Walking [the] Straight [and] into the Narrows (COMPLETE)

[Barbara Gordon]

Being back in Gotham after a year in Metropolis had made for an...interesting summer. Metropolis had been all bright and shiny skyscrapers and busy streets, and Gotham was, well, also shiny skyscrapers and busy streets, but the vibe was totally different. In Metropolis there was always the looming threat (promise?) of Superman diving from the sky and saving the day. It all just seemed a bit too pat for Barbara's tastes, even if it was cleaner and safer there. It just wasn't home. School was equal parts boring and terrifying, and she'd quietly decided to take some time off.

In Gotham Barbara Gordon didn't have any pointless papers to write or university bullshit to deal with. She'd been living with her adoptive parents, her Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jim and their two biological children who were much younger than she was, and working long hours in the public Library. It had been, all things considered, a quiet summer. Interesting, and quiet.

Of course, that was all just the surface of what she'd been up to. Barbara had started Blogging, with a capital B, and was quietly investigating things that were going on around her in Gotham. Interesting things, as it were. Quietly interesting things that didn't effect the top 1% who seemed to make up at least 10% of Gotham, and instead were happening to the 99(80?)% of people who lived in places like the Narrows and Robbinsville, people who took their kids to Amusement Mile when school was out. Good people who lived lives of quiet desperation as they tried to make ends meet, who sometimes lied to their children so they would sleep at night, while staying up and watching the news about yet another gang shooting a few blocks away.

Sure, the Batman was around, and he either made a difference or was the root of all the crazier crazies who'd been popping up lately. The regular papers covered his appearances enough, Barbara didn't feel like he was going to be a focus of her blog, which she'd called Gotham's Dark Corners and had proclaimed in it that she was going to be shining a light in the places where others could (or would) not. She didn't use her real name, of course, she wasn't a complete nitwit, and was writing under the pseudonym of Oracle. She was tech savvy enough (more than enough, really) to add an extra layer of security to her posting, so that while it seemed obvious that "Oracle" lived in Gotham, the posts and the blog seemed to be originating in the UK, after bouncing off of several servers across the globe.

She looked down on her Qpad at the title she was working on. Stupendous Female Flies the Frightening Skies of Gotham. Barbara sighed, and hit "delete." It was a dumb headline and probably a worse story; it was just as well she hadn't gotten around to writing it yet. The previous article was much better. Might as well let it marinate on her front page a little longer. Benson Inc, Subsidiary of Queen Consolidated, Drops Off Maphad been her first attempt at a headline for it.

Local Gangs Using Latest Tech, QC Involved? had been the one she'd settled on. The Crows, a low level gang that pushed drugs and who knows what else in the Narrows, were all sporting the latest Qphones. Barbara knew they were involved in importing gross stuff into Gotham, so perhaps they were expanding their focus into black market electronics. A company that Queen Consolidated had acquired for their proprietary miniaturized cameras that they'd immediately pushed into the next generation of Q-electronics had quietly... disappeared. Benson Inc was missing, and Barbara had discovered it, and the connection to the Qphones, after a late night at the library hacking into Queen Consolidated shipping files trying to find which crate had fallen off the truck in the Narrows.

Insinuating that QC might be involved was probably too click-baity,, but it wasn't like her views had gone up much. They had gone up...a little. Barbara flipped through to the comment section, walking down the sidewalk toward the police precinct. It was mid afternoon, and she was more than ready for the cool bite of autumn in the air, but it was barely September and school was just back in session. It was a warm day.

Which had meant that Aunt Barbara had had a few things to say this morning regarding "are you sure you want to take this year off?" and "of course take all the time you want" while Uncle Jim had been quietly preoccupied with police business and yet also somehow supportive of his niece's choices. It was his way.

Barbara skipped past the usual conspiracy theorist nuts who seemed to flock to items like these, and then nearly ran into a light pole when she realized she had an actual real life comment from someone who might know something.

[Oliver Queen]

It had been a bad day.

Well, not a bad day. More of an average day in the grand scheme of things, but that average had always skewed a little more towards the bad in his experience. A good day was not getting out of bed until two in the afternoon because you'd done something equal parts brave and stupid the night before to heroically save the day. A good day was realising that the crooks in Star City were too spooked by your latest bust to do anything stupid for a day or two, which meant you might actually get the opportunity to pretend to be Oliver Queen after sunset for the first time in a while. An even better day was getting to spend a night in with a cold beer and a bowl of popcorn watching the Starlings show the Gotham Knights how the noble game of ice hockey was supposed to be played.

An average day was like today, where everything you'd tried to investigate came up empty. Where the subtle approach that you'd taken, trying to invite a Gotham Gazette reporter out for coffee to find out a little more about the Queen Consolidated story she'd written a few months previous, had basically turned into a conversation about how much her room mate had the biggest crush on you and had posters of you all over his wall. Where you'd spent hours pouring over archives of the business section from the Gazette and the Globe trying to map out some pattern to the acquisitions that Queen Consolidated had made over the last several years. Where you were rapidly approaching the realisation that the only way to uncover what was going on with the family business was to stride in the front door and demand answers in person.

Oliver ran his hands across his tired face, momentarily obscuring the depressing hotel room surroundings. If this investigation took any longer, he'd find himself needing to rent an apartment in Gotham, and that was a depressing notion all of it's own. Visiting Gotham was bad enough, but living here? Actually paying money for the dubious privilege of having Gotham City, New Jersey as part of your address? That was what made it a bad day.

A brief chirp from his Qphone solicited a grunt before he reached for it, discarded onto the bed that he'd perched himself on. A quick swipe and a certain someone's birthday later, and he pulled up the message he'd just received: a handful of words, and an attached link.

Thought you might find this interesting. - Skeets

Oliver's eyes swept across the webpage that opened. Gotham's Dark Corners. One of those internet blogs that the crackpots and conspiracy theorists used. Some of them were more robust than others - being a crazy loon didn't necessarily make you incapable of doing a decent bit of detective work - but usually they just stuck to vigilante sightings, or complex fallacies about how there was a secret society of supervillains puppeteering all of the world's criminal activity to some unified nefarious end. This one though... hmm. He reached for his laptop, pulling up the research he'd already conducted, tongue clicking against the inside of his mouth as he scrolled down the list. Benson. Benson, Benson... ah. Camera tech. No wonder that name was familiar - he'd acquired some of their tech to incorporate into his spy arrows, back when he'd first started out tinkering with something a little more imaginative than just pointy ends to his projectiles. But now they'd disappeared? Production plants closed down, employees quietly laid off - weird. The gangs with modern phones was one thing, but this?

He couldn't help thinking about Bruce: about the way that Wayne Enterprises managed to be so covertly helpful in assisting Batman with his technological efforts. He wondered ho many WayneTech subsidiaries had mysteriously disappeared or been subsumed by other parts of the company to prevent anyone from putting two and two together and seeing that the answer was holy crap Batman. Like most bloggers though, this Oracle was protective of their sources and methods. If Oliver knew reporters and their ilk - and he'd slept with enough to be relatively confident that he did - there'd be more this Oracle was holding back than they let on. Leads and theories that hadn't been robust enough to follow up on; rumours, apparent dead ends, something, anything.

Fingers rattling against the keys, Oliver pulled up the blog again, jumping through the necessary hoops to set himself up with an account. He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully to craft the perfect comment. They'd need to meet somewhere public, but not too public. Somewhere easy for him to approach unseen, but somewhere this blogger wouldn't be afraid to visit; somewhere it wouldn't be strange for someone to be seen wandering around. Robinson Park, then. The Botanical Gardens.

Locksley:
Glad I'm not the only one noticing this. I may have more information.
Come find me at sunset. I'll be in the park, near the flowers.

[Barbara Gordon]

At the park, near the flowers.

At the park... near the flowers.

AT the park, near THE flowers.

Barbara had been thinking about the comment for an hour, nearly skipped dropping in on Uncle Jim entirely but managed to put in a distracted appearance, and was now walking toward Robinson Park and the botanical gardens. The sun was edging toward the horizon. This was a terrible, terrible idea. The Gardens closed at sundown anyway, so the only person she was likely to meet would be a security guard or park ranger, or whatever they were actually called.

Anyway, who said "by the flowers" when referring to Robinson Park? There were literally hundreds of flowers to choose from. It was probably just a troll, but she'd replied to the comment anyway.


ORACLE:
Sunset at the park? Sounds like a date ;)


Lighthearted enough that it sounded like a joke, but also doubled as a serious reply. Barbara felt for the comforting presence of the mace she always carried in her satchel, and then pulled the hood of her lightweight sweatshirt up over her red hair. Not the best disguise, but she wasn't some socialite who was always in the gossip pages; outside of the detectives and officers who saw her with her uncle Barbara enjoyed a quiet anonymity in Gotham.

Maybe that was the problem - too many people were anonymous in Gotham. Just... faces in the crowd. Her mind started spinning out a new story, or maybe a group of stories, highlighting ordinary people... the People of Gotham City... and then she was walking through the Botanical Gardens toward the only noteworthy flower she could think of. The Titan Arum, or the corpse flower.

As the sun was going down and the Gardens were closing, the usual crowd of people around the corpse flower was thinning out. It was being broadcast 24/7 over the internet via a webcamera, so Barbara found a bench nearby to sit on after dodging an employee looking to shoo people out of the Gardens. She pulled out her phone and flipped to the memo recording app, and then put it on her lap screen down.

Yes, this was definitely a stupid idea. But then, what was the worst that could happen? Babs, this is Gotham City, you know better than to tempt fate. Killer clowns descending on ropes from the skylights was always a possibility, or maybe lunatics from the Asylum rampaging throughout the park.

Hopefully the worst that could happen was that no one was going to show up and she'd go home disappointed, but wiser.

[Green Arrow]

"A hood? Interesting choice."

It still felt strange, hearing the distorted voice coming out of his mouth as the gizmo on his collar pumped tiny vibrations into his throat to change the way his vocal chords resonated. Backwards helium, Oliver supposed. You'd have thought he'd be used to it by now. He wasn't. Still, hurt a heck of a lot less than trying to put on a fake accent through his own efforts.

Moving slowly so as not to cause alarm, Oliver emerged from the shadows that had concealed him, his costume choice providing unusually good camouflage, all things considered. Perhaps he'd have to lurk in gardens a bit more often. No wonder his forest-dwelling inspiration had such a thing for green. "You must be Oracle." He certainly hoped she was - it'd be a shame if she wasn't, and he'd wasted all of these awesome theatrics on some random member of the general public, but if he'd stayed crouching like that any longer, his leg was going to cramp up or go to sleep, and a vigilante unceremoniously hopping around in the shadows wasn't exactly the impression he was aiming for.

"I'm a big fan of your work."

[Barbara Gordon]

"Holy shit," Barbara said, as the Green F-ing Arrow came out of the shadows of an innocuous group of plants. She was so shocked that she didn't really hear what he was saying, but I'm a big fan of your work came through, and she just barely managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. Her hand tightened on her phone, and she hit the record button.

Of course, it was recording only silence as she stared up at the Green Arrow, and he stared down at her, waiting for her reply. Barbara jumped to her feet, some semblance of control over her body returning as she tried to get over her surprise and even the field between them by also standing. Her satchel fell to the ground, and she awkwardly dipped toward it, snatching it up and hoisting it over her shoulder while trying to maintain eye contact. "Locksley? Oh, Locksley." She mentally facepalmed. Robin Hood. Green Arrow. A-duuuh.

"I'm a big fan of your work," Barbara managed to continue. "Although, you're about the very last person I expected to see here tonight."

[Green Arrow]

"The feeling is mutual, Miss Gordon," Oliver replied, doing a slightly better job of disguising his own surprise than Oracle had managed. Of course he recognised who she was: Barbara Gordon was a high priority target to anyone who wanted to try and gain some leverage against the Commissioner and the GCPD. Gotham might not have been his city, but he certainly hadn't arrived here blind: he knew enough to get by; knew enough so that Bruce didn't have quite so many opportunities to show off how superior his knowledge was.

It wasn't even a surprise when he thought about it. You couldn't have James Gordon as such an important part of your life without a little bit of that detective urge rubbing off on you. An anonymous blog like that? Clever. A few steps back from danger, from vigilantism, from anything that would aggravate the Commissioner too much. He held up a hand in silent apology. "Oracle," he corrected. "Your secret is safe with me."

His eyes fell, following Barbara's arm down to the phone clutched in her hand. He didn't mind the recording per se, journalists and detectives alike often used such things rather than relying on fallible memories or hand-written notes; Oliver just would have preferred she do so without subterfuge. "I hope you aren't expecting me to say anything profound."

[Barbara Gordon]

So much for anonymity! Barbara resisted the urge to pull her hoody further over her face, and then followed his gaze down to her hand where it was holding her phone face down. She folded her arms across her chest, phone tucked underneath but with the microphone still mostly free (if more hidden). "I don't know what to expect you to say. You... you said you had information?"

[Green Arrow]

"I might."

Oliver echoed Oracle's defensive posture, and had half a mind to reach back for his quiver and snag one of his EMP arrows to fritz out her cell. That would have been mean, though, and it wasn't as if he could just buy her a new one the way he would if it was Roy or Mia getting all surly. He breathed out a small sigh.

"Queen Industries -" He caught himself; managed not to wince too much as he corrected. "- Queen Consolidated started out in my city. I heart rumours from a... reputable, pointy-eared nocturnal source that something untoward might be going on. I'm in Gotham trying to find out what they are mixed up in."

What they are doing to my company. My father's legacy. Internally, Oliver seethed, frustration wrapping around all the organs in his chest. It was one thing to do all this underhanded crap. For better or worse, corporations got up to all sorts of shady crap, especially in Gotham. Usually it was someone else's problem. Too big to tackle. Leave it to the FBI, or ARGUS, or someone else with the resources to handle it. But this was different; this was his name on every letterhead, on every truck, on every building. His responsibility stamped across every underhanded action and every person harmed. That reluctance gripped him as he considered just how much to reveal to Oracle; but a dead end was a dead end.

"You're definitely on to something with Benson, but you're looking at it from the wrong side. Benson may have gone off the grid, but you're holding the fruits of their labours in your hand, embedded in that phone of yours. It's the other disappearing companies you need to worry about - the ones that aren't finding their way into QC devices. Medicine. Biotech. Chemicals. Queen Consolidated isn't funnelling those patents and that research into consumer electronics, so ask your self: why did they even want those businesses in the first place?"

[Barbara Gordon]

There were a bunch of reasons why Barbara considered she might be dreaming this entire encounter, but she pinched the inside of her arm while the Green Arrow talked and the sharp pain didn't change anything. "Well, I don't know if I can help you," she said, wishing she could. "I mean, I went looking for reasons why a small time gang like the Crows is suddenly sporting the latest tech without there being an obvious trail - I mean, of course I'll look into other companies. It shouldn't be too hard to find a list of what QC has assimilated..."

Her voice trailed off, considering the possibilities. "Did you consider that what you're looking into might be involved with QC's defense contracts with the government?" Of course he did, he's the Green Arrow. Don't be a dummy, Barbara!

[Green Arrow]

Defence contracts. The brick wall - and firewall - he'd been banging his head up against. Everything about companies disappearing screamed of people being whisked away for secret government purposes, so loudly that even thinking about it was enough to make you feel like a mentally unstable conspiracy theorist.

"It's possible," Oliver conceded, "But it doesn't explain where your Crows are getting their tech."

That in itself was something of a curveball. Every company had some kind of losses to petty theft, shipment heists, and situations of that ilk. It was the world that they lived in. It was the frustrating reality of doing business these days, especially if you were going to do it in a city like Gotham. That's what insurance was for; there were even rumours of some companies shifting around their old stock and leaking enough to make the trucks vulnerable to the city's gangs to help them convert obsolete product into liquid cash again when the insurance paid out. It was the kind of mild fraud that everyone in Gotham tolerated - so much in this city was shrugged off simply because everyone was relieved the crimes weren't considerably worse.

"Did your -" He almost said uncle, but he stopped himself in time. "- contacts at the GCPD run any of the serial numbers? Are we looking at tech from a shipment that Consolidated just hasn't reported missing, or are they all from different batches?"

It was possible that pride was at play here. Queen Consolidated's track record for crime-related losses was one of the best in the city. Part of Oliver had hoped it was just because his family's company wasn't resorting to the same corrupt tactics as the rest of Gotham, but it was almost too clean. If QC was trying to preserve the illusion of a perfect record, there were ways around it: ways to clean up after criminal activity without involving the police; reports couldn't reflect any incidents that hadn't been reported.

[Barbara Gordon]

"Weeeell..." Barbara grimaced. Don't tell him you ran the numbers yourself! "The GPD doesn't have this as a priority at all, I mean, the phones aren't even reported as stolen. I only know about it because I saw them myself. Uh, so... but they're all from one shipment, yeah."

She scratched an itchy spot on her hairline, and tucked some hair behind her ear under her hoody. "I mean, that is how I discovered about Benson, after all. Trying to track the shipment and getting sidetracked down another rabbit trail. Because, like other things around QC, the shipment just disappeared."

[Green Arrow]

One shipment was a lead. Not a great lead, but at least it was somewhere to start. If Oliver could work out where those phones had been manufactured, and when, maybe there was a trail he could pick up; breadcrumbs he could follow towards where the disappearance had occurred. It might lead to another dead end - probably would, in fact - but maybe if he ran head first into enough of those dead ends, he could start getting an idea of the shape of what Queen Consolidated was trying to protect.

Of course, if he was going to find out anything relating to those serial numbers, he wouldn't be able to do it as the Green Arrow. He'd need to get himself on the inside, a task that Oliver Queen was far better suited for. A task that Oliver had been hoping he could put off indefinitely. Apparently his options for that were rapidly depleting. Time for Mr Queen to stop hiding from his responsibilities behind a mask and a hood.

Reaching into one of his utility pouches, Oliver pulled out a burner phone - one with a fetching emerald green case, of course - and held it out towards Oracle. "I would appreciate a copy of those serial numbers. I know someone who might be able to get a look at Queen Consolidated from the inside. She'll need a place to start looking, and this could help."

t was a simple trick, a simple evasion. Most people wary about giving too much away might have been careful to avoid mentioning a gender; Oliver had trained himself to casually use the wrong one instead. Anything that the Green Arrow ever intended to do as Oliver Queen was always - in his mind - going to be performed by a pretty young blonde with glasses and a pencil skirt. It was a strange measure, true, but it was an unfortunate failing of Oliver's personality: lying always came naturally when there was an attractive woman involved.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara reached for the offered phone, careful not to accidentally brush against his gloved fingers. "I can send you what I've got. Do I...um..." she stuffed her own phone into her back pocket and looked into the speed dial of the new, green one. "Just text you, or something? Oh I see, got it. Speed dial one, easy to remember." She laughed nervously, her usually husky voice a little higher than normal.

He looked like he was about to disappear into the shadows again, and she added, "Thanks. I'll keep digging." In fact she already had something else planned for the evening, and now she was even more inspired to follow through with it.

[Green Arrow]

He should've left then and there. That'd have been the Batman thing to do. Blend in the shadows and, what, grapnel up to the roof while no one was looking? Lurk there in the shadows until people had left and then sneak out? Oliver had never really sussed out how Bruce pulled off his little disappearing act; annoyed the hell out of him, to be honest, same as pretty much everyone else who'd been on the receiving end of it. For Oliver, he'd always gone for the whole grapnel arrow approach, zipping off into the night, preferably with a leap off a building and a bit of Errol Flynn swagger thrown in for good measure.

It didn't feel right, though. He'd promised her information - or at least implied that he had some - and all he'd really done was confirm that there might be some substance to what she was delving into. He stood there for a moment in conflicted silence, before he spoke again.

"Tyler Chemical."

It was a small lead. A loose thread. A strand to grab hold of and pull.

"One of Consolidated's first mystery acquisitions. A small pharmaceutical firm founded back in the Forties. I can't find a single Tyler patent that has found it's way into any QC products since the company was acquired. So either they're working on something they haven't announced yet, or -"

He let that sentiment hang, his internal conflict over encouraging Barbara down this path stretching on a little longer. Did he have the right to help her endanger herself like this? Was he exploiting her as a potential resource, despite his good intentions, without due diligence for her well being? Or was he just being a better man than the Bat would have been, helping rather than hindering, leaving her to make her own choices regardless of whether Bruce or Jim Gordon would approve?

"Be careful, Oracle," was the last thing he added, retrieving the grapnel arrow from his quiver, holding her gaze for just a little longer. "If anything happens to you now, it's going to be me that the Commissioner skins alive."

[Barbara Gordon]

"Ah," Barbara said, "Another over protective father figure, just what I was missing in my life." She waggled the green phone in the Green Arrow's direction. "I'm always careful."

And with that, he was gone. Arrow flung into the distance by his bow, and ziiiiip he was flying away. Barbara smacked herself in the forehead. Did I really just call the Green Arrow of Star City a FATHER FIGURE? He's like ...maybe ten years older than me. Well, who knows really. But still! Way to make yourself seem cool, mysterious, and/or available, Babs.

Alone in the Botanical Gardens, Barbara swiped through the burner phone the vigilante had given her and located the GPS. She turned it off. No need to make it easy on the guy to stalk her. There was a thin line between hero and villain sometimes, and besides, she really didn't need a big brother type looking over her shoulder.

That had been one good thing about Metropolis. There she was just another cool co-ed, not the little teenage daughter of the police commissioner and all that entailed. She was NINETEEN for crying out loud, not some snot nosed kid who needed to hold hands crossing the street.

She was walking briskly now, straight to where she'd left her old beater of a car. Just a quick stop in the Narrows before she headed home...

[Barbara Gordon]

(thread is now open)

It didn't take long to drive to her destination, only about fifteen minutes in light traffic, and she parked in front of a convenience store somewhere in the middle of the Narrows. It had been a 7-11, but now was just another knock off with the owner's name on the front. Pete's Quick Stop. Also hopefully Barbara's quick stop, she thought.

Her research into the Crows had flagged this place as a possible hub for the gang. So why not go get some energy drinks after dark and see what was going on with her own eyes? Oh, I dunno, lots of reasons that Uncle Jim will probably yell at me if he ever hears about this. She hopped out of the car, zipped up her sweatshirt but left the hood down, and pushed her way into the store.

[Connor Kent]

The ring of the bell brought them to attention like a mob of meerkats, rigid, and alert. When the door rattled shut, they hunched together in the gloom, guarding their boxes jealously. Glances were exchanged in silence until the need for concern had passed, and then teeth, like strings of wet pearls, shone through shaken smiles. Connor felt a hand on his back: Turk, the oldest, gave him an ineffectual shove.

“Smiley, go,” hissed Mo. They called him Smiley because he didn’t seem to have anything to smile about - he supposed they were being ironic, or sarcastic, or both. The difference was difficult to distinguish.

“I went last time. And the time before that.”

“You’re the newbie. You go every time.” Owlish wheeled on him, pointing a fully-loaded finger. He was the small balding one, who put Connor in mind of a loud, and persistent, chihuahua. His gaze had the spark of snapping power cables, “Got a problem with that, beanstalk?”

“Easy, man. You made your point.” Turk’s voice rumbled. He subdued the chihuahua with a heavy hand, and sent Connor on his way with a nod that left no room for argument.

Up three stone steps and into the rank glare of fluorescent lights, he climbed. Pete’s Quick Stop was a shop typical of its sort: small, cluttered, a treasure trove of humble essentials and superfluous junk. Its grimy checkered floor sucked at his shoes as he walked. He positioned himself squarely between the condiments and the instant mash, where he folded his arms, and regarded the visitor down the brim of his cap. That hair: it blazed like a burnt copper kettle over a naked flame. He cleared his throat. As much as he liked red hair, he also had a job to do - she was a customer, and he had to get rid of her.

“What do you want?” he said, as gruffly as he could manage.

[Barbara Gordon]

The place had seemed empty, which was weird, but a door banged in the back and a guy about her age sidled into the cramped aisle she'd found herself in. Barbara pointed beyond him toward the back, and he might have stiffened, but she just said "I wanted a couple Monsters."

She edged by him toward the beer and soda coolers that made up the back wall, and then lengthened her stride and grabbed the glass door to open it. Everything seemed fairly normal for a convenience store except for how...dead it was. There were apartments all around it, surely there would be a couple people coming in and out of the Quick Stop at this time of the night. She looked up toward the corner and the big circular mirror there, and kept an eye on the guy behind her as she reached for a couple energy drinks.

[Connor Kent]

In the time it took for the girl to reach the fridge, Connor had resigned himself to waiting. If all she wanted was some energy drinks, he’d have her out of the door in no time. Maybe she could sense his impatience, snapping like a dog at her heels, for she put a little pace in her stride. He turned as if to watch her, but instead, his face creased with concentration while he listened.

“-before he gets back.”

“In there, hurry up…”

"Be careful with it!"

Three long strides closed the distance between himself and the girl. The fridge door slammed shut, almost catching her fingers. With his hand pressed firmly against the glass, he kept his gaze averted, and grunted, “We’re out of Monsters. Get out.”

[Barbara Gordon]

She jerked her hand out of the way just in time as he closed the door, and Barbara stared at him incredulously. "They're right there!" You should shut your mouth now, she thought, as he glowered at her. Of course, there's something going on here and this is certainly suspicious behavior.

"But yeah, I guess I'll be going," she added hastily, her hand on her satchel strap where it crossed her body. Barbara took a step backward and bumped into a display of chips, nearly upsetting it and making it spin a little. He wasn't wearing a Pete's Quick Stop uniform shirt (or name tag, for that matter, if they didn't do uniforms here), his demeanor was unsettling, and she was being told to get out.

Yeah, nothing going on here, for sure. She thought she heard a bump from the back room, and her eyes tracked toward it.

[Connor Kent]

His head snapped in the direction of the disturbance. It took every last ounce of willpower he had to stop himself from running off, and leaving the girl to all the sodas in the store. That was when inspiration struck, dousing the desperation from his eyes. When he turned back to the girl, he caught her looking, too. He considered her for a heartbeat, and couldn’t quite shake the memory of how she had looked when she was backing away from him.

Once more, the fridge was open, and from it he took a couple of tall black cans. They were planted into the girl’s hands without ceremony.

“There. Now, go.”

[Barbara Gordon]

"Uh, okay..." Should she try to pay for them? She was reaching for her wallet inside her satchel, but stopped as her fingers brushed the little can of mace. It felt reassuring, and also reminded her of where she was. "Thanks?"

Barbara bobbled the cans a bit as she adjusted her hold on them, and uncertainly made her way toward the front of the store, and the front counter. She paused and fished a five dollar bill out of her bag as she held the cans against herself in the crook of her elbow, placing the bill on the counter. "I'll just leave this here..?"

[Connor Kent]

Are you kidding me!?

This girl, with all of her awkward fumbling and shuffling, was actually killing him. Gingerly, she eased the bill on the counter and gave him a look, from the opposite end of the store, like a puppy eager for its master’s approval. Just as a curse was about to sail over his teeth, his jaw clamped shut. The overflow of his rage was expelled in a bullish snort.

He stomped to the front of the store, the sticky floor slurping all the way, and snatched up the offensive little bill. The cash register was a bulky thing, yellowed with age. Connor took a step back to consider it, and the million and one buttons that sprouted up all over it. First, he tapped, and then he poked, and before long, he mashed. Nothing but mocking chirps and alarmed beeps. There was a ferocious crunch as the cash drawer was ripped from its housing. Coins showered onto the counter, bouncing and ringing, cascading over the edge, and rolling under the shelves.

“Help yourself!” Connor snapped, at absolutely no-one at all.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara watched this unfold with widening eyes, and when the cash register suddenly exploded in a rain of coins she took a long step back and to the side. "That's ok, keep the change." The young man looked ready to burst, too, and she had a feeling she didn't want to be around when that happened.

Part of her couldn't help poking the beast, however, and as she pushed on the front door she said, "Retail work, it's murder isn't it?" Then she was out in the cool early fall evening. Murder, get it? Of crows? Geez that was awful. Barbara scurried to her car, got in, threw the cans and her satchel into the passenger seat, and drove away.

She went around the block and parked again, hopping out and grabbing just her keys (which she shoved into her jeans pocket) and her phone (which she held in her hand, ready to record incriminating evidence, should she find any). She made her way around a scary looking apartment complex to where it backed up on the Pete's Quick Stop property, and peeked through the rundown fence at the back of the convenience store.

[Connor Kent]

Still clutching the now-empty cash drawer, Connor took stock of his surroundings. The register was ruined, and hundreds of copper and silver coins were scattered across the floor like a bed of shimmering pebbles. The clatter of a discarded cash drawer marked his departure from the tantrum’s epicenter, a cold judgemental silence trailing in his wake.

“The hell was that noise?” Turk greeted him with folded arms. Owlish and Mo were sealing the last of the boxes behind him, lashing the newbie with looks.

“There was a… technical fault.” Connor said, eating up the sight of the parcels, “So, where are we going?”

“We are going nowhere, Smiley. You are watching the store.” Turk had anticipated Connor’s heated objections, and cut him off, “Baby steps, kid. Baby steps.”

“And if you want to make yourself useful, show us your muscles.”

For a scumbag, Mo had a voice full of softness and warmth. There was always a twinkle in his eyes and curl to his lips that made it seem like he knew something you didn’t, which was invariably the case. He jabbed a thumb at a small mountain of boxes, and Connor understood.

The back door creaked open, and Connor stepped out, hidden behind the tower of boxes cradled in his arms. The others followed, each with their own boxes, which were carried across the yard, towards a parked van. They wore black ceramic masks, with prominent hooked beaks, that glistened like oil in the fleeting light. It was an eerie sight that put to bed any doubt as to why these men call themselves the Crows.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara bit her lip as a group of bird masked men walked out of the back of the store, and tapped her phone screen to bring up the camera app. She had the presence of mind to check to make sure it was on silent; it wasn't, so she flicked the volume to 'off'. The resulting vibration seemed louder than physically possible, but of course no one could hear it. She was about ten feet from the back of the store, behind a fence, and another twenty feet away from where the Crows were loading suspicious packages into their van.

She took pictures of it all.

[Connor Kent]

As he unloaded his boxes, Connor heard a soft buzz from beyond the yard - quiet enough that it went unnoticed by the others, close enough that he could almost feel it tickling his ear. He managed a single glance at the fence, before Owlish, who was panting under a stack of boxes almost half his size, lost his patience. Connor climbed into the back of the van and unburdened the others of their loads. While they returned indoors, he was left to arrange the cases in a fashion that was transit-safe - he was winging the lot of it.

When he finally emerged from the van, he stopped long enough to study the fence at the end of the yard. He stared at it hard, as if by sheer force of will he could peel back the layers of wood like paper. Nothing. The fence remained a fence: solid and impenetrable. His foot edged forward a step, but his advance was cut short by the parrot squawk of Owlish:

“Smiley, what the fuck did you do to that register?”

Summoned by the spectre of guilt, Connor retreated, and double-timed it back inside. The van was open, and unguarded.

[Barbara Gordon]

Don't you do it, Barbara. The last Crow was taking a long look at the fence and she was practically holding her breath even though he was not all that close. When the others yelled at him (calling him Smiley, of all things) from inside, the Crow turned and disappeared inside the Quick Stop. And of course the van was open, all alone, and tantalizingly close.

Barbara crept along the fence line from the other side, her sneakers lightly crunching in the gravel that lay just beneath the weeds. There was a gap in the fence and she squeezed through before she could talk herself out of it, darting over to the van. Her phone had automatically locked while she was moving, and she felt like she was all thumbs as she got the camera app up again. The boxes the Crows had been moving were all inside, and she took a picture with hands that were shaking from excitement. They were plain brown boxes, but new ones, and she hesitated only a moment before climbing inside and opening one up.

It was dark, but she'd been around cops enough to instantly recognize a kevlar vest when she saw one. This was a new version though, and when she shifted the one on top to get a picture of the back of it she realized there was a saran wrapped brick of greyish white in the center of the box. She took the picture, tried to figure out how she could quickly get a sample of the drug and couldn't come up with anything before she heard voices getting louder from inside the Quick Stop.

Heart in her throat, Barbara shoved the body armor back into the box, closed it, and jumped out of the van, running for the fence and the squeeze for safety.

[Connor Kent]

After being thoroughly chewed out by Owlish, Connor rejoined his companions looking less like a crow and more like a scolded dog. He’d left the store in such a bad way that it had to be closed - not that they did much business anyway, but that wasn’t the point. There was no excuse for his behaviour. Beyond the red glare of his temper, that much was clear. The least he could do to make up for it was shift the last of the boxes. And while Turk and Mo loaded him up, Owlish went outside for a smoke. Connor suspected he enjoyed reprimanding him a little too much.

“Hey! Hey! Get back here, you little bitch!”

A second of frozen silence punctuated the cries from outside. Behind their masks, the three exchanges glances, and the boxes fell to the ground. They ran in chaotic unison, bouncing off each other and the walls until they reached the back door. Connor was last out, and he was just in time to see Owlish squeeze through the fence. Whoever he’d seen posed an obvious threat to their fledgling operation, and the others sensed it, too. While Mo pulled the shutter down on the back of the van, Turk climbed inside. It rumbled to life just as Connor vaulted over the fence and joined the pursuit.

[Barbara Gordon]

She'd ripped her sweatshirt on the fence when she forced herself through the gap, but she'd barely noticed; the expletives being shouted behind her fueling the flight aspect of her adrenaline surge. Barbara darted between apartment buildings, startling a group of smokers enjoying the cool fall air as she ran past. Her satchel wanted to bounce wildly, but she clutched it tightly against herself, awkwardly zagging to the left and between another set of buildings feeling like a lopsided rabbit.

She reached the road and paused, listening for her pursuers as she drew in ragged breaths. She rooted in her satchel for her car keys, but they seemed intent on hiding from her.

[Connor Kent]

As the van turned, it slashed columns of white light through the fence, strobing the apartments beyond. In its glare, Connor sprinted, making short work of the first narrow stretch of alley. He turned a corner, tethered to the sound of Owlish’s voice, and another, scattering smokers. When he finally laid eyes on his fellow Crow, he was close enough to hear him wheezing; Owlish was a smoker, with short legs and some extra padding around the middle - he was not built for running, or anything particularly physical. The only thing Owlish liked to work up a sweat for was tearing him a new one, which was why, as Connor sped past him, he could see on his face a sheen of sweat so thick, he looked sugar-glazed. He resisted the urge to nudge him, and pressed on, still, with the awful expletives rending the air behind him.

One last corner put him in sight of the girl, she had rounded her car and appeared to be struggling with the lock. His suspicions were confirmed: it was the same strange red head from the store. A piercing shriek of tyres sailed over the rooftops just as Monster girl made it into her car. Ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, he slowed down.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara finally got the key turned and stuffed herself into her car, the door hanging open as she jammed the key into the ignition. Her satchel was awkwardly placed in front of her, still slung across her body as the engine coughed and then caught. Lights reflected off of her rear view mirror, blinding her as she reached out to close the door. It was the Crows' van.

It was accelerating, not slowing down, and was aimed for her car. She had a split second to make a decision, and she made it - throwing herself out of the vehicle and onto the broken roadway, scrambling for purchase as she got around her own open door just as the van slammed into her car.

[Connor Kent]

Connor was almost out of the alley when it happened. The red head’s car lit up like Christmas as the van bore down on it with its signature anaemic moan that sounded like a hair dryer. His breath caught in his throat when the car was shunted out of sight, replaced by the van and its masked occupants. His insides clenched and turned; there was no refuge from his discomfort in the silence that followed. Beyond the alley, the pavement was littered with fragments of shattered plastic and splintered metal. He navigated the debris on uncertain feet, and summoned the courage to peek inside the car.

It was empty.

Behind him, there came the thunk-thunk of the van doors being opened. Mo was groaning the moment his feet hit the pavement - he was probably regretting the whole rear-ending thing now. Turk, on the other hand, practically threw himself out of the van and scrambled to his feet. He barked a vowel or two, it was indecipherable, but what translated, and with crystalline clarity, was the wavering note of panic in his voice. It roused Mo into action and made saucers of Owlish’s eyes. He clutched his side, and rasped, “What is it now?”

What it was made Connor’s heart leap: the sight of a familiar red head darting out of sight across the street. It wasn’t over yet.

[Barbara Gordon]

There was an abandoned strip mall bordering yet another low income apartment complex, and Barbara ran as fast as she could down the sidewalk in front of the shuttered stores. Intended for helping the neighborhood no doubt, but the row of failed shops were just another example of the Narrows resisting change. She also intended to resist change - namely change to any parts of her body at the hands of the Crows.

"Stop running, bitch!" The shouter sounded out of breath, but Barbara couldn't risk a glance behind her, putting all her energy into running. "We're gonna fuck you up for snooping!"

She gasped for breath, the cold air tearing at her throat, and then she was sprawling on the asphalt, loose gravel tearing at her hands as she caught herself. One of the Crows had run around the back of the strip mall and cut through, heading her off and tripping her. "Ffffff," was all she could manage, scrambling to her feet so they wouldn't catch her on the ground.

He grabbed at her arm, probably hoping to hold onto her until his boys showed up, but she turned just quickly enough that he snagged her satchel strap instead. "Stop movi-nngh!" He doubled over when she punched him squarely in the solar plexus, probably gasping like a fish under his mask. He still had her by the satchel, though, and he had the presence of mind to pull on the strap hard, trying to knock her off balance.

Barbara ducked under and into the loop of the strap, removing herself from the predicament and leaving him holding the bag.

[Connor Kent]

“Owlish, you go that way, and I’ll head her off!”

Behind the glossy mask, Connor imagined the look of Owlish’s face, twisted in petulant revulsion at the thought of being ordered about by a newbie like him. His typically large eyes narrowed into slits, and then he was gone - there was no point in arguing with reason, after all. Confident that the coast was clear, Connor looked up, beyond the roof of the van to the top of the three storey apartment block across the street, he crouched, and with a rush of air, he leapt skywards. He landed on the roof of the apartment block, and tucked himself into a roll to arrest his momentum. Then, with a crunch of gravel, he took off again.

On the far end of the block, he glanced over the edge to locate the girl and her pursuers, but there was nothing, only voices. The cries scratched out at the night sky and echoed amongst the maze of rundown low-rises, offering Connor no clue where the action might be unfolding. Throwing caution to the wind, he dropped from his vantage point, the cool wind ripping at his clothes, and landed atop the small outcropping strip mall. Another hop down and he was back on the street.

“Keep hold of her, Mo!”

There was an undercurrent of aggression in Turk’s voice that Connor had never heard before, it was so alien to his ears that he sounded more like something that had escaped from the zoo, something unmistakably dangerous. He wheeled around, and saw Mo struggling with the girl, and there was Turk’s alarming shadow closing in fast. As resourceful as ever, he had something in his hand. Look out, he wanted to shout, but the words were lodged in his throat. Instead, he ran towards the scuffle, unsure what hell he was going to do when he got there.

[Barbara Gordon]

There was half a second of surprise as he found that she wasn't where he expected her to be, and Barbara dodged as he dropped the satchel and reached out for her with his other hand. Still breathing heavily from her run, she didn't have much to spare in the way of witty quips, and he quickly abandoned the idea of simply grabbing her. She ducked under a punch and came up inside his reach, hands clenched into fists as she hit him in the chest - one, two, step back.

He was angry now, her punches just enough to make him wary but not hard enough to knock him down. And of course she then tripped over her own satchel, falling over backwards as another Crow arrived, the glint of something sharp in his hand. "Pick her up, Mo," he ordered, and the first guy dragged her to her feet.

"S-stop," she managed, hands in front of her, palms out, and Mo released her with a bit of a shove toward the second Crow. The shiny black masks were terrifying, but she felt a strange focus - the knife holding her attention and her years of mixed martial arts practice at the behest of her uncle making everything clear. "Bitch is yours," Mo said, and the second guy brought his knife hand forward with a bit of an arc. It all happened so fast, and Barbara intercepted his wrist with both hands, pulling him toward her as she spun to the side and letting his momentum carry him straight into his buddy. She chopped him across the back with her forearm as he went past, and he stumbled to the ground as Mo shouted in surprise and then ran at her.

Barbara danced back a bit, and then spun, kicking the Crow in the side of the head as her body completed the turn, his mask crumpling in a very satisfactory way as he just collapsed to the ground. Crow 2 was on his feet again, and she ran at him, kicking rapidly as she shouted something that was probably "Hi-ya, hi-ya!" (shouting during practice in the dojo always felt weird, but it seemed natural and right in the moment, here on the street) and kneed him several times in the chest, knocking him to his back and ending up crouched over his body. She ripped off his mask and hit him in the face with it, and then stepped back and kicked the knife several meters away.

[Connor Kent]

It played out like a dream, as he approached. Though everything was vivid, there was also that phantom itch feeling of there being something not quite right about it, like he was waiting to wake up. The crack of the spin kick struck him like a body blow, but it wasn’t until the red head started to take Turk apart with lightning limbs and battle cries, that Connor slowed down, feeling a little dazed from it all. He dragged a heavy hand over his face to remove the ridiculous mask, and let it go.

By the time he arrived at the scene, Turk was finished, and the knife was sent skittering across the floor, flashing in the moonlight. The girl was all-too-fast on her feet, and before she could start shouting again, Connor retreated a step and raised in hands in surrender. His gaze ticked, first, down to his unconscious companions, and then back up to the girl. Who was she? What was she doing back at the store? Where did she learn to fight like that?

The questions came thick and fast, but, given the circumstances, the best he could manage was, “Are you alright?”

[Barbara Gordon]

It was the guy from inside the Quick Stop, and she frowned at his question, hands up by her face in loose fists. "Just peachy," she said finally. She took a few steps to the side, keeping the Crow in front of her as she moved to where her satchel was on the ground.

There was no one else around. Or rather, everyone else nearby knew better than to pay attention to a simple street fight in the Narrows. Barbara half squatted, half leaned down and snagged the strap of her bag, standing back up quickly and hanging it on her shoulder. "You gonna just stare?" she said abruptly, fishing for her phone and then realizing it had fallen out and was on the ground nearer to Crow 3 than it was to her. Both phones, in fact, the green glint of the burner the Green Arrow had handed her just an hour previously was visible next to where Mo was on the ground.

[Connor Kent]

Connor watched with curiosity. The girl was cautious in her movements, sidling imaginary walls in an unseen circle around him. He was just beginning to enjoy the tenuous peace, when she snapped at him like a cornered dog.

“Sorry.”

For the first time, she averted her gaze, and her eyes lit up, firing thunderbolts. It was a look that was impossible to ignore; Connor found himself staring at a couple of phones scattered about Mo’s head. He picked them up, and considered them both for an instant, before offering them both to the girl. His brow furrowed, and he skewered her with a knowing look.

“What did you see?”

[Barbara Gordon]

She eyed the phones in his hand, gauging whether she could grab them before he turned the tables and did something to them or to her. "Saw a bunch of bird masked wannabes putting boxes into a van."

Barbara took a step closer and her hand darted out, grabbing for the phones before he could change his mind. Behind him she caught sight of the fourth Crow, the fat one, panting around the corner. ​Shit.

[Connor Kent]

To say the girl was prickly would have been an understatement. Given the circumstances, Connor fully-expected to find himself on the receiving end of one of those jaw-breaking kicks if he so much as tried to comfort her. That’s what was done in situations like that, right? Girls liked it when guys put their arms around them. He saw it on TV all the time: the girl cried, and the guy put his arm around her, and she smiled again. Mo said that girls were complicated, but all that arm stuff seemed pretty straightforward to him. Then again, he reconsidered, drinking in the sight of the feisty red head in front of him, there were always exceptions to the rule.

“Bitch, you gon’... you gon’ pay!”

Under the strain of his advance, Owlish sounded like an asthmatic rooster, wheezing his pitiful call. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor recognised that lopsided shuffle, even at a distance. When he returned his attention to the girl, his face was alight with urgency.

“Quick, hit me,” he said. The girl’s sudden pacifism left him incredulous. “Hit me!”

[Barbara Gordon]

"What?" Barbara stared at him, and then at the other Crow who was coming closer, swearing (and sweating) profusely as he tried to catch his breath. "I -"

Crow 3 looked exasperated for some reason, and then feinted a punch at her. She grabbed his hand and yanked him forward, throwing him over her hip and to the ground. He didn't try getting up, even though she knew (well, was pretty sure) he hadn't hit his head. Mo was starting to stir from his spot on the asphalt, and she was torn between relief and anxiety that he was going to be okay. Two and Three were no doubt going to jump up at any moment, and Four was nearly upon her.

His size worried her, but he seemed more likely to pass out just from moving than to pose a real threat to her. Barbara grabbed her can of mace (extra strength), and held it out at arms length toward him. He laughed, not a nice laugh, and lunged for her - only to get a face full of pepper spray and a shoe to the groin. He screeched and fell over sideways, and she turned and maced the other Crows for good measure as they were regaining consciousness or were playing dead for indecipherable reasons.

Then Barbara ran back the way she'd come.

[Connor Kent]

As he was upended, and sent tumbling through the air, Connor felt a strange wave of relief. All he had to do was lie on the floor until the girl was out of sight, and then rouse himself with a liberal helping of groans. Hissing, too - that’s what people did when they felt pain. No, not hissing, he reflected, it was more like sucking air through clenched teeth. That’s what he would do, he decided.

But the girl wasn’t finished, it seemed. From the cold pavement, he caught a glimpse of her doing a number on Owlish. By the time she swept past to spray him with something that had the others doing that not-hissing thing, Connor was convinced that this was a girl who took strange pleasure in hurting people. He wiped the moisture from his eyes and caught the hint of something spicy. He sucked a finger. Not bad.

“Which way did she go? Which way?” Turk was up, scrubbing furiously at his face. Mo was on his feet, too, squinting through glossy red eyes. He pointed in the direction the girl had disappeared.

“I heard her go that way. Come on!”

It was at this point, Connor spasmed from his torpor, and deposited himself into his buddies’ arms. He groaned like a drunk, and sucked on his teeth, clutching his back, his neck, his arm. Under his weight, the other Crows faltered and flailed - so he was laying it on a bit thick, it was no time for half-measures.

“I saw her,” he managed, feebly, almost losing his footing a second time, “She ran that way. Hurry, she’s getting away!”

“Look at this guy!” Owlish appeared, full of tears, and disgust, “Fuckin’ pussy, man!”

The others seemed to agree, because they allowed him to crumple to the ground, unsupported. They did, however, take his advice, and took off in the opposite direction, hurling abuse at the night. Connor, on the other hand, relaxed, and basked in the surprise success of his amateur acting skills. So what if the pavement was cold and hard? The sky was full of stars.

[Barbara Gordon]

Her feet slapped the pavement as she ran, and Barbara made a mental note to up her cardio sessions because this was getting ridiculous. Once she made it back to her car she realized that she wasn't going to be able to drive it away - the back fender was bent up into her tire, making it impossible to get it moving without tearing it up. She stepped gingerly through the broken glass from the rear window, intending to get into her car, and then she paused, looking back at the abandoned van.

The back of it was locked, but the drivers side door was hanging open so Barbara hopped inside and crawled between the front seats into the back. She grabbed a pen from her satchel and took it apart, leaving the insides in her bag as she pulled open one of the boxes and rifled past the body armor to the brick of greyish stuff. Biting her lower lip, Barbara poked a small hole in the corner of the drugs and stuck the pen inside, filling it with the substance and then capping both ends. She brushed it clean and stuck it back into her satchel, trying her best to replace everything the way she'd found it.

Climbing back out of the van, she hurried back to her car, pausing for a moment to consider licking her finger like she saw cops doing on TV sometimes to test the drug, but decided that was pretty stupid and instead wiped the last bit of unknown drug off on her pants. She emptied her glove compartment and back seat as best she could, stuffing all her belongings into her satchel, including another sweatshirt and a couple library books. The less she left here to steal, or that could be traced back to her, the better.

Once she was done she started walking, at right angles to where she'd been previously, and stared at the two phones in her possession. After a moment she put the green one back into her bag, and flipped through the contacts in her personal phone. D. Grayson. She knew her friend was back in town, but she hadn't seen him yet. And he could probably be convinced to keep this between them, rather than immediately running to her uncle about it. Hopefully.

Barbara held the phone to her ear as it dialed, and she walked straight on through the Narrows.