Holy crap, the die loves 6 today.
Five kilograms of heroin. That's... quite a lot.
Search for the thieves, identify their origin with my gang.
(2) No clues surface within your neighborhood. Clearly, they're not from around here.
However, you hear soon that some goons matching the description given by your unfortunate gangmate looted a club, and they work for some kind of "clown."
APPLY PRESSURE
SEND JUNKIES OUT TO LOOT A CONCERT/NIGHTCLUB/BIG MUSICAL THING FOR GOOD MEASURE
(3) You give him sound-based interrogation, wubbing him with the deepest bass you have until his bones nearly shatter. He still doesn't give in, but you can tell he's clearly shaken and losing his resolve.
(3) As it turns out, their beat-based weaponry can be somewhat mitigated by louder music, but the guns look suitably intimidating that before the DJs can realize this, they surrender. 2 Night clubs are looted, though you suspect your goons did a sloppy job on the last one.
"Something like what?" I ask him, suddenly feeling very uneasy about the presence of so many people in this building that are not friends... "Why do I feel like this? What have you done to me?"
(4) "Among other things, we were investigating retroviral treatments. With those and the various drugs involved, I feared there might be some problems in the event of cross contamination. Most likely, your bone marrow and immune system are quickly becoming that of a dog." The scientist pauses. "Look, I want to help more, but I need the other copies of that medical report first. For... confirmation."
Ed chuckles, leaning over slightly.
"Quick on the uptake, I see. Good on ya, that'll take you far, believe me."
He places his golf bag onto the counter separating him and the bank teller with a great deal of care.
"Fill it right on up, and I won't do much more to the fine folks of this establishment."
(6) After placing what feels like 2lbs of bundled bills into the bag, the teller faints in terror.
Get out of my car, walk to the pile-up and smash the staff into the fugitive's face.
(6) You charge up the car pile and into a tense stand-off between the Batman and the fugitive, taking advantage of the fugitive's momentary surprise to deck him in the face with your barbell. The blow draws blood and knocks him off his feet, as well as breaking some kind of line to the cheap gas canisters on his back, releasing a burst of green smoke. Coughing, you rub your eyes only to see the world suddenly seems much... scarier.
lay low for a bit, converse with the belgian. Ask what she wants to do next
(6) She says that the cultural pamphlet is the last straw, as these swine would say, and it is maybe time to start slaughtering them now.
Keep moving.
(6) You stagger away from the site, getting far long before the sirens arrive. You don't know where you are. Or where you're going. All you can see is visions of everything burning, and an angry voice getting louder and louder, clearer and clearer, until you must confront it, talk to it.
(Feel free to handle the entity's voice)
Do I has internet? If so, look up nearby locations I can find a megaphone at. If not, go to the nearest Internet cafe or something.
(1) You're out in the sticks. Not the ghetto, but the edge of Gotham's suburban sprawl, on the cusp of rural. It'll take considerable walking, or a bus ride, to get to the nearest internet cafe. You consider asking one of your neighbors, but then again you don't know them very well.
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Topic: You are a D-List Batman Villain TURN 18 (Read 36511 times)