In they came, in small groups, nervous, distrusting each other

In they came, in small groups, nervous, distrusting each other. Each group of teens wore a different kind of outfit, different colors prominent, some with special hats or rags tied around their wrists. They filed into the old warehouse bit by bit, armed to the teeth, watching each other. "What are you doing here?" one teen in bright blue asked another in black and purple. "I was told the same thing you were, it looks like," the other replied. "Abandoned weapons cache. Look, we had better get some sort of distribution system, or some of these guys are going to tear each other apart." The two spoke not as kids, not as teens, not even as adults… but as world leaders do, watching each other's eyes, sizing each other up.

From far above, in the shadows, there was nothing to see. That did not mean that nothing was there.

The slight figure held perfectly still, watching. The plan had worked perfectly. There were only two gang leaders missing… there was still time. That group over there was increasingly edgy. They might decide to give it up, to leave early… sharp eyes watched them for signs of resolution to the indecision that held them in place. Another small group filtered in, adding to the growing quiet chaos… two… one… Perfect.

A button pressed, a number dialed, and a quiet voice, husky from attempted disguise, spoke into the little cellphone. "Please put me straight through to the police department."

"Gotham city police…"

"How would you like to take a large bite out of the youth-led crime tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've rounded them up in the old warehouse on River Street. Come and get them."

"You'd better get out of there.. sir.. miss..? We've tried this game before. They always have a way out. They scatter like rats underground and we never catch half of them."

A slight smile tugged at the edge of the figure's lips. It would have been chillingly familiar… if it could be seen. "Not this time."

Another careful countdown, a precision watch hidden between dark cuff and dark glove… it was not lit. A gloved finger slid lightly over the watch surface and the figure nodded in satisfaction. Three.. two.. one.. there really was nothing as lovely as watching a carefully-laid plan unfold.

BANG. BANG. BANG. One by one the charges blew in quick succession, dropping carefully-chosen supports, dropping rubble on both sides of each door. The gangs startled, turning in all directions, guns ready, and it took them just a moment to realize that every entrance, every exit was now blocked. Silence as the dust began to settle, then an eerie, full, almost hysterical laugh began to echo from corner to corner. Some teens tried to fire in the rough direction of the laughter. Others huddled closer together, like frightened sheep. The figure watched, hidden, in silent satisfaction. It was strange, wasn't it, how the warmest, friendliest sound could become terrifyingly sinister in the right application. This shadowy observer had learned long ago about the power of laughter.

Lifting up a small, slender microphone, the figure spoke with the same husky, whispered voice into the carefully-wired sound system as the canned laughter died away. The words were clear, and easily audible. "Gentlemen. I have called you here tonight to engage in a small social experiment. Oh, don't bother trying to leave… you'll never make it out alive. There is a weapons cache in this room. The room is also filled with your most bitter enemies. The police are on their way… you will hear their sirens soon. Now what choice will you make? Will you work together, or fall apart? Turn on each other? Become a unified band?" A pause, and the voice became more deliberate. "Who will be your leader?" Right on cue, the sirens could be heard, faintly, and the figure smiled again. Of course they came. They couldn't resist the desire to try just one more time. Well, this time the police would finally get their wish. "Choose quickly." With that, the audio system went dead. The siren sounds approached.

The shadowed figure already knew the people in that warehouse were all doomed. In times like this, it didn't matter if there were forty level-headed young men among them. All they needed were ten who would panic, and it would spread. Oh, panic was contagious. Time to move on… Running lightly along the rafter beams, the figure crouched down first at one spot, then another, quickly scooping up tiny but powerful speakers, following the cables. There was no good reason to leave behind valuable equipment… yet. The figure crouched, quickly raising an arm to draw its cloak up protectively as a short, sharp blast sounded and several cries of pain were heard. Of course the idiots had tried the nearest manhole. A few shards of glass and metal bounced harmlessly away from the tight weave of the cloak. Any time now they would see it… yes… more cries of alarm and despair as the smoke cleared and they discovered that the manhole opening had been snugly bricked over. That had been the longest and most arduous part of the preparation work, and the figure smiled slightly again, glad that it had been properly appreciated.

The sirens were closer now. No time… with two speakers left, the figure pulled out a sharp knife. A quick flash and the cables were cut, leaving the figure free to pull the bag shut and climb up to the rooftop. The yellow pools of streetlight revealed a slight female figure, cloak streaming out as she ran for a small skimmer parked neatly in shadow. She climbed on, starting up the electric motor, which ran nearly silently as she lifted off and disappeared into the night.

Not black, but grey… cloak, close-fitting outfit, skimmer, all charcoal grey. There were a couple of sightings, of course, but nothing more than a silhouette. Nothing was found in the rafters except a cut-off cable, two slender, elegant speakers of the sort that could come from any department store, and a name carefully and artistically spray-painted on the wall in black and purple.

Shadow