Damage Assessment
There's a glowing blur of red and yellow light shooting through Bludhaven. It's not as familiar a sight there as it is in somewhere like Central or Keystone City, but most people know who it is that leaves an intangible yet thick trail of those colours along roads and sidewalks, across lakes and through parks. The Flash builds up speed as he tears towards the Gotham River, and then runs straight across the surface of the water, arriving at Gotham Docks a split second after he started running.
Barry looks behind him, and within a microt his grandson is with him. He holds a finder to his lips as soon as Bart appears, as there are voices in the docks of Gotham. The voices are chanting. For once, Barry creeps slowly as he makes his way towards the source of the chanting. A warehouse. There are no windows, as is befitting of most warehouses, so he slides one of the doors open a fraction to look inside.
Dock workers, sailors, men and women from around the area all lay flat on the ground, on their stomachs with their heads raised. Their bodies all point in the same direction, and they all strain to look up at the effigy of Darkseid that sits on top of a standard packing crate. There doesn't appear to be a master of ceremonies, so there's no point interfering with the mindless cultists. Not given the possibility that one of them may raise an alarm. Barry silently closes the door again, and turns to Bart.
"Probably about a hundred people in there, all chanting that they'd die for Darkseid. As far as damage assessments go, I wouldn't call this a good start. At least they're not hurting anyone though." Barry sighs, and wonders where they should head next. "I wonder what the other scouts have found."
Barry looks behind him, and within a microt his grandson is with him. He holds a finder to his lips as soon as Bart appears, as there are voices in the docks of Gotham. The voices are chanting. For once, Barry creeps slowly as he makes his way towards the source of the chanting. A warehouse. There are no windows, as is befitting of most warehouses, so he slides one of the doors open a fraction to look inside.
Dock workers, sailors, men and women from around the area all lay flat on the ground, on their stomachs with their heads raised. Their bodies all point in the same direction, and they all strain to look up at the effigy of Darkseid that sits on top of a standard packing crate. There doesn't appear to be a master of ceremonies, so there's no point interfering with the mindless cultists. Not given the possibility that one of them may raise an alarm. Barry silently closes the door again, and turns to Bart.
"Probably about a hundred people in there, all chanting that they'd die for Darkseid. As far as damage assessments go, I wouldn't call this a good start. At least they're not hurting anyone though." Barry sighs, and wonders where they should head next. "I wonder what the other scouts have found."