The museum roof
Robin and Batgirl ran over to the edge of the roof. Then, bracing themselves on the lip of a railing, they peered down towards the front entrance. They saw the giant cloud of dust begin to settle knew it meant that Two-Face had just come in through the front door, violently.
"Wait!" Batgirl called out as Robin swiftly spun on his heel and dashed across the rooftop.
Robin skidded to a stop above the spot where the loading dock sat, far below him. Batgirl joined him seconds later, and followed his gaze down towards the street… and the box truck that idled in waiting.
"That wasn't there a minute ago…" Batgirl whispered.
Robin's eyes narrowed in his mask. "Deal with the truck. Make sure it can't drive away. Then find the FBI. They're hiding somewhere; they know the score. Fill them in, and help them nab anyone who tries to escape."
Orders given, Robin turned and ran to a seemingly random spot on the north wall.
"But—"
"Stay with the feds!" Robin reiterated in an icy, no-nonsense tone. Then he shot his grapple into the roof and jumped off.
Batgirl ran to the ledge, reaching the spot he had just vacated at the same instant the high-pitched sound of breaking glass reached her ears. "Figures," she muttered, not really surprised that Robin knew exactly which window to melodramatically bust through. Then she ran back to the spot above the loading dock. She didn't have any telescopic eyepieces in her cowl, but she did have a small but powerful pair of binoculars. With these she surveyed the scene below her.
"Looks like just a driver," she murmured to herself. She stowed her binoculars and ran to a different spot along the ledge, a good distance behind the truck to avoid being spotted. Then she emulated Robin and fired her grapple into the roof. Batgirl carefully repelled down to the street, determined to do her job while still silently fuming at how easily Robin had dished out orders. She knew that her 'assignment' was Bat-verse for dismissal, and she wasn't about to let him get away with it. "We're going to have a long chat, Short Pants," she promised herself. "And you can't avoid me. I know where you live."
Once on the ground, Batgirl crept through the shadows over towards the box truck. It was the largest size allowed on the isle of Manhattan, white yet slightly dirty—just enough to not attract attention. It even had New Jersey plates, and Batgirl would have bet serious money that it was legitimately rented to one of Harvey Dent's aliases, or even to one of his more naïve goons.
Batgirl checked the truck's side view, making sure that the driver wasn't paying any attention. Seeing that the coast was clear, she crept along the side of the truck until she was practically at the driver's door. She knocked twice, loudly, against the metal of the door, and then quickly ducked out of the way.
Inside the truck, the driver glanced warily out the window. Due to the nature of his job, Batgirl had guessed correctly that he was overly paranoid. While he was staring intently into the darkness outside his window, Batgirl had already snuck around the front of the truck. She knocked loudly on the passenger door this time, before slinking back around the front of the truck again. She chanced a glance inside the driver's window and saw the driver leaning over in his seat to peer out of the passenger window. Batgirl smirked and gingerly reached a hand up to the door handle. The door quietly popped open for her, and she let it swing.
The door made it nearly all the way open before groaning on its hinges. The driver quickly pivoted back around, and his face barely had time to contort into an expression of surprised alarm before Batgirl winked at him and landed a knockout punch squarely in his left eye.
"Lights out," she half-heartedly taunted when he slumped over onto the steering wheel. Then Batgirl whipped out a pair of bat-cuffs and handcuffed the driver's hands awkwardly through the steering wheel and then together around the steering column. Then she shut him in the truck, trusting that he would remain unconscious for a while yet.
The solitary goon taken care of, Batgirl grabbed a razor-edged batarang and proceeded to slash both front tires, grinning in satisfaction at the telltale hiss of escaping air.
"Child's play," she assessed, torn between being disappointed or pleased. Of course, now she was supposed to track down the FBI agents that Robin said were in the area. "Since when do we play ball with the feds?" she wondered. After all, it was still a struggle for the batclan to cooperate with the GCPD. Of course, it didn't help that the two most stubborn and pigheaded men she knew were her father and Batman…
Batgirl frowned slightly as she realized that it was in everyone's best interests if she followed Robin's orders. She'd done as she was told, and now she had to finish it. She would have her words with Dick later. Right now, she was absently pacing forward—which happened to be back alongside the truck, as she stared off into the darkened park, wondering where on earth the feds were hiding.
Suddenly there was a noise behind her. She tensed and spun around in a defensive stance, just in time to see the back door of the trailer fly open. Batgirl's eyes widened as she saw five menacing thugs toting Tommy guns crouching in the back of the truck. The one who lofted the door seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
"It's a bat!" he cried.
"Shoot it!" yelled another.
Barbara barely had time to gasp before the thugs opened fire.
A stairwell
"How did I let you talk me into this?"
"Me? You're the one who charged into the open!"
"Shut up and keep running!"
Victor and Garfield were sprinting down an access staircase with what had to be the two most athletic henchmen ever in the history of the Gotham Rogues Gallery hot on their heels. So far, the duo had managed to keep just ahead of the goons, enough so that they managed to avoid generating a direct line of fire.
"If you get me killed I'll haunt you for the rest of your life!" Victor grunted as they rounded another landing. Mentally he noted that they had to be nearing the third subbasement.
Then suddenly the stairs ended.
The bottom floor was a veritable closet of a hallway, and then a door, sealed with a combination lock. Garfield frantically clutched at the doorknob, but the lock wouldn't give.
"Uh, dude? I think that's gonna be a lot shorter than you think."
"Lemme see that!" Cyborg rushed ahead of Gar and began madly pressing buttons, trying to release the lock. "Come on, come on!"
"Dude! You're like, made of steel! Just break it in!"
"End of the line, kiddies."
Both Victor and Garfield spun around to see two goons standing on the stairs with triumphant grins on their faces and automatic weapons in their hands.
Gar cowered behind Victor and in a small, whimpering voice said: "Please tell me you're bulletproof…"
Victor frowned, realizing that he was staring death in the face but not allowing himself to think about it. Instead, for Garfield's sake, he looked defiantly up at the gun-toting goons and sincerely hoped that the bullets would hit the titanium.
"Why don't you come down here and say that?"
The museum roof
"Stay with the feds!"
As Robin swung down on his decel cable he could only hope that his orders would be obeyed. With any luck, the truck would be virtually unguarded. Of course, there is no such thing as luck in the vigilante business, so Robin surmised more realistically that Batgirl would have about four thugs to contend with. With the element of surprise in her favor she should be able to handle it.
In Robin's mind, he had just turned Batgirl's unfortunate arrival to good use. The truck would be secured and then Batgirl would be his liaison to Hernandez's men. Barbara wound up being able to help after all, which would please her. More importantly, it kept her from interfering with his mission. Not only that, but it should also keep her safe.
As Robin braced for impact with the window he allowed himself a brief moment of relief as his plans went back on track. He was about to break into the exhibit hall the hard way, but the Dynamic Duo is well known for making an entrance. Shocking and impressing the bad guys is a relatively simple method of throwing them off their guard, and oftentimes it provides all the edge you need—and it was fun.
Robin swung in and crashed into the window feet-first. He felt the pane give way as his body began to part glass like it was water. The shattering sound echoed loudly in his ears as he deftly twisted his body so that the cape and costume absorbed the impact of the falling shards of glass. Once through the window Robin released the decel cable and pulled his twisting body into a tucked position. Now he was somersaulting through the air and down the eight feet to the exhibit hall floor. He landed expertly on his hands and pushed off enough to prevent his head from striking the hardwood. He completed the forward roll and shot to his feet in a defensive stance, a birdarang clutched in each hand.
He was just in time to see Two-Face waltz into the exhibit hall, flanked by ten hired thugs, all of them acting like they owned the place.
"Slow day in Gotham, Harvey?" Robin called out with Bat-like bravado.
"Ah, the bird boy," Two-Face sneered, pulling his coin out of his pocket. "Is the Bat finally letting you out to play by yourself?"
"Why do you do yourself a favor and give up now?" Robin deadpanned with menace.
Two-Face barked a laugh and casually began flipping his coin. "That's what we always liked about you. Not a lot of brains but you sure do have guts."
Robin scowled, slightly shifting his grip on the birdarangs.
"You remember the last time you tried to take us on all by yourself? Well we do…"
"And I'll bet it keeps you warm in your padded cell those nights after we ship your ass back to Arkham."
"Enough!" Two-Face spat, snatching his coin out of mid air. "Let's see what justice has for you."
"Still trying to nickel and dime your victims to death, Harv?" Robin asked, affecting boredom and secretly enjoying it.
"This is justice!" Harvey shot back.
"You want justice? Then come and get it!"
Two-Face merely laughed a staccato laugh, and just one glance sent the goons fanning out beside him, going for positions. Robin maintained a death grip on his birdarangs, every muscle of his body tense and ready for action as he eyed the thugs slowly fanning out around him, covering him like a firing squad.
Then suddenly he heard a noise behind him—multiple noises. Robin couldn't help but chance a glance. What he saw made him gasp and then inwardly cringe. A group of seven museum guards marched in from the service entrance, all armed with pistols—which they promptly whipped out and aimed at the Boy Wonder's head. Robin found himself effectively surrounded
"Poor bird brain," Two-Face taunted. "Always two steps behind."
Robin now had seventeen armed thugs to deal with on top of Two-Face, thanks to the guards' treachery. He didn't have time to think about it now, though. He needed to react. He was already in his crouch when Two-Face shouted:
"Kill him!"
And Robin took to the air through a barrage of gunfire.
Meanwhile…
—All units respond—211 in progress—All units report to 1000 Fifth Avenue—Fifth Ave. at 82 Street—211S—
"This is 4Romeo26, responding to 211 in progress at 1000 Fifth Avenue."
—10:4 4Romeo 26—be advised that Special Agent Hernandez is in charge on site—
"Roger that, dispatch. 4Romeo26 out." The sergeant in the police cruiser jammed the receiver down, rolled down his window, and yelled to his partner: "C'mon Jack! Get your ass in gear!"
The partner in question, upon hearing his name, increased his speed from stroll to sprint as he exited the burger joint, coffee mugs and takeout bags clutched haphazardly in his hands.
"What's the deal, Mike?" he asked, quickly passing the food and drink to his partner through the open window before scurrying around to the passenger's side.
"We got a 211 in progress, and everyone's invited to the party," Sergeant Michael Vicks replied, hastily throwing the takeout bag into the back seat and stowing the coffee in the cup holders as his partner Officer Jackson Long buckled himself in."
"Never fails," Jack muttered. "Coffee breaks and robberies, robberies and coffee breaks. I'm starting to think someone up there doesn't like us."
"Yeah, well, you keep thinkin' that," the sergeant replied as he flipped on the sirens and pulled hastily into the two a.m. traffic.
"Uh oh, what is it this time?"
"The feds are chaperoning this one."
"Feds? Christ, what the heck are they doing here? I mean it's not like…" But his voice trailed off. "Uh oh…"
"Uh oh—what uh oh?" The sergeant questioned. "What now?"
"Where's that robbery?"
"Fifth Ave. and 82nd, why?" The sergeant then saw his partner's face pale considerably. "What? It's not your mother's house or anything…"
"Don't you know what sits at Fifth Ave. and 82nd Street?"
"Sure, that's in the Park." And then the realization sunk in. "Oh. Oh, fuck!"
"Fuck is right."
Being not terribly far from the museum in the first place, officers Vicks and Long arrived with the first wave of responding squad cars. However, they noticed with chagrin that the jurisdictional turf war had already begun.
"Uh oh…"
"Looks like Captain Booker has already introduced himself."
"Think he said hello first this time, or went straight to the pissing contest?"
"Search me. Come on Jack, let's see if we can stop old Blue-in-the-Face from doing something he'll regret."
Officer Long nodded, and they both exited the squad car.
Captain Lionel Booker was the type of cop that city officials loved and ordinary officers hated. He could—and often does, quote police regulations until both he and the unfortunate listener are blue in the face, hence his colorful nickname that he only pretended he didn't know about. And it appeared as though he took official exception to the FBI presence on scene.
"I don't care who you are!" They heard Booker argue rather hotly as soon as they stepped out of the cruiser. "You don't have the authority to reassign my men!"
"If we want to have any hope of catching Dent then we need to send men into the museum!" Hernandez argued back.
"Are you crazy? We can't risk a firefight in there! Those exhibits are worth millions!"
"Can't you see the damn doorway? We risk more destruction by sitting on our hands out here waiting."
"Those men you tried to send into the museum are now establishing roadblocks at ever major intersection in midtown! And I have snipers moving into position to cover every possible exit. We'll nab Dent easy as soon as he tries to make off with the goods."
"Are you crazy?" Hernandez redirected the question. "We can't let Dent have the advantage like that. He'll get the drop on your men and escape with the artifacts!"
"Oh yeah? Soon we'll have isolated the museum from the city's power. We turn the lights out on him, send helicopters overhead to make him nervous, and shield our officers with spotlights. When he comes out of one of those doors he'll never know what hit him."
"This isn't some two-bit criminal or run-of-the-mill terrorist you're dealing with, here. This is Harvey Two-Face Dent, scourge of Gotham himself! He's got every single detail of this heist planned, and probably has ever since he engineered his escape from Arkham! With none of the guards responding to the radios we can only assume that he's already killed them. He and his men are alone in there, and that gives them the upper hand. You think you'll make him sweat? Right now he's calling the shots, and if we just sit and here let him he'll come out on top, I guarantee it!"
"You're right, he probably has killed the guards already. If I send my men in there, in addition to the millions in property damage—property that several foreign governments have entrusted to our safekeeping, it'll cause a bloodbath! I won't wantonly risk the lives of my men, agent. We do this my way, by the book! And that's FINAL!"
Hernandez looked like he was about to protest further, but decided against it. "All the lives that that maniac takes when he escapes your custody are on your head, Booker," he said instead with dismissive distain as he turned away.
Booker waved dismissively before turning himself, and that's when he saw Long and Vicks approaching. "The Hell you looking at?"
"Nothing."
"Not a thing, captain."
Booker nodded. Then he fished in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. "Well don't just stand there," he spoke around the cigarette he just stuck in his lips. "Get back in your car and head over to the 82nd Street roadblock."
"Yes captain," Sergeant Vicks answered. Then, shaking their heads, the two officers got back into their squad car to do as they were told.
"What do you think?" Officer Long asked his partner as they pulled away from the scene.
"This is 4Romeo26 reporting to the 82nd Street roadblock, over," Vicks spoke into the radio. Then, to Long: "I think we'll be lucky to get out of this one without losing half the force or blowing the museum to smithereens."
"You put any stock in the rumors?"
—Roger that 4Romeo26—
"You mean, about how the feds supposedly got their tip from one of the figments of the Gotham underworld's collective imagination?" Vicks asked as he replaced the receiver.
"Cute," Long reproached as he took a sip of cool coffee, and grimaced.
"What? The official position of the GCPD is that there is no Batman."
"And the official position of the rest of the world is that Gordon's lying to protect his assets."
"Heh, assets is right," Vicks replied as he pulled back into traffic.
"C'mon Mike, aren't you the least bit curious to know if Booker's being such a hardass to prevent any vigilantes from entering the museum at the same time he wants to nab Dent when he tries to escape?"
"Well, officially I'd have to say not a chance in Hell, because old Blue-in-the-Face would never buy into the underworld rumors of pointy-eared vigilantes that stalk the night with brightly-colored children in tow."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially? I've already thrown in twenty on the men in tights into the precinct pot for how this bust goes down."
Long just had to laugh. "Are you kidding? Half the department bet against there being any trouble tonight!"
"And so far I'm one for one, and the night is young."
Officer Jackson Long sighed tiredly and shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling that it's going to get old real fast?"
Central Park
The Great Lawn
Raven's soul-self materialized up through the lawn, breaking free of the astral plane in the same motions that broke her free of the earth. Like one surfacing after a long time underwater, she took a large, shuddering, and silent gasp, allowing her physical self to manifest itself again through the simple act of that first inhale.
Raven could see the museum from where she stood, and even from this distance she could sense the chaos that was spreading outwards from the Egyptian exhibit hall like a stain. Her blue cloak billowed slightly in a sudden, chilly wind, and a few strands of hair were pulled aloft from the protective veil of her hood to stream in front of her face. It was as though the museum itself had come alive, a hulking golem of cacophonous thought and raging emotion that was sucking all things into it's gaping maw of hatred and aggression.
It was the essence of everything that Azar warned her about.
Raven closed her eyes and felt her soul self yearning forwards, pulled as though a moth to a flame or an anchor by gravity down into the sea, drawn by the painful hunger of those emotions.
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre…" Raven murmured to herself, quoting. Garfield Logan and Victor Stone were in there, somewhere. If she could just sift through the anger, displace the fear, and keep herself well above the desperation—
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
The duality was palpable. Good and evil. Darkness and light. Life and death. Each begetting the other in vicious, never-ending cycles.
"The falcon cannot hear the falconer…"
Raven steeled her soul self and levitated towards this all-consuming vortex, praying that the center would hold just long enough for her to find her friends and keep them safe.
Yes, friends. She realized now what her soul self felt, as she literally sailed headlong into her greatest challenge yet.
The stairwell
"Why don't you come down here and say that?"
Garfield's eyes bugged out of his head.
The thugs sniggered and marched menacingly forward.
"I ain't never killed no freak shows, before," said one of them.
"Me neither," his buddy replied. "I always wanted to."
Victor's mouth was too dry to swallow past the lump in his throat. Nevertheless, he stood his ground. "Oh yeah?" he taunted, hoping and praying that his voice was steady.
"What are you doing?" he heard Garfield hiss behind him.
Victor ignored him. Instead, he concentrated on his circuitry. Mentally following the path of his cybernetic synapses, Victor managed to create a small internal power surge. His cybernetics began to glow an electric blue from the increased power and his cybernetic eye glowed bright red.
The guards paused in their decent, halfway down that final flight of stairs. It seemed as thought Victor's light show had given them pause, and now they were nervous, caught unawares and unsure what to do. They kept their guns at the ready while exchanging glances.
Victor, meanwhile, dilated his cybernetic pupil and did his best to sound menacing when he said: "Then come and get it." After all, he was the only one who knew that his only weapons right now were parlor tricks and bravado.
However it was Garfield that they should have been worried about. When the green teenager saw how close the thugs were he instantly decided to take advantage of their momentary hesitation. Behind the (hopefully) protective shield of Victors hulking cybernetic frame, he morphed into a giant squid. Victor's eyes went wide as the sight of green tentacles suddenly lashing out from behind him broke his concentration.
"Dah!" His cybernetics lost their glow as he nearly jumped out of his flesh and metal skin as Garfield's tentacles flailed at the thugs like cracking whips.
"AAAAH!"
"Holy sh—"
WHACK!
Suddenly the thugs found themselves standing empty-handed. Two of Garfield's tentacles had knocked the guns forcibly out of their hands. Now two different tentacles flicked down and slid themselves through the trigger guards. The tentacles then retracted quickly, turning back into scrawny green arms as they went.
Victor spun around to see Garfield awkwardly holding an Uzi in one hand and a Tommy gun in the other.
This action revealed the green teenager to the thugs, who were too busy sweating and clinging on to each other in fear to notice how ridiculous Gar looked.
"P-P-Please…"
"Don't shoot!"
Victor didn't know what to do.
"Well, don't just stand there!" Gar cried, waving his arms absently for emphasis and making everyone jump as the guns went with them. "Go use your superhuman strength and, like, knock them into next Tuesday!"
The average thug may not be too bright, but the one thing they have in common is a keen sense of self-preservation. These two winners were no different. They barely gave Victor the chance to begin his grinning, menacing march towards them before turning tail and fleeing back up the stairs.
Victor sprinted after them, and caught up to them as they reached the landing with his cypernetics-enhanced speed.
"Gah!"
"Ack!"
Victor caught them both roughly by their collars from behind. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Mommy-"
SLAM!
Victor bashed the thugs into each other like they were rag dolls. They fell unconscious in a heap on the landing when Vic let go of them. Then he turned around to face Garfield at the bottom of the stairs, dusting his hands off.
"Duuuuuude…" Gar breathed, staring in awe at his friend's display of physical prowess. He still held both guns loosely at the end of dangling arms.
"Need a satisfying crunch?" Victor asked with a grin.
Gar couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, you could like, give Superman a run for his money!"
"I wouldn't go that far," Victor deflected, slightly embarrassed. "Now why don't you put those things down before you shoot someone—like me."
Gar simpered and dropped the guns. He drew his hands quickly behind his back, blushing as much as his green skin would allow as he backed away from them.
Victor marched unceremoniously back down the stairs and proceeded to stomp down on the muzzles of the guns, rendering them about as useful as scrap metal.
"Well…" Gar struggled for what to say. "That was fun," he offered insecurely.
"You have a sick sense of humor, you know that?" Vic pointed out, though he was smiling when he said it.
Garfield laughed briefly and then sobered. "Uh, what do we do now?"
"Heh, don't look at me dawg. This was your show, remember?"
"Dent's upstairs right now…" Gar whispered, a plethora of emotions swirling in his words. "And he knows were here."
"Yeah, but he sent Dumb and Dumber to take us out, so he's probably not worried about us." Victor paused and then frowned. "Yet."
"He's stealing the exhibit, Vic," said Garfield, his eyes wide. Victor thought he looked considerably young, and, ever so slightly, afraid.
"So he's distracted," the cybernetic teen concluded. "As long as we avoid the exhibit hall we should be able to sneak out of here and warn the police."
Gar seemed hesitant, and Victor frowned again.
"What? You can't seriously be thinking of staying…"
"I dunno, Vic. Harvey Dent always seems to get away with stuff. I don't want him to get away with this, too."
"And he won't," Victor assured. "The boys in blue can handle this."
Garfield shook his head. "I don't think so, Vic. I wish there was some way of knowing if Batman and his team was here or not."
Victor's frown turned pensive for a moment, then he smiled faintly. "I think there may be a way for us to learn just that."
"Dude, seriously?"
Victor nodded, then turned to the locked door.
"How?"
"Well if I'm right, then the monitoring station for the museum should be on the other side of this door. From there we can take a look at the camera feeds. We'll be able to see if Batman's here and what old Scarface is up to." And he began pressing random buttons on the combination lock.
Garfield winced. "Uh, dude? That's Two-Face."
Victor blinked, slightly confused. "Yeah. I know. I was just, you know, dissin' the guy by twisting his name?"
Garfield laughed, catching on. "Well you'll have to pick another name Vic. 'Scarface' is the name of another Gotham nut-job."
Victor stopped his code breaking and turned to regard his friend. "Man, you've got to be kidding me!"
"Heh, nope. He's a dummy that fancies himself a mobster. Really loony tunes, dude."
"Most of your Gotham baddies are dummies, Gar," Victor pointed out teasingly.
Gar simpered. "Actually, Vic, I kinda meant that literally."
"Say what?"
"Dummy, as in the better half of a ventriloquist?"
Victor stared blankly, confused.
"Just another split personality, dude," Gar explained. "Only instead of living in the same freak job they're ventriloquist and dummy, but the dummy's in charge, and calls himself Scarface."
"No. No way," Vic protested. "Not even Gotham produces villains that messed up."
"And this from the guy who grew up around the exploits of a villain who can only be defeated when he says his own name backwards."
"Point taken," Victor conceded as he returned to his attempts to crack the combination lock.
"Uh, dude?" Gar asked after a moment.
"Yeah?" Victor answered without stopping is attempts.
"Why don't you just break down the door?"
Victor stopped to stare blankly at his friend for a moment before turning back to the lock. A few seconds later and he pressed the right sequence of buttons and the lock popped open.
"DUUUUUUDE!"
"Because breaking the door would be wrong," Victor answered sarcastically as he pushed the door opened. "Besides, with the sensors in my fingertips I could feel the tumblers move when I pressed the right buttons." And he walked into the darkened basement room without further ado.
"Did I ever tell you that I'm glad you're one of the good guys?" Garfield asked as he followed. He didn't get very far, though, because in that instant he wasn't paying attention and he walked straight into Cyborg's back.
WHUMP!
"Ack! Dude—"
"Uh oh…"
"Uh oh? What uh oh? Man don't you dare say 'uh oh' now!"
Victor didn't. Instead he flicked on the lights.
The basement lit up in a soft fluorescent glow. Gar squinted instantly as his optic nerves were assaulted, but he recovered quickly. Then he stepped aside and saw with his own eyes what the darkness and Victor's body prevented him from seeing before.
"… Uh oh…"
This was indeed the monitor room, complete with wall-to-wall video screens and computer stations. Right now those screens were blank, or showing silent snow. The computer stations had been shot to pieces. A few of them were still sparking at random intervals. There were glass shards and bits of plastic everywhere. No piece of electronic equipment had been spared destruction.
"How…?" Victor asked, shaking his head in confusion and disbelief.
His answer was a faint, muffled sound coming from somewhere inside the room.
"Dude, did you hear that—"
"Shhh!" Victor focused his cybernetic hearing.
Gar waited patiently. Quietly. Nervously.
"It's coming from over there," Victor deduced, pointing towards another door.
"The closet?"
"Or the hub."
"I could turn into a bug again…" Gar offered, sounding very much like he didn't want to do it. "Fly in under the crack in the door."
"Or we could just open it," Victor countered. "I don't see a lock."
"Okay," Gar agreed. "Go for it."
Victor glanced bemusedly at his companion, who simpered and shrugged. Then he began to cross the room, headed towards the door. He stepped carefully through the debris field, and Garfield followed closely at his heels. As they went, the muffled sounds grew louder.
When they stopped in front of the door, Victor reached a hand out to grasp the handle only to suddenly have Gar's hand shoot forward and grab his wrist. They exchanged a knowing glance, and then Gar looked away and dropped his hand. He backed off a few paces and then morphed into a green lion—ever mindful not to cut a paw on the glass-littered floor. Lion-Gar crouched, ready and waiting.
Victor smirked and turned the door handle, pulling it wide open.
"MMMMMFF!"
Victor's jaw dropped. There in front of him sat twelve museum guards, their hands and feet bound with duct tape and their mouths sealed with it.
"MMRRRFFFF!" The source of the muffled sounds.
"Gar! Grow opposable thumbs again and get in here!"
Victor knelt before one of the guards, seated in a row against the back wall, and tried to gingerly tear the duct tape away from his mouth. In doing so, he revealed to them the green lion that had been standing behind him.
"MMMMMMFFFF!" Their eyes bugged, but only to grow wider when the lion became a petit green human before their eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" the just un-gagged guard asked.
"Luke Skywalker," Gar supplied without missing a beat, cutting off what would have been Victor's unsure babbling as he no doubt would have tried to explain. "We're here to rescue you."
The guard frowned at Garfield. "Aren't you a little short for a superhero?"
"Watch it, or that duct tape goes back where we found it," Victor replied tersely, even as Gar stooped to help him. By now he had managed to free four guards from the binds on their hands. Those guards were now working to free their legs and mouths.
"No, seriously," the guard redirected. "You both look too young to be with the Justice League."
"You know, for a grateful hostage you sure do ask a lot of questions," Victor told him as he freed another guard.
"Yeah well our honorable colleagues ambushed us, took the guns from those of us licensed to use them, and locked us in the storeroom," another guard explained. "Forgive us for being skeptical."
"I bet they're with the Titans!" another guard piped up suddenly.
"No," yet another argued. "The Titans haven't been seen all together in over a year. They're defunct."
By now some of the guards were standing, stretching their arms and legs. When at last the two teenagers had managed to free the remaining guards Victor stood and said: "We aren't with the Titans. But hopefully Robin and his mentor are upstairs fighting the bad guys as we speak."
"So it's true!" one guard exclaimed. "The Bat and the Bird are real!"
"Sure they're real," Garfield informed them, a little lost as to why the guards had thought differently. "Real enough to kick Two-Face's butt anyway."
"Two-Face?" half the guards questioned at once.
"Unfortunately," Victor assessed. "He's the one who paid off your buddies."
"And who are you?" the first guard asked.
"Just a pair of concerned citizens," Victor informed them. "Now… what do we do?"
"Do?" Gar questioned incredulously. "Dude, right now Two-Face is stealing the Egyptian exhibit! We gotta stop him!"
"And how do you figure we do that?" Victor asked, just as incredulous. "We're unarmed and out-manned."
"The silent alarms would have been tripped the minute these monitors were smashed," a guard informed them. "The police should be here by now."
"Yeah, well, the not so silent alarms would be going off now if Two-Face didn't disable them," Gar informed them. "Since the nutcase drove a hum-vee through the front doors."
Collectively the guards' jaws dropped.
"But the cops should be here by now," Victor reiterated. "And hopefully Batman, Batgirl, and Robin. They'll have the bad guys taken care of in no time."
"So what do we do in the meantime?" a guard asked.
"We get the heck outta dodge," Victor informed them.
Gar looked about ready to object.
"We can't do that," a guard protested. "We're supposed to protect the museum and its exhibits. It's our job."
Victor blinked. "Did anyone ever tell you that you take your job way too seriously?"
"This ain't about the job no more," said another guard with finality. "This is about those two-faced sons of bitches that betrayed us to Two-Face."
A chorus of approval from the other guards.
"We can't go yet. Not without dishing out some payback!"
Garfield found himself cheering along with them.
"There's an untold number of men up there, armed at least with machine guns!" Victor exclaimed. "How exactly you expect to fight them with little more than righteous indignation?"
"We may have a bit more to our arsenal than that," a guard informed them. He walked over to what appeared to be a steel footlocker, pulled out a set of keys, and unlocked the lock. When he snapped the lid back he revealed a small cache of semi-automatic pistols. "In case we ever had to protect ourselves from terrorists," he explained when Victor and Garfield—and half the guards, gave him slack-jawed looks of disbelief.
"Dude!" Gar celebrated. "Now we're talking!"
Victor palmed a hand across his face tiredly. "This is insane…"
"But it's the right thing to do, Victor," Garfield said with quiet sincerity.
Victor sighed, having made up his mind already but having failed in all internal attempts to talk himself out of it. "I so hope I live to regret this."
Garfield cheered louder than ever.
"Okay boys, get 'em while they're hot!" And the guard began tossing firearms to his cohorts. Finally there was just one gun left. He offered it towards the teenagers.
"Uh, sorry," Gar deflected, once again embarrassed. "Wings and hooves and things make it kinda hard to use one of those."
The guard held it out to Victor.
"Keep it," he said. "I don't know how to use it anyway."
The guard shrugged and tucked it into his belt.
"Let's go, gentlemen!" And the guards fell into haphazard formation as they all but marched out through the monitor room and into the stairwell.
"Wait!" Victor called out from the rear of the group.
"What is it, dude?" Garfield asked, almost fearful that his friend was already having second thoughts.
"The most important thing is protecting the exhibit, right?"
"Of course," a guard replied.
Victor grinned. Then he walked briskly over to the wall and pulled the fire alarm. The high-pitched bell rang deafeningly loud.
"Brilliant!" A guard shouted in praise, and others joined him.
"What'd you do that for?" Gar voiced his question over the noise.
"Every exhibit is protected in the event of a fire by steel-plated walls that rise up to surround the displays," a guard explained. "It should protect from bullet fire as well."
"DUUUDE!"
"Just watch out," another guard warned. "As soon as the last protective plate is in place we're going to be drenched by the sprinklers."
"And if that don't distract Two-Face I don't know what will," Victor confessed, proud of himself in that moment.
"All right, men!" the guard shouted again. "We have work to do!"
And twelve overzealous museum guards marched up the stairwell towards the exhibit halls, followed closely by two metahuman teenagers.
The exhibit hall
The events seemed to unfold in slow motion.
Robin crouched.
Two-Face shouted: "Kill him!"
Robin took to the air in a giant, acrobatic leap.
Ten Tommy gun-toting thugs and seven pistol-carrying guards opened fire.
Bullets flew, bisecting the space that Robin's body just vacated.
Robin pivoted in midair above the gunfire as the bullets found their way into the walls and bulletproof glass casings of the exhibit hall.
The two ready birdarangs sailed through the air.
Robin reached the apex of his leap and pulled a gas pellet and his grappling hook from his utility belt as his mind absently registered two distinct yelps of pain when the projectiles hit their targets.
Two thugs dropped their guns, clutching at their injured hands.
A gas pellet slammed into the floor.
Robin fired his grappling launch into the ceiling as gas began to billow across the exhibit hall floor.
The grappling launch retracted, pulling Robin towards the rafters while below him, eighteen men began coughing uncontrollably.
Robin looked down to see a few of the thugs collapse.
And time resumed.
Robin crouched on a support beam high above the exhibit hall floor. He looked down and saw that most of the bad guys had scattered when the gas hit. Only five of them—four guards and a goon—were lying unconscious.
"Shoot him!" Two-Face roared, pointing to the rafters. "Shoot him now!"
Robin had to duck behind and I-beam as more bullets flew his way. Bullet fire ricocheted off the steel beams, pinning Robin behind his cover. Undaunted, Robin grabbed a flash-bang from his utility belt. He pulled the pin, hurled it blindly back down to the floor. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, waiting for the blast.
BANG!
Robin spun out from behind the I-beam as soon as the grenade detonated. He saw that most of the bad guys had dropped their guns and hit their knees, and even Two-Face appeared disoriented. Unfortunately, the villain dove for cover behind an exhibit, and while Robin could see him, he could do nothing to stop him.
Acting quickly, Robin whipped out a set of bolos and his grappling gun. He fired the grapple into another section of the roof and swung down into throng of dazed thugs, flinging the bolos as he went.
The bolos whipped through the air and wound themselves around two dazed thugs who had the misfortune of kneeling too close to one another. The bolos wrapped around their torsos, binding their arms to their sides and smashing their bodies together. They fell over, entangled and semi-conscious, as Robin completed his swing and landed atop a tall exhibit case.
"Kill. Him. NOW!" Two-Face shouted, picking up a discarded Tommy gun and firing at the Boy Wonder.
However, Robin wasn't standing around long enough to be hit. He back flipped off the display case as bullets whizzed past his body. He grabbed another smoke pellet and threw it back at Two-Face. Robin landed and took cover behind an exhibit for the split second before the smoke pellet billowed forth its contents. The gunfire lessened as Two-Face and the bad guys nearest to him choked and gagged on the gas.
Robin stood and palmed two birdarangs in each hand. He threw them at the thugs still firing on him and four guns flew out of four separate pairs of hands.
The gas finally dissipated and Two-Face and two of his thugs were down for the count.
That left eight of eighteen still standing.
Those eight by now had moved around the exhibit case and fired at the Boy Wonder.
Robin ran miraculously between the bullets right over to another exhibit case. He leapt at the case, kicked off the glass, and redirected his momentum back the way he came. He caught the edge of the top of another case, and pulled himself up just as a spray of bullets impacted the glass, causing it to spider-web.
Robin leapt from the top of the case and fully outstretched himself mid-air as bullets flew by him, one even coming close enough to change the part of his hair. Robin ignored it as he grabbed his dangling jump line. One hand readied his other set of bolos as the other activated the winch inside the grappling gun and hauled him back up into the rafters.
Mid assisted flight, Robin flung the bolos. He saw them sail through the air and ensnare two more thugs who had the misfortune of being thrown off their guard by the immobilization of their boss. Their bodies slammed together as their arms were immobilized by the cord.
Robin was crouching on a support beam readying another gas pellet when suddenly an ear-splitting sound echoed throughout the exhibit hall.
Dick Grayson swore oaths in seven different languages as lights strobed and grates inlaid in the floor by the display cases slid opened. Then, amidst the barely audibly hiss of hydraulics, giant steel plates rose up through the holes in the floor to shield the exhibits from the fire the system believed was taking place.
Six bad guys remained standing, but not for long. As soon as the steel plates finish deploying, the sprinklers would kick in, and every single thug that succumbed to the gas would revive, including Two-Face.
In about three seconds the pelting water would render his gas pellets ineffective, and he would have to take on thirteen thugs plus Two-Face without the aid of bolos, for he'd just thrown his last one.
At least the steel plating would protect the exhibits, which Robin supposed was the most important thing.
The Boy Wonder grimaced and palmed another flash-bang…
Outside the museum
Raven levitated across the lawn towards the museum and landed nearly twenty feet away. Even from this distance she could hear the screaming of alarms and the barking of machinegun fire, but that was nothing next to what her soul-self detected.
Raven winced, shuddering slightly as she closed her eyes and tried to prevent her own emotions from becoming entangled in the chaos within. The fear she sensed was palpable, but the rage… the rage was worse.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Raven forced her soul-self into calmness. In order to brave this veritable black hole of negative emotion, she would need to completely and totally distance herself from all feeling. She needed to be detached.
Azarath…
Unfeeling.
Metrion…
Numb to the world.
Xinthos…
Only then could she enter the museum. Only then could she search out her friends and hopefully provide some sort of assistance. Only then… could she prevent the anger and fear from overwhelming her own emotional barriers and consuming her soul-self. The consequences of that… did not bear thinking about.
To prevent this from happening, Raven buried her soul-self deep within her mind, locked down by her strongest mental barriers. She meditated briefly, preparing herself, and then walked steadily forward.
Her body passed through the outer wall as though it wasn't even there.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Raven meditated again, forcing the onslaught of emotions to break against her mental barriers like water upon rock. They splashed away from her and left her soul-self untouched. The incredible amount of mental energy needed to accomplish this was taxing, however. Raven surmised that she should use her porting ability sparingly as she moved through the museum so as to not divert energy from shielding her soul-self.
She would need every once of strength she had to pull Garfield and Victor into the astral plane with her and facilitate their escape from whatever evils held them here.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Raven took a deep breath and allowed her mind to refocus on the real world as she exhaled. She heard the deafening cry of the alarm even before she opened her eyes. When she allowed herself to see again, she found herself standing in the museum gift shop. Knowing that the greatest concentration of negative emotions was coming from one of the exhibit halls, Raven left the gift shop on foot, not daring to waste the energy to levitate herself.
She walked into the vast expanse of a hallway and pulled the hood of her cloak back. She glanced left and right, trying to gauge the best way to go. However, no sooner had she made up her mind did the fire sprinklers shot to life. Even as Raven hastily pulled her hood back on, she was already drenched.
"Wonderful."
The loading dock
Batgirl barely had time to gasp—and even less time to react, before the five thugs in the back of the truck opened fire. She felt the heated rush of air as the bullets screamed passed her body, missing her sometimes by fractions of inches as she flung her body down to the pavement. Bullets ricocheted off the asphalt as she rolled under the truck and out of their line of fire.
"Get her!" one thug shouted as they all piled out of the truck, guns held at the ready.
The first two to make it to the pavement stooped to look under the truck, but if they were expecting to find Batgirl they were sorely disappointed. Instead all they saw was a small canister with a red flashing light.
"… The hell?"
FWISSSSSSSH!
The two unlucky thugs stumbled back, crying out in agony as they fell victim to a time-release teargas canister. They clutched at their faces as painfully involuntary tears shed themselves without mercy from burning eyes.
In the chaos that ensued, the three unaffected thugs failed to spot Batgirl, who had scrambled out from under the truck after discarding the teargas canister. As the thugs were either crying or panicking—or both, she ran to the truck's cab. She hopped up on the bumper, then the hood, then the roof of the cab, and then the roof of the trailer in quick succession.
As she ran the short length of the trailer's roof she pulled a pair of batarangs from her belt.
"Find her!" she heard one of them yell as she stood directly above them.
"Who me?" she asked sweetly, taking them all by surprise. Then with a scowl she threw the batarangs and knocked the machineguns out of two sets of hands. They yelped in pain as the lone thug still armed raised his gun and fired.
Batgirl dove off the top of the trailer, executing a bullet-dodging forward flip over the head of the firing thug, who couldn't pivot, aim, and shoot fast enough to keep up with her as she sailed over his head and landed behind him.
As soon as she landed, she dropped low and swept a leg out, knocking the thug's feet out from underneath him. He toppled over, shooting wildly into the air as he landed flat on his back.
The thug was falling as Batgirl was standing up. When they passed, Batgirl reached out and swiped the Tommy gun from his hands. Gun in hand, she dropped back into stance with it aimed at the two thugs who had just barely managed to pick up their guns from where the batarangs forced them to be dropped.
Batgirl stood unflinching with her pilfered Tommy gun pointed straight and steady at the two thugs, who for their part looked more than a little nervous.
Then suddenly she winked and threw the Tommy gun at them (minus the clip, which she had deftly removed when they were focusing on her eyes). Each thug reached out to catch it, causing them both to stumble and shoot wildly into the air.
Batgirl ducked and dove into a forward roll. She completed one and a half revolutions and shot to her hands, kicking her feet straight up. She caught one of the thugs square in the chest and with a cry of surprise (and most likely pain) he dropped both guns and stumbled back into the trailer.
Batgirl pivoted harshly on her hands and turned the downward momentum of her legs against the other thug. One foot caught him low in the chest and the other found his groin. The thug went cross-eyed and formed a high-pitched whimper in the back of his throat as he dropped to the ground in the fetal position.
Batgirl stood up just in time to see the unarmed thug she had tripped charging for her, hands held menacingly out before him. Batgirl danced to the right and dropped her shoulder, allowing the thug to plow into her. Then in classic Judo form, she used his own momentum against him and the unfortunate thug found himself sailing ass over teakettle into the trailer.
Batgirl wasted no time and grabbed one of the discarded machineguns. She quickly removed the clip, jumped up to grab the trailer door handle, and used her weight and momentum to pull the trailer door down with her. Then she quickly hooked the handle of the Tommy gun to the truck's bumper and slid the muzzle up through the trailer door handle until it was held in place by the trigger guard. This effectively locked the trailer door, trapping two of the thugs inside.
That left just three opponents, two of which were only now starting to regain their senses after being gassed, and one still writing on the ground muttering obscenities and clutching his groin.
"Okay boys," she said. "You can either give up now, or after more pain. Which'll it be?"
One of the gassed thugs pulled himself to his feet. Foregoing his weapon, he adopted a fight stance that looked to Batgirl like Kung Fu. Batgirl got into stance herself and tried not to smirk—her most recent fighting lesson from Batman had been how to counter various martial arts moves that she hadn't learned in her eight years of Judo. If thus guy wanted to test his luck, he was in for a world of hurt.
Batgirl took two deliberate steps forward, anticipating that the thug would perceive this as her opening move and try to preempt her.
She wasn't disappointed.
The thug ran in and tried for a flying kick. Then, just as Batman taught her, Batgirl quickly arched her back. In seemingly slow motion Batgirl executed a move she had previously thought possible only in the Matrix. She arched under and to the left of the incoming kick and saw the thug's foot go sailing above her skull, hitting nothing but air. From this slanted position she reached out with both hands and grabbed the airborne shin and pulled.
Centripetal force kept her in place as she swung the thug like a dervish using his own inertia. She heard a sickening pop as his knee gave way before she released him. As he went flying, Batgirl dropped out of her move prematurely and landed harshly on her back. Wincing, she stood back up and saw the thug rag dolling across the pavement. When he landed he tried to get up, but yelped in pain when he tried to move his knee, and he collapsed back down in a heap.
"Anyone else?" she challenged the two that were left, a deep scowl to her voice brought on by self-deprecation. She hadn't executed the move properly, even though the results were more than satisfactory. She was supposed to snap back up to standing, or a the very least pull a handspring out of it; but no, she had collapsed onto her back, the right muscles either not quite strong enough or not quite used to having to perform the feat. Good results or no, she knew that Batman would have made her try it again, and perfectionist that she was, she was angry with herself for the failure. Now she was ready to turn that anger against the two remaining criminals.
The thug on the ground, while still clutching at his groin, had stopped whimpering and was now just lying still. The other thug, eyes and face still red from the teargas, shifted from his sitting position to a kneeling position, and clasped his hands atop his head.
Batgirl's eyes narrowed.
"All right then."
She whipped out another pair of batcuffs and cautiously made her way over to the two thugs. She approached the kneeling one first, but as she reached a hand out to grab one of his wrists the thug jumped to his feet. One of his hands shot forward, but Batgirl had anticipated the move and dodged left. Then, without batting a lash, she reached into her utility belt and pulled out a pepper bomb, which she threw mercilessly into the thug's already sore face. The thug shrieked and both his hands flew to his face. He dropped to the ground, apparently convulsing in pain as his already sore eyes and soft facial skin were assaulted again.
With his hands held out for her so nicely as he shielded his face, Batgirl quickly slapped a batcuff on one wrist. This wrist she pulled viciously around behind the thug and held it there as she used her other hand to bring back his other wrist. The thug cried out in agony as his hands were no longer able to provide comfort to his face. She left him in a heap, hands cuffed behind his back, as she approached the other thug.
"I hit him twice in the face," she told that thug. "Considering where I hit you the first time I don't think you want to be pressing your luck."
The thug—who had been playing possum—couldn't help it when his eyes shot opened wide. Perhaps it was reflex, but he too tried to scramble to his feet—or perhaps scramble to protect his family jewels. Batgirl took advantage of his open position and punched him squarely in the face, sending him back down to the pavement in an unconscious heap.
Batgirl stood up straighter and surveyed the scene. The two thugs trapped in the truck were banging to be let out, and the one she bodily hurled across the pavement was twitching slightly, unable to find a single position to lie in without his knee protesting it. Batgirl frowned, wondering briefly if he'd be able to get physical therapy in prison. Then there was the thug she'd just punched out, who was down for the count, and the one she'd pepper bombed, who was still writing slightly as he tried to press his face into the cool asphalt to soothe the burning. Then of course there was the one in the driver's seat.
Slowly Batgirl allowed herself to grin. Six thugs downed in about five minutes. That has to be a record for her solo work. Then, moment of pride over, she began her final clean up.
Batgirl grabbed a decel cable from her grappling launch and proceeded to truss up the two thugs closest to her. She tied them up back to back and used rope slack to bind each of their hands together. Then she removed the batcuffs from the still-whimpering thug whose face was nearly black with soot. Fortunately she knew that Batman didn't use any chemicals that would cause permanent damage, otherwise she might have actually worried that the thug would lose his sight from the two facial attacks.
Those two secure, Batgirl walked over to the third thug, who whimpered when she entered his field of vision. She unceremoniously handcuffed him behind his back and dragged him by the arms back to the truck.
"My leg," he groaned. "I think you broke my leg!"
To both shut him up and put him out of his misery Batgirl punched his lights out. Then she undid one side of the batcuffs and secured his hands over the cable binding the other two together. She redid the batcuffs and the thug was secured to his cohorts.
Well, she'd done as Robin asked. She's secured the truck. Two-Face wouldn't be able to use it as a getaway vehicle and these six goons wouldn't be able to help him escape. Now, according to her illustrious leader, she was supposed to make contact with some federal agents.
The cop's daughter in her frowned at the thought. Why would the feds be here? The last time she checked, Central Park was still part of NYPD jurisdiction. Unless of course the international owners of the exhibits in the museum make museum property federal jurisdiction…
Then suddenly her frowned deepened. Dick Grayson was taking classes with Drs. Beach and Cabrini—the latter of whom confessed to her father that he'd received a visit from the Boy Wonder. Did Robin use Dick Grayson's professors as contacts to get his foot in the door?
"The FBI isn't exactly the GCPD," she muttered to herself. "So what are you playing at Short Pants?"
Just another of the myriad of questions Barbara would ask Dick once this all was over. Right now, she had a job to do.
The exhibit hall
Robin had timed the detonation of his flash-bang to coincide with the release of the sprinklers. The thugs just coming to collapsed back into quivering, whimpering heaps on the museum floor while those still standing briefly lost track of the teenaged vigilante's position in their moment of painful disorientation.
Seizing the window of opportunity, Robin launched himself off the support beam. He completed a forward flip and came out of the rotation at a slight angle so as to land feet-first smack into the chest of a distracted thug. The thug barely had time to grunt in pain before Robin's momentum pummeled him to the ground. His head smacked into the hard tile and he was out cold, and Robin felt a few ribs crack beneath his boots as he secured his landing.
It happened quickly, Robin landing on the goon, letting gravity do his work for him, and finishing his landing in a crouch atop the unconscious thug's chest, that it seemed as though there was no pause for consideration before the Boy Wonder launched into his next attack. He dove forward, sailing headlong into another thug who was just starting to regain his bearings. This thug—one of the guards, involuntarily pulled the trigger on his pistol as Robin barreled into him. He landed hard, dropping his gun in the process, as Robin rolled over him to coming to a less-than-graceful stop on the guard's far side. The guard rolled over to his hands and knees but Robin didn't allow him the privilege of reaching out for his weapon. He had already snatched it up and deftly removed the cartridge with one hand while landing a knockout punch with the other. As the thug went crashing down to the floor into oblivion Robin barely had time to pocket the cartridge before the rest of the thugs opened fire.
Robin dove to the side and rolled just ahead of the gunfire until he was behind the relative safety of one of the now nearly impervious display cases.
"Kill the little rat!" he heard Two-Face shout, his voice slightly husky but still full of rage. Robin barely restrained the groan. He had twelve armed thugs to contend with, and not a lot of options—the least of which being to stay in one place long enough for one of them to acquire a line of fire.
Robin went airborne just ahead of the gunfire that rained down on his former position. He grabbed the top of the display case and hoisted himself up quickly. In mere fractions of a second he had surveyed the scene around him, chosen his next target, and launched himself off of the display case before the thugs could reacquire their target.
Robin jumped straight down, pulling a pair of birdarangs out of his belt as he went. He landed in a crouch and then shot into the air again just in time for bullet fire to impact the case behind him. He leapt straight up and let the birdarangs fly—right into the gun-holding hands of the two closest thugs. Then on his way down he managed to stick his legs out behind him and use the steel plating in front of the display case as a springboard. He shot through the air and landed in a somersault that took him close enough to the thugs so that he could knock their feet out from under them. The poor thugs—who hadn't had time to move passed the stage of painful surprise where they clutch desperately at their smarting hands—crashed to the floor in a heap. As they went down, Robin bashed their heads together, rendering them both unconscious.
Unfortunately by now the remaining thugs were able to re-task themselves, and Robin found himself back-hand-springing out of the way of even more gunfire until he found himself behind another display case.
"Kill him now!" Another shout from Two-Face, this time more coherently—and a whole lot meaner. "Now I said!" And Robin had to launch his grappling hook, because the thugs were converging on him from all sides.
It was as his grapple was hoisting him above the anarchy below that Robin was greeted with a sight that made him not sure as to whether or not he should laugh or cry, for in that moment a new group of guards came running down the hallway towards the exhibit hall. There were twelve of them, all running at full tilt, guns already drawn. Thankfully (or perhaps not) they distracted the goons long enough for Robin to obtain meager cover in the rafters again.
"Who the hell are they?" Two-Face barked his question.
His bought-off guards were stunned. "I thought you locked them in the basement!" one of them shouted to another.
That was all the answer Two-Face needed. He sent a burst of machinegun fire at the new arrivals, who had only just made it to the exhibit hall entrance.
"Cover!" one of the new arrivals shouted, and they all dove out of the way, even as Two-Face's goons caught on and joined in on the shooting.
Robin's breath caught in his throat as he watched them. Even as they found cover, not all of them escaped the barrage of bullets that sailed their way. The cries of pain couldn't be heard of the bark of gunfire, the scream of the alarm, or the pelting of the sprinklers, but he knew it well enough. He saw the red splatters in the streaming puddles of artificial rain.
Ten goons remained, but now… now there were innocents to worry about. Guards who—judging by the reaction of their former colleagues—weren't meant to be here for this. Now every bullet counted, for the ones that didn't hit Robin could easily find their way into innocent flesh, and that—Dick swallowed past the hate welling in his throat—was not allowed! No one, but no one will die tonight because of that accursed villain! Not any more. Not on my watch!
Robin spared himself a moment to use his vantage point to check on all the guards that had so swiftly (yet not swiftly enough) had taken cover by the entrance to the exhibit hall. Of the twelve, five of them were bleeding. Three appeared to have been grazed, a fourth was clutching at his leg while a buddy was tearing strips of his own shirt for bandages, and the fifth was alone, hands firmly pressed into his abdomen as blood seeped out around and between his fingers.
Dick's eyes burned in hatred as he stared through the Starlite lenses of his mask. Two-Face. Was. HIS!
In some mockery of cheesy westerns, the guards and the goons had all taken covered positions—even Two-Face. The odds were even—ten against ten—when the shootout began.
Robin smirked ever so slightly when he realized that the opposing gunfire would keep Two-Face busy while he stealthily dropped in on the bad guys from behind…
Just as he was about to leave his perch to facilitate that objective, Dick caught sight of something that nearly made him break concentration and tumble off the two-inch wide lattice beam he hurrying across. Halfway down the hallway, partially taking cover behind and information booth, were Garfield Logan and Victor Stone, staring into the Holocaust that the exhibit hall threatened to become like guilty deer caught in the headlights.
They must have freed the guards… Dick surmised, seeing that as the only plausible explanation for the drastic turn of events that led to the current situation. All he could do though, was hope to God that they stayed put and far away from bullet fire. Robin could ask the hows and whens and whys later, after Two-Face was safely in custody.
With a malicious grin, Robin perched above the thug farthest away from the exhibit hall entrance—and therefore at the very back of his pack, and made ready to jump…
The hallway
"I saw one of them get shot!" Garfield shouted above the screaming alarm, his water-slicked hands grabbed onto Victor's arm and was shaking it the way small children do when they desperately need the attention of a weary adult.
"I know!" Victor shot back in tense irritation, ripping his hand away.
Garfield's frantic motions stilled. He looked up at Victor, who seemed to tower over him, with wide and pleading eyes. "What do we do, Vic?" he asked almost painfully.
Victor's hardened expression fell slightly as once again he was reminded of how impossibly young his best friend could appear at times. "I don't know," he admitted, still tense but now with the added airs of fatigue and, quite possibly, defeat.
"Can you see anything?"
"I wish I could, dawg, but I haven't figured out how to design an eyepiece with x-ray vision."
"Heh," Gar laughed without humor. "You'd be a regular mechanical Superman."
"Don't even joke about it man," Victor dismissed ruefully.
Gar simpered and returned his gaze to the exhibit hall entryway. "Dude… it's like the O.K. Corral in there!"
"Well what did you expect? Those guards went charging in like the damn cavalry or something. What were they thinking? That they could waltz right in and arrest the bad guys?"
Garfield's expression hardened into grim lines. "Rushing headlong into a fight with Two-Face is an excellent way to get a dude killed."
"I hope you're wrong about that," Victor told his friend plainly. "Cuz that's what the cops are going to do when they finally get their butts in here."
"Where in the Hell is Batman?" Gar ground out in frustration. "People are, like, dying in there!"
"Well if everything they say about him is true, then he'll show up when we least expect it."
"In that case, dude, the guy's already late."
Victor managed a brief laugh, but then winced at a particularly long burst of gunfire. "C'mon Gar. We should get outta here while we still can."
Garfield shook his head determinedly. "No way dude. The bad guys might win the fight, and if they come back this way there'll be no one to stop them."
Victor half sighed, half groaned in frustration. "A three thousand year old Egyptian garage sale ain't worth your life, dawg!"
"It's not about the exhibit, Vic," Gar stoically informed his friend.
"Oh man, you cannot still be going on about Two-Face!"
"He won't escape, Vic. Not this time."
"Would you listen to yourself? Gar, this ain't no weekend warrior Monday morning quarterback type shit here!"
"You think I don't know that?" Gar shot back. "I'm not staying here like some power-tripping videogame addict who can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I know those guns are real and I know Two-Face will kill whoever he has to ta get what he wants. Believe me, I know."
"Then what are you staying here for."
"Justice." Garfield practically spat the word.
"Or revenge for all the bad shit you've had to live through," Victor came right back, his voice oddly calm.
Garfield opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly found himself without something to say. Then it appeared as though all of the fight withered out of him, like a deflating balloon. He released a tired sigh and sank to his knees, splashing softly in the sprinkler puddles as he landed.
Victor crouched down in front of him, yet even in this position he still seemed to tower above his petit green friend. "Look Gar, we're not the law, and we're not superheroes. We've done all we can here. Now we've got to trust that the NYPD and the Bat troupe can handle it. Don't give the villain the satisfaction of killing you for your good intentions."
Garfield sighed again, and finally looked up into his friend's eyes. "When I was in the orphanage—the last time I was in the orphanage… I was about fifteen I guess. I hated bouncing between foster homes, with Galtry and the Daytons fighting over their mutual visitation rights and whatnot. Well, I was fifteen and metahuman, so I…" Garfield seemed almost embarrassed to continue, but Victor waited patiently, even as pelting water and barking machinegun fire tried to steal their attention.
"I wrote to the Titans, Vic—you remember when that Kent reporter started the outreach program for troubled kids, the one where they could write to their favorite teenaged superheroes via the Daily Planet so that Superman could deliver the letters and the Titans could go all Dear Abby? Well, I wrote to them, told them that I was metahuman and that my powers could really help them and stuff. I could live in their hideout and not have to worry about lawyers, court dates, foster homes, orphanages…" Gar sighed again, but it was pained. These memories obviously weren't pleasant ones.
"Well a few weeks later my social worker handed me a letter—post marked from Central City. I so totally couldn't believe it, Vic! Kid Flash wrote to me—me! Some stupid green nobody from Gotham!" Gar blinked, however slowly, and somehow Victor already knew what he was going to say. "They turned me down, Vic. Said I needed parental permission and all that. Heh. Yeah right, like that was ever going to happen. No one would have known who to ask for it!"
"We aren't heroes, Gar," Victor said solemnly, with the faintest hints of regret.
Sighing again, Garfield ran a scrawny hand through his shaggy wet green hair.
"Vic, you're a human cyborg and I'm a green changeling. If that doesn't give us the right to try and be heroes, I dunno what does."
Victor spent a seeming eternity regarding the little green boy who had somehow managed to become his best friend. "You really feel strongly about this, don't you," he concluded.
Garfield nodded, slightly yet deliberately. "Two-Face… Harvey Dent… He hurts people, Vic. I know, because he's hurt me. He shouldn't be allowed to ruin other people's lives. I was lucky—I'm okay now, really. Galtry's behind bars and the Dayton's are really great. But other people—like that guard that got shot, they aren't as lucky as me. I can't just walk away, and wonder for the rest of my life if there was something more I could have done, every time I hear that he's hurt another innocent person. I understand if you want to go—you probably should. We need to, like, call some ambulances and stuff. But I'm staying, Vic. I'm sorry."
Victor remained quietly pensive for a moment, then he sighed and palmed his face with a tired hand. "Are you sure you shouldn't be studying law yourself?" he asked rhetorically. Gar puzzled at his meaning, so he elaborated: "All arguments aside, if I can't convince you to leave this up to the pros, then, well, at least I know I tried. But you're my best friend, and I know I can't wonder for the rest of my life about what happened here after I left you here alone."
Victor barely had time to pause for breath after that sentence before Garfield's narrow arms were attempting to encircle him in a titanium-crushing hug.
"Yeah, yeah, very nice," Victor dismissed embarrassedly, removing himself from the awkward embrace. "So, what's the plan?"
"Uh… plan?"
Garfield barely squeaked the word, his earlier uncertainty returning ten-fold. However, Victor heard him loud and clear, and his eyes widened.
"Vic?"
"Whoa…"
"What?"
"The alarm…"
"Huh? … OOOOOH! Hey, someone shut the alarm off!"
"SSSSSHHHHH!" Victor shushed him, although the act was highly unnecessary considering the raining sprinklers and the staccato bursts of gunfire made it quite impossible for them to be overheard by anyone in the exhibit hall, even without the cover of the alarm. "I can't believe we missed that…" Victor mused, still in awe that he didn't notice the obvious change, having been too engrossed in his conversation with Garfield.
"Uh, dude? Did you also notice we missed it getting dark in here?"
"Huh?" Victor looked up to the ceiling and saw that they fluorescent lights were out. Instead, random track lights were illuminating the hallway, but just barely, just enough to see. "They must have cut the building's power."
"That means the feds are here," Gar said with surprising certainty.
"And how'd you figure that?"
"Dude! Haven't you seen Die Hard?"
Victor blinked.
"That's Hollywood!"
"That don't make it wrong."
"Heh. Well if you're John McClane then I'm—"
"Zeus?"
"Yeah—No, wait! AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHH!"
And Garfield's laughter was momentarily heard above the gunfire.
Below the exhibit hall
The sprinkler water puddled in the hallway, soaking Raven's sneakers. The cold, squishy feel to her socks matched the one her cloak gave her, and she found herself wishing she'd brought her weatherproof one.
Not like I knew it was going to rain indoors tonight, she mused dejectedly.
The hallway was dark. The emergency lighting cast eerie shadows that seemed to melt and play through the cascading sprinkler water. Minus the shower, Raven nearly smirked to think that otherwise she would have felt right at home, especially now that the alarm had stopped blaring its useless warning. Now the only sound was the soft pitter-patter of manmade rain as it continued to drench the hallway, broken by the occasional burst of machinegun fire.
Raven forced all extraneous thought aside. She had a job to do, and successful completion required her utmost attention. Victor Stone and Garfield Logan were in here somewhere, but there was such a high level of volatile emotion concentrated in a single place that she was finding it difficult to discern anything concrete. Neither of them were injured—that much she was sure of. But their emotions? Those were scrambled somewhere in the giant vortex of pain, anger, and fear that was her destination.
As the water continued to pelt her, Raven realized that she was walking through a hurricane. And now she was standing just below the heart of it. She glanced up at the ceiling, allowing her hood to fall back off her head. She had to squint because of the water splashing on her face, but soon her fretted expression smoothed over into stoicism.
Raven drew her cloak in around her.
"Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…"
And Raven levitated. Up through the water towards the ceiling. Above her head, a black iris opened in the ceiling, making ready to swallow her whole, and then spit her back out again.
Into the eye of the storm.
AN-The Teen Titans existed first as Robin, Speedy, Aqualad, Wondergirl, and Kid Flash. This story is ignoring the many comings and goings of various other Silver Age teammates before the team's 'final' break up, so here the 'old' Titans consisted of only those five members and the 'new' Titans will be the ones from the cartoon.
AN2- Beast Boy did in fact petition the Titans for membership, but he was denied based on his age and the lack of parental consent. He joined later, of course.
