944/Log

Log
Date of Scene:	14 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Lady Blackhawk, Green Arrow

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Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    There was a stub of paper, a piece of bright yellow construction paper folded neatly in half. Zinda had left the thing in that totally rad jacket of hers, and well unfortunately it's not a phone number. Instead it's rather more baffling. "SNAKEBITE" had been written on one side, and "JUGGERNAUT" on it's reverse. A code word or, well who the hell knows it could be nothing right? The fact that it had the Northrop logo across the back hardly clarifies, nor does the patch left velcro'd to the shoulder. A black oval with a black question mark, above the letters "N.O.Y.F.B" also in black, which if googled does bring up the first tangible curiosities involved here. That patch and it's decidedly vulgar acronym are tied to a unit which reportedly operated out of Area-51 about fourty years back, but that's just the appetizer.

    SqonqW3rks, is an obscure industry forum frequented by guys in the defense industry. Mostly in the classified end of the pool, and whilst it's not the place to scrounge for intel normally it's a pretty great place to recruit engineers. It's there the thing gets posted: Blackhawk Squadron operational? It's a list of salient points, most of which are reaching pretty far. Only there's a photo posted, from the sixties. That's the blackhawk himself there, with a familar black patch on his arm standing on the wing of an F-104 starfighter which back then was still just a prototype. That's some meat alright, but down at the bottom there's an MP3 recorded by an amatuer ham radio operator which claims to have nabbed the partial transmission the day before.

    "Darkstar this is Blackhawk 1-1, how copy?" "Bl-zzt-wk 1-1, Darkstar reads you 5-9"
"Blackhawk 1-1, Snakebite, Juggernaut."
"Snakebi-zzzt-..Fangs out!"
"Snakebite splash one, Moving on FZZZT"
"Snakebite Splash three, RTB."

    Supposedly recorded just outside Metropolis no less, right next to Metropolis's regional Business airport no less. Heck on the airport's front page, it lists "Blackhawk Logistics" as having facilities there. Somone isn't covering their trail terribly well, perhaps anyway.

Green Arrow has posed:
In the soft blue light of his laptop monitor, Oliver Queen rubs his eyes and sits back in his chair, having spent several hours exploring a number of corners of the Web relating to these code words and this Blackhawk stuff.

"Who the hell /is/ this woman, and why did she have this jacket?" he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes. "I'd almost feel relieved if these were new drugs or super-villains or something."

As Oliver navigates a set of information about the Metropolis airport, he runs his hand across his jaw and exhales slowly. "Guess I'll be making a trip soon. Note to self: come up with quick cover for jaunt to Metropolis..."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    It's a nice airport, honestly it's quick and they have a shockingly good burger in the lounge supposedly. This is not however a strictly business airport, it does also function as a regional airline. As such there is a measure of strictly commercial freight traffic. Even from the concourse however, you can plainly see it. "Blackhawk Logistics, Regional service Hangar 18". Right there in plain text, even has that distinctive bright yellow company logo. A few black and gold PC-12s parked outfront and everything, which is exactly what you'd expect to see if it was indeed a regional service hangar for the third largest air freight company in the world.

    Security here is however, quite tight. Double rows of chainlink fences, a plethora of TSA and private security patrolling about. It takes badges and barring that, a retinal scan to get anywhere beyond the areas normally reserved for passengers. Maybe somone got the memo about a certain other airport, or who knows Metropolis does tend to attract crazy supervillian types.

Green Arrow has posed:
The Starling playboy adjusts his tie and suit jacket. "Alright..." he says, and makes his way toward the concourse information desk, a winning smile on his face.

"Hello there," Oliver says, leaning forward slightly. "I'm supposed to meet someone for a tour of Blackhawk Logistics. I don't think we're meeting /here/ specifically, but my GPS brought me to this building."

He looks around as if confused. "Could you point me the right way? Thanks so much."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    The secretary working the desk, well poor dear doesn't get paid but minimum wage. So of course she flags down security, and well with her endorsement? Yeah they seem all to happy to help, because well that secretary totally checked Ollie's story out right? Anyway with a friendly guard to lead the way, well it's no big deal. There are security checkpoints, even CCTV cameras all over the place. "Oh hey, and sir take my advise and watch your step alright?"As he opens the door to the hangar beyond.

    Inside, it's a different world. Massive industrial racks holding engines, whole wings and everything seemingly in between. A veritable cornicopia of WW2 aircraft in various states of disrepair scattered around, including a potentially familar beat up P-47 parked over in the corner. Set centrally, with a clear lane cleared to the hangar's exit? Well it's big, and it's covered in the dropcloth (which is a distinction shared with no other aircraft present). There's Iron maiden blaring over the PA, sound of tools working deeper in but thusfar it's devoid of anyone.
    There are no PC-12s, or freighter parts to speak of in here. No mechanics in neat coveralls fussing with engines or avionics, no hint of any kind of anything you could link to Blackhawk Logistics. His job completed, the Guard locks the door behind and, yeah he skates. He ain't paid enough for this crap, right?

Green Arrow has posed:
Oliver slowly walks through the hangar space, looking at the various aircraft collected about the area. He pulls out his cell phone and methodically takes a number of photos of every item.

He spends a long moment staring toward the lone dropcloth-covered craft and then begins toward it, moving quietly enough that his footsteps don't resound too loud as he goes.

"Hello?" Oliver calls a bit more quietly than he could. "Hello?"

"Ah well," he says with a smirk, "guess nobody's here. I'm totally sure this is something that would be accessible on a tour, right?"

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Not quite, cowboy."and that would be, Lady Blackhawk of course. Live and in the flesh, no less. That short pleated black skirt, those black boots, the white gloves turned down to the wrist and of course the tunic. It's a dead give away really, neat and black and emblazoned with the dull gold of the Blackhawk's logo. Crushcap set askew atop those golden blonde curls of hers, yeah ok that's -the- outfit right there. Shotgun in one hand resting back against her shoulder, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
    She eases out from behind a rusty P-40, lifting the brim of her cap with the mouth of rim of that bottle. "Lemmie Guess, ya'll were just lookin for the bathroom right? Took a wrong turn and boom, here ya'll are?"Not that she seems terribly upset, thusfar. She isn't waving that shotgun around at least.

Green Arrow has posed:
The trespassing millionaire stops in his tracks and offers a sheepish grin, chuckling embarrassedly. "Ah...hello there. Again. Hi!" he says, his voice adjusting to become more excited and jovial.

"How are you?" Oliver continues. "Great place you got here. I was looking for the person who gave me a jacket recently. I was hoping to return it. Looks like I'm in the right place."

He nods to his conversation partner. "Either that, or you've got one hell of a cosplay contest winner on your hands."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Awful brave, aint'cha? Naw this ain't no cosplay nonsense Cowboy."She steps foreward with an amiable roll of the shoulders. "Goodness, pardon me Cowboy I'm being just terribly rude ain't I? Got me a gentleman in my parlor, and he don't know the fight he's about to start."Zinda reaches out to set that bottle down on a convient surface. She's not moved that shotgun, but yeah ok she does have a mighty scowl going on there. "I'm Lady Blackhawk, maybe you've heard of me yeah? Now why don't you drop that phone on the ground, and put'cher hands up where I can see'em. It'd be in your best interests, to explain yourself of course."

Green Arrow has posed:
"That hardly seems useful, don't you think?" Oliver asks. "But still...you're the lady." He tosses his phone to the floor, about halfway between the two of them.

"I've heard of the Blackhawks, all right," he says. "I hadn't heard they were averse to having pictures taken of old war memorabilia. Not really going to do wonders for public image, I've got to say."

Oliver nods toward the plane under the drop cloth. "I take it no informative tours for that baby, either, then."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "And ya'll are tresspassing on private property, and ain't none of it memorabilia."Which is, not a great sign but she does wince at the admission. Lowering that shotgun to rest the barrel against that concrete floor, and well it's lowered but not set down just yet. "And no, ain't no tours. Goodness gracious, I gave you a fair shake and played ball. Now you come in here snoopin, you really that stupid or somone put you up to this? Killer Shark, Von tep, them Cartel boys bind you up?"
    And well, she's loosening up it seems. Stuffing her free hand into that tunic to score a lighter and a pack've smokes, which she proceeds to light up. "See this is why I never played any of them cape games back in the day neither, You play ball and you got somone digging around in your armory."Which, well. Ok, certainly not memorabilia.

Green Arrow has posed:
"Hey, I get it," Oliver replies, shrugging. "I didn't really have any way to get in contact with you. So I had to track you down." He glances about. "And, believe it or not, these hangars aren't really set up so someone can just waltz into one."

He shakes his head. "Plus, there's a lot of interesting old stuff here. Stuff that might be important. Can you really blame a guy for wanting to be able to refer back to what he found here--especially since I expected this to be a dead end?"

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Stuff that might be important, tracking me down huh?"She snorts, casually flipping her hair over one shoulder. "Darlin I got a whole list of folks who'd love to see me dead, more than a few of them are still in circulation. I didn't want you getting all wound up in my nonsense, which is what you went and did anyway I guess."And a pause as she works that smoke for a moment, finally flipping that pack towards Ollie if he fancies one for himself. "Hell you lookin for some hero, then you just start shoutin. Feller with a big 'S' come callin, get his autograph all you want. Me, I'm just another Merc who lost her war. I ain't no kind of hero you wanna be hanging around, understand me?"

Green Arrow has posed:
"Well, let me ask you two things," Oliver replies, shaking his head 'no' in response to the cigarette offer.

"First, ever interested in dinner some time? You might be pleasantly surprised at the kind of company a guy like me can be...especially when it's with a kick-ass lady like you."

"Second," he adds, "can I get my phone so I can enter your number?"

Oliver offers a wide grin and cocks his head to one side. "On the other hand, I won't hold it against you if you tell me 'no' to all of the above. Just show me back to the exit and I'm out of your hair for good."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "See normally, I might be inclined but ya'll are awful good with a pistol honey. Your hands are a little too quick and your head a little too level when armed revolutionaries show up, so you're a somebody. I don't got any clue who, but I'm startin to feel mighty inclined to start looking into -you- ya keep this up."Which is a round about threat, and a not so round about shoot down of the above offer. She jerks her head towards the door. "Grab ya'lls phone and scoot, I catch you sniffin round again and I'm liable to hurt your feelings somethin' terminal. We understand each other alright, cowboy?"

Green Arrow has posed:
With a soft chuckle, Oliver nods and squats to pick up his phone. "Oh, absolutely, madame," he says, bowing his head as he stands. "I appreciate the consideration. Hopefully we'll run into one another again in a situation without anyone being amped-up at all. Us or who /knows/ who else."

Then, he begins a calm, if briskly paced, walk toward the door.