Imagine is easily able to slip out of the mental link. There doesn't seem to be any pressure or compulsion applied.
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Imagine comes to and blinks a few times, rousing herself from the unusually deep mind-comm.
'Whahaha?' she thinks out, taking in the scene. 'Put it back in your pants, Aterro. These are friends.'
After the LexSec are assured that Kara is truly back among them, she starts to debrief Sinter and Shale, while the LexSec properly secure Ms. Steel and her abandoned suit. 'Whoa. That was weirder than marshmallows. So, our good friend The Question sicced Ms Steel after me -knowing- that I would win and I'd get all elbow-deep into her grey matter. While doing so, I talked to him, and his boy-toy Mr. The Brain Wave-King. They said I should shut up and sit down. I said if they were gonna save everyone I would, but he didn't have no response for that, as if he wasn't there.
Anyway, yeah, that guy doesn't want us doing whatever it is that we're doing...but he didn't say who else would do it. Ugh, if he -wants- to be the guy that saves Atlantians, he shoulda just saved all the Atlantians, amirite?
Man, that totes wiped me. Hey, you guys want some mojitos?'
A quick glance to the side reveals a wet bar that is truly legendary.
As the Chinook-class LexCorp helicopter turns and speeds toward Lex Tower, bottles of rum, lime juice and soda water begin to pour and mix themselves. A glance at their brand names quickly recognizes them as "the good stuff".
'Hey, Ms Steel, you want a mojito?'
"Why yes, Kara that would be lovely. You are not only the hotest girl on the planet, but also the most considerate."
'Well thank you kindly. But don't think that flattery will get you out of the brainbar. You like being a pawn so much? Well you hit the big baggie. Imma introduce you to a real special man. You'll call him 'sir'. I call him daddy.'
Sinter showing his usual level of befuddlement asks "What's weird about marshmallows?"
But after the suggestion of handing Steel over to Lex "Wait a sec there, I don't think that's such a good idea. Your Daddy does have a bit of a questionable reputation, so this won't reflect well on the team. "
"I agree. If Steel violated any laws, she should be turned over to the proper authorities to be arraigned. If not, then she should be free to go. In either case, taking captive would be unlawful. And as for her suit, it should go where she goes; it is not LexCorp property."
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Kara snaps her fingers in front of the other two, while the Lex Sec calmly ignore what's going on and go about the serious business of checking over the bird and securing the outer perimeter. 'Uh, hello? Hello? Earth to the Tweedle brothers. I _just_ said that Mr. Quesion(s his sexual identity) is throwing shade all up in mah grill AND has a brain-guy on his team with enough Ch-utzpah to call *ME* out, and all you can think about is the safety of the pawn the he _intentionally_ sacrificed??
Hey, now, so, let's all calm down here. We need to focus on what's important here. Did ANY of you guys have any other run ins with the Mr. Amazing Too Good For Names guy? Doesn't something here seem a little bit off about him? Doesn't this seem a little bit, Idunno, Villain-y?
So, we need to take a step back, re-group, and think about what's important, yeah? Right now we need to find out what's going on, and she's our only link, so we've gotta kinda follow it, yeah?'
Despite actually pronouncing it "Chutpah" and not the proper 'Hutzpah' Kara has made a reasonable, rational, and well thought out argument for refocusing on the immediate threat, in a calm and safety-minded manner.
'Oh, and let's keep in mind that -she- attacked _ME_. I was on my way home, minding my own business and she ACCOSTED ME! Just...look!'
One of the several flat-screen monitors blares to life, and it does show the forward gun-cam moving along, until the armored Ms. Steel stops the bird and starts shouting challenges to Imagine. Also, the LexSec have gotten rather still. They all have at least one eye on the trio now, and none of them something in their right hands.
'So, I'm being merciful right now. There's a little thing called "The Law". You might've heard of it? Under the Stand Your Ground law, I have EVERY right to defend myself! Hell, and since I was in a vehicle, I'm even covered by the Castle Doctrine! I could blow her brains out RIGHT NOW and I'm PERFECTLY within my legal rights!
But, she stepped up and threw her ass on the table and rolled the dice. She lost. So, she's gonna have a talk with the Big Man, because this is bigger than me. It's bigger than us. All of us. Do either of you have a line on what the butt The Question is doing? Or where he is? Nope. So, we need help.
The suit I'm throwing in as evidence. Or the right of the conqueror. Or Finders Keepers. Pick whichever one you like.
So, you can back off and let me save our asses, again, or,'
Captain Aterro lock and loads his assault rifle and points it Ms. Steel's calmly smiling head.
'Or I start to exercise MY F!#*ING RIGHTS!'
"Now I know I'm not smart, but that was gibberish. You dad is not the authorities. She's also out now, and which point you can't do anything more to her. I'm calling the cops. " and he will use his radio powers to summon the MPD.
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"Oh, no," Kara actualy voice-speaks. "Allow me."
She gets out her L-phone and presses one button. She keeps the answering voice on speaker, but then takes it off once it's answered, but all parties can hear her side of the conversation.
*Thank you for calling the office of the chief of police. How can I help you?*
Kara takes it off speaker and start talking.
"Oh hey Betty, it's Kara. How was the trip to Tahiti? Did you hit the clubs I told you about? Hey! Super!
Anyway, I had a little dust up at about 500 feet up. Get this, some chicky tried to mug me! I know right? Oh no, the boys weren't with me, I was on a date with _totally_ hot guy." She gives Sinter a grin and a wink.
"So, yeah, you might've had some calls about it. Oh, you did already? Okay, great. Super, so you can call them off now, and let your dispatchers know. Anyway, I'm fine, I'm probably not gonna press charges, but she may need medical attention, so Imma take her over to the Tower and get her looked at, alrighty? Great. Thanks, and tell the Chief I said hi. Oh and I loved the muffins his wife made! Thanks, later!"
She hangs up.
"Ryan, be a good lad and read Mr. Sinter United Nations Proclamation LL-23, which is public record and anyone can look up and verify?"
One of the LexSec obviously calls up something on his HUD and reads off an official sounding proclamation. The important parts sum up to: "Whereas! LexCorp, being of critical need and superior position to defend and advance the human condition throughout the planet, and
Whereas LexCorp is beneficially active in numerous countries,
It is hereby proclaimed to be an Political Entity unto itself, and it, and it's designated agents, are to be considered Diplomats in their respective countries, and afforded all benefits therein. Up to, and including, to not be SUSCEPTIBLE to their laws therein. Entry 37 includes the lawful daughter of Lex Luthor, Kara Luthor, as such an agent."
The trooper goes silent.
"Diplomatic immunity, chummer. You can look that up as you file your formal complaint."
She winks again.
"Hey! Mojitos anyone?"
The chopper flies on.
Shale glances at Sinter and then just rolls his eyes. He zips up to the chopper, and then finding a sturdy bit of the frame to hang on to, slows, and then just stops running. Since most commercial helicopters fly fairly close to their max weight, having a fairly narrow relative margin for cargo, the addition of an extra 10000 lbs of weight, as represented by Shale's ultra-dense form, is enough to cause the vehicle to instantly stop in place and begin a rapid decent. Alarms blaring, the helicopter starts to drift towards the ground, it appearing to any observer as though Shale is pulling it down with one hand.
Shale sends Imagine a transmission on the JLA frequency, so only Sinter, VICTOR, and other JLA members can hear it, "Kara, cease this prattle, and land this aircraft immediately. As a LexCorp vehicle I have no doubt this craft has some sort of special propulsion that could handle my weight, but I guarantee things would change were I to start exerting even the slightest bit of effort. You've seen me rip a tank in half; think you that your aircraft will survive? Do not test me; I can catch every one of your men before they hit the ground, so I endanger no one by acting on this. Mind control me into releasing you and you'll have crossed a line you cannot come back from."
As they approach the ground, Shale continues his lecture, "Castle Doctrine applies only to an active threat, and while interpretation of such doctrine varies within each State that uses it, there are none that would allow either the harm or rapture of an insensible foe.
"And even were what you say about being a nation unto itself true, international law dictates that local laws must be observed while acting within the boundaries of a signatory's sovereign territory. Should you feel you have a legal claim, you can apply for extradition. Furthermore, while Diplomatic Immunity might render you beyond the penalty of law in another nation without due process, it offers no protection against intervention concerning a crime in progress."
"To wit, release the girl, and her property. On this point I shall not yield!"
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But there is a large Lex-Corp chinook helicopter approaching with a belly full of ten angry men wondering why the hell she dropped off the grid.
"Do, do you like, take a class in How To Be Ironic or something? So, you _just_ said 'no kidnapping' aaaaaaand you're doing, what, right now? Kinda looks like you're trying to keep me from going anywhere. And that, that would kinda be kidnapping, wouldn't it? Captain Aterro, would that be kidnapping?
*ksshk* And theft. *ksshk*
"Yeah! AND you're Grand Theft Autoing _MY_ helicopter. Now, I'm just a small, tiny girl, trying to make her way in this big, cold, uncaring world.
And here you are, a big strong man, trying to have your way with me, making me do what you want by using your great big throbbing bigness. I'm sorry, but, I really can't allow you to mug me like this.
AND we're using powers now? I'm sorry, I thought we were just talking. Just talking this out like reasonable people. Let the record show! who was the first to go superhuman on this.
AND you want to set rules?!?! Oh my! Oh. Mah. Goodmeth! Bloody well jolly good what! I say, do lets have some Queensbury rules here, what?
Fine. I'll not convince you to like men for the rest of your life, and you....hmmmmm...you keep that man-blade in your pocket. Talk about crossed lines, you whip your Big Throbber out and I'll lock you down so hard you'll beg me to braid your hair. Deal? Sweet.
Someone lock that b#$%$ down. I gotta concentrate in the 'lack of an equal and opposite' kinda way."
The LexSec gather behind Kara and gag Natasha, complete with a CrushProt intrinsic helmet built into the fuselage, encasing her head and keeping her safe, and blind and unsensing, in case of a crash.
Imagine's face screws up and Shale suddenly finds himself...lighter. A moment before he was drawn to the Earth with the attraction of a mountain, and now he seems to be...falling up? It's a very odd sensation.
Though she's only spoken of late, and she's not looking at you, her familiar voice enter your head. 'Dude. Man. Dudeman. I need you to ride this one out, yeah? I _can't_ let her go. No no no. It's not because of me. But if it gets out that someone got in _my_ grill and walked away??? People don't call out Luthor's and walk away. It's not done. Once he finds out, and he _will_ then......
You can't do anything. Shale? He's a boy scout. The boys will non-lethal him. He'll be fine. But you? You don't do non-lethal. Fire doesn't burn only kinda. Something catches on fire, that's usually the end of it. So if you do your thing, there's only one way this goes.
Look, Natasha's a big girl. She knew what she was getting in to. Nothing's going to happen to her that she didn't already sign on for. Also, we gotta get this Question guy. She's our _only_ link. Or else what? What's our next step? We _need_ her to talk. My thing doesn't work. BrainWave is already a head of me. We need bigger guns.
Just...you gotta have my back on this, 'kay?'
Kara's facade quivers a little as she's levitating Shale up, but it's quickly back. Likely you're the only one who noticed.
"What's happening? How is going?
Without moving his lips, Brainwave replies"Everything is going according to plan. She is in conflict with SHALE. Sinter is currently on the fence, but given that she is behaving exactly as we predicted, Sinter should fall our way. Do you want me to give him a nudge? Natasha is fine. Kara is keeping her physically safe. I'm sure I can repair any psychic damage that occurs. Regardless, we have her tape, so we can always reboot if necessary."
The Question replies, "No, let Sinter make his own decision. He is innocent in all of this. Besides, if we lose him, there is always plan C."
Shale begins to pull against the helicopter, starting to pump his feet against the air to build up some air pressure in order to have the traction he needs to apply his strength. He tries, for the moment, not to damage the superstructure, or merely rip the frame of the helicopter in half inadvertently, trying to soften his grip as he hears the groaning of steel.
"Intervening in a Kidnapping is not Kidnapping in and of itself. You are trying to make a mockery of common sense, in the same way you mocked the questions we had of you upon the Watchtower mere days ago. If you insist on playing the fool then conversation becomes pointless. Act as an adult or we will have to treat you like a child. I am not advocating letting her go, merely pointing out that there are proper authorities! You are not the law, and heroes must be bound by the same law they protect or it means nothing. Come with me and escort her to a lawful detention centre. We will interrogate her there, with the eyes of the magistrate baring legal witness and the confidence of her barrister, should she wish it!"
The helicopter continues to lose altitude, settling towards the street below.
Sinter mostly looks confused at the situation.
he thinks back If you attack a teammate of mine, I will defend him. You know that.
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Imagine makes a motion toward the squad of LexSec. Each one jitters a little she boosts there already impressive physique to heightened capacity.
Then she stares daggers at Shale as the massive helicopter struggles against his exertions.
'Fine. But don't think this is over.'
As if by it's own volition, the various braces, shackles, ties, gags, cuffs and screws securing Natasha Irons retract and he skinsuit-wearing body is flung over the copter's precipice, over Shale shoulder.
'You want her? Go get her! But the suit comes with me. That's the deal.'
Bravo squad of the LecSec advance on Shale, forming a wall of flesh and metal.
*kssk*You will now release the LexCorp property and escort the criminal Natasha Irons to the Police Building downtown. Any other actions will be considered criminal activity and will be dealt with accordingly.*kssk*
Shale sighs to himself at the continued childishness displayed by his teammate. He releases the helicopter and delivers Steel safely to the ground. He glances up at the helicopter and briefly considers answering her childishness with childishness. He imagined the smug satisfaction he would feel as Imagine looked around at herself and her goons to find them drifting along through the air, her entire helicopter dismantled and nearly arranged piece by piece, bolt by bolt, all along the ground, down to the last nut. He could do it too; a few hundred thousand actions in the span of a microsecond was doable, and 'hand-tight' applies to just about everything at his strength, though fetching the proper tools was also not really a challenge if absolutely necessary.
However, despite how satisfying that would probably feel, it would probably just provoke her to something even more ludicrously immature. Turning to where Sinter is levetating he says, "We are going to have to do something about this. Regardless of whatever aspersions the Question and his associates are casting on her, this behaviour is causing significant issues of its own. We cannot have a member of the league kidnapping foes and fabricating laws as she pleases. To have a member of the League acting in clear violation of local laws is unacceptable, from both a moral and public relations standpoint. This vexes me."
"Well we stopped the kidnapping. Maybe she'll learn. I think she means well. I think she just relies on her dad a lot. "
The dream comes, always the dream. Screaming, hatred, anger, rage... I understand who they are, even though I can not understand them. My father, the one that gave me my ... body, and my chains. He hated someone, a flying black bat, a little boy in red, there is anger their too. Disgust maybe. I think they call it disgust.
How can one man hate so much?
And then the screams are made real, the emotions are gone and the world swings back. No one noticed, they are too busy running. Burning buildings will do that. People are so fragile...
Lucky for them the loan man nursing a beer in the corner isn't what he seems, lucky I just happen to be here.
Push out the stray thoughts, focus on whats important, first I have to get these people to safety.
Where once sat a shabby man, now stands a monster of mud and clay. The beast surges out wordlessly pulling up terrified people in his wake.
The poor drunk girl that had tried to see if he would buy her a drink, now he bought her time...
The old man at the other side of the counter, drowning the memories of a war fought long before most of the others had been born....
The two young adults who had met for their first date..... strange place to choose, maybe they didn't want others to see them together.......
Finally the idiot boy who set the fire in the first place, all because the owner wouldn't pay his gang of clown worshipers for protection. This one is slammed in to the ground before being dragged unconscious through the door, makeup smearing and streaking away to reveal too young of a face.
Outside it is chaos. The frightened patrons run away from their savior... at least they are ok.
Leave the boy on a bench, bend the metal so he cant get away. Leave a full notice in a clay tablet on the ground and melt into the night, no one needs to know... they will be hunting for me soon enough, it's time for yet another change of persona. But' I didn't hurt anyone this time... at least no one who didn't have it coming. Maybe that is how this is done then... only hurt those who deserve it... but how do I know who.
Sinking back in to dreams, this time the dreams of a father who gave me freedom, someone who deserved better. There will be justice father. I will see to that.
The sound of sirens wailed far below. Perched where she was high above the streets, anyone in the same position would get nervous and move to a safer location. Whippoorwill sat on her haunches on the railing on one of the highest buildings in Star City, where one moment of imbalance or a strong gust of wind would send her plummeting into free fall.
But for one with huge wings grafted to her back and spine, this was a small threat.
She was in full battle regalia -- she hated to consider it a costume, but in some respects it was -- her canary-yellow outfit with matching red boots, gloves, belt and domino mask was arrayed with the bright white quills which were her main weapons, along with the coiled whip at her side. Her quills featured a variety of effects from stunning to explosive, giving her a number of options to deal with threats to her adopted city.
Her phone buzzed. Bringing it to her ear, she heard the voice of Robert Whetstone, the genius weapons designer who had developed her trick quills and special whip. "Hello, Songbird. You have a call from the police. Would you like me to patch it through?"
She raised her eyebrows in surprise at the unexpected call. She hadn't been approached before by SCPD, though she'd had a few run-ins with them and had dropped off a number of neutralized gang-bangers and thugs at the station. "Huh. Yeah, I guess. Let's see what they want."
"You know, a 'whip signal' would be so cool. I could put one together for you, just like they used in Gotham."
Whippoorwill rolls her eyes. "The SCPD have my, well, your phone number. And what would a giant spotlight show? A whip's just a squiggly line."
"One of your quills, then?"
She imagines a silhouette of one of her quills, designed to look like a simple white feather. "No, I will not have a symbol that could be mistaken for a corn dog. Now put him through."
After a moment of giggling on the other end, the phone clicks and a deep, resonant voice asks, "Hello?"
"This is Whippoorwill. Who's speaking?" she says in a polite yet serious tone.
"Captain O'Brien, SCPD special task force for metahuman incidents. I'd like to discuss with you a number of murders that were committed by a 'bird lady'."
Whippoorwill's mouth turns down into a frown. "All right. Let's meet."
O'Brien was standing alone on the precinct's roof when Whippoorwill glided to a landing. He shook his head in near-disbelief at her wings, which flapped and moved like living things. He watched awe for a moment, then put on his cop face as she approached.
Whippoorwill held out her hand and shook O'Brien's. Despite the Irish surname, he was black, yet exceedingly handsome. "Captain. A pleasure. How can I help you?" She wasn't entirely certain that the officer was there just to talk, but she decided to extend some trust to him. Damn, he's good looking. Okay, keep it professional, Bree.
O'Brien handed her a folder and invited her to look through it as he spoke. "I've been told to bring you in for questioning. See, there's been a series of murders lately. Gang members, drug dealers, addicts, cooks, you name it. At first, we thought it was just rival gang activity. But the witnesses all gave the same description. White, pale, possibly albino, female, naked, with a big ol' hand cannon of a gun."
Whippoorwill glanced at the composite sketch, then tugged a lock of her strawberry-blond hair in front of her face. "Sorry. Not seeing the resemblance. Surely I'm not a suspect?"
O'Brien shook his head. "I don't think you are, but here's the thing: witnesses also say she turns into a bird. Flies in, turns into a naked woman, shoots up the place, then turns back and flies off." He sighed in frustration. "We've been keeping this out of the press, but word's spreading through the gangs. It's getting out of hand. They are shooting at every pigeon they see, and it's only a matter of time before a stray bullet hits an innocent -- to say nothing of the fact that a lot of this woman's victims are just drug addicts who don't deserve to die.
"So, my superiors are hearing about you, and they hear 'bird lady', and they put two and two together. And get twenty-two."
Whippoorwill nodded, folding her arms. Typical. I suppose I should be grateful that at least this guy appears to have a brain. "I don't suppose that it does any good to point out that I don't use guns. Or turn into a bird. Or go around naked."
O'Brien smiled apologetically. "Not really. It'll get cleared up eventually, I'm sure, but in the time it takes, more people will get killed."
Whippoorwill thumbed through the composite sketches, the crime scene photos, and the ballistics reports. At the end, she found an old autopsy photo of a woman who looked very similar to the composite sketch. O'Brien saw her face when she noticed the likeness.
"I showed that to the witnesses. They all said it looked like exactly like her," he said.
"A twin, perhaps?"
"I don't think so. I found her photo in the file of one of the dealers when I was trying to find some connection between all the victims. Marcia Munroe. She was killed during a turf war that broke out when rumors of Green Arrow being gone for good turned out to be more than just a rumor.
"It's a weird world out there. Aliens, magic, giant robots... I have to keep my mind open. I wonder if this girl didn't die. Or, died and came back with powers and a mad hate for the types of people that originally killed her." O'Brien shrugged, figuring that he might get more understanding from a woman with wings.
She gave it to him. "I see. Makes as much sense as anything, I suppose. Now all we need is to give her a fancy villain name, and we're good to go," she joked.
"That's covered. The druggies have been calling her 'Mourning Dove.' They say it's a dove that she turns into. And she tells her victims, 'I'll mourn for you' before she kills them."
Perfect.
Whippoorwill readily agreed to assist with finding and subduing Mourning Dove. The finding, though, was going to be difficult. Captain O'Brien brought in some help, an agent with the DEA who he'd worked with to stop a Venom variant from making its way into Star City's streets a couple years back. Agent Greeley was a short spitfire of a woman, but knew the drug trade and was in agreement that the chaos Mourning Dove was creating had to stop. She'd already killed two informants, and she had undercover operatives that were in danger.
After several days of work and studying Mourning Dove's patterns, the trio determined that one of the original gang members responsible for Munroe's death was expected to arrive in Star City with a shipment of heroin. Though the DEA had planned to intercept the shipment prior to it reaching the city, Agent Greeley was able to get them to hold off to see if the shipment draws Mourning Dove.
Whippoorwill had insisted on going in alone. The DEA forces and SCPD would close in after the shipment arrived and detain anyone trying to flee. She could glide in unnoticed and observe the truck docks from a high vantage point, and intervene if Mourning Dove showed.
After several hours of the stakeout, the sound of a diesel truck snapped her attention to the warehouse. She watched the truck back onto the loading dock. Several people swarmed around the back, gold chains glinting and weapons protruded from licensed sportswear.
The proceedings went normally below as Whippoorwill waited, unhappy about watching the peddlers of the street poison conduct their trade beneath her very nose. She scanned the surrounding rooftops for signs of other figures, and keeping an eye out for birds.
A gunshot snapped her attention to the far side of the truck. Apparently, a pigeon had flown too close to the operation below and received a bullet for its mistake. As the other traffickers chided the shooter, Whippoorwill had to softly instruct the overeager agents to stand down. She had to wait longer.
When the packages were unloaded and several duffel bags of U.S. currency was exchanged, Whippoorwill was beginning to think Mourning Dove would be a no-show. Sighing in frustration, she jumped off her ledge and sailed silently down to the dock level. She touched down in the shadows and moved to the lone sentry in her area. A punch, kick, and chop to three nerve bundles put him down silently.
Stepping forward into the building, Whippoorwill froze, seeing a fluttering shape come in from the other side. No one else seemed to see it, busy as they were concluding the transaction. Even before it landed it started changing, legs stretching out to meet the ground, and wings extended into arms. The entire process took mere seconds, and finished with a naked, chalk-white female with dark eyes. She stepped into the light and Whippoorwill saw three more things about her: she wore a locket on a chain around her neck; held a large, powerful-looking handgun in her right hand; and did not appear fully human -- though naked, her body appeared unfinished and lacking detail, like an unpainted porcelain doll.
The drug dealers saw her and gave a cry of alarm, and everything happened at once. Whippoorwill started moving while the dealers scrambled for their guns, and Mourning Dove, without rush, said in a soft and sorrowful voice, "I'll mourn for you." She raised her gun.
"I'll mourn for you."
Whippoorwill had anticipated that Mourning Dove would offer that preamble before she fired her gun. Though it took a scant second or two, it was enough for Whippoorwill to fling three quills at three different men. As they started to collapse, she threw a different quill that erupted into a thick cloud of smoke right at Mourning Dove's feet.
"Go! Get out of here or she'll kill you!" Whippoorwill shouted as panic fire erupted all around her. A few did dive into the truck where a few cases still remained. Seeing that the truck still may have contraband inside it, Whippoorwill plucked a quill that was acting as an earring and threw it onto the mud flap of the truck. The bulk of the quill fell off, but it left a homing beacon so she could track it later if it got through the cordoned area.
The dealers not on the truck began opening up on the smoke cloud surrounding Mourning Dove with their assault weapons. Whippoorwill's whip lashed out at the nearest one, yanking the weapon from his grip and sending it flying across the dockyard.
The drug dealers all suddenly turned their attention to Whippoorwill, and more shots rang out. Cursing, the winged woman dove into motion, rolling behind a row of crates. Bullets tore into the wooden pallets, sending wood splinters everywhere. Wishing she was bulletproof, she plucks off a tear gas quill from her costume and tosses it at a cluster of gunmen.
Some satisfying coughing and gagging reached her ears, followed by gunfire that was not aimed at her. A loud, booming shot answered the staccato of semi-automatic fire, and Whippoorwill was in motion again.
"I'll mourn for you," the white woman said softly, and another drug dealer died. Whippoorwill emerged from the stacks of crates to see Mourning Dove pick another target.
Her whip lashed out with a resounding crack and entwined the huge pistol in the naked woman's hand. "That's enough! Time to put your toys away," She yanked hard on the cord, but the gun did not come loose, and now it was pointed in her direction.
"You would defend them? I'm sorry, but I'll mourn for you, too," Mourning Dove responds with a look of hurt and betrayal. The accusatory sadness carried by her voice settled over Whippoorwill like a heavy blanket. Her knees sagged under the weight of the emotional pain in her voice. A look in her eyes told Whippoorwill that she truly regretted doing this. Only an instinctual reaction at the last second snapped her head aside as the bullet whizzed by.
The hot hornet that brushed by her cheek brought Whippoorwill out of the melancholy. She focused, and saw that apparently Mourning Dove would only mourn for her once, because she fired a second shot without preamble. Whippoorwill dropped low and closed the distance by tugging at the whip still around the gun. Another shot splintered the concrete at her feet.
She jumped, boosting her height with a flap of wings and connected a kick to the gun hand, causing the next shot to go far wide. The weapon still did not leave her hand, so at the apex of her jump, Whippoorwill flapped her wings hard and yanked at the whip. Mourning Dove was lifted into the air, but she still refused to let go of the gun.
Whippoorwill gritted her teeth. Enough with the disarming crap. It's time to get serious. Pulling hard on her whip to change her direction she descended upon Mourning Dove, driving a fierce kick to her head. She looked up in time to see several of the drug dealers had recovered from the tear gas and recovered enough to begin to aim their weapons at the two women. With another kick and flap of her wings, Whippoorwill pushed away from the dark-eyed albino woman and dropped to the ground, rolling away. Bullets buzzed above her and tore into the narcotics with wet splats.
Whippoorwill found another set of pallets as cover for a moment, then she took to the air. She threw an explosive quill in the vicinity of the shooters and watched them be thrown by the concussive force. She wordlessly hoped that no one was seriously injured, but she needed them out of commission so she could finish her fight with Mourning Dove.
She looked over at the murderous vigilante and saw that she had recovered and shaken loose the whip. She was already bringing up her gun to aim at one of the concussed drug dealers on the ground. Whippoorwill whistled to get her attention.
"Hey! They're out cold! Cops are on their way, let them be brought to justice."
"Justice is dead in this world. I mourn for it just as I mourn for these," she swept her empty hand out, gesturing at the fallen drug dealers. "You should see it, too. There's no justice for people like us."
Like us? Whippoorwill shook her head in a moment of confusion, wondering briefly if this obsessed woman knew something of her own dark past. The confusion passed quickly and she scowled. She debated about making a snappy comeback, but nothing really came to mind.
"Do you have anything more to say?" Mourning Dove asked with a note of sarcasm seeping through her usual mournful and solemn tone.
"How about, DEA! FREEZE!" Whippoorwill swore as Agent Greeley stepped from behind a stack of crates in all her youthful exuberance.
Mourning Dove merely stepped to the side and brought her gun to bear on the young agent. Whippoorwill dove, flinging a quill out in front of her.
Greeley wasn't bad. She abandoned the two-handed grip on her Glock and her wide stance in time to avoid a head shot. Instead, the bullet slammed hard into her shoulder and she went down. The edged quill sliced along the inside of Mourning Dove's forearm deeply. Scarlet welled up along her gun arm, but she ignored it and brought the gun around to face Whippoorwill.
The winged woman marveled at the risk she was taking as she made her move. She knew her approach was leaving her wide open and inviting a shot from Mourning Dove's precise aim. She thought she detected a slight smile grace the grieving woman's face. Whippoorwill allowed herself one as well.
The gun never fired. Mourning Dove's dark eyes widened as her fingers refused to obey her command, her tendons in her forearm having been severed. Then Whippoorwill slammed her shoulder into the albino's chest, forcing air out of her lungs. Whippoorwill held on and the two women rolled along the concrete floor.
Whippoorwill's experience won out and she timed the roll to end on top. She punched the squirming woman twice before taking a stun quill from her belt and driving it into Mourning Dove's shoulder. Electricity coursed through her and she went limp.
The winged woman then pulled out some bandages from a concealed pocket and wrapped the furiously bleeding forearm. She tried to remove the gun again, but Mourning Dove still maintained her death grip. Even with her tendons severed, she would not let go of that gun.
Pinning the woman, Whippoorwill called out, "Greeley? You still alive?"
A weak, "Yes," came back.
"Okay, hang on," Whippoorwill got up, eyeing the incapacitated woman before going to check on the DEA agent. She was hurt bad, the high-caliber bullet punching through multiple layers of kevlar and likely breaking her collar bone.
Whippoorwill grabs Greeley's radio and thumbs it on. "Attention, agent down, need immediate EMS. Subject is subdu--" She is cut off as she is tackled by the red-streaked alabaster woman.
The two tumbled and rolled as Mourning Dove brought her heavy pistol down several times on Whippoorwill. She hit her repeatedly, hammering her head and arms as the winged woman held them up for defense. There was very little style to the beating, but she made up for it with passion.
Dazed, it was all she could do to ward off the blows the best she could. Then Whippoorwill felt something hard being forced into her mouth. She tasted the gunpowder lacing the gun, looked up, and saw Mourning Dove's other hand reaching for the trigger.
Desperately, Whippoorwill caught that hand and pushed back but found Mourning Dove to be the stronger. She gave up that fight and reached for the hammer of the gun, holding onto it with all her might to keep it from striking the bullet, sending it into her skull. With her other hand, she reached for a quill around her neck. She squeezed it for two seconds, then shoved it in Mourning Dove's face. A bright, phosphoric burst of light from her flare quill went straight into Mourning Dove's eyes and she reeled.
Whippoorwill kicked her off, stood shakily, and through a punch at the still-dazzled Mourning Dove. She staggered back. As her own senses cleared a bit, Whippoorwill redoubled her attacks to press her brief advantage. She spun in a smooth dance that was one move blended into another with exquisite grace and devastating efficiency. Mourning Dove danced her part, reeling in time with the blows that came in a continuous flurry of kicks and strikes.
With a final kick and a billow of wings, Whippoorwill stood over her. Mourning Dove lay still, breathing silently and smeared with crimson.
Sirens wailed louder as DEA and SCPD burst into the warehouse and began securing the scene.
Whippoorwill stepped aside and let the officials do their work, and later accepts some aid from one of the EMTs who arrived on scene. While she was holding an ice pack on her temple, her phone buzzed.
"Briana!" Whetstone sounded excited as she picked up. "You've got another call."
"It can wait, Whet. I'm going to be sore for a couple days. And I think I might have a slight concussion. I really hate getting hit in the face."
"You might want to take this one! It's the Justice League!"
There's a long pause, which was only broken up by Whet asking if she'd heard him. She nodded, then looked at Mourning Dove being restrained and boxed up for containment. "Huh. Maybe Justice isn't dead, after all."
The child was still crying when Proxy bent over and picked up the broken doll.
"May I see this?" she asked quietly.
The little girl hiccuped into silence, reaching for her father's leg to squeeze some safety out of. From under Proxy's hood, the little girl could see the glowing eyes.
The father also eyed Proxy warily, but nodded. The doll in Proxy's hand made a strange, garbled squeak.
The tip of her right hand opened and revealed a screwdriver head underneath. She opened the back of the doll. A simple enough design, sound chips and a speaker, to let the doll simulate rudimentary conversation. A few flicks of the fingers, and the toy was fixed.
She turned it over to look at it, brushing the dirt and grass that had been clinging to its synthetic hair.
"I love you," the doll intoned.
"That is unlikely. We have just met and I doubt you have that capacity."
She held the doll back out to the child. The child snatched it, as if she believed if she did not take it fast enough, Proxy might grab her instead. Still, she hugged the doll to her chest, her tears abated. "I love you," the doll repeated to the child.
The father allowed himself a smile. "Thanks... uh... lady? You're a hero."
"Am I?" Is that all it takes? Proxy doubted it. "Regardless, you are welcome. Have a nice day." Proxy pulled her hood further over her face, and headed toward the lakeside benches, well away from the playground.
|
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The helicopter made the short trip back to LexCorp tower in silence. The massive bird settled down and a hive of workers and technical crew scattered toward it to refuel and check it over. The pilot was relieved by another pilot that had not recently had his life fly before his eyes, and a suit-wearing middle-level exec approached Imagine and her party.
"Hey there, we've got several packages here," he begin, advancing and lifting up some pages from clipboard, looking down.
"Daddy left something for me?" Kara asked, her eyes lighting up with joy and excitement.
"Errrr, ah," the suit stammered, only now looking up into the eyes of the erratic and powerful Kara Luthor. "Um, there are, ah, several, ah, upgrades, for the, ah, the security detail here, but, um...." he stammered off to silence, and disappointment settled over Kara. "No, ya, that's chill. So, yeah, whatever. Shutup."
As the Steel suit was off-loaded for delivery to R&D, Captain Aterro and the rest of the LexSec fanned out where large crates were opened with crowbars. The upgrades only needed them to stand still, as they took advantage of several modular plug-ins units. Each trooper had a large, shoulder-mounted rocket launcher intrinsically installed, along with several software upgrades, and a minor diversion of the Scientific part of the A-TAC's power was re-routed. The older combat knives were replaced by newer blades that accepted the re-routed power and encased themselves in a power field.
Many hands made the work quick, and the eleven figures re-boarded and took flight, to make sure that bastard Shale did as he said he would and didn't just run off with the girl.
Charges would need to be pressed.
Whippoorwill stepped into the common room, feeling much more recovered after her shower. She maneuvered into the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of water which she pressed to her blackening eye. The cool surface felt soothing. The argument, not so much.
"I can't believe you said no!" Whetstone exclaimed. The tech spun around in his chair and waved his hands in exasperation. Robert Whetstone was a little on the portly side, and had curly hair wherever it wasn't receding.
Briana shook her head. "I didn't say no. I said I'd think about it. There's a difference."
Whet scooted his chair away from his workbench stacked high with the chemicals and materials he used to fashion the quills for Whippoorwill's crime-fighting. "It might as well be. What if they change their mind? Do you know what this would mean to me, if you joined the Justice League?"
She nodded. Whet had long ago confided to her that he had long looked up to Batman, and though he had fairly quickly he would never be the sort that could put on a silly costume and go swinging from rooftops, he did have the gadgetry skills to help someone else. He had taken some wrong turns in his life, trusted the wrong people, and got stuck working for CADRE. But he had met Briana there, and the two had managed to together break free from the organization. Now, they both had a similar mission: redemption.
"I do, Whet. I really do. But they didn't exactly offer me a job, you know. I get the sense that they're interested in feeling me out. I'm not sure I'm Justice League material."
The portly man scoffed. "You are absolutely Jay-Ell material! I mean, you've gotta be as good a fighter as Green Arrow, right? Black Canary? Nightwing? And you've got your wings, so that's a plus. My gear -- maybe I can get some real funding! Like the Bat has... had. I could build you a Whipmobile or something."
Briana chuckled, thinking about the absurdity of her cramming herself into a car. "I don't need a car. As you pointed out: wings. And I'm not going to compare myself to any of them. It's not them I'm worried about. It's the kind of foes they fight. Aliens, demons, some real heavy-hitters. I got pistol-whipped by a naked girl who turns into a bird tonight. What am I going to do if Brainiac or someone shows up?"
Whetstone smiled broadly and turned back around to his workbench. After shoving some things around, he locates a stack of quills. "You use these," he said, holding them reverently in his hands. "High-density explosive. They pack a huge wallop, so you don't want to use these around any normal people. Just the thing for giant robots, alien squids, or inter-dimensional terrorists."
Whippoorwill gently took them and turned them over and over in her hands. She smiled in thanks to him, but still shook her head. "These'll be great, but it's not about the gear -- you're stuff has never failed me, and I know you'll keep me protected. It's just that... this is the League. The Justice League. And I'm-- you know."
This time, Whetstone's smile became one of sympathy and understanding. "I do. But you know, the League ain't what it used to be. Hell, it has Luthor's daughter as a member. There's all sorts of questions around it: New members coming and going, strange alliances, and did I mention Luthor's daughter?"
Briana folded her hands across her chest and flipped her hair with a toss of her head. "So you're saying that now that it's glory days are past, I'm perfect for it?"
"No! What I'm saying is, maybe they need someone like you -- like us -- to turn it around. And that maybe we can take all those mistakes we made and turn them into something better, for the entire world."
Briana stared at him for a long time while she pondered. Finally, she nodded. "All right. I'll meet with them."
All is well in Central City. I mean, the closest thing we have to a current Flash is some grey costumed extradimensional alien, but all is still pretty well. The Rogues occasionally cause some trouble, but usually things are peaceful and pleasant.
Until today.
Other than the most original and still central STAR Labs, the most famous location in Central City is undoubtedly the Flash Museum. Also until today. The Flash Museum, Cosmic Treadmill and all, goes up with a beautiful bang, multicolored (though mostly black) smoke billowing into the sky. Clearly someone is up to no good. This sounds like a job for the Justice League (and some new recruits).
Make a post explaining what you are up to and your arrival on scene.
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Shortly after your conversation with Briana you get a letter. An actual, real, hand-addressed letter. It has a simple message.
'W,
Heard you're moving up in the world. Care for a working lunch before you meet the whole team?
Let's do D'Appetite tomorrow. How's noon-ish work? Sweet.
See you there.
-KL
P.S. Bring this letter with you and show it to the maitre d'. They can be a little picky about who they let in.
XOXO
It takes a quick search and a couple phone calls to even confirm that D'Appetite exists. Apparently it's one of those restaurants that looks down on other restaurants that are considered "the upper crust" that merely serve 15-year old scotch and organic angus beef and wonders how people can eat that slop. To call it "restricted" is to under-define the word. Just walking in the door usually requires membership to _other_ clubs that are, themselves, very restrictive.
You're walking through a particularly nice part of the woods where the trees themselves seem to burst with green and hope. For some reason there don't seem to be as many people around, but the density of the average park population has a rather wide standard of deviation so there's really nothing odd about it. What is rather odd, within 3 standards of deviation, is when a random woman walks up to you, rubs your shoulder, and starts talking to you.
"Ooo! So smooth! And so realistic. But also very smooth. You don't see workmanship like this much today. Well, outside of LexCorp Labs, that is. Hmmmm, let's see....."
'Does this work?' The words echo in your head with a mechanism that can't yet be fully understood. 'Aren't words just so...superfluous?
Hey, can you drink? Of note, I'm not asking if you "need" to, but "can" you? Would you like to? The Sweet Doomed Angel has a 2-for-1 on Chernobyl Cherries tonight. And I've finally talked Bobby into making it dance in public. We're gonna try it out tonight. Wanna come?'
A quick city-search reveals that the Sweet Doomed Angel is an all-encompassing night club that has a good reputation for serving literally every facet of the population, from broke college students just looking for a good time, to A-list celebrities looking to cut loose in a private room with exotic amenities. If anything else makes it stand out, it's that it doesn't tolerate rough behavior or assaultive crime. "Always a good time" seems to be the most used phrase in it's multiple online reviews.
*********************
A massive Chinook-class helicopter hovers several hundred feet above the scene and disgorges a dozen-minus-one figures. Half take up a flying patrol, establishing a secure perimeter, and half jet down to the ground, their cameras recording at high speed. The last of of the group floats gently to the ground and lands at the edge of the blast radius.
'Hmmmm. I think they used....explosives. But I could be wrong,' she think-says ironically.
Proxy had wanted to see the Flash museum. Databases described its contents, but she reasoned there was value in seeing it for herself, picking up the details records overlooked. To be a helpful recruit for the JL knowing the history of its members had value. Central City seemed much more... pleasant compared to Gotham. She was sure something was wrong with her visual sensors, but it seemed like the sun shone brighter here.
Then the explosion came. Proxy was close enough to her destination to be shaken to the ground, far enough to not be hurt. Dark clouds quickly rose into the sky, taking all the brightness away.
Proxy picked up herself and ran toward the museum so see how she could help.
Sinter, as usual on JL Monitor duty, since they get every sports channel on the planet, notes the news reports of the explosion at the museum and takes the teleporter down to the surface. He then rockets to the site of the attack at a reasonable pace to avoid property damage (subsonic).
Whippoorwill was familiar with restaurants of this sort. They were the types of ultra-exclusionary establishments where many of her former employers would conduct business with those who would contract for their services. The fact that she had never before been invited didn't really bother her, and she was hardly cowed by the invitation now.
She chose a backless, sequined yellow-gold gown that closely matched the color scheme of her costume. She selected a few quills to hang from her necklace and earrings, and stashed a few extras in a matching clutch purse. Her whip -- made of a special reinforced polymer material rather than simple leather -- actually did not look out of place wrapped around her waist like a corded sash or loose belt. She surrendered a bit more practicality to fashion by going with a pair of stiletto heels that matched her dress because she truly didn't expect a fight.
Her brown-tan feathered wings carries her to the penthouse suite where D'Appetite was located, giving the military-grade helicopter a quick glance at the helipad on the other side of the skyscraper. She passes the note to the maitre'd and is allowed inside, guided to a private table with a spectacular view of the city.
She accepts a glass of sparkling water and waits for her host to arrive.
Whippoorwill had decided to fly herself to Metropolis to learn more about the Justice League, despite it being a journey that could take a day and a half, but she flew high enough to reach the jet stream and could glide at a leisurely pace. There wasn't a particular emergency, so she decided to simply lose herself in the joy of flying.
She had just cleared the Rocky Mountains, crossed the plains of the Midwest, and was stopping in Kansas City for lunch when she got a call from Whet. "Hey! I just saw the news from Central City! There's an explosion at the Flash Museum! You should go check it out, I'll bet some of your new League friends are going to be there!"
Whippoorwill frowns, looking at her half-finished plate of barbecue.
"Any word about its cause? Any signs of attack? I'm a few hours away."
"No word yet. It just lit up over all the news feeds."
"Okay. I'm going there now."
* * *
Whippoorwill glides over the buildings of Central City, drawn unerringly by the dwindling plume of smoke to the remains of the Flash Museum. She circles a couple times over the area, then lands around the same spot as the helicopter and the glowing fire-dude.
"Hi. I was in the area, so I thought I'd stop by and see if I could lend a hand. I'm Whippoorwill."
In his normal, sightly distorted buzzing voice, the shape of fire responds "Well, I'm Sinter. Nice to meetcha. "
Then he turns to the wreck of the museum "Something's obviously wrong here, but I'm waiting for JL backup before I go in. I'm a bit one dimensional and I don't want to burn the city down. "
Proxy spins around at the touch on her shoulder and steps a good couple feet back from the woman who has approached her. She's still learning people, and learning to acclimate to her situation while around police has given her a fair sense of "stranger danger." Proxy gives Imagine a good look. She may or may not recognize her ).
She says in a neutral tone of voice, "I have been taught that touching a complete stranger is inappropriate in social introductions. Please don't do it again. Normally, the accepted introduction is to offer a hand to shake, yes?"
Proxy does so, holding her hand out, but still otherwise standing well away from Kara. "I am Proxy."
She then receives the telepathic communication, and blinks, as she's never directly interfaced with another mind. Proxy's mind is a strange place, rigidly structured with a series of complex algorithms on one hand, but there's a faint, strange "overlay" on the other of a more random, fluid sense of being. She knows what telepathy is, and deduces quickly that is what is happening to her. She answers verbally, however--her own mind running a number of analyses as database references as she also initiates speech.
"I can drink. I don't experience the effects of alcohol." She pauses. "Thank you for the invitation. But I would prefer not to join you. You are... intrusive. I don't..." she searches for the best way to describe a complexity of sensations, "I don't like that. I expect if you are from the League, and we are to work together, we can maintain a professional comradeship, but I find no need to socialize with you outside professional parameters. I hope you find that acceptable. I am catching a train to Central City soon. Goodbye."
Proxy waves and turns and walks down the path toward the park's outdoor chess tables.
Whippoorwill smiles and nods at Sinter, wishing she knew how to shake his hand without losing hers. "Right. I think I've heard of you. Likewise. Imagine, good to see you again."
She looks around at the ruins of the museum. "Explosives, sure. But what kind?" she answers Imagine unironically. "There's lots of explosives that can do this. We can probably rule out a gas leak. Question is, was it something brought in, or was it a rocket launched from someplace nearby?" She considers any clues she might have noticed while flying overhead.
As is fairly usual, even though he doesn't actually have eyes, what passes for them seem to glaze over as technical details are discussed.
As you gather in the aftermath of the explosion, Whippoorwill is the first to notice a humanoid figure in the smoking ruin. At first, she thinks it is a trick of her eye, but they she realizes that in the smoke there is a slowly coalescing glowing blue figure.
It isn't Captain Atom, though it might be some sort of energy being. It's mouth is moving as though it might be talking, but it doesn't have enough of a body yet to produce sound.
Sinter will fly over to the figure to take a closer look. He figures he's the least likely to get hurt.
"Let me take a closer look. It probably can't hurt me if it's hostile. "
Clayten had actually been enjoying his day leading up to his sudden destruction. This Flash was a very interesting study. Odd enemies though, how does throwing bent sticks at people make you a match for a man who can move faster than time? Why do so many of them wear such flashy clothes? Had any body noticed how many of them wear green and or blue?
What is the purpose of this strange running machine...
A few minutes later.
Step one, assess damage... minimal. Some kind of force has broken up my form.
Step two, reconstitute form. There seems to be enough material around.
Soil and grit flows up to form a vaguely humanoid blob, a roaring scream seems to emit from every fiber as it rushes out of the crater. A moster of mud and dirt searches for what attacked it, screaming in constant rage as it tosses aside the rubble that stands in its way.
Step three, destroy whoever did this to me before they can hurt someone else. Then I will be a Hero.
"Glowing blue figure, three o'clock." Whippoorwill announces, assuming a battle-ready stance but not making an aggressive action.
Then the blob shows up. "Mud monster, too. Fan out, in case they're hostile," she suggests, concerned the mud creature could throw large globs capable of engulfing all of them. Then she considers the creature might be able to control the ground beneath her feet, so she stretches her wings and takes flight, but staying low.
Apparently Clayten didn't see anything useful before the explosion. He does remember a raging blue flame and a really bright white light.
As Sinter approaches the rapidly coalescing figure, it finally gains enough coherence to make out what it is saying. "...you will find is that I am your 'explosives.' Boss, Justice League is here."
SHALE
Proxy
Sinter
Whippoorwill
Clayface
Imagine
Shale appears, standing nearly still a half dozen yards from the energy figure. His sudden appearance preceeds his shockwave by only a blink of the eye.
A massive blast of air and dust pounds against the two figures standing within the damaged ruins. Anything weighing less than a car is sent skidding along the ground, if not outright tossed through the air.
"Well wastrel, you have our attention. What is it you wish to gain from this?"
Proxy runs toward the rubble, shouting to any civilians she passes to run away. She reaches down to help someone stand and sees them run off before she continues to the site--to see up ahead SHALE create the shockwave to stop the blue figure and the clay man. She's immediately less worried about the supers than if the shockwave itself caused further damage to the already blown up buildings.
As she approaches, she picks up Whipporwhill's communications (), including the glowing figure and the mudperson identified as possible persons of interest. She communicates back on the same frequency. "I am Proxy. A prospective League member. I want to help."
Her right hand clicks, and the fingers twist and bend themselves into a gun shape, with an electric filament poking out of the narrow barrel--her stun weapon. Aiming at the glowing blue figure, she fires an arc of electricity at the individual. She isn't even sure the energy will work on an energy being, but one had to start somewhere. She figured an explosion was a hostile enough act to warrant some kind of attempt at deterrence.
Sinter hearing the blue thingy take credit for blowing up the building, and any casualties that entailed, will blast away.
"You killed all those people!"
DC 30 toughness (of course it is if it has any effect)
Whippoorwill gawks briefly at the huge shockwave blasting under her. She uses the buffeting winds to keep her aloft with a minimum of effort while she considers the situation. The blue guy had pretty much confirmed that he destroyed the Flash Museum, and implied he reported to a superior.
She tries to figure out the mud guy's role in this whole mess, and if he was on the glowing man's side. She wasn't sure.
The others are dogpiling Blue Man Group. Guess that leaves Mudpie to me.
"Hey!" she shouts at the screaming mudman reconstituting itself. "Look, it takes a really long time to preen these feathers, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't get mud in them." She circles around a few times to disorient the mud monster and cracks her whip in its face.
Toughness DC 25, +5 dodge bonus to my defense
Clayten recognizes he has been attacked again, the speed thing that is not flash.
Must be a reverse flash attacking the museum, just like the exhibits.
Clayten floods towards the small grey man, looking for all the world as if he were a mudslide in action. Strong clods of clay and dirt wrap around Shale in an attempt to grab him.
edit:
Whippoorwill connects with the mud beast, but her weapon seems to barely register to the creature as it surges forward to attack the gray speed demon that has its full attention.
Shale sidesteps the charge of the massive earthen wave, knocking the poorly define 'limbs' away with a shove. Although it was surprisingly close for a speedster.