Spy vs Lie
As the sun begins to peek over the horizon the batmobile roars through a waterfall and comes to a quick stop on its platform. Batman and robin leap out as Alfred makes his way down the stairs with a platter in his hands. "I was almost certain you two would be out well after sun rise Master Bruce."
"The trail went cold, and neither of us will do any good tracking him down if we don't get at least a few hours of sleep." Batman makes his way to the bat computer removing his cowl in the process. "Hit the bed Damian, we'll pick this up once we're both well rested."
Robin lets out a few grumbles in protest but he still moves up the stairs and boards the waiting elevator. As the doors shut and Robin begins to ascend Alfred speaks up, "You're not intending on getting rest at all, are you Master Bruce?"
"No Alfred. You should have seen him out there, he was like a wild animal. I had to spend more time watching him and making sure he didn't kill anyone than following leads of my own."
"I take it that means you found something sir?" Alfred places a freshly prepared expresso at Batman's side.
"I did," Batman types a few commands into the bat computer and images of Daily Bugle front pages begin to populate the screen. "Either the photographer that took these is insanely dangerous, or.."
"Or…" Alfred reads the 'photo by:' line, "This Parker fellow get about as much sleep as you do sir."
"Agent Romanova, come in. Have you located the target?"
The beautiful red head in the sleek blue dress quietly, almost sub vocally, responds to her handler, "Negative, I have no description so I have no eyes on."
"We will feed you more information as we are able to obtain it. All we know for sure is that he is 6 feet tall 195 pounds and targeting someone at that party."
"It's an art gala at Osborn's mansion, he could be targeting any one of a thousand people here. And you just want me to 'look' for him?"
"It is of the utmost importance that his target survives, and failing that, that the killer is caught. Your requested gear has been stashed in the third floor ventilation system per your instructions. Now, focus on the assignment and maintain radio silence until you have an update. CheckMate out."
Romanova makes her way to the bar from an upper balcony memorizing the measurements of each of the men she can see along the way. 42 men match the description perfectly, another 23 added if she accounts for natural fluctuations in weight and eating habits. 65 marks, now to whittle that down to a more manageable figure. She grabs a drink and slowly makes her way to the dance floor, she gracefully glides and twirls around each man she has tagged. She runs her hands along their chest, shoulders, and backs making sure each meets the specifications she was given, and checking for any obvious weapons. She hears a small beep in her ear, "The target is Caucasian." 21 suspects drop from her list. No weapons on any of her playmates, but it seems she gained special attention from one of her many dance partners as he's now following her looking a bit "interested". This could very well be her target, or it could be a helpless fool ready to unwittingly blow her cover. She slips out of the room, leaving her drink on a passing tray, and into a hallway leading to the kitchen and sure enough he follows, much like a puppy happily chasing its master. Romanova picks up her pace ever so slightly but looks back and gives him a smile that says, "I want you to catch me." She presses her back against a wall as her admirer finally closes in and she hears another faint beep. "Brown eyes." Cross off another 18 meatheads, to include Mr. Blue-Eyes here. His perverted smile is wiped away quickly as Romanova strikes him quickly in the throat leaving him gasping for air then stuns him knocking him out. After hiding her date in a nearby supply closet, she returns to the main ballroom and reacquires her marks. One of them is alone near the exit. He isn't leaving, but he has his back turned to the rest of the party. Romanova makes her way towards him, but as she approaches she can hear what sounds like a very heated lovers' quarrel. She turns back to the party, only 25 marks left. She notices something awkward, there is a guard on the east wall that isn't moving, at all. She makes her way towards him, apparently no one else noticed his lack of mobility, but as she gets closer she can see why he is so still. A small trail of blood from a chest wound, which looks almost like spilled red wine, is all Romanova needs to see to know that this man is dead. Meanwhile two small knives have been shoved beneath his arm pits pinning his shirt to the wall ensuring he would not fall over. Another beep, "Dark brown hair." 12 marks to go. She looks around to see if anyone is watching her. Nothing, either the killer is very good or as already left the area, either way she is running out of time. She scans the rest of the guards for oddities, another dead on the east wall but this time further north. "Approximately 25 years of age." 4 marks left. She looks between the two dead guards and sees a door, the killer's making his move right now and she needs to stop him. She hurries to the door and slips through, it leads down a short dark hallway and then turns left. At the end of the hall a door on the right has been left slightly ajar, possibly intentional? As she enters the room she hears the next message, "Small scar on the left side of his upper lip." 0 marks remaining.
Wait, how could there be 0 marks that fit the description? Her train of thought is broken by the sight of the room. Six armed guards, all dead, protecting a tall blonde man behind a desk, also dead. She kneels next to the dead blonde and checks his identification, James Harmon IV. She pulls a data pad from his hand and checks it with thoughts still whirling in her head. "0 marks? Why would there be 0 marks? How long ago did he kill them? I need to get to my gear before he escapes. It should be secured on the third…GEAR! He's wearing gear.." As she quickly rises and turns heading for her gear she blurts out, "Idiots, he's 216lbs." But as she speaks the words a figure drops from the ceiling above landing on her and plunging a hidden blade into her chest. Her shock at his actions are matched only by her shock in his words as her life ebbs away,
"Rest in peace, and may your secrets rest with you." He lowers her head slowly to the floor then stands up retracting his blade. As he exits the room there is a faint beep in Romanova's ear piece,
"Miles, Desmond Miles. He is associated with a sect of assassins known as 'The Order' and they are extremely deadly. Copy? Do you copy? Romanova? Romanova respond!"