[indent][u][b]December 24th, 11:53 PM
Grim Grotto, Gotham City[/b][/u][/indent]

[color=orangered]”So, uhh…”[/color] Malcom finally piped up, after having been standing beside Zoey in stunned silence for the past fifteen minutes in his Green lantern pyjamas and holding a puppy under each arm as Karen was half-eaten by a potted daisy, zombified, turned into the Captain Planet version of herself before going flying off. [color=orangered]”Should we… be [i]doing[/i] something right now?”[/color]

A low, almost inhuman snarl was Malcolm’s response at first, before a heavy exhale rumbled through the modulator. She tracked Lady Arcana - was that still her name when she was green and covered in vines? - before finally Zoey turned the glowing white eyes of the prototype armor to her son, then flicked passed him to the giant monitor taking up the wall. Something she spotted on one of the camera feeds seemed to catch her attention, as the hero gave a short nod.

[color=IndianRed]”Get your gear, some of them have almost breached the emergency bunker with the night staff. Let’s go.”[/color]

For a moment, Malcolm just stared at his foster-mother with a blank expression… before a wide, cheeky grin slowly made its way across his face.

[color=orangered]”Hell yeah.”[/color] Came his only response as he placed the puppers down and ran off to grab his kit.

[center]---[/center]

Twisted and scarred metal littered the path of Grim and Watchdog as they ventured from the Grotto deeper into the castle they called home. The great, thick walls of metal that had been slammed into place on the initiation of Zoey’s Lockdown Mode had been torn through, sometimes literally, as a myriad of mythical creatures rampaged through the halls.

With the late hour, and the surprise of the attack, not everyone had made it.

Kneeling down, the metal digits of the Iron Fang prototype armor slid the eyelids closed on the man before Grim. He was slumped against the wall, or at least part of him - he had been torn right in half at the waist. Her night shift doorman and frontline security rolled into one. This hadn’t exactly been listed on the job resume.

Standing behind Zoey in his uniform, a paramilitary-esque mish-mash of kevlar and layered polymer and metal, Malcolm remained mostly silent, simply placing his armoured hand on her shoulder. He’d known the man, Dan, better than he knew most of Zoey’s staff (barring Henry, obviously, who’d made it his mission in life to introduce the boy to decent food), the guy having taken a liking to his… hooliganish personality immediately and taking him out back to shoot at popcans once in a while on the weekends.

Whatever consoling thing Malcolm could’ve said at that point was drowned out as a flicker of sound rippled it’s way across his vision.

[color=orangered]”Company.”[/color] Came the one word in their place as he turned, pulled on his helmet and snapped down the visor a small hiss resonating from it and a pair of comms antennae styled after a dog’s ears rising as he did so.

[color=IndianRed]”I’ll make sure they’re taken care of,”[/color] Zoey muttered lowly to the corpse, before rising up seamlessly in the metal of the armor. Sparing Dan one last look she finally turned, and there was a hum of energy as a metal blade extended from the top of the left wrist on the suit, the edge of it almost glowing with a reddish energy, magic rolling off it in waves.

Experimentally extending and retracting the claws on his gauntlet a few times, Malcolm’s head slowly turned to his armour-clad guardian, the glowing orange of his eyes the only thing visible under the blacked out, military-grade glass of his visor.

[color=orangered]”Six harpies and our big, horned friend. Coming fast from the kitchen.”[/color] He stated, almost sounding… [i]professional[/i], unlike his usual sarcasm-soaked self. [color=orangered]”...Ready, Boss?”[/color]

A small hum was Malcolm’s only response, the sound distorted into a near growl from the helmet’s modulator. Grim stepped to the side, grabbing onto a limply hanging gun against the wall - one of the defenses that had popped out, now disabled. However on ripping it off the wall it took only a moment to get it to mostly working order once more, considering the damage was mostly superficial.

With the rifle hefted up and the vigilante ready the instant a feathered being swept into view the unloading began. Aimed to disable rather than kill the rounds pierced the right wing, sending the harpy plummeting. The second, with the warning, already looked ready to screech - mouth open wide, chest puffed up with breath.

More crimson stained the wall behind them as a well placed series of bullets lodged into its chest, the thing seeming to stagger in the air. It likely wouldn’t survive its lung being punctured.

The rifle clicked as it loosed the rest of its ammo, barely clipping the third’s wings and the head of the giant minotaur. The thing looked to be made of fury and scorn, letting out a bellow of rage just from the slight graze. Grim tossed the now empty gun to the side carelessly, bracing into position as the minotaur bared down on them.

Thinking quickly, and eyeballing the stone archway the raging minotaur passed under, Malcolm abruptly raised his left arm and fired his grapple, the tug of the device immediately ripping the boy off the ground and passed it’s horned head, where the boy used the climbing claw on his right to lash out at it’s eye (the only thing on it not covered by an impossibly sturdy hide), before reeling back to grab the very surprised fourth harpy that poked it’s head around the corner at that moment and found itself in the ballistic child’s path by the jaw and use his momentum to slam it’s head into the stone and knock it out.

Sparing a fraction of a second to exhale and reposition himself as the Minotaur started to rage and thrash about, at the loss of it’s eye, Malcolm kicked off the archway towards the fifth harpy, too busy dodging the flailing bovine’s arms to notice the (in retrospect [i]kinda slasher flicky[/i]) child before it was on her back and dug it’s steel claws into a cluster of tendons under her wing with an audible snarl before letting off another grapple downward and riding her straight down into her sister and into the floor at enough speed to break her hollow bones. 

That done, the now upgraded version of the Watchdog of Bludhaven’s head snapped up towards the still screaming minotaur.

[color=orangered]”HEY, FATASS.”[/color] He shouted defiantly, distorted by one of Zoey’s patented voice modulators. [color=orangered]”OVER HERE!”[/color]

And the second the creature furiously whirled around to catch sight of the boy with his one good eye... a throwing knife was plunked into it. Eliciting more screaming, more thrashing and more [i]showing the heavily armed and armoured woman it had all-but-forgotten about it’s back.[/i] 

The flare of thrusters sounded up behind the minotaur, but any response it might’ve had to them was far too late as the magi-tech powered wings and leg-jets propelled Grim forward. The glowing blade coming from her wrists pierced through the back of his knees, tearing tendons and making the things collapse as its sturdy flesh no longer protected it. Dancing away from the flailing arms attached to the collapsing mountain of muscle for a moment, Grim then bolted forward, using the back of the agonized creature as a springboard.

The jets once more thrust to life as Grim hit the back wall of the hall in a crouch, eyes focused on the remaining two harpies. One remained looking at Watchdog, focused as it was, while the other - the one who’s wings she had clipped earlier - had zoomed in on the new threat. Almost as one, they inhaled.

The red of the thrusters burned white hot as Grim shot forward, the metallic wings on the back stretched out. With precision-perfect accuracy the right wing slammed into one harpy’s throat, the vigilante’s armored fist breaking the nose of the one focused on her son. She landed with them as the wing twitched, but rather than focus on it she turned to the one on the ground, gasping as it scrambled up and clutched its bruised throat. Rather than give it time to regroup Zoey’s hand shot out, grabbing onto its throat as well, the armor humming with power as she lifted it into the air. For a moment, she considered just crushing its neck...but finally slammed it into the wall instead, letting the unconscious dead weight drop to the floor.

The first harpy, its wings shot, had looked up to them with defiance. Despite the decimation of its little assault squad it seemed ready to fight once more, raising up on taloned legs.

[color=orangered]”...Really?”[/color] Malcolm inquired to no one in particular as the last harpy began to rise to it’s feet, seemingly ignoring the events of the past forty-five seconds in a show of defiance…. Before he abruptly walked up and dummied it right in the face with his armoured fist, breaking it’s nose and dropping it like a sack of potatoes.

Shaking his head in irritation and dusting a few feathers off his uniform, the boy turned back to face his Foster-Mom.

[color=orangered]”So… shall we?”[/color]