//------------------------------// // Calvary charge // Story: Bruce Wayne, dark knight of Ponyville // by ultronquake //------------------------------// There was no time to waste, by now the car would be completely unloaded and they would be getting ready to dump it. Not that an armored car was irreplaceable, Bruce knew for a fact the bank they stole it from had three more cars in their fleet. The car itself was important for another reason entirely, if his plan of action was to succeed he would need access to the mobile bunker. As the Batman Bruce was physically and metaphorically alone on the adjacent rooftop, preparing to take on the largest group he'd ever since starting his crime fighting career. Once he started he would only have a few minutes to get it done and any flaw could mean his demise. Before leaping he took a moment to reflect on what was important to him and to wish that he return home safely to them. With that he buried any trace of hesitation and jumped, five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet, he could feel the wind rushing through the exposed parts of his mane. Twenty feet, twenty five feet, thirty, He was aiming his trajectory towards the most isolated of the roof guards. Thirty five, forty, forty five, He pulled out a two sided grapple he had prepared before leaping. One of the heads was for embedding in stone, the other was designed to latch onto and wrap around assailants. Five feet from the roof he fired side one, with a resounding *Kathunk* it dug into the bricks. Everypony who wasn't completely deaf heard this and reacted, the Batman's first target raised his gun to fire upon the threat but it was already too late. The second side fired and the unfortunate thug soon found himself coiled up in steel cable. A second later Batman made contact with the roof and gave a tug on the cable throwing him off the edge, slamming his face into the brick wall knocking him out with the pendulum motion. By that time his four compatriots were well on their way, each one pulling out their modified fetlocks and laying aim on the oversized airborne flying mammal. Swiftly Bruce took out one of his boomerangs, well balanced and blunted so as not to accidentally kill. It only took a second to aim, he pulled back and let loose. The bat shaped steel soared through the air, it collided with the nearest thugs gun and it scattered somewhere unseen in the dark. With no weapons left he did what any rational pony would, charge at him like a crazy horse. Needless to say it didn't end well, one swift chop to the neck and he was down for the count. The remaining three who had two brain cells to rub together decided to make use of the deadly weapons in their hooves. Bruce had overestimated their skill by a large margin, two of them were firing continuously instead of in controlled bursts to raise accuracy. The other one seemed to be having trouble holding his gun up and was barely able to stand upright, a heavy drinker he supposed. Seeing as they only had the two brain cells and no more between them Bruce decided the smartest course of action would be to let them waste all their ammo. He ducked behind a roof vent and took off his cape, throwing it out to the slaughter. Bruce felt a twinge of guilt for doing that, Silver Spoon had spent so much time at the sewing machine making it for him. He had spares, but that wasn't the point, still he reasoned Silver would much prefer him to come home safe rather than the cape. As the perfectly harmless piece of cloth flittered in the breeze the thugs emptied their oversized clips, riddling the poor cape with holes. After a minute of sustained fire both thugs with the automatic weapons were out of munitions, "*Huff Haw* You think we got him?" "*Cough Wheeze* We had to have! Spray and pray always works right?" Unknown to either of them their target had snuck right behind them both. "Sorry to disappoint colts, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with aim like that." The Batman had a smug look on his face as the two criminals whirled around and tried unsuccessfully to fill him with lead. He ran up and punched them hard with a brass hoof, catching them as they crumpled under their own weight. Now all that was left was- *BANG* Bruce could feel something wet on his face, as he dabbed his cheek his hoof came back red with his own blood. Quickly he turned to face the final assailant, the supposed drunkard, he was still railing about. He felt stupid and uneasy, Bruce had been so preoccupied with the others that he just wrote this last thug off as a sure win. This time he wouldn't take any chances, Bruce leaped across to him and tackled him to the ground, ripped the gun from his wavering hooves and tossed it aside. Up close he could smell the gin on his breath and see the way his eyes haphazardly lolled around their sockets. This brought some reassurance to Bruce, he was drunk, and he had only gotten very very lucky. A few seconds in a choke hold and he was sleeping like an inebriated log. It was just in time as well, he could hear more hoofsteps racing up the metal staircase, up to the roof access. Bruce quickly searched for a discarded gun to bar the door with. With that done he then set forth to the second phase of the plan, he procured several objects from his belt of holding. At a feverish pace he unscrewed the housing of the ventilation fan picked up the machinery itself and flipped it around. By now the hoofsteps had reached the barred door, slamming their weight against it in vain. "I'll be with you fine folk in just a minute," Bruce said in a mocking tone. Next he took three round objects from a pouch on his belt, twisted the tops to slightly different increments and set them down in front of the reversed fan. With all the preparations complete all that was left was to jump. The skylight wasn't safety glass, it was an old pane of cheap tempered, rather than jump through and risk cutting an artery, Bruce went with the safer option. Using the butt of the other discarded gun he busted out the frosted glass and dove into the hailfire of bullets. ***** Detective Bulrush, police officer and public servant. He and Oats were the only officers on the force from before the calamity and that seniority allowed him kush jobs like tonight's. All alone in an unmarked car in a dank alleyway watching a boring warehouse all night, yeah real kush. At the moment he was just finishing off the butt of his twenty first cigarette, as he exhaled the putrid smoke he placed the filtered end in with the others. He didn't normally chain smoke like this, but this was a publicly owned vehicle and he felt like spiting somepony. He had also driven through a Hayburgers and ordered the sauciest and most greasy 'food' items on their menu. The wrappers were strewn all about, little bits of oil based cheese were getting into the upholstery, and somepony was going to have one heck of a time cleaning this rig. Bulrush fished out another cigarette from the pack and lit up, with all the windows rolled up the unmarked car was more like a private smokers lounge. He was feeling uncharacteristically introspective that night, thoughts about how his life would have turned out if he had been playing for the other team. He let himself ponder aloud, "What's gonna do me in sooner? These ciggs or this job?" For a brief moment he considered going for the flask in his trench coat pocket used to bury these feelings when they came up. But he decided against it, even if it was a s*#@ assignment, he was on duty. Still, it was too boring sitting alone in the car all night, if he couldn't drink he could at least talk. Using his horn he levitated the dispatch radio up to his face and called in, "Hey Watch you workin' tonight tuts?" The crackly static of the speaker was silent for a bit then the reply came, "You bet your flank I'm working, and don't call me 'Tuts' you oaf." The voice was distinctly feminine and assertive, belonging to a mare anypony working the nights in Ponyville could recognize. Vigilant Watch, a dispatcher well renowned for her efficiency and short temper. "Wat?! Tuts ain't good nuf' fo youz? You want's me to call youz sugga tits instead?" Bulrush was trying his best to imitate the stereotypical construction stallion and their crude sexism, though to a pony unfamiliar with him they may have thought he was serious. "*Sigh* What do you want Bulrush? Unlike you I actually have a job to do." Watch's voice was more than perturbed. "I'm just a lonely pony looking for someone to talk to," that much was true. "There isn't anything happening here, I thought I'd pass the time talking with a friendly voice." "Alright, you want to talk about the triple homicide that just got called in? How about officer Glam, you want to talk about how much those monsters screwed him up?" Bulrush didn't much feel like talking about that, "Whad'ya say Watch? I'll swing by H.Q. and pick you up, we'll go dancing, maybe get a little tipsy. See where the night takes us?" "How about this instead, why don't you go get tipsy with one of those two Bit whores you like to bang and leave me alone!" the transmitted voice was full of anger. Bulrush just let it slide off him like water off a duck, "Hey! I get my kicks above the waistline sunshine." "Wait, are you quoting a song?" Bulrush toyed with the cable, "Maybe." There was silence on the line, "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you like that Bulrush. I've just been- I really liked Glam, he was a good kid." "Hey tuts, no offence taken. And Daisychain ain't no two bit hooker. She's a ten bit hooker, give the mare some credit." the lone unicorn let out a laugh. Daisychain wasn't a prostitute, she was just loose, a swinger. The radio buzzed once more and a third voice joined the fray, "Cut the chatter Bulrush, Watch I just arrived on scene and the fireponies haven't arrived yet." The newcomer was gruff and more than weary sounding. "Hard Case is that you? What line are you working on tonight?" asked Bulrush. "We received a report of somepony suspicious up in the north east ghettos, with the string of building fires lately we think it might be arson." explained watch. "Alright I'm on hoof, hopefully our perp is still hanging around to watch the show. I'll radio back in five, Hard Case out." his end went silent. "Hey Case buddy, how about I join you, sounds like you could use a helping hoof." Case's line stayed silent. "S*#@." "Detective your hurting my feelings, I thought you wanted somepony to talk to. Am I not good enough anymore?" Watch was mocking him and she loved it. Bulrush was preparing a snappy comeback when he got interrupted. Sounds of automatic weapons fire pierced the silent airspace. "Watch I'll be back in a tick," He unrolled the window and the chocking smoke drifted out into the night, from his low vantage he could see a stallion hanging limp off the side of the building. As he exited the car he could hear more gunfire as well as far off sounds of hoof fighting, he was looking for a fire escape or some ladder to get to the top but he couldn't find one so he ran back to the car. "Watch you still there?" he asked hurriedly. "Yeah I'm still here, is that gunfire in the background?" asked Watch. Bulrush fished out the last cigarette from the pack and lit up, "You better believe it tuts, get Oats on the horn! This is what he was waiting for." He set the receiver down and opened the glove box, inside was his service sidearm. Without physically touching it he filled the six chambers and poured the rest of the box's contents into his trench coat pocket. "Looks like I am going to see some action tonight." ***** Considering the fact that Bruce had jumped headfirst into a crowd of fifteen heavily armed ponies that were more than a little bit angry with him, things could have gone better. He had managed to take out three assailants before they had caught on, but that had been about the only good luck he had. Now the Bat was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The hard place was certain death at the hooves of some very angry mafia ponies, the rock was a veritable mountain of Poison Joke neatly bundled up for distribution by street level dealers. The plant which was a native species to the now deforested Everfree region has many 'medicinal' properties. When exposed to the mature flower without the proper protection a pony can have a seemingly endless amount of side effects. Anything from grotesque body augmentation to altering a pony’s voice, but the drug commonly referred to as 'Joke' is not the mature flower. It is instead the immature Poison Joke bud, dried and ground into a course meal. How anypony discovered that doing such a thing would yield a hallucinogen so powerful is unknown. What was known were the many negative side effects to smoking joke, mild paranoia turns to deeper and deeper psychosis the longer the user consumes the drug. Heightened reaction time and a looser moral standards, this coupled with the drug's addictive nature has led to an increase in small crime. Bruce was sheltered behind the mountain, buying time before the bombs went off. He could hear every single bullet that flew in his direction, embedding into the little packets. He had set them for three minutes and now he was cursing himself that he hadn't put half the time. Over the constant barrage he could hear hoofsteps approaching, thinking quickly he put his back to the stack and pulled down the loose bundles over himself, burring him completely. He was careful not to move any, lest he alert them to his presence. In his mind he counted, it must have been two minutes already. He just had to wait that long then the tide would turn in his favor, the only problem was he hadn't put on his mask before hiding away. So that would mean he would be ambushing whoever was out there completely blind, just as much as they were. Bruce closed his eyes and listened intently, the slow methodical hoofsteps kept walking until they stopped right outside his hiding spot. The mental stopwatch he had going was ticking down, ten seconds till detonation, five, four, three, two. Out from the pile he emerged, diving at the thugs legs and knocking him off his hooves. Up on the roof the bombs went off, a sickening odor filed the room, not unlike that of a timberwolf's breath, the smell was followed by a stinging sensation at the eyes and a thick white smoke. Confused shouting filled the room followed by random gunfire and reports of friendly fire. Try as he might Bruce couldn't find his mask anywhere, it may have fallen off. So he had to navigate by memory, first he grabbed a brick sized package of drugs and began the treacherous journey through the war zone. Carefully he proceeded, crawling across the floor to stay below firing height until he bumped into his target, the stolen armored car. The door was left open and nopony was inside, much as it hurt he had to open his eyes to find the ignition and the stick. Quickly he started the car and threw it into first, before diving out he jammed the brick of joke onto the gas pedal. At a terrifying velocity the car screamed as the rubber tires rubbed against the cement floor. The car smashed through the brick was as if it were nothing stronger than rice paper and it kept going until it flipped over onto its side. The difficult part of the plan was over, he had impaired everypony inside the building and opened a big gaping hole in their defenses. The next step was impossible to screw up, they had no other option of escape other than the hole he had opened and he had the Batmobile in waiting just a block away. Once they began pouring outside he could easily counter them with the riot gear he had installed, beanbag guns and water cannons. Bruce had his doubts at first but it seemed he hadn't needed the police's help at all, now all he had to do was get to the car and... Standing about twenty feet away was something Bruce hadn't expected to see. A full swat team in body armor, armed to the teeth as well as a dozen uniformed officers, everypony's weapons drawn and aimed at the big black bat. Bruce was flummoxed, confuzeled, bamboozled to say the least. Not sure how to proceed he let loose the first thing that came to mind, "Um, good evening officers." Needless to say, it didn't go over well. "Open fire!" Once again Bruce found himself on the business end of fetlock revolvers, having to dodge the hailstorm of molten lead. With no appealing options outside Bruce decided to duck back inside the mafia warehouse, only to immediately regret the decision. With the large whole in the side of the building most of the gas had escaped and now the remaining thugs had one goal in mind, find the bat and string him up. Between another rock and hard place Bruce had to think quick, time seemed to slow around him. He watched helplessly as they all simultaneously drew their guns and took aim, he knew he had seconds. Almost as if it were instinct he reached for two items on his belt and he used them at the same time. One second the Batman was right in front of them, the next he was gone only a dissipating cloud of dust in his wake. The thugs never did get to find out what happened, right behind the cloud was a well-trained group of lawponies coming to clean house. And they made quick work of the wounded and disoriented mafia, striking with surgical precision, careful to go for non-lethal shots. A minute later and the fire fight was over, amid the carnage the uniformed officers began cuffing the thugs and reading them their rights. Others were taking photographs of the scene and cataloging the contents of the warehouse. Smack in the center was the commissioner, a smug satisfied smile covered his face. They had the car and likely the driver and his accomplices who shot his deputy. On top of all that he had most likely the biggest drug bust in years, all thanks to that mystery tip from his voyeur. Beside him was his detective and he was visibly angry about something, "What's got you down Bulrush?" asked Oats, "You just helped in one of the greatest police raids in years." "Yeah right, helped." Bulrush was nursing the remaining stub of his final cigarette. "You know I cleaned this thing, oiled it, tightened the spring and set the hair trigger just the way I wanted it and I never got to fire once tonight!" He was angrily waving his service revolver around, making the forensics technicians nervous. From up on the scaffolding Bruce was watching the proceedings, he knew he should be leaving but he had a weakness for police procedure. Detective work was always something he was interested in and it wasn't often he got to see it firsthoof. He had misjudged Oats, not that he felt bad for that. He and Oats had only met face to face three times in the past, during Dirty's funeral, in the theater ally and during his father’s trial. While Bruce was reminiscing of days long gone something caught his eye, a bathroom door in the corner of the room opened up and a wide eyed mafia pony exited. He was carrying a very large knife and from the looks of it he was out for blood. He didn't go for the techs near him or the relaxing swat members. Instead he ran straight to the center, straight for the mustachioed head honcho of the police. His speed was lighting, and Bruce had only time enough to let loose a batarang hoping it would find its target. "Commissioner behind you!" *BANG* Bulrush was feeling pleased with himself as he surveyed the fresh bullet hole in the assailants head, "What'ya no boss? I got ta use it after all." He then turned the gun upwards into the rafter, "I have a clean shot Oats, you want me to take it?" Bruce was already scrambling up and dashing to the hatch, the same one he had barricaded before diving into the warehouse. Oats had plenty of time to think it over, the Bat was struggling against it, throwing all his weight against the hatch in vain. Oats stooped down to pick up the metal projectile that had been thrown their way, he noted it's odd shape and it's bluntness, if he was out to kill him then he had some poor choices in weaponry. "I still have a shot boss, I can take him down in one." Bulrush was a deadeye and a quick draw if there ever was one. "We'll let him go for now, I might have use for a pony with his skills." Just as Oats finished saying that Bruce smashed his way through the steel hatch, breaking it off its hinges. Not a second later he was out into the night, Bulrush lowered the hammer on his gun and put the safety back on. "Whatever you say boss, I'll just have to practice on the training dummies at the shooting range instead." With his part done Oats went back to his own car and started driving back home, the whole time his mind was occupied with his plan for the mystery mane. 'I can use a pony with your skills, but will you want to be a part of it I wonder?' Either way Oats knew he would sleep well tonight, he and his police brothers and sisters had done good tonight and no more had lost their lives unnecessarily.