Three Days of The Gecko (IC) (Closed)

[N/A]

Geckoman worked up quite a sweat moving back and forth between so many gates, especially after the game started. Seven innings came and went without incident. But as Geckoman came upon the service gate where concessions were delivered, he heard something that stopped him in his tracks. The security guard was checking with a delivery driver, glancing at his identification and asking him to sign in on his clipboard. "Sign here, Mr. Burton."

"Burton?" Why did that sound familiar? When Geckoman made his way over to the gate, he glanced at the guard's sign-in list. Most of it he remembered from previous check-ins over the last few hours.

Inning 1: Hot dog delivery by Joseph Meyers.

Inning 2: Taffy apple delivery by Mike McKenzie.

Inning 3: Pizza truck delivery by Tony Hall.

Inning 4: Hot dog delivery by Ralph Thompkins.

Inning 5: Snack delivery by Fred Malone.

Inning 6: Soft drink delivery by Timothy Burton.

The guard seemed bored, indifferent, and oblivious to the final entry, the one that made Geckoman do a double-take:

Inning 7: Soft drink delivery by Timothy Burton.

[Ecalsneerg]

"Oh." Geckoman ran after the delivery driver. Dammit, knew I should've picked security and not maintenance. "Two deliveries in two innings? Damn, man you must be moving quickly. Who's your supplier, they must be pretty near here." He unconsciously went to slip his hands into his belt, feeling for his power knuckles in case of trouble.

[N/A]

"Two deliveries in two innings? Damn, man you must be moving quickly. Who's your supplier? They must be pretty near here."

The driver, a thin man with long curly black hair and a hook-like nose, raised an eyebrow and gave Chris a blank stare. "Nah, supplier's across town. What're you talkin' about, two deliveries? This's first time I've been here tonight. Last time, too. They're only scheduled for one restock on the sodas. Besides, if I got here last inning, I wouldn't 'ave even finished unloading yet."

The security guard caught on much more quickly, looking back and forth several times in rapid succession between the driver, his ID, and the clipboard. He whispered something into the radio on his shoulder. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to exit the vehicle and take a seat over there." The driver sighed, shook his head, and muttered under his breath as he opened the cab door and stepped down. The guard whispered some more into his radio.

[Ecalsneerg]

"I think he's telling the truth." Geckoman turned to the guard. "Did the last Tim Burton look like this one? Maybe someone got the delivery schedule and arrived before the real guy, using his name to bypass security." Ohgodohgodohgod... maybe it's too late.

[N/A]

"I think he's telling the truth. Did the last Tim Burton look like this one? Maybe someone got the delivery schedule and arrived before the real guy, using his name to bypass security."

The guard looked up at Chris. "Nah. First guy was Southeast Asian. Maybe Filipino? Or Indian. Something like that. Big guy. Built like a brick house. But his truck and ID both looked legit. Then again, so did this one..."

The Raven's voice crackled over Chris' earpiece. "We just got off the phone with the delivery company. The real Timothy Burton is a Caucasian man, 5'10", 180 lbs., with black hair and blue eyes. If your driver doesn't match that description, take him down."

[Ecalsneerg]

"Yep, your description's right," confirmed Chris. "We have real Tim Burton here," he said again, only loud enough so the guard and the driver could hear. "Ok, sir," he enquired of the guard. "I've no wish to panic you, but I need to know where fake Tim Burton went. Did he leave, or do you know where he took his delivery?"

[N/A]

"Ok, sir," he enquired of the guard. "I've no wish to panic you, but I need to know where fake Tim Burton went. Did he leave, or do you know where he took his delivery?"

"Hasn't left yet. We'd have seen the truck coming back through, and he'd have to sign out. If he was restocking sodas, he'd be headed down that way." The guard pointed, then shook his head. "Wait a sec...what's it to you? Someone put in a call for maintenance or what? And what's there to panic about? You think this is some terrorist stuff? Man, I knew this should've been an armed account."

[Ecalsneerg]

"Between you and me, this is just a security check. I wouldn't worry, you've only done your job as required of you." He turned and walked in the direction the guard had pointed briskly, but not fast enough to look like he was running. "Raven, I'm going after fake Tim Burton. The soft drinks are now suspect, so keep an eye out. Don't drink the Cola." As soon as he was out of view of the guard, he sprinted to find his foe.

[N/A]

Geckoman charges down the path indicated by the security guard. He eventually reaches a truck with the same size trailer, same paint job, and same logo markings as the one Burton was driving. The cab is closed, but the windows are down and the doors are unlocked. To Geckoman's enhanced senses, the cab reeks of a unique combination of male sweat, cigarette smoke, cheap food and cheaper beer.

The trailer door stands open, revealing nothing but a few empty wooden pallets and a rusty old pallet-jack leaning against the bumper. Geckoman picks up two scents back here, both unfortunately quite familiar. The first is the sweet aroma of the syrups concession stands and restaurants combine with soda water to make cheap "on tap" soft drinks. The second is not exactly the same toxin that killed the poor boy back at the apartment and almost killed Geckoman. But it's definitely in the same chemical family. Same brand, different vintage.

Both scents lead him to one of the concession stands, where paper cups are filled with soda by the dozen and toted by salesmen in large trays down the aisles. The spectators don't even have to leave their seats. Normally it's a convenient setup, but tonight, at this very moment, Geckoman finds it particularly inconvenient.

A normal human wouldn't notice it at all, but to Geckoman, the stench of the fear toxin is overpowering once he reaches the pop stand. A stadium employee is filling up a row of fresh trays right there before his eyes, and every single cup reeks of the poison, along with the syrup boxes on the racks behind the counter.

At this point, the two scents diverge. The fake Timothy Burton and the fear toxin both trail off into the crowd, but in different directions. Three different beverage trays are being carried through the stands right now, and every cup in them is poisoned.

[Ecalsneerg]

Geckoman didn't act. He just swung up into the rafters, landing at the feet of one of the vendors. "I don't like your drinks," he explained, reaching into his jumpsuit to pull out two small round objects and hurling them at the other two vendors. Who were promptly surrounded by a cloud of smoke. Right, if they can't see, they can't serve. It'll buy me some time.

[N/A]

One of Geckoman's throws lands right on target. The other over-shot the vendor, but at the last second bounced against a seat in a higher row and ricocheted back down next to the vendor. The smoke clouds managed to sufficiently distract and disorient the vendors, who both quickly stumble and drop their trays, spilling the venomous libations upon the bleachers, themselves, and the laps of a few fans. Nothing in The Raven's report indicated that these were contact poisons, so they should be fine. They should still get checked out by a doctor, though, just in case.

The third vendor, an elderly Caucasian man, simply stared dumbfounded at Geckoman, then glanced back and forth several times in rapid succession between him and the other drink vendors. "You...you don't like Coke? There's a Pepsi machine down by Gate #7...please don't kill me..."

As Geckoman glances back the way he came, he notices another couple of vendors walking up to the counter at the beverage stand, about to take up more drink trays...

[Ecalsneerg]

"Trust me, this will take too long to explain," said the hero with a sad look on his face, before upturning the drinks tray and sending drink everywhere. He fired off his grapple hook again and landed near the drinks stall. It has to be stopped... I don't want to have to attack two more vendors, instead of just the three... Let's scare them off!

At which point he forced himself on as fast as he could possibly go, and dived onto the trolley screaming "Down with your devil sodaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

[N/A]

The old man continues to stare, dumbfounded and numb, at Geckoman's antics. He whispered to himself. "Crazy...he's crazy..."

The vendors at the concession stand were far more expressive. Most of them just ran and dove out of the way of Geckoman's kamikaze run. The man filling the cups squinted at Geckoman as his jaw dropped open, apparently confused. He looked behind him, and around him, then back at the charging Geckoman. He cocked his head and brought one of his hands up to point at his own chest, as if to say, "Are you talkin' to me?"

And then Geckoman belly-flopped down onto the counter, letting loose with his anti-consumerist battle cry. The paper cups were crushed flat under his weight, drenching his maintenance uniform in the tained cola.

The man behind the counter, still absent-mindedly holding the spout connected to the soda machine, turned to the side and shouted. "SECURITY!!!"

[Ecalsneerg]

Geckoman stood up on the counter. Ok, time to find Fake Tim Burton. The coward! He hopped off and ignored the drinks vendors. "If you try to pick up more, I'm only going to knock them over," he said absent-mindedly, sniffing the air and moving from left to right. Where's his scent? C'mon, gecko-nose...

[N/A]

Geckoman once more picks up the sweaty, smoky stench of Fake Burton, following it as it winds its way down into the stands. Behind him, police officers begin to swarm over the drink stand. The "trail" leads him to an empty spot on the bleachers, nestled between a family of four and a young couple in their early 20s. A half-eaten hot dog in a small single-serving cardboard tray and a tipped-over soft drink cup sit on either side of the empty spot. Each of the people flanking the spot have their own refreshments. Geckoman notices the dual scents of Coke and alcohol emanating from the cup.

Geckoman picks up the scent of another man in this spot, different from Fake Burton, but the two odors intersect. The trails continue under the bleachers.

Before Geckoman has the chance to ponder any of the implications of his find, his ears are assaulted with a horrendous screeching sound, blasting from every giant speaker in the stadium. The players down below, in the middle of a run, struggled to keep the game going. The wailing of static and feedback persisted for several seconds before finally abating.

As soon as the noise died down, the giant video screens suspended throughout the stadium went black. A couple of seconds later, they came back on, but the image displayed had nothing to do with the baseball game down below. Instead, the screen was taken up by two familiar masked figures. One wore a skintight white jumpsuit, decorated with cured black lines that gave it a puzzle-piece motif. His face was covered with a giant red question mark (?). The other wore lots of black leather, dotted with buckles, straps, and metal spikes. His torso was clad in a cut-off straightjacket, and his face was covered by a hockey mask. Geckoman instantly recognized the sinister visages of Conundrum and the Fear-Master. The referee blew his whistle to halt the game. The crowd went silent, and all eyes turned to the screens above.

"Greetings and salutations, Caped Crusader." Conundrum waved his hand out and to the side in a grandiose gesture. "I'm so glad you were able to follow my clues. I hope the game has been as...exciting for you as it has for us."

Fear-Master chuckled. "Hope nobody drank the Kool-Aid. And sorry about your little protege the other night. But everyone knows what happens when Icarus flies too close to the sun."

Conundrum wrapped his arm around Fear-Master's shoulder in a gesture of playful comraderie. "We just thought you should know, Channel 39 will be broadcasting a very special show tomorrow night at midnight. If I were you, I wouldn't miss it."

With that, the screens once again went dead. A cacophony rose from the stands as the fans erupted into worried conversation.

[Ecalsneerg]

Geckoman decided to prioritise the immediate criminal over the threat of crime the next day. After all, there wasn't much he could do to track the signal from his current location. Instead, he wandered over to the empty spot. "Yeah, dumb crooks," he commented to the people on either side. "Amount of supers in this town, how do they think they can get away with this stupid stuff? I wouldn't watch Channel 39 tomorrow, though. Bad joojoo."

He picked up the half-eaten hot dog. I'm guessing Raven has DNA analysis stuff... I hope she does. 'Cos I don't. He popped it in an empty utility belt pouch and ducked under the bleachers in search of his quarry.

[N/A]

The scent trails lead Geckoman under the bleachers and around the park, down to a service exit, left standing open. Along the way, the smells of the two men begin to merge with a layer that stinks like the inside of a dumpster. Sure enough, when he gets outside, he sees a large overturned plastic trashcan-on-wheels, its bag missing. The smells continue up the street, but they dwindle to nothingness, obscured by the more pungent aroma of exhaust from a combustion engine. Further up the street, Geckoman finds a pair of discarded uniforms. One, a Maintenance coverall like the one he's wearing. The other bears the logo of the trucking company Burton works for.

When Geckoman returns to the arena, he feels a hand wrap around his mouth as an arm pulls him into a supply closet! The door slams shut as he feels breath on his ear. A now-familiar voice whispers "Shhh." The Raven lets go of him as she turns the lightswitch on. "What did you find?"

[Ecalsneerg]

"We have to stop meeting like this." Dammit... Too close again! Breeeeathe! ... Think of baseball, too. "Fake Tim Burton managed to poison the soda, but I stopped its distribution. There... may be questions about how I did it, but in my defence there was very little time before someone bought it and drunk it. "

He reached into his pockets and started rummaging. "Unfortunately, while I did that, the poisoner escaped. But I did find a hotdog I think his DNA may be on. Well, his or an accomplice's." He pulled out the hotdog and proffered it. "Sorry if it's a bit mussed up, I couldn't find one of those little plastic baggies."

[N/A]

"We have to stop meeting like this."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Sorry if it's a bit mussed up, I couldn't find one of those little plastic baggies."

"You have a utility belt. Evidence collection materials should be part of your standard gear. But we'll make do for now." The Raven pulled a pair of tweezers and some plastic bags out of one of her belt pouches. She carefully removed the hot dog and its bun from the open-topped cardboard serving box and dropped them into a bag. Then she pulled a small box out of another pouch. Inside were a brush and some black powder. She layed the box on a plastic sheet, dipped the brush in the powder, then slowly, ever-so-carefully dusted the box. "You should be paying close attention to everything I'm doing," she reminded Geckoman without turning to look at him. Under her ministrations, fingerprints gradually began to appear. She took a few small white squares out of the same pouch. Each one was coated in a plastic film, which she peeled off. The film was joined to the white paper square at the edge. She stuck the clear film to the box, rubbed them together with her fingers, then peeled off the film and pressed it against the white paper backing. She repeated this sequence several times, until all the fingerprints from the box had been copied.

"I'll feed these into the computer tonight, along with a DNA sample from that hot dog. If any database in the world has the owners on file, we'll know by tomorrow night. I'll also need to analyze my recording of that signal Fear Master hit the crowd with. I'm guessing it was supposed to interact with the poison you intercepted." She hesitated for a few moments, then added "Good work."

"That television broadcast is a trap, obviously. Like the ballpark tonight, whatever they have planned will already be in place by then, if it isn't already. Our only chance to avoid walking right into that trap is to outthink them. They're a step ahead right now, and we need to take the lead. Go home and get some rest. Lt. Giordano and his people have the situation here well in-hand, and I'll need you ready and awake tomorrow night. Meet me at the top of Pyramid Plaza, and we'll go from there."

[Ecalsneerg]

"You should be paying close attention to everything I'm doing," she reminded Geckoman without turning to look at him.

"I am," muttered Geckoman, pulling off the janitor's uniform as he watched the Raven get fingerprints from the hot dog carton. Criminal scum... don't eat hotdogs!

"I'll feed these into the computer tonight, along with a DNA sample from that hot dog. If any database in the world has the owners on file, we'll know by tomorrow night. I'll also need to analyze my recording of that signal Fear Master hit the crowd with. I'm guessing it was supposed to interact with the poison you intercepted." She hesitated for a few moments, then added "Good work."

"Hey, I does what I do what I does," he said with a gracious wave. Hey, I'm awesome! Happy dance! Happy dance!

"That television broadcast is a trap, obviously. Like the ballpark tonight, whatever they have planned will already be in place by then, if it isn't already. Our only chance to avoid walking right into that trap is to outthink them. They're a step ahead right now, and we need to take the lead. Go home and get some rest. Lt. Giordano and his people have the situation here well in-hand, and I'll need you ready and awake tomorrow night. Meet me at the top of Pyramid Plaza, and we'll go from there."

"Ok, I'll meet you there. Should I land the Pitchoo on it, or hover it near, or land and send it off to cloud cover, or what? How sneaky are we gonna be?"

[N/A]

The Raven's only response to Geckoman's queries was to somehow disappear from the storage closet between the blinks of his eyes.

When he guided The Pitchoo over the three towers of Pyramid Plaza the following evening, The Raven was, at first glance, nowhere to be seen. But the rooftops were hardly featureless, and Geckoman could see at least a dozen spots where she could be hiding from his view at this angle. Which roof should he land on - the residential area (the top floor was dedicated three penthouses, the most hotly contested real estate in the city), Pharos (the world-famous five-star restaurant, Freedom City's answer to the Space Needle, still filled to the brim with late diners), or the observation deck (open to the public during the day, but currently closed)?

[Ecalsneerg]

Geckoman steered down towards the tower with the penthouses atop it, whistling a merry tune as he went. Gently lowering the craft to hover inches off the roof, he crept out of it and looked around for the Raven.

"Hello?" he called, voice wavering nervously. Please don't sneak up on me... "Raven?" He sniffed the air experimentally as he glanced around him.

[N/A]

The Raven appeared out of the shadows on another rooftop, the one over the closed observation deck. She ran up to the edge of the roof, spread her scalloped cape behind her, and kicked off, gliding over to The Pitchoo in a gentle upward curve. She landed crouched on top of the airship, her cape blowing across to completely envelop her.

"Three towers. Three places to land. You passed up the closed observation deck, with a single underpaid security guard who makes the rounds once an hour, to land right on top of where the richest people in the city sleep. Not as bad as landing on the crowded restaurant, but I see what the Old Man meant about you not playing with a full deck."

She grabbed onto the top of the hatch and half-flipped, half-swung herself inside The Pitchoo. She sat down at the controls. "Get in. I can't do all my work out in the field, and you still have a lot to learn. You're coming to The Rookery."

[Ecalsneerg]

"Least I can remain in a conversation until the end of it, and not disappear," remarked Geckoman with a start as Raven appeared out of nowhere. I stand by choice, I didn't screw up. Did I screw up? Oh god, she thinks I screwed up!

"And they're rich people. They can afford an extra hour in bed," he continued obstinately. Screwed up, screwed up!

Then he was stopped short. "Wha? The Rookery? You're taking me to your secret HQ?" AWESOMEAWESOMEAWESOMEAWESOMEAWESOME. Ahem. Non-chalantly, he managed "Cool, that works."

[N/A]

The Raven flew The Pitchoo with surprising skill, high above the skyline of Freedom City into the clouds. When the instruments displayed a very specific latitude and longtitude, she brought the airship to a halt, then descended rapidly. A little more rapidly than Geckoman was comfortable with. But she also seemed to know the exact height of her landing place, down to the foot, and she activated the brakes and the reverse-thrusters at the exact moment necessary for a smooth landing. The platform she landed upon hummed and grinded as a system of gears and pulleys retracted it from the roof of the skyscraper down into a hidden chamber.

"The people who rent out space in this building have no idea I'm here. According to the blueprints, this floor doesn't exist." After the necessary shifting and switching, she powered down The Pitchoo, popped open the hatch, and stepped out into The Rookery. Stone walls surrounded them on all sides, devoid of windows. A few flourescent lights shined down in select spots, but most of the chamber was shrouded in darkness. Geckoman could make out some gym equipment, tables full of microscopes and beakers, and a workshop of some kind. The Raven beckoned him over to her massive supercomputer. She tapped a couple of buttons on the keyboard, and a stack of paper shot out of the nearby printer. She handed it to Geckoman.

"Fortunately for us, the F.C.P.D. had both the fingerprints and the DNA we collected from the sample you found on file, so I didn't have to widen the search to the national or international databases. They belong to a local cop, Officer Jeremiah Robinson."

"Officer Robinson has earned several commendations for going above and beyond the call of duty, including twice for being wounded. He's currently on unpaid suspension due to difficulties with alcoholism, which probably also has something to do with why his wife has moved out and filed for divorce. He was at the game last night as a spectator, not a uniform."

"Lt. Giordano found his car in the arena parking lot. He took some men over to Robinson's house earlier, but the entrances were all locked, and they didn't find any signs of human activity within the last day. Giordano put out an APB on Officer Robinson, but he hasn't been seen or heard from in the last 24 hours. They did find his cell phone tossed by the side of the road about two miles down the highway from the arena."

The Raven crossed her arms in front of her chest, leaned back against the computer, and stared at Geckoman from behind the opaque green lenses of her mask. "It's 22:00. We have two hours until that television broadcast lays out their next trap for us, and probably incites a panic-fueled riot in the process. Their activities last night weren't exactly low-profile. So we need to figure out what the next stage of their plan is. It's time for you to put together the information and the methods you've learned and implement them. This is what we do. Swinging around the city beating up hoodlums accounts for maybe 10% of it. The rest is observation, and deduction. You've observed. Now deduce. Find the patterns. Start asking me questions, and giving me answers."