Legacies of Justice

[Nightwing]

BATMAN, NIGHTWING and BATGIRL head to the Bludhaven docks as the war between the Firecats and Gotham's Triad comes to a bloody end. While DEATHSTROKE THE TERMINATOR (emitted by Batman) is there to confuse matters, the Bats discover the real culprit behind Gotham's gang wars. But the discovery brings up more questions than it answers.

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The chaos in Gotham City has been swirling out of control for far too long now, the escalating gang violence making it increasingly dangerous to roam the streets at night. Yesterday the violence spilled over into the day when a drive-by shooting at a school left three teens dead and a half dozen others injured and in the hospital. A dangerous situation becoming more so, something entirely unacceptable to the Dark Knight and his charges. But days, weeks of work, shaking down sources on the street, intimidating witness left behind after thwarted attacks have finally paid off. A chance to take care of the heart of the entire affair. The two groups that started it all. The Lucky Hand Triad of Gotham, and the Firecats of Bludhaven.

For weeks the Firecats had their way, killing members of the Lucky Hand seemingly at will, shooting up or bombing their businesses and generally turning Gotham's Chinatown into a war zone. All because, for some inexplicable reason, they had been taken over by former Eastern European mercenaries. And now the tide has turned, in large part because of one man. Deathstroke the Terminator. Since coming under the employ of the Lucky Hand he has almost single-handedly turned the tide of the gang war. And tonight the Lucky Hand intend have their revenge, striking at the heart of the Firecats operation in Bludhaven. A fortified warehouse along the docks from where they've been operating since moving into the 'big time'.

While he did let Oracle know about the expected 'festivities' tonight so that she could inform Nightwing, the matter is a little too big to just leave it to them. Even if Deathstroke wasn't a factor, there is likely to be more then fifty heavily armed men battling it out on Bludhaven's docks tonight. Maybe more. Probably more. By all accounts on the street the Lucky Hand Triad has drafted almost every able bodied man in their stable for tonight's assault and there is no reason to think that the Firecats would answer with less. No matter what happens, a lot of people are likely to die tonight. And the Dark Knight intends to minimize that number as much as possible while bringing an end to this war. But by the time the Batmobile pulls up to the wharf, screeching to a stop in a nearby alley, the sound of gunfire already fills the night time air in the near distance...

This is /definitely/ not what Meredith had in mind when she told him to 'take it easy'. Leslie could probably have told her how futile such a request was. Not that it was a request, per se. Still, futile. Even Oracle, who'd appointed herself the enforcer of the doctors' orders, didn't withhold Batman's information about the assault that was going to go down in Bludhaven. However much Barbara might agree with the sensibility of caution following his nanite-induced heart attack, when it comes down to it, she's one of them. Personal wants, even health, take a backseat to duty and responsibility. His city's about to be turned into a war zone. Damn right he'll be there. Unlike the massive sleek black vehicle his mentor arrives in, his car appears to be a mid-sixties rust-colored muscle car, but appearances can be deceiving.

For once Batgirl hasn't had to grab a ride on top of a handy truck or bus to head south to Bludhaven having been in the Batcave at the time of Batman's departure. While not much was said during the drive no words were really needed as the two went over the different possibilities the night my take in their heads. When the car comes to a stop the teen is already working on her departure and as the door opens the sound of the gunfire becomes that much clearer. Glancing over her shoulder to her mentor she waits for word to head off.

It's almost remarkable at how quick one can make the trip down the coast from Gotham to Bludhaven when driving a massively modified car capable of speeds that would put most race cars to shame. But even with all that speed, even knowing ahead of time that this was coming they are still not quite easily enough to head it off before the fighting begins. And yet, despite the fact that it would seem likely the confrontation has been going on for several minutes, there is no sign of the Bludhaven police either. No flashing lights in the distances, no sirens. Out here on the water, on a calm night like this there is no doubt that the sound of the gunfire is traveling for miles. They have to have reports about it by now. But not a hide or hair of the police is to be found. That should be infuriating and maybe on some level it is. But for the Dark Knight it is almost a relief. It takes one variable out of the equation. Fortunately, the chances of the BPD showing up before this is all over is mercifully slight. They don't have any great desire to be caught in the midst of the gunfight like this.

Slipping out of the car, Batman immediately checks the nearby area for any threats and when it becomes plain that the fighting all seems to be concentrated on the docks themselves and the fortified warehouse there he nods discretely to Batgirl. "Go. If you can pick off lone stragglers feel free. But don't engage any large groups without backup," he orders quietly, starting towards the docks himself, cape flapping behind him. "Nightwing, you read?" he murmurs over the comm. Yes, he informed Oracle about this, and told her to let his original partner know. But given just what he's been through recently he wouldn't be surprised -- or hold it against her -- if she chose to 'forget' this once.

Well /Nightwing/ would have held it against her. Still, it's his city. However much she (or Batman) might not mind if he sat this one out, /he/ wouldn't forgive it easily. And he knows that if this were taking place in Gotham, Batman would feel exactly the same. "I'm here," Nightwing says into his comm as the Nightbird pulls into a cul-de-sac on the opposite side of the warehouse from where the Batmobile is parked. He hops out of the smaller (relatively speaking) vehicle and says, "South side of the building. Caught some chatter on the BPD dispatch. They plan to show up in force.../after/ everyone is dead. Their words." Yeah, it's not exactly the best police force in the nation. But then if it were, Bludhaven wouldn't need Nightwing.

With her orders given Batgirl slips off deeper into the alley before making her way skyward to get a better lay of the land. Keeping just out of sight from any prying eyes below she takes a look in the direction of the docks and then downward to see if any of the Firecats or Lucky Hand are this far from the action. Not seeing any stragglers she takes a few steps backward and the leaps across the short opening between her current rooftop and the next, keeping the same pattern until she either arrives on seen or finds any gang members away from the main group.

The news about the Bludhaven Police is no real surprise. There's few worries about finding many men or women on that force with a hero complex. Most take a very pragmatic view about this sort of thing. After all, out here on the docks there are few if any innocent bystanders to be caught in crossfire. The problem, of course is that the police department would probably take the same approach if this shootout was happening in a crowded housing development too. To serve and protect is more of a loose guideline for most cops in this town. But in this particular instance it is probably for the best. Having a three way shootout here tonight is to no one's benefit and given the nature of the local authorities, they would probably be just as interested in going after the three vigilantes as the warring gang factions themselves. Nothing they couldn't deal with in all likelihood, but another distraction is not really what they need. So Batman greets the news with a small nod and an impassive shrug. "I would prefer we disappoint them on the everyone being dead score," he states quietly before turning his attention to just what they're dealing with.

The warehouse in question sits right down by the waterfront itself, nestled up to the shore and thereby flanked by the water on two sides. A wide sweep of wharf surrounds it on the other two fronts with no other buildings nearby leaving open fields of fire for at least twenty yards. Huge shipping containers are scattered about the docks further out, but in addition to providing cover for anyone approaching, they also create perfect ambush spots to thin out any approaching group. Something that the Firecats would appear to have taken advantage of. Due to the starlite lenses, it is possible to make out a few bodies scattered here or there from their own vantage point and periodically there are muzzle flashes from amongst the maze of huge metal containers themselves, suggesting that some of the fighting is still on the docks. But the lion's share would seem to have already moved to the warehouse itself. Small fires burn where the heavy front doors have apparently been blown off their hinges with some sort of explosives, black smoke rising into the air and the regular sound of automatic weapons fire cuts through the night.

"I find a little disappointment keeps them on their toes," Nightwing says, agreeing with Batman. After taking a quick glance at the situation, Nightwing frowns, looking for ways in that might not be covered. Most warehouses along the Bludhaven waterfront were built when the small port was a center for a whaling fleet. Needing to keep meat cold, as well as the other products extracted from the cetacean flesh at anything from frozen to room temperature, will mean duct-work. Removing the grapnel from its compartment on his ankle, Nightwing says into the comm, "Heading for the roof," he says before firing a line upwards.

A thrown batarang takes out one of the lookouts posted by the Firecats that Batgirl comes across in the alley between her current perch and the next roof top. When the coast is clear she makes the leap across the opening before moving forwards once more. The soft stream of smoke ahead announces the location of the warehouse with its blown doors and when the next alley is found to be clear she makes her way carefully down to street level on the hunt for any stragglers that can be taken out of the equation before she reaches the site of the actual trouble.

The evidence of the pitched battle is everywhere in t he dark night. From the near continuous rattle of gunfire that cracks through the even air almost continuously to the haze of smoke that rises from the burning building. The scattered dark lumps that sprawl lifelessly across the dock serves as testament to the human tool, and even more disturbing is the sickeningly sweet scent of charred flesh near the fires that suggest that a few of the fallen are amongst the burning flames near the entrance to the building.

When Nightwing arrives on the roof of the warehouse he will not find it entirely devoid of activity. A pair of sentries walk along the edges, peering over the side to the dock below. Whenever someone is spotted approaching they open fire from their vantage point, cutting them down with automatic weapons fire. A definite problem for the approaching Lucky Hand thugs. Probably less so for Bludhaven's protector.

For Batgirl, it is not hard to find the odd straggler still fighting out amongst the docks themselves. Here and there the fighting has spilled out from the warehouse proper, usually no more then a pair on either side, using assorted packing materials and parked vehicles for cover as they exchange fire. And with their concentration fully on one another, none of the groups is likely to notice her approach.

For his part, the Dark Knight takes the more circuitous route to the conflict, moving amongst the huge metal shipping containers that form a sort of maze. Like Batgirl, he catches the occasional straggler, dealing with them swiftly and silently, taking them down before they have a chance to call out. One moment there is footfalls and gunfire and then next only silence, nothing more audible then a swish of a cape as he continues around and over the makeshift barriers. It is only when he is almost through, when he can see the warehouse ahead that a voice suddenly sounds from behind him. "I wouldn't if I were you. This entire thing is nearly over. All the useless bloodshed. Sure it pays well but I don't like it anymore then you." Standing there, atop one of the shipping containers is the notorious mercenary, Deathstroke. No surprise that he'd be here, but with the majority of the fighting taking place within the warehouse that's where one would have expected to find him, not out here. Watching.

Nightwing pulls himself up to just below the base of the roof, grabbing hold of the edge with one hand while placing the retracted grapnel back on his ankle. He reaches into the wrist compartment with his free hand, removing the minicamera. He thumbs the activation stud and a small display window opens on one side of his mask's lenses, showing him what the camera sees. He lifts it over the edge of the roof and takes a quick scan, noting the presence of the two guards. He notes their movement and pace, getting their timing down before sticking the camera back into his wrist compartment. Reaching into another compartment, he pulls out a nightarang, holding the projectile between two fingers as he counts down silently. When the count reaches zero, he hauls himself over the edge swiftly, flipping his body over and slamming two booted feet into the Firecat passing by. He looks to where he knows the other will be and hurls the nightarang across the roof towards him.

Using their own cover to her advantage, Batgirl picks off first one opponent with a quick punch before carefully moving towards the other. Letting the shadows aid in hiding herself as she crosses from cover to cover she occasionally throws a found can or other item behind her in order to make her target believe their original opponent still exists. Once near enough she makes her way back around behind her target to engage, first with a light tap on the shoulder and then with a swinging fist to make it a little more fair with the need to sneak up on them now over.

No matter how badly they are outnumbered, no matter how much firepower the other side has it is the efficiency in which they deal with the opposition that makes them so very effective. In a matter of seconds Nightwing and Batgirl have both dealt with their targets, taking a number of the gang members out of the fighting, and more importantly taken that many guns out of the fight. Yes, it will be a lot more dangerous, a lot more difficult once they enter the building but now, between the three of them there is a mostly clear path to deal with that obstacle. Or at least there will be once the matter of Deathstroke is resolved.

Narrowing his eyes, the cowled Dark Knight crouches ever so slightly, head shifting just a little as he takes in his options. Close enough to the edge of the makeshift maze of cargo containers, he is close enough that he can dart around the side of them and out of the confines of the passage if Deathstroke opens fire. Even with the mercenary having the high ground he is not in that bad of a tactical situation. But the masked soldier does not seem to be in any hurry to open fire, instead leaning quite casually against his power staff, one arm wrapped around it. Though Batman does take note that the other is tucked behind his back. "Deathstroke is spotted," he whispers over the sub-vocal mic before straightening a little, raising his voice. "I somehow doubt that Wilson," he offers darkly, one hand casually dropping to his belt to retrieve a batarang.

"I wouldn't bother with that. I'll have moved before you can ever hit me. Or I'll just blast your little toy out of the air," the mercenary replies conversationally, almost sounding amused. "Besides, I might drop this..." he adds, bringing his hand out from behind his back. The blinking light is obvious at once, the red flashes apparent despite the orange glove it's gripped in. A detonator. "Like I said, this ends tonight. You're not going to have to worry about the Lucky Hand Triad or the Firecats anymore. Really, I'm doing you a favor. Well, not really. I mean I did get paid a rather staggering amount to stiffen their spines and get them all here, together like this. My real employer has appreciated them keeping you occupied for the past couple of months but he doesn't need them anymore. You can consider this a gift from him, I suppose, for the inconvenience," he continues. "Oh... and by the way, if you have any of your kiddies on the scene you might want to get them to clear out too. I've heard the rumors that you lost one of yours like this before. Be a shame for history to repeat itself again," he says, one more little taunt.

"Batgirl, Nightwing, clear out and take anyone you can with you. The warehouse is rigged to explode," the Dark Knight orders sharply over the comm even as he lunges forward, racing towards the shipping container where Deathstroke stands.

Yeah, that sounds like Slade alright. Nightwing grabs the downed Firecat nearest him and runs across the rooftop as fast as he can. Setting the one unconscious thug on top of the other, he fires his grapnel to the roof of a nearby warehouse. Once the grapple locks on to its target, he loops the decel line around the two hoods twice, shoving all of them off the edge and swinging down towards the street below. It's not the softest landing he's ever made, but luckily he's got three hundred and seventy pounds of goonmeat to cushion his fall. "Two pulled off the roof" he reports, untangling his grapnel from the sleepy scum.

Former opponents are now in the need of rescue and Batgirl does not even hesitate as she spots one of the Firecats less then twenty-five feet away. Stepping from the shadows she waves her arms to get their attention, "Bomb. Go." The last said with a wave of her right arm to send them away from the warehouse. If the Firecat was going to argue the sheer shock of seeing one of the Bats coupled with the fact they'd thought they were alone until the cowled figure had spoken is enough for him to decide to listen and not fight and to in fact he grabs a few of his friends as he makes his escape.

In a heartbeat his grapnel is out and in his hand, aimed upwards as he fires it off and takes to the air, rapidly rising towards the top of the shipping container where Deathstroke stands. And in that same heartbeat Deathstroke lifts the end of his staff, the tip already glowing menacingly. A bright red blast bursts from the staff, streaking through the dark night and exactly through the same space occupied by Batman -- just a half second before he released the line, flipping away to land a few feet away atop the metal container. "There's still dozens of people in there Wilson," he growls, lunging towards the masked mercenary as he brushes away a strike from his staff with one gauntleted fist, reaching for the detonator in his hand.

"So there are," Deathstroke agrees, dodging back -- too fast for any mere man as he nimbly avoids the Dark Knight's efforts, staff twirling in his one hand defensively, more to keep his opponent at bay then to actually strike to injure. "Petty thugs, drug dealers, hired muscle and a bunch of mercenaries who aren't exactly doing their profession proud. You'll have to excuse me if I don't lose sleep over the world being rid of them," he retorts. "Besides, a job is a job," he adds, lashing out with the butt end of his staff.

Ready for the move, Gotham's Dark Knight grabs the end of the staff as he sidesteps the lunge, a firm grasp on it as he pulls hard, leaping forward with his other arm outstretched. This time, even Deathstroke's super human reflexes don't save him, the gloved fist connecting solidly on his chin as he staggers back, falling down into a sitting position at the edge of the container. "Ooooh, this could be fun. But look what you made me do..." he says, abruptly releasing the detonator, letting it fall over the edge to his side.

There is a brief pause, no more then a second or two, just enough time to make one hope that perhaps something went wrong. That Deathstroke was bluffing. That the remote was damaged. That the signal failed. And then a flash of light followed instantly but the loud blast, almost a physical wave of sound and heat as Bludhaven's night sky erupts with the violent explosion. Backlit against the flames are the half dozen or so gang members forewarned by Nightwing and Batgirl, or those dragged to safety. But many, many more must have been within the warehouse when it went up.

The force of the blast slams into Bludhaven's protector like a giant fist. Nightwing manages to turn his body in mid-air, getting his feet below him and landing on the asphalt in a crouch. He stands, pausing to get his wind back and assess the situation. While Bludhaven's whaling history goes back hundreds of years, advances in refrigeration and transportation meant that the warehouses that stored the fleet's catches were mostly rebuilt from the ground up sometime early in the 20th century, which means more brick-and-mortar and concrete was used instead of wooden timbers. The explosion may have been violent, but the basic structure of portions of the building remains intact. The flames of the initial blast may have towered into Bludhaven's nocturnal skyline, but the building itself isn't flammable. People inside may still be alive.

May.

And, of course, anyone who might be inside is almost certainly a murderer. A killer for hire, or possibly just for fun, they will be one of the people responsible for igniting the wars that have ravaged Gotham City. Meanwhile, the man who tried to kill /them/, tried to turn this little portion of his city, is locked in combat with his mentor. Of course Batgirl is there as well, and in a fight, she's better than him. Maybe even better than Batman. Between the two of them, they might be able to take Slade down...Might. Of all of them, though, it's Nightwing who's had the most history with Slade Wilson. The most run-ins. The most experience. In a battle between the mercenary and the vigilantes, his knowledge might just prove the difference-maker.

How does the ethical calculus add up? Try to save the life of the killer who might still be inside? Take down the killer's killer before he kills again, while maybe leaving that other killer to die? It's an impossible question to answer in a classroom, let alone in front of the charnel house that the warehouse has become, trying to decide what's worth saving, if there's anything left to save.

In the few seconds that he stands there, a cracking sound can be heard briefly above the roar of the flames. A large chunk of wall that had previously been upright falls inward, crushing anything beneath it, sending a cloud of dust and smoke outward. A flash of orange catches his eye. Not the flames, but from the mask of the mercenary on top of the container, facing off against Batman. Clenching his teeth, glaring hatefully, Nightwing stands and begins to run towards the fight.

Only the flash from the staff gives Batgirl any hint of what is occurring between Batman and Deathstroke as the two confront each other. The running gang members block her view as they respond to her warning in the seconds before the explosion rips through the night and begins to fill the area with smoke.

Pausing only briefly to assess the situation she darts forward making her way between the fleeing gang members as she heads towards the smoke and the heat caused by the explosion. As she reaches rumble marking a hole in the warehouses southern wall she reaches a gloved hand in to pull out one of the Firecats and seeing him safely out into the night before she retrieves a rebreather from within her utility belt and places it over her mask before stepping into the interior to begin the search for survivors.
Once inside the building the sounds of the fire coupled with the smoke make the task ahead difficult and after a quick look about her she heads towards the densest smoke knowing that any who have fallen there are in the most danger from the smoke. Any injuries sustained by any of the survivors will be up to Bludhaven's medical teams to worry about with the cowled teen only concerned with their retrieval into the night.

There is no need to turn around, no need to check out the explosion. If the flash of light wasn't enough evidence, the blast wave that follows is surely good enough. Even this far away the heat is almost palpable and while not enough to knock him from his feet, the Dark Knight does take a step forward, bracing himself as his cape whips around his legs. His mouth sets in a hard, thin-line, no doubt glaring at the prone mercenary only a short distance away who doesn't seem phased in the least by the lives he just took. Others might utter threats right about now. Certainly he is adept enough at it, utilizing it as a tool just like fear, just like anything in his utility belt for that matter. But not right now. Instead he immediately lunges after Deathstroke, not rashly, but intent on taking advantage of the man's prone position.

For his part Deathstroke does take just a second or two to admire his handiwork as the explosion goes off. But no more then that. He's too professional. But that brief instant does let Batman close the distance on him, and only rolling aside at the last second allows him to avoid the attack. "Don't get so bent out of shape there, cape-boy. If you'd just grow up and join the real world I wouldn't have to do your job for you. That's several dozen thugs you'll never have to worry about again. You should be thanking me," he rattles off before catching a blow across the jaw, head rocking back a little before lashing out with the butt-end of his staff, catching the advancing vigilante in the stomach and doubling him over long enough to retreat a few more steps.

"Having fun yet? I know I am. But here comes the cavalry. I really, really should have negotiated a price for taking you on," the masked mercenary notes almost wistfully, directing his staff's energy beam towards the onrushing Nightwing, the blasts tearing up chunks from the pavement, hurling little bits of debris into the air around him. "Oh well. Next time. Fortunately my employer figured you'd need to work off a little steam after all of this. And he does like to oblige." Abruptly whirling the staff in his hands, he thrusts it behind him, the blast tearing open the heavy doors on another cargo container. Seconds later more then a dozen figures begin to emerge -- some in mask, some not, some bearing a variety of melee weapons, some without, but all moving with that deadly grace of trained fighters. Assassins.

Inside the remains of the fortified warehouse, the fire crackles and burns, spreading it's choking smoke, the heat that cooks the very air. And here or there are the marks of the fallen, still bodies, most showing the blackened marks of fatal burns. Fallen pillars still on fire occasionally provide obstacles and every so often another interior wall collapses from the damage, one coming perilously close to where Batgirl stands. It seems hopeless, but as she moves deeper into the densest of the smoke the sound of a choking cough comes from up ahead.

Nightwing forces his mind to switch gears, to ignore the anger bubbling just under the surface. It'd be so easy to lose it right now, especially against Slade. So much unpleasant history there, and dozens of murders in his adopted city added to the tally...but he keeps it under wraps. Rash action is never a good idea with Deathstroke. When the mercenary almost casually takes a shot at him, he leaps over the blast, flipping onto a large wooden crate, and using his momentum to propel him onto the top of a metal cargo container. No, definitely not a time to let his emotions overrule his judgement.

When the group of assassins begins exiting the other container, Nightwing's eyes narrow. After a moment's ponderance, he holds his arms up in front of his chest and begins emptying out several of the small compartments in his gauntlets, retrieving almost two dozen capsules. "Rebreather on," he says quietly into his comm, hurling the capsules at the assassins while they're still grouped relatively closely together at the doors of the container. The people who stepped out of the container carry themselves with the bearing of trained fighters. It's highly likely they've all trained to fight in the dark. It's likely most, if not all, have trained to ignore distractions. It's even possible some will instinctually know to hold their breath when smoke begins to erupt around them, but given that the capsules Nightwing threw at their feet include flash-bangs, smoke bombs, concussion grenades AND pellets which release knockout gas, are any of them going to think clearly enough to realize they should hold their breath while a panoply of explosions of light and sound and force are occurring all around them? Could be. Which is why after he hurls the last capsule, Nightwing triggers the infrared pickups in his lenses, removes his own rebreather from his ankle compartment and pulls it over his head as he launches himself off the container towards them, pulling his escrima from their holsters as he charges into the smoky mess.

The sound of her rebreather hardly betrays her presence to those around her as she stands listening for any signs of victims caught within the building. As Batgirl stands there within the flames and smoke she hears the creaking of the wall and moves moments before it crashes. Her new position affords her what her last did not and that is the sound of someone coughing not far away.

Moving around a stack of crates the cowled teen comes across one of the Firecats bent over as they cough from the thick smoke about them. Reaching into her belt Batgirl pulls out a second rebreather and holds it in front of their face with her left hand as she helps him to stand with her right. Once the gang member is standing she begins leading him towards the far side of the warehouse where the smoke is less dense and there is the promise of a door. Once he's safe she'll take the rebreather and head back in to look for any more survivors.

"This is where I leave you capes. It's been fun and I do look forward to working in your city's again. So long as I'm getting paid to deal with you. Try not to get yourself killed tonight. I'd consider it a professional courtesy," Slade quips, once more leaning jauntily on his powerstaff, hands folded on top and his chin rested there as the Dark Knight recovers a short distance away from the blow to the gut. Of course, that is just about the time the flashbangs and various gas pellets explode behind him and he can't help but peek over his shoulder. "Son of a bit..." he begins as the rapidly expanding cloud of smoke engulfs him.

The warning from Nightwing is heard over his comm and while he is doubled-up from the Deathstroke's blow, the Dark Knight lingers a little longer then is strictly necessary, slipping out his own rebreather from one of his pouches and bringing up the infrared display in his cowl. By the time he straightens the expanding cloud has already enveloped the masked mercenary by the lens inserts in his own let him pierce that veil as he lunges in after him, a rapid flurry of kicks and punches driving him back further into the mess. A few even finding their mark with Slade unable to mount a proper defense.

The appearance of the assassins certainly leaves little doubt to just who Slade's employer is, who has orchestrated all of this. Though, of course, there is always the possibility of deception. But those within the container prove that they are far more then the typical hired guns in short order. Deadly, dangerous and well trained, just as one would expect. While a couple of muffled coughs come from within the expanding smokescreen, that isn't all that does. In mere seconds, despite being blinded, a pair of shuriken fly out of the mess, straight towards Nightwing. An instant later a pair of swordsmen -- brother and sister judging by their appearance -- follow quickly after, weapons held at the ready, a war cry on their lips as they sprint across the short span of steps between them and their target, seeming none the worse for wear after the assault of light, noise and chemicals.

It is slow going, with the raging heat and the choking smoke that fills the burning building. While Batgirl herself might be able to see well enough, the badly burned man can not, eyes thick with smoke and ash, still choking. He stumbles, almost trips and the contents of his stomach empty at his feet as she drags him on, a scream passing his lips as burns on his side brush up against a stack of crates that have, miraculously neither fallen nor caught fire yet. Still, the real miracle is that the cowled teen found anyone alive at all. The chances of their being another in this mess are slim to none. Especially by the time she gets this one out, judging by the rate that the building burns, another pillar giving way as a part of the roof comes thundering down, no more then fifteen feet behind them sending a cloud of ash and burning cinders into the air, swirling about madly.

Nightwing leaps upward as he runs, jumping over the lower of the two shuriken while batting the other aside with one of the metal cylinders in his hand. Twisting in mid-jump to land facing in the direction he was running, he is just able to bring both of the escrima to bear, parrying the twin strikes the twin sword-wielders attack him with. Immediately the swordsman begins to circle left while the swordswoman circles right, attempting to split his attention and flank him. To counter this maneuver, Nightwing charges forward, as if running away from their flank. They pursue, following him in perfect unison as he runs straight towards the wall of a container. He keeps running, though, flinging the metal sticks back over his shoulders towards their heads as he takes a step up the wall. Both of them parry the hurled escrima with their swords, leaving their weapons out of position as he pushes himself off the wall, flipping backwards in mid-air and slamming the soles of his boots into their chins.

Her trip in is short lived as a portion of the roof caves in nearby stopping her forward motion. It is only a few seconds before a larger section falls making any attempt by Batgirl to go farther in non-existent. Even so the teen pauses every third stride as she crosses the distance back to the door to listen for any signs before moving forward. Once back into the night she moves away from the burning building not removing her rebreather until she's a good twenty feet away and the air is marginally clearer of the smoke and ash from the fire.

For a few seconds the Dark Knight remains locked in battle with Deathstroke within the cloud of smoke, but as the small horde of mercenaries exiting from the cargo container begins to crowd in the specific thermal scans become jumbled, heat signatures overlapping with one another until it is a mess, making him almost as blind as those he's fighting about. The fact that a few of them -- the less graceful, less deadly ones no doubt -- are stumbling over one another is of little comfort. Again he lashes out with a quick kick, seeking to double Slade over the same way the mercenary did to him moments before but his booted foot hits something considerably more solid. An instant later Batman finds himself being carried out of the obscuring mist by an impossibly large man, powerful arms wrapped around his back before he finds himself slammed into one of the metal walls of the cargo containers, breath rushing out of him.

Boith pursuing swordsmen go down, weapons clattering across the ground, apparently no longer a threat. But the dark haired girl proves a little more resilient, and a length of chain slips into her hand, whipping out to try and entangle Nightwing's legs. From out of the cloud a third figure staggers, hair cropped short and wearing a right robe. He coughs, trying to clear his eyes before lunging forward towards Bludhaven's protector, fists upraised.

The large building continues to burn, lighting up Bludhaven's night sky. Even dozens of meters away the heat is palpable, oppressive, seeming to steal the oxygen from the air and a dozen or so survivors huddle in small groups, none untouched. Some show bad burns, while others escaped with mere cuts and bruises of varying severity. But no one, it appears, escaped unharmed. But at least they escaped. Something that no one else seems likely to do when another massive piece of the outer wall crashes inward, spreading more rubble and flame throughout the shattered building.

Nightwing tries to leap over the swinging chain. He keeps his right leg free, but the chain wraps around his left leg just below the knee. A quick tug reveals that he evidently didn't kick her hard enough, as she holds fast. As the robed man lunges at him, Nightwing grabs hold of the man's robe and stops fighting the efforts of the woman on the other end of the chain. Instead, twisting his body, he uses the force of her pulling to add to that of the gassed man's momentum and hurls him towards the woman in an aikido throw.

It is a rather effective two for one effort. The robed martial artist is still staggered from the smoke and his attack is a little less precise then the sword-bearing twins demonstrated, making it a relatively easy thing to counter it, tossing him towards the prone woman. Though she might have managed to shrug off the kick, her prone position, her hold on the chain, all of it makes it that much more difficult to dodge and having her compatriot land heavily on her is enough to slacken her grip, two muted groans coming from the pile'o'assassin.

For his part, it isn't precision that the Dark Knight has to deal with, but sheer strength. His breath explodes from him at the impact and he grimace in pain, a momentary flicker of expression easily lost in the dark before his expression becomes as rock-like as ever. Lifting one arm, he brings an elbow smashing down on his hulking assailant, opening a gash over the bridge of his nose. But the towering figure holds on, simply grunting at the powerful strike, backing up a step or two so he can once again tighten his grasp. With brute force proving less then effective, the cowled figure uses precision of another sort, latching out and striking at a vulnerable nerve cluster, fingers digging in against flesh, holding there as the arms that hold him confined grow increasingly slack. Finally staggered, the man drops, arms falling limply to his side and a quick knee finishes the job, sending him hurtling to the ground, unconscious. Without another moment's consideration for him the Dark Knight turns his attention towards the smoke cloud that is slowly dissipating. But while there is still a trio of shapes emerging there, the last straggling assassins, it is plain that none of them is Deathstroke.

Nightwing gives another forceful tug with his leg, jerking the chain free from the woman's loosened grip. Taking hold of the middle of the chain, he swings the other end of the chain at the back of the head of the man on top of the mini-pile, then moves in quickly and drives the heavy toe of his boot into the woman's temple. He takes a quick look around to see who is left standing. Four people, three of whom are closing on the fourth. Doesn't take the world's greatest detective to figure this one out. Unwrapping the chain from his leg, he picks up one of his own escrima off of the ground. He takes hold of the chain in both hands and begins swinging one end of the chain. One of the three assassins turns away from the Dark Knight to face this new threat. Nightwing begins to swing the chain faster, twirling it around in a figure 8 pattern, then adding to the complexity of the swing. The well-trained assassin keeps his attention on Nightwing, but he can't totally ignore the swinging chain either. The chain goes even faster and then shoots outward, towards the assassin's left shoulder. The assassin dodges right, stepping straight into the escrima in Nightwing's left hand that smashes into the side of his face. The chain clatters harmlessly to the ground.

Those still left standing are not exactly the cream of the crop. They were, after all, caught in the gas cloud, allowed themselves to be distracted by the flashbangs. Not charitable perhaps, but then Batman has little more use for mistakes then their master would. The difference being that he'll only see them rendered unconscious and arrested. Their master would likely have a much more... permanent fate in store for them. As one of the three falls prey to Nightwing he wastes little time, a batarang in his hand almost at once, hurled in the blink of an eye to cross that short expanse, catching the staff-wielding assassin across the side of the head soundly, dropping him into a heap on the ground. Closing quick, he gives no time to the last threat and when he lashes out, semi-blindly with one of the long daggers in his hands Batman lifts a gauntleted fist, catching the blade along the reinforced side, the notches there angling the weapon away so he can close quickly, fingers digging into his opponent's wrists, loosening his grasp until both weapons clatter to the ground uselessly. After that, it is a rather simple matter to take care of him. Only then does the Dark Knight turn to his oldest protegee, expression grim. "Wilson's gone. And I suspect even the local authorities won't be too long in showing up now."

There's a lot of ways to disappear from sight, even for those without access to teleportation, either by technological or supernatural means. The basic method involves speed, stealth, appropriate terrain and sufficient distraction. Speed and stealth, Slade has in abundance, and the war zone the Bludhaven dock has become, compounded with an assault by a squad of assassins, and it's not too surprising to either of the vigilantes that the Terminator has managed to elude them. He glances towards the warehouse to see Batgirl emerging from the wreckage, then nods at Batman's assessment of the situation. At this point, fire trucks and ambulances are more necessary than police cruisers, but they won't come without police protection, and the BPD can only drag their heels for so long without looking pretty bad. Still, one question merits asking. "What did he gain from this?" All the blood that's been spilled in both cities, and at the end, a flaming pyre of mercenaries, thugs and Triad muscle. The perpetrator may be a sociopath on a scale beyond even the usual Gotham crazies, but he operates with a ruthless pragmatism. There was a purpose to all of this, but it eludes Nightwing completely.

No, it is not a surprise. Not at all. But it is annoying. No, more then that. Much more then that given the toll exacted from Bludhaven tonight. No, it will not miss the petty thugs or the hired guns. But that's not really the point. No matter how bad they were, they didn't deserve to die. Which is why Deathstroke's escape is particularly vexing. And all the distractions, all the advantages he had at his disposal don't change that in the least. But regardless of that there is still plenty of work to be done. Much of it will be done by others, long after they are gone, but some, some they can deal with now. Like ensuring that those assassins that did linger are still around when the authorities finally show. Batman begins to bind their hands, in some cases their legs too, and in some instances, ties them to one of the cargo containers that dot the area still, spared in the explosions rampage across the docks. "That's the question isn't it," the Dark Knight replies grimly. "That's what we're going to get to the bottom of." He even has a few ideas of where they might begin at that. Straightening from his work, he glances over towards the burning building at last, watching the dark plumes of smoke drift out over the city's harbor, blotting out all trace of the night sky. "Batgirl, do a survey of the survivors. We'll do what we can for anyone that needs immediate aid, otherwise it's time to make ourselves scarce. The BPD won't be more then a few minutes out now." And they have other things, much more important things to deal with tonight then a lot of scared, trigger happy cops.