Owner	Pose
Alfred Pennyworth	A pitch black night in Gotham, sheets of rain crash down in a wall of darkness onto the heads of a sea of passing people, running like ants to the safety of their darkened homes. For many the day feels like some distant, half-forgotten childhood memory, the misty night a warm comfort even with sheets of rain that blend into walls of force as they crash and careen into the streets of a once opulent section of city. The only solace for these endless nobodies that out there somewhere could be a sunny day.      The occasional violent crash of thunder rolls on the blackened mountains of steel, flashes of sudden unreliable illumination for the world, swashes of still life in the seemingly endless night. Looming over it all is a Goliath of a structure poured from solid concrete, imposing its dark shadow far and wide as it sets atop its perch of an island in the middle of Gotham Bay. The walls are sheer as cliff faces, the windows little more then arrow slits dotting the surface of the formidable structure. A lone bridge, stretching all the way from the island to the shore proves the only way in or out of the hellpit of Gotham. Its reputation alone marks it as one of the worst prisons on US soil, and a contender for top 50 worst on earth.      Across the grounds muzzle flashes mix with the rain, fires burn bright on the front lawn of the maximum security island prison. A prison bus has been crashed right through the front gate, and flipped onto its side. Molotov cocktails are thrown and shattered against toppled over trucks thrown into the mud by enraged inmates looking for a sweet revenge on the guards that had imprisoned them. Gunshots ring out into the night as security does its best to rein in the criminals but with so many on the loose it's a battle they can't hope to win.      ONE HOUR EARLIER:      "Man this shit freaks me the hell out." Thomas called out as he adjusted the collar of his guard uniform. It was one size too big for him, but it was the genuine article alright, he even had the baton that went with it. At a glance he looked just like any of the other guards, as did his three companions. "You sure Trevors punk ass is worth all this crap he's putting us through"      They made their way through the empty hallway carting with them a large wooden box. The biggest man of the group, in a uniform one size too small calls back. "Hey how's about a little less bitchin and a little more carryin, last thing we need's the real guards makin wise to our little breakout." He pauses. "Sides, any minute now P-man's gate crashin party'll have all their asses too focused on him to do a damn thing about us."      A third voice calls out as they make their way to the door at the end of the hallway. "And long as we got this beauty aint a damn thing anyone could do to stop us if they wanted." The main control room was a mass of panels, levers switches and dials. Far and away the most outdated part of the entire security system in operation at blackgate. Behind the console a lone overweight guard sets sleeping, only to be awoken by a tap on the shoulder.      "Yo, shifts up man." The smallest of the group calls to him as he points over his shoulder. "Head on out and we'll take care of things on this front." It doesn't take two more words for the guard to shrug his shoulders, collect his cup of coffee and walk right out the door, barely stopping to question the gaggle of guards come to replace him, nor the box they carried with them.      Left alone the group takes their time looking over the rows and rows of buttons levers and nobs. "Hey man, your buddy even tell you what switch we're supposed to throw." Comes one voice. "Hell I don't know, said he was in cell block 40." There's a pause.      The man in the undersized guards uniform holds his hands up to either side. "So we just flick his switch run down there, pull him out and walk out the front door." Laughing with a smile on his face as he leans back. "Easiest job I've had all damn year." His back presses up against the console causing the lights to dim
Alfred Pennyworth	One of them shouts out. "Jaco, the hell did you just do." "I don't fucking know man, why the hell you gotta blame me." comes the reply.      Red lights flash and blare out, and through the window overlooking the main compound cell doors begin to slide open, first one, then a second. Soon hundreds of cell doors slide open, in the darkness. Jaco's eyes go wide as he looks down out the window stammering for a moment. "Uh... I think we gotta problem boys." As soon every last cell has slid open allowing the dangerous prisoners to cascade out and onto the cellblock floor. Guards are quickly overwhelmed as everything goes from zero to crazy in seconds.      "Oh HELL no." Calls one of the goons as he moves over to the box. "We gotta break out the big guns. Shit just got real serious." His hands gliding across the lid to lift open the mysterious box.
Elektra Natchios	Elektra had been to the build site. Again. Though lately it had seemed a constant battle. The closer they got to finishing the project, the greater the nnumber of hitches there seemed to be. Though, this time, it had really amounted to nothing more than a broken down generator and nobody being able to find the foreman in charge who was late for his shift. Likely because of the scene breaking out at the prison that had spilled over into the nearby streets. Or, you know, because of one of any of a million reasons why. It did mean Elektra was nearby when the mess became apparent, and in both a position, and a mindset, to be bothered to do something about it. Of course she wasn't arriving in her takes no shit businesswoman suit. She arrives on the scene in time to assess the crowd and decide what she's going to do next.
Matt Murdock	ONE HOUR EARLIER "Well, Mr. Diaz," Matt says facing his client even as his shade covered eyes stare past the inmate's shoulder. "I have good news about your appeal and your transfer back to New York," he began, the thunder jarred his senses and the smell of so many people tightly packed together stuck in his nose, but he pressed on. "You see-" A siren sounded, causing Matt to flinch, then guards entered. Matt stood up, clutching his cane. "Excuse me, this is a privileged conversation you can't just-" he began but he could already hear the riot happening floors away. "There's been an incident, you'll have to come with me for your protection," the guard said, putting a hand on Matt's arm. NOW Matt's suit jacket was gone, so was his tie, and a swath of orange fabric torn from the coveralls of an inmate was wrapped around his head. He stood by the prison gate with a guard's baton in each hand. All but daring the inmates to try and get past. He already had a bruise forming on his chin, and his once white dress shirt was splattered with drops of blood.
Burt Weston	Sir John Westley, a "finance engineer" as he fancied himself, was a man of much distinction but frivolous ethics. When Sir Westley wanted a job done, he always pursued the most superfluously intriguing but least honorable means of performing his agency. And when he wanted a certain former friend of his dead for betraying him, he would look to the most unusual and quixotic method possible. The target's name was Craig "Cranker" Crenshaw, and the crime was an act of currency fraud against Sir Westley over a poker game between gentleman. Cranker, a regular in international illegal poker tournaments of the highest stakes proportions, had given Sir Westley two million dollars in fraudulent currency as a retaliation for Sir Westley putting Cranker under the table for a female acquaintance's hand for a night. Sir Westley had thought he had won handily, humiliating Cranker for an anti-British remark he'd made, but he'd actually been handed Mafia marked money. Europol was quite inflamed at a British noble falling for the ruse. Crenshaw was being held in the protected witness unit in Blackgate, the poker shark having witnessed a Mafia intimidating on the local circuit. It was up to Film Freak, Sir Westley's choice for this mission, to get into the protected witness unit, and to eliminate Crenshaw in as painful a manner as Weston found judicious. Burt Weston's Mafia alias, Edison, had heard of the job being performed tonight in the jazz clubs and stoned college groups of Gotham, although he didn't know what would happen. That meant it was time to improvise, and for that, he'd need to pick just the right fictional inspiration. Film Freak had entered as a cafeteria worker, having been arranged into position via a temp agency, thanks to Sir Westley. He had made contact with a dentist just ten minutes before the riot began, and been delivered his gear. A long scalpel modified with a rubber, enlarged grip, and an exchange of clothes, the dentist moving to the exit as a cafeteria worker, and Film Freak slipping into character. Little Shop of Horrors, anyone?
Caroline Ramsey	A few miles away, a pair of glowing blue eyes catch sight of lights in the distance. Her senses are not keen enough to hear the alarms themselves, but judging by the way the GCPD is responding, something's going down. She's thankful for the tuner in the earpiece that the Bat gave her, because it clues her in to the fact that something is going on at Blackgate.     She travels via the rooftops, coat flowing behind her, at something around seventy miles an hour. Breathlessly, wordlessly, she leaps between rooftops. She's there in moments, outpacing the police and most other responders who aren't closer, and as she reaches the edge of a rooftop on the perimeter of the prison, she pauses. kneeling down, she watches the walls- waiting to see what's happening. The alarms mean a jailbreak, but she isn't entirely sure where or how she needs to respond. Yet.
Alfred Pennyworth	Pure chaos is the only way to describe what's going on outside. A few of Gotham's local hero population have already arrived on the scene doing their part to help contain the chaos to the island. People are hanging from lamp-posts in the dark of the rain, or from trees, crowds of thugs gang up on lone heroes caught in the middle trying to make a dent in the waves of prisoners that have taken control of the prison almost entirely.      A line of GCPD's finest have blocked off the bridge to the best of their ability cars lined up three deep to prevent anyone from being able to ram their way through and into the city proper. Even the commissioner has made an appearance and goes about barking his orders with pure unbridled confidence. For the most part though the police realize they're outmatched and keep to their line only occasionally shooting at the prisoners to make sure they keep back on their side of the bridge.      A group of prisoners still in their jumpsuits make a beeline running right for Matt in a suicidal charge. Some have stolen batons, others merely the broken off legs of furniture or makeshift shivs. The one constant is that they seem intent on getting out into the rest of Gotham, out to their freedom.      Craig unlike the rest of the criminals in Blackgate, just keeps to his cell. He wasn't any violent offender, and he wasn't about to try and make a run for it only to find himself shoved back into a cell by the likes of batman with a further extended sentence. No he was perfectly content to ignore the screaming, the fires and the guards being beaten half to death in favor of a nice book: The Little Engine that Could. It was a stimulating read, that much was for certain, and he knew that if he just kept his nose down it would all blow over soon.      The rain only seems to get worse, and worse as time goes on, dragging visibility outside the prison down till it's next to zero. Anyone outside is completely drenched by the torrential downpour the waters surrounding the island lapping up to wash away the flames of Molotovs being thrown in the dark.      A group of prisoners shout and cheer in the chaos banded together in the process of shoving over another prison buss. Back and fourth it rocks before toppling over completely on the spot to an ocean of cheers.
Elektra Natchios	So many choices.. so little actual need for restraint. The thought makes Eletkra's lips curl upwards in a hint of pleasure. Of course adding to the chaos isn't actually to her benefit. The aftermaths of these things are never pretty, and despite her propensity to skirt the spirit and the letter of the law, at times it was more expedient to stand on the side of law and order. An entire prison full of rioters seemed a good enough time to take that stand.. with some discretion, of course. She could be a little less.. observant of the rules of engagement than others might. With heroes mopping up the outer regions of the riot, and with the police pretty much holding a line of blue that the prisoners were beating themselves against, she takes advantage of the chaos and slips into the prison grounds proper with intent to begin settling things down on the inside where things are most likely to go from bad to worse without intervention. She keeps to the shadows, as only a ninja can, and once inside, begins a sweep of the first wing she encounters. What can't be locked back into a cell she 'helps' to take a nap.. It only takes a few prisoners before those watching decide ganging up on her is the answer. Sadly, that's a tactical error on their parts.
Matt Murdock	Soaked shirt and makeshift mask soaked with rain, Matt waits for the prisoners to come to him, a grin on his face, batons held waiting at his side. When they come they're met with swift moves, as he slips past their attacks, counters with his own, then slips away again in the rain. The visibility didn't bother him, even if the noise of it dulled his hearing some. Though, as more men come it becomes harder and harder to slip away. He's clocked by chair leg, reels, and is thumped in an arm by a baton. He takes the injury with a grunt of pain, the headbuts the man who swung it hard in the face. A flip kick follows, then a leap backwards as the prisoners push forward. Still, Matt fights on one man against the tide.
Burt Weston	Film Freak, as the prison dentist, hustles through the prison, sliding his sicario scalpel into a specially made sheath beneath his left sleeve, against his inner wrist. He slides his sleeve back down, and moves towards the protected witness unit. As he sees a prisoner coming at him, he gives the prisoner a local gangsign recognizable as Mafia, to indicate the Freak is protected. The prisoner slackens, but then as a guard rounds the corner, Film Freak lashes out with a swift side kick from his left leg to the stomach, keeling the prisoner backwards and against a wall with a side stagger. The Freak grabs him and throws him to the other side of the corridor, slamming him into the ground. Freak adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses, waving at the guard frantically and running over to him. "Hey, hey!" he says, with a confident brogue, all the machismo of Steve Martin's serial killer dentist apparent. "These guys are getting to me, isn't there somewhere where I could get a little peace and quiet? I'm a dentist, not a car mechanic, I don't get paid enough!" Already close to the protected witness unit, the logical place for the guards to take him is the same unit as Craig Crenshaw.
Caroline Ramsey	The gargoyle like shade on the rooftop leaps from it, fully intending to go exactly where she's needed most. The inmates have flooded the yard, enough to topple a bus, and fully more than enough to handle most of Gotham's finest, even the heroes. The criminals celebrate, clapping hands and roaring, as a heavy thud lands on the side of the no longer standing prison bus. Atop it, a woman in black stands, her long coat rolling in the wind, and half of her face hidden in a mask that extends from the slim collar.     "Congratulations. You have defeated the bus. This, is over. You, are over."     The sound is horrid, and it echoes across the yard, mysteriously carried by the night. It's like a grotesque rasp, the sound of a woman's last gasps twisted into words. It marks her as not even human, a monster in the night come to deliver justice. The weather was rolling off of her in small, glasslike shards of ice, and above her, the clouds shifted, the rain freezing in the sky as it turns to sleet, punctuating the last Over.     She hops down from the bus, then, and begins engaging the inmates- but after each strike, they seem to collapse- parts of them shatter internally. Muscle groups split open, bones split and break apart, even though some strikes from her are only mild and glancing. Moments after, their flesh turns blue, both in bruise, and due to the biting cold. She works through them like chaff, culling from them those too stupid to flee.
Alfred Pennyworth	Up in the control room there's now only one of the thugs left behind. Frustrated he sets with his legs crossed holding wires in each hand as he tries to get their 'secret weapon' working as he had been for the last hour. The door was locked and barr'd the other goons already made a ran to get their friend out of his cell, in the hopes he was still safe and sound enough to BE rescued. "Alright now what if we try..." He mutters to himself before plugging a red wire back down to the terminal only to have a shock send him flying across the room into the far wall.      Sliding down the wall he takes a look towards the device hair stood on end and smoking as he blinks the soot out of his eyes. There's a long moments silence before the light on the side of the strange metal box flashes green, and something strange happens. There's a high pitched whine that only grows higher and higher pitched till it becomes completely silent.      Only the most attuned supers can hear it as it drifts beyond even their hearing capabilities. Soon the effects become clear: Mutant abilities stop working. The Giant crocodile skinned thug at the back of the group who'd been ready to charge Murdock and take him out on the spot clutches his head as he slowly shrinks down to normal size screaming in pain as he falls to the floor. All across the battlefield people begin to lose control of themselves.      Then come the hallucinations vivid as reality, people that aren't there voices of friends long since gone. There's no one on the island that isn't effected by this sudden wave of madness surging from deep within the prison itself. Prisoners who had been flying high overhead conducting areal combat with supers plunge from the sky head first towards the ground, the battle itself ready to heat up in a whole new way.
Elektra Natchios	The small outlying group was easily dispatched by Elektra. They'd all hurt once they came to, but she'd not done anything work than a major concussion, and to be fair, that one had it coming - he'd refused to go down with less. She considered it a major scoring point that she'd not just snapped his neck and be done with it.. Ahead there's noise, and she's on the trail of it, no longer hiding in the shadows, but taking full long strides of confidence. Let them see her coming and know she wasn't about to take any bullshit from anyone. That, and she had weapons. There was something beautiful about not having to go through security.. And that's when she sees him: Matt. Up against an oncoming wall of prisoners that seems endless in its one by two by threes as they get up and come back at him, and others join in the fray from outlying corridors. It doesn't take her long to make it to his side. Ooops. Another concussion there. There's medical in prison, isn't there? *shrugs* No worries. "I'd ask if you need help," she murmurs, turning to place her back to his, though she's still a step to the side and in front of him. "But you might say no on principle."
Matt Murdock	He can feel the prisoners coming, a neverending wave of them, smelling of cold, rain, and blood. As they come on, he drops them one by one, moving methodically, conserving every last drop of his energy he can. Though he can feel himself tire, especially as the rain turns to sleet and the cold saps more of his strength. He can smell /her/ as she moves to join, him, putting her back to his, he's relieved. "Elektra," Matt says, to her over the sound of the rain, then breaks off to deliver a kick to a prisoner's jaw. He doesn't see the counter punch coming. One moment he can sense it coming through the rain, then the next, nothing. He can hear, he can smell and he can touch, but not like he did before and he /definitey/ can't see. The punch sends him sprawling back into Elektra. He rights himself, but he still can't sense where the attacks are coming from. Another fist comes out of the dark sending him to the cold wet ground.
Tim Drake	It's high pitched. It's hard. It's loud. It's oppressively buzzing. Obnoxious. It's also too damn high pitched for humans to hear it (well, most humans, sorry DD). Then, there is a new, chattering, chittering noise, and a leathery sound. Thousands of bats descend on Blackgate Prison, drawn there by the Red Robin's summons. The winged creatures are all leathery wings, matted brown and black fur, and pointy teeth and perching claws.     Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot? Near one particular guard tower in the prison, an area being assailed and assaulted, the prison lights start to strobe, flash, and then go on and off in a more slow, random way. It took him a few moments to get that sorted what with the communication issues. Normally, Red Robin would have Oracle handle that. He had to be on site. That explains the slow response by the Batman and his proteges. One of them is on hand though, at least he is now. Out of a guard shack hatch a handful of marble-sized pellets arc out, fall and roll across the floor before popping and hissing, expelling some variety of truly hideous rotten fruit smell, and the bats come spiraling down, summoned by the smell of the fruit, and the heady, heavy, musky breeding pheromones laced in the pellets along with the rotting fruit smell. The bats are soon everywhere, shrieking; in people's hair, flapping about and generally making an immense mess of terror and stench.     If one wants to escape from the prison gates, one must contend with thousands of bats seeking a mate and to gorge themselves on fruit and insects. Into this mess, his hooded cloak spritzed with other repellents to discourage the inspections of other bats. There is a low click as his staff's hasp releases with a button push, extending into an instrument of battle in his right hand. His hooded cloak billows in the pandemonium, his mask hiding his blue eyes as the young vigilante stands a sentinel's vigil, surveying the terror and chaos, but knowing it will only last a short while.
Burt Weston	As the hallucinations overtake Film Freak, he sees plants and vines and even gentle Rick Moranis being dragged through a wall screaming. Film Freak staggers, his character role having become real. The nightmare inside his mind, the state that is going in character as a role-modifying character actor, pushes itself outwards into his external being and he begins having a psychotic episode. "What in the name of God are you feeding these children?!" Film Freak shouts as he turns about, confused, the guard leading him to the protected witness unit also in mortal dread at the vision of his dead, abusive aunt accidentally flashing him after a shower all over again. It just so happens that that defining incident, in his psyche, made him a perfect prison guard, although he'd never have the capacity to admit it. And on a Freudian level, the repulsion makes him emit a high pitched shriek. If this was a movie, which Film Freak is no longer sure it's not, it would be a Wilhelm scream. In fact, the Wilhelm scream starts playing all around Film Freak, coming through the walls as he pushes himself down the corridor, in confusion, but still in character as Steve Martin
Caroline Ramsey	The nightmare that the prisons in the yard are having continues to stride forward- the ones that had powers are not particularly stupid, and consider this the perfect time to engage- only to find that the playing field has not been leveled. A touch from her is a broken bone. A strike, tissue damage. It continues to hail all around her, as she finishes dispatching the most recent group to engage her.     Around her, criminals descend into madness, hallucinating in a way that Caroline can recognize. Indeed, she has also seen that many of them have lost their powers, as well, but with that comes a new problem- she is now the only powered individual, and while that is in her favor, it is in nobody else's. The heroes that had arrived expecting to be on a different level than the prisoners are being overwhelmed, and now everything is in a panic.     "Wonderful."     She begins charging across the yard, engaging group after group of prisoners, in order to liberate heroes and quell the uprising. It's then that she begins to see things- but Caroline's life has been... Tumultuous, at best. While the prisoners in the yard have no problem believing what they see, it is hard for Caroline to fathom why a massive man in blue garb with skin of stone would have left his throne on Apokolips in order to participate in this particular riot.
Alfred Pennyworth	The crowds are beginning to thin as the swarm of bats descend down onto the world. The presence of said bats brings fourth even more vivid hallucinations in the prisoners trying their best to hold it together in a battle of four fronts. They may have the massive numbers on their sides but with many of them already beginning to fight each other it's become quite clear that this is risking turning into a blood bath.      Overhead the rain has mixed with snow and ice causing everything to become slick as sheets sending people falling left right and center. Several of the formerly flying heroes and villains slam into the ground with great thuds as the chaos reaches its zenith, with a large explosion rocking the ground as one of the buses goes up in flames sending prisoners flying back to the ground.
Elektra Natchios	One minute she's fighting back to back with him, and the next there's an absence of Matt. Or, rather.. too much a presence of him. She thinks she hears him falling in slow motion, Elektra turning to catch the last seconds of Matt hitting the ground as he's taken down by prisoners he can't see, a trail of colour spiralling up from the floor where he hits it, along with his exhaled 'ooof', as she watches sound literally move away from him in streamers of bright pinks and blues and yellows. Only it isn't just him. It's her. As Elektra moves, she finds herself a blur in the space around her, moving too fast against the blobs of colour that are hanging in the air. She can see the prisoners move towards her, as she strikes out against them, thinking each is a distance away, only to find that she's suddenly making too soon and too direct contact with them. Her fists and feet are making solid connects that are leaving behind breaks and bruises she didn't intend - each coming with those bubbles of coloured sound that she can't hear, only see. For someone who bases her life on controlling every single aspect of her being and those around her, it's more than a little disconcerting. Especially as her own breath and heartbeat seem at odds with her motions, coming in fast and slow waves that seem at once inside and outside her body. As sounds continue to fill the room with colour, waves after wave of colour that refuses to budge, the room becomes too too full for Elektra, and she begins to panic despite herself, lashing out for real now.
Matt Murdock	Matt blinks under the wet orange fabric of his makeshift mask. He lifts it just enough for his eyes to be exposed, there's nothing only darkness. He couldn't see. He feels his heart pound in his chest, and he lashes around in a panic. "Elektra!" he calls out reaching into the dark. "I can't see." At the very least the punching had stopped and around him he could hear the moans and shouts of the prisoners in the driving sleet. What the hell just happened?
Tim Drake	Revealing oneself and being out in the open are risks to Red Robin. He didn't realize there were hallucinogens present. Had he known, he would have at least put on a mask, even if it would have done nothing. As he watches an inmate shriek and strain with a bat, Red Robin's fear and regret come upon him. Jackson, Jack, Drake perches not too far from his clothed and costumed son. "Hey kid." he's bloody. Grisly. A wheelchair-bound, bloody mess. "I've come to fetch you for your mother."     Red Robin's right hand shakes with rage. "You are not real.' He whispers, but it's not quite Red robin's voice. There is a small, quiet, trembling quality to it that it normally does not possess. An inmate comes roaring past, shouting something about 'Batman'. THe staff is a whirl that cracks his thrice. Knee, hip, solar plexus. As he falls, the Jack hallucination rolls a little closer. "Tiiiimmy. Going to waste your life in a costume swinging around? A nerd in a cape. Replaced by the Batman's own spawn? Loser. Jerk. Wannabe. Waste. Pity case." Jack's litany is familiar. It's Tim's. A cerebral kid, Tim's fears are cerebral. Failure. Wasted potential. Insecurity. Failing to measure up. "You replaced me, Timmy. Does Bruce tuck you in. Does he know what an ungrateful child you are? Does he know you used to wet the bed, boy? You love him more than you ever did us. I. Died. You. Were. Not. Home""     The cry is one of inarticulate rage, and like a shadow boxer, the Red Robin duels for a moment with a thing no one else can see. Staff swirling and whirling in the flashing prison lights, bats swarming all about. Â
Burt Weston	Film Freak finally guffaws and falls to the ground, his subtle balance broken by the hallucinations around him, forcing him out of his Film Freak persona and back into Burt Weston. His mind snaps out of his psychotic state and he crawls along, shaking, having been bested by something he doesn't understand. Craving marijuana and sweating, he crawls along past the guard that's presently screaming and running down the hallway in the other direction. Burt pulls himself up to the prisoner protection unit's door and shoves himself in the small enclave where the guards are presently shaking and shivering, all of them seeing something. They have all already figured out that they're hallucinating, and since Burt is in a dentist outfit, now a terrified actor, they just assume it's another psychotic prison employee. He presses his hand against the wall and leans into it with a fall, back up against it as he slams the door shut. He breathes hard, his hallucinations cleared out and replaced by harmonic cadences of good feelings and comfort, however the deep fiending for his fix remains.
Caroline Ramsey	Caroline stops to take stock of the situation outside, but there's only so much for her to see. The fights are turning more and more violent- with people unable to defend themselves being seen as something to kill, whereas prisoners moments ago might have been more interested in escape rather than outright violence, now it's a fight to survive in the rain.     The rain.     The only being in the courtyard that still has her powers has been ignoring it this entire time, seeing it as thematic and usable for intimidation, but now... Now she understands that it's a tool. Without wasting a moment, she draws both her hands up, and then swings them down like a hammer, striking the soaked ground and sending forth a pulse that travels expressly over the course of the yard, washing over the buildings and the people. The water coating the ground is turned to ice, and though it cannot- should not last longer than some minutes else it risks the health and lives of the people it contains, she turns the weather into a frozen prison as it wraps around the various combatants, friend and foe alike- as everoyne seems to be losing their mind.     It's Tim's presence that drives this out of her. She's only met the man once, and she remembers him being so very calm and collected.     It's a wave of frozen captivity, and it should call a halt to every conflict outside of the safety of the buildings, but her immediate attention will be on Red Robin afterwards- she needs to snap him out of it. The hallucinations are strong- but luckily, fifty years on Apokolips make Caroline's almost a nonsequitur- nonsensical enough that they can be ignored, and fought through.
Alfred Pennyworth	The chaos the buildup the sheer insanity has built up, and up and up, only to be suddenly halted by an act of god as it were. The people are frozen solid in the rain, much to the shock of the GCPD's finest. There's a long pause as everything seems to go silent, even the people left inside the building look on in shock.      A few of the inmates wander out into the frozen landscape less a winter wonderland and more a frozen hell of magics creation. How this happened is unknown to most of them but the shock of it all is enough that they've stopped trying to burn the concrete building to the ground.      Meanwhile back in the control room, the now badly singed and disoriented criminal makes his way back over to the device as it glows, releasing the waves that effect the mind and caused all this insanity in the first place. There's a pause from him as he taps at the box, not quite sure if it's even working thanks to the handy dandy device strapped to his person. He peaks over the side looking into the contents of it trying to gather what might be going wrong. Spotting a loose wire he snaps his fingers.      "Alright that explains it." He mutters to himself before reaching into the powered device to jiggle the wire. The alteration in the currents of the device send out a shockwave through the entire prison and out to the courtyard. It shatters the ice, and sends most of the prisoners falling to the ground before slipping from consciousness all together. For one brief instance the strength of the signal is amplified further then it was ever meant to be, causing a visible wave of energy emanating from the control room all the way to the police line at the end of the bridge.      Cop-cars are pushed back into one another, a few members of the force are trapped between their cars unable to move. Windows shatter on the front most cars as well as all along the prison itself sending small shards of glass falling down from on high. The clouds themselves are forced to part ripping apart in the sky and allowing a view for the first time in what would seem an eternity of a clear nights sky in Gotham, the moon on full display as it shines through where once where rainstorms.      Seconds after the device shudders and shakes, before exploding in a small fireball of electricity, sending the crook flying backwards yet again and causing him to land prone sliding across the floor eyes rolling back in his head as he passes out from the pain.
Elektra Natchios	One minute it's all bright lights and soundless arcs of colour and movements she can't control.. and the next the world is dim in comparison. Black and white almost after the sharp focus of the colour. And Elektra is panting, nearly brought to her knees with the sheer relief of the rest being gone. Suddenly aware of the chill all around her, and Matt lying on the ground amidst a large cluster of bodies she can only assume she's at least partly responsible for.
Matt Murdock	Matt is completely lost in the darkness that claims him. It brought him back to those first days after he lost his sigh and whatever else gave him his gifts, where world was dark and silent and now, even his skin felt wrong, numb, like what he felt came through a filter of gauzes before it touched his nerves. It made the cold and the hurt feel distant, but it left him feeling detached floating in a world of darkness. The shockwave rips him out of that darkness, suddenly all is dark and then his world is once again on fire. His senses come on like someone flicked a switch each scrambling for its own piece of attention in his brain. He screams, even though he can't make out the sound of his voice among all the other noises that slam into his hearing. Laying back as he fights the tide of sensation back into some semblance of order.
Tim Drake	The cerebral fear melts back, as a gaping jawed creature emerges. Red Robin's position twists as the staff makes a low sizzling sound, blurring as it arcs out, cracking the creature in the jaw, and dislocating the jaw of the fleeing criminal who is clothed by Tim's psyche in the illusional (delusional?) facade of his poisoned and long dead mother, now a monstrous, swollen, bloated mockery of her former beauty. 'Where were you when she needed you?' Jack calls after his boy. 'When I needed you?'     It's the auditory ones that that do the harm. They worsen, as a laughing Batman sarcastically cheers him on, and makes asides to another disembodied voice in his head about his incompetence and inadequacy. 'Damian was better at twelve', Bruce whispers in his left ear, even as on the right, Alfred's dry, grandfatherly voice assures him, 'I have never loved you, Master Timothy. I tolerate you.' A purring, sultry tigress woman whispers to him, 'I needed a real man, not whatever you are.'     Another cry of rage escapes his lips. "Stop it!" Heaven should have pity on the next creature that Red Robin sees, as his staff slashes the air at the cruelly mocking japes and the nagging, gnawing fear that underlies his life. Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Barbara, and even Tigra whisper in his ear a single, quiet word. The word's three syllables that bring everything to a head. 'Unworthy'.     His heart pounds in his ears. tHis head aches. His chest throbs. Meanwhile, back in Oracle's clocktower, a vitals monitor is showing the tightly wound young man experiencing incredible distress. That his communicator carries no voice only makes it all the worse      As he starts to leap through the air, foot extended for a terrible low at a thing that does not really exist, the poor, altered woman's wave of frigidity washes over him. Carline Ramsay's powers encase the young man in a thin sheen of incredibly strong ice. He has a heater in his suit, it was already way down do to the stress of the situation. It is of no avail against the woman's imbued might. Red Robin's kick goes awry, and the young man falls to the ground, skittering and cracking the ice in places, but that is not enough for him to free himself. His cloak flutters from an uniced over patch, before the energy push from the device sends him sliding and sparking across the space. The ice keeps him from serious injury, but it's damn cold.     It's a puzzle. Immediately, the cold and the mental stimulation engage one of the more gifted minds in the area. The young detective's right hand and the staff are stuck, his left though is near to the belt. The suit heater is thumbed upwards automatically. It alone will not melt through the ice, at least not that rapidly. It's a puzzle. He just needs to get his hand to his bandolier⦠    The ice is unyielding, but the hallucinations become more manageable as neurons fire in a more ordered manner. His disciplined mind setting to the puzzle, even as he hears Jack Drake whisper in his mind. 'Unworthy. Ungrateful. You ruined our life, Tim. We never wanted you. No one wants you'. Then mercifully, the voices go much quieter.Â
Burt Weston	Burt Weston emits a sigh of relief as the audial hallucinations depart, clutching his chest with a wet hand as he feels the sick, gut-twisting craving for marijuana depart. As the other guards also stop hallucinating, he looks at them, his skin wet and his glasses dripping with condensation. He's in a bad position here. "Doctor Hobbes, here," he says, weakly, not sounding the part, hoping that the position they're in keeps him safe from detection as a Mafia assassin. He doesn't seem like an assassin, either, just a scared kid. "That was a pretty rough ride," he admits. The other guards nod, as he stays back against the wall, while they open Cranker Crenshaw's cell to check on him. Burt curls forward, into Edison, forcing the craving for comfort into a rigid consideration of action. Adrenaline slams into him, as he turns away from the wall, dropping his arms and looking at the backs of the guards, talking to the man previously reading Thomas the Tank Engine, now nervous and jittered up. Edison's fingers spread, palms at his sides and thumbs stretched, as he stares and says, "Guys, I think the riot's over. Maybe you need some metal health." There's a cocky grin on his face, as he reaches beneath his left sleeve and pulls out the long scalpel from his plastic sheath, the large, rubber-coated grip sinking into his hand as they chuckle at his comment, not looking at him.
Caroline Ramsey	Caroline is approaching Tim just as something happens within the building. Her attention shifts at the wave of energy breaking her ice- as if she can feel that before it reaches her. Immediately afterwards, she is flying backwards- the only thing not necessarily tied down as the energy hits her. She's tough and strong- but she's not prepared and definitely light as a feather in comparison to anyone else.     Flung across the line of cars, Caroline hits the ground and rolls a bit, before pulling herself to a stand. Hopefully nobody else is especially injured, because the force of the blast has taken Caroline from the yard and into the oncoming cavalry- it'll take her some time to properly regain her bearings and figure out what next needs to be done.
Elektra Natchios	The sudden silence is eerie, and still thrown off balance by what has happened, Elektra is acutely aware of the screaming man beside her. Hunkering down she grabs at Matt to steady him. Or perhaps only to steady herself. "Are you okay? Do you need medical help?" She's only vaguely aware she doesn't need it for herself, and itching to leave this place before it's crawling with law enforcement and questions she doesn't want to answer. She'd never intended to stay until cleanup, but there's the small matter of the man rocking in pain that's making her reluctant to merely flee. If he allows, she'll help him up, and escort him out and away from this place to where neither of them need to answer the awkward questions that might come.
Matt Murdock	It a battle to bring his senses back under his control. However it was one he learned how to fight almost twenty years ago, so he know each move and counter move and then, finally, things return to the way they were. And he is aware of all the sensations that make up Elektra there beside him offering him her hand. He takes it, "I'm fine," he lies. He's bleeding and bruised and he can feel that at least some of his bones are bruised if not broken. Though they can deal with that later. There were too many questions if they stayed, so he lets Elektra lead him off and away from this place.
Tim Drake	Every inch of his form hurts. The ice is compromised. And after working the switch on the staff four time, enough of it breaks that the young man can crawl back into the guard tower. He thought he saw Caroline Ramsey, but who an be certain? He cannot trust any of his recollections for the moment. All he knows is that at his core, Red Robin is a little shaken. SOmething turned the power of his mind against itself, and it did it well.     The explosion no doubt signals that something happened. Something important. The bats are beginning to leave. There is no food, no breeding, and only violence and cold here. THey flee, and so should he. Parlour tricks like that are what make criminals believe tha tthe Gothamites have supernatural abilities. Hey prey on the weak minded, cowardly, and superstitious. Red Robin is none of those things, but he's isolated, alone, and there is still a heavy coat of ice on his gear in spots.     Without his toys, he is a battered, bruised, and slowed soldier. Furthermore, he landed wrong in the explosion. That hip feels dislocated. At least there is ice on it.     With a bitter, short barked laugh, the young man starts to make his way out the secret paths he worked his way in, grabbing his computer as he makes his way down into the dark, deep underworld beneath the  old, dark prison. He leans on his staff as if it were not a bo, and was a walking stick. A hasty text assures his overwatch he is okay, but to see to it that more of the authorities arrive.     Now, it is to limp home and start to do the detective work. This fight, whatever the outcome, is over for the young Knight of Gotham.
Burt Weston	Edison clenches his teeth shut and removes his glasses, tossing them aside (he never needed them), closing his eyes and raising his chin. His left hand comes up and performs a little spin as he opens his eyes and walks towards the guards, a deliberate, hospital psychiatrist stroll to his stiff heel as he washes forward as if Bach was playing around him. Film Freak is back, and now, you can call him Dr. Hannibal Lecter. His scalpel turns about in his hand to a downblade, and he reaches forward to a guard, a serene look on his face as he grabs the back of his shoulder with his left hand and pulls him backwards, slashing the scalpel across his throat. There's a spray of blood across the other, shocked guard, as Film Freak steps over him and adjusts his knife in his hand. A brief altercation leads to the Freak sweeping the guard's food out from beneath him after a blocked tonfa pass with Film Freak's left foream against the guard's right wrist, before Film Freak plunges the scalpel down into the guard's zyphoid process. Craig "Cranker" Henshaw looks up at the ghoul, horrified, pushing himself against the back of his cell on his back. "Wait, please, please, please," Cranker says, as Film Freak walks forward, stepping on the bloody copy of Thomas the Tank Engine. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crenshaw," comes a soft lilt as if at the opera, a sophisticate billionaire old money estate man informing his son that they cannot leave just like. "But Sir John Westley prefers you to leave this cell on a particularly different trip than the one you have imagined." Film Freak's face covered in blood, his features soft yet stiff, he stands over Crenshaw, slashing over and over again with his scalpel, screams echoing across the radio bands. Hours later, as ambulences pull people out of the prison, Burt Weston is among the wounded on stretchers, a nasty blast slash across his right fingers, apparently from blocking a knife blow. His dentist outfit is still on, bloody, and he's wearing a makeshift bandage over his mangled hand. He looks debilitated and shaken from the painful cut (he gave himself), and he's quietly playing the same Bach as he imagined in the Heavenly orchestra inside his head.
Caroline Ramsey	Admittedly, of all of the people here, Caroline is the only one who used to be an officer of the law. She just felt the shockwaves of an explosion- so she isn't about to just depart. She has no idea -what- it was, but if she can investigate even a bit before she leaves, it'll help figure out what just happened. She moves over the police, leaping them easily and then booking it across the yard towards the flash she'd seen.     She's fast enough that she'll be there in seconds, as she rushes towards where she figures the shockwave came from. She's not perfect- she's accurate, but not so much that she'll be headed in a straight line for it, and she has no idea what floor it was on. The search will take time.
Alfred Pennyworth	In all the chaos of the moment, with the parting of the clouds and the chaos of the evening, it's no small wonder that a group of people exiting the rear of the prison go completely unnoticed. Dressed in guard uniforms the group of six thugs make their way down to the waters edge.      "Man, next time you get booked we're leavin your ass in." One goon speaks up wiping the residue from an explosion off of his face. His hair was still badly singed and he looked as if he'd walked out of a Warner brothers cartoon from the amount of singeing inflicted on him as he stumbled along.      "Wouldn'ta been nothin if Jaco's fat ass didn't let the whole damn buildin loose" Calls out a second as they make it to the edge of the water sliding slightly along the still partially frozen ground as they make it to a waiting speed boat left partially covered by a tarp.      "Hey man, not cool." Jaco calls back holding his bloodied lower lip. "You KNOW I'm sensitive about my weight, I don't go makin fun of your lisp." As he lifts his leg to get into the boat, Trevor's badly bruised and battered form hoisted right behind him into the boat.      "I don't care how much you guys fucked up." Trevor pipes up his voice weak from the stress having been beaten within an inch of his life by fellow inmates before his crew found him. " You're still the best brothers a guy could ask for." Spoken as he uses what little strength to give a big hug to the other goons, before they start the boat and begin driving off into the waters of Gotham.      Back in the prison it's complete chaos. Unconscious bodies and blood litter every corner of the facility, broken glass and burning piles of bed sheets hide in every corner. A few 'creative' prisoners have even sprayed slogans on the walls such as 'death to muties' 'the only good cape is a dead cape' and the ever classic 'kilroy wuz here' scribbled in a barely legible handwriting.      When Caroline makes it to the source of the explosion she finds the control room. It's badly damaged, looking as if a bombs gone off, the controls are scorched and singed likely to be needing a replacement before the prison can open its doors once more. The only other sign anyone was here is the outline of a human being pressed up against the wall where the goon had been thrown blocking the soot from coating that spot on the wall.      Over the next few hours the police gather together the various prisoners, guards, and capes that were left behind at the scene of the crime. The work to rebuild the damage done to the prison and get it back in working order proves to be nothing due to the generous donations of concerned private citizens throughout Gotham's sphere of influence. Within the week the doors of Blackgate are open once more, and the atrocities of human suffering resume as if the whole thing had never happened.