3587/Hey you! Get in my plane!

Hey you! Get in my plane!
Date of Scene:	07 January 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary Needed
Cast of Characters:	Vincent Black, Batman

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Vincent Black has posed:
    It's another late night in Gotham, and like always the clouds hang high in the sky and the setting sun casts a deep red color to the lighter shadows of the night. The city seems to be a bit more quiet than usual, must be a sign that the Bat or others were expected to be out, but there hasn't been a sign of the caped crusader, at least not by the Detective Black.

    Crawling through the city in his older than old Ford Police Interceptor, the man is still going through all the contacts he can, one by one, trying to figure out what happened to the SHIELD black site that Magneto was held at. It hasn't been far too long since his adopted daughter went off after the mutant terrorist. Vicnent has no clue what happened to either as news has been scared and yet he knows Hope should have contacted him in some way by now. He's getting quite paranoid about it and so he pulls his car over next to a curb and sits in it, looking down at his phone with a stoic grimace.

Batman has posed:
    The phone rests silent in his hand, baleful in its way as it torments him with its lack of information. Gotham, for the beginning of this night, is quiet. The snow that had fallen over the last few days clings to the street and the rooftops, grey and grimy with the dirt from the car exhausts that pass by. Ice patches are still a threat to the few pedestrians that are out this time of night this far out in the city's lesser cosmopolitan neighborhoods. Occasionally some might glance at the police officer in his cruiser as they pass by. This part of town the police aren't looked on well for the most part, so some of those glances are touched with scowls.
    But it all is just background, noise from the existence in the city. It has its own rhythm, steady and pulsing that anyone who has lived in such a large city can tell. But then briefly, for a moment, there's something that might cause the man in the police interceptor to look up, some hint of displeasure of uncomfort.
    And then, as if out of nowhere, there's a bright shining spot light illuminating the vehicle even as the sound of a heavy whining jet engine is heard, muffled somehow by the same technology that renders the vehicle partially see through as it seems to have suddenly appeared over him and that police car, its heavy black wings retracted into place allowing it to hover there in that city street some fifteen feet off the ground.
    The jet twists slightly, rocking as if held up by an invisible string, but the jolt caused by the black figure that drops from the cockpit and lands in a crouch in front of the man's car even as the spotlight tracks off and to the side while the autopilot slowly turns the Batwing to the side, readying it for departure.
    And then there's that voice, sharp, severe, a controlled growl that reaches him. "Detective Black." The Batman's eyes are hidden behind lenses in the armored cowl.
    "I need your help."

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent quickly shifts in his seat as the heavy sound, more physical vibrations that audible tones, shakes him to the core. The feeling that only a jet so close can cause. Something the man has experienced before but not in some time, and the suddenness of it causes his heart beat to skyrocket at the fear of sentinels coming for him flashes through his mind.

    No, that's not it, too deep, too singular. Vincent looks out the window, squinting his eyes to combat the assult of light into his car. Then the Batman lands. "Shit." Vincent whispers to himself, getting out of the car slowly after turning it off. Damn, it's going to be on cinderblocks if he leaves it, but when the Dark Knight asks for your help, most cops will step forward, as Vincent does, slipping his keyes into the pocket of the hoodie he wears underneath his carhartt.

    "What can a simple detective do for The Batman?" Vincent asks with a cautious eye aimed at the superhero.

Batman has posed:
    There's a moment as the man in black stands there, the whine of the jet engines above growing quieter as the vehicle settles into its holding mode. Parts of it still seem to blend with its surroundings, but when one looks closer at it they can make out the outline, the features. Nothing akin to invisibility, more just a camouflage system that is still exceptional.
    But the man before him is much as has been seen or spoken of. Tall, a handful of inches above six foot and with the form-fitting armor that's only barely visible in the shadows beneath the way his cowl hangs upon his shoulders. A step forwards and his voice is lower, intent, as he tells the man. "Your abilities are important right now and will save lives."
    He straightens up and turns his head slightly, as if looking to the vehicle, then back to the man. "But I don't think either of us wish to discuss those out here on the street."
    One hand extends forwards and he says simply, "You have my promise that I will not compromise you. But I cannot promise your safety. Will you come with me?"

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent's hand flexes at his side, noticeably the side his side arm is holstered to, but he doesn't even think about moving to it, that's not how the cop works. Vincent continues to stare down the Bat, his eyes dart back and forth across the cowl and the hero, his eyes trying their best to actually see the man bathed in shadow. It's suddenly clear to Vincent how this man does what he does. He's almost impossible to see. Even his feet in the greasy mucky snow seem to be hard to track.

    "I'm in." The cop says and reaches his hand out to meet Batman's and give a firm shake. The lack of safety isn't something Vincent has ever worried about when it was himself, though he absolutely would like to discuss with the cowl'd man how he knows about Vincent's healing factor, when that's something he's been very careful with, and his blades have almost never been used since he got here, but he'll ask that soon enough.

    Vincent steps towards the man, and closer to the jet, wondering just how in the hell this whole thing works and what makes him so special.

Batman has posed:
    The grip is firm, powerful, but carefully held in check. Then, as soon as he agrees, there's a faint electronic beep and the vehicle turns, its engines roaring further to life as it becomes more visible but still just a black silhouette against the night sky. Two hatches on the underside open, gull-winged and extending a small folding out set of stairs. It provides a way for the man to ascend into the vehicle though it'll take a bit of a jump to pull himself into the heavy seat.
    Batman, for his part, turns with a snap of his cape flaring faintly like a bat's wing. He makes the ascent with the practiced ease of a long time aviator, settling into the seat and pulling on the headset, green holographic display data is emitted in front of him even as the system begins to shift from hover to flight mode. "Buckle in,"
    Once Vincent is situated, there'd be a moment as the Batwing turns slowly to the side and the pronged nose lifts up until they can only see the sky in front of them. Then there's a lurch as the engines roar into life, lashing them upwards and into the night.
    If he glances over he might well see the data being fed to him, the flight course heading west across the state all while the Batwing ascends. After a small bit of time they break through the cloud cover while it blurs past them. And then there's the short /whumpf!/ heard as the sound barrier is broken and the vapor ring is left behind them as testament to their speed.
    "Genevieve Missouri." At first that's all that's said. "21:47 this evening, seventeen bodies were discovered in the local Bar 7 diner. No evidence of physical trauma. 21:52 phone contact was established with the believed lone survivor, Thomas Abernathy, thirteen years old. His parents were amongst the victims. Local dispatch sent a patrol car to investigate. 22:01 they arrived on scene, initiated contact. Communication was lost two minutes later the same time initial forensics discovered a potential cause of death being a flesh-eating bacteria in the victims' brains."

Vincent Black has posed:
    "Okay... that sounds bad." Vincent says into his headset and nods slowly as the realization dons onto why Batman picked him. Vincent looks back down at the data feed and closes his eyes and shakes his head softly. Asking softly, "Do you think your body armor and mask are thick enough to protect yourself?" The self healing mutant inquires, seemingly having put two and two together as to why Batman picked him for this mission.

    Vincent keeps his hands to himself, not wanting to upset any of the functions of the plane and because he generally dislikes being so high up without a parachute. He's putting a lot of trust into the Bat without barely more than a powerful handshake as their only interaction. It's then the question burns in Vincent's mind so brightly that he has to ask. "How do you know about me?" The detective inquires.

Batman has posed:
    A nod is the answer that's given as the Batwing continues to accelerate, the speed building. But when he asks the question the reply does not come instantly. Instead he might see the man in the mask frown to himself, his thoughts distant for a moment before he turns towards the detective and says, "I don't know."
    But it's the next question that comes to him that Vincent asks and Batman looks towards the man. Those lenses hide his eyes for the most part, but he can perhaps see a ghost of them as they focus on the police detective. For a moment he considers not telling him, but then when he looks back towards the front of the vehicle he says. "Department records, anomalies, even when we try not to leave a trail sometimes the lack of data brings it to the fore. Cross-reference those discrepancies with genetic profiles from individuals that it's possible to do so, certain aspects of individuals with sets of abilities have tell-tale markers in the genetic pattern."
    For a moment he lets those words hang there, he told Vincent how he found him, but of course... not the specifics.
    But then he changes the topic by stating, "The police team is going to try and make contact again with Thomas Abernathy, they have sniper teams in position. We have a limited window."

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent accepts the answer in that he already knew the X-gene or whatever you want to call it was a thing, but he shifts his focus onto the only thing that matters at the moment. "Then I'll go in, and you run the perimeter, keep everyone out of the danger you can. I'll take care of Thomas."

    Vincent says softly, his teeth gritted as this is something mutants have been having to deal with for a long time, and it's generally not the easiest thing in the world. Some cases just can't be handled without taking the worst option.

    "I do think it'll be best to get in and out as quickly as possible." Vincent would save the kids life, but it sounds more and more like that's not an option based on what's coming down the pipes and plans. "But I'm open to alternatives if you have any."

Batman has posed:
    "We'll know more once we're on scene," He says as the Batwing continues to roar across the sky, invisible to most of the world even as the states race by below it. It's a steady rush of extra Gs that pushes them into their seats but the ship seems to be compensating somehow even as the stars above seem to shine with such brilliance.
    "If he is the source of the bacteria through some genetic mutation, then I'll give you an injector, that will retard the activity of the limbic system, usually where the ability to control mutated abilities seems to stem from." He reaches to the side and another display comes up.
    "Computer, transfer processes to Batwing, close primary Batcomputer session." A moment passes as the display flickers through some green text then a feminine computer voice is heard, "Task complete. Session closed."
    On the screen there's a display in one window of what looks like the local law enforcement radio chatter converted to text and key words being highlighted. There's also a satellite display of what looks like an old she or garage with a myriad of police vehicles surrounding it at a distance, one police vehicle much closer than the others and two visible dead bodies lying beside it.
    "We'll make our approach, they'll receive the order to stand down, then I'll ignite a pulse to disable their equipment. We'll have forty two minutes to resolve the situation. Once you inject him, I'll be able to examine him."
    There's another pause, then he looks towards Vincent. "If you approach and cannot endure, then withdraw. Understood?"

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent nods, knowing the other man can't see his physical reaction. "You do know that some of us can't ever control our mutations. Such as myself. It's purely a reflexive thing." The man explains, hinting at what might be the case, and honestly the one Vincent's hoping for. To have to live a life after ending so many lives. This kid is going to have an extremely tough time. "If I can't endure, then everyone will have to withdraw. That includes you Bats." Black says with a grimace as he readies himself, checking his wrists and fingers, not sure why, he doesn't ever have to stretch or anything. The flight is just getting him antsy.

Batman has posed:
    "We'll visit our options then," That's all he offers in response even as the vehicle then shifts its engines subtly, the hum and rumble changing rhythm and a jolt shakes the craft as it starts to decelerate. The nose lowers, dipping downwards and when they escape the cloud cover the ground below seems to be passing by rather fast, the lights from the various settlements offering some hint of brilliance against the night.
    "Here," Batman lifts a small grey clip and extends it towards Vincent. "It'll let us stay in contact when you approach Thomas." He waits for the man to accept the device then turns back to the display.
    "Computer, begin transmission."
    "Affirmative," Offers the electronic device.
    Then, over the Batwing's speakers, they'll hear the broadcast in the voice of the dispatcher who is on shift. "Sgt. Stantz? Captain's on the horn, he says you all need to stand down. Something's going on with the big wigs, roger that?"
    "What? We got men down here, Betsy. The hell is he playing at!?" But then the radio crackles and hisses out.
    "Firing the pulse." Batman says and there's a heavy /FWUMPF!/ heard from the Batwing even as it continues its descent, slicing across the sky over those parked police vehicles and roaring around to the other side of the shed. Before they're even landed the dual doors are lowering.

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent reaches up to grab the device and pinches it onto the colar of his shirt before giving it a quick, "Test test, one two." Black nods to himself crisply, pleased with the quality of the device before he realizes his left hand was clenched onto the grip of the seat ahead of him tightly. He always forgets his discomfort at the decent of any arial craft.

    Vincent quickly unbuckles his seat as the doors begin to open and with a shimy he drops onto the stairs and quickly makes his way down, carefully brushing his weapon with his right wrist, just to make sure it's there and then once on the ground he turns towards Batman and holds his hand out towards the caped man, waiting for the injection device. "Lets hope this will work." Vincent says, half heartedly but with that tinge of honesty in his tone.

Batman has posed:
    The device is slapped into his hand even as the jet seems to shimmer around him. It's black, of course, simple in construction. Something akin to an epi-pen. Just a body, a chamber, and a rubber nozzle that contains the needle, but it's sturdy.
    Once they're both out of the vehicle Batman steps around to the front, his footsteps silent as he looks towards the ramshackle shed that is some thirty meters away, the Batwing having come down on the edge of a copse of trees, at least giving them some cover. The Dark Knight's voice is hollow, metallic, obscured now by an armored cowl that has the mouth covered in a respirator. "Local air levels of the pathogen seem to be high but..." He frowns slightly, examining the data feed to his wrist link.
    "They seem inert." Turning his head towards Vincent, Batman nods and says. "Be careful."

Vincent Black has posed:
    This is when Vincent is in his element, feet on the ground, yet he wishes he had his electric switch rifle but nope, he's back in the now, not in the then, or is it soon. Bah. Either way, Vincent's boots crunch on the frozen grass as he nears the shed. He clutches at the pen as he steps closer to the shed.

    Vincent looks around, at the cars around and the motionless bodies with a grimace, but it's a passing thought as he has a job to do. Getting closer Vincent lifts his hand to his head as he gets a sharp stinging pain and realizes this isn't good when a wetness passes over his lip and the self healer brushes his middle finger over his nostril and a streak of red smears over his finger and mouth towards his cheek.

    Vincent mutters an expletive before he opens the door and calls out, "Thomas. I am Detective Black, with the Westchester Police Department, in New York. I'm here to help." His best cop voice as his hand begins to shake from the pain. C'mon kid, where are you... he thinks to himself.

Batman has posed:
    At the first sound of his voice, the first hint of the door opening he'll be able to find Thomas Abernathy almost instantly.
    "Don't come in!" His voice shouts, raw from crying and his eyes crimson. There's a skitter and clattering inside that old shed, tools falling over each other, old bottles, beer cans. A shotgun, that must have been being held, falls over on its side but luckily doesn't discharge. But Thomas is almost climbing up the walls of the far corner, trying to get away from Vincent, trying to escape somehow into the woodwork.
    There's so little light inside there, the slivers provided by a thin lamp barely illuminates the inside. But there's no hiding the frantic thirteen year old in his bloodied Rams jersey. "Mister, oh god, you gotta get out of here! Go!"

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent reaches to the other side of his belt and with that shakey hand he grabs onto his maglight and with a flick of his wrist, turns the thing on. With a hard swallow Black continues deeper into the room against the kids wishes. "Look. You're learning to control it." He lies, but steps closer. "I'm not falling over, you're doing it." The detective lies further and then his eyes unfocus and he has to look away and recover his fortitude.

    "I'm with a special" HURK! Vincent heaves heavily as his brain continues to be assaulted by the kids abilities and he refuses to back off. If he can't do this the kid is doomed. "Special mutant program and this will help you until we can get you into a safe location. Does that sound good?" Vincent asks his voice doing his best to mask the intense pain assaulting him as his nose trickles even more blood onto the floor and his shirt.

Batman has posed:
    On the comm he'll hear, "Detective Black." More of a vibration against him, perhaps only for his ears, he'll hear Batman's voice. "Your vitals are erratic." A warning, but does he call him off or try to interfere... no.
    "Oh god, please. Mister. You gotta run. You gotta get outta here!" He's much shorter than the detective, the kid holds his hands out not as if to fend the man off, but perhaps to ward him away. "There's something going on, something in the air and I'm immune and you gotta... you just gotta get out of here!" His features break at that last, tears coming again but he pushes them away.
    "Please!" A few more steps carry the kid towards him and he tries to grab Vincent by the arm, tries to push him towards the door but fails to do little more than shift him a little.

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent ignores the radio call and puts his hands around the kids shoulders to hold the young man against him, some level of comfort that things will be okay. It's not the cop's forte, but it's the least he can do. It's also an ulterior motive to hold the kid still in order to press the injector against the young mutant's neck and activate the syrum into Thomas' veins.

    "You might feel soem pressure, but it's okay. I'm here to help you. I-I-I'm..." Vincent has to gather his thoughts, "I'm immune too." He whispers before coughing a trio of times, and the last spurts blood onto his fisted hand.

Batman has posed:
    Thomas looks up at the man and his eyes widen, mouth opening with a look of horror. "Oh no... please mister. It's happening to you too. Please... you..." But then there's that pressure, the hypodermic pressing to his neck. There's the faint hiss as the chemical is released into his blood stream and it only takes the space of three... four heartbeats before Vincent will be able to tell the chemical is working when that insistent mental pressure seems to lessen.
    He'll feel the young man's hands weaken, even as he starts to slowly fall back into that old overstuffed chair that he had been sitting in when the man had first arrived. The old fabric tears faintly when his weight settles on it, but he's able to look up at Vincent... albeit blearily.
    "I... I feel funky." He says, his brow slowly coming together and knitting with worry. The police detective cannot hear his thoughts, but with the slow way horror begins to spread on the boy's face he can well imagine as he gasps to himself slowly. Perhaps full comprehension touches him in some way, or perhaps some part of his mind is free now that there isn't this pressure...
    And he starts to cry. Slowly, just small tears trickling down his cheeks as he lifts his hands up and then covers his face in them, looking down. He just is able to say two words. "Oh god."

Vincent Black has posed:
    Vincent knows that face as the kid begins to make it. It's a face of realization. Vincent has been there himself and at roughly the same age and he moves a hand to rest on the boy's shoulder. "You will never forget, but it will get easier." Vincent lies.

    At least for the cop, his body and his mind became accustomed to that psychological pain and sorrow. Vincent pulls away from the boy slightly and smirks. "We're ready for extract as soon as possible. I'm not sure how long the serum will last." The detective say into the comsystem.

Batman has posed:
    The response to Vincent's words comes from that stern voice from the man now in the doorway, his dark silhouette blocking the sliver of light from without. "I need to examine him before we extract." As he steps into the close quarters of that old shed.
    There's a faint crunch of gravel and dirt being crushed under his knee as he kneels before Thomas, even as the boy looks up nervously towards the man who just somehow survived what is happening and this new being in black.
    "Wha...what's going on?"
    "Thomas." Batman takes the young man by the wrist and turns his arm over, attaching a small device around his wrist. Immediately a display comes to life on that device, feeding data on the vital statistics and information of the patient being examined. "You need to try to relax. To focus. Tell me what happened."
    But the boy's first response, even as he shifts awkwardly in that old St. Louis Rams jersey is to say, "Tommy... nobody calls me Thomas. Unless it's my dad and he's all mad."

Vincent Black has posed:
    "Tommy, no one is mad at you. We're just trying to figure out what's going on. I'm detective Black and I'm sure you know who this is." The detective says with a semi-light hearted glance towards Batman and a very faint smile.

    Vincent looks towards the masked man with a glance trying to figure out what exactly the man is trying to figure and how long can they really afford to sit around with the serum running through Tommy's veins. Vincent has no clue how long it will last so he's wanting to do everything as rapidly as possible.

    Vincent looks around the shed and finds an old wash rag and pulls it out from under a paint can and snaps the dust and dirt off of it before putting it to his nose to wipe the blood away from his face and lips. Gotta look presentable and cool, right?

Batman has posed:
    The display is giving data back in a curious shorthand, not code but perhaps more just to convey information quickly. But for now it's not being looked at directly by the Bat, instead he's busy checking physical aspects of Tommy's current health. A gauntleted hand touches under the boy's chin, lifting his head slightly as he checks the youth's neck, under the jaw, then pushes his hair back from his brow. A small light is held in his hand as he shines it into the boy's eyes and he gives a small nod.
    But then something curious happens. The voice the man normally uses, the intensity, the rapid-fire precision of his manner is not quite as strong in his tone. Instead his voice is gentle as he tells the boy, "Tommy." The lenses in his mask slide back and there are just eyes there, a man's eyes blue and calm. "I'm sorry. I know right now. Right in this moment, you wish today never happened. But it has. And right now, what you have to do is to move forward. To survive. There will be time to mourn later."
    There is such a strength in his voice and quiet words, such a touch of empathy. But then he rises to his feet slowly, the wrist display coming off of Thomas' arm and being held in his hand. A glance is given to it, then he asks. "Please tell me what you can."
    And Thomas, to his credit, fights off some of the tears and replies. "I just... we were stoppin' at the diner. And my sister she was all... just chattering away. And I was playing my nintendo. And just..."
    The young boy's features twist and he frowns, looking down, away.

Vincent Black has posed:
    "We're not blaming you for anything that has happened Tommy. We just want to know what happened so we can help you and help others keep it from happening again." Vincent says, he's got that twinge of sympathy having beein through those kinds of situations himself and having come through it himself. He's been alone for all of his life. Until these last fifteen years and now he's thinking of this boy in a whole new light. He's picturing the boy is Hope, and it causes Vincent's heart to flutter, but with Batman sharing his meaningful words, Vincent decides to stay quiet and just observe for the most part.

Batman has posed:
    As Thomas speaks the display device that Batman holds fluctuates subtly, the data read out continuing. For a time Batman frowns as he considers that device, then he looks back towards Tommy. "Alright, Tommy. I think I have what I need." He rests a hand on the boy's shoulder and gives a small squeeze, then rises up with the creak of leather.
    A glance is given towards Vincent and then he says, "I'll give him an inhibitor, then we'll transport him." He lowers the device and reattaches it to his belt where it clicks into place even as he produces a larger injector that seems to have a myriad of compartments. "Will drop you off first, and then take him somewhere he can be helped."
    There's a faint whoosh of sound from that small hypodermic as it mixes its own compounds, the color on the LED display changing from reddish to a bright green. "Best you can answer that you don't know where I've taken him."
    That having been said he turns back to the child who most likely has only been able to pick up bits or pieces of what was said. His eyes widen slightly at the image of the tall man in black approaching him with the injector. "What's that?"
    "Something to help you."

Vincent Black has posed:
    "It may be best, but it's not something I can accept, he's as much under my protection as yours. Plus given the circumstances, I am better suited to help him more than most people can." Vincent says in regards to his own healing factor and the fact that he has a name he's willing to give other people and doesn't hide behind a mask.

    Vincent turns around and wont argue more than that before he is walking out of the shed and tugging at his jacket to fight the cold for a brief moment before he squints up into the air where the batjet is parked and slowly marches towards it, knowing the bat will do what he must.