Summary:A charity event goes wrong. Or right? Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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Rockefeller Center.
Theres always a heavy presence here, no matter what time of year it is. Its not new years though, and its no holiday…its just a normal time of year, at a normal time of day, with normal people. Well, mostly normal. the son of Bruce Wayne was here!
Damian Wayne was dressed in a full black three piece suit, but he wasn't going to a funeral, he was just making a fashion statement. His emerald green eyes explore his surroundings out of habit. There's always something in this town.
But, Damian was here to help sell a charity, and despite his serious demeanor, one would think he spoke with adequate levels of charm and sincerity.
Betty Brant was dipping her toes into charity work, even if the charity was something heart-felt and not something to toss money at. The Waynes were powerful, too, and though lacking an interview with the youth's father, she did recognise the resemblance. It was uncanny. Notebook in hand, draped in sundress and tipped off with red heels, the woman moves to approach Damian with a ready smile on her features.
"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne," she greets, offering out a hand, each nail carefully polished a crimson hue. "Betty Brant, it's a pleasure to meet you. May I ask you a few questions for the Bugle?"
Damian turns his head to the stunning woman, and he gives a nod to her. "A pleasure, Betty. Of course, I'm free to answer what you have to ask." He offers her a kind smile, even if there's not much sincerity behind it, but his public mask is indistinquishable. He was trained well. But of course, now he waits.
In the meantime, armed gunmen are currently prepping their wares…
Betty Brant thins her lips, canting her head as she studies the man's face. Even so, she smiles at length, nodding and opening that pad of paper. "Thank you," she begins. "I just wanted to ask what charity you're promoting today and what it means to you personally." There's a pause from that, her eyes settling on his features. "Also, you can say what you're feeling, Mr. Wayne. I have a good idea of what you're meant to say, but I'd rather hear truth."
Damian listens to her question, and he gives a little nod. "I'm specifically intending to promote charity for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital. Its always held a special place in my heart, because many children suffer from conditions both externally and through genetic means that we don't know how to fix or treat as of yet, but I'm of the hope, as well as with others, that if we do our part and give them the tools necessary, we can help children all around the world."
Giving pause, she watches as he answers. She scribbles down, taking notes and shorthand, seeming to accept what he tells her. All in all, it was a great charity to be part of. "How are you doing today with your promotions? Is there a goal you're hoping to reach within a certain time?" Pausing only to brush her hair back, she readies her pen and settles her warm gaze on the man's own of clover. "Why does this charity mean so much to you?"
Damian looks at Betty with a small nod. "The promotions are going good with good attention and good numbers. The only goal I'm hoping for is that poeple are willing to give and be aware that something can be done."
When he's asked why the charity means so much to him, there's gunfire. Automatic gunfire. Three people fall over dead almost instantly, but Damian has the mind to grab Betty and move her in for cover, having the place of mind to know exactly what he was doing. "Stay here." he tells her, and he peeks his head out from around the corner…just in time for a bullet to bounce off of that concrete, and Damian is back in cover. He seems to be formulating a plan.
Betty Brant feels her body move and press back against cover. She hears the screaming, the panic starting up, crying out into the sky as it's followed by the cracking and popping of bullets. Eyeing Damian, she shakes her head, urging the young man to not be a hero. Pushing the pad away, she digs for her phone, dialling 911 without hesitation. Others had called, they had to, but she would be a number on the list.
Pulling her hair back and keeping it there with a tie, the dirty-blonde pulls a hand cannon from her side bag, eyes its ammo and then lines its sight. She was done being one of the ones that cowarded, after all. Leaning, she attempts to glance around her cover, trying to find who was causing havok.
Damian sees the gun, but he does nothing about it. She could make her own decisions. Though, when she looks back over to Damian after her cover peeking? He's gone.
Using the chaos to his advantage, he managed to get further into the Rockefeller center undetected, but armed men were moving through, forcing people to their hands and knees or die.
A tall man, caucasian, with a dark suit and a fedorah on his head starts talking about some sort of philosophy.
"We are here to save you…to save humanity…the only way we can do that, is to send humanity back to the dark ages..and where better to start, then here?"
Damian finds a sniper and he chokes him out. Betty has a clear shot at three men, but would it help? or just send the place further into chaos?
Betty Brant closes her eyes for a moment, trying to count out moments. See, study, what's happening and where everyone is. Save humanity, well, that's the point, isn't it? She wasn't sure where Damian had gone, but at the moment, he didn't have a gun to his head. Be dumb, Betty, why the hell not.
Moving, she stands from behind her cover, her voice crying out. "Hey!" She calls again, even whistles for their attention.
"Hey, easy…I want to help you. Save humanity…you have a purpose, yeah? Do you know how to push that out? The press. Do you know what I am? Press. Let them go and I'll listen, I'll watch, I'll tell the story. Deal?" Her hands were down by her sides, gun hidden away by cover.
The man looks at Betty (or at least in her direction) and he chuckles a little bit. "And tell me, how do you think I'm going to tell you my grand plan? My masterful design? Even if it begins with the extermination of every single person here. Not because its necessary…but because its collateral damage."
Damian takes the sniper rifle, reaching into his pocket to pull out some handy dandy smoke bombs, and he loads them into the chamber.
As he moves, he's dissassembling the gun, taking down another gunman, and now he has something akin to a long-ranged tranqilizer. Hey, no real bullets! (the handgun he just picked up does though, just in case).
But as Betty is talking, she may here the very soft sounds of a gun going off, but silenced. a gunman falls over…then another…then a third.
She's buying time, and its working.
Standing in place, without moving from the cover, she watches the men fall but only out of the corner of her eyes. Her gaze is set, steady, on the man in charge. "Sell your purpose and you get more followers. Everyone knows that. Think about it, think about everyone you can reach just because something was written by a published source." Swallowing, she takes a deep, easing breath. "Killing them won't do you any good. You'll just be hunted, your purpose won't be recognized as revolutionary, just some other crazy with a gun trying to prove a useless, forgettable point. Let them go. You told them to get down or die, so you don't really want to kill them. Let them go. I'll listen and I'll stay behind."
the man seemed to laugh, even as the last two men behind him got tranqued and taken out, the way they fell was…conveniently, behind cover. Sirens are starting to be heard in the distance as the man smiles, and he seems to laugh in a maniacal kind of manner.
"What happened to keeping things easy? Easy to kill someone when they don't look you back in the eyes…after all, even a reporter like you. If you get the word out, then there will simply be a heavy retaliation towards my operatin and really…I can't have that."
He grins like an insane man.
"Isn't that right lads?"
No response.
"Lads?" He turns around and he's startled to see all of his men taken out! Turning his head to Betty, he flares with anger. "Witch!" and he starts to lift his gun when something hits him from behind. Its a bullet wound, right in the back of his shoulder. He stumbles for a moment, and he looks around anywhere for the shooter, giving Betty an opening!
"I've been called worse…" She whispers to no one, arm up, leveling before she fires off a shot. It was a loud bark, just one, sending a slam of hot lead into the gunman's head. It was so quick, she didn't even think much, then it was over. The body falls, slumps, and leaves Brant to look at her gun and shudder. Eyes wide, she twitches, looking toward the ground where she'd left her phone.
Lowering, taking a knee, she grabs the phone, gropes at first, before lifting it to her face. "Y-yes, I'm here. S-sorry. Right, the…yes. I'm there. It's I…I hear them. O-ok. Thank you." Ending the call, she looks toward the men, standing up once more, firearm still in hand.
With the gun still in Betty's hand, Damian approaches from behind her, looking like there's not a scratch on him or any sign of a scuffle. Good thing he got away okay. But he reaches to touch Betty right on the arm, before he gestures to the gun. "Its over."
No doubt Betty would be called a hero after this. She saved countless people, after all!
Hero. Killer. Well, she'd have to see. She jumps after the touch, her eyes finding the man's face, oddly stoic and much like that of his father's. She doesn't speak, not for now, allowing herself to calm down and give another glance toward her gun. Exhaling, she flicks the safety and slips the weapon away. "I-I have to stay for questioning." A look his way, she remembers the man being younger than her. "Christ, I'm sorry, are you alright, Mr. Wayne?"
Younger, but he was not inexperienced with this, he gives her a small smile. "I know, and I understand. In my book, you saved our lives." he'll put in a good word for her, surely. But then he nods once. "I'm completely fine, thanks to you. You did good today, Miss Brant." He watches as she puts the gun away, whew, last thing he needs is a trigger-happy reporter.
He doesn't even ask how she could quickdraw like that and get a perfect headshot. Somebody taught her well.