AN: I was testing out a gas grenade launcher. Turned out to be too impractical-too unwieldy-but it worked well enough.

Written to Two Steps From Hell's 'Armada', which makes everyday activities epic and world-domination-y. Going to the store? Nope, you're taking over the world! KNEEEEL!

Christineoftheopera-I am not a trained dog, and I do not appreciate being treated like one.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-I assure you, he has no need for it. Unfortunately.

A non-Gothamite would have surveyed the scene before them with no small degree of amusement. Police escorts, cleared roads, and an armored car, and all for a little slip of a thing! Talk about an overreaction.

Inside the armored car were four more officers. The suspect sat in the middle, hands cuffed behind her back.

"This is cozy."

Nobody answered. Nobody ever answered. It was safer that way.

She shifted a bit and four guns moved to cover her.

"Rude. The seats are hard, that's all."

Somebody's radio crackled.

"Road's blocked, taking alternate route."

"Having trouble?"

"Shut up, Richardson."

She stuck her tongue out at him and stretched her feet out.

"Make me."

He didn't answer, but it obviously hurt to keep his mouth shut. Too bad.

Outside, one of the police cars careened into a fire hydrant. A long shriek came over the radio before turning into what sounded like somebody hacking up a lung.

"What the fuck? Bob? Bob!"

The hacking stopped.

"That doesn't sound good." Dead air came over the radio. "Sounds like someone had an accident. Panic attack, maybe? You boys have such stressful jobs…"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "Now, now, just because I killed your sister doesn't mean we can't be civil."

"Easy, Lucas. Richardson, be quiet."

"Anything for you, sweetie."

The radio crackled again.

"They're all over me!"

"Shit." She couldn't pick out who said that. Didn't really care, either. "He's here."

"Better make sure I don't have any bruises, sweetie. You know what happens if I get bruises. Or paper cuts, for that matter."

"GETTHEMOFFOFME!"

"I'm guessing insects. Anybody else?"

The car suddenly swerved off the road, picking up speed before suddenly stopping and throwing the occupants to the floor. She guessed they'd hit a pole. Typical.

There was gunfire and more screaming, and then the doors opened.

"Feeling better?"

"Still stiff. I can walk, put me down!"

The cuffs fell to the floor with a low clatter. The guards remained where they were. It was their only defense now, really.

"Did they behave?"

She bit her lip and jabbed a finger at the redhead.

"That one has no manners. Nice set of lungs, though, if you want a new one…"

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hm. And one of the drivers had entomophobia. Just so you know."

"Charlie!" A giant of a man-not much shorter than Croc, really-lumbered over, reloading his shotgun. "The redhead, please. Maim him, but don't damage his throat. Maybe just a broken leg, so he can't run off on me."

"Sure thing, boss."

"You." he continued, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Anything broken? No bruises, paper cuts, concussions?"

"I'm fine. Just a bit stiff. Those seats are murder."

"They can be. You're sure? Look into the light."

"Oh, come on."

"Do it."

"Pupils…normal…that'll have to do, Bats will be here soon enough."

There was a scream and a nasty cracking sound from inside the car and Charlie came out, the unfortunate Lucas slung over his shoulder. His leg was rather backwards-looking and he was unconscious.

Five minutes later, when Batman showed up, they were gone and the remaining escorts had screamed themselves hoarse.

THE END