Legacies of Justice

[Dante]

Logfile from LegaciesOfJustice DC.

East End [Southern Gotham]

The East End would make a good study in urban decay. Once part of the thriving metropolis that is now Old Gotham the East End is now a crime-ridden area dominated by poverty and desperation. It is now nothing more than a collection of deteriorating buildings and run down factories that the unfortunate call their home.
Most see this part of the city as a cancer that can't be eliminated so at least must be ignored. The Gotham City Police Department's Central Precinct that is located just to the west does nothing to stem the crime and violence that runs rampant in this part of town - in fact it may only make it worse. Here even Police Officers feel free to hold up, shake down and outright steal from the destitute.
But if you can bare to stare into the face of poverty that runs rampant you might get a glimpse beneath the surface. And if you do you may be astounded to learn that here beauty still survives. The architecture in this area is glorious beneath the rust and mold, and nothing at all differentiates the lean people that live here from those that live uptown except for hope.

Contents:
The Question
Roads: [W] - Old City Hall District
Other exits: [WD] Wooden Door to Grant's Gym

The East End is something else. There's a lot of urban decay and blight here... and after the quake? It only got worse. It's a breeding area for the forces of evil that the police and vigilantes in Gotham fight to end. Outside an old boarded up row-home and several boarded up commercially zoned plots of land are several people. These people, dressed in purple pants and black t-shirts, are in a circular group and conversing with one another. Near by there's an old car on fire... seemingly burning for hours at this point. Nearby there is a busted open wooden crate full of something. Judging from the gestures being made towards it by the people at random intervals... they are conversing about it. A block down the street a old-style red VW Beetle sits idling.

What on earth posesses someone to come down here when they have a perfectly good roosting area elsewhere? As the light has faded from the city, so should have Dante's presence. But then again, he just got here. And unlike last time, he made an obligatory call to the fire department about the fire. Still nothing. Hah. So instead he's waiting, hands shoved into his pants pockets.

As the sun continues to go down and the long shadows of pre-night fall across the East End, the young men continue to talk amongst themselves. Objects are drawn from the crate and replaced moments later as whomever grabbed the object is done talking about it. Soon the idling Beetle is turned off and the door is opened. A cloud flows out of the opened door... set free from the cab of the vehicle. A man clad in a trenchcoat and fedora walks out of the quickly disappearing cloud.

The men continue to talk, "-so yea. I found it- musta fallen outta a truck or somethin'. I'm sellin' each piece of five large." There's a lot of grumbling and the man at the lead of the discussion continues, "Comin', boys. I get a finders fee. You can sneak these things through any security in the city! You'll make up the five large in a week- week and a half tops!"

At the sound of the car door opening, Dante's glance moves over towards the source, noting smoke of some sort falling out of the car, he looks rather curious at the sight. That car isn't on fire so wh- oh. Dante sighs, stepping back a few feet to go back to his spot of exceptional phone signal. No staple or community board this time to take notes, so might as well be ready to make the damn phone call. If only not to have to listen to the 'trust the police' speech again. That speech must be in the general education portion of vigilantie school ironically enough.

The youthful group talking over the crate continue to converse. The one with the sales pitch says, "Hold up a bank with these. Use the same nine-mil that you use now. Surprise a cop by pullin' this out. Fool any K-9 units. Anything you want! These guns'll do!" This appears more agreeable to the posse, "I'll take a couple." "Gimme one" "Enough for the family." The orders seem to roll in.

"You all should be asking yourselves a question." comes from the trench-clad man walking out of the smoke. He points towards the crate, "Don't even know if their legit or who those belong to. What if the real owner comes looking?" The mystery man pushes his fedora's brim up as he approaches.

Yep, something's going to happen. And if there is not violence, there's always what's in that crate Question's pointing at to keep the cops interested. Shaking his head, Dante starts to dial.

The men in the circular formation... break the loose grouping they were in at the appearance of the stranger. The salesman of the group points the object he is holding... revealing visually to be a pistol. The salesman grunts, "Oh I got a question, a'ight. Like why the hell are just walkin' up to the most dangerous people on the East End?" Vic quickly asks, "Isn't that Catwoman?" He pauses and adds, "Oh, or did you mean most dangerous men? The Cat Woman isn't around for sometime and you get... backbone." The others in the group run over towards the crate to grab themselves guns.

The salesman grunts in confidence, "You better back off, man. There's more of us and we ain't interested in playin' twenty questions. I'm gonna blow your friggen brains out." Vic shakes his head, "I'm curious to find out how you're goin' to do that." The Question starts off in a run towards the salesman. The ends of his trenchcoat and the tether around his waist flutter in the breeze caused by his forward motion. The Salesman squeezes the trigger and nother happens.

At the sound of gunfire and the operator answering his call, Dante proceeds to give information to what looks like a deal of some sorts being interrupted by a vigilante of some sorts, the location, and gun at the scene.' As he makes this description, he does the brave act of, staying the hell where he is. Dante may be no coward but he very much is aware that he is not bulletproof.

The Question charges for the Salesman and leaps into the air. A textbook flying kick is preformed from the master of Dragon-style Kung-Fu. The sales man gets kicked square in the chest and flies backwards several feet and lands prone on his back. Vic fixes his fedora and looks at the others, "One of those questions you should have asked yourselves... do those guns come pre-loaded? Looks like your friend answered your question." He points towards the rest of them, "Now I have a bunch of questions that have peppered my mind." He gestures towards the crate, "Put the guns back and get out of here. I don't need to ask these questions to you... but to him." He points at the man he kicked. The men slowly drop or toss the weapons to the ground, "Ain't worth it. Ain't payin' that fool five large for these." "Sure 'nough." "Let's get outta here." Vic watches them drop the guns and turn tail.

"...ok, apparently they're not loaded firearms." Dante replies to the other side, "...Hello? He-" Grumbling Dante lowers the phone, shaking his head.

Vic adjusts the gloves on his hands and turns to regard the sales man. That man is groaning and is slowly getting back up to his knees. He points the gun at the Question, "Ugh, you freakin' kicked me with that karate bull again and I'll friggen kill you."

Vic shakes his head as he approaches the complaining man, "This is not how this works. The way this works is that I ask questions and you answer them to the best of your ability. I don't mind breaking something to get cooperation." The man lumbers towards Vic, "Shut up, you're dead, Meat!" The man raises the handle of the pistol up in the air and charges at the Question. Once in striking distance the man swings the pistol at Vic. The Faceless Vigilante jukes to one side, catches the man's arm with a palm strike and raises a leg to knee him in the midsection. With the palmstrike there's a definitive crack. A moment later there is a lot of pained yelling and the sales man is back on the ground.

Phone call over, Dante shugs, pocketing the phone before looking over to the interrogation. "I'd recommend ya talk before he stops holding back!"

Vic stands over the hurting man with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trenchcoat. The Vigilante observes the pained man for a moment before suggesting, "I'd really listen to the peanut gallery this time. It's just a couple of question... it really isn't worth this." The Question jerks his head to the side in a gesture towards the crate, "Where did those come from?" The man sputters, "They fell outta a truck several blocks from here. I found 'em... I didn't buy 'em. I just wanted to earn a quick score, you know?" Then he says more quietly, "Damnit, you broke my elbow...." The Question purses his lips beneath his mask and asks, "Did you see the truck? Could you describe it? And yea, you should see what else on a person can break."

A few blocks away an old Ford Crown Vic turns the corner and heads down this street.

With nothing productive left to contribute to the talks, Dante instead glances to the interrogation that has no bullet potential and glances around. Spotting the Crown Vic, his eyes settle on it for a bit.

The man on the ground grumbles and complains as pain continues to wash over him. The fight has been driven out of him... funny how a broken bone can do that to such a person. He holds his arm tightly as he tries to answer the Question, "Uh, I... it was a big truck. Looked like an ol' rental truck or van or something. Had a logo of an old company on it... but it had been sanded off or repainted." Vic Mmmhmmms as the other man speaks.

There is a screech of tires and nearly wornout brakes as the crown vic comes to a stop at the curb not far from the burning car. The back doors open and a pair of men in police uniforms step out. The head towards where the interrogation is going on. As they move towards the confrontation they reach for their belts and unlatch the tazers holstered there.

Dante arcs an eyebrow at the sight. Not at the presence of cops after he called 911 and was hung up on, but that the vehicle was apparently a very poorly kept unmarked police car but the passengers of the vehicle were in full uniform. He frowns, stepping closer to the building he was near, opting not to draw attention to his location. Fortunately the tire screeching is loud enough for the guy with no face, right?

The tire screeching is indeed enough for Vic. The faceless man turns his head enough to look over his shoulder to visually investigate. He sees the uniforms and turns back around to the man on the ground, "Looks like our time is up. The boys in blue are here and I have enough to continue asking questions." One of the uniformed fellows speaks up once they are behind the Vigilante, "Time is up."

Vic begins to turn around at the comment from the uniformed man but soon he's convulsing with pain. The uniformed man that walked up behind Vic and spoke jammed the tazer into the faceless man's midsection and triggered it. A debilitating surge of electricity flowed through the Question and dropped him to the ground. The other uniformed man heads for the sales man, "Idiot." he says to him, "What do you think you are doing? Get up! Get to the car." He practically pulls the man to his feet and shoves him towards the Crown Vic. That second uniformed man goes towards the crate and the scattered guns. The man who tazered Vic stomps on the Faceless Man a few times before looking at his partner, "Hurry up."

Crap. Crap. Crap. Dante opts to move further into the shadows, tilting his head to try and get a good viewing angle of the car's plates. Well, if they're using tazers to knock down Question, that's probably a sign they're not trying to kill the guy. Reaching into a pocket, he pulls out a small worn notepad with a pen laced in the spiral, when the car goes by maybe he can get a few digits.

The Question will feel those last couple of stomps later. Right now his body is rather numbed to external pain... simply enduring the electric onslaught that continues to send jolts through his nervous system. To everyone around it appears that the Question shuddens and convulses randomly even after he's been on the ground for a couple of minutes.

The crate is hefted and any remaining guns are gathered up. The Crown Vic is packed with the guns and people and soon the well worn tires skid against the poorly maintained asphalt as it heads down the street.

Doot doot doot doot doo... Dante scribbles down as much of the plate as he can onto the inside cover of the notepad. Task accomplished and sure that the tazering side of the party is gone, the musician makes his way across the street to the fallen vigilante. "Not sure if you can make out what I'm saying," Dante says, kneeling slightly, reaching a hand over towards Question, "I'm just going to check your pulse, and probably leave it at that since I can't find your nose or mouth..."

There's breathing and grunting from the faceless man when the Musician gets close enough. Vic clears his throat and grabs at his fedora. He pulls it off his head and runs his free hand through his short hair. The Vigilante grumbles, "I'll be fine. Just need to find my center. Shunt the... pain away. Bury it deep so that I can smother it." The Question slowly slides across the ground moving from s prone position to a sitting one. Several long, drawn out breaths are made before he looks up and around at his surroundings. The Question asks, "They're gone? Of course they are."

"Yep. Apparently friends of the guy you were having a chat with. Wearing police uniforms too. Sneaky Bastards," Dante rips off the cover of the notebook, holding it in front of Question, "Not sure how much of a help it is but I do have a partial plate number. Missed the last number though."

A gloved hand is raised and Vic takes the paper with the number on it. He nods his head in appreciation and starts to stand. There's another aftershock shudder and Vic exhales slowly as he pushes that discomfort aside. The faceless man looks at Dante and says, "Thank you for your help. This will be enough for me to get some information and some questions answered."

"If the plate's not stolen," Dante muses, cocking his head curiously, "You sure you're okay to drive? Kind of shot you up a lot."

Vic comments, "If it's stolen than it is stolen. That just leads me to other questions." He stuffs his hands into his trench's pockets after placing his fedora back on his head. He directs his faceless visage towards Dante and says to him again, "Thank you. I will be fine. It is getting late and this is not the best neighborhood to be in at night." He pauses and quips, "Clearly." He turns away from the musician and heads for his beetle.

"True." Dante replies to the departing form before turning to walk his own way, "But it gives a lot to write about."