Master Bruce — Roleplayer Guild

Location: Alleytown, Gotham CityOccupation #1.02: Excessive Force
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"News out of the Arkham Institute today as cyberterrorist Edward Nashton, known in virtual circles by his former handle of Enigma, was denied a preliminary hearing for release eligibility. Sources tell GNN that Director Jonathan Crane was on hand to discuss Nashton's culpability in the infamous Riddler Bombings, which targeted members of Gotham City's local government until his apprehension just three years ago. Having described Nashton's ongoing treatment as 'slow-going' to officials, Crane nevertheless emerged from deliberations positive, noting that Nashton had cooperated fully with therapy for paranoid schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder, among other diagnoses given to..."

A sudden stop. Stephanie Brown looked up from her phone, removing her earbuds and pressing pause on the GNN live feed. The monorail had just reached her stop, and the familiar sight of the corner bodega outside the window had caused her to breathe a sigh of relief. The college sophomore was admittedly jumpier than usual these days, given everything that had been said around campus regarding all the recent disappearances. But just knowing that she had at least made it across town without being mugged once was enough cause for minor celebration. Standing up from her seat, Stephanie slung her backpack over her shoulder and tucked the Pymbuds into her pocket, making sure to set her phone to silent as she calmly departed following a group of three ahead of her. An elderly woman, her teenage grandson, and a man who looked strung out on something she didn't even want to imagine. Stephanie sighed to herself, feeling the weight of the day start to catch up with her. Eleven hours of orientation as an intern at Elliot Memorial Hospital down, she thought. Only about thirteen hours and fifteen weeks to go.

Still, if she made it to the end and was offered a position as an RN after completing the last of her courses at Brentwood, it promised to pay well. Really well, at least enough to finally get an apartment of her own. That was the thought that kept running through Brown's mind as she stepped out into the pouring rain, pulling the deep purple hood of her sweatshirt over her face, hoping to prevent it from frizzing out her hair. Despite having called the area home for almost half of her life, she really couldn't wait to get out of Alleytown. One of the more crime-ridden areas of the city's East End, it was a place where the majority of its immigrant population had been forced to relocate after having their dreams of a better future in Gotham dashed by the reality of a shrinking job market. No one who lived in Alleytown existed in a tax bracket above minimal - even her mother, despite tireless efforts and a slew of jobs taken on after the divorce from Stephanie's father was finalized, struggled to keep the lights on. 

And as for the reason that Alleytown was dangerous? That was easy for anyone who'd lived here long enough to explain: the GCPD's barely withheld racism meant that cops didn't visit the area often. They had all but left the residents to fend for themselves without spelling it out in writing - and when that tended to happen, opportunists crept in to take advantage wherever they could. Brown and her mother had both endured multiple run-ins with local gangs, muggers, purse snatchers, and all manner of unpleasant vermin over the years. It was the reason that she carried at least two keychains with mace attached, much less the reason that she'd taken at least three self-defense courses during High School. After her father had screwed up badly enough to land a stint in Blackgate, Stephanie had worked too hard to let herself become a victim.

A ping from her phone was all it took to shake her out of a daze. Raising the screen while shielding it from the rain with her arm, she saw that it was a text alert from her mother. Surprisingly, however, the message preview didn't make any sense: in all caps, it read DON'T COME HOME. Feeling her stomach grow cold at the apparent alarm in the tone of the message, Stephanie froze in place and immediately unlocked the screen, auto-dialing the number for home. Her pulse steadied as she heard the other end of the line pick up. 

"Hey, I just got your message."

"Steph. Listen."

Crystal Brown didn't sound like herself. She was whispering, almost panicking, causing Stephanie's pulse to begin racing anew. It didn't take a genius to know that something was very wrong. 

Stephanie held her hand against her free ear, trying to block out as much noise as possible. 

"What? I can't hear you. Why are you..."

"Listen to me!"

Alarmed by the hostility in her tone, Stephanie visibly shrank - but remained silent, listening with intent. 

"There are men at the door demanding to search the apartment. They're wearing masks and, and... tactical gear. I think they're armed, I'm not sure. But I don't want you here when I let them in."

Brown nearly dropped her phone. Her walk forward gradually became a sprint, her anxiety rising until she was fully running, barely weaving past every pedestrian in her way. All the while, still listening to Crystal's hushed warnings, hanging onto every word.

"Mom, no, don't let them in the..."

"Honey, I don't know what else to do! You know that we can't call the police! What if they are police?!"

Stephanie felt her throat drop into her stomach upon hearing that. Her mother had a point: calling the police for help had always been considered a last resort for anyone living in the East End. Let alone Alleytown, where they were far less liable to even show up. So if the men at their door were GCPD, it meant something was seriously wrong. During the day, all was fine - practically normal by the standard of any other town. Night was a different story. Sightings of more than two uniformed officers in Gotham usually meant they were covering for something illegal - if you were lucky. Because the alternative was that they were being used as personal lackeys for the mob, on loan to either the Italians or the Yakuza operating out of Little Tokyo.

She didn't want to entertain the other possibility. That for every story about a missing person over the past few weeks, they were generally preceded by sightings of unmarked vans and blacked-out windows, followed by men and women covered head-to-toe in black. It sounded like a modern-day Gestapo more than anything being handled by the mob, which had made it harder to believe.

But this was the way Gotham worked. You were either having to fend for yourself or you were a statistic. And while she and her mother would usually rely on a system of fellow tenants for support and vice versa, there was no way that anyone in their building was opening their doors for anyone in masks unless they were at gunpoint.

"Just stay with one of your friends. Or go back to the hospital. Find somewhere, anywhere to go, I... I don't want to take any chances."

Brown grew indignant as she found herself racing past 92nd Street. She was still several blocks away and knew that it'd take at least another twenty minutes to reach her mother.

"That's insane! You don't know if it's me they're after. They could have the wrong address, we don't..."

"They're getting impatient, I... I have to go. Stay safe. I love you."

"Mom?!"

The call dropped. Stephanie started to frantically redial, hoping to try and prevent her mother from opening that door. But she quickly realized that it was too late and these people were likely already in the apartment now. Frantically murmuring several curses under her breath, she rounded the nearest corner and dialed another number without losing pace. Not 9-1-1, like a person normally would in times like these. Instead, an image of her and her best friend lit up the phone's screen. Then a voice that sounded half-asleep answered.

"Harper? It's Steph. Listen."

From the other end of the line, her friend didn't have time to respond before she continued. Harper lived on the other side of the complex, so a brief detour wasn't unfeasible. In the back of her mind, Stephanie knew that what she was about to propose wasn't the wisest course of action. But she wasn't about to let these bastards unlawfully search her place and terrorize her mother. And she sure as hell wasn't about to stay away and do nothing while they did.

"I'm gonna be outside your place in five minutes. I need your help."

"Keep her quiet."

Commander Lyle Bolton sneered back as Crystal Brown was forced to take a seat at her cramped dining room table. Two of his officers stood next to her, weapons trained at the apartment's visibly shaken inhabitant as loud crashes and violent rummaging could be heard from the other room. Specifically coming from her daughter's room, which three others were currently ransacking - emptying dresser drawers and the closet, tossing clothes and valuables, scattering them across the floor without a second thought. They had already commandeered her PC and set the parts on the living room couch, ready to be moved to the awaiting van outside. Crystal wanted to protest and ask in what way any of this was lawful, but she was terrified. Not to mention that it wasn't as if they would take her seriously anyway.

"We found another laptop!"

Bolton loudly grunted, unsurprised. 

"Bag it. The guys at HQ can scrub it for any loose ends."

Finally, Crystal had reached her limit, beginning to stand up. "What is this about?!"

A firm hand on her shoulder forced her back down. 

Bolton stepped forward, his own weapon relaxed in his hands, a gaze directed at the woman so hateful that it compelled her to look away. He had dealt with these hysterics before in his time in the GCPD, and experienced much worse during his stint as a security guard at Arkham. His time working for both had ended abruptly following reprimands and inquiries, usually involving a perceived use of excessive force. His superiors had even recommended that he be evaluated. But his superiors at The Agency didn't see it that way when they called him in for an interview just a few months prior. They believed that he had been unfairly treated, that his low-tolerance behavior had been an asset that had been grossly misunderstood. At least, that was the line that they had fed Bolton to get him to sign on. 

But he didn't care. A job was a job, and anything that put a gun back in his hand was enough to appease his ego. Looking down at Crystal, Bolton's imposing figure stood shadowed over her, backlit by the dining room chandelier. Brazenly, he lowered the balaclava covering the bottom half of his face, as if he was daring her to file charges.

"Seems that your kid's a troublemaker. We've been monitoring her for weeks. Tracing calls, cycling through texts, emails, her social media. There's evidence that she's been colluding with extremists. People responsible for repeated attacks to the checkpoint in town."

Crystal stared back in disbelief. Stephanie had been a straight-A student since she was in elementary school, often preferring studies to extracurricular activities. That was largely because she'd struggled with PTSD from her father's verbal abuse as a child. Stephanie wasn't comfortable with alot of people, so to hear that she'd been speaking to potential terrorists seemed as far from reality as it could have been.

"S-She wouldn't..."

"You ever hear of somebody called The Hood?"

The what? Crystal couldn't even pretend to know who he was talking about.

"Don't worry. You'll be very acquainted when your daughter leads us to him and his little band of freaks. If she co-operates, maybe she'll get off with probation."

Bolton leaned in, a terrifying grin on his face. "Personally, I hope she resists. Hate to waste a good interrogation."

"Commander?"

One of the masked Agency officers appeared at the front door of the apartment. 

"You're gonna want to take a look outside. Think we've spotted the perp nearby. Blonde, maybe five-five. Looks like she's with someone."

Bolton raised his balaclava back over his face before turning.

"Detain them both. We'll need..."

The Commander paused. As his subordinate quizically looked back at him, he felt a presence encroaching on his position. With a wild swing, a wooden baseball bat struck the officer in the unarmored back of his neck, knocking him off his feet and causing his weapon to fly to the carpeted floor. Enraged, Bolton raised his weapon and stepped ahead.

"ON ME! ON ME!"

The agents that had been tearing apart the bedroom quickly filed out into the hallway, guns trained ahead of them. What they saw was a standoff between their field leader, two fellow officers, and two teenage girls wielding bats. Stephanie Brown and Harper Row entered the apartment, with the former moving quickly to grab the fallen weapon off of the floor. Raising it back towards Bolton and the officers flanking him, Brown placed her finger on the trigger and stood her ground.

"Get out."

Bolton stepped forward. Unflinching.

"She's giving you to the count of three..."

"Or what? She'll shoot us?"

Bolton chuckled. "Kid, you've never even held one of those."

"You sure about that?"

"Pretty damn sure, given the safety's still on."

Her expression fell. She wasn't sure whether it was a bluff - but unfortunately, Stephanie also didn't know where the safety even was in order to check. Bolton and his team moved forward, spooking her enough to drop the weapon. Harper moved ahead of her, bat raised and ready to swing if they moved another inch. It wasn't doing much to dissuade them from approaching. Desperately, Harper looked over her shoulder at Stephanie, who was too scared to know what to do. 

"For fuck's sake, run!"

She didn't need to be told twice. As the two officers lunged at Harper and her mother helplessly watched the chaos unfold, Stephanie turned and immediately sprinted out the door, heading into the pouring rain. Commander Bolton marched past the three currently fighting as the officers from the hallway joined him at the door. It seemed as if the situation had just turned from a seize and capture to a full-blown chase. Bolton cocked his gun as he crossed the entrance.

"You two, head off to the main stairwell. You can cut her off on the ground. The rest of you, with me."

"Copy that."

But as Bolton and his subordinates made it outside, vainly searching for their fleeing target in the darkness, a bolt of lightning flashed from the heavens - revealing a previously unseen figure. It was standing infront of them, its inhuman features stopping all five Agency members in their tracks. Each of their jaws dropped, looking at the figure as if a demon hidden in the shadows had just made itself known.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"
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