was the perfect time to make a loud entrance. And, on top of that, announce their presence to all the criminals in the vicinity. She only had time to scowl and think of one word before shit would inevitably hit the fan:

    Idiot!

    ​


    As the Demoman ran out, time seemed to slow to a snail's pace as Quiet put all her focus into making the most out of what few milliseconds of advantage she had. A quick glance towards the other two revealed both Plan B and Ramlethal getting ready to leap down like action heroes- with the former priming a smoke grenade to cover his approach. As the other mute threw his smoke grenade, Quiet reached to her belt and pulled out a stun grenade- priming it with her thumb before hurling it in an upwards arc as a followup attack. With her precision, the flashbang would explode above the criminal group- close enough to blind and deafen her victims, but far enough away from the officers on the ground to avoid hurting them too much. Knowing she only had another heartbeat's worth of time left to act, she pulled her nonlethal sniper rifle up to fire a silenced tranquilizer round right at Two-Face's forehead. Unfortunately, due to her hastiness, she knew she couldn't guarantee hitting the ringleader like she normally could with her shots- there was no time to make a perfect lineup when her window for a first strike was compromised so badly.

    And with her attempt at an initiative done in the span of a couple seconds, Quiet's focus shifted back, and time resumed like normal.

    ​


    Black markings shaped like a butterfly formed on her eyes as she cycled the bolt with one hand and practically yanked the suppressor off the Guilty Butterfly with her other- a calculated decision, as revealing her presence would hopefully at least take some of the heat off the (possibly) more fragile idiots trying to start a brawl down below. The girl whipped her bolt-action rifle around, promptly firing a round at a goon's head outside Plan B's smoke with a loud crack emphasizing her presence. In the blink of an eye, she'd already worked the bolt on her rifle and fired a second round at a thug near Tavish to tranquilize them. She repeated this process with her last two rounds, alternating between an enemy near Plan B's smoke and a gunman close to the drunk. Once she was out of ammunition, Quiet ducked behind the roof, shielding herself from any gunfire she'd attracted while she took time to reload.

    If this reckless encounter was a sign of what was to come while traveling with this group, Quiet suspected it would be a very long night.
 
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At the edge of the alley, the grim reality of their circumstances dawned on the older vigilante. His expression darkened slowly with each passing moment. This wasn't just some shithole city, it was a ruin. A veritable palace of corruption and violence. If this sort of thing could happen in the street like this, an army of criminals armed to the teeth with practically military hardware, there was no telling what kind of threats they'd face. At last, Frank's eyes settled on the apparent leader of this group. A horrifically scarred man that bounced between calm and rage at a moment's notice. A lunatic at the head of a pack of jackals about to execute two men in the street.

Frank stood no chance against the large group of armed men -- not unprepared as he was and in such a disadvantageous position. With time to ready himself and the actual hardware necessary, it'd be Tuesday. As it stood, it was suicide. Maybe with the help of the others, he'd have some hope, but he had no way to know their capabilities, or if they'd even want to intervene. So he waited. He waited in silence, watching the others as they studied the circumstances, came to their own conclusion, and acted.

It was utter chaos.

The one-eyed grenadier ran out into the street. If it weren't for two separate people deploying smoke grenades and at least one stun, he'd doubtless have been full of more bullets than blood mere moments later. One individual, the mute, had leapt into the smoke -- firing into it would be impossible, even with some way to view into the smoke, without possibly injuring him now. He heard the quiet firing of less-than-lethal munitions elsewhere and felt his lips twitch downward slightly with disdain. There was no plan, other than "throw everything they had at them and hope they didn't get the chance to shoot back."

For his part, Frank wouldn't just idly wait for the fight to resolve itself. He couldn't fire into the smoke, but he could close the distance. Drawing the knife in his boot, the vigilante crossed the gap between the alley and the cloud. Fighting with low visibility wasn't just not new to him. It was comfortable. Familiar. Warm.

Unfortunately for the people he came against, Frank had no intention of fighting nonlethally. He'd seen enough. His knife lashed out towards throats, sternums, organs. He had not been awake for long, he did not know where he was, he did not know why. It didn't matter. This place, these people -- they'd know who he was before long. They'd regret what they'd done to this place.

Twice Knightly Twice Knightly​
 
Much akin to how the group's silent gesturing passed the drunken Demoman by, the finer details of Demo's parlance passed right over the closed-minded Tav's head. Rum? Whiskey? It sounded like Low Gothic though, he sure as hell never heard of so many fancy names for amasec. Must mean it was some real top-shelf stuff - it certainly tasted so. Therein was planted a seed of doubt: why then was Tavish so quick to share it with a dime-a-dozen grunt like Tav? Perhaps mercifully, the guardsman didn't have very much time to dwell on this thought before his new friend loosed a fearsome battlecry and leapt into the fray. Oh yes, now Tav was in his element.

"Coverin' your flank Demo!" Tav shouted ahead as he hustled out the alley. Finding a solid brick wall to hug the marksman raised his rifle, watching the burgeoning battlefield like a hawk. If anyone were to approach from the flank Tav would know. Whenever smoke was deployed he used it to cover his advance, safely keeping pace with his motley crew as they advanced through the street.​

Mentions
Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - GM
Cephrys Cephrys - Demoman
DapperDogman DapperDogman - Plan B
FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla - Quiet
megar megar - Ramlethal
BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 - Frank
 
With the group jumping into the fray, it was only a matter of time before they were noticed.

The Demoman had announced their presence first. The thugs turned with him, some confused, some grabbing their weapons as they noticed his. Very few had any traces of noticeable fear at all, despite the group's imposing nature. Even with that grenade launcher, none seemed too perturbed. Two-Face, especially not. He growls as he turns to face them all, grip around his revolver tightening. His finger curls around the trigger as it's lowered to his side. For now, the cops are inadvertently spared.

"Who the hell are these clowns!?" he shouts, attention darting between his men for an answer. When nothing comes within a few seconds, he simply growls again. "Whatever! Make an example of 'em! String 'em up for when The Bat shows up!"

The men need no further instruction and charge forward as well. Two brutish thugs immediately charge the Demoman with their weapons. Rudimentary as they are (an old baseball bat and a crowbar respectively), their few feet on the mercenary in terms of height act like a shield around their fear. They simply charge him, weapons at the ready, immediately aiming for his skull and ribs. There's no training to it, no grace. They fight like exactly what they appear to be - street punks with no experience outside of taking whatever they think is theirs. However, before they can engage in a proper fight, one of Quiet's tranq rounds hits the one holding the crowbar head-on. Brutish as he may be, his body can do little to fight off a military-grade tranquilizer, and he's out in a second. The other thug looks up and almost seems to forget Tavish entirely, as shaky hands move to grab his pistol while he tries to find where the bullet came from.

Ramlathal goes high, and in response, so do the men and their guns. Not every man holding a rifle aims at her - but it's enough to where Valentine finds herself having to avoid an effective barrage of bullets as she careens down. Many of them miss her, but before she's even halfway down, even more men join the fray. By the time they pile on, it's too late for her to course correct. In those first few seconds, avoiding them had been easy, but the rest of them? Well, as they pull the trigger, aimed dead-set on Ramlethal's head, just before she touches the ground...

Bang! Bang! Bangbangbang!

Just as she touches the ground, four of the men who'd intended to shoot at her fall to the ground, dead. Each one shot with pinpoint accuracy, a bullet having soured through the space between their eyes. If their foreheads were targets, then the shots would have hit the bullseyes each time. They all fall in rapid succession with little more than weak grunts as their final breaths, their guns clanking against the ground. The remaining men stand to the side, eyes wide, totally shell-shocked. And who else had taken them all down?

Felix_%28Red_vs._Blue%29.png


"Ya know, next time I say, 'Hey! Let's wait and form a plan!' How about we do that instead of rushing forward like a bunch of dumbasses?"

With his sidearm still smoking, Felix gives it a little twirl and holsters it right at his hip. Not a second later, the remaining men open fire. Before the bullets even reach them, however, Felix raises his arm, causing a shield bigger than the both of them to spontaneously appear, right out of thin air. It's light blue and tanking every bullet that comes its way. And the thugs keep shooting, while Felix just turns his head in Ramlathal's direction.

"See, now would be a good time to put that fancy sword to good use."

Of course, this only deals with a fraction of the men. The rest of you, who'd begun your attacks?


(OOC: Keep the timestamp for the intended effect!)

Well, let's just say, you know what you're doing.

Plan B's smoke grenade plan more or less went off without a hitch. While it wasn't enough to cloud an entire street full of thugs in smoke, it was enough to leave just the right amount of coughing, gasping, and sputtering for air. Many of them fire into the air with their guns, creating bright flashes through the thick smoke. The stun grenade only adds to this, blinding and temporarily disarming many of the mooks as Plan B initiates his attack. The thugs are hit by an unknown force, though a few of them scream at the dark silhouette that appears before them just before they're knocked out cold.

"It's The Bat!" Some even manage to shout, only to cry out as they're promptly downed by Plan B's fists. Though judging by the sounds of the ones he hits, the leader isn't among the ones he's able to strike down. But if Plan B is paying attention - or anyone else for that matter - then he can be heard further back, growling becoming more errant and breathing growing more labored.

"Batman! If you're here, then just know I'll blow this pig's head off if you come any closer!"

A figure still a bit further back can be seen through Plan B's thermal vision. More imposing than even the larger brutes in the crowd, it makes its way over to the wall - where the cowering cops can be seen. There's a struggle, but one of them is grabbed up by the scruff of their collar and hoisted up into a chokehold. The figure - very likely the leader - looks around with a far less composed demeanor than the one they'd been showing just moments prior. They hastily bring a gun up to the officer's temple and stagger back until their back hits the nearby truck. A bullet whizzes right over their head and hits the truck behind them - courtesy of Quiet's hasty, yet damn near pinpoint aim. This only aggravates him further as he ducks his head behind the cop, finger curling around the trigger even further.

And around him, the crowd continues to disperse. Many of the thugs notice Quiet, and, for one reason or another, charge her as soon as she makes herself known. The thug from the outer perimeter goes down just as the other did, though that does little to take the heat off of her from the rest. Close combat is a damn near impossibility thanks to all the smoke, so instead they just opt to raise their guns and take aim at her, opening fire relentlessly. They don't flinch as Quiet ducks for cover, either slam-firing their handguns or holding down the triggers on their rifles until they're out of ammo. The smoke makes their aim hasty, but thanks to Quiet giving herself away, they still have a general idea.

The ones who aren't tranq'd are, unfortunately, met with the business end of Frank's blade. Wet gurgles that only he can hear sound out with every stab to their throats and stomachs. What little armor they have on is nothing compared to the train precision of someone like The Punisher, and they all fall just as he's used to. One by one, they collapse in pools of their own blood and gore. Organs spill, voice boxes wither away into shrill whimpers, and soon enough corpses litter the street. And all the while, Frank Castle is left coated in their blood. Stepping in it. The chaos of the situation hardly gives the rest any time to notice their fallen comrades. All they can do is swing and fire away at Frank, though with the ensuing pandemonium, to say their aim is "shoddy" would be an understatement.

And in the back, Tav keeps an eye on it all. Although his crew seems to be doing a bang-up job at handling things, there are those they don't notice. Men who run into the smoke with knives and guns drawn alike. None of them are subtle about it. Even the best among them still let out war cries or pained grunts that make their locations all too obvious. It makes his job all too easy - so whatever shots he needs to take, they're right there for the taking.

Cephrys Cephrys FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla megar megar DapperDogman DapperDogman BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 Jeremiah Jeremiah​
 
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"I admit this was not what I meant by investigate, but seeing as we're here..."

Ramlethal's other sword appears, and it swings in a fashion that seems almost idly -- yet forming a seemingly flawless defence against any errant bullets that aren't being stopped by the shield dead ahead. She doesn't even really seem to acknowledge it's happening at all, instead looking towards the seeming leader of the thugs -- or rather, the floor below him. The sword crashing into the ground will have disrupted the terrain just enough, so now she can follow through with it...

She lowers her arm down to the ground, peering out of her mantle, and then slams her palm down.

"Ondo," she flatly says, her gaze narrowing.

And a moment later, the ground right at the leader's feet *spikes,* for a moment becoming so uneven it would be impossible to stand up straight on -- it doesn't last long, but she hopes it will be enough for someone else to follow through with. She'd send a sword herself, but she can't afford to leave herself so readily defenseless.
 
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The Bat?
The fear being displayed toward him seemed appropriate given the sudden nature of his attack, but it seemed...Specific. Too specific. Their body language screamed familiar terror.
Then the leader of the group yelled out to someone. 'Batman'.
Seems as though his tactics were evoking someone these thugs knew. Someone that terrified them.

Finally done dealing with the criminals caught in the cloud, his focus turns to the man who had once again taken a hostage.

His eyes narrowed as he observes the man for a long moment, watching as he hides himself completely behind his human shield as Quiet's round narrowly misses him and impacts against the side of the garbage truck.
The only thing exposed was a revolver, pressed to the officer's temple. Hammer cocked back and ready to blow open the poor captive's head in a moment.

There's a beat as he waits for an opening. His senses sharpen, watching every minute twitch, every ragged breath, every nervous glance. And then he sees his stance shift. It seems his footing had become unstable somehow.

Striding forward confidently, a black-clad hand lashes from the smoke to grab the cylinder of the gun, his pinkie finger aiming to jam itself between the frame of the weapon and the hammer, preventing it from behind fired.
Assuming that went off without a hitch, he'd attempt to rip the gun from Two-Face's hand, tossing it aside.
If that failed. Well, a few vicious left hooks aimed around the officer's torso to strike the cowering criminal leader would likely help in removing the danger.

Right now everyone else would have to play cleanup. The Contingency was focused on saving the two men who would actually have information on whatever was going on with these Blackgate riots, about where they were, and who they were up against. This information was invaluable, he couldn't allow it to slip away now.

Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - Two-Face
megar megar - Ramlethal​
 
"Gah!"

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, there's not much Two-Face can do in this situation. He had been too focused on the chaos ahead, lingering behind the smoke. Too many bodies were moving. The bright flashes of the ensuing gunfire only served to blind him. He hadn't even noticed Plan B approaching, which meant he was hardly even able to prepare himself when that claw swiped out of the smoke with pinpoint accuracy. Of course, he attempted to get a shot off, but it meant little thanks to that maneuver with his pinkie, especially since the ground suddenly shifting left him stumbling and defenseless. Even still, he grits his teeth and reinforces his grip, fist clenching so tight around the gun that his knuckles turn white. Though fear leaves his hand shaking, he doesn't give in to it. No, Two-Face yanks back with whatever force he can muster, trying with damn near everything to pull the gun free.

But it means little. The gun is wrestled from his grasp soon enough and tossed away like paper. He's too busy focusing on that to even register that he's about to be punched in the ribcage, so the first two hit without a hitch. He growls out in pain as he feels one of his ribs snap, the audible crack! making that clear to his assailant as well. The cop, noticing this, immediately runs off, coughing through the smoke and waving his hand all the while. He stays ducked over, narrowly avoiding whatever gunfire he can, until he reaches his partner, slumped over by the wall. Though it's hard for him to see through the smoke, he manages to pull the other cop up and lead him into a nearby alleyway, where he promptly dives them both behind a dumpster for cover.

There's little time to celebrate the cops' safety, however. Two-Face, though now with a broken rib on his good side, manages to block the third hit aimed at his torso. His arm dives forward to block it, taking the brunt of the attack. He hisses out in pain, but that moment is enough for him to ball up his fist throw a devastating right hook to his assailant, and then follow up with a kick to his groin! He can't quite see the man through the smoke, even still, but he's close enough so that his silhouette is clear as day.

"Come on... Bat," he spits, not attempting to hide the bile in his tone. "Gimme your best shot!"

DapperDogman DapperDogman megar megar ​
 
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Tavish may have been a drunkard, but he was no fool. Fools went quickly in the Badlands. He knew that, despite their power in clearing crowds quickly, his explosives would be a liability here. Firing grenades in a firefight as tightly packed as this would be risking the safety of his teammates and himself. He'd have to restrategise - lucky that he carried a weapon for this particular occasion.

The grenade launcher disappeared, back to wherever the Demoman was storing all of these weapons. In its place came a long sheen of silver, glimmering in the light as it went. An unearthly green glow shivered down the metal surface, as it went on and on. Finally it was fully unseathed: A notched, rusted, but sharp as ever claymore. Claymore, from the Scots Gaelic for "big sword" - a title this weapon certainly lived up to. Were it planted in the ground, it would easily reach up to Tavish's chin. Fully unsheathed, and under a Halloween night's moon, an ephemeral energy seemed to travel along the blade's surface. Those with keen senses could hear something to accompany that sheen - whisperings in a hoarse voice.
"Headsheadsheadsheads...."

Siezing his opportunity, Tavish answered the call of the Eyelander. He swung down and across, gravity assisting his own strength as he aimed the blade right for the soft side the brute closest to him. As if goading the others to come and get him, he let out a proud war cry - more of a war yell - as his weapon made its grisly journey. ​
 

  • Damn it. What could've been a quick and smooth engagement was no longer possible; though she primarily blamed that Demo-moron below for the botched beginning, Quiet knew she had to take some of that fault for such a sloppy shot that missed Two-Face by a hair. Not that she had time to dwell upon it; her gambit at diverting attention had indeed paid off in spades, so she was quick to hide to avoid getting punished for her own strategic choice.

    For a moment, the sharpshooter considered trying to retain keeping the thugs' attention on her rooftop with a decoy or explosive, but she was hesitant to use her support weapons so recklessly. Sure, she probably had way more than enough tranquilizer rounds for most large-scale engagements, but she had a feeling this was only the start of what Gotham's riots had to offer the group. She'd save her more niche and less plentiful gadgets for later situations- either more dire ones, or ones that mandated a distraction. Despite a sabotaged start and gunfire directed at her, this fight met neither of those conditions.

    Instead, the sniper recloaked herself, disappearing into her surroundings, before moving away from her last position whilst out of the visible spectrum. With luck, these untrained goons wouldn't see her moving, and would keep firing where they last saw her. In the meantime, she rotated around, leaping to another rooftop where she had a good vantage point before unslinging her tranquilizer rifle. With plenty of time to consider her next move while cloaked, she observed the rest of the party's motions.

    Even through the smoke, she could see glimpses of Two-Face taking a hostage in the chaos. She pointed her barrel in his direction, preparing to make up for her previous mistake, but Plan B already had the situation covered, snatching an opportunity that seemed to stem from Ramlethal's ground smash move not unlike how she woke the last gunman up. Speaking of which, he'd joined the fray in the smoke and begun cutting people down with the same viciousness as an XOF operator; Quiet figured he'd draw attention away from the other mute, leaving the smoky area covered. The same went for Tavish, thanks to his newest drinking buddy- the other Tav- covering his flank. And, quite honestly, Quiet would be fine if those two got injured during this fight if it meant they learned not to be so stupid next time around.

    Neither Ramlethal nor Felix had the same covering fire that Plan B nor Tavish had, though, as both of them had been put on the defensive. Subsequently, Quiet's next move was obvious to her.

    As quickly as she'd unequipped her suppressor, the markswoman re-equipped her Guilty Butterfly's suppressor, before reappearing to the human eye and peeking out of her new vantage point. She began by targetting the enemies furthest away from the duo- methodically picking them off and significantly reducing the amount of gunfire suppressing both Ramlethal and Felix. It was up to them as to whether they'd use this opportunity to get into cover or go on the attack while they had cover fire.

    The only enemies left unattended were the gunmen who'd begun assaulting Quiet's original position, but she'd deal with them later. Right now, the others were in far more danger than she was- out in the open and without any cover- and they weren't any real threat while they were distracted and unaware that their target had rotated away.
 
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Ramlethal quietly observes the outcome for but a moment. That'll do -- risking an approach isn't worth it, and it's not like she needs people to know that was her regardless. She's better off continuing to play backup.

So she hops off the sword she was still resting upon and lets it float up into the air beside her. One sword to defend from bullets one to attack any of them who decide to get too close... it will have to do for now. She makes sure that she's only smacking them with the blunt end of the sword, though -- she can't do anything about the others being killers, but if she can simply knock her own opponents out, that will be enough. A concussion is better than death.

"Let's keep on as we are and let them handle their leader. We're better acting as backup for now."
 
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Once battle commenced Tav readied his weapon. He cranked the lever joining its power pack to the body and the marksman's heart soared to the sound of it thrumming with motive force. The flashing green light on its face signaled a full charge, giving Tav the A-OK to start seeking targets. The guardsman planted the butt of his rifle square against his right shoulder while he stared down its holographic sights, cracking a small smile watching his new friend tear up the battlefield with the tallest damn power sword he had ever laid eyes on.

"Hold that pose ya filthy ganger. . ." Tav mumbled to himself, feeling his trigger finger grow itchy the longer he followed one knife-wielding goon skulking through the smoke, approaching Tavish from the back.

guard laser.jpg

Shh-tow! >>> Shh-tow! >>> Shh-tew!

With each trigger pull power surged through focusing crystals, and three streaks of red photons soared through the air. They collided with their target within fractions of a moment, but the damage caused would be felt for far longer than that. Tav chuckled - scoring hits against an unarmored target always felt so satisfying. No ceramite veneer, chitinous carapace, nor adamantine plate to stop that unlucky thug's arm from being blown clean off. It would be more accurate to say the point where his upper arm socketed into his shoulder was vaporized so instantaneously it caused a small explosion, but it was a brutally effective outcome all the same. The second and third shots out of Tav's lasgun only served to put the traitorous dog out his misery before seeking further targets.

"Show me that ugly grin!" Tav cried, using his enhanced targeting visual to peer through the smoke and the chaos to add two more, three more, four more notches to his killcount. The dense clouds fogging up this busy Gotham street glared red with a flurry of laser fire, turning everywhere Tavish wasn't looking into a veritable deadzone compliments of the Guard.​

Mentions
Cephrys Cephrys - Demoman
Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - GM
 
For some people, the phrase "bring a knife to a gunfight" is pretty straight forward. A paleolithic weapon used by cavemen versus the pinnacle of person human death-dealing. But Frank knew better at this range. He knew wat happened when adrenaline started to pump. When the panic set in. The way a shooter's hands started to shake. The way he couldn't focus on any one target, for fear of turning his back on another. No, at this range, in this smoke -- Frank would much rather be the one with the knife than the one with the gun. Even as they turn to retaliate, the vigilante is already somewhere else, tracking muzzle flashes in the haze. Namely, he became keenly aware of a group of gunmen firing skyward. Doubtless towards the woman on the roof, the one using tranq rounds.

He didn't pause. Frank might've been a solo operator for a while now, but that didn't mean he forgot the importance of covering his allies. Namely ones providing sniper cover. She pinned people down, made them panic, made them scatter. She wasn't just good at what she did, she was imperative. After all, the demolitionist now carving his way through men with a sword hadn't really given them a ton of time to come up with a cohesive plan -- the chaos she sowed was one of the only reasons several of them hadn't already been shot to Hell a dozen times. Frank's hand darted down, scooping up one of the criminals firearms. Automatic. Inaccurate. Unreliable. Three-quarters of a drum left in it. It would serve its purpose.

Unlike his marks in the smoke, these people were set apart from the rest. They were not exposing his allies to crossfire. Frank advanced out of the smoke, sliding behind the hard cover of a vehicle. Not perfect. Good enough. He waited for the briefest lull in the fire, the sound of one or two of them stopping to reload, the click of an empty weapon, before rising up, pointing it in the would-be shooters' direction. Each shot was a controlled burst of three, aimed at center mass so that, even with recoil, the third shot was propelled towards the head. For what time they had left, the group would wish it was Quiet that had decided to fire back. Unlike her, Frank had no intention of letting a single one of them walk away from this confrontation.​
 
Well, the officers are safe now. That's the most important thing done. Now, about these costumed lunatics.
Two-Face is a formidable opponent to keep fighting after having a rib broken, and to have the presence of mind to fight back with any semblance of co-ordination while in all that pain? Impressive.

The right was a shock, and it catches him in the side of the head, staggering him back a step, but as the foot flies up to kick him, hands flash forward too catch the ankle.

These guys are terrified of someone who operates in a similar way to him. He can play on that fear.

Pushing Two-Face back roughly against the truck, The Contingency unhooks a small metal object from his belt and tosses it toward the man with a surprising amount of force. As it moves through the air it splits in two. Two magnetic spheres spun through the air, connected by an advanced graphene alloy cable. It was a pair of bolas, aimed right at the criminal leader's midsection, aiming to entangle his arms at his sides and immobilise him.

Assuming this works, the silent figure steps toward his bound prey, bending down.
He grabs his grappling gun once again and wraps the loose section of rope attached to the side of the gun around Two-Face's ankle, firing the gun at one of the nearby streetlamps. The aim was to leave the gang's leader dangling several feet off the ground. Displayed like a grisly trophy.

Also, ripe for interrogation once his goons (hopefully) flee in terror of whoever this Batman is.
(He'd also really need to figure out who the hell that guy was. Seems like someone who'd probably be useful right about now, given the fear he can seemingly instill into heavily armed thugs participating in what seemed to be a city-wide riot.)

If he can kill two birds with one stone, he may as well. His smoke was beginning to thin, and he only had a limited supply of those, so he wasn't eager to use another on this guy and his lowlife friends.

Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - Two Face​
 
The claymore hit its mark dead-on, sending the thug crumbling over in a pool of his blood as he let out a cry comparable to Tavish's in only intensity. But soon enough, it devolved into a whimper and became drowned out by the thugs around him. Many charged him, but none stood a chance. Not really. His weapon's journey is a fierce one indeed, cutting down all those in its path and reducing them to limped, whimpering states on the ground. That journey cleared a path, allowing his comrades to push through that much easier.

Quiet was among those the attack aided. Even if she hadn't cloaked back up, through all the chaos and the ensuing gore, likely, they wouldn't have paid much attention to her anyway. But the invisibility ensures that her ensuing shots are all but guaranteed as she makes her way deeper into the fray. She passes Felix, who's doing his part by holding off a few charging thugs. He is no longer holding up his shield, instead settling for brandishing two side-arms and hitting each charging mook with the same pinpoint accuracy he'd displayed when having Ramlethal's back. The smoke is thick, thanks to the combined efforts of Quiet herself and Plan B, which covers everyone the rest of the way.

With all this going on, it's debatable whether or not she even needs the suppressor. But either way, she's able to hit the furthest thugs with the accuracy she knows herself for. No more potshots like the one she'd taken at Two-Face. Anyone stuck in the perimeter is more or less a sleeping baby by the time she makes her way around.

Limbs fly as Tav provides his fire. The bright flashes from his rounds are the last thing they see before their most useful parts are sent flying with nothing short of a stream of blood in their wake. Unable to handle the pain, they collapse as well, sobbing from their newfound lack of autonomy. One thug who doesn't die just lays in a pool of his muck, crying as the realization dawns on him that he'll never get to hug his daughter again.

Frank Castle didn't even leave any of them with that thought. Perhaps that's a mercy, to some. Not that they can decide that either way anymore, with their brains, lungs, and hearts splattered all over the ground in gross crimson clumps of organs, blood, and torn flesh. Anyone caught in his line of fire is dead within seconds. The worst part is? None of them even knew what hit them. How could they, truthfully? Between his cover, the smoke, and the chaos, they can't even pin the old man down. All they can do is take his lead and fall down like lambs to the slaughter.

Between all of this, the thugs were going down like moths to a flame. Errant or organized, it didn't matter. The screaming ceased one way or another after long. Soon enough, to say they barely outnumbered the group would have been a generous overstatement. It was laughable, and the last few were starting to catch on. If it wasn't their comrades falling, the crazed laughter of the Tavs, the steely professionalism of Frank and Quiet? It's the imposing figure of Plan B, still only visible through the smoke. He towers over the men, leaving them breathless and terrified from his visage alone. He fought like someone familiar to them. It's the kind of familiarity that does anything but provide comfort. It's a familiarity that reminds them of snapping bones and punctured lungs. Months in the infirmary, only to be tossed in a cell.



Whoever Plan B is - or, rather, whoever these men thought he was. It terrified them. Arguably more than the bullets leaving them for dead, or the well-placed sword slashes from Ramlethal's hand. Seeing him act, and being the few left to take it... they were left there, stunned in fear. None attempt to help or intervene. They just stand there, frozen in their fear, watching the sight before them with horrified eyes.

The only one who fights now is their boss, wide-eyed and trying his best to stay standing. He didn't let the first hit he struck get to his head. After all, he's struck plenty of blows before. It never means anything unless you can pile them on. That's the hard part. There was little he could do other than grunt as he was so roughly slammed back against his garbage truck. Try as he might to get another hit in, he just barely manages to raise his arms before those bolas close in. They wrap around his body as intended and pull taut before long, leaving him immobile. Hands now forced by his side, the scarred man still clings to his gun, as if that will somehow help him.

When the grappling gun fires at his ankle, and he's sent flying up to the street lamp, all Two-Face can do is yell. Clank! the revolver goes, dropping to the ground and hitting the pavement. It bounces lightly before sliding off, scraping against concrete and only stopping at the curb. And as the smoke finally clears, the thugs are greeted with the last nail in the coffin. Their boss, bound taut by wire he can't hope to escape from, dangling against a street lamp and screaming out. The thugs don't even wait. They don't let him get another word in, or for Plan B to turn to them as well.

They just drop their weapons and run away.

"Heh, look at that," Felix says, spinning both sidearms on his fingers and stowing them in their respective holsters. He gives a little nod at the sight - a show of smugness, and his superiority over the cattle he and his would-be group just drove away. "Guess we didn't need much of a plan after all."

Perhaps Frank makes good on his promise and mows the rest of them down. Perhaps Tavish's claymore finishes its journey and cleaves their heads from their bodies. If they didn't make it out, the fear in their eyes was clear enough on its own. Something primal, dark... something tied to this very city, is what terrified them. Plan B only grabbed it from the depths of their soul, obscured by the smoke, and ripped it out of them to put on display like a fucked-up museum of horror and regret.

And Two-Face stands there as the prime attraction, fruitlessly struggling against his binds as his screams now only reach the empty street.

Jeremiah Jeremiah DapperDogman DapperDogman BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla Cephrys Cephrys megar megar ​
 
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"A victory... but hardly one won."

It was too easy to really hold much meaning. She believes all things do hold meaning, in some way -- but all this told her is that the average person is outmatched against her. This, she already knew. So she has no reason to dwell too deeply on it when there's more important matters.

Ramlethal lets her swords float at her side, and she takes a single stride forward before again simply floating above the ground, ascending for a passing moment until she comes to level with the only one who might have some answers for her.

She stops, and one of her swords shifts below her, so that she might sit on the flat end of it, one leg crossed over the other.

"I'll give you a moment to stop screaming before interrogating you," she flatly remarks, "it's quite noisy as it is, still."
 
demomanbanner-png.1189955

Tavish struck neck after neck, never needing to push it any further. His hungry blade was moved by a dark power - hitting hard bone but barrelling through like it was butter. He couldn't have stopped it if he tried: the Eyelander cleaved its way through on its own impetus, a clean break and an instant kill. Heads rolled and bodies dropped, and the Demoman seemed oblivious to the true carnage he wrought. He continued slashing, and with every head severed, the sword sated a satanic thirst.

To Tavish, the battle felt over before it had began. He held the Eyelander’s hilt tightly, glancing all around for any more trouble.

“Who else wants some? Eh? Eh? I’ll bleedin…I’ll…!” His stalwart stance faltered as he staggered in place, and slowly his sword tipped over. Soon enough it was just a stick to lean on - a bloody thing that was now, unquestionably, glowing. A green translucent sheen, up and down its blade. And a faint green flame in the eyepatch of the Demoman to match.

“Ehhh, buncha bleedin’ cowards youse all are…” He chastised a headless body, reaching back and retrieving his trusty rum bottle. He tipped it back and took another gulp, burping heartily. “Ahh, ye beauty…”

Tavish leered over his shoulder in a rare look of annoyance, as Two-Face screamed in protest.

“Ah, would ye stop yer jibberin’! I can hardly hear meself thinkin…”

He paused, visibly thinking. He thrust his bottle forward by the now-corked neck, towards Two-Face accusatorially.

“...Now riddle me this, ye half-faced felon! Maybe ye can't get that face of yers’ fixed…But why are ye still wearing your ragged aul suit?!? Ya look like a bum! Yer supposed to be a crime lord, ye can shell out a coupla pounds for a tailor, can't yis?”

It didn't seem as if he had many questions to ask that would provide very useful information.
 

  • The last time Quiet bore witness to this kind of bloodbath- besides her retaliation on the Russian guards for what they did to her- was back at the Cyprus hospital. And yet, at least her XOF unit didn't relish the massacre. They'd behaved themselves more like the other armed professional- acting swiftly and detached from their job- but the others? The way the Demoman and Tav dismembered the thugs? That was far different. They enjoyed the kill count.

    Were this a few months ago, she might've approved of this sort of butchering. Maybe even gleefully gotten her own hands bloodied, enjoy toying with the goons. Now, she couldn't help but watch in disdain as many of the others killed with impunity, a mirror as to the murderer she used to be. As the fighting died out, she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to a defining moment that'd reshaped her own mentality.

    “THIS IS THE ENEMY! AND HE'S HERE ON HIS KNEES!”
    "Kaz... You are right, he is not one of us. But we are not responsible to judge an enemy."     ​

    By the time the huntress blinked and pushed the memory of that fateful trial out of her mind, the fighting was already over. She, Ramlethal, and Plan B had done a solid job of knocking out a good chunk of the criminals, but since it was easier to decapitate or blow out someone's brains than it was tranquilizing or knocking them out... more bodies were dead than alive. She donned a stoic expression as her butterfly markings disappeared, leaving no hints of how she felt about the others' bloodlust for the time being, and hopped down from her roof to join the others.

    The one thug bawling on the ground caught her attention first. She'd seen a lot of injuries in her line of work, and she could already tell the poor bastard was good as dead. Lost too much blood. There was no Fulton Extraction available, nor a medical staff at Mother Base to treat his wound- so without any medical assistance he'd be dead in an agonizing few minutes. And honestly, with what she saw from the others, she couldn't guarantee they'd show this man mercy. With this in mind, the brunette unslung her Wicked Butterfly, stood behind the mortally wounded victim, and fired a bullet into his brain- silently ending his misery without letting him see his end coming.

    Afterwards, the assassin's sharp gaze shifted over to the one perpetrator and ringleader Plan B had incapacitated. She'd have to make sure the deaths sustained in this combat encounter weren't for nothing. While she was still out of Two-Face's line of sight, she knelt down, drew her combat knife, and plunged it into her one dead victim's pool of blood. Once she was certain the blade was thoroughly coated, she stood up and made a beeline to Two-Face.

    While the Demoman blabbered on about the man's suit, he'd been standing in Quiet's way. She practically shoved him out of her way with her free hand, ignoring Ramlethal's request to wait until Two-Face calmed down. Instead, she stalked right up to the boss, lifting her knife to ensure he saw her bloodied knife- as if she was the one who sliced his men to shreds in the smoke. Without skipping a beat, Quiet thrust her blade upwards, pressing it against Two-Face's throat as her black markings appeared on her eyes and her lips curled into an angry scowl.

    Though she didn't say a word, it was obvious what she wanted him to do:

    Start talking or die.​

 
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As the smoke cleared and his merry band all joined together on the street Tav lowered his rifle and straightened his back. "Watch 'em scatter like rats!" and laughed and hollered down the street, "Fraggin' fan-tastic work lads! Hey you lot get some answers out of the big bossman, I'm gonna do a quick sweep," he called out to anyone who would listen to him, but paid his drinking friend specific attention, "Hah, you fought like hell man! Good goin'," he pat the Demoman on his shoulder before turning to double back through the carnage he and everyone else had left in their wake.

The Guard's grim work had only just begun. The hard part was done and dealt with, but now he had a trail of bodies to take care of. Some of them could still be alive for all he knew! Noticing the indicator on his lasgun flashing red, Tav shrugged. There was enough charge left for what had to be done he reckoned. Even if there wasn't, who was going to stop him from swapping power packs? Whistling a jaunty tune while he walked, Tav pointed his rifle down at every body he passed by.

Pshh-tow! > Pshh-tew! The street echoed with active laser fire again while Tav carried out his duty to the Emperor, allowing none of the weak traitorous chaff to leave alive. He jumped when one mook that elusive sniper had put to sleep suddenly jumped awake, startling him. Tav scorned the man by placing two more shots in his chest and scoring his lasgun one more time. The downright absurd tally just kept growing to cover the entire left face of his rifle.​

Mentions
Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - GM
Cephrys Cephrys - Demoman
FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla - Quiet
 
It worked. Good.
The silent figure retrieves the rope he'd swung in on before turning to the alleyway where the officers had moved to hide. He unclips the multi-scanner from his mask and tucks it back into its pouch before extending a hand to the two cops. He didn't say a word, because of course he didn't, but as the smoke began to clear, it was pretty clear he wasn't who the thugs thought he was.

Still, he had saved them, at great personal risk, and he hoped that fact wasn't lost on them as they realized this savior was not the one they were likely expecting.

If they took his hand, he'd guide them through the smoke and aim to find them a quiet area to rest, maybe the raised step at the front of a building.
If they didn't take his hand, then he'd turn and exit the smoke regardless, gently pushing down the barrel of Tav's rifle as he executes the survivors. He silently points to one of the corpses Tav had just fired into, before raising a finger to his mask where his lips would be. Then he points to one of the groaning thugs and mimics a talking mouth with his hand.

He doesn't bother to push the matter any further, and simply walks over to the rest of the group, stopping a little further from Two-Face than the others, letting Quiet take her crack at interrogation. He crosses his arms in silent observation, letting the others do as they pleased. He'd achieved his main goals here, if the others couldn't wring information from the criminal's leader, then they had the officers to fill them in on what they knew instead.

The strong wills of people like Felix were likely to spark issues if The Contingency kept taking the bull by the horns. While he wasn't going to blindly obey the man in orange armor, he also wasn't going to deliberately piss him off.

Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - Felix/Two-Face
Jeremiah Jeremiah - Tav
FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla - Quiet​
 
Tav's heart sank when he felt the shadow coil its grip around the barrel of his rifle. It ripped him from the blessed ignorance of habit, and plunged his mind into the depths of uncertainty. He felt so vulnerable opening his mind to what Plan B had to tell him, because an open mind is like a fortress left unbarred and unguarded. This alone made Tav noticeably uneasy, but this mute thing in front of him was another matter entirely. Images - memories - of malfunctioning servitors scraped against his conscious thoughts, each of them stripped of their voice. Each of them miming their panicked last wishes. It was grotesque.

Tav wrestled control of his lasgun back and put his guard up, shoulders hunched and rifle held close by his side. "Alright alright, heard ya loud'n'clear," he said with a wry smile, beginning across the street, "Bloody mute givin' me the heebie-jeebies," he fumed quiet enough only he and the Emperor could hear.

"Ey, you. Yeah you, lyin' there on the plastcrete playin' dead," Tav called out. His lasgun hissed as he pulled its power pack from the receptacle. Tucking the empty battery into his bandolier, Tav retrieved a spare to replace it, his lasgun thrumming with motive force, "Hands on yer head, now start talkin'," he ordered, his gruff voice booming with righteous authority befitting a son of Cadia. The lasgun pointed at the ganger's back was just there as backup. "Tell me what's happening. It's not every day ya see a hive gang out in full force. In uniform no less!" he chuckled, "So what's the occasion eh?"​

Mentions
Twice Knightly Twice Knightly - GM
DapperDogman DapperDogman - Plan B
 
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