Robin #2: Detention - Part Two
Deviant Behavior
By
There are two options that I've got now, neither of which I'd like to entertain. First, I could lash out and just hope to God that the mook with the gun isn't quick on the trigger. He doesn't seem to have all his marbles in the game, so that might play to my advantage. Second, I could just sit this one out, but then I'd be delivered into the hands of the Penguin, probably publicly beaten and used as an example to keep the rest of the kids in line. Nothing like being responsible for breaking the morale of the hostage populace.
Either way, my prospects aren't all that good.
I look the guy straight on, staring down the barrel of the gun as if it didn't scare me two bits worth. I don't know, it might just be me, but I don't see a reason to give this guy his jollies by watching a grown kid wet himself. Definitely not my style, especially considering the fact that I've bested the Joker without the help of Batman *. Instead, I'm trying to keep it cool, and I ask him, "I don't suppose there's any chance of you and I settling this as gentlemen, is there? I mean, you must have had at least as much education as I have, if not just a little less."
* (See Robin II: Joker's Wild miniseries - Michael)
He doesn't answer me in words, but then again, I never expected him to. He's like every grade-school bully, a man of action and little talk. He snaps the gun back away from my forehead, bending his elbow back to pistol whip me across the face. Maybe if I was anyone else, I wouldn't have minded this, but I'm not anyone else, and I'm not about to waste a golden opportunity like this. I lash out with an open palm from my right arm, coming across my body with as much strength as I could put behind it, and slamming it into the crook of his elbow. The sounds of bone snapping echo through my ears, and I watch him sink to his knees.
Bringing my right arm back around, I curl my hand into a fist and crash the back of it into his temple. It's a far cry from the most powerful blow I could muster, and I'm sure my hand is hurting just as much as the side of his head, but it's definitely effective. He topples with a thud, and I'm left gasping for breath. How the heck did I get myself into this? Hmm, seems that the obvious answer is circumstance. Circumstance and bad luck.
Last night, I was out patrolling the streets, pulling the usual midweek route, and wondering when I was going to find time to study and/or call Stephanie. This morning, on what should have been a routine day where I had no sleep and a few too many tests to fumble my way through, the Penguin decided to lay siege to Brentwood Academy. His intentions? Greed, pure and simple. He intends to blackmail our parents, obtaining a ransom as payment for delivering us to them unharmed, and threatening violence if he doesn't have his demands met. * Hardly what I would consider philanthropic.
* ( All seen last issue - Michael)
Somehow, I doubt Cobblepott's word, even if he seemed to be an almost reputable businessman during No Man's Land. But these are different times and different circumstances, and there's no guarantee that Short-stuff is doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He's never been a dangerous man by physical means, but the Penguin is a much more dangerous commodity, because he knows how to manipulate people. And as in most cases, the guy that pulls the strings is always the one to watch out for. No, there's more here than meets the eye.
Alfred's got to be going nuts. I left him with my roommate and the kid's bodyguard, all sitting pretty in our room. I mean, he's not usually the worrying type, having raised Bruce and all, but that doesn't mean that it's any easier each time around. He's just a generally caring person, and he's got to be fielding answers from the other two.
Hmm, three prisoners. One guard. One gun for the bad guys, none for the good guys. I check my watch, and suddenly I realize that I've been gone for far too long. The trip should have taken five to ten minutes. Tops. I've now been gone for twenty minutes. Too much time. An itchy trigger finger would have started plugging the prisoners then gone searching for the missing prisoner, but this guy seems to be afraid of leaving them alone. But still, he's holding the gun.
All in all, the math just isn't adding up in my favor.
If Bruce were here, he'd probably pull the air-headed playboy routine, pretend to play the hero, and then get shot. Probably use the confusion and overthrow Penguin while everyone was busy thinking he was dead. Somehow, Bruce Wayne would miraculously survive the shooting and everything would be hunky-dory with no one the wiser. Unfortunately, I'm on my own here, and whether or not I care to admit it, there are others who are wrapped up in this with me.
I'm just going to have to trust Alfred for a little while. Yeah, there was the possibility that the remaining guard would get overanxious and wonder where his partner had gone, but did he really want to move his remaining three hostages when he was all on his own? And I don't remember seeing these guys with radios. Suddenly, I'm thanking the Penguin for his shrewd ideas of spending.
I run down the corridor, trying to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible and hoping that no one will come to check on the guard detail that was supposed to be patrolling the hallways. Turns out that luck is on my side for this short amount of time. I manage to make it to the back staircase and immediately lower myself as close to ground level as possible and flatten my back against the wall. You have to love these winding staircases, makes it near impossible to see what's at the bottom.
Two throw-away gun-for-hires. Not too shabby. Means the Penguin came in here with a small armada, which also means that he cased the locale before he made his move. Good for him. At least someone in this place is doing his homework. But it kinda makes me wonder, where does he get all these guys, and how does he get them into Gotham without Batman noticing? Oh well, none of that matters now. Gist of the situation is that I have to find a way to pull off a miracle and grab the V for the good guys. All without letting them know that the good guys are here.
Peachy-keen.
Brentwood was designed of the old antique architecture, decorated from the inside-out with the precision of an old maid. But that attention to detail plays to my advantage as I use sturdiness of the oak banisters to propel me out into the back foyer of the dormitory. Kindergarten drop-out number one doesn't notice me coming until my shadow passes over his head, by which time, I already have the drop on him.
I land on my wrists, allowing my elbows to bend forward and absorb my weight, and then I thrust back, reversing my momentum and slamming both of my feet into the thug's chest. This sends me into a forward roll and back up onto my feet in no time. I'm not wasting any time as I wheel around in a roundhouse kick and crash my foot into his jaw and the side of his neck. I guess it's fortunate that I'm not wearing my shower shoes.
Earlier, in the public bathroom, I had a lack of room and a definite deficiency on available projectiles. Now, I have a lot more floor space to use, and that comes in handy as Billy Bozo decides that he's actually going to use his gun. Bad move for me. I could have done without the noise, and I certainly didn't need to attract gunfire, especially without a bulletproof chest plate.
I roll to my left, sliding to a stop behind a Victorian sofa. Looks like something my grandmother used to have, but not for too long, as bullets rip through the upholstery. Somewhere, some Martha Stewart fan is crying in agony, but right now, I could care less. It's the one thing keeping me from doing my impression of a sieve.
Time to start using the environment to my advantage, I think, and I kick out at the front leg of the sofa. It breaks off under a weak amount of pressure and the front, right corner of the sofa collapses to the ground, lowering the height of my cover. Within seconds, thug number two decides he needs to change clips and I pop up from behind the sofa, hurling the sofa leg through the air. It connects with a loud snap against his gun wrist. Not my first target, but it'll do nicely. He manages to squeeze off one shot before he drops the gun, but it hits somewhere in the ceiling, raining plaster down on us.
"No more toys, smart guy. Just you and me, and a little one-on-one," I say, trying to sound all Steven Seagal, but then I realize that I probably sound a lot more like Kermit the Frog. It's all good. Kermit's a better actor anyway.
I'm vaulting over the sofa before he has a chance to respond, landing flat on my feet behind him. My elbow flashes back into the small of his back, forcing him to arch and giving me the leverage I need to throw his large frame over my shoulder. Gee, I guess they were right when they said size doesn't matter. Truth is, I had a lower center of gravity, and that makes it easier to manipulate this guy's position to my advantage.
The wind is thrown out of his lungs as he collides against the hard wood floors, and I pounce onto his chest, quickly adding a second ricochet with a flat-handed punch to his forehead. One more impacted crunch, and he's out like fluorescent parachute pants. "Don't get up, please. I'll show myself out." I tell him, then climb off his unconscious body.
No use sticking around, I think, someone's bound to come investigating the gunshots. I cross over to the smallest room I can, knowing that the Penguin is likely in control of any of the larger rooms, the labs and gymnasium included. Cobblepot is a smart-guy, and I would put it past him if he's already cut communication circuits to the outside, except for his own negotiations lines. That leaves me unable to drop a line out for back-up. Wonderful.
But then again, there's nothing saying that I can't use the internal computer systems to wreak a little havoc. Locking the door behind me, I find myself in a faculty office, this one belonging to Mr. Peachtree, the psychology professor. Its intellectual properties notwithstanding, psychology doesn't give me an awful lot of toys to play wit, nothing like a science room would do. What I do get is a single computer terminal, and this brings a smile to my face.
Normally, I'd have a dedicated Internet connection coming into the school, one of those T-3 jobs that a school of Brentwood's caliber could afford. Not today. However, I do still have access to the school Intranet services, and with a few keystrokes, I'm into systems that I'm not even sure that the headmaster knows he has access to. Sprinkler systems. Alarm systems. Electrical grids. School bells. Even the school's roof-top beacon (something that the Gotham City Airport needed to install as a precaution to incoming planes). Basically, I'm in hacker's paradise.
Well, maybe not the Promised Land of hacks, but something tells me that Babs would be proud of me making good on my computer skills in this circumstance. 'Course, if she was here, she'd have police from six counties storming the place and the Penguin standing there with a stupid look of astonishment on his face.
I don't have a lot of time left, and Lord knows, I've already made enough stupid mistakes to bring the whole house of cards crashing down on my head. My fingers are flying over the keys, programming in what I think will be a good enough plan to get myself out of this little jimmy. First things first, I think as I reprogram the beacon to transmit Morse code, a simple message to let Batman know that I have things under control and not to let the GCPD * storm the place. With any luck, the news media has seized the opportunity for ratings, and Batman will see what I'm doing.
* (Gotham City Police Department - Michael)
I'm sailing along pretty well, feeling kinda high that I'm finally getting something in gear, then I hear that distinctive crackle interrupt my silence. The intercom jumps to life, and my heart sinks. And wouldn't you know it, everything comes unraveled at once.
"All students and personal assistants are to report to the auditorium immediately. You will be escorted in single file and place into assigned seating. Please follow the instructions of your escorts and everything will be okay," I hear the headmaster say, and I realize how well the Penguin is playing his cards. He's rounding everyone into a common location to prevent the divide-and-conquer strategy that I had planned.
"One everyone is in the auditorium, there will be a headcount. Any students found missing at that time will be placed into detention." He says, and I laugh out loud, wondering how much of a threat detention could possibly be compared to being held hostage at gunpoint. Then I realize that the faculty probably wouldn't be administering this detention, and chances of skipping out of it were slim to none.
There's no way for me to make it back up to my room without being seen, especially in the short amount of time I've been allotted. And I can't just show up at the auditorium without an escort, as I'd be coming from a part of the building other than my dorm room. Either way, I'm running out of luck. I'm going to be discovered. That is, unless I can get everything in motion prior to people arriving in the auditorium.
My hands return to the keyboard even before my eyes rest on the monitor. A slim chance, but it's one I have to take. I type in the commands, flipping through directories until I return to the sprinkler systems. Within seconds, I have the auditorium doused in water, and those sprinklers can only be shut off three ways. The fire department control panel, which would require, you guessed it, the fire department. The computer system, but I'm locking everyone out of that now. That leaves the fuse box in the basement. Personally, I don't see the Penguin sending one of his men into the basement. He knows my strategy and that would take another player of his out of the game.
The loudspeaker jumps back to life, and I realize that someone's forcing the endgame. This time, it's the Penguin's voice that crosses the airwaves, and that makes it serious. His distinctive warble is enough to freeze the blood in my veins, especially when his words are clipped by anger. "I am a man of business, but that does not mean I will tolerate insolence, particularly from a child. You must report to the headmaster's office in ten minutes, or I will start executing a student every minute until you arrive. It's your call, kid."
That's when it hits me. The Penguin has to know who I am, at least my civilian identity. The guards I'd downed earlier must be awake by now, and they've likely spilled the beans as to who put them that way. That means Alfred and my roommate are in trouble. Kinda makes me wonder if he's bluffing, though. Would Cobblepot really risk the earning potential by liquidating his potential assets? Something tells me he couldn't.
But that doesn't mean I can take this situation lightly. So much for keeping everything on the down-low. Still, ten minutes gives me enough time to at least come up with a plan, even if I have to do it en route, while avoiding capture.
Sure, what's the trouble in that?
Next Issue: Robin has ten minutes to confront the Penguin before he starts executing Tim's fellow students and the faculty of Brentwood Academy. But can he do that without revealing his secret identity or bringing harm to any innocents? Also, what will happen in the fall-out of the siege? Simple: Lives are going to change. Find out in Robin #3, the conclusion to Detention.