15999/Ninja Stalker

Ninja Stalker
Date of Scene:	25 January 2024
Location:	Central Heights, Old Gotham
Synopsis:	Red Hood has some understandable questions about why Psylocke is lobotomizing someone in Gotham.
Cast of Characters:	Psylocke, Red Hood

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Psylocke has posed:
A vigilante of Gotham can always tell when some poor, defenseless citizen is being terrorized. It's the rapid slam of footsteps on the pavement, raggedly uneven panting, the harried and fearful panic in the voice. And boy, does this man have all of those in spades. The man's in his fifties, graying hair, and looks well dressed -- in a tailored suit, but no Rolex, clutching a briefcase, but not a luxury well. Wealthy, but not billionaire, has-his-own-security wealthy.

If it were Crime Alley being hunted would hardly be unusual, but Central Heights is supposed to be 'safe' -- or at least /safer/ -- for the financially well off that dwell in the many residential skyrises that dot the landscape.

The man is so panicked he slips over in a puddle of water, slams to the ground, and his briefcase goes sliding across the pavement. If this were a movie this would be when his stalker attacked, but no -- he manages to crawl towards his briefcase, his ragged breaths sounding in the air as he reaches to claim it back.

Red Hood has posed:
Despite the rumors and urban legends claiming otherwise, The Bat and his little Batlings cannot be everywhere at once. It isn't true but with Oracle's surveillance network it's close. And why would the Bats want to discourage such rumors? Having criminals keeping one eye over their shoulder is a psychological victory.

Tonight, in this location, it just so happens that one 'Bat' is nearby. Standing atop a three story brick building with a corner market shop on the ground floor and two floors of modest apartments above it, Red Hood is looking across the intersection at a dark, narrow alleyway between two other apartment buildings. He isn't watching for the fleeing man, or he wasn't. But his quarry for tonight have yet to show up. Could be bad intel. If so it just means he'll have to bust some more heads on the street to make sure the intel is accurate next time. But for now? The splash, the skittering of the briefcase catch his attention.

If the optics of his mask could narrow or his mask could show a frown, they would. Inside he's doing just that. Why is this guy running. From where. And from who or what? It's clear the man is beyond spooked. Now to find out why.

Red Hood repositions for a better vantage but stays on the rooftop for the moment.

Psylocke has posed:
Strangely, there's... nothing. No group of murderous thugs trying to mug him for money, no Joker-want-to-be skipping after him with a demented smile. And yet the man is clearly afraid of /something/ -- lurching back up onto his feet and resuming his harried pace.

It happens when the man's looking over his shoulder. A Japanese woman in a tight-fitting black bodysuit and violet hair steps into the man's path, and husks, "Looking for me?" a second before purple light flares around her hand as she jams something up and into the man's head.

Even with all of his optics and advanced technology, Red Hood doesn't discern the woman in the shadows before she steps out -- because she wasn't /there/ a second ago.

Now, her prey goes stiff, jerking and floundering -- the sounds of his screaming bouncing off the nearby walls.

Red Hood has posed:
Red Hood studies the man and scans the area. He'd switched to thermal imaging just after looking past the man, trying to pick up anyone following him, not in front of him. Hearing the scream he looks back and finds the signature of the woman. He doesn't see the purple flare of psychic energy in thermal mode and it is over by the time he switches to normal mode.

"Huh." It didn't seem like she attacked him exactly but it wasn't clearly an action the man wanted. Not like he's trying to sneak around picking up hookers. Even if one could argue she was dressed like one. She and half the heroines in Gotham he thinks to himself with mild amusement.

Dropping down just behind the man, Red Hood raises up to his full 6-foot-something height, looming large over the man. "You do know there's a noise ordinance in effect, right? No public screaming after Six PM." His voice is deep and quiet. At the moment he still hasn't established who is on the side of whom. They both may be worthy of shooting for all he knows.

Psylocke has posed:
When he gets closer, he can see that the woman's hand is fisted, a flicker of purple still dancing over her skin and the edge of 'knife' -- such that it is -- vanishing into the man's head. Yet there's no wound, no blood.

Pslocke's eyes flicker up. She's tall herself, for a woman, especially when she's wearing heels, though tonight's not one of those nights. Her eyes, too, are violet -- just like her hair -- and her mouth quirks with amusement. "My apologies," she says, and with a half annoyed, "Hush," to the man, he gapes soundlessly. It's like his vocal chords simply don't work any more, yet his thrashing, painful expression stays.

Maybe not the Red Hood's intended outcome, but Psylocke's trying to play nice... on the face of things. And not really making it easier to tell who needs shooting, if anyone.

Red Hood has posed:
Watching the moment he shrugs, "It's the rules. I didn't make it up. I guess the Mayor hates having his evenings interrupted by constituents getting assaulted."

Studying the woman he tilts his head, "Interesting trick though. I know that men get messed up in the head around pretty women but it seems like he didn't want what you're selling. Any reason why?"

Unlike most of his siblings or, uh, Mentor, Red Hood isn't as quick to judge how wrong it is to harm someone. There are a lot of someones in Gotham that deserve more than their fair share of harm as far as he sees it.

Psylocke has posed:
"I would argue he knew what he was getting into when he campaigned for the role," the violet-haired ninja replies, with a smile that is at once knowing and strangely -- readily -- warm. She's not putting on a bit; it just seems to be her default.

The man still gapes, thrashing again as Psylocke's violet eyes turn back towards him, eyes narrowing, that warmth bleeding away in a heartbeat. "He is funnelling money that is being used to pay mercenaries to abduct mutants, and either extract their mutant gene or sell them off at a black market. I object to that." In, it seems a very visceral way. Her brow creases, however.

"Yet it seems this one didn't know where the money was going. Not for certain. He had suspicions, but did not ask." Her hand retracts, and when it does the purple vanishes, and the man collapses at her feet, sobbing. Yet it's to the shielded eyes of Red Hood's domino mask that Psylocke's gaze settles. "What punishment does Gotham's vigilantes bestow on those who knowingly look the other way to try and keep their conscience clear?"

Red Hood has posed:
Red Hood dips his head, "You've got a point. Okay you got me."

Looking to the twitching man he listens to the stated crime worthy of lobotomizing him apparently.

"Well I can't say I've made a lot of friends among mutants but I haven't made a lot of friends period. Still, the victimization of anyone is a thing I take exception to as well."

REgarding her as the guy keeps twitching, "So. Hi. Welcome to Gotham. Nice to have witnessed you lobotomizing scum. I'm called the Red Hood." There's of course that red Bat symbol on the chest of his armor.

Psylocke has posed:
"He could recover. If I felt kindly toward him." Which, judging by Psylocke's regard, she very much does not.

Her eyes tick upwards. The introduction has her violet eyes taking in his mask, the weapons -- visible and otherwise -- he has to hand. She definitely doesn't miss that Bat symbol, either. She doesn't try to hide her threat assessment, nor the twitch of the smile that follows as he gives his code name. "Psylocke, of the X-Men. Sadly, we tend to be viewed with fear, so friendships don't really come readily to us outside of our own kind."

And yet the praise of her work does get a ready laugh, warmth spilling out of her. It's almost dangerous, that kind of effortless, genuine charisma. "I do appreciate when my work is admired." Long fingers gesture toward the man at his feet. "If you have no objection, I'll clean this up."

Her gaze comes back to him, waiting to see -- if it will be a fight, or an amicable retreat. Her body language is utterly relaxed, like she either knows the outcome or isn't concerned about which way it might swing.

Red Hood has posed:
Red Hood doesn't seem to care if she assesses how much of a threat he is. He is a threat. He's a vigilante in Gotham.

He shrugs, "Professional courtesy I suppose?" He looks to the twitching man, "We.." there's a pause as if he weren't entirely thrilled to be a part of that association, "..don't care for killing in Gotham. Mind taking him past the city limits? Plausible deniability is a thing." Because if this comes back to bite him, that he let a criminal hit-woman go just on her say-so, well at least he can say he didn't see her actually murder the guy. Splitting hairs is important in the politics of the Bat Cave. Just ask Batman.

He slowly reaches to his jacket, making it clear he's not going for a weapon and pulls a card out between two fingers. With a skilled flick, the card spins toward her with accuracy, enough she can snatch it from the air if she likes. "If you need someone on this side of the river to help look into things - or anything else around Gotham feel free to reach out. Or don't."

He reaches up and taps at the right ear of the mask.

"Car."

In seconds a crimson red '67 GTO more than a little customized roars around the corner and stops within feet of him. The windows are black so it isn't clear if there's a driver. But seeing that Red Hood walks around to the driver's side and drops inside it seems likely it, well, drove here itself.

The front window de-tints to show him inside and he offers a casual two finger salute to his temple before he mashes the gas and the car roars off. Guys and their hotrods, right?

Psylocke has posed:
A perfectly formed brow rises, but then her expression softens as Psylocke laughs. "Plausible deniability," she seems exceptionally amused. "That should not be a problem. She glances at the man, and he lifts up from the ground -- but not of his own will. It looks like he's floating in the air, held aloft by some invisible force.

"I appreciate the demonstration of trust. I won't forget it, Red Hood." A promise. Also maybe a threat. But the best promises are like that, double-edged.

Psylocke watches him avidly when he reaches inside his jacket, and she snatches the card out of the air with minimal effort. She glances at it, and her head tips, smile nevertheless deepening. "Oh, I will. Thank you." The card disappears. Where did she put it? Who knows. Certainly no pockets to speak of on her skin-tight outfit.

As the car takes off, she can be seen stalking away, the floating man trailing after her like a lost puppy.