The Way of the Warrior

[Guy Gardner]

Night in Gotham was a very different thing than night in Central City. In Central, you might have a few shady areas, and you knew which streets to avoid, but for the most part you felt safe. In Gotham, night meant you should stay indoors, and don't dare look down the wrong alley. How so great a city had fallen to such atrocious levels of crime, Guy Gardner wasn't sure, but after a week on the GCPD MCU rounds, he knew where to go to start fixing things.

Most folks talked about the dockyards as being the roughest part of town, and for violence, they would be right. But citizens don't live in the dockyards, they only work there. And at night, terror close to home is far more dangerous. Easing his faded, yellow-brown, 1981 Volvo 240 sedan to an empty parking space at the side of the road, Guy flicked the lights off, then sat there, engine rumbling for a moment as he looked at the bag beside him on the front seat. He didn't have to do this. This was work for the police.

He was the police.

But, police couldn't do what he knew needed doing, and he had new toys to test out. With a jingle of keys, the ignition was shut off, leaving the car's lone passenger sitting in the dark, surrounded by the sounds of poverty and desperation. There had been nine break-ins in the last week alone, on this strip, and odds were high there would be one more, tonight.

You can leave it behind. No one expects the Warrior to be anywhere but Central City. These punks are tougher, meaner, and you're just one man. His mind rattled off reasons he shouldn't open the bag.

The D.E.O. is here, they're looking for vigilantes. If you get caught, you are fucked, Gardner. And you know what happens to cops in prison. Now imagine what happens when those inmates find out you're a vigilante, too?

I can handle it. His confidence fought back. I've never been caught, never been taken down. I've brought down some A-Class scum. Captain Cold, Captain Boomerang, Mirror Master. I brought them in, with the Warrior. These are just street thugs. They need to be taught a lesson.

And what if you get shot?

I have a vest. I've been shot, before. I'm stronger than that.

And what if the Batman shows up?

I hope he'll have popcorn in that utility belt, because he'll be in for a show. I didn't come to Gotham to be some pansy-ass. I came to kick ass.

Mind set, the red-haired detective unzipped the duffel bag at his side and began his transformation.

---

*This thread is closed, but please see the planning thread if you'd like to join. =)

[Warrior]

Guy Gardner stayed in the car. What emerged onto the street wasn't Guy, anymore, it was the Warrior. Black mototcylve leathers covered most of his body, while a crimson mask was tied over his eyes. The same crimson matched in his leather gloves, the knuckles reinforced with carbon fiber plates beneath powdered lead. His lower sleeves were stiff and heavy, evidence of armor hiding beneath, and a black baton hung at his hip. On the outside, he looked like some well-suited thug, but beneath the suit hid an array of... surprises.

He'd heard Batman had a special belt which held all his goodies. Perhaps that was so, but he was still just some dude in tights and a cape. And one who'd allowed nine break-ins in the last week in the same area. Yeah, tights and a cape really struck fear into criminals, sure. And pigs might sprout wings and fly out of Rosie O'Donnel's giant ass.

Crime doesn't fall on its knees and beg for mercy when it sees a cape. Thugs don't run away from a symbol of the night. Thugs are of the night, too, and in Gotham, they owned it, not the bat. But Guy did know what crime feared and respected: getting its teeth kicked in and ribs busted. Criminals in Central City didn't fear the Batman, but they did look over their shoulders to see if the Warrior might be standing behind them. Soon Gotham would do the same, if this went well.

And if his new toys worked as they should. Goodness knows he'd tested them well enough.

Alleyways in Central didn't stink as much, either, Guy made a mental note as he slipped into the darkness. He'd been here, yesterday, investigating a robbery at a small electronics and TV repair shop. Three main exits, no fire escapes within reach from ground level, and none of it could be seen directly from the street, thanks to the alleyway's C-shaped design. No wonder there were so many smash-and-grabs. You'd really think a city planner would know better than that.

Refuge was found in the shadow of an old, rusting dumpster. In the wake of the break-ins, most of the small business on the ground level had upgraded their security doors, but one had not. Pharmacy, mom and pop type place. Simple steel door, only one lock. Surely it would be next and -

Movement down the alley halted his thoughts. They were here, and in the poor light, Guy could make out six, no, seven figures. Seven, more than he had expected. Five was do-able, but in close-quarters, seven could be a stretch. The low, almost inaudible hum coming from his forearms reminded him that he didn't have to worry about odds as much, anymore, and so the masked vigilante smiled. All they had to do was break into the shop. Once they'd broken the law, they were fair game, but he knew he couldn't do anything beforehand.

Sure, Warrior was a vigilante, but Guy was still a cop.

"C'mon, dumbasses, drill that lock like you did the others. Warrior needs to blow off some steam," he whispered to himself as he watched.

[Warrior]

This was taking longer than he had hoped. These thieves were disorganized, and already starting to argue amongst themselves. It might not even be the same group that had been hitting the other stores, because instead of a power drill to take out the lock cylinders, someone actually produced a set of lockpicks.

Lockpicks, in this day and age. Well, even thieves had to be on a budget, in the economy, he supposed.

Ten minutes, it took. Ten minutes of fiddling and working at the lock, while the rest of them stood around, and no one had noticed. That's what was wrong with crime in this city - no one cared, and no one wanted to see the badness around them. Well, soon they'd be looking for it, if only to see it get beaten to a pulp by Warrior. At last, with a satisfying click, the lock tumblers fell into place, and the "specialist" stood back up. The others were readying bags, but stood around in one big clump, waiting for the door to open.

Amateurs, Guy thought to himself. They should be standing in single file, ready to rush in through that opening for a fast, efficient grab of anything they could get, cycling through the shop in one pass before exiting quickly in the same order as they entered. Instead there would be confusion, bumbling and disorganization - three things which would work in his favor. But still he had to wait.

Breaking an entering wasn't enough, they each needed to steal something. He needed to disrupt their joy while they were in the middle of a high of getting away with it, and he'd have to wait for them to exit the pharmacy and into the alley to have the best shot at them. Even a mongoose isn't stupid enough to go into a cobra's den when he knows the cobra is home, after all.

Guy blinked. He'd been watching too much Animal Planet.

At last, the door opened, bringing with it the piercing wail of an alarm. So, shit lock was at least backed up with a loud alarm. Point for the ship-owners. It also meant he'd have to work fast in order to avoid the police showing up. Well Guy was the police, but getting changed back in time might be cutting it damn close.

There, they'd gone inside. Warrior slipped out from his hiding place, and stood flat against the wall beside the open door. Damn, that alarm was loud; he could scarcely hear the crashing and rattling of pill jars and boxes of ointments being stuffed into bags over the scream of the klaxon. Then, one of them shot out the door, and it was on.

For a moment, the sharp cry of the thug rang out over the blaring alarm as the Warrior whipped his baton squarely into the back of the criminal's knees. The thief went down like a sack of potatoes, and Guy was sure one of those knees was broken, but he had little time to waste as the next thug was upon him. Misfortune struck as the baton's next swing struck high, across the cheekbone instead of the jaw of the next thug. That threw off his timing, allowing several more to pour out of the pharmacy and into the alley, turning the odds back to their favor as Guy found himself outnumbered six to one.

"Who the fuck is this?" one of them shouted.

"Looks like some gay biker," another of them laughed.

Taunts came from every angle as he they slowly surrounded him, but he saw no guns. Good, despite wearing a vest, Guy didn't much like the sensation of being shot from close range. The leather of his gloves creaked as he cinched down the grip on his baton, and he smiled. "I'm the Warrior," he said. "And this is my town, now."

Saying no more, he leapt into the fray, baton making numerous good hits ad he dodged and skidded out of the way of blows thrown at him in return. One of them produced a crowbar, another a baseball bat, and in short order Warrior found his baton knocked from his hand. No matter, that's why he had some tricks up his sleeve - literally.

The whir of some compact power source couldn't be heard over the siren's wail, but its effect was felt as Warrior bolted forward, throwing an impossibly fast right hook into the ribs of one of the group. He could feel the bones break under the blow, but instead of checking it out, he spun back to deliver a high, sideways kick to another's head, again his limb moving faster than should be possible. Broken neck? Hopefully not, but that jaw had to be cracked from the force of the blow, and he was most certainly unconscious.

Two down, five still standing, and the one with broken ribs seemed to find a reserve of strength to carry on. This was going to be a fun fight.

[Huntress]

It was coming. She could sense it.

The moment when the five men still standing realised that they were done for.

They'd been caught off guard as they'd stumbled out of the pharmacy. Forced into a fight that adrenaline and arrogance would keep them in – but not for long. Superior numbers meant nothing against superior tactics. Tripping over each-other, the thugs threw punches into open air. Even when they did connect, they were sloppy and met with sharp, well-timed parries or counters.

One of the thugs fell backwards, skidding to the ground. Crouched in the shadows some twenty feet away, Helena Bertinelli tensed.

This was it. The moment.

The guy on the floor scrambled back to his feet. He grabbed his bag; half the stolen pill bottles spilled onto the ground, but the clatter was muffled by the persistent shriek of the pharmacy's alarm. Helena could practically hear his thoughts as he shot a glance down the alleyway:

Can I get away without anyone noticing?

It was a split second decision. With four other guys still fighting the Warrior, there might be just enough of a distraction – just enough time – to make a get away. It wasn't loyalty that made him hesitate; it was fear. Fear of what'd happen if he stayed, or if he went. Fear: the engine that drove Gotham City. In the end, one fear would outweigh the other.

There was no contest. He ran.

Helena even let him, though just a for a second. Just long enough to let him think that he was getting away.

As the crossbow bolt thudded into his right ankle, it was impossible to separate his scream from the sound of the alarm. A moment later, Huntress stepped out of the shadows, another quarrel already loaded and ready as she advanced down the alley.

[Warrior]

There was a runner. That was fine, cowards typically told the best stories, after all. That, and Guy had four more idiots to deal with.

Their punches, kicks and crowbar were easy enough to dodge, and the ones he couldn't dodge went blocked by the kevlar and carbon fiber plates under his sleeves. Warrior's armored fists did connect, however, his right one delivering vastly more vicious blows than his left. The baton had gone down in a hook by the crowbar, but the second time aound, that crowbar smacked directly into the Warrior's right palm, catching it in a firm grasp.

An appropriately-timed joke right then and there would have been perfect, but no one would have heard it over the ever-ringing siren, so Guy just smiled before yanking the thug in close and grasping his throat with his left hand. Immediately the thug jerked and choked as electricity crackled in the air, and he went down, neck smoking from where the shock mechanism in Warrior's left glove had burnt him.

That gave enough pause to the other three for Guy to land a haymaker on the jaw of one with his right, then take out another's knee with the crowbar before kicking him in the face. The fourth tried to run, but it was no good, as immediately the Warrior was upon him, throwing him to the ground and repeatedly smashing his head into the concrete until he stopped resisting. Pushing up off of him, Guy felt around for his baton, then straightened his jacket before looking back where the runner had gone.

Aaaand, there he was on the ground. With someone standing over him.

Fucking vigilantes. This was his score, and he wasn't going to share it. Hitching the baton up in his hand, he squinted, sure that this newcomer was facing the other way, distracted by the prostrate thug clutching his ankle. Adjust for wind, wind up, and throw.

Two pounds of Kevlar-reinforced fiberglass and carbon fiber went spinning through the air on a direct course to nail whoever this newcomer was in the back of the head. Didn't matter if she was a girl.

[Huntress]

The runner wasn't about to do any more running, but Helena still kept the crossbow on him as she dropped to a crouch by his side. With her free hand, she yanked the bolt out of the thugs ankle; he shrieked loud enough that she could hear it. There was no sense in leaving a quarrel behi-

Something shot over her head.

Helena ducked to the right and twisted to her feet, her cape snapping around her as she swung her crossbow's sights onto the Warrior. The only man left standing, surrounded by a pile of smoking and broken bodies. He'd taken out the men responsible for the break in, but why? Was it because he wanted to stop them, to bring them to justice, or because he wanted the stolen goods for himself? Helena's finger tightened over the crossbow trigger, a hairs breath away from firing.

She edged backwards and took a split-second glance at what had presumably been hurled at her: a baton. It was an odd choice for projectile weapon, but in Gotham, things were rarely what they appeared to be. She kicked the baton behind her, sending it skidding into the shadows of the alleyway and further out of the Warrior's reach.

[Warrior]

Of course she ducked. Wasn't enough that she was going to get the credit for stopping the runner, but she made Guy miss. And now he was going to have to go get his baton, which was more effort.

Stepping over one of the groaning and slowly rocking thugs, the Warrior held his hands up, knowing that was a lethal weapon pointed at him.

A crossbow? What the hell? Why not go crime-fighting with a gun? Still a lethal weapon, and it was actually from this century. In the back of his mind, he tried to rationalize any reason for using a crossbow in this day and age, but, no, a handgun did in fact seem to be more appropriate in all situations. Furthermore, possibly the only thing more ludicrous than a crossbow would be a longbow, or even a boomerang. Ha, boomerangs. There was a baddie in Central City who used boomerangs. Boy, if'n Guy hadn't taken his ass down. Borrowed some of his mass-acceleration technology, too, which was currently hiding under his sleeves and in his boots.

"So, the ringleader comes out to show herself," Guy chuckled darkly, letting his arms fall as he continued his slow, steady approach. "Sorry, I kinda took out your gang, back there. But, hey, at least you got to teach one of them a lesson, I see."

[Huntress]

“Keep walking and I'll teach you one too.”

The tip of the quarrel loaded into Helena's crossbow followed the Warrior as he paced carefully towards her, the bolt trained on his throat. He thought she was the leader of this pack of... jackals. What a joke. It would've been funny if it wasn't so... offensive.

“What are you doing in Gotham?”