Just Another Night in Hell's Kitchen
Roleplaying Log: Just Another Night in Hell's Kitchen
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

More military goons track Barbara Gordon and quite a number of heroes step in.

Other Characters Referenced: Jessica Jones, Daredevil, Winter Soldier, Tony Stark
IC Date: July 25, 2019
IC Location: Hell's Kitchen
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 26 Jul 2019 07:08
Rating & Warnings: R for language and violence
NPC & GM Credits: Barbara Gordon
Associated Plots

It's just another night in Hell's Kitchen, and Barbara Gordon is playing the odds. After Kentucky, and then her fake interview with Morty Bennett, there's no doubt that she's been identified as one of Frank Castle's allies. Commissioner's daughter, once the target of Frank Castle, now helping him? Woof, Daddy's going to be over the moon.

So, she knows there's a solid target on her back as she steps out of a taproom that had once been a fierce biker bar before the Dogs of Hell faced annihilation; the bombings also made it pretty easy for Hell's Kitchen Taproom to take over the lot, and it reeks of Midtown Manhattan hipster.

She's got her red hair throw up in a messy pony tail that still somehow seems chic, and she's tapping away at her phone as she crosses out onto the sidewalk and heads south along 12th avenue with the waterfront on her right.

Only half a block down the sidewalk and six men push off the wall, trying to look casual while simultaneously looking none of those things. Ah, Hell's Kitchen crime really doesn't change — or does it?

* * *

The main reason Trish Walker, the child star, singer, and now radio personality comes down to these parts is usually because she's either here to see her adopted sister Jessica Jones or…well, it's usually Jessica related. Today she just went to pop into the Alias Investigations office to drop off a file. She was dropped off by a car service, and now she has to make her way to where they said they'd pick her up.

Today she wears a black pantsuit with a red blouse, with a pair of nice, comfortable shoes. The suit and blouse are apparently made of Starkweave? At least according to Jessica. So hopefully that means it's at least bulletproof. Something that crossed her mind might be important whenever she comes to this neighbourhood. Lastly, over her shoulder is slung a medium sized purse to help her carry a multitude of items she apparently needed today.

Her path begins to take her suspiciously close to where the six men have just pushed off the wall, the same direction as the redhead with her hair in the ponytail.

Trish brushes a strand of her blonde hair out of her eyes. Nothing to take note of. Nope. Not yet.

* * *

Behold the exciting daily life… OF AN AVENGER!

"Man I thought New York was supposed to be famous for its hot dog vendors," says a white-haired young man, in jeans and a green t-shirt. He doesn't even bother to try and hide that New Jersey accent, despite where he is, and… He's juggling like five street cart hot dogs. Despite the hour. They're all fully loaded, too. "Had to schlep halfway across Manhattan just to find a freakin' vendor that was open…" Why is he complaining out loud? Why not! Tommy Shepherd is not actually very well-acquainted with the idea of an indoor voice, or consequences of his own actions.

Which is why he's mouthing off as he walks through Hell's Kitchen at night, knowing full well that the place got bombed out like a year ago and that's only made the neighbourhood less pleasant. At least, he should know that. He might not have actually been paying attention.

Also there's only four hot dogs now?

He does, however, notice when six guys who look like they came from Goons, Inc. go walking 'casually' after some red-haired lady. That seems shifty. Should he do something about it? What would Billy do?

He stops and thinks about it, holding his three hot dogs. Billy would definitely try to use this as an excuse to get that Devil of Hell's Kitchen guy's autograph, Tommy decides. What about Kate? She'd shoot one of them in the butt with an arrow, no doubt. So obviously, he should…

There's a shift of air. It's surprisingly subtle, actually, considering what happens, as a whole person-sized bubble of air is displaced beside Barbara, and there's a Tommy Shepherd there, where there wasn't anyone half a second ago. Now he's just kinda walking, though.

"Hey, wassup," the white-haired speedster offers in his smoothest Jersey Guy, offering her one of his two fully loaded hot dogs. "I'm an Avenger, did you know you're being followed by like, six guys who look like pro wrestlers?"

* * *

After all this time, Colin finally had the chance to take his suit out for the sheer fun of it, rather than just for yet another systems test.

The machine was flying smooth, his HUD showing greens all across the board, and, mercifully, the temperatures of both his thrusters and engines remaining within their normal operational temperatures.

He just hung there, hovering above the cloud layer. He was high enough up that he felt comfortable in the knowledge that no one on the ground could really see him, unless of course, they looked directly towards just the right spot and spotted the plumes from his engines, but, ah what were the odds of that. This was probably the safest place to just people watch in the entire world.

In truth though, he didn't know exactly how he got to where he was. Hells Kitchen wasn't exactly his usual haunt, but, up here it was certainly less dangerous to take a look. He zoomed in his visor, senses piercing through the clouds and scanning the ground. He spotted a woman, and… a crowd of six getting up to follow her. That couldn't be good, and then… A blur?

* * *

Barbara Gordon feels it as an odd sensation at the root of her spine — something she's ofter referred to as feeling as though someone has just walked across her grave. Maybe it was a glance in a window, or the faintest sound of their footsteps, or something else entirely that gives her any indication that someone — someones — are behind her. She looks up briefly, a forelock of red hair slipping free from her ear only to be tucked casually behind her ear while she cuts a glance across the street. Her hands slip down into her pockets of her joggers.

But then there's an odd shift to the air, and Babs suddenly has a companion. "Jesus!" She startles a bit, and there's a shift to her stance that warns Tommy he's about to get a fist to the face — or a knee to the, well. Her eyes cut back behind her suddenly, and she notices those six men, and they're at the crosswalk she crossed just about half a block ago. They're sharing glances, and giving the air that they're talking. There's also a blonde coming up behind them, and that dissuades immediate assumptions. So, Babs looks back to Tommy, and she eyes him. "Do you often start off greetings with 'I'm an Avenger?'" Then she realizes he's offering her a hot dog, and she mindlessly takes it. Now she has a hot dog when just moments ago, she had been estimating how fast she could get to the stash of razors in her boot.

She edges backwards a bit, trying to slip under the shadow of an eaves. "Tell me, are all six of them wearing combat boots?" By golly, they are!

The six must have a sense that something is off — they have really good training after all — because they duck down an alley between a bodega and the brownstone that Tommy and Barbara are having their brief conversation in front of.

* * *

Did that…what? Even with her new enhanced speed, Trish could swear could just appear seemingly out of nowhere. Yet the guy with the hotdogs seems to have. What in the Kentucky Fried Marmalade is going on? She shakes her head at herself, though. One thing at a time. Those big thug looking guys seem suspicious.

She ducks quickly behind a wall, attached a white paper plate over her face with two holes for eyes and one for her mouth, a string around the back of her head to hold it in place and tucked under her hair. Her hair? Neatly placed in a ponytail so it doesn't get in the way. The paper plate mask itself has doodles on it, mostly of flowers but also of cats, in all various colours.

Lastly she affixes a set of Halloween cat ears onto her head. She takes out a little compact from her purse and opens it up, looking at herself as best she can in the mirror. She gives herself an approving nod, tucks away the compact and hides the purse before stepping back out from her hiding place and rushing to follow he six men who are now further ahead of her than before.

* * *

Do you often start off greetings with 'I'm an Avenger?'

"Pfft, no," the white-haired young man replies, his hands now free of hotdogs. "Just when it's, y'know, situationally appropriate." Or to try to impress people. Or to try and get discounts. The Avengers, being a fully registered and recognised superhero team - indeed, probably the only one currently! - must surely get some sort of perks, Tommy figures. And he's never been really good at the whole secret identity thing to begin with. Most of the time, he's going too fast to be recognised anyway.

"So anyway, like I was saying I figured I should come over here and rescue you from… Huh? Combat boots?" He turns to look back, but the motion is entirely too fast to be seen by anyone who isn't on his level of speed. It's just a subtle blurring of his head, and otherwise it looks like his attention has never broken from Barbara. "Yep, all six of 'em. What difference does that make? Are they magic combat boots?"

What?

It's a legitimate concern!

* * *

Frank Castle isn't here. Nope, it's Pete Castiglione, walking down an alley, minding his own business, going to meet up with Babs. He's moving slowly in the darkness, taking it easy on his various hurts and pains, a light windbreaker pulled on over his t-shirt and jeans. And then there are six people moving with the smooth ease that suggests extensive training together. Frank/Pete stops, looks them over, then nods a little warily, keeping his head down as he moves to one side of the alley, looking to pass them by. He's intensely aware of the fact that he's not wearing his vest, and that the only weapons on him are the knife at his belt and the pistol holstered at the small of his back. There are now seven big men in combat boots in the alley. And one woman in a pants-suit, cat-ears, and a paper plate mask. It's crowded.

* * *

Colin took stock of the situation, peering down with the highest resolution his suit could manage. At this distance, his view was somewhat shaky, every slight movement or gust of wind forcing him to readjust to keep his sensors on target but he certainly had seen enough to tell that these guys weren't the US Army, nor the police for that matter. Were they mercenaries perhaps? Their movements seemed trained and coordinated, their unison certainly putting doubt on the notion that these might be ordinary Hell's Kitchen thugs who just cleared out an army surplus store.

He lowers his altitude to get a better look, and to hopefully listen in with his suit's enhanced microphones. Of course, he was more visible this way, but he was still high enough up that the sound of his engines would likely be masked by the city's background noise, and as for the visual aspect? Well, he was still just a little black dot. The suit was relatively large sure, but he was still substantially smaller than any aircraft out there.

* * *

"And handing off hot dogs are situationally appropriate?" Now Barbara is just giving him a hard time. It's almost not fair. Here's an adorable white-haired Avenger, and all the redhead can do is mock him for his hot dog offerings. It's a distraction. She blinks over at Tommy, particularly at the magic combat boots bit. She squints. "Are you sure you're an Avenger?"

She's looking back toward the alleyway's mouth just after Trish disappears down it. She grabs Avenger boy's shoulder with her free hand. "Come on, Avenger… let's go see if you're right about those guys being bad news." Curiosity killed the cat, Trish. But, the Bat is probably also in trouble. She starts toward the alley, and hands off the hot dog to a homeless woman sitting on the stoop of the brownstone.

Unless Tommy goes hauling Babs off her feet, the two are just a minute or so behind Trish getting to the alley, and a lot happens in that minute. First, one of the guys notices Pete/Frank. It doesn't take much to recognize that profile — broken nose, ghosts of bruises. His jaw flexes as he reaches for his belt, and the way he shifts tells Frank he's heading for a weapon. At the rear of the six ex-soldiers, two turn just in time to spot — "What the hell? Is that… a paper plate?"

Then the guns come out, and three assault rifles make their appearance out of a bag that one of the men had thrown over his shoulder.

Of course, none of them are looking up in the sky — Frank "Pete" Castle and Papermask Girl are plenty of distraction.

* * *

Stranding straight up as she's caught, Trish smiles, which can only somewhat be seen through the mouth hole. "Oh, hey there boys." She raises a hand and wiggles her fingers. She circles the places with an index finger. "This ol' thing?" She offers a little nod. "Yep. It's a paper plate! 'Cause you guys are about to get served…" Yes, she's starting with the bad puns.

She freezes a bit at the sight of the guns. She hasn't really trained properly for this yet. She has her Krav Maga, but this? Will her new enhanced abilities, and the clothes she's wearing, be enough? She sure hopes so or she's really dug herself into a hole now.

* * *

"Hey, sharing is caring, lady," Tommy retorts, not being the Avenger in charge of diplomacy. "Besides, I might need my hands free so I can save your life, it's in the job description."

Are you sure you're an Avenger?

The white-haired mutant lets out a short gasp of pure offense, his green eyes widening as though he'd never been asked anything so hurtful in his entire life, which is guaranteed to not be true.

"Of course I'm an Avenger, Tony Stark recruited me because they needed some new hotness to balance out all those creaky geriatrics they got on the team. You ever met the Winter Soldier? That guy is like… Two hundred years old. And he looks it, he's really falling apart, I dunno what people see in him," the speedster continues, uncaring that Barbara isn't privy to the way the other young Avengers, Hawkeye and Wiccan, treat their quasi-instructor like a piece of meat.

But then his shoulder is grabbed, and Barbara is urging him to follow her. It's definitely tempting to just pick her up and speed over, but this time Speed does it slowpoke-style. Maybe those hotdogs are sitting funny.

"Seriously, you're running into the dark alley full of goons? Wait, are you a cop?"

* * *

"God damn it." Even though the curse is quiet, there's a significant undertone of annoyance and disappointment behind Frank's grumble. Whether he's been recognized and is a target or just if he's in an alley with six men who are pulling weapons on someone else… it's not good. Most men would get away from the person pulling a weapon on him, Frank Castle goes toward him, closing the distance in two quick steps and reaching out to control the weapon, control the man. There's more than a little Krav Maga in the Marine Corpse Martial Arts Program, and he reaches for the wrist and the elbow, going for the arm-lock and the disarm — and then looking to break the arm and put the guy between himself and the rest of the team.

* * *

Weapons were being drawn! By this point Colin had analysed the situation enough to make up his mind. That said, the evidence on the table by this point was fairly conclusive, what with a squad of these, whoever they were, mercenary militia he supposed, hunting down a group of what seemed to be civilians and an Avenger. If there was any time to make a move here, now was it.

He shifted his suit forward, thrusters screeching as they were brought up to full power so he could close the distance as quickly as possible.

The alleyway was not exactly an easy target. It was tight, dark, and had electrical cables snaking, linking building to building yet what concerned him most however, is just how crowded it was. Stomping down in this one tonne suit at high speeds on top of one of the civilians was not something Colin wanted to really imagine, heck, even smashing into one of these goons would be bad news, despite the lethal weapons being thrown about the man didn't exactly feel like murder was the best option.

He picked his moment, finding a gap to put himself, and his heavy armour, between any potential weapons fire and whoever these people might try to shoot at.

His landing was… actually fairly impressive, a woosh of jets slowing his speed down juuuust enough to be considered safe, a deafening clank and thud, along with the very ground beneath everyone's feet shaking. Of course, he had no time to celebrate, he had put himself right in the line of fire, in fact, if the goons had fired the bullets were likely already spanking and clanging off his suit as he directed a punch towards one of the presumed mercenaries center mass, though, not nearly at the full strength the suit had to offer.

* * *

When Tommy mentions Tony Stark, the redhead chokes back a small laugh. "I work for the guy," for now, "Stark that is, not Winter Soldier. I've not met him. He seems intense, but hot for an old guy." She does have a thing for old guys. Though the name-dropping has her snorting a bit. This is not the time to be comparing friends. But, he asks the question, and she flashes a smile over to him. "No, but my dad is. Barbara Gordon. Nice to meet you."

And now there's gunfire. The first rattle is from the pistol that goes off just as Frank goes for the wrist. Then the gun rattles to the ground. The arm lock doesn't immediately take, or perhaps it's the fist thrown at Frank's ribs.

The one who spotted that paper plate is taking out a k-bar, and he's moving fast with precision to close the space between him and the girl with cat ears. "Fucking vigilantes," he hisses just before he swipes out the knife toward her.

"Iron Man!" One of the soldiers calls out, but it isn't in fear or surprise. He's calling a target. This man turns his assault rifle toward Colin just as the armored man throws a punch into his comrade's gut. He opens fire, the gun tucked high into his shoulder. Bullets ricochet and echo around the tight walls of the alley.

Now Babs cuts a look to Tommy, and she's running — right toward the alley. She drops into a low squat at the corner of the brownstone, and from her boot she thumbs out three shuriken from the hidden compartment in her boot. Sometimes being out of costume sucks.

* * *

"You work for Tony?" Tommy says with genuine surprise. "Does he just hire whatever redheads he finds or what?" He shakes his head a little when Barbara, too, succumbs to the centenarian charms of Bucky Barnes, though soon enough she reveals that she is not a cop - which makes sense, if she's working for Tony - but rather the daughter of one. Those green eyes are blank with a lack of recognition when she introduces herself, so it's probable that he doesn't keep up on the identities of police commissioners in Gotham. Or, uh, anywhere else.

"Oh, word," he says, instead. "I'm Tommy Shepherd. Buuuuuut I guess we're on the job, so you can call me Speed!"

It's not an especially creative superhero moniker.

But, as it turns out, it's pretty accurate.

At the sound of gunshots, the redhead starts running right into danger like some kind of maniac, which leaves Tommy throwing up his hands in exasperation. He's pretty sure that, at some point, Bucky gave them some advice about confined spaces and guys with guns, but honestly he wasn't paying attention. So instead, he also runs right into danger like some kind of maniac, except he does it a lot faster. Fast enough that from an outside perspective, he simply stops being in one place, and appears in another.

Right next to one of those gunmen, actually, reaching to put a hand on said gun. Which is sort of a silly thing to do, right?

Except that if he gets his way, the various molecules of said gun start accelerating in different directions, which really won't be good for the gun's continued existence.

Orrrrr the guy's hand, but he's not really paying attention to that.

"What's up, Airsoft nerds? Don't you guys usually play in abandoned warehouses or out in the woods? Too bad, now you're about to get Avengered!"

There's a brief pause, then: "No, wait, that's a stupid battlecry, hey can I start over, or…??"

* * *

It's always the ribs. Always. Frank grunts in pain as he gets a punch to the ribs, and as the man avoids the joint-lock, he instead grasps for just his wrist, his other hand dipping down to draw his own Ka-Bar. It's a distinctive knife, but there's 186,000 men and women on active duty and thousands of veteran Marines who carry them every day. And at least two of them in the alley right now. He can hear someone working on the other side of the squad, and then — and then there's a very large impact, and a suit of armor, "God damn it." He steps across the guy he's struggling with, trying to punch the Ka-Bar up and into his abdomen, below where a bulletproof vest or stab-plates would be. One thing at a time. Deal with the guy in front of him, then the suit of armor and the other vigilante and wherever Barbara is and… who the hell is that guy who just showed up out of nowhere with, "Are you kiddin' me?" The lamest battlecry.

* * *

"You're about to get Avenged? Really?"

The voice that came from the suit was deep, heavily modulated and disguised, but the wearer's accent could still be just about made out. It certainly wasn't Tony's, in fact, it sounded rather British.

Colin had no time for further chit chat though, bullets spanking off his suit from all angles. The armour was holding, in fact, one could safely say it was fairly impervious to this sort of rifle caliber ammunition but with all this gunfire going around the man in the suit no longer really had the luxury of holding back.

He powered his systems, bringing everything online and combat ready. The suit was moving quick now, damn quick, he first reached for one of the goons rifles, if successful, Colin would rip it from his grasp and crush its barrel in his hand before whipping it at full strength right into another's head.

* * *

The odds seem stacked against the six ex-soldiers — nearly half of them are down, or close to. There's Papermask Girl, The Punisher, Not-Iron Man, and now a speedster. Speed's hand grabs for the gun, and the soldier looks up sharply to the speedster with a flash of his teeth. "Don't you know better than to — " And then the gun is falling apart on the molecular level. He stares at what's left of it, but the shock is short-lived; he throws his elbow right at Speed's face.

The one with Frank reminds the Punisher that sometimes it's the face, too, because before Frank can grab hold of his ka-bar, he's throwing his elbow at Frank's nose only to then take a knife to the gut. He staggers into Frank, his weight a force onto the short, but stocky vigilante.

Knight disarms the ex-soldier, and the full-strength slam of the weapon across the other attacker's head causes him to go flying into a dumpster, sliding down to the ground in a bloodied heap.

The disarmed one backs up toward his comrades, joining two more. The three that are still on their feet shuffle back toward each other, forming a tight knot with their backs tucked toward each other. Then, the tallest of them — he's easily over six feet tall and broad — slips something that looks like an inhaler out of his belt. He tucks the mouth of the blue inhaler between his lips, and puffs. It takes barely ten seconds before his dark irises flare bioluminescent blue. His dark skin takes on a silverine sheen. He's not the only one to go for the inhaler, as two more take their own puffs. Now three ex-soldiers have blue glowing eyes. The other two take on their own inhuman traits, and suddenly the danger level doubles. Speed suddenly has his own speedster to deal with — albeit slower — comes barreling at him with luminous blue eyes. The silver-skinned ex-Marine turns toward Knight and flashes his teeth. And Frank? He gets his own friend whose skin bloodily splits to reveal spines along his forearms which he uses to swipe at Frank's face with a punch.

At the corner where she's tucked, Barbara's eyes widen at the familiar symptom. "Crap." She is just about to say something to Tommy, but he's bolting with that inhuman speed, and she's whipping her head back down the alley. "They're jacked on enhancers!" Frank would recognize that voice.

* * *

Okay, so nobody told her this life was gonna be this way. She's a joke, she broke. If Trish hadn't snapped out of it, he whole life would have gone the way of the dinosaur. She's not used to going up against ex-military types with big guns. She's not used to any of this, in fact. Even if she did somehow get backup almost right away somehow.

"Did someone say something about vigilantes? Because we get stuff done. This paper plate didn't draw itself!" Her confidence sneaks back in, despite the fact their eyes are now glowing and bullets have been firing.

She uses her advanced speed, which granted isn't as fast as the speedster by any measure, to look around at the situation. She focuses on the closest ex-soldier to her who isn't already occupied with one of the others. "Let's do this." She mutters, barely registering that Barbara said that they're jacked on enhancers. She's in for the long haul one way or another.

"Get ready for a knuckle sandwich!" She calls out. She makes it look as if she's going to go for his face first, before suddenly switching it up and going for one of his knees, hoping to knock him to the ground. Enhanced reflexes, speed, and strength, don't fail her now!

* * *

"LISTEN, I WAS ON THE SPOT, OKAY? They can't all be gold!" Plus he can't say the actual Avengers battlecry, he's the only one there! And also that's Cap's job, and whatever Speed's blatant disregard for authority, he's not going to do Cap dirty like that. It'd be like kicking a puppy.

Anyway someone is trying to elbow him in the head.

From his perspective, this is fairly slow. Another speedster, one who drew their abilities from a fundamental cosmic force, might just become intangible and avoid the elbow that way: The white-haired young man instead leans back out of the way, though this does give the guy the opportunity to get clear. And worse, the opportunity to… Puff on an inhaler?

This troubles the mutant. He doesn't want to go around bullying asthmatics, what would people say about the Avengers then? It'd be like… Wait is that guy fast now?

"Hey, buddy, that's cultural appropriation," Speed notes, a heartbeat before a high-speed battle ensues. Or, well, it's high-speed to everyone else: From the mutant's perspective, he's moving at normal speed, and everyone else is slow, slow, slow. It would be easy to think, given how generally unassuming he is, that Speed's only gimmick is that very trait he's named for, and while it rankles his pride sometimes, it is awfully handy to be underestimated. Because, of course, he isn't just fast.

"Weird question," he asks, feeling his ribs creak where the other guy - slower, yeah, but a better-trained fighter with more experience, for sure - tagged him good in the initial exchange. His lip is swollen and bloody. From a speedster's perspective, this fight has gone on for ages already, in the space between the moments of everything around them. "Is fast all you get from that? 'cause, like, I'm gonna bad if this kills you."

And what's 'this'?

Well, he might not be a really trained fighter, beyond what he's learned from the more experienced Avengers. But he is a kid from Jersey who's been in and out of juvie, and been in an awful lot of fights both in and out of the system. He knows there's only one rule in a fight: Win.

Which is why he aims a kick right between the uprights of his speed-enhanced opponent. Not as hard as he can, sure.

But it'd crumple a car door.

* * *

Frank ducks his head as the elbow comes in, taking the blow to the corner of his eye-socket instead of his nose. He's going to have a righteous shiner, but at least he didn't have his nose broken — again. He staggers back under the weight of the taller man, drawing the knife back red and then punching it forward again. There's already blood on the other man's lips, but it pays to be sure. At least it should pay, but instead he's got spines swinging for his face, and he pulls the dying man closer to him, trying to put the taller guy's head between the spines and his own face, to give him time to twist away. This, of course, means that he gets very, very close to the man he just stabbed twice, and blood washes over his own shirt and jeans, and spatters across his face as the taller man tries to find breath and only finds blood. "God damn it." For as much crap as he was flipping Speed, he's getting a little repetitive. "I thought we fuckin' dealt with this shit." He doesn't know the drug trade. There's always someone else who'll move the product.

* * *

Well this was certainly an unusual turn of events! Colin's HUD struggled to keep up with the change, his systems confused as the hostile took on a strange silver hue. The silver one had paused though, was it an attempt at intimidation? The man in the suit didn't even flinch, the silver one's tooth flash reflected off of the suit's cold almost mirror like visor as Colin shunted power from his solid state batteries to his gauss rifles. He would have loaded his missiles too, but, this alleyway was far too tight.

WEAPONS ONLINE.

Colin twitched his finger slightly, firing both his gauss rifles, one slung under each arm, right at the new mutant's center mass.

* * *

Don't worry, Trish. That move lands as intended, as she's grabbed the guy that just tried to elbow Tommy. Tommy's too involved in speedland to really give the normal guy much thought, which leaves him to Trish. First the face, then the knee, and the soldier drops down to that injured leg. He flashes a look up at Trish, and aims to grab her at the knees to knock her onto her back.

In speedland, the now jacked-up speedster on borrowed amperage is turning his head toward Speed who is still moving faster than him, but not superhuman. He's landed a few blows, but Tommy's got some skill that he didn't see coming. The Jersey kid gets that blow, and the blue-eyed ex-soldier goes careening back, suddenly coming into focus as he slams full-force into the brownstone wall and leaves a bloodied imprint of his silhouette in the bricks as he slumps down to the ground. One jacked up Marine down, two to go!

Frank arms himself with a living — kinda? — shield and the spines rip across the fellow soldier with a splay of blood across the alley entrance to the bodega. The spine-armed soldier grabs the almost-dead comrade and hurls him over his shoulder like wet, fleshy garbage. This lets him grab Frank by the shoulders to haul him up and hurl him at a wall.

Then someone with red hair is bolting past Trish, past the not-Iron Man, and Barbara Gordon is plowing her shoulder right into spiny's back; she hooks her foot around the opponents ankle to hobble him.

Colin's weapons open up, and the Marine just keeps a slow and steady advance toward him. Thing is about drugs is that they don't always work as intended. While the big guy takes several long concussions of incoming fire, a giant chunk of his arm goes hurling off his silver exterior to land in a splat just at Trish's feet. Then there's another, and another, and just as the big guy is looping his arm around Colin, he's a riddled mass that tries to barrel Colin down to the ground even while he bleeds out.

* * *

Looking down at the man she just brought down to his knees, Trish shakes her head. "Sorry, I don't need a hug today. But thank you for caring." Except he's just a little too fast for her. Or perhaps she's just not used to being in a fight. As she she's grabbed around the knee, she begins to loose balance.

"Not…this…kitty!" She says through gritted teeth, trying to keep herself upright. She holds her arms outright. Swiftly she brings a fist down to hit the man in the side of the head.

* * *

"Ugh… Man I got blood on my shirt," the speedster complains, looking down at a few spatters of red on the green material. They'll probably wash out. "Wait… I think that one's from the hot dogs…"

You ever get the feeling that sometimes metahumans don't feel quite the same sense of mortal urgency in these sorts of situations as everyone else does? It probably comes from being able to dodge bullets, and that sort of thing. The world just… Looks differently when you have superpowers.

The rest of the fight is still chaos, chaos he's not entirely sure he can safely interject himself into (safe for everyone else, not so much for him, anyway) though he's starting to wonder what, exactly, Barbara does for Tony Stark. Maybe she's on security…?

So he finds himself crouching by the downed, formerly fast ex-soldier, checking first for a pulse and then for anything interesting he might be carrying on him.

"Go team," he calls over his shoulder. "You guys got this."

* * *

Oh joy, more blood splattered around and on Frank. But at least it's not his own. He does, however, have bigger problems, as he drops his now-definitely-dead human shield, and draws his pistol with his newly-freed hand. Fast as he is, he doesn't get it out in time to shoot Spiny, and ends up flying across the alley to land behind the person in the armored suit, thumping against the brick wall and then down to the ground. The double impact causes him to groan as he pushes himself up, collecting the pistol that he dropped as he hit the wall. The knife is still held tight in his hand, of course. Luckily, Babs buys him time by her strike on Spiny, and Frank has a heartbeat to look over the chaos in the alley — one guy trying to drop the vigilante in the paper-plate-mask, one guy getting hammered by some crazy-ass advanced weaponry, one guy who just appeared out of super-speed to create a bloody piece of art on bricks, and Spiny. Even as he's getting back to his feet painfully, his ribs aching under the impacts, his pistol tracks toward the guy facing off with Trish. He knows that Babs can take care of herself, but it looks like the 'kitty' can too, so he tracks the pistol over to Barbara's target, waiting for an opening before he tries to put two rounds into the guy's thigh.

* * *

The suit made an odd almost creaking sound as Colin stabilised himself against the newly mutated soldier's push. The suit was strong though, damn strong. As soon as he got his balance back he fired up his thrusters, ascending for a bit, before trying to slam him down at full strength against the alleyway floor.

* * *

Frank's shots ring out, and then the alley goes quiet except for the breathing of those still standing — and the more wheezing breath of those who aren't, but might get up again at some point. Barbara is standing over Spiny as he bleeds out from the shot to his thigh. The redhead has caused some serious damage of her own through the strike to his back. Everything else in the alley is in a state of carnage.

Babs turns slowly around, and then she's heading straight over to Frank to give him some support. "Frank," she breathes as she gets close. Then she's looking over to Knight and Hellcat, and her brows furrow up at the latter. "Is… is that a paper plate?" But there's no real time to get an answer as the police sirens blare. Babs casts a quick look to the other two and then she's grabbing Frank around his shoulder. She starts to lead him to the opposite end of the alley, leaving the other two to make their own escapes.

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