corvus, jack (corbinian) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-02-06 23:44:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | eric draven, freddy krueger, oracle |
Who: Corbinian, Charlie, and guest starring Oracle
What: Corbinian catches up to the Night Terror and is not polite.
Where: On the outskirts of the city.
When: After Quinn rescue.
Warnings: Violence. :D
Charlie had surpassed furious miles ago and was at the point of being downright livid by the time he pulled the car off to the side of the road, not bothering to hit the brakes as he threw the door open and launched himself out. How the fuck was he supposed to have known that the little bitch had some kind of communication device in her jacket? There was no time to intercept, not by the time he’d realized what she was doing, so he’d taken off as quickly as possibly in the hope that whoever she’d contacted wouldn’t be able to find the location in time. His plan was simple - ditch the car and get the hell out of the area.
He hit the ground in an attempt at a roll that didn’t go so well, but at least he hadn’t broken anything. Sore limbs were easily taken care of. Thankfully he’d taken care of the major details beforehand, or else he would have been in some big trouble evidence-wise. As it was he figured he could lay low for a while until the police heat died down and everything would be fine. If he’d avoided being incriminated for the murders of dozens back home he could easily avoid one little kidnapping charge over here. Night Terror was untouchable by human laws, so he didn’t worry about that no matter what the girl said; besides, he’d never come out and told her that’s who he was. What proof did she have other than her own word? Nothing, that’s what. Once he got back to Bathos he and Kayla could laugh about the entire thing, although he had a feeling she’d have something to say about how close he’d come to being caught. Ah well. Another lesson learned.
Except something wasn’t right. As Charlie got to his feet he heard a sound that he shouldn’t have been hearing - the distant roar of a motorcycle. “Fuck,” he said aloud, trying to stay low to the ground while the motorcycle grew louder. How the fuck had someone caught up with him so fast? What kind of friends did that Quinn bitch have?
No time for that now. Charlie could have made a break for it but he didn’t; instead he crouched down and waited. There was still a chance that he might be able to come out of this the winner, but even if it did turn out to be the end he wasn’t going down without a fight.
Corbinian had followed the tire tracks as far as they went, and then followed the car he saw next, the one going well over the speed limit and leaving tire marks behind that matched those in the picture Oracle had sent him days earlier. He was still a ways behind when the driver ditched the car and jumped out, and Corbinian sped up. He had his man.
Corbinian hit the brakes on the motorcycle, coming to a sliding stop, and moved off it as soon the second it was still. He didn’t immediately see his prey, so he began circling the car. “Come out, come out...”
No, this was definitely not good. Charlie doubted that the man on the motorcycle was a cop, which meant he either knew the girl somehow or was one of those masks running around the city. Not that any of the options would have made his situation better, since he was painfully average out here in the real world. Sure, he could overpower kids and prostitutes, but a man his size would be challenge enough without adding any extra skills into the mix. If only he’d thought to keep a gun on him, but this hadn’t been part of the plan. Even in the precautionary stages the girl calling for help had never registered on his list of possibilities.
The way he saw it he had two options: hide like a frightened animal and wait to be found, or stand his ground. Charlie went for the latter out of sheer stubborn arrogance, trying to stay on the opposite side of the car before getting to his feet. “Looking for me?”
Corbinian did not look like a cop, not in the garish, chiaroscuro face paint and black clothes, and his smile was not one of the sort of person who followed the letter of the law. He walked around the edge of the car, and he smiled at Charlie. The smile was not a friendly one.
He approached him without saying more, moving swiftly to grab him by the hem of his shirt and pull him forcefully to the ground.
Despite the circumstances Charlie couldn’t help but regard the face paint with a sense of disbelief, as though he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was going to meet his potential demise at the hands of some kind of clown gone wrong. He edged to the side rather than backing away, but his goal was clear - to put distance between himself and man wearing the kind of smile he recognized all too well. This wasn’t a man who would cuff him and read him his rights before carting him off to a jail cell. Not right away, at least.
He didn’t know how to fight, not outside of the odd bar brawl he’d been part of in the past. All he managed was a disgruntled snarl before the man was in his face and dragging him to the ground, down where Charlie knew he’d have even more of a disadvantage than if he was on his feet. So he did the only thing he could do - he struggled, lashing out with arms and legs and whatever else he could move, hoping if he put up enough of a fight he might get lucky. Maybe.
Corbinian was not as skilled a fighter as the Bat. But he had been doing this for a year and a half now, so while his style leaned towards brawling he'd learned enough to block the random flailings of a criminal trying desperately to escape. He managed to get purchase on one of his arms and hauled him toward the wall of the closest building, attempting to pin him there with an arm and the weight of his body while using his free hand to pull a knife from his waist.
Charlie hissed in annoyance when he was hauled to his feet, knowing that if he twisted the wrong way his arm was going to get the brunt of it. The problem with letting himself be dragged along was that he was completely fucked if he ended up trapped against the wall. Death would put an inconvenient end to his fun, not to mention the fact that he really didn’t feel like being murdered by a guy in face paint. He wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction of ending his life - no, if he was going to die then he’d do it on his own terms. Not like this.
“That’s right,” he snarled, turning his head away from the wall and straining his neck to try to look over his shoulder. “This is your idea of justice, isn’t it? Let’s see how far it gets you.” Charlie twisted left and right, gritting his teeth against the pain as he tried to force the other man backwards, looking for enough space to get his free arm up so he could use it - either to push away from the wall or stop the man from using whatever the hell he was getting with his free hand.
Corbinian took the knife to Charlie's face and cut a good length gash along the line of his cheek. His hand moved quick as that, and then he brought it back fisted around the handle of the knife and hit him with all the force he had, then again, then again, tearing that split in the skin as he hit him hard enough to shatter bone and loosen teeth unless Charlie was very lucky. The bones in his fingers broke, reknitted, and he hit him again. "This is not justice," he said, as he hit him. His voice sounded like steel on stone. "If it were justice, I would KILL you. But I'm going to see to it that you remember me, and the girl you tortured, and the children you've killed, and that you look like the monster you are for the rest of your sorry days."
He barely had enough time to think at least it’s not a gun before the pain came, which flared up as the knife cut into his skin and made his cheek feel as though it was on fire. Charlie was by no means a stranger to the sensation of being hurt, but this... this was different. He couldn’t honestly say he’d been knifed in the face up until now, and to say that he didn’t like being on the opposite end of a blade was an understatement. Then more pain exploded before his eyes and the words he’d intended on saying suddenly became unimportant in favor of whatever was happening to the side of his face. It felt like the skin was being peeled from his bones, which he knew had to be impossible - but then again he could taste blood, and a lot of it. Amidst the pain there was anger, both at himself for being so stupid and at the man turning his face into a punching bag, but he refused to become one of those pathetic killers who begged for mercy and swore up and down that they were sorry.
Charlie wasn’t sorry, and the only thing he regretted was getting caught. He even would have found the fact that he was going to end up looking like a monster funny if it hadn’t hurt so fucking much. “I’ll remember,” he spat, almost incomprehensible past the blood and the pain. “Just like they will.” Of course he’d remember. Why would he want to forget the ones who’d given him his power? He would have said more, maybe tried to explain all that, but there was too much effort required to form coherent words. He focused on breathing instead.
Corbinian flipped the knife around, and held it to Charlie's stomach, and held his gaze. All it would take was a tiny twitch of muscles and no one would ever have to worry about the Night Terror again. He could end it and grant him a long, painful death of the sort he deserved. He held tense there for a long moment, teeth showing, unable to find a single reason why he should be allowed to live.
Then, with a sound of frustration and strangled fury, he struck him to the ground instead, pinning him there with a boot firm enough to crack ribs if he didn't shift beneath it. He turned the communicator on. "Oracle. I have him."
“How secure?” Oracle’s voice chimed in on the comm, her forcibly even tone barely masking her fury as she spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ll send the police your way but I don’t want to risk anything.” She didn’t exactly want Corbinian there when the cops came but she didn’t want the Night Terror unattended for even one second.
"Under my boot," Corbinian said, jaw set. "That secure. I can render him unconscious, if that would help, but I would recommend you send the police sooner rather than later." He pressed down harder. "I'm not sure what I might do with him if I'm given time to think."
By this point Charlie didn’t even bother struggling. His own blood was spilling out onto the pavement and he had a guy in face paint pinning him to the ground with his boot - the odds weren’t just bad, they were impossible. His best bet would be to wait for the cops and go from there. Kayla was a lawyer, wasn’t she? Maybe she’d be able to think up some way to keep him out of prison. He glared up at Corbinian but after a moment of consideration kept quiet. The last thing he needed was to choke on his own blood.
"I'm having them step on it," and she was. She was pulling out all the stops for this one. "ETA is soon. They're redirecting the first cars to your location. If you can tie him up, do so. And if not..." There was a pause, though it was a quick one, and her voice returned firm. "Unconscious, then. No sense in endangering the officers who are coming to get him." Both options were preferred but she would be flexible.
Corbinian grinned down at Charlie. "Since you insist," he said, and kicked him in the head, pulling the strength of it at the last moment. A guaranteed concussion, yes, but he would survive. Unfortunately.
There was no time to react. Charlie’s expression shifted into a scowl and then his head exploded - or at least that was what it felt like. This time he couldn’t fight off the darkness around he edges of his vision, and it took less than a couple of seconds for everything to go black.