Earth-52 IC

[ChronicLunacy]

Deadshot

"FWEEEEEEEET!!"

Deadshot put two fingers against his mask where his mouth was and blew, causing a shrill whistle to get the Joker's attention. When the maniac spun around, the vigilante was pointing one arm toward the ceiling and held the other on his hip, looking at ease. "Hey, creep. Heads up." he said, pointing upward. Then the pistol on his wrist cracked once. The rubber stun-bullet hit the curved surface of a ceiling light, then rebounded off the ceiling itself twice before darting straight down into the Joker's forehead, right between the eyes.

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Blast 8 (Non-Lethal): (1d20+12)[28]

[industrious]

The Joker

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(1d20+3)[4]

He staggers forward, drunkenly putting one foot in front of the other; eventually, he manages to collide with Deadshot, who is easily able to catch him. The Joker's face pressed up against the vigilante's.

"The Joker has left the building!"

And then he slumps at last, unconscious.

[industrious]

Theme Music
Aftermath

This is the shape of reality.

A hypothetical snowflake existing in 196333 dimensional space-time.

The Snowflake rotates. Each element of the Snowflake rotates. Each rotation describes a new universe.

In a countless number of universes, a man's parents were killed, and he swore vengeance on those who had done so. He had become a force of vengeance, a dark mirror to the world he inhabited. He struck fear into those who made the public afraid, defended the city countless times.

This is not the story of those universes. Here, a man's parents were murdered, and the young boy was driven mad by the trauma. The streets of his city grew dark, and there was no safety in day or night. The city became a festering wound, rotten almost to the core.

But though the boy never became the warrior, the city still struggled on. In his absence, other champions stepped forward to take on the burden. Other stories were told. And when the servant of the boy stared out the window of the magnificent and empty mansion, stared at the city before him, he smiled, for the first time in what seemed to be ages.

End of Issue #0.

[industrious]

Earth-52: Issue #1

The body was found almost fifteen minutes after the break-in. A sweep of LexCorp's Gotham office revealed a shattered second story window, and an open skylight.

The burglar had hacked the financial records of the company; the security protocols in place had kept him from editing the records, but he had still made off with the company's financial statements for the past 20 years.

Publically, Lex Luthor mourned the death of his part-time security guard. Privately, he was furious at the incompetence of his IT department. The multi-billionaire, who was considering a presidential run, was putting a great deal of pressure on the GCPD to solve the case. And to solve it quickly.

Dent tried to shield them as best as he could, but Luthor had more money than Gotham's annual budget, and more importantly, the man was threatening to pull out of Gotham entirely; thousands would lose their jobs if such a move ever occurred.

"Solve the case, Gordon," he had said. "Luthor's scum, but he's got deep enough pockets to make things very difficult to Gotham. And we already owe him for helping us recover after No Man's Land."

The crime scene is covered with police tape; the public are quickly escorted out. And Bullock waits for the freaks to arrive.

Kate Kane

She stared into the mirror, and the five-year old form of herself looked back. As she continued to look, the child grew older and older; old scars from childhood mishaps appeared, her pose and posture began to change, and the clothes the image wore changed from dresses to jeans, from jeans to a West Point uniform, from the West Point uniform back to civilian garb. Then comes the sound of gunfire, and the grim look of the Crimson Avenger stares back at her, service pistol in hand. And then, at last, the faceless features of the Question stare back at her. Throughout the entire experience, she gets the feeling that the image in the mirror is watching her. Is judging her.

The Question smiles, the area around her lips widening almost imperceptibly, and puts a finger to her lips. The mirror shatters

And Katherine is catepulted awake, a single word on her lips.

"Renee..."

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine Walker

The cop looks around the destroyed department and sighs. Her badge is flashed in order to get past the tape. "Walker, MCU." She says, and heads towards where Bullock is standing.

It's all second-nature by now. She goes over to the big lump of lard and pokes him affectionately in the shoulder. "Bastard, sitrep." She says. "I wanna know the stuff before the freaks arrive. It always irritates me when they know more about what's going on in my goddamn city than I do. Time for chit-chat and sexist lesbo banter later, on drinks night. Not now."

[Sophistemon]

Lock-Up

Using a pair of binoculars and a parabolic microphone, Lock-Up is able to listen in on Walker's conversation with Bullock from the relative safety of a nearby rooftop. His lips quirk into a smile under his mask when she refers to him (in addition to the other vigilantes) as a 'freak'. It's true, of course, but this is Gotham. Normal people didn't live here. Determining that he won't learn much more than what he already knows from the roof, he grapples down to the LexCorp office and enters the building. Once inside, he'll head towards the crime scene. If halted by police or security, he'll raise his hands in a nonthreatening way and say "I'm here to help with the investigation. Detective Walker will vouch for me."

Actions:

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Move action: approach and enter the building, using the grapple gun.
Standard action: switch to Detective allotment.
Current Polymath Allotment: Detective - Skills: Investigate +8; Notice +4; Search +8
Miscellaneous roll: (1d20)[6]

[ChronicLunacy]

Deadshot

The smoke from the cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth hung around the little room like fog despite the efforts of a small, oscillating fan on the edge of the desk. The fact that what was now Floyd Lawton's arsenal used to be a rather nice walk-in closet was probably to blame. The smoke didn't really have anywhere to go. He knew that smoking in a tiny room amongst lots of things that went boom was probably a bad idea but Floyd had never really concerned himself with self-preservation as much as the next guy. That he used himself as a live bullet shield for the fabulously wealthy during the day and went swinging from the rooftops shooting at mafia members most every night of the week was a testament to that fact.

He was wearing his mask, rolled up to just over his nose so that he could use the monocle's zoom function on the bullet he was currently carving his initials into. 7.62 NATO, full metal jacket, customized to his exact specifications; it would be used with the similarly customized M39 Enhanced Marksman Rifle hanging on the rack over on the adjacent wall. He took the cigarette from his mouth and blew air and smoke over the bullet, taking away the tiny grains of metal carved up from the engraving process. The handwriting was as perfect as if he'd written it with a pen: D.S. in an elegant, flowing cursive. This one was special. He'd put it away until he knew who he was going to give it to. For now, though, he had a job to do. It was getting dark after all.

Floyd put out the cigarette in the ash tray on the desk and put the rest of his armored costume on; easy to do since aside from the mask he was only wearing a pair of briefs and a single sock. (It was hot in the closet and the tiny fan didn't help.) He then snapped on his wrist guns along with a bandolier of tear gas and smoke grenades, and attached a laser sight to a Jatimatic GG-95 "Personal Defense Weapon" to round off his equipment for the night. He'd bought the last one just because he had thought it looked cool in this one Sylvester Stallone movie. Deadshot smiled as he pulled the bottom half of his mask down and attached it to the torso piece at the neckline.

____________________(+)____________________

Deadshot was a bit later to the party, but he didn't bother listening in to the conversation before he rappelled through the hole in the broken skylight with the grapple attached to the underside of one of his gauntlets, so he arrived around the same time Lock-Up did. He arrested his fall down the rope right before his feet would have touched the floor, allowing him to swing lazily for a moment. "Hey, are you guys doing that CSI thing? Because I don't want to get the 'you're walking all over the evidence!' speech." he said, his usual sarcastic tone on every word. "And Bullock just looks so cute when he's looking for clues."

[industrious]

Bullock

"What's this about lesbo banter? You never told me anything about lesbos before, Katie."

She hates that nickname. And he's too stubborn to use anything else. And she really can't do anything about it, either. Other than tell him off. Again.

"Right. We got ourselves a cold stiff, obviously. Mid-thirties, Caucasian. Single. Probable cause of death was a small explosive; think a grenade, but more personal. Probably another costumed freak killing."

He pauses for a minute, finishes a doughnut-a caloric monstrosity that resembles the unholy love child of a Boston Creme and a French Cruller.

"We've gone over the scene, but they'll probably want to do it yourselves. We've got pictures of everything, so you should be fine against contamination."

As the two make their entrance, he sighs.

"Oh, bite me, Mr. Monocle. What the hell is up with that, anyway? You go half-blind because you work with your hands too much?"

Luigi, 12 hours earlier

The doors of the prison open, and carrying a single duffel bag, Luigi walks outside the walls for the first time in five years.

Prison had changed him, there was no denying that. But he had used his time well. Had honed his skills. Had tried to stay out of trouble, to be a model prisoner.

There was no car waiting for him; he had no close friends or associates to pick him up. But he was out. And a new beginning awaited.

[ChronicLunacy]

Deadshot

As the two make their entrance, he sighs.

"Oh, bite me, Mr. Monocle. What the hell is up with that, anyway? You go half-blind because you work with your hands too much?"

"The better to see you with, my dear." Deadshot replied as he dropped to the ground. Oddly enough, it was true. He could see each individual beat of a humming bird's wings or shoot the wings off a fly at a hundred paces with the help of his mask's auto-senses. Not to mention the blank look was only to throw people off. He could see through the mask. "Besides, it makes me look gentlemanly, don't you think?"

As he bantered, Deadshot took a quick look over the scene, wondering what his much boasted about senses could tell him just from first glance.

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Investigate: (1d20+5)[9]
Search: (1d20+5)[21]
Misc.: (1d20)[19]

[Sophistemon]

Lock-Up

The armored vigilante nods to both Walker and Bullock - his gaze lingering slightly on the former - before smiling under his mask at Deadshot's repartee. "Very," he says. "Lieutenant Walker, Lieutenant Bullock, it's a pleasure to be working with you again. Could you fill me in on whatever details you've uncovered?" He turns back to Deadshot. "Thanks again for getting me back to base two weeks ago. My associates send their regards." With that, he, like Deadshot, scans the room. Although his gaze is unmodified by technology, he might be able to pick up on something useful or interesting anyway.

Actions:

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• Move action: none.
• Standard action: examining the room for clues/evidence and attempting to discern connections.
• Search: (1d20+16)[35]
• Investigate: (1d20+16)[19]
• Current Polymath Allotment: Detective - Skills: Investigate +8; Notice +4; Search +8.
• Misc. roll: (1d20)[19]

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

The Question

Kate sat up in her bed, clutching her covers to her chest. She thought she heard gunfire; then she realized it was only the pounding of her heart in her ears. She turned her gaze to her nightstand, and its drawer, and its former contents; she had removed Renee's gun after she realized Gotham didn't need an avenger, but she felt its weight this night even in its absence. She ran a hand through her short red hair, her short nails scratching her scalp as the dream's events replayed in her mind's eye over and over. Even before her trip to Israel five years ago, she'd had quizzically vivid dreams, which only intensified after she met her teachers, gone through their strict training regimen, learned their ancient ways. And now, back home in Gotham...she still rarely understood them, at least in the moment.

She knew the visions, though - she wouldn't be able to sleep, not after an episode like that. She had to get up, do something. She threw on a robe, grabbed an earbud and headed to the kitchen. She tuned the bud to start scanning police frequencies; since sleep would not come to her this evening, she would have to find some work to busy herself. She was in the middle of making herself a smoothie when she caught Gordon's voice on the radio, ordering Bullock to the LexCorp Gotham office. "Anything Gordon would send Bullock to without clear orders has got to be something worth looking into. Looks like I'm suiting up."

She headed back towards her room, and looked up to see a young blonde woman staring down at her, arms crossed. "I'm coming this time."

"Like hell you are, Bette. You've got school in the morning. I'm working solo tonight."

"Oh, come on, Kate! Who had your back when you were cornered by Croc? Who was it that totally saved your ass when Freeze had you dead to rights? And who was it that knew the name of the song that Rebecca Black sang? "

"You want to play this game, Bette? Who was it that got captured by Ivy back in No Man's Land? You want to help the fight? Then you fight on my terms, and that means you fight smart. Part of being my niece means you have to keep up appearances, and you're not going to be able to perform in school if you suit up as Rhetoric every night!"

"This is unfair, Kate. You've got responsibilities too."

"Which I'll meet. That's my decision. This is *not* up for debate, Bette."

Bette threw her arms up in the air, and stormed off back to her room. "I wonder if the Birds of Prey are hiring..." she muttered.

Kate hated to crush the girl's spirit, but it had to be done. Bette was too impulsive, and wasn't a trained detective yet. At best, the girl would only be in the way of the investigation. If push came to shove, then she might need Rhetoric's help - if she didn't, then there's no need to involve the girl.

At last, Kate stood before her closet. She put on her work clothes - fedora, trenchcoat, suit and tie, sturdy boots. Finally, she removed the most important part - a preserved piece of Pseudoderm, the miracle artificial skin that KaneTech had purchased while she was back in Israel. She pressed it tightly to her face, and exposed it to the gas kept in her earrings - the gas filled her bedroom, and profoundly changed her appearance. Her red hair became a flat black; her suit and clothing turned a light blue; her face disappeared behind the skin. Katherine Kane, Gotham socialite was gone. The Question remained in her place.

She raced across town, finally coming to LexCorp's building. She stole into the facility, sneaking past the perimeter that the GCPD had placed on the scene. She had heard the cops describing what they saw inside and where - Kate made her way towards the rent-a-cop's body. When she was coming around the corner, she heard Bullock (God, she hated that man.) saying something about "going half-blind because he worked with his hands too much." After the night she'd had thus far, she couldn't resist sniping at the slob. She walked around the corner, her hands in her trenchcoat pockets, the brim of the fedora lowered slightly. "Please, Detective Bullock - when was the last time you had a date with anyone besides Rosie Palms?" It was juvenile, it was bitchy - but dammit, it felt right in that moment.

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(1d20)[14]

[Terron]

Luigi took a moment to feel the breeze in his face. He was wearing his old black suit, his white charol shoes and his hat. Smiling to himself, he entertained imagining how his family would have received him, had he stayed in the Mafia. Probably they'll had busted him out. Probably they'll had him killed after that, on a very vendetta way, for some stupid old offence.
Never the less, the Italian neighbour was they only place were people knew him. He needed people that knew him in order to ask favours.
Five years ago, he thought he could change a life of crime and murder for that of a vigilante, and that no one would care. He learned the hard way, that there's nothing easy when you are trying to make up for your sh*t. And Luigi had a big pile bad actions to get rid off. However, after 5 years in the prison, and the information he provided to the police about the activities of the mafia, that pile was now smaller than ever.
But it was not only making up for his mistakes, he had promised to himself and to the memory of Rene, to do things right, to make what she was trying to do when she was cut down, make Gotham a safer place.
But he needed some gear to do that, and based on past experiences, he needed a way to conceal himself. He didn't want another 5 years of prison.
The next frame shows Luigi in the Italian neighbour, walking into a hunting store. He walked around, watching the products. When his eyes went over a firearm, flashes of memories stroke him: The face of the mobster. His wicked smile. The gun, pointed at Rene's head. The sound. The blood.
The voice of the storekeeper took him out of his trance.

Luigi walks down the street, with his bag and new bags with the things he manage to get. He unlocks the door of a small apartment building, and disappears behind the door.
The ex mobster doesn't sleep that night. He works all night, and the next day. Only flashes of light came from his half closed window, casting strange shadows outside. Eventually, the lights die off, and atop of the roof of the building, those with knee eyes could see a slender figure, clad in a black trench coat. He has a wide rimmed black hat and a white scarf that covers his face, and waves in the chilly wind of the night. The next second, the figure is gone; the Black Balestratore banishes into the dark nights of Gotham.

[industrious]

Bullock

He stares at the Question for a long, hard moment.

"Since my wife was killed by the Smiler. I've lost my wife, my kid, and the best damn partner I've ever had-no offense, Katie." he says, referring to Walker.

"So if you freaks are fine with playing dress-up and not letting your loved ones get caught in the line of fire, don't go crying to me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a perimeter to check."

...Damn. Looks like the Question struck a nerve, there.

Luigi

(Please remember to post an unmodified d20 at the end of each post)
(1d20)[19]

The underground rumor mill moves quickly. A death at Gotham's LexCorp gets the man back to the rest of the party.

Investigation (everybody)

The corpse was a wreck; his entire chest cavity had caved in, destroyed and cooked. Those who take a closer look (result of either 15 or higher; use the d20 roll and add your Investigate bonus if you didn't make a check), can see that it was, indeed caused by explosives; the blast pattern is unmistakable.

That being said, the far more interesting clue is what the culprit had placed, grotesque as it might seem, inside the victim's chest. A paperback copy of "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells, with the name "Johnathan Faddis" written on the inside cover.

[ChronicLunacy]

Deadshot

"Phew, nice shooting there, Question. Gunning for my title are you?" Deadshot said in an admonishing sort of way as Bullock walked off. Harvey Bullock was a huge pain in the ass, but he was also a good cop most of the time. It was a shame what had happened to his family and his partner. Things like that were one of the many reasons Deadshot had chosen to dress up in such a silly costume and take it to the bad guys.

Letting it drop there, he turned toward the body. He wasn't a forensic guy, but he didn't know of any guns that made holes that big. Whatever had happened to Mr. Rent-a-Cop it had been messy. Then, to top it all off, someone had used him as a bloody footlocker to store an old book. Of course it had to mean something, but Deadshot was finding himself too grossed out to think it all over at the moment. Instead, he just took it all in, hoping that he'd have a revelation later when he mulled over what he had gathered. "Did the GCPD get anything back on the name inside the cover? Javier Faddis?" he asked Lt. Walker.

(1d20)[11]

[industrious]

Deadshot

While the name is unfamiliar, the method is. Such bizarre behavior involving the book only pointed to two supercriminals, and the first one never worked alone if he could help it.

Which meant that the answer to the question "who killed this man" was simple enough: Arthur Brown, AKA the Cluemaster.

[DeafnotDumb]

Lieutenant Walker

"Well done." Katherine says evenly, not breaking her gaze with the Question. "Perhaps you'd like to kick a puppy on your way out, just for eveness?" It's clear from her restrained language and general lack of swearing or shouting just how deeply, deeply furious the policewoman is, and there's the sense that she's holding herself back only because she fears she wouldn't stop, and there's more important stuff to be done.

Breaking off her gaze with the faceless mask only reluctantly, Katherine turns her attention to the crime scene. It's a well-known fact, or at least within the police department, that when it comes to the scene of a freak job the head of the MCU is generally second only to Allen or Essen themselves. She gets down and close to the body, careful not to touch it, but otherwise unworred - those on the MCU tend to develop a tough stomach quickly, or not at all.

"Standard freak M.O." She says after a while, perhaps unaware of the new audience to her standard crime scene lecture, and just how applicable this could be to them. "Grand, gory, ineffiecent, using a boom when they could've just used a gun or a knife. The costume, the gaudy name - not a professional criminal, any of these guys. It's not about doing the job best as you can and getting away, it's meant to get our attention, so it's either a lure into one of their elaborate plans or a showy distraction. We'll have to search this office throughly."

Snapping some gloves on, Walker carefully fishes the book out and places it on the side for when the labs come while she answers Deadshot's question. "Arthur Brown, Cluemaster, genius idiot like most of them. Not generally dangerous on the freak scale until his plans start messing up andhe panics, as a rule." Messy job done, she snaps off the gloves with some relief and drops them to the side, and then stands up.

"Most I can tell from a glance." She says, looking around the office and at the body. "Give me a moment to get a deeper look."

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Investigation roll: (1d20+20)[37]

[Terron]

Luigi followd the lead to the Lexcorp building, not before making some rumour checking on what some of his contacts knew about this dead man. After that, he sneaked in, and beamed up the stairs, to find th assembled group.
The Black Balestatore appreared in the rooftop, in a blink of an eye. "Buongiorno amici, perhaps I can be of assistance on this matter."

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Gather inf: 29, Contacts feat allows me to take 20 on the first GI roll for the victim.
Streetwise knowld: (1d20+6)[17] on the victim
Gather inf roll for Cluemaster as he encounter his name for the first time (Well informed feat): (1d20+6)[26]
Dice: (1d20)[11]

[industrious]

Luigi

You don't have twenty minutes to spare, but you manage to get a few details. The man is clean; a few speeding tickets but nothing big. Finished high school with mediocre grades, divorced one time...nothing really especially interesting about him. Just the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Cluemaster is a two-bit Riddler-knockoff who leaves deliberate clues at crime scenes due to a mental compulsion. He also has a daughter.

Katherine Walker

There really isn't much more that you can tell without further equipment. You find some loose hair inside the book, but that's about it.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

The Question

There were times Kate was thankful to have her Pseudoderm mask - as she watched Bullock's slovenly form retreat, she felt her cheeks burn beneath the false skin, and realized this was one of those times. She turned the collar of her trenchcoat up, hiding her flushing ears as well. "You're both right, that was out of line. I'll find a way to make it up to Det. Bullock."

She began to focus on the task at hand, half listening to Walker drone out her theories about Brown, half lost in her own inner monologue. Dammit, Kate, you know better than than to antagonize Harvey like that. That dream's got you rattled pretty hard. Need to place it in context - what does it mean? As Walker continued her speech, The Question interrupted. "Wait, Brown's a high-school drop out. Do we think he's got the smarts to beat LexCorp's top-of-the-line security? I mean, this guy's a former game show host. I've never known him to be able to have any serious hacking skills. " All the while, The Question examines the rest of the area for clues, the light of binah glowing from where her left eye would be.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

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Random Roll: (1d20)[9]

[Terron]

Tilting his hat a little bit to the right, Luigi says "This poor guy just was in the wrong place at the wrong time I guess, there's nothing special about him, no criminal history, no good in anything, mediocre life for the most part, probably just a random victim." he takes a moment, staring at the body, waiting for the reactions of the others, if any. Then, as someone who isn't really interested on a subject, he says, "You know the Cluemaster has a daughter, eh?" without taking his eyes from the body.

[ChronicLunacy]

Deadshot

The red monocle landed on the new guy and Deadshot's wristols were up and tracking before his boots hit the ground. He lowered them a fraction at the man's amiable greeting, but continued to keep that eye on him. "Who's this bozo? And is it supposed to hurt my feelings that the Lieutenant keeps throwing the 'F' word around?" Deadshot wondered aloud, ever flowing with the witticisms. However, there was a crime to be solved, too. He focused on what the Question had said.

"Okay, so you're saying Cluemaster (bater) has a partner...maybe. Or maybe he just got his hands on some stolen tech that did the data mining for him. Who do we know that could have helped him out in either case? We should also pay visits to the local information fences and see who he might try to sell this info to. Also, if he's developed a ruthless streak large enough to blow this guy's guts all over the room just for catching sight of him we need to be ready for anything similarly crazy and lethal when we catch up to him." he ruminated.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

The Question

"That's exactly my point, Deadshot. Cluemaster's a lot of things, but I've never seen any crime scene of his that looked like...well, this. It could be his psychoses have made him more unstable. It could be a second person. It could be a lot of things.

"How about this Javier guy? I've never heard of him. And why 'The Time Machine?' Is someone perhaps showcasing DeLoreans?"

[Terron]

[/COLOR]

"Who's this bozo?"

"You can call me the Black Crossbow" the man behind the white scarf-mask says, simply. "I'm here to aid you, not to hinder you or hurt you in any way, you can rest assured." he adds, eyeing Deadshot's arsenal of guns weary. "I have some contacts, perhaps I can get some interesting information about the location of Cluemaster, or the identity of his mysterious ally." he offers.


(1d20)[20]

[industrious]

People still conducting investigations

There really isn't much more to be found on the scene.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

The Question

The Question sighed - she was hoping that Brown had slipped up and left additional evidence to his next movements, but the sephira binah revealed nothing. "Brown's covered his trail well. Unless you all find something I missed, looks like we need to gather human intelligence. Gender bias or mixed doubles, this time?"

[DeafnotDumb]

Lieutenant Walker

Katherine quickly lays the hairs out of the book by the side, where the forensics guys can find them quickly. She's too good a cop to ignore the fact that the freaks are making pretty good points, but she limits her compliments to a grunt. She's still thinking as she stands up.

Her thoughts are interrupted by The Question's query onto as how to split up. Katherine bites back much harsher words, teeth literally clamping shut on them before she speaks them out loud. If nothing else, working through the office politics of being head of the MCU, otherwise called the Freak Squad, has done wonders for the policewoman's temper or at least her control on it. "Best you go with Deadshot, or someone not me." She snaps, and tries not to remember a time long ago, where Bullock had tried to comfort her with Montoya's brew, after her assassination attempt on Luigi. "I'm still not pleased with you. I want Ly- Lock-Up with me, so we can keep an eye on this new guy." Her hand flips up to point accusingly at the 'Black Crossbow'. It's long been the MCU - and her - policy that with these freaks around, it's better to have them inside pissing out than outside pissing in if they're ready to help, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. "You're on trail period, buddy. Do something I don't like and you don't work with us again."

Threat over and done with, Katherine turns her mind to the problem. "Lock-Up," She still can't say those code names seriously "You've got contacts in bussiness and tech somewhere, or how else do you get all those wonderful toys? Find out if there's a vendetta against Luthor that might explain this, and see if there's any news of someone who could hack his security. After that, we're going to have to do some investigating - I propose one of our groups takes a look at finding Brown's recent locations and any clues there, while the other looks at why he's changed his M.O so much. Unhinged more, or something worse?"

She spits on the floor. "Goddamnit, don't you ever miss the days when things were so simple? Sometimes I do."

[Terron]

Luigi smiles behind his white scarf, Walker was still the same. Or at least, what little he knew about here wass unchanged by five years of fighting crime. And now he was on trial, what would happen if the policewoman knew who he was? Would she get him in again? Doubtful, she didn't after Montoya's death. "Sure thing, you are the boss around here apparently." he replies. When contacts are mentioned, he raises his gaze from the corpse, but says nothing, he already mentioned his contacts, and if they forgot about it, perhaps it's better. Contacts in the underworld would not be regarded very well by the police.
"I didn't perform very well on the simpler days." he adds instead "But I certainly remember them."

[industrious]

LexCorp

Forensics eventually arrives, and while most of the party works outside the law, they realize that hindering the boys in white coats would hinder, not help the investigation. A nearby rooftop serves admirably as a place for them to finalize their plans, and begin the next leg of their investigation.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

The Question

"Why don't you three look into Brown and his last known residence - his parole officer should have a record of where he's staying, so that'd be easier for you to gather, Lieutenant. Deadshot and I can look into his MO. Also, we should ask around about this Johnathan Faddis. Might as well start playing Cluemaster's game while we try to find a way to break through it."