Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	The nights in Gotham are often moody dark affairs with shadows cast long by the seemingly low hanging moon just above the clouds. Ominous imagery of ill portent with the dark grotesques hanging over the sides of the tall buildings that stand sentinel over the city's skyline. But down in the grooves of the urban sprawl, in the many twisted streets that wend their way towards the river, the scenery shifts to the pedestrian with posters, advertising, grime, trash all leaving their mark.     Usually at this hour in the basin things are quiet. A few hours past midnight and the only noise is the ambient drone of distant cars or the yowl of a cat. But tonight, things are different as along dockside the Tilton Warehouse interior, there's most definitely the sounds of what might be considered a ruckus.     "So you have a pet what now?"     Nightwing's voice is sharp with incredulity even as he ducks under the wild errant punch coming from a man in a grey suit with a pair of brass knuckles. He twists smoothly to the side, spinning around and planting an elbow in between two of the man's ribs and leaves him reeling even as he turns his back to line up with Robin's and cover the youth as he gauges the situation. "Isn't that unhealthy?"     Six other men face off with the masked vigilante. Each of them with their own precise manner of dress in suitably business suits with weapons as different as they are. Brass Knuckles on the one that's reeling and holding his side. A twisting bo staff in the rough hands of another. One has a sword in his left hand. Another has a sword in his right. And then there are a pair of youthful looking twin girls who have naught at all.
Damian Wayne	Naturally, Robin had decided to face off against the two with swords. His own katana was drawn, and held in front of him with his hood raised.   "A cow, Bos Taurus. I found her after my last mission with the Titans." Metal on metal clang in the air as Damian carries on the conversation. "She kicked a thug in the bollocks while I was fighting the ringleader. I saw potential."   Robin stands akimbo to Nightwing, just in case he had any edicts to give to the younger hero.
Spawn	New York's most irritable(and most powerful) bum had been watching from the shadows of a nearby alleyway, on his personal tour through Gotham. He'd been gone for five years, and seeing how much things had changed even in such a short amount of time had been like an out of body experience. Some things were forever, though, and that was the amount of crime and filth that could fill a small area like this. One piece of litter stepped backward from the fight, possibly going to call their boss or do something else, but what happened instead, was that grey-suited thug stepped on snaking red fabric, and only too late did he notice the green glowing eyes from the darkness. Then his life was a mess of winding chains, and his own screaming. In the chaos amongst the two birds and the gang surrounding them, perhaps they'd notice the screaming man launching through the air, hitting a car's side window across the street face-first. The man was alive, mostly, but he certainly wasn't going to be a factor in this fight anymore. The bo-staff he had been holding previously, that was tossed from the alley a few moments later, snapped in half and clattering along the concrete ground loudly.
Dick Grayson	The timing was perfect with the extraction of the staff-wielder, his weapon clattering and his scream breaking into life in the exact moment that the others had been charging forwards, one of the young women's KIAI loud enough to drown out his cry of agony. But the HUD in Nightwing's visor will assuredly mark the loss of one combatant from the equation if the young vigilante hadn't marked it as well.     The time for repartee was past, if only for the moment when matters were in flux. The twins leap at him, lashing out, striking, kicking as he swirls in between them, using the wild interwoven strikes between them to at least protect himself from the brass knuckles man who scowls with frustration as the women take his prey.     The bladesmen, however, focus entirely on Damian. Their blades catch the light as they try to blind Damian if only for an instant while they dart in, their own shouts joining with the others. A katana slices high while the other lashes low, seeking to force Robin back if not strike him down.
Damian Wayne	Damian's hud was lucky enough to shield him from being completely blinded before the twin katanas slice through the air. The younger vigilante hadn't caught sign of the other combatant leaving the scene, sadly. Damian leaps forwards, corkscrewing midair as he hurls himself in between the two blades.   "Your stances are sloppy." He taunts the two swordsmen, cocky, but Damian could back it up.
Spawn	From the shadows he watched, taking time to study the movement and training of the two in masks and costumes. They were good, not government trained but it was clear that they didn't need to be. He watched the taller, older one in blue defending himself almost flawlessly from three assailants. The two women were good but it was clear they were hunting a tiger in the jungle. The suited man was a cheap bruiser, lots of power, little finesse. The younger one was fighting with swords, a clash of steel and lots of dodging. Al wasn't familiar with the ins and outs of swordfighting, it was true that organizations like the League of Shadow still used them in this day and age. In the CIA, however, the prevailing wisdom was that lead beat steel, every time. Still, he didn't like the idea of two grown men trying to hack apart a child. That conjured up too many visuals overseas that he could never forget. So when one of the suited men brought that katana overhead for a downward swing, that's when a blur of red would dash out from the shadows, that's when the towering form of Spawn reached out a black, long-fingered hand to wrap around both wrists of the would-be swordsmen. He only had to tighten that grip ever so gently for the man to practically 'squeak'. "I've seen quite enough." The next moment Spawn pulled the man's arms down, rather abruptly. The good news, is the man's arms weren't completely broken and ruined for life, since he made sure they bent -with- the elbow, rather than against. The bad news, well, they were still KIND of broken, with a horrible snapping sound from him flexing all of his muscles against Spawn's, and losing. The man screamed out something pathetic and dropped to the ground, the sword striking Spawn's oversized right boot, before rolling along harmlessly. For his part, Al was just looking down at the mess he made, devoid of any sympathy. That meant he was distracted, right? And could be easily sneak attacked, right? Right?
Dick Grayson	The two bladesmen scowl as they shift their stances, bracketing either side of the twisting Robin as one tries to bring his blade up and to the side, striking at the hurtling form of the teen vigilante. There's the sound of metal striking metal, the tear of fabric as Damian's counter is enough to shift one on his back foot, letting the other think he has an opening to exploit as he darts in towards what is likely a trap laid before him.     Meanwhile, Nightwing's opponents shriek again their loud battle-cry, trying to rattle the older vigilante only for him to shift out of the way of another errant kick, catching her leg as he twists to the ground and then slamming an elbow into the back of her head even as there's a short sharp /click/ as a pair of cuffs quickly bind her ankle to the back of her belt. He flips back up to his feet, ducking another series of punches by the other twin while the first sister screams in frustration at being hobbled and on the ground.     But then the dark silhouette with the long cape rears out of the shadows and takes hold of one of those bladesmen that had so recently menaced Damian. There was that gravelly voice, and then the abrupt twist and crackle of a man's limbs being contorted. A sound so ominous it causes the others to stop in mid motion, even the vigilante in blue as his arms are entwined with the other woman's, their stance holding them close with his hand having snaked across just under her throat.     But then he's the first to recover as he twists the girl to the ground and locks her arms behind her back, resting a foot upon her. The bruiser, the other swordsman... both try to turn and run even as Nightwing lifts his voice towards the man who would be known as Spawn. "Alright fella... we got this." They assuredly did. Or would have. Eventually.
Damian Wayne	Damian couldn't help but stop what he was doing as well. It was all sudden, so very unnatural.   It was only when the other swordsman had turned tail that Damian had quickly grabbed a set of bolas out and threw them at the swordman's ankles, hopefully to entangle and disarm the man and allow him to be restrained. Robin preferred business, Nightwing can handle the talking for now.
Spawn	The figure stood there, slowly looking around at the scene that had stopped, the goons that were running for their lives. For his part, the cape was shifting and warping with excited activity, whispers heard upon the wind as the edges whipped this way and that, especially if one were close enough to hear. The chains, for their part, were snaking about almost as if they were in a trance, but soon enough and wrapped around their owner once more. The bola'd thug fell in front of him, and Al paid him less than no notice, focused entirely on the two there in front of him. The green eyes of that mask narrowed, the white and black leather that covered his face shifting as if it, too were animated. And the tone of his voice sounded less than impressed. "This one's a little young. I've found that when one employs child soldiers, their morality tends to be a little suspect." Not even an introduction first.
Dick Grayson	Nightwing's voice has that edge to it that Damian's heard before, the sardonic sharpness to it akin to when he was Robin himself, running around cracking wise. Only this time he's holding up his hand first and laying down what he views as his version of the law.     "I appreciate the assist, buddy." He looks at the man upon the ground with the broken limbs who thankfully passed out from the pain, but the others who are restrained are definitely ill at ease with the presence of Spawn. "But you're making all sorts of mistakes here, least of all what you perceive is going on."     That said he twists his wrist up and to the side, a small LCD screen flickering partially to life as he touches a fingertip to the display as he keys the signal to the GCPD for them to be aware of their GPS coordinates and the need for a pick up.     "Robin, secure the others."     The hobbled young woman cries softly, "Keep him away from me, this ain't right. This ain't right at all."
Damian Wayne	Robin raises an eyebrow to Al. It's weird, but this was less action than he saw as an assassin. "You should have seen me before I came to Gotham." He quips, slapping a pair of zip ties around the swordsman's wrist.   Damian does as asked, securing more of the gang. "Yeah, Yeah. I've heard it before." He comments, keeping his focus on restraining the criminals.
Spawn	"Mistakes? Are you not aligned with the 'Bat', part of his little spandex-crew? Is this not Gotham, where the shit like this rises to the top, and then overflows to everywhere else?" As he spoke, his left black boot(the normal, regular-sized one) nudged the girl on the ground, not exactly gentle, but also not likely to break any bones or do any extreme damage. At the soft crying, the masked man lowered his voice a few octaves, that cape fluttering like leathery wings in the darkness. "Your punk-ass just won the still-alive lottery, girl. Shut the hell up and count your blessings." As he spoke, he turned around to watch Robin work. Moments later he turned back. "I don't think I'm making any mistakes at all, here. Your boss is out here fighting a war, and in war the lines get blurred, I get that. But that doesn't mean they cease to exist."
Dick Grayson	"You. Are a charmer." Nightwing says, but he doesn't look away from Spawn either. The tone and the words might be flip, but the elder vigilante is definitely keeping himself focused on the man... the creature? Opposite him. The domino masked man tilts his head slightly to the side, irisless eyes narrowing as he looks upon the cape fluttering about the man. Definitely not normal, not mundane. There are questions here to be answered.     But then there are the blue and red lights of the distant police vehicles cutting through the streets of Gotham and heading towards the Basin. Far enough away that they still have time, but it's definitely numbered.     Grayson tilts his head the other way and frowns, then looks back at Spawn. "You have a name? If you say no, the kid gets to pick one for you." He jerks a thumb to the side, indicating Robin even as he's locking down the last of the gangsters.
Damian Wayne	Robin pulls the female after the hellspawn kicks her. He would be lying if he wasn't reminded of the old violence he would indulge himself in as an assassin. To cleanse the world from scum.   Once Nightwing thumbs his way, Robin puts a gloved hand to his chin. "I'm thinking...Commodore Rasmussen the Fourth. Razzie for brevity's sake." Totally sarcastic, Damian actually likes this guy, and his particular style of brutality.
Spawn	"This from the kid whose little yellow cape is a hoodie?" Al looked over at the sirens, and decided quickly. As he spoke, his chains were already flying from his body, hurtling through the air to embed themselves into the side of a building. Before he was pulled up to make his escape, he spoke. "Call me Spawn." And with that, he was gone.