5276/Visit to the Zoo

Visit to the Zoo
Date of Scene:	31 August 2018
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Shredder, Batman

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Shredder has posed:
    The zoo has been closed for some time, nobody is on duty at this hour except the night watchman. Whoever has been moving in on the Gotham Crime scene has done a good job of securing the silence of the smaller organizations. Small gang feuds seem to be less prevalent than they have been, as if someone is policing them, and from the one guy who talked recently, it's not a coincidence.

    Generally speaking, it's been very hard to get out any information regarding them. They are global, that is known, and from the Bat's previous encounters with their handiwork, they are definitely ninjas.

    So why the zoo? There was talk about a goods' transfer near the zoo, and the one thug who knew it was happening didn't know what was being transferred. Right now, it seems quiet, the sound of the snow owl exhibit haunting the grounds as the day animals sleep in their cages.

Batman has posed:
    Perhaps the Batman's greatest skill is spinning dozens of plates at once. As he moves through the shadows of the after-hours zoo, his thoughts are compartmentalized to review several ongoing cases at once. On the heads-up display of his eyepieces, he carefully reviews a security cam feed of several men in garish clown masks. Somewhere in his mind he weighs up the contents of a strange substance recently uncovered while out on patrol. He idly reaches a hand to his shoulder, a deep cut having already slashed through the armored weave and left it soaked with blood. Not a grievous wound, but he checks it all the same to make sure that the hastily applied coagulant and sealant is doing its job. There'll be stitches, but at least that can wait.
    As he gets into position to observe the rumored transfer, the feed in his HUD disappears and he is once again a man of singular purpose and focus. Even the pain in his shoulder fades into the background, joining a dull chorus of a thousand cuts, sprains and fractures accrued over a lifetime of pushing himself to his limit and beyond.
    He moves swiftly up the side of one of the ornate ironwork birdhouses, large enough to hold dozens of the animals. He is but a shadow, remaining midway up and simply hooking his arm through the bars to dangle there unseen. The eyepieces magnify his vision, switching to thermal as he scours the scene to make out a humanoid shape amidst the menagerie.

Shredder has posed:
    One figure comes into view, the thermal picking up a figure who is not hiding. The man hikes along the path with purpose, a radio and utility belt denoting him as the night security. He's making his rounds presumably. His pace is fast, he decidedly knows where he is going, wherever that is.

    He carries no weapon, and if it were lighter, the middle-aged man is clearly in fantastic shape. He carries himself past the leopard cage, and then to the lion pit. He walks like a man who knows how to handle himself in a fight.

Batman has posed:
    Batman watches the security guard without moving, concealed as he is and silent. Even the sleeping birds, it seems, are undisturbed by his presence. He weighs up the guard in his mind. Night watchman. May have somewhere to be but why rush? An ulterior motive is likely. The equation reaches its conclusion and he decides to follow the man, keeping to the dark. His footfalls entirely silent as he moves swiftly towards the guard, quickly outpacing him and stopping only to let him gain some more ground. To learn where he's going. The entire time he slinks between shadows. Invisible.

Shredder has posed:
    The man makes no sign that he has any intention of checking his surroundings, the Bat going unnoticed. Just past the lion pit, he comes to a smaller exhibit, a cage with a peregrine falcon. He pulls a key...no, a lockpick from his belt. He has countless keys, but surely he would not have access to cages, why would he? Why would he need to access the cage at all?

    He whistles in a low tone, and the bird stirs a little. He pulls a falconing glove from his pocket, and drapes it across his right hand, and peacefully coaxes the sleepy predator onto his fingers before leaving the cage. Peregrine falcons may be endangered, but they are hardly a creature targeted for exotic animal trade, and it's possible to get licenses to care for them. A strange creature to steal perhaps.

Batman has posed:
    The Bat is already weighing his options. A wordless prompt accesses the database of the Batcomputer and the top right corner of his vision is suddenly filled with scrolling data concerning Falco peregrinus, falconry and even the trade in such animals. His impassive frown perhaps grows a little deeper as the connection is not readily apparent - even to him. All the same, he isn't about to tip his hand for the sake of the bird. There's more to see here, and he will see it. He logs the guard's use of the lockpick in an already-growing criminal profile - proficiencies that perhaps suggest a past in safecracking or B & E? The threads are numerous, and he ties them all off for later perusal along with a detailed recording of the man's face and gait.

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan Wheeler. That's the name. And...he's dead? According to the file, this man has been dead for three years after a mafia execution in Chicago. There was a body and everything. He was a thief, small time, not as advanced as a safecracker, most of his criminal offenses were things such as breaking into offices to remove evidence, which never seemed to quite stick in court, as is common with mafia thugs.

    Jordan takes the bird, and starts walking around to the rear gate of the zoo, where there is a dark colored Honda Element waiting. Not exactly the coolest criminal car, but since there are thousands of them on the road, it is sure to blend in. A woman's figure exits the passenger side, carrying with her a cage as the guard uses his key to open the gate, the large black bars electrically sliding open with a low electronic hum.

Batman has posed:
    As the gate opens Batman reaches the wall of the zoo and scales it, passing over the top and landing without a sound on the other side. He spies the car, reaching immediately to produce a small handheld device shaped almost like a glue gun. As he points it at the car, there is a puff of compressed air and a small barb fires from the nozzle. The small, magnetic tracker 'tinks' against the rear bumper under the sound of the gate opening. The car tagged, he flags one of two dozen drones in a holding pattern over the city and links it with the tracker. It'll follow now. As far as it can until it loses power or the tracker dies.
    Only now does the Bat allow himself to consider that the man is dead. Not so hard to fake a death for those that want to do it. He has enough enemies who have done it quite successfully on a number of occassions. He quickly scans the database for any known associates. Any names that might pop out as familiar.

Shredder has posed:
    Of his known associates, most of them are small time guys like himself, or mafia connections who are suspected as the ones who had him killed. The small time guys might have known someone to help perhaps, but it'd probably take more money than this guy would have available for the level of deception involved, including a substitude body donor. However, with the level of secrecy that's been involved with the Foot thus far, it's not unlikely that most police would be unaware of their presence in a city. The bird is exchanged, and the man simply goes back into the gate without a word, closing the gate again. A silent and simple operation. He can likely claim ignorance later, and it will become an unfortunate escape in the zoo's records.

    As for the vehicle, the woman places the bird in the back seat, and without lights on, it pulls back, and turns around to begin its exit.

Batman has posed:
    The Honda is left to depart. The drone is tracking it, and he can follow up that lead later. For now, he turns his attention back to the walking dead man. He once again scales the wall, gritting his teeth as the brief tension in his arms pulls the sealed wound open again. The blood pools sticky and hot against his skin but he ignores it, puts it to the back of his mind. The second the car is out of sight of the gate, the Batman emerges from the night like some terrible demon. He reaches out to ensnare the man, one booted foot darting out to kick his legs from under him while at the same time he attempts to wrap a forearm tightly under his chin. The goal to leave him dangling in his grasp.
    "Jordan Wheeler," he intones grimly, like the grim spectre of death come a second time, "Talk."

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan is taken by complete surprise, finding himself falling backward as he is caught under the chin. He grabs the large flashlight on his belt, and with surprising dexterity under pressure, he flips it in his right hand, swinging up at the offending tricep while one dangling leg tries to wrap backward to pull on Batman's knee. Not the most skilled of combatants, but it definitely wasn't something in his profile.

    "Get off!" he says in alarm, having no idea who it is that is he is engaging.

Batman has posed:
    "Hnh."
    The sudden attack surprises him. The Bat hadn't expected quite so much fight from the man. Unwilling to let go, he maintains his grip even as the flashlight thuds against his upper arm. It'll draw a bruise by morning but he's had worse. He shifts his legs as Jordan attempts to trip him, instead using the momentum in an effort to heave the man upwards before letting him fall onto his back in a sort of calculated suplex. He immediately moves to clasp the man's wrist, applying uncomfortable levels of pressure with a grip like tempered steel.
    "Talk," he looms in full view now, a malevolent shadow with bared, white teeth, "or you'll learn if a shattered wrist hurts more than coming back from the dead."

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan is hoisted up, and as he lands on his back, he loses grip on the flashlight, and it clatters along the asphalt and away. He doesn't make any noise, though the look on his face in the dim light is clearly one of pain. Rather controlled for someone who is a thug.
    He twists inspecifically, the impact having both caused a good deal of pain, and knocked him windless. He gasps in air, and looks up to see the Bat. After he regains his breath, he answers.

    "Talk? Talk about what? I am just doin' my job, you know?" he says, Chicago accent still clear in his voice. "You're the Batman, thought you were one of the good guys."

Batman has posed:
    "What part of your job involves giving away the exhibits?"
    Batman glares, taking the breathless moment to plant a knee against Jordan's solar plexus and keep him still. As the guard speaks, his grip continues to tighten on his wrist. Discomfort borders into pain bordering into agony ...
    "You're meant to be dead, Wheeler. I want that story now."
    Then, curiously, he adds: "That's your one question. Find out what happens when you ask another one."

Shredder has posed:
    "Pazinksi, Mike Pazinski," he counters. "Says it right on my shirt." Indeed, it's stitched on the black polo. "It was just a transfer, they are moving the bird to Central City's Zoo," he contests. "Why you want to mess with me when you got crazy clowns making a mess out of the city?" Well, it looks like he'll find out what happens when he asks another.

Batman has posed:
    "Second question," Batman answers ominously, and his grip tightens to breaking point. Enough to fracture bone not possessed of some sort of super-human durability. He seems entirely confident that the man is lying, and the pain is used as a motivator.
    "Ask another one and I grind it to dust. You'll never pick another lock ... if you even keep the hand."
    That said, he puts more pressure on the knee planted at the base of Jordan's ripcage, "How did you fake your death? Where was that bird going? Who do you work for?"
    All three questions are spaced evenly apart, not asked with any sense of urgency. It would almost seem like the man has all the world if he weren't being systematically ground down into bone dust.

Shredder has posed:
    The man clenches his teeth, contorted face in pain from the breaking of his wrist, but he still doesn't cry out. Not a usual skill. He stares back up at the cowl, frightened, and examining his options. "I can't," he grits out. "You might take my hand, but they'd take my life. You got a rep for not killin'," he confesses. Apparently someone has been doing their homework, and whoever it is, they let Jordan in on the info.

Batman has posed:
    "You can," Batman hisses through gritted teeth, the man's wrist still clasped in one of his hands. The break feels worse than it is. If given proper attention it will likely set easily enough and heal to a point where the pain is nothing but a bad memory. But Jordan doesn't need to know that, and the way he grips it only makes it feel worse, "You will."
    He leans more pressure on his knee, another effort to knock some more wind out of this particular thug's sails ... and lungs. When he speaks again, his voice is low and eerily clinical.
    "What's your life if I crush every vertebrae? Do you want to be drinking every meal through a straw for the rest of that life you're so keen to protect? Do you want to breathe through a hole in your neck? I may not kill you, Jordan, but when you're lying there in agony ... unable to move ... unable to speak ... unable to do anything but /blink/ - you're going to wish you were dead."
    A pause. A pause full of every promise of brutality and torture the Dark Knight can devise.
    "Or you can talk. I let you go with a broken wrist. In my city you /live/ and whoever these men are who've put you up to this will suffer in your place. Do we have a deal, Jordan?"

Shredder has posed:
    There's a twitch of pain as the wrist breaks, but he still doesn't cry out. "Look," he grunts painfully through set teeth. "I owe thm, okay," he says, mind racing visibly as he tries to determine what will make the Bat happy, while not getting him killed. "They got me out of a bind back home. Set me up here, said sometimes they might need a little side thing, I look the other way, they are happy, I keep a quiet life, everybody's happy. I dunno what they do after they leave here with the animals. It ain't my business."

Batman has posed:
    Batman keeps a grip on the wrist for a moment. He remains full of menace. As though he may continue breaking bones anyway. But when he senses no detectable lie, he lets the man's hand go. He doesn't let him up, though, remaining wiht his knee planted on his chest.
    "Who are they?"

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan glances around, though in the dark, an eavesdropper could be anywhere and he wouldn't know it. "I can't say," he says. "I can't," he seems genuinely more panicked at the direct question. "Don't make me, please? You can't protect me from them, okay? Nobody can. They are everywhere." His face is pale, afraid of both options, whether to speak or remain silent.

Batman has posed:
    "When you leave here," Batman answers after a lengthy pause, "after you tell me what I want to know. When you crawl back into whatever rat-hole in the wall you spend your days in. When you swap war stories with the other thieves and muggers and low-rent killers there, I want you to ask them something. I want you to ask them why - on a moonless night when the shadows feel eerily full and the Bat Signal shines in the sky - I want you to ask why they decide maybe tonight isn't a good night to go out. Why that job suddenly doesn't feel so worth it. What that chill running up and down their spine is."
    The way he shifts himself seems to cast his whole form into shadow once again, leaving only malevolent white eyes and the gleam off his bared teeth: "It's because of me. I /am/ Gotham. Whoever these people are, they've made a grave error coming here. I see /everything/, Jordan. They /won't/ escape /me/."

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan tries to shift under the pressure of the intent glare from Batman. "I can't argue," he pleads. "But they aren't just in Gotham, they are everywhere. They've been here for years, under the radar. They might not escape you, but I won't escape them. Nobody ever has. You don't leave their family until you're dead."
    It may be a familiar statement. It sounds much like a young woman named June Connor said in a less intense setting. "Look, can't you just beat up someone else?" he pleads. "I'm not ready to die, and I don't wanna drink through a straw."

Batman has posed:
    "I'll make you a deal," the Bat says, his eyes narrowing, "The only deal you're ever going to get from me."
    A swift, fluid motion and he is holding something suspended before Jordan's eyes. A strip of red cloth. A Japanese hachimaki by the look of it. Adorned with kanji where it would rest over the brow. Recovered from Ivy's garden. Evidence of illicit dealings with ... someone. But he needs to know for sure. He needs to connect these dots.
    "Is this them, Jordan? Yes or no."

Shredder has posed:
    Jordan glances at the hachimaki, and then back to Bats, looking him in the eyes. The nod is slight, almost imperceptible. He follows the nod with protests again, so that anyone who might be listening would hear him may not recognize his discreet admission.
    "I don't know anything about that," he says.

Batman has posed:
    "If they come to you for anything else, you'll be seeing me again."
    Batman immediately moves away from the prone man, releasing all pressure that was on him in a heartbeat. In the blink of an eye he sinks back into the shadow, as close a human being can come to disappearing into thin air. His drone is already trailing the car. He has the link to Ivy that he expected. Feared? No. He knew it was only a matter of time before she slipped. It's one more reason to find this organisation and put an end to them. They are a poison seeping into Gotham's wounds.
    It becomes clear, after a moment, that the Bat is gone. When eyes adjust to the dark there isn't any sign of him. Not a footprint. Not a broken twig. Not a sound. Just a shooting, searing pain in the wrist.