First Day Heroics

[Supergirl]

Kara couldn't help but laugh as the wind pushed her blonde hair back out of her face and she soared through the Gotham city skyline. It had felt so long since she had just let herself loose like this. It wasn't that she was unappreciative of Martha and Jonathan, heck, she even called them 'Ma' and 'Pa'. Or of Kal and everything he'd done for her. But she was her own girl, she was nearly seventeen, and they couldn't expect her to keep living like that. She'd come from civilisation! She'd had friends and... shopping malls... and she was going to get her own airspeeder for her birthday! She wasn't a farm girl, she never would be. And okay, so Argo City was gone. So was Krypton. And the truth was, the loss was so big, she could still barely process it in her head. But she knew the longer she spent cooped up on that farm, the more insane she would go.

Oh, she was also Supergirl, so there was that. Kal was insistent she learn to control her powers before heading out to fight crime, but she didn't see what she had to control. She could fly, she had super strength, yes, back on Krypton she'd never been a fighter (she wasn't just some dumb girly girl though, she'd liked science, nature, she was good at art...), and yes, she was so much smaller than Kal even if she had absorbed the amount of yellow radiation he had she'd never match him, but humans were so fragile in comparison, it wasn't like she needed any of that. So what if she didn't know how to punch properly? When you could lift a car, it didn't matter...

The point was, she needed away from Smallville. And she needed to be Supergirl. And so, when she'd seen an art college program in Gotham, she'd leapt at the chance. She'd persuaded Ma and Pa of how badly she needed to start thinking about the rest of her life. If Argo was truly gone, she couldn't just be shut away forever. So studying art seemed like a good idea. After all, art was universal, right? Earth science was light years behind Krypton, and Earth literature was baffling, but Earth art wasn't that different from some Kryptonian art. And of course, if the course just so happened to take place in Gotham, where Kal never liked to go, so much the better...

And that's how she came to be where she was. Kara Zor El, or Laura Danvers to her college mates (although she'd ditched the geeky wig and glasses; she wanted to be popular, Kal might like being the town geek, but not her!), soaring through the air in one of her (many, various) Supergirl designed outfits, looking for crime. She wrinkled her nose a bit. Okay, so Gotham smelled bad. Especially compared to Smallville. One thing she liked was that Earth girls always made sure they smelled nice, something she had taken to adopting too, she loved a good perfume, but not even that was a match for the stink of the filthy city. She could smell it all. Exhaust, waste, sewage, gun powder...

Wait. Gun powder? She stopped in the air, hovering, a smile on her lips. Her first catch of the day! Time to be a superhero... She'd show Kal what she could do yet!

[Green Arrow]

Gunshot. A pistol, from the timbre of it. Damn.

His head turned, angling his hood to try and catch a glimmer of direction from the echoes that reverberated through Gotham's skyline. This city was a nightmare for that: back in Star City everything was clean and crisp, glass and metal making the echoes sharp and clear. Here in Gotham, sharp and clear mixed with stone curves, art deco shapes, and those gargoyle things that Bruce was so fond of lurking amongst; and the hood really was not helping. When it came to concealing his identity, it worked great. Maybe Hal was willing to rely on his little domino mask, and Clark did that whole thing with the slouching and the glasses, but Ollie's face was a little bit more recognisable than that - and handsome, Hal's firm jaw and rugged looks notwithstanding. Bruce would probably stand there and grumble something about how a cowl was the only way to go, but Ollie valued the ability to actually turn and tilt his head; plus, if he went with that angle, everyone would start comparing Green Arrow to Batman, and Ollie didn't have the heart to expose poor Bruce's significant inferiorities like that. No, he had his motif, and he was sticking with it. Maybe the Errol Flynn route, then? Fake beard and a hat?

He'd worry about it later. Gunshots in Gotham were dime a dozen - not that it mattered; Ollie was pretty sure that his response time to reach a bleeding out gunshot victim was significantly faster than anything the Gotham ambulance service could handle - but tonight he was extra jumpy. Was something to do with the intel he'd received earlier in the day, and the particular kind of nasty gun-toting menace that rumour had it might be stalking Gotham's streets.

Picking a direction he set off at a run, hurling himself from rooftop to rooftop, a careful thrust of the arm or crumple of the knees here and there to change course or to absorb the shock of an otherwise nasty fall. It was a shame he did this at night, on rooftops, with nobody watching: truth be told he was kinda awesome, and there was a whole pantheon of ladies out there that he was missing out on impressing. He let out a small sigh as he reached the edge of a rooftop that was a little too far from the ones opposite for his mere mortal muscles to get him across there. Such was the job, he supposed, as he tugged a grapnel arrow from his quiver, and knocked it onto the string. Those were the sacrifices you made when you prioritised saving the day over getting the girl. His gloves strained as he pulled back on the bow string, his body falling perfectly into the configuration it had practised it's way to a million times before. The most wondrous sound in the universe met his ears as the string lunged forwards, hurling the arrow across the distance to the building opposite, a spinning reel of high density microfibre tumbling along in it's wake. The grapnel hit home. The fibre pulled taught.

No wonder Bruce is miserable all the time.

[Slade Wilson]

Click "Yes?"

"Deathstroke, we have a problem."

"Just a minute. Let me get him.... Yes?"

"We've had a security breach. A delivery truck has been hijacked. It's cargo is sensitive. Very sensitive. Retrieve it before it ends up in the hands of those Arkham nutjobs. We are sending you the GPS information from the truck."

"Understood." Click

Standing up from the sofa the speaker set the phone down and stepped away; bare feet padding on hardwood. The secret switch hidden in the closet was thumbed and the backwall pulled away, opening up as flourest lights pinked on one at a time to reflect off the brushed metal surface of the suit that sat snug within it's vertical foam casing. All save the missing helmet. Rows of weapons hung from either side.

There was no time to waste. Each piece of armor was pulled on with practised ease. Everything was fitted together. Seals were tightened in the joins and the neck was connected to the helmet. The systems powered up, the screen on the underside of his arm lit up; revealing the promised GPS trajectory.

"TAR-Twenty-One. Five point fifty-six millimeter. Glock Twenty-one. Point four-five auto. Ninjato. Tungsten Carbide." his voice escaped his helmet as he selected each weapon, aided by the speaker that transported his voice from inside the metal coffin to the outside for the world to hear. As each weapon was named it was put away on his person. There were many other weapons, explosives, and equipment. They would not be needed for something so trivial.

The streets of Gotham were never quiet. Never sleeping. They were a dangerous place for the unintitiated. Accosting the black and orange armored man was a mistake nobody ever made twice. Even though they posed to threat, Deathstroke never dropped his guard for a moment as he crept down seemingly abandoned streets and through alleys, keeping himself out of the brighter, more civilized parts of Gotham.

Every so often he would rotate his arm and take another peek at the tracker. The truck was close. Pulling free his rifle from it's shoulder strap he released the safety and placed his finger alongside the trigger. Moving to the corner of the block he peeked around the corner of an apartment building to see the query, the truck, smashed into a street light.

After surveying no immediate threat he approached the vehicle. Headlights on. Engine running. Queen Industries proudly declared on the sides in bright embossed colors. Through the smashed windshield he could see the cab was empty. Circling around behind the truck revealed an open door, and nothing else. Whatever precious cargo was there had been spirited away. But not without evidence of it's passing.

Wet shoe prints, disturbed trash, and fallen glass lead the season tracker toward the nearest alley. Good. The hunt begins. Doubling his pace he kept his eye out for additional clues. All the doors along the alley were locked and did not appear to be forced. There was nothing else to track. The trail was going cold. A muffled cry. Barely audible. Moving out the other end of the alley he arrived at a pair of apartment block buildings. The cry sounded out again. Looking up he noticed a window, cracked open. The source of the cry.

Grabbing ahold of the rickety fire escape, Deathstroke pulled himself up to that third level window and peered around the edge. Within he spotted a man, with a gun, pointed frantically in the direction of a family of three huddled in the corner; the father's hand over the child's mouth; muffling deep sobs of fear. Just another day in Gotham, if not for the Queen Industries logo on the stainless steel case the home invaded was holding.

The window caved to the weight of his body as he dove through it. He came up, his pistol in hand. Triggered pulled, fired upwards as he came out of the roll. The blast filled the room it's noise. It penetrated the thief's throat and exited the back of his head. Not fatal. Not immediately at least. He dropped, gasping and choking on the sudden flush of blood. Deathstroke wasted no time grabbing the case from limp hands, only then noticing the orange jumpsuit tied at the waist and the stenciled words: Arkham Asylum.

Typical Gotham Trash.

"Point Forty-Five Auto. One round expended." He declared to the world to hear but meant for only himself to hear, as he holstered his pistol and pulled free the straight blade from his side. With almost no effort he pushed the blade into the man's eyesocket. There was a gasp and a twitch or two before the brain realized it was the end. The other eye stayed open, staring back blankly. A sob recaptured Deathstroke's attention, and he turned to regard the cowering family. Their lives meant nothing to him. They had no value. However, neither were they a threat. Decisions, decisions. They stood together, in this moment, not sure what to make of the other.

[Supergirl]

Finding the crashed truck was easy from the air once Kara was looking, her enhanced eye sight picking it out easily as she shot through the sky and landed next to it with a delicate 'click' from the high heels on her red boots. (Kal had been opposed to heels on her boots, but why should she care? She could fly! Practical footwear was hardly essential). She walked around the truck, which itself was still a kind of primitive transportation that made her nose wrinkle a little (even if she had gotten used to Pa Kent's own pick up back in Smallville). Although it almost seemed comically primitive, all Earth bound vehicles like these still needed drivers, she knew, and this one was missing. But before she could investigate further, her sensitive ears picked up the sound of a crash, and then a gunshot.

She was in the air again in moments. Kara was no tracker, but she hardly needed to be. The buildings before her fell away, revealing the skeletons moving about inside in perfect detail as her X-Ray vision left nothing hidden. It only took a few moments observing the figures to see one standing over another, a huddled family in the corner, with some kind of bladed weapon. Kara rocketed away, red cape swirling behind her as she flew down the alley, barely avoiding colliding with a building given that she had forgotten to return her vision to normal and had almost missed that it was there.

She arrived outside the window, too late to stop the stabbing, but just in time to see it as the assassin, in some kind of armour, turned to face the huddled and terrified family.
"HEY!" She called out, for lack of a better thing to say, hovering out of the window. "Wow, did you pick the wrong day to start a life of crime, huh?" She quipped threateningly, fully expecting him to cower and surrender now he was confronted by a true blooded Kryptonian hovering outside the window with that iconic S on her chest. Sure, Supergirl was new to this stuff, but word of her had still gotten around from the odd adventure in Metropolis. It was quite clear, however, she had absolutely no idea who Deathstroke was.

In fact, hovering there in a challenge, it was obvious how different the two were. Slade was old, experienced, in his battle worn heavy armour and with multiple weapons. Kara, on the other hand, young, petite, with perfectly styled blonde hair that managed to still look flawless even after her flight, moderate make-up and glossy, shining lips, a skin tight outfit with an exposed midriff and short skirt, along with knee high boots, the sort of thing a teenager trying to look her sexiest would pick. Even her nails were polished. She looked like the type of girl who wouldn't have been able to lift a sword even if she had one to challenge Slade with.

Of course, that was ignoring the minor fact that Kara was no human girl, but born on the far away world of Krypton, and living under the Earth's yellow sun that gave her incredible strength, speed and powers, including the flight that left her effortlessly hovering there.
"So, you get once chance to drop your weapons and come quietly." She stated firmly, at least wanting to make Kal proud and play the hero properly, even if Kara's more excited and adventurous side just wanted to fly in there and take his weapons off of him by force.

[Slade Wilson]

"HEY!"

Turning from the family, sword in one hand, briefcase in the other, Slade snapped his neck to look out the window in the direction of the new voice. Outside the window was a familiar sight; a flouting humanoid clad in blues and reds, cape draped over shoulders, and otherworldly standards of physical beauty. It was not Superman, as he initially thought. It was a woman. Female. Petite. Hardly the physical specimen that Superman represented.

A realization dawned, and although it had become cliche in their line of work, the thought this is not what it looks like sprung to mind. He had no intention of harming this family. The case was unopened. He had no need for them. By Gotham standards dispatching the car jacking, hostage taking, attempting brief case opener was an act of heroics that put him on line with the vigilantes that roamed the rooftops of this city at night.

Only difference was that he was being paid for this.

A mental evaluation of his supplies revealed no kryptonite. This was not his first time dealing with a Super, and he had a supplier for the green rock, but he only brought what he needed for this operation. Kryptonite was not among them. It would have made things so much simpler, he thought, if he could just unload a burst of kryptonite tipped bullets into her body and move on.

"I was just leaving. Step aside. This does not concern you." His voice echoed through the external speakers of his suit. His one eyeball looking back through the single lens in his helmet. A flick of his wrist sent the blood on his blade splashing to the floor before turning it in his hand and sheathing it. Now armed with only a briefcase he took a step toward the window and the floating woman beyond it's portal.

"I will not ask twice."

[Supergirl]

"You really don't get what the 'S' stands for, huh?" Kara quipped back when he told her it didn't concern her. As if that'd stop her. Did he not understand that she was Supergirl? She wasn't about to let him walk away after murdering a guy. Even if the guy was in what Kara understood to be prison overalls. But it seemed that he was spoiling for a fight, even if he'd put his sword away, which to Kara seemed to be a total waste of time. Not that his sword could harm her either, but what was he going to do hand to hand? She was Supergirl. He'd be lucky to smudge her make-up.

"Fine. I love the hard way!" She chirped, before flying through the window and grabbing the front of his armour, before dashing back out again, intending to carry him with her as she clutched him with one seemingly skinny arm, of course able to lift him effortlessly, and dangle him in the air where she hovered out of the window...

[Slade Wilson]

She was fast. And strong. So was he. The Adrenal experiment had given him physical capabilities far beyond that of even the greatest humans. Faster, stronger, smarter. She was quick as she swooped in but he could have reacted; dove aside or brought a weapon to bare, but instead he allowed her to grab him, pick him up, and drag him outside into the open air beyond the threshold of the window.

Out here the arena was less cramped, more open, less hazards and walls to run into. It was just as adventageous to his opponent, who now had the space to fly freely, but the pros outweight the cons. Here he could fight openly, move freely, and not worry as much about the collateral. Not that it really bothered him if so called innocents were swept up in the carnage; but he would prefer to not catch the eye of the Bat.

He was a security consultant, not a mercenary in an active warzone after all. However, it was hard to tell a warzone and Gotham apart.

"Remember child, that I am defending myself." He hissed before drawing his arm back and throwing it forward with all of his meta-human strength, right into her stomach. The surprising force of which caused her to lose her grip, and even as he slipped from her fingers and began to fall to the Earth far below, he was already raising his left arm; from which a grappling hook fired from the armored gauntlet.

It stuck fast into the old masory of the opposite building, and the powered servos began to pull him up towards it. A normal human would have their arm ripped out of it's socket by such a sudden and forceful change in midiar direction, but Slade's metahuman body held fast. He hit the wall, reaching up and grabbing the ledge and pulling himself overt the top, diving into a headfirst roll just in case the Super was right behind him.

When he came back up, in a kneeling position, he had his assault rifle in hand; finger on the trigger, firing at the caped woman.

[Supergirl]

"Yeah, defending yourself from-" That was as far as Kara got before she took the blow to the stomach, which was far harder than she expected, and with nothing to hold her back since she was flying, she flew back and slammed in to the building behind her. It wasn't enough to seriously hurt, Kara could take blows like that, but it hurt a little, and to somebody who hadn't actually felt any pain for a good part of a year, it was enough of a shock to the system that she not only released Slade but was stunned for a moment.

It was enough that she lost him, scanning for him below but not realising he was above her until bullets tore at her. She yelped, throwing up a hand as they bounced off of her, although they put plenty of holes in her cape and the odd one managed to tear her costume. Bullets couldn't penetrate her skin, but she didn't have the decades under the yellow sun her cousin had, and so she still felt them, biting in to her with every hit like a storm of vicious hailstones. In a panic, she shot up in to the air to get away from them, flying high to catch her breath, disoriented and frightened. She had never fought anybody capable of actually posing a threat to her, and she was panicking about what to do.

She glared down at him, panting hard, and focused on the offending black object in his hands, her eyes glowing red.
"HEY! I make these costumes myself, you know!? Do NOT ruin them!" She yelled angrily at her outfit now in tatters. Sure, Kal had his super advanced suit from Krypton, and Kara had one too, but her preference for changing up her costume every time she went out on patrol meant that most of them she made herself. And this one wasn't bullet proof, something that she was now regretting.

Her heat vision shot out in a blast, aiming for the gun. Again, she didn't quite have full blown 'blow things up' laser vision yet, but easily enough to heat up the gun and melt it if she hit it successfully....

[Slade Wilson]

This was not his first time tangling with a super. It was, however, the first time dealing with this one. He saw the telltale red glint in her eyes, magnified by the built in enhanced optics of his helmet. He dove out of the way long before the red beams speared through the air, but instead of eating through the exterior of the rooftop that he had just occupied, it just heated it red. Hardly the destructive firepower he had come to associate with Superman. Add that to the slower speed she flew at, even if just slightly, and he could deduce that she was a weaker version of the famous hero. His fears, little that there was, were relieved.

Having rolled back on to his feet, he continued shooting, but this time in short bursts. It was clear they were not hurting her, but it was annoying her. After her quip about her costume he began intentionally aiming for undamaged parts of her costume. As he did so he kept moving, moving between vent towers and air conditioner blocks on top of the flat rooftop. Taking cover when he needed to reload only to step back out and continue his rampage against her clothes. Her laser vision was no danger to him. He rolled away or took cover when she fired it, hiding behind obstacles and firing when he got the chance. His entire strategy was to draw her close, provoke her to fisticuffs in order to remove his guns from the equation, and then he would have her right where he wanted her.

[Supergirl]

Darn, this guy was fast. She was firing beams out of her eyes for pity's sake, it wasn't like aiming a gun, and they were beams of light. But still he evaded them, no matter what she did, and still those bullets bit and tore at her, tearing in to her costume. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was doing it on purpose! She'd liked this one as well. She'd have to remake it.

A bullet to the head that stung nastily reminded her this wasn't the time for such thoughts. This was ridiculous. This guy was just a gun wielding thug. She was Kara Zor-El, cousin of Superman, last survivor of the planet Krypton, and she was not going to be defeated by some little human with a toy lead spitter.
"ENOUGH!" She snapped, and she took a deep breath, before exhaling, blowing freezing cold air out across the rooftop. This wasn't a single projectile, this would cover the rooftop, and rapidly lower the temperature, leaving things frozen, slick and icy. It should be more than enough, she thought, to take down one gun wielding human, or at least slow him down enough for her to swoop down and finish him off with one punch....

[Slade Wilson]

The cold storm took him by surprise. He had quite expected her to keep up the laser show until her eyes melted out of her skull. Instead the air current ripped through the rooftop, forcing him to grab on to an air conditioning unit and hold on for dear life or risk being swept off the rooftop. That was hardly a threat. He would rappel back up, but it would be a loss of time and energy. The temperature drop was not an issue. He hardly felt it as his armor reacted reflexively to the temperature change by increasing the temperature of the built in climate control. A slight chill. A shiver down his spine. Not enough to damper his reflexes or numb his fingers.

The storm ended and he pulled himself back upright, stomping his feet down to break up the ice that had built up beneath his boots. He looked up at the hovering woman. This fight was taking too long. He needed to sweep the floor and move on before more heroes would undoubtedly be attracted by the commotion. Not that there was not plenty of other threats in a city like Gotham, but there was the chance that someone would happen by.

Partially obscured behind the air conditioning unit, he let his grapple hook go slack, the rope falling out of his gauntlet to maximum length. Moving out from behind the obstruction, he cinched the head of the grapple around the rope itself, creating a lasso. "Enough indeed. Get over here!" Slade called out as he tossed the lasso like a cowboy roping a heifer. A technique he used many times in his career when the work called for live capture. The lasso was thrown expertly, and when it closed over the hero he pulled it taunt, using both is physical strength and the retraction mechanism of the grapple itself to pull her in, intent to close the gap finally and pull her down to his level.

[Supergirl]

For a moment, it looked like her assailant was retreated. Kara was pleased with herself; of course he was. He couldn't stand up to the onslaught of her ice breath, and it clearly had an impact. He had fallen back, and she suspected by now that his armour had frozen up solid and she'd be able to swoop down and drop him off at the prison, job done. But before she could fly down further to investigate, a rope lashed out of nowhere, dropping around her, and before she knew what was happening, she was pulled out of the air, crashing on to the concrete.

She tried to resist and get a grip with her feet, but her high heeled boots slipped hopelessly on the icy ground she had created, and she was pulled helplessly towards him. She slipped until she allowed herself to hover slightly, but was now too close.
"FINE! If you want to do this the hard way..." She growled, flexing her arms. Whatever the lasso was made out of it, was strong, but not Kryptonian strong. With gritted teeth, Kara snapped the cord, and raised her fists. She flew at him, and threw a punch directly at his face.

Although the attack had plenty of strength behind it, it was obvious Kara was a girl who had no clue how to throw a punch. It was wide, slow (by the standards of the speed she could move at), even her fist was held all wrong. Kara was just not a fighter back on Krypton, she had no interest and no idea about violence, and here she just relied on her strength, not skill...

[Slade Wilson]

She came crashing down to Earth, er, roof. The grapple took her by surprise and she was ill to react before his strength and grabble motor had pulled her down. Just as he anticipated. Breaking his grapple, however, was a cost he did not appreciate. The left over slack retreated back into his gauntlet; useless. No matter. He had more, and the funds to purchase more if required. As an afterthought, he would charge the expense to Queen instead.

He wasted no time approaching the fallen Super. Each step was carefully placed to avoid slipping. Heavy stomping footsteps that cracked the ice. She struggled with the ice herself, giving him time to close the gap. No sooner as they finally met, like two awkard penguins slipping across the surface of a glacier, then she was already throwing punches. It was premature and sloppy. Too high. Too wide. Her stance was all wrong.

She was smaller than him; especially when in his armor. He twisted back his head and torso out of the reach of her punch and then kicked out his foot, toes angled, using his longer reach to hook her foot and punish her poor stance by pulling it out from under her. It only took a small amount of pressure and the ice would do the rest. If she fell, he would punish her on the ground, if not, he would take advantage of her struggling for purchase to hit her in the face.

[Supergirl]

Kara wasn't even sure what happened, but somehow her punch missed completely, and before she could do anything else, he kicked her in the stomach with so much force she was lifted clean off the ground. She gasped in pain, actual, real pain, something she hadn't felt in her year on Earth. She came back down and her heels simply slid on the ice, her losing her footing and heading to crash down. However, of course, while Kara was fighting badly, she was still Kryptonian, and she still had the odd trick up her sleeve. In that she didn't actually hit the ground. Instead, she simply floated, catching herself in the air.

She paused, a moment of hesitation that would be too long and cost her dearly no doubt, but regardless, she shot out a blast of heat vision at the centre of his chest armour, at least planning to cause some damage while she was up this close, since throwing a punch or attacking from this position just didn't come naturally to her. She simply wasn't very aggressive in battle, hand to hand combat wasn't her forte, and so despite still floating at Slade's mid-level, she tried a different approach.

[Green Arrow]

Oliver had heard the sounds of the struggle from several rooftops away, and had broken into a run. As he skidded to a halt in the shadow of a heating vent across the street, a few silent curses tumbling as he regarded the scene, heart sinking with every detail his mind rapidly processed. There was Deathstroke the Terminator, the kind of mercenary you only hired when you wanted someone very dead, locked in combat with what Oliver could only describe as a flying cheerleader. A flying Kryptonian cheerleader in fact, if the optic blasts were anything to go by. Had Circe magically transformed Kal-El into a woman again? Had some dastardly supervillain somehow transferred the Big Guy's powers to one of his adoring fans, probably with some sort of "Kryptonite laser" or something equally made-up sounding?

That wasn't even the worst part of it though. The worst part was the logo printed on the side of the metal briefcase that Deathstroke seemed pretty determined to keep his hands on.

Queen Industries.

Well then.

Whatever had transpired here, Oliver didn't care. Those two words made this mess his responsibility; and regardless of who the chick in the cape was and how capable she might or might not be of handling someone like Deathstroke, there were answers over on that rooftop that desperately needed to be shot at.

A hand delved into Oliver's hood, clicking on his earpiece and setting it not to broadcast via radio or cell signal, but rather to project his voice out of the high-powered speaker built into his belt buckle. Except, not his voice. Not exactly. It was something that Batman had cooked up, to make interacting with Superman easier in the heat of battle and all that. A high frequency audio burst, well beyond the range of human hearing, something that only a handful of known races were capable of hearing.

He reached back for his quiver, plucking out two specific arrows: one flashbang, one EMP. Nocking them onto his bow string together, he took aim at the ground beneath Deathstroke's feet: a blinding magnesium flash to overwhelm the optic nerve, an exploding sonic compression wave to rupture the eardrums and disorientate, and an electromagnetic pulse to short out anything electronic - all prepped for special delivery one Mr Slade Wilson. It was at that point he uttered his message, short and sweet:

"Might wanna duck, blondie."

And with that he fired, the arrows streaking towards the opposite rooftop with all the speed that conventional physics could muster.

[Slade Wilson]

The heat beam hit his chest, immediately causing the metal to glow. Warning sirens buzzed in his helmet; warnings about heat flashed on his HUD. Rather than simply roll out of the beam like before, he instead rotated his body, dispersing the beam across multiple armor plates, and came back around with a roundhouse kick that to the woman's laser projecting face that would have killed mortals but instead probably felt more like an annoying tickle. Regardless, even a super neck snapped back from the blow, causing her beams to go wide and unfocused. The coup de grâce was just around the corner as his hand reached back and grabbed the handle of his tungsten-carbide sword.

It was time to see if Gods could bleed.

Then the world went white, and then dark. His suit responded to the sudden light by polarizing his helmet lens to the point of loss of sight, but it didn't save him from the painful flash. Deaf and blind, he stumbled back, into a defensive stance; raised arms in a classic brawlers move to protect his chest and head. Then his HUD disappeared. The polarizing deactivated and he was forced to look out at the blurry world beyond. Flashbang. No doubt. Not the first time he had been hit with one, but thanks to his suit the effect was somewhat lessened. Rather than completely defenseless he were moderately impaired. However, now his suit was depowered through means unknown. That meant no warning systems, no status updates, and no automatic defenses.

Reaching over his shoulder he pulled the assault rifle back out and noticed the holographic sight was gone. Damn. Didn't matter. He could still aim moderately well. He held it in one hand, briefcase back in the other, and retreated back behind the familiar air conditioner unit. His head was still swimming. A minute. That was all he needed.

[Supergirl]

Kara's heat vision wasn't doing the trick, she realised too late. His armour, whatever it was, was taking most of the blow, and she just wasn't powerful enough to focus it intently and burn through his armour. She was about to think of something else, fly at him, try hitting him again, when the kick came. It collided with her with such force that she crashed to the floor, her world white hot agony for a moment, her neck snapping back with enough power to kill an ordinary person, and even hurt her.

Her body slid back across the ice as she tried to recover from the daze, when she heard the odd sounding voice in her ear. And then there was the flash, which to her super-enhanced senses was extremely painful, causing her to turn away for a moment, dazed and lost, in pain, still confused about what was happening. She was seeing spots and hearing ringing, but knowing that she had to keep fighting, she let her natural X-Ray vision set in, cutting through anything that interfered, and floated up off the ice, not quite feeling up to standing on the slippery surface. She had back-up now of some kind, that was for sure, and she knew that she had to start being more effective, or she'd never live this down. Supergirl defeated by some ordinary human and rescued by another one. It wasn't arrogance, she told herself. It was just... people would say things. Being Supergirl meant people expected you to have a reputation.

But she couldn't win a close fight. That much was clear. Like it or not, this man was just more skilled than she was. Kara just relied on her powers, and he was out-witting her. He was winning, simply put. Kara couldn't quite believe it, but it was happening. So maybe it was time to use her new ally. To give him a clean shot, at least.

And so, knowing her target was hiding behind the air conditioning unit, she decided to do the next best thing. Remove his cover. She floated to the other side of it to the one Slade was hiding on, grabbed it with both hands, and tore it clean from the roof, hoping that whoever her mysterious assistant was, he would take the opportunity to fire on the exposed villain.

[Green Arrow]

Huh.

Oliver wasn't entirely sure what he would have done in that situation. Were this a League action, he might have expected someone to spook Deathstroke out of cover. An exploding batarang thrown from a flanking position. More optic blasts. A hail of shots from Booster's energy weapons. A high speed impact from a streak of red. An implausible yet surprisingly effective intervention by marine life. Something. Never would Oliver have expected someone to just move the cover aside. It was a little on the destructive side, true, but it was simple yet effective: traits that Oliver was a huge plan of. Maybe it was a sign that this Kryptonian cheerleader didn't know what she was doing; or maybe it just meant that Batman, or Superman, or one of the other uptight heroes hadn't had the opportunity to teach her any bad habits just yet.

"Why thank you, ma'am," Oliver spoke, through his Kryptonians-only frequency again, reaching for his quiver to pull out another arrow.

A quick click of another seamlessly concealed button on his bow and made a series of red LEDs on the blunted arrowhead blink on, priming the impact detonator that would trigger the tiny amount of plastique contained within. There wasn't enough kick in this particular variety of arrow to cause a huge amount of damage - it was the kind of exploding arrow he used to bust open locks, as opposed to the kind he used to blast through walls - but hopefully it would do enough. He considered his options: from here, Deathstroke's gun was an easy target, but the cheerleader seemed to be your typically bulletproof Kryptonian. Well, ish - she didn't seem quite as impervious as Kal-El did, but then Kal was a behemoth of a man whereas this Kryptonian was a teeny-tiny teenager; physics and all that. On the other hand - literally - was that case: and at this stage, finding out what was inside seemed like the main priority; capturing Deathstroke himself wasn't likely to yield all that many actual answers.

"Be careful," he added, making sure to give Kara plenty of warning this time: she definitely seemed capable of hearing him; and fortunately, Deathstroke's tech didn't seem tuned in to hear this particular frequency. "This next one is going to explode a little bit."

With that, Oliver set his sights on Deathstroke's wrist, and launched a shot that he hoped would hit hard enough to force the Terminator to drop his precious cargo.

[Slade Wilson]

If his ears still functioned than he would have heard the air conditioner unit being ripped from the rooftop behind him, but instead the scream of twisting metal and tearing of pipes were replaced with the humming silence of damaged eardrums with the promises of tinnitus. However, what he lacked in hearing he made up with his other senses. Namely feeling the rooftop shudder and shake, causing him to look over his shoulder and see the unit lifting skyward. He had only a moment to respond by getting back on his feet and diving for the next closest cover; just something exploded against the case in his hand.

The case was knocked from his hand, severely twisting, fracturing, and almost breaking his fingers in the process. The case went sailing from his hand from the force of the explosion, flying across the rooftop until it crashed into a vent; it's dented cover breaking open on impact to reveal a lead lined interior and a green crystal embedded in thick memory foam. He recognized the mineral immediately.

Kryptonite!

Rallying himself, he got back up to his feet, his rifle held in his good hand, his damaged one cradling the barrel, and began to return fire. He knew the general direction his attacker was firing from now. His vision was still a little blurry, making it hard to focus on distant objects, and without his suit's systems to back him up he was firing almost blindly, but the idea was more to send his attacker scrambling for cover to buy just enough time for this next part.

He knew the Super would be worthless now that the kryptonite was exposed from it's lead liner. The moment the rifle clip clicked empty he dropped it, letting it fall to his side by it's shoulder strap, and turned and dove for the case, scooping it up in his bad hand and rolling off the edge of the rooftop in the same movement.

Danging off the edge by one hand he aimed his descent and pushed off the side of the building as he let go of the edge, propelling himself across the gap between this building and a fire escape on the other side, grabbing the edge halfway down to slow himself before falling the rest of the way; his enhanced body more than capable of taking the force of the drop. And then he was off, running as fast as he could. Deathstroke was not the kind to run from a fight, and he hated himself for doing it. However, he had a job to do. A job he would have forsaken up until this point; when he realized the actual value of the cargo he was retrieving. If he lost this to the Superbrat and whomever was assisting her, it would tarnish his reputation forever, and his Employer would not be forgiving.


Case clutched against his chest with one hand, handgun drawn with the other, he continued to run, ducking through alleys and sprinting across streets. Hopefully the Super would stay weak long enough for her to not simply fly after him, and anyone less than superhuman would never be able to keep up with his pace on foot. Now it was a matter of weaving an untraceable path through the city, using doublebacks and rooftops to hide his movements, and making his journey across the city back to Queen Industries to return this precious cargo, and ask a few much needed questions.

[Supergirl]

"I can handle an explosion." Kara said cockily back to her mysterious assistant, now that she was certain they had this mysterious assassin on the ropes. and so he fired, and it exploded, the perfect shot. The case was blown from his hand, although Kara couldn't care less about the case, and was instead focused on apprehending the assassin. After all, it was only stolen property. She couldn't resist a tiny peek as it was damaged, though, spying the green crystal inside. It was relatively large, and even maybe slightly pretty, although Kara couldn't resist rolling her eyes. How human. Fighting over old buried rocks. She admired diamonds as much as the next teenage girl, sure, but on Krypton, everything was crystal, why humans made such a big deal out of the rocks she-

-it was just as she was taking a step towards the assassin to push a combined assault that her own leg failed to support her wait, and she fell forwards. Suddenly, she became overly aware that she felt incredibly sick and dizzy, her muscles feeling weak and drained. Everything around her seemed to spin as she collapsed to the ground, even the weight of her own cape dragging her backwards, and she began to panic, desperately trying to work out what was wrong. She tried to will herself to fly, but she couldn't move, she could barely lift her arms. She focused on that green crystal, and she realised what it was.

Kal had warned her about kryptonite, but she had thought it was so rare she'd never see it, and she had never imagined the experience could be like this. She tried to crawl away, but her arms were too weak to even manage that, and she flailed on the ground helplessly...

...luckily for her, the assassin turned and took the rock and ran, and Kara found herself just about able to roll on to her back, where she lay panting breathlessly, stunned and helpless, her strength returning too slowly for her to do anything and her being too paralysed from the shock of being so weakened and ill so suddenly to be able to do anything to assist.

[Green Arrow]

Kryptonite? What the golden gravy does Queen Consolidated need with Kryptonite?

He didn't have the opportunity to contemplate that for more than a split second; Deathstroke's return fire made sure of that. Oliver hated guns. Not for the reasons that Batman did, of course: for Oliver, hatred of the thing that had been used to kill his parents would mean he'd have a deep-seated loathing of lions, and who the hell could be angry at those fluffy haired bastards for just doing their liony thing? Especially not after the Lion King. But no, he hated guns for what they were - noisy, clumsy, and wasteful. Deathstroke didn't have a hope of hitting Oliver from all the way over here, they both knew that; but he fired anyway, filling the air with noise and with lead. Suppression fire. A spectacle to force the Green Arrow to keep his head down. Frustratingly it worked: the spray and pray approach kept Oliver from finding the kind of opening he needed to snap off a decisive shot towards Deathstroke.

As the gun finally fell silent, Oliver chanced a peek out from behind cover, but found himself confronted with an impossible choice. Well, not an impossible choice, but certainly a frustrating one. He watched as the cheerleader hit the floor, overcome by the effects of the Kryptonite. He watched as Deathstroke made his escape, diving off the rooftop and fleeing with the dangerous extraterrestrial mineral that Queen Consolidated badly wanted back in their possession. Part of him knew that the girl would recover; that now the Kryptonite was removed from proximity her health would slowly return. He knew that Deathstroke should be the priority, that if he lost track of that Kryptonite it would come back to bite him - or Superman - in the ass. He knew what Batman would have done in this situation; knew what his priorities would be. Oliver chose the exact opposite.

Firing his grapnel arrow once again, Oliver zipped his way from one rooftop to the other, landing in a practised roll that had him back on his feet in one fluid motion. Kryptonians were solar powered, and this was the dead of night, in smog-covered Gotham. If a stray arrow or a stray impact or anything of the sort had dislodged even the tiniest chip from the Kryptonite sample, that tiny sliver might continue to contaminate the rooftop. Maybe the Kryptonian would regain enough strength to crawl herself away; but if he chased down Deathstroke, he'd never know for sure. The needs of the many were supposed to outweigh the needs of the few, or the one - but Oliver had always hated that stupid Batman, Vulcan, pragmatic logic crap. Sometimes the one was more important. Sometimes the greater good could wait it's own damn term.

He dropped to a knee next to the cheerleader, brushing her hair aside from her forehead, trying his best to get a glimpse of her eyes, checking her over for pupil dilations, perspiration, and all the other signs you learned to look out for when radiation poisoning was a thing you might come across. He clicked the control, disabling the device that made his voice for Kryptonian ears only, and reverted back to his normal, Oliver Queen sound.

"You okay, Blondie?"

[Supergirl]

Kara was still panicking, trying to get up, trying to find some strength, when she felt the a hand on her forehead, and she looked up to see the man in the green hood looking down protectively at her. This was certainly a new feeling for Kara. She was used to Kal being overprotective, even Ma and Pa, but to actually need overprotecting? To actually be weak and in need of real help, she hadn't felt that since her days on Krypton, and even then rarely, when sick or something. Kara didn't exactly go out adventuring as a teenager back home.

"I... I don't know..." She answered weakly to his question, trying to sit up, and having to let him support her. "I've.. I've never felt... anything like that." She said, short on breath, but strengthening a little, able to begin to sit up under her own power, even if she had a splitting headache. "That was Kryptonite, wasn't it?" She said, her voice a mixture of fear and anger.

And then she looked up at the stranger, and realised she should introduce herself.
"I'm... Supergirl. Although you probably guessed that bit."

[Green Arrow]

Supergirl? Really? That was a little bit too on the nose, wasn't it? Okay, so from the look of her this Kryptonian didn't really seem old enough to be Superwoman yet, but come on Kal: if someone is going to be using your brand, at least help them pick out a decent name. Not that Superman was all that great to start with. What next? Superboy? Some kind of Superdog?

"Either that was Kryptonite -" Oliver agreed, glancing back over in the direction of where the case had been shot open, squinting just in case there was any kind of discernible green glow. He'd have to come back with a Geiger counter later, to make sure the roof was safe and secure. Did Kryptonite even emit that kind of detectable radiation? And more importantly, was there any way for him to find that out without needing to be on the receiving end of one of Bruce's I'm surprised you don't know that already lectures. We get it Bruce: you're really good at trivial pursuit. Get over it.

"- or you have an oddly coincidental allergy to the packing foam inside that carry case."

He let that sentiment linger in the air as his brow furrowed into another frown, considering the best course of action. He wondered if this Supergirl knew who he was; whether a reciprocal introduction was even necessary. Probably not, right? After all, he'd helped save the world a few times, and he was kind of a big deal back in Star City. An aspiring young superhero like this had probably done all her homework; new all the greats, all that stuff. Still, it was polite and all. Make her feel like she was being treated as an equal.

"I'm the Green Arrow," he introduced, trying to sound relatively casual about it. Threw in a little bit of a reassuring smile for a minute there, too. "And we should really think about getting you off this roof. Think you can manage on your own, or are you gonna need a helping hand?"

[Supergirl]

Great, he was a funny one. It was odd how Kara happily liked to quip when she was in full hero mode to just about anybody, but now that he was cracking wise at her while she was literally on her back, well, she was considerably less thrilled by it all. Her strength was returning though, even if right now she felt like the world's biggest weakling. The woman of wheat. In actuality, she probably had about human level strength, but after a year of being Supergirl, well, that felt as puny as it came.

She struggled to her feet, wobbling, but able to stand, regretting her heels on her boots since they were suddenly a very bad idea when she felt this feeble and unsteady.
"Hey, I think... Kal mentioned you... once or twice..." She said woozily, putting one weak foot in front of the other. "I'm...okay." She waved him off unsteadily. "Just, give me a moment." She paused for a moment, and looked like she was straining upwards. There was no feeling of her feet leaving the ground, of her body weight fading away as she took flight. Nothing happened. It seemed like flying was off the cards for the moment. "......Okay, uh, I think I'd better walk." She said uneasily.

"Uh, how do you get down from the roof when you can't fly?" She asked, unsure how any of the mortal heroes actually managed it.

[Green Arrow]

It was one of those questions that sounded stupid, until you actually tried to answer it. There were fire escapes, and there were access doors that led down into the buildings, but those were loud and clanky, and if anyone managed to peek out of their window or into the hallway they'd get the mystifying sight of two costumed vigilantes tromping down the corridor. Then there was the jumping option, springing yourself off walls and other surfaces to bounce your way towards ground level. None of those things seemed to really fit with Supergirl; not in her current condition, anyway. And while sure, get her far enough away from any lingering Kryptonite radiation and she'd probably be right as rain in a matter of seconds, he wasn't entirely confident that she'd be able to leap off a building without face planting on the ground; and best case scenario that would lead to a conversation that Oliver did not want to wind up having with her cousin.

That left only one option, which wasn't really all that much better on the cousin Supes perspective. Fighting the urge to let his shoulders slump or roll his eyes, Oliver turned away, beckoning for her to follow him to the edge of the roof. As she came close enough, he unclipped the crossbow from his belt, and swiftly wrapped an arm around her waist. "Grab on tight," he muttered as he raised the crossbow and fired, a microfilament cable spooling out as the projectile raced off into the night. Snagging against a protruding chunk of masonry on the building opposite, Oliver felt the cable begin to go taught as the mechanism started to reel him back in. Shoulder straining against it, he jumped, swinging out into the alley below with the acrobatic grace of a Flying Grayson.

The arm around Supergirl's middle made sure that Oliver's boots hit the pavement first, before gently lowering her onto her precariously stable feet. He hesitated for a moment before he released her, trying - possibly failing - to find that sweet spot between recoiling away too fast, and holding on a little too long. That was a whole can of worms that he wanted to keep a safe distance from; Oliver Queen and blondes was a messy combination, and now was not the time to risk tempting fate so brazenly.

"You doing okay?" he asked, trying to sound appropriately concerned, but at the same time casual enough that Supergirl could shrug off the question and not feel bad about it. "You should probably get home and rest. I don't know that much about how you Kryptonians work, but I'm guessing a little sunlight is what you need about now, and that isn't going to show up any time soon."