An unmarked sedan pulls up along side the curb opposite the funeral parlor. Two additional cruisers are already in route. The sound of gunfire can be heard in the cabin through closed windows. She doesn't bother even opening the door before reaching for the radio.
"Central Six-Charlie-Tango, ten sixty-nine. Request additional back-up."
More gunfire. Loud and heavy. None of it seems to be directed towards the vehicle.
"Negative. Be advised. Multiple assailants. Units use extreme caution."
She lays off the radio and forces it back into its holder. The door swings open and immediately she goes for the trunk. Like hell she's going into an unknown without a vest.
Sonia follows Renee's lead, also not too keen on getting shot, but still anxious to get in. Thorne could still get away. This could still go south. Please let it not go south.
One of the side doors of the parlor bursts open, and a darkly-dressed man comes flying out of it, crashing hard against a tree and falling into a heap.
The windows light up with muzzle flashes, and occasional silhouettes are seen, like a strobe light.
The front door bursts open as well, and Thorne's backing up, firing wildly with a sub-machine gun into the building, looking panicked and terrified, followed quickly by one of his men scrambling on all fours behind him, trying to stay low and avoid the crossfire.
The gunfire drowns out the voices, outside of agitated, incoherent shouting.
Suddenly, a Batarang flies out from inside, cracking against Thorne's hands and forcing him to drop the automatic weapon... and the man on all fours is suddenly being strangled with a cable.
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Blink.
"You all right, Thorne? Lookin' a little peaked there."
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"Central Six-Charlie-Tango, ten sixty-nine. Request additional back-up."
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"Negative. Be advised. Multiple assailants. Units use extreme caution."
She lays off the radio and forces it back into its holder. The door swings open and immediately she goes for the trunk. Like hell she's going into an unknown without a vest.
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The windows light up with muzzle flashes, and occasional silhouettes are seen, like a strobe light.
One of them might have wings.
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The gunfire drowns out the voices, outside of agitated, incoherent shouting.
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A growl is all that's discernible.
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What the fuck?! Batman and a garrot?
She levels her sidearm. At the Gotham's protector. "GCPD! Let him go!"
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