Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2013 23:47:41 GMT -5
Vic Sage sat in his GTO, watching the decommissioned USS Essex, a World War Two aircraft carrier designated CV-9, through binoculars. His view wasn’t the best, and he couldn’t see much of the flight deck from his position, but he was able to see who went on and off the ship. Notably, he’d seen the Huntress be carried onto the ship some hours ago. He had every reason to believe that the Huntress was the masked identity of one Helena Bertinelli, a woman he’d had a relationship with for a year at Cambridge before he’d been told he had to leave by their instructor, Richard Dragon. He’d taken his leave as directed though he had surreptitiously watched her ever since.
He’d learned about the truth of her American family before she had, and he had expected her to be in trouble when she returned to Gotham. Instead, the Bertinelli family had taken Helena in and made her a figurehead of sorts. She was to be their princess, in a manner of speaking, and they had planned on marrying her off to another family to cement a pact between them, but the feisty Helena had other plans. She’d reordered much of the family business to give it more of a legal front and, through an inheritance from her father and a number of crafty investments, had built up a legitimate fortune of her own that even her own family couldn’t touch. She’d also developed a habit for late night excursions in purple latex. While he had never seen her actually change costumes, he recognized the fighting style. The Dragon had trained several people over the years, but Vic knew who at least most of them were. There was no question in his mind that Helena was the Huntress.
Vic looked up the history of the Essex on a stolen smart phone, digging into the ship’s past and found that it had been leased by the Gotham Police Department, apparently for training purposes, though the account the money came from was private and sheltered in a private bank headquartered in Switzerland. Obviously, it wasn’t the GPD that had paid for the use of the ship, and he didn’t believe they were using it, either. A standard investigation would stop there and give the true culprit both warning and time to distance himself from the ship by the time the real account was investigated. He loaded the information into a memory card and then double-checked to make sure he wasn’t being watched. He pulled his mask on and activated it with the binary gas, turning his clothes blue and orange. A second squirt on the outside surface of the car changed it from red to a deep blue, and the image of license plates on the car disappeared as well.
He looked up at the ship and saw a figure moving stealthily aboard. He pulled out a spy glass to get a better look and identified the person as reporter Vicki Vale, one of the few people that he considered a friend. He clenched his teeth; while he didn't know exactly what she was getting into, he did know it wasn't good. Finally, though, he felt that it was time to move in.
The Question slid a modified paint lid opener into the ignition slot and turned the large motor over. The big car had a low, ominous growl as it idled. It waited, like a jungle cat on the hunt, to be allowed to roar and leap after its prey. The Tiger would be disappointed today, though. The Question slid the gear selector into drive and idled down to the water front. The lights remained off, and the Tiger slid through the night, quietly on the prowl. When he was close to the gate, he gently applied the parking break, bringing the vehicle to an easy stop without any light betraying his position. He stepped out of the car and quietly checked his inventory. Both guns were loaded and the safeties were off. He had six spare clips, three for each gun, loaded and ready, a lighter, Gerber utility tool, hunting knives concealed in the arms of the trench coat, two cigars, four road flares, and other miscellaneous equipment to help him figure out what was going on.
He didn’t bother approaching the gate to the pier. Instead, he went over the fence where the cameras were blocked by a warehouse. Crates and litter had been allowed to collect on the pier, which made it easy for The Question to move closer to the ship undetected. He never gave the boarding plank any real consideration, but instead climbed the mooring line. He heard an explosion while he was climbing and felt a faint vibration from them through the line. He continued his climb and entered the ship through the hawse hole.
Before leaving the space, he pulled out a magnometer. The device would pick up magnetic flows within roughly 20 feet of him, which meant it would be able to detect virtually any electrical circuit within range. The range wasn’t great, but hopefully it would warn him of any surveillance cameras in place before he wandered into them. Unfortunately, it would also warn him every time he approached a sound-powered phone, and there would be no way to tell the two apart.
Another explosion went off while he was making his way through the ship. The deck vibrated under him slightly, but there was no way he could tell the direction or distance of the blast. It did relieve him, though; there wouldn’t be multiple blasts if the Huntress were down. He stopped and listened for a moment, and was rewarded with a muffled conversation. He shut the detector off and put it back into one of the pockets hidden in his coat, then pulled out a knife and slowly approached the scene. A bank of monitors was set up in a room, along with a man that was sitting in an executive office chair that didn’t belong on this ship. A quick scan of the monitors showed him the location of Huntress and her companion, and he heard them talking.
She was probably right about the magazines. The 38s and the 20mm and 40mm canons would have their ammunition close at hand and smoke floats would be stored near the flight deck, all for easy access. The magazines for the aircraft, though, would be deeper in the ship and definitely larger. The thought of how much ammunition a Wildcat or Avenger could go through on a mission was impressive.
He pulled out a spyglass to better see the monitors that tracked her travel, and was able to get a decent idea of where she was in the ship and where she was headed. The threat of there being children on the ship was something that couldn’t be easily discounted, but as of yet, he hadn’t seen any, and there were no monitors that showed children on the panel. Until he had better information, he wasn’t planning on risking anyone’s life on the threat of children at risk.
He went back the way he’d come, remembering something he’d seen. Someone had apparently been welding on the ship; the oxygen and acetylene tanks were where he remembered them. He made sure they were closed, and then unhooked them from the welding unit. They were heavy, but he’d carried worse. He made his way back to the monitoring room and carefully set the cylinders down before turning his attention back to the man in the seat. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to let him through, but something had alerted the man inside. The stranger rose from the chair and attacked The Question, but he stopped short when he realized his adversary had no face. The distraction was long enough. The Question sprang forward, his knife appearing in his hand. His right hand directed the knife into the man’s abdomen, plunging deeply into his intestines but missing any vital organs. His left hand clamped over the man’s mouth and drove him hard, backwards into the monitors.
“We’re going to go find the Huntress, and you’re going to tell me everything you know about the location of the alleged children. It would be in your best interests to make this as quick as possible. Septic shock will kill you in a few hours, depending on various things, if you don’t bleed out by then.”
“You’re just another freak show,” the man growled through gritted teeth after The Question had removed the gloved hand covering his mouth. “I’m not helping you do sh –“
The Question twisted the knife in his abdomen, cutting off anything he might have and sending in fresh, new waves of agony.
“What you’re not going to do is get in my way or slow me down. If that means you die here, so be it. So, now you have a choice to make: live or die.”
The man croaked out that he wanted to live. With that, The Question pulled the knife out of his abdomen and struck him on the side of the head with the butt of the handle. He let the dazed man fall back into the chair and then brought the oxygen and acetylene into the room, opened the tanks, and rigged a flare to the door. He dragged the man into the hallway and carefully closed the door and dogged it down. If someone decided to enter the room again, there was a very good possibility of the explosion taking out several compartments and starting a toasty fire on the ship.
He pulled the man to his feet again and twisted an arm behind his back. Then, he forced the man to march in front of him, leading him to the Huntress. Several minutes and a pint or so of blood later, they came upon a compartment door that was open. He could hear footsteps on the other side and peeked through the door. He smiled at seeing the purple cape and raven hair. She was being cautious, but not in a fighting stance, so he assumed there was not an immediate threat. Even so, he kept his guide as a personal body shield as he entered the room.
“Hi there. I’m here to help, and so is this guy. If you have a bandaid for him, it might be a good idea. But don’t trust him, and don’t let him get away.”
He’d learned about the truth of her American family before she had, and he had expected her to be in trouble when she returned to Gotham. Instead, the Bertinelli family had taken Helena in and made her a figurehead of sorts. She was to be their princess, in a manner of speaking, and they had planned on marrying her off to another family to cement a pact between them, but the feisty Helena had other plans. She’d reordered much of the family business to give it more of a legal front and, through an inheritance from her father and a number of crafty investments, had built up a legitimate fortune of her own that even her own family couldn’t touch. She’d also developed a habit for late night excursions in purple latex. While he had never seen her actually change costumes, he recognized the fighting style. The Dragon had trained several people over the years, but Vic knew who at least most of them were. There was no question in his mind that Helena was the Huntress.
Vic looked up the history of the Essex on a stolen smart phone, digging into the ship’s past and found that it had been leased by the Gotham Police Department, apparently for training purposes, though the account the money came from was private and sheltered in a private bank headquartered in Switzerland. Obviously, it wasn’t the GPD that had paid for the use of the ship, and he didn’t believe they were using it, either. A standard investigation would stop there and give the true culprit both warning and time to distance himself from the ship by the time the real account was investigated. He loaded the information into a memory card and then double-checked to make sure he wasn’t being watched. He pulled his mask on and activated it with the binary gas, turning his clothes blue and orange. A second squirt on the outside surface of the car changed it from red to a deep blue, and the image of license plates on the car disappeared as well.
He looked up at the ship and saw a figure moving stealthily aboard. He pulled out a spy glass to get a better look and identified the person as reporter Vicki Vale, one of the few people that he considered a friend. He clenched his teeth; while he didn't know exactly what she was getting into, he did know it wasn't good. Finally, though, he felt that it was time to move in.
The Question slid a modified paint lid opener into the ignition slot and turned the large motor over. The big car had a low, ominous growl as it idled. It waited, like a jungle cat on the hunt, to be allowed to roar and leap after its prey. The Tiger would be disappointed today, though. The Question slid the gear selector into drive and idled down to the water front. The lights remained off, and the Tiger slid through the night, quietly on the prowl. When he was close to the gate, he gently applied the parking break, bringing the vehicle to an easy stop without any light betraying his position. He stepped out of the car and quietly checked his inventory. Both guns were loaded and the safeties were off. He had six spare clips, three for each gun, loaded and ready, a lighter, Gerber utility tool, hunting knives concealed in the arms of the trench coat, two cigars, four road flares, and other miscellaneous equipment to help him figure out what was going on.
He didn’t bother approaching the gate to the pier. Instead, he went over the fence where the cameras were blocked by a warehouse. Crates and litter had been allowed to collect on the pier, which made it easy for The Question to move closer to the ship undetected. He never gave the boarding plank any real consideration, but instead climbed the mooring line. He heard an explosion while he was climbing and felt a faint vibration from them through the line. He continued his climb and entered the ship through the hawse hole.
Before leaving the space, he pulled out a magnometer. The device would pick up magnetic flows within roughly 20 feet of him, which meant it would be able to detect virtually any electrical circuit within range. The range wasn’t great, but hopefully it would warn him of any surveillance cameras in place before he wandered into them. Unfortunately, it would also warn him every time he approached a sound-powered phone, and there would be no way to tell the two apart.
Another explosion went off while he was making his way through the ship. The deck vibrated under him slightly, but there was no way he could tell the direction or distance of the blast. It did relieve him, though; there wouldn’t be multiple blasts if the Huntress were down. He stopped and listened for a moment, and was rewarded with a muffled conversation. He shut the detector off and put it back into one of the pockets hidden in his coat, then pulled out a knife and slowly approached the scene. A bank of monitors was set up in a room, along with a man that was sitting in an executive office chair that didn’t belong on this ship. A quick scan of the monitors showed him the location of Huntress and her companion, and he heard them talking.
She was probably right about the magazines. The 38s and the 20mm and 40mm canons would have their ammunition close at hand and smoke floats would be stored near the flight deck, all for easy access. The magazines for the aircraft, though, would be deeper in the ship and definitely larger. The thought of how much ammunition a Wildcat or Avenger could go through on a mission was impressive.
He pulled out a spyglass to better see the monitors that tracked her travel, and was able to get a decent idea of where she was in the ship and where she was headed. The threat of there being children on the ship was something that couldn’t be easily discounted, but as of yet, he hadn’t seen any, and there were no monitors that showed children on the panel. Until he had better information, he wasn’t planning on risking anyone’s life on the threat of children at risk.
He went back the way he’d come, remembering something he’d seen. Someone had apparently been welding on the ship; the oxygen and acetylene tanks were where he remembered them. He made sure they were closed, and then unhooked them from the welding unit. They were heavy, but he’d carried worse. He made his way back to the monitoring room and carefully set the cylinders down before turning his attention back to the man in the seat. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to let him through, but something had alerted the man inside. The stranger rose from the chair and attacked The Question, but he stopped short when he realized his adversary had no face. The distraction was long enough. The Question sprang forward, his knife appearing in his hand. His right hand directed the knife into the man’s abdomen, plunging deeply into his intestines but missing any vital organs. His left hand clamped over the man’s mouth and drove him hard, backwards into the monitors.
“We’re going to go find the Huntress, and you’re going to tell me everything you know about the location of the alleged children. It would be in your best interests to make this as quick as possible. Septic shock will kill you in a few hours, depending on various things, if you don’t bleed out by then.”
“You’re just another freak show,” the man growled through gritted teeth after The Question had removed the gloved hand covering his mouth. “I’m not helping you do sh –“
The Question twisted the knife in his abdomen, cutting off anything he might have and sending in fresh, new waves of agony.
“What you’re not going to do is get in my way or slow me down. If that means you die here, so be it. So, now you have a choice to make: live or die.”
The man croaked out that he wanted to live. With that, The Question pulled the knife out of his abdomen and struck him on the side of the head with the butt of the handle. He let the dazed man fall back into the chair and then brought the oxygen and acetylene into the room, opened the tanks, and rigged a flare to the door. He dragged the man into the hallway and carefully closed the door and dogged it down. If someone decided to enter the room again, there was a very good possibility of the explosion taking out several compartments and starting a toasty fire on the ship.
He pulled the man to his feet again and twisted an arm behind his back. Then, he forced the man to march in front of him, leading him to the Huntress. Several minutes and a pint or so of blood later, they came upon a compartment door that was open. He could hear footsteps on the other side and peeked through the door. He smiled at seeing the purple cape and raven hair. She was being cautious, but not in a fighting stance, so he assumed there was not an immediate threat. Even so, he kept his guide as a personal body shield as he entered the room.
“Hi there. I’m here to help, and so is this guy. If you have a bandaid for him, it might be a good idea. But don’t trust him, and don’t let him get away.”