On The Hunt (Nightwing)

[oliver]

Gotham at night...

On the street below, a half dozen men had just finished unloading an innocuous black truck of its illicit goods; unmarked crates that they had then carried, two at a time, into the small, heavily fortified warehouse they owned. Well muscled and clearly dangerous, these men were relaxed and unconcerned, as they had made deliveries like this many a time before; drugs, mostly, with a handful of important weapons that would soon find their way into the city proper.

On the rooftop above and across the street, the Archer watched them and waited; as the men finished their discussion and slipped back into the main entrance, he reached down at his side, flipping the switch on a seemingly innocuous black box. Unlike the old gadgets and gizmos of this man's past, fanciful and green, this black plastic contraption was clearly meant for function more than style; a series of green diodes were the only indicator that the thing was on. That done, he turned his attention back to the warehouse; the truck had driven off, and one of the men inside the building had pulled a level to close the structure's main gate. Made of dense steel mesh, its links only allowing four or five inches of space between, nothing short of a cutting torch or diamond toothed saw would get through it once it had closed.

Licking his dry lips, the Archer drew an arrow from his quiver, fitting it to the bowstring and drawing it back, oh so carefully. Though he had only moments before the gate finished closing, he took his time, bringing the fletching of the arrow up to his cheek as he sighted down the shaft, waiting for just the right moment...

Breathe.

The sharp-tipped titanium arrow whistled through the air faster than the eye could track, its path straight and unerring. It passed between two of the closing gate's mesh links before continuing onwards just a few feet into the building itself. His aim was true, of course, the projectile severing the power cable just above the control panel with a hiss of sparks; the closing metal grate halted, a little over halfway down, leaving their precious stronghold, for the first time, quite vulnerable to intrusion.

Of course, even that brief action was drawing attention, and even as he straightened on the ledge, he could see movement across the street, on the warehouse room. No doubt the sentries there had heard the impact of the arrow, and were seeking its source even as they ran for their rifles; Oliver didn't give them time to figure it out, and at the speed of thought, his hand fell back to his quiver, selecting my touch the narrow shaft of another razor-edged arrow. Nocking it to his bow and drawing it back, he sighted for just a moment, eyes narrowed against the gloom.

Breathe. The razor-edged projectile caught one of the propped rifles clear in the center, puncturing a hole in the stock and destroying the firing mechanism. Breathe. The second rifle met the same fate, and before the two men on the roof could so much as stumble three steps, their primary weapon was disabled. As expected, the pair of men wasted little time dropping to the flat of the rooftop, seeking whatever cover they could, and a brief glow of illumination suggested that at least one of them was already going for their cellphone.

Good luck with that. The little black box beside him would ensure they couldn't get a signal out; with no roof access on the warehouse, and the ladders long since removed, those men wouldn't have any way to warn their friends inside about what was coming. A brief grin crossed the Archer's face, but he suppressed it and focused on the task at hand; shouldering his bow, it was a simple enough task to slide down the nearby stormdrain, dropping six stories in mere moments. The moment his feet touched concrete, his weapon was drawn once more, and when no movement presented itself on the roof above, Oliver took it as a good omen and hurried forward.

His pace was a quick scuttle, knees bent low to the ground, head raised and glancing upwards, seeking any sign of movement in the upper windows, his bow lowered with an arrow nocked and ready to draw back. With the rooftop sentries out of commission, he was counting on catching the crooks within by surprise; especially given the alternative was to march into a stronghold where men armed with machine guns could pump him full of holes. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mouth dry and entire body tingling from the tension, but his hands remained steady, his fingers and palms devoid of the nervous sweat that might slip up his aim, no tremor to his limbs to betray him, not this time. Even so, his teeth were tightly clenched and eyes wide, sweeping the street and windows for snipers, other outlooks, anything that might turn this assault into an unmitigated disaster.

And there it was. A man was stepping out from the alleyway to the side of the warehouse; his jaw had with clear disbelief at the archer's approach, but his hand already behind him, probably reaching for a pistol. Even as the flash of metal on the streetlamp above confirmed the presence of the weapon, Oliver was already acting. Pausing in his steps, just for a moment, the hero straightened, brought his bow up, and drew it back to his ear. To the criminal, these actions were a frantic blur, little more than a kneejerk response; to the Green Arrow, each motion was carefully prepared, and smoothly executed.

His aim was careful.

Breathe.

His aim was perfect.

The blunted arrow's whistle was of a lower pitch as it zipped across the forty feet seperating them in the blink of an eye; it clipped the crook's temple just as he was drawing his gun, and the man went down hard, knocked unconscious. Up went Oliver's arm, drawing another blunted arrow and fitting it once more to his bow, and as he drew up to the half-raised gate, he quickly dropped into a roll, slipping underneath the portal. Coming to his feet inside the warehouse itself, Oliver was greeted with the sight of another startled guard about twenty feet ahead, no doubt coming to see what had gone wrong with the gate. Unlike the first, though, this man's gun was already drawn, and even as he brought it up to shoot, the Green Arrow only had time for a relatively quick lift, aim, and fire of the bow.

The snap shot caught the man in the crook of his gun arm's elbow, forcing the limb to fold inwards and sending the pistol flying from suddenly nerveless fingers; before the man could even draw in the breath to shout, another arrow caught him square on the bridge of the nose... one fired at half strength, fortunately. The sound of splintering bone and crunching cartilege as the crook fell back, senseless and clearly no threat to anyone any longer. By the time Oliver stepped over the writhing, groaning criminal, a sixth arrow was already nocked, his eyes, and mind, turned towards the men still conscious within these walls.

Like the months spent on that lone island, a lifetime ago, he was the hunter once more. And this prey... it didn't stand a chance.

[Dick Grayson - Nightwing]

Some one had been watching this man's movement since the second he stepped into this area to take down the scum trafficking their supplies for their crimes. He had not gotten there too long before this new figure showed up. And with the arrival of new company, one like to see what they were up against.

So sticking to the shadows, Nightwing sat back for a moment to see what this guy could do. He could see he was only armed with a bow and arrows. This was going to be interesting. He'd jump in at the first sign of trouble of course, but for now this new strange had caught his attention and interest.

He didn't look like any costumed vigilante he had ever seen before. Seemed to be just stepping off the street and deciding to go after these thugs. Of course, he wasn't going to judge on looks along and how this guy approached a fight that would easily out number him and could easily turn against his favor. The old medieval style of fighting was a bit odd though to say the least for someone coming into a fight against thugs armed with machine guns. This coming from a guy who cares escrima sticks. Ok, maybe not so odd, but most definitely interesting.

Dick watched as the man made a move. He watched as the arrows moved swiftly and accurately. There targets being hit and taken down. Ok, so the guy was definitely a master archer. Though it was still a dangerous fight to get mixed up in.

After the men outside the building were taken down, Dick watched as the man ran into the warehouse avoiding the half opened gate. As soon as he was out of sight, Dick ran over to the edge of the building he had been hiding on and made a jump toward the fire escape on the building opposite to help assist in a lighter landing to get closer to the ground, but swinging off it. It was better than jumping off the roof of the building at the time. It was best to stay unseen.

The new guy had gotten this far without getting himself killed. Definitely a sign that this was not the first time out on a mission like this. Dick continued to tail the guy into the building. As soon as the man was distracted by another riflemen a good few yards away, Dick slipped into the warehouse and remained hidden.

He heard the cry of a man go down, but no gun shot. The man with the arrows had made the first move in disabling the armed thug. Alright, so far, he hadn't needed to step in. But Dick still wasn't sure just what this guy was up too. He could easily be someone in it for their own benefits or he could actually be there to take these crooks down.

Moving along the crates and in the shadows, Dick could hear the light foot fall of the man approaching now. He had known someone else was there. Dick had tried to stay out of sight, but the guy had seemed to sense he was there without even seeing or hearing him. He wondered if this guy had some sore of super hearing or something. Otherwise he was just about as good at knowing someone was there as Batman did.

Dick found himself to be caught up in a maze of crates that would lead no where and the archer now facing in his direction to the shadows. The game was up, there was no way he could move quick enough to avoid an arrow. This guy seemed more than just a pro and Nightwing didn't want to find out if he could. The last thing he wanted was an arrow literally through the heart.

Raising his hands slightly up in the air, the figure in a black suit with a blue symbol stretched across it, stepped out of the shows a bit and into the view of this archer. It was almost like facing someone with a guy. But this guy might be able to be reasoned with to find out just he was doing here is Gotham in the middle of the night taking down these thugs.

"You can put that away," Dick said in a low tone as too not give off their location within the building to anyone else that might be there. Dick would give him the chance to step down, but just in case, Dick was ready to make a quick move and return attack. He was in close enough range that he could strike from where he was as well and might just be able to avoid first shot.

[oliver]

Oliver had sensed the human shadow on his tail about halfway into the warehouse itself, soon after he'd dispatched of a second man inside; it hadn't been anything substantial, just a gut feeling, some sixth sense telling him he wasn't the only hunter about. That his stalker was more than capable of remaining hidden from Oliver's concrete senses was more than a little unsettling, because the archer had always prided himself on having one of the sharpest eyes about; still, at first he tried not to let on that he was suspicious, his muscles tensing just a little, ears perked for any sounds of an ambush. It wasn't until he was deep in the mass of crates and storage bins that he began to get some idea as to where this stranger might be hiding; might, of course, was the operative word. When Oliver suddenly raised his bow and drew back the string, seemingly confident in his shadow's location, he was really only operating under a semi-educated guess.

This meant he was considerably relieved when that guess proved to be correct; as the man in question stepped from the shadows, Oliver's eyes narrowed just a little, curiosity warring with suspicion. Not your average thug, obviously, but whether he was a fellow hero, or some mercenary hired to help protect the goods stored here, was anyone's guess.. Considering Oliver had spent a great deal of time cooped up in a monastary, he wasn't quite as up-to-date on the latest in crime fighting news. God knew there were more vigilantes than cops around these days, and the stark look of the newcomer's costume didn't exactly make him look like the warm and fuzzy type.

All the kids nowadays were wearing black, he thought a bit wryly, even as he studied the man's attire with interest; it was well assembled, certainly, and had probably cost a pretty penny. One too many viewings of the Matrix.

Oh, who was he kidding. He'd spent the beginning of his career running around with a funny hat perched on his head. He had no right to critique anyone else's choice of fashion.

Still, the blue symbol did poke at some distant memory in the back of Ollie's head, a rumor he'd heard about a relatively new vigilante staking out his turf in true heroic fashion. He didn't recall enough about the details to know for certain that this was the same guy- stealthy and black/blue outfit were about all he could remember- but that memory, combined with the fact that the stranger had stepped from the shadows without actively going on the attack, promoted caution, and maybe just a little trust.

"I suppose you're right," he finally replied, his own voice appropriately low; there was the softest creak as he slowly relaxed the tension on the string, keeping the arrow nocked just in case this individual proved to be less friendly than he seemed... or in case their little meeting was stumbled upon. Glancing over his shoulder to confirm they weren't about to be surprised by any of the building's local inhabitants, Oliver couldn't help but stifle a little sigh; what had seemed a simple enough Smash and Smash S'more had just turned considerably more complicated. He was sharing a room with a man of uncertain origins, and decidedly mysterious motivations; on the one hand, if Oliver stood down completely and turned his back, he might find this costumed fella planting a knife between his shoulderblades. On the other, if he decided this guy must have been up to no good and fired the first shot, he might be turning a potential ally into an enemy, and starting a fight that would only bring the rest of the building's population down on both their heads.

Normally, Ollie would just have gone with the shooting; sure, this guy was armored, but a blunt arrow across the cheekbone, jaw or skull would do wonders to taking him out of commission. But something about the way this particular one carried himself suggested that he wouldn't go down quite so easily as the ones who had come before; maybe it was the fact that generally people who went to all the expense of putting together expensive-looking armored bodysuits were generally worthy of the attire. Maybe it was just gut instinct.

So Oliver decided to take a risk.

"I'd ask what you're doing here," he said quietly, head tilted just a little as his arms lowered even further, effectively lowering his guard. Underneath his simple hood, his own identity was concealed by a domino mask, eyes gleaming dangerously from beneath the shadowed depths. "But that'd be just a little hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? So we're going to try a slightly more useful question on for size, instead. I'm here to wipe out this little bunch of merry minstrels before they can peddle any of their crap to the folks around here; if it comes right down to it, I'll torch their stock before letting them sell it. So, my question is singular, but very important to the quality of both our nights; are you here to stop me, watch me, or help me take the bastards down?"

[Dick Grayson - Nightwing]

Dick waited for the man's next action. With the arrow still pointed at him, Dick was some what relieved when he saw some stack from to the tension sting. It wasn't much, but it was enough of a sign for Dick to take it as a situation that could be solved without a show down. Though he still didn't like the arrow still having tension to as to show that the man was still alert and ready to aim and shot in seconds.

With how fast he had been and accurate, this guy seemed with the weapon, Dick didn't want to take any chances. He kept on his toes to be on the safe side. He had enough experience when approaching new comers. All those years with the Titans help with that as well when you dealt with aliens and meta-humans.

He was glad to hear that the man was at least going to give it a slight chance to see what he was after as well rather than shoot first and ask questions later. After the man spoke he dropped his arms back along his side. He kept alert to what was around him.

No one was around at the moment, but that could always change in a matter of seconds. He stayed quiet and listened to the man as he spoke again. His own eyes narrowed he watched the man's movement as he dropped the tension in the bow. Ok, so the guy was giving him a chance. If it had been another way, Dick would have attacked.

"Alright, so that answers my question," Dick replied, more calm and relaxed in tone. Though given they were still in the enemies territory. "I didn't come all the way out here tonight just to stalk some archer on a rooftop. At least we're on the same page of taken down these crooks. So, to answer you question in short. Count me in."

Sure he had dragged his answer out a bit, but it was also a bit of his way to get a better idea of who he was dealing with. He could tell is someone was impatient and seemed rushy or liked to strategize. But they the way the guy seemed to be able to keep calm and steady with the aim or his weapon, he could tell he probably took things seriously and didn't like people wasting his time.

Dick kept an eye out for any sights of life around them. So far, every was still clear for the moment. "Though I do have one more question. Who exactly are you? The bow an arrow and the hood would lead one to think of Robin Hood. I'm just saying," Dick said, with a hint that he was joking on the last part. Hardly the time or place to be joking around.

[oliver]

"It's the beard, right?" Chuckling just a little, the Archer shook his head and led the way down the nearest makeshift corridor between crates, pausing for only a moment to peer around each corner. "Fair enough, I guess, I am a loooong way from home... I used to operate in a little place called Star City, back in the bygone days; street level crime, mostly, occasional idiot in a costume who needed an arrow shoved up the worst possible place. Nothing big, mind you, nothing, er..." He briefly considered Gotham's primary resident. "Well, nothing borderline mythological. Just a guy with a bow and a hankering to use them... I've been, er, out of commission for a couple of years now, taking it easy... you know how it is." Glancing at the other vigilante and pausing to consider the obvious quality of his gear- and the discipline that all but oozed off him- he added. "Or maybe you don't. Anyway, it turns out that retirement is really, really boring when you're not even thirty, so back to the nightly grind for me."

And then they just happened to round a corner at almost the same time one of the thugs was approaching from the other side; this particularly crook was actually surprisingly quiet on his feet, and it wasn't until Oliver peeked around the bend per usual that he even realized the man was standing there. There was a brief, almost awkward moment when their eyes met, a moment stretched out all the more when Oliver realized the guy was packing nothing short

No time to switch to a blunt arrowhead, and he wasn't about to dive for cover trusting a guy he'd never met before to avoid getting his ass shot instead. So, with only the briefest pause and a heart beating so hard he thought it'd burst from his chest, he swung his arm back up into a firing position. Lift, snap, shot. The movement was so quick, and so fluid, that Oliver went from his relaxed postured to a firing stance and back in the time it took the arrow to cross the room; with a sharp squawk, the man's arms flew back under the impact of the shot, his rifle going high and giving a few curious clicks as the thug's finger squeezed the trigger. There was no bang, no flash, no gunfire, however, and when the stumbling crook finally brought his arms back down, it was clear why; the narrow, titanium-tipped arrow had punctured the assault rifle, just above the trigger guard, puncturing the firing mechanism and jamming the pin.

Gaping, the thug looked back up just in time to catch a blunt arrow right across the bridge of the nose, pitching backwards with a crunch of bone and cartilege. Down like a sack of bricks the man went, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Call me Green Arrow," he finally replied and, pausing just long enough to retrieve the blunt arrow- the sharp one was too firmly lodged in the gun to be retrieved- he glanced towards the ceiling. "Look, not to be a negative ninny or nothing, but I'm thinking if we stick together like glue and taffy, we'll probably end up just making a bigger target. Pretty sure the second floor's where the bulk of 'em will be, and there are two stairwells up there... think if we catch them in a pincer, we might be able to make the little piggies squeal..." Glancing the vigilante up and down, his mischievious grin widened; "And, hey, not saying you'd be the better distraction, but you are the one wearing bulletproof armor, right?"

[Dick Grayson - Nightwing]

Dick gave a slight smile at the man’s reaction and followed him through the crates that created rooms and alley ways within the warehouse. This was a rather pleasant change to be able to work with someone who wasn’t so up tight and dead serious for a change. Sure it had been a while, but most of the old ‘heroes’ or legends seemed to be dead set on their work. Though they did have a lighter side to them from time to time. Where he was raised there wasn’t much of a chance of that to happen any time soon.

”Something tells me after living the vigilante life, one would find it hard to just sit back and play golf or anything like that,” Dick replied. ”Then again, that could just be me. Beside nothing compares to jumping of thirty story buildings or just missing a brush of a bullet. Never mind forget the bullet part of that.”

After the quick chat for a bit, Dick still followed the man around a bit. The guy seemed to have the situation down and know where he was going. And even with the surprise of a thug around the corner, the guy was quick on his feet. Dick was quite impressed with the man’s archery skill. He had managed the jam the gun and take down the crook, at least leaving the guy unconscious. It was good to see someone that used a weapon such as the bow an arrow not to just ‘hunt’ people down.

”I should have guessed,” Dick smirked when the guy said he was called Green Arrow. He walked away from the crates and watched Green Arrow retrieve an arrow. After he spoke about splitting up to lead an attack to trap the thugs on the second floor, that was a good thought at the time. It all depended on the security.

”This suit is fire-resistant, triple-weave Kevlar-lined material, and can protect from electrical currents, but not bullet proof. The one problem when you’re more flexible and quick is that bullet proof material would make it harder to move in a suit. Do I looked like Batman to you,” Dick asked, half jokingly, and then added. ”It’s the one thing that just wouldn't work with this suit flexibility wise.”

”As far as being a target, I may not be as fast as Superman, but I can manage my own at dodge things like that,” he replied. He gave smile over the new challenge. Which he saw more as fun than work. Regular street thug with guns was one thing Gotham didn’t lack.

Then Dick heard something from both direction behind him and in the direction behind Green Arrow. Two more men had come down to check on what ever was going on in this operation. ”Though we might want to take out these guys first before we think about getting to the stairs,” he commented.

Without warning, Nightwing charge for the man behind him. And as soon as the man saw him coming and tried to pull a left hook, Nightwing easily dodged it and avoided the easily seen coming hit. It wasn’t that hard to pick up on this kind of stuff. As soon as he dodged he stood off to the side of the man and landed a high spinning kick from behind at the mans back. This brought the man down forward. As soon as the man was down, Nightwing landed and quickly jumped and grabbed the man by the material of his jacket at his shoulder and did a summersault to toss him out of the way and into some crates to try and knock him out for a bit. Just enough to buy them some time.