thejusticelounge | grey's calamity

5:56pm, West Harlow - BREAKING NEWS - Unverified reports are now coming through emergency channels of an immediate lockdown at West Mercy Hospital in West Harlow. The nature of the lockdown is currently unknown but it is suspected that there may be a hostage situation taking place somewhere inside the hospital. The names of any potential hostages have not been released. The only information is coming from the nurses’ emergency protocol stations, civilian phones, and EMT radios on-site. Please provide any further information to the GCPD Hotline: *5656

6:14pm, West Harlow - GNN LIVE - We have now verified that an individual claiming to be the Black Mask and a crew of ten followers have occupied the Neo-Natal Ward on the eighth floor of the hospital. So far there have been five unconfirmed injuries to hospital workers and two - no, three deaths by gunshot. There has been no direct contact from the perpetrators with the authorities and no demands have been made. GCPD and SWAT are working tirelessly to prevent any further harm to innocent people. Please, if you’ve received any texts, videos or phone calls from anyone inside West Mercy, please contact the GCPD Hotline: *5656

6:32pm, West Harlow - GNN LIVE - Dr. Evelin Chen-McDougal is confirmed as one of the victims of the hostage-shooting situation at West Mercy Hospital. We do not at this time know whether the doctor is still alive. The leader of the gang, believed to be Arkham Asylum inmate Black Mask, is claiming possession of - oh god - of the newborns at West Mercy, stating that since the Asylum has been reopened he needs a new set of patients to repopulate. GNN has gotten a hold of a recorded voice message sent to Commissioner Gordon, and we will be the first to let the public hear this madman’s demands. Joining us now are two opinions on this current situation - West Mercy Hospital legal representative Petra Gupta, and former Arkham psychiatrist Dr. Kristoff Achtemichuk, who once worked with Jeremiah Arkham himself ten years ago. Stay tuned to GNN for all breaking news as this West Mercy lockdown continues.

A few hours after the breaking news on West Mercy Hospital, Cass follows up on a tangy, distinct scent of blood that leads to Harlow Park. There in one of the quiet, dimly-lit tunnel underpass walkways is a smartphone, smeared in blood. There’s no body to be found; but from the TMNT phone case and the aps found on the phone, it was clearly owned by someone young. There is also some footage on the phone, the last thing the phone’s owner saw before their doom.

The sight of non-other than Killer Croc. He is lumbering across the park at around 7pm, carrying something. He spies the owner of the phone, who manages to curse under his breath before breaking into a run into the underpass.

He doesn’t get very far.

The blood trail that Cass followed started here in this underground walkway, and, after backtracking, ends in an alleyway five blocks away. It disappears under a manhole into the sewers of the West Harlow district of Gotham City, just a few blocks away from West Mercy.

Cass is methodical in her work following her finding the blood smeared phone. It’s bagged and stored for possible evidence, or to at least put a face to a victim. When following the trail of blood back to the manhole, she scans about, looking for anymore items that had been lost along the way, but the phone seems to be the only item to note.

By the time she reaches the manhole, checks her location, and a final check of nearby radio frequencies, she doesn’t hesitate to dive down into the sewer.

It’s not the best plan, she’ll admit it, but by the way her heart races has her feeling it’s one of the best options she has. Ordinarily she would’ve preferred to wait; call in backup, or better yet a second opinion. But now is not the time, because there is not enough time. So she thinks. Not with the spotty reports coming in from the police on the scene. Her gut says this could be a possible connection to the hospital.

In an effort to cover her rush to action, she relays a message over the Gotham-comm channel. “Black Bat. In pursuit of Killer Croc in West Harlow sewers. Within rage of West Mercy.” she takes a considerable pause, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness before moving further into the sewer. “Stand by?” Question mark. She breaks, and finally falls to hesitation. Gritting her teeth in annoyance with herself, Cass trudges further forward without any light.

Fortunately for Cass in one way, Killer Croc doesn’t seem particularly interested in staying stealthy. Whatever he’s got bundled up that he’s carrying on his massive scaly shoulders is also weighing him down considerably, so Croc’s movements are slow, laborious and loud. Extremely loud. It’s interspersed by the sound of the villain pausing to hydrate himself (assumedly from the sewage water itself) and also afford himself some snacking opportunities on the occasional rat.

What Croc is, is single-minded. He knows exactly where he’s going - the sewer system under Gotham, of course, being Croc’s home and passageways for over a decade now. He is headed towards West Mercy.

"Hope the Mask likes this," he grumbles to himself, a voice that’s growling and slavering as it echoes against the filth-laden walls. "Hope the Mask ‘preciates this. Croc don’t like going into hospitals. Croc wants to stay here. Croc wants a REAL MEAL." He yells that last part, and then there’s the sound of gnashing teeth against wet flesh and bones.

"You better work or Croc will just eat you," the villain resumes his complaining soliloquy. To the bundle’s credit, it moans - to Cass it sounds like a rather human, yet strangely robotic moan.

Being stealthy had it’s upsides, and normally that was noticing how everyone around you was actually not as quiet as they thought they were. However, with Killer Croc, there was no need for her stealth skills to pick out his path among the sewers. For now, she let Croc take the lead, hanging back a good ten to fifteen feet at all times, just far enough to keep him in her sights.

She’s curious as to what’s in the bundle, as it seems to be the reason he’s traveling at such a slow pace. An average human weight wouldn’t delay him this much, but the bundle seems to be a challenge for him.

She had been planning to hang back till they were closer to the hospital at least until he started monologuing. Although to his credit, it wasn’t to her, he wasn’t that cliché. “A real meal?” she calls to him with a wry grin, “Rats aren’t a snack, why not try a Bat?”

Cass braces herself, muscles tense and ready to fire when and if Croc turns. He had to pay attention to her taunt. She wants to use his weight, and his cargo as her weapon down here. Direct hits won’t work with him. Hopefully Croc’s bundle could hang in a little longer.

Croc freezes, sloshing amidst the muck as much as a large individual like Croc could stop suddenly. The bundle squirms but Croc roughly readjusts it to silence it as his tail whips around behind him. One of the only truly quick parts of the man-beast is that tail lashing side to side, guided by powerful muscles.

"Who said that? WHO SAID THAT?" He bellows, sending the rants screeching off to another direction. Croc has a dilemma. He’s directly under West Mercy Hospital now. Five feet away and above him is the ripped-up surface that leads right into the bowels of the hospital, a crawlspace underneath the morgue. This was how Black Mask and his mooks got into the hospital in the first place. Croc is so close and he debates ignoring that tiny challenging, somewhat familiar voice he’d heard, or turning around to face and fight whatever Batfreak it might be.

For once, Croc makes a surprising decision: he chooses not to fight. Instead, the villain keeps marching towards the tear in the sewer ceiling. He flings his heavy baggage up there first, which lands with a heavy thud into the crawlspace under the hospital morgue.

"You wanna fight me, then you come over here an’ fight me. Then I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp and eat you," Croc calls out to the voice, whoever it might be. "I like my meat rare." He makes a slurping sound as he pulls his large bulk up into the crawlspace, living up to his reptilian name as he slithers through the small space and away from Cass.

"Guess, guess!" Cass taunts him loudly, letting her voice ricochet off the sewer walls. But it doesn’t do any good, Croc is climbing up and away from her, offering a fight inside the hospital instead of on his turf. It didn’t make sense. Cass is shocked. For how little she had planned this out, the one thing she thought she could count on was Croc’s sorely lacking impulse control.

With his heavy bag still in tow, Cass knows she will still have an easy time keeping up with him inside the hospital. He’s not usually too fast to begin with anyway, all muscle instead. With Croc out of sight, she hangs back briefly, patching into the Gotham-comm channel, “Black Bat, update. Killer Croc is currently inside West Mercy. Accompanied by…a package. Possibly human.” maybe someone else was inside too. Bruce, or Tim, or maybe Jason or Steph.

No, not Jason. He hadn’t been back in Gotham in months. Not Steph either. She was still hurt. Great.

Climbing up after Croc, Cass keeps a tight trail on him and his bundle, planning to follow him through the hospital till she found a relatively empty location to distract him in. Whatever he was bringing to Black Mask was necessary for their plan. She has to take him out, then work her way to Black Mask. If possible.

meanwhile, across town

The first thing Crystal Brown does is call up her daughter. "I'm alright - I was just about to go on-shift when I saw the news, but I'm still at home," she says, her voice trembling slightly. "Stephanie, my god. I knew that doctor. She worked at Gotham Community when you - she was the one - she was the one who was there when you had your -"

"I love you, I’m glad you’re safe. Stay inside," she says in a rushed breath to end the call, relieved enough at her mom’s safety she doesn’t feel nauseated with worry anymore. The news had been recapping the story since Steph had gotten home from school, and she’d heard it was her mom’s hospital and been met with her voicemail the past four times she’d called. Now all Steph was feeling was a potent mix of anger and anxiety that solidified her resolve. Bai and Cass weren’t home to argue this one with her.

Hastily scrambling off her couch and to her room, Steph’s jeans are already off when she throws open her closet door. She grabs for her suit hanging in its storage bag and a sharp twinge of pain burns through her shoulder where the stitches still stood out a brilliant, angry red on her skin where the somewhat healed stab wound lay. “This probably isn’t a good idea,” she thinks to herself as she begins wrapping her shoulder in bandages like she would her fists before a fight. Popping half a painkiller so she’s neither fuzzy headed nor too sore later, Steph wriggles into her Batgirl suit. Batgirl climbs out her bedroom window and calls up her bike -god, she’d missed this- and takes off straight towards West Mercy with a bone to pick.

West Mercy currently seems impenetrable. Aside from the cavalcade of ERT that’s surrounding the perimeter, the hospital itself is difficult to scale. Currently the only logical access - if one were to go in unseen and silently - would be through the roof, which is eighteen stories high.

Inside the hospital, Black Mask walks through the nursery, studying each infant, crib to crib. His goons have assembled the ward’s staff at the nurses station - on the floor, face down. Only Dr Chen-McDougal remains upright, propped up against the wall as she clutches a compress to her shoulder, trying to apply pressure to the gunshot wound.

The rest of the hospital floors are teeming with SWAT, while staff, visitors and patients have - hopefully - been either identified and/or staying behind closed doors. A good safety protocol, even if Black Mask and his crew seem to have no interest in any of the other floors except the one with the nursery.

"Very good, very good…" he murmurs to himself, teeth clacking in his skull mask as he regards the babies. "These specimens will do nicely. I’ll create a new generation of Arkhamites with them…" He reaches out a lambskin gloved finger, stroking it along the cranium of a wiggling, loudly squalling child.

Black Maske spins, facing a goon. He looks at his Armani watch and then growls impatiently, “Where’s Croc? Damned sewer pest! Why isn’t he back yet? He’s the only thing holding this operation up. I’d like to be out of here before You-Know-Who arrives.”

"Voldemort?" the goon hazards a guess.

Black Mask stares at him for a moment. ”No you idiot…Batman. Batman, THE!!! BATMAN!!!”

"I heard Batman’s no longer fighting crime," another goon contributes. "I heard he’s gone over to our side’a things. I heard the Green Arrow’s now acting like the big boss’a this town, tryina hunt the Batman down. Taken on a Robin an’ everythin’. Mebbe we should be looking for someone green? Or red?"

Black Mask cocks his gun, and shoots the goon in the forehead. The large man drops to the ground like a sack of two-month old potatoes.

"You do that," he sneers.

Batgirl arrives three blocks over from the scene just shy of the closest police barricade currently swarming with news vans and curious bystanders. Morons. If Black Mask were smart, he would have his eye on at least one news channel to make sure nobody got a jump on him. Having the media eye trained and ready to track her progress on top of the SWAT team standing by on a hair-trigger to storm the building at the first go ahead, stealth is her only option. So the front and back doors are out. Unfortunately, there aren’t any convenient windows she could slip into either, since most hospital windows require some kind of key to open. Too many stories above Batgirl’s head lies the only reasonable access point: the roof. On a normal day, this would be routine, flinging herself across rooftops with a reckless abandon. But one does not simply enter a media hot spot in Bat ears without getting noticed, not without some tricks.

Shoot, what was that movie Babs had drug her to? … Man on a Ledge! If she was going to do this (and this was not one of her better plans, she’d be the first to admit), she had a limited amount of time and needed perfect aim. Batgirl cloaked Ricochet and left her on standby, entering some office building she didn’t care to read the name of and taking the elevator leisurely up to the top floor. From there, she climbs to the roof and feels her gut clench as she poises to free run her way through the problem.

"Quick like a Cass, quick like a Cass," she says to herself like a pep talk and propels herself forward, running hard and fast to clear the wide distance between the nondescript brick office buildings until, windblown and exhilarated, she comes upon West Mercy Hospital only two stories above. Now comes the unpleasant part.

Tapping a couple of keys on her inner gauntlet, Batgirl calls up her bike to wake up. Ricochet winks its lights and pulls up just down the block behind the media mob. On her command, the mostly invisible bike fires two shots at a fire hydrant across the street, causing a massive geyser of water to shoot up suddenly and loudly, thoroughly soaking the crowd and setting off car alarms. As soon as the small boom had sounded, Batgirl had whipped out her grappling gun and fired at a ventilation shaft worryingly small but would have to do, and let the gadget do its job and hoist her harshly upwards and onwards. This would hurt a lot.

For forty seconds, nobody notices the black and eggplant figure whizzing up through the open air two stories, collapsing with a glove-muffled cry of anguish at the tearing sensation in her shoulder. But the sounds below are quieting quickly again like they’re resetting, and she feels a distinct satisfaction at her half-hazard plan’s success.

Batgirl easily picks the door’s lock and lets herself into the emergency stairwell. Crap, which floor was the maternity ward on? How could she possibly have forgotten that now?! She’s embarrassed to have to turn to the nearest nurse’s station on the 17th floor for guidance, finding the maternity ward Black Mask was currently occupying on the 8th floor. She decides to stick with the stairwell for now since the elevator would be an actual light up LOOK AT ME sign. Around the 10th floor, Batgirl hears a commotion behind the door leading out onto the floor and she wonders if she’d read the map wrong. But no, this was the psychiatric ward, as the sign read when she slips in silently in a crouch, bo staff collapsed but in hand.

She hits the ground, ducking inside the nearest open room when she hears the stomp of boots against tile. Two of Black Mask’s men walk by her room without a second glance as they cross the empty hallway to the next unoccupied patient’s room, a backpack slung lazily over one of their shoulders. She watches the two gun-toting goons carelessly loot the room for tranquilizers, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and other goodies the psychiatric ward is sure to be rife with. Are they seriously dumb enough to do their own business now of all times? Yes, yes they are. One of them belly laughs at something the other says and they move on to the next room to scrounge through, Batgirl’s room.

The footsteps of the looting goons get closer and closer to Steph’s room…a few more steps and they’d be in there - until a walkie-talkie hooked to one of the goon’s belt suddenly statics into life and the pair quickly come to a stop.

"That’s the bossman," one of them says quickly, his voice tinged with slight fear. Obviously their foray into stealing psychiatric drugs was probably not in Black Mask’s grand plan. "He said Croc’s back with the exit scrategy, we should book it."

"Yeah," the other one breathes thickly, sounding as if he hasn’t brushed his teeth in weeks. "Let’s use the stairwell, remember bossman don’t like us in the elevators."

They turn away from the room Steph is in without going inside, stomping at a hurried pace in the opposite direction, towards the emergency exit stairwell.

Meanwhile, a couple floors below, with the knowledge that Croc is finally inside the hospital, Black Mask starts selecting babies for his scheme. He reads each chart, determining his choice. ”This is like shopping!” he says, grinning ghoulishly at the goons who are picking up some of the babies, a couple babies cradled in the massive crooks of their arms. ”I only want the best. Only the best for Arkham. That’s what the Arkham legacy is about - the best. The best insane, the best criminals…the Joker.”

The Black Mask pauses, his bulging eyes seeming wider than usual. He steeples his fingers. ”The Joker was Arkham’s pride and joy. I can never replicate him, but I can certainly surpass him….with this baby. Charles. Charles Chen-McDougal.” He picks the baby up, holding it up in the air. ”Yes, you shall grow up to become better than even the Joker. You are the one, my sweet creature.”

"N- no please! That’s…my grandson…" Dr Chen-McDougal says from outside the nursery, seeing the baby clutched in Black Mask’s gloved hands. To his credit, the Black Mask ignores her. It would’ve been worse if he decided to acknowledge her - but the anticipation of Killer Croc’s arrival and his triumph of harvesting these children for his own needs surpasses his urge to maim and torture the doctor further.

As the two goons make their way to the stairwell she’d just come from, Batgirl slips out from behind the door and strikes the one with his hands free over the head harshly with the butt of her bo staff. He hits the ground before he knows what hits him (literally). His partner turns to face her with a confused, “Mason?!” Batgirl makes to roundhouse kick him squarely in the chest to end the scuffle quietly, but he tosses the backpack stuffed heavily with stolen meds at her, knocking her off balance. He lands a clean punch to her jaw, rattling her teeth and splitting her bottom lip. She’s taken hits way worse, and it shouldn’t muddle her balance like it does, even momentarily, but she’ll chalk that up to meds in her system.

He makes to reach for the walkie talkie on his belt, and that sobers her instantly. Propelling herself forward, she jabs her elbow like a dagger into his solar plexus and he gags violently. Batgirl straightens and takes advantage, securing the goon in a choke hold. To his credit, he struggles pretty hard, succeeds in making her groan lowly when he slams them against a wall to try and shake her off, but to no avail. It takes a long minute, his panic working against his respiratory system and in her favor as he blacks out, slumping to the ground. “Shit,” she mutters, spitting out the metallic taste in her mouth.

She binds both men’s wrists for good measure and it strikes her that they had tried to avoid using the elevator, too. Was there something off about the elevator, or was everyone as high strung inside the building as outside? She could work with that. Batgirl presses the button on the wall to call the elevator up and pulls out a couple of flash-bangs, disconnecting the wires that would make them detonate in exactly five seconds. She tosses them through the doors and presses the floor number for the maternity ward below her. Batgirl sprints for the stairs, not really caring about making noise now that she could be sure everyone’s attention would be on the lit up doors dinging closer and closer to them. She peaks through the small window from the stairwell and can’t see much. When the doors open, though, half a dozen guns open fire on the seemingly empty elevator. When the group of Black Mask’s thugs move closer, one shockingly stupid enough to poke his head in, Batgirl presses the detonator button on her belt and -as the name suggests- they’re met with a painful flash of light and ear-ringing bang.

Disoriented, the men stumble and Batgirl surges forward. The ones furthest back recover faster than the others and they swing at her deftly, a few landing hits, but not enough to slow down her momentum. She knows her window of opportunity here is extremely limited. Take one psychopath, add a dash of contention, and corner him, and it made for a very dangerous situation for the babies in the next room.

She’s got a few new lumps to her face and what feels like the beginning of a nasty bruise along the left side of her ribcage, but when everything settles, she’s the last one standing. Batgirl hears a woman arguing, probably one of the staff, and she falls into a crouch to pass under the observation window of the nursery. She can’t afford to be sloppy here, not here. Her hands are shaking some as she opens the door from fury that burned white hot in her stomach that this piece of inhuman excrement would dare soil this place. He could never guess at her personal attachment to this particular place, though she knows he’s seen that particular scar on her body.

Black Mask stands among the tiny bassinets containing whimpering newborns, a bundle swaddled in blue clutched in his arms too tightly for her liking. Hell, him breathing around it was too far. A doctor, the woman she suspects she’d heard shouting, is backed up against a wall and bleeding. Oh, and four more men with guns trained on Batgirl now. But that doesn’t matter so much as the almost overwhelming anxiety attack seizes her when Black Mask meets her eyes like he is only just now noticing the interruption. Recognition lights up his twisted features and he turns fully toward Batgirl now. No, not Batgirl. Stephanie. He recognizes the girl he’d played with years ago and smiles at her like a fond uncle. She braces her hands on her knees and vomits onto the tiled floor and her boots. Her two greatest traumas have caught up with her and collided, and she isn’t ready.

"That’s quite the welcome….Batgirl," Black Mask says, getting over his initial panic at the sound of his men being summarily discharged outside of the nursery. When the girl pukes, he knows - he knows! - he has the upper hand. There’s some sort of twisted affection in his bulging unblinking eyes, coupled with a fiery sort of triumph.

Black Mask puts the baby back into a crib, more intrigued by the panting Batgirl before him. He could have used her real name in front of everyone, but he chose not to. He made that choice to make it clear to Stephanie Brown that he definitely had that power to use, should he want to. He might not be Roman Sionis any longer, but there is something about the intense, infallible persona of Black Mask that, even now as Jeremiah Arkham, he can still remember what he did to this young woman.

And it thrills him almost as much as it angers Jeremiah. To torture the girl for no scientific purpose other than pain? That went against all of Dr Arkham’s logic. Roman Sionis was a sadist, but Jeremiah Arkham was an objectivist. And as Black Mask, he paired power with his scientific thoughts.

"I do need a nurse to help me with my experiments," Black Mask muses aloud, as he surveys Stephanie. He is, indeed, considering taking Steph along. "Come with me, and I promise I won’t revisit the past on you. We’ll forge a new future together, Batgirl. Once Killer Croc arrives with our way out, then either you die or you come with me. I promise I won’t hurt you…again. Your choice."

Steph doesn’t get an opportunity to talk because that is the very moment Croc barrels over towards the nursery, making all the babies start to wail even louder.

Croc wastes no time getting to the eighth floor. Or correction - he does waste some time, because he has trouble finding the eighth floor, and he roars in the faces of many cringing hospital staff to demand if he’s reached the nursery yet. He doesn’t understand Black Mask’s plan, nor does he really care. Black Mask promised him many good things - power, control - and he also promised not to ‘hurt’ the babies. Croc took the evil-doer at his word, and asked no more, choosing instead to carry out his task.

He pays no mind to the shadowy tail behind him - if the little Batbrat isn’t willing to come out and play, then he’s not going to jump to the easy bait. Nope. Not this time. Not when there’s so much at stake, including the mysterious bundle he’s hauling up the stairwells.

The sight what greets him, when he finally arrives is one to truly behold. Civilians cringing and cowering, babies squalling loudly, a small cadre of goons unconscious on the floor. The smell of blood, and vomit.

Black Mask in the nursery proper, with his elite bodyguard stationed around him in a protective circle, all of their weapons trained on a - wait.

A second Babrat?

Croc sniffs the air. The one who’d been trailing behind him from the sewer definitely didn’t smell like this one. Which meant—

"There’s two of ‘em!" Croc suddenly bellows, making his entrance known to everyone in the ward. "Purple here ain’t the only Batspawn around. They’re playin’ us for fools!! There’s another one skulkin’ ‘round here somewhere—" He looks around as best as he can, his sense of smell and his whiplike tail compensating for his poor eyesight.

"WHAT?" hisses Black Mask. He rushes to look outside the window, just a glance, where he sees the bright array of GCPD authorities arranged outside. "Then enough wasting time. We’ll take what we can and go. Croc - did you get what I asked for."

Croc nods and dumps the bag down, tearing the sack open with his claws. ”S.T.A.R. Labs practically threw ‘im at me,” Croc says proudly. ”I guess he wasn’t worth much to begin with.”

What lays within the sack can only be described as a monstrosity of human flesh and bionics. The meld looks more Frankensteinian than anything else, a mish-mash of skin and metal fused together to create some sort of mega-being. Once it’s out of the bag, it struggles to stand to its full 8ft height, clearly disoriented and terrified.

Batgirl’s throat closes as Black Mask crosses the room and makes his proposal. If her stomach weren’t empty already, she might have lost it again. Is she going to have to fake her way into accepting his offer and double crossing him? She’d done it once before with Dr. Pan, and her shoulder was proof of how dangerously that had gone. Could she pull it off again? Should she? Her eyes flick to the babies not three feet from the guns, and the possibility of any of them having to spend another minute without a buffer from Black Mask is its own potent brand of guilt.

She doesn’t have to make a decision, though, as Killer Croc makes his grand entrance, stealing everyone’s attention and she can breathe again. At least now she knows where everyone is -except wait, what? There’s another Bat here, too, fighting Croc? It’s got to be either Bruce or Cass, nobody else would have had the patience to “skulk” and play hide and seek like this, except maybe Tim, but Croc would have called him a bird. Dr. Chen-Dougal slips into Batgirl’s peripheral vision, blood soaking her blouse and lab coat from where she sits slumped against a wall. Impulse tells her to move and treat the wound, but instinct keeps her grounded. She’s been blessed with back up and all eyes on the -SHIT. WHAT IS THAT? The babies are screaming now and Black Mask stands unperturbed, looks pleased as punch, actually.

Reaching for her belt stealthily, Batgirl takes out the small stun gun that fits around her hand like brass knuckles and moves quickly enough that adrenaline burns her muscles. The eight armed henchman each receive a zap to the neck or chest as she bobs and weaves between their stunned forms and striking quickly. She only takes one hit that counts, a gun butt smacking her in the jaw when she comes upon the last guy, but she takes care of the group. Croc and Black Mask are so engrossed (emphasis on the “gross”) with their new monster they don’t react to the commotion, save for Croc who shoots her a warning snarl over his shoulder.

Batgirl drops the stun gun to the ground and kicks it to Dr. Chen-Dougal, nodding to the bassinets with a look along the lines of Protect yourself and these babies. A flicker of inky black catches her attention. She can’t tell who it was that quickly hides themselves again, but she knows that this might even the playing field. Still, do they know what they’re about to walk into? Batgirl presses a finger to her comm link, cupping her bruise-mottled jaw to disguise the act. Any Bat in the building would be able to hear what’s happening in the room now.

"What is that robot-monster thingie? Did you make yourself a prom date?" she says, baiting Croc. The biomechanical Frankenstein blinks dazedly, like it’s not sure where it is, and she hears Black Mask chuckle. All eyes turn back to her and her palms go sweaty as Croc levels her with a glare, tail whipping dangerously close to the bassinets. "You done with her?" he asks Black Mask. “‘Cause I’m hungry and Purple Bitch is pissin’ me off."

Cass didn’t need Croc’s bellowing to announce Steph’s presence. She’d already noticed her when they had arrived in the ward, adding that fact to the growing list of things she could count herself better at than Killer Croc.

She tries to not get upset, to look at Steph’s presence as a good sign, that at least she had backup in a situation where she desperately needed a teammate. But it had to be Steph at her worst. She looked pale and sick, perhaps from her previous injury or one newly acquired. She could see her, but still she didn’t bother getting too close just yet.

Black Bat hung back in an abandoned nurse’s station, listening to the chatter as she tried to formulate a plan on the fly. Would it be better to go in for the surprise- or lack there of thanks to Croc’s big maw- spring flash grenades as cover while she tries to recover and attack? Or would a more strategic tandem plan be better? And there were babies to consider. BABIES! Trying to communicate with Steph via comms hadn’t seemed to bring either of them together despite her status reports on Croc’s movements. Dead end dead end dead end.

As she deliberates her limited options, Cass periodically peeks out from her current hiding place. She watches as Batgirl passes something to the doctor. Maybe a good sign.

What’s not is hearing the two conspirators already planning to leave. You need to act move do go be.

Motion takes over decision, she releases a grapple into the wall just beside Croc, and propels her body forward with a rapid tug. She kicks her legs out, ready to slam into Croc’s solid build as she releases a smoke-bomb for extra cover. She doesn’t expect to do any damage, but buy them time with some distraction. That she could handle.

She doesn’t offer Steph any commands, expecting the other woman to figure something out. She’d gotten herself here after all.