Gotham Pride (IC)

[BananaPhone]

Shogun
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Things had been going well. At least initially.

The underworld was being mapped. The sedimentary layers of industrialists, politicians and bankers had also been explored. The orbiting socialites catalogued. The wild card of "super-villains" and the winged vigilante's that sought to stop them, had all been documented to varying degrees. The public reaction to criminal spectacle and political scandal had been measured and analysed for future predictive uses. The response time, competence (or lack there-of) of both public and private law enforcement had been tested and recorded.

The foundations were solid. The plan was embryonic, but taking form.

And then Copperhead came along and slammed her flag down upon Gotham and closed it off from the outside world. Troops and tanks roamed the street. Citizens were shut inside their homes with naught but subsistence-level food and the burning resentment of blatant tyranny to warm themselves against the frozen teeth of the cold nights. Powerful men, men Shogun had once sought t ensnare in a web of bribery, corruption and coercion, had all been arrested or shot, thus casting aside that branch of her grand design. The other avenue had fared no better, as criminals were rounded up and subjected to even harsher fates. Every segment of city society was compressed beneath a menace that had exploded onto the scene. Even the US military appeared helpless against the combination of Copperheads guns and the countless citizen-hostages she kept hunkered within their homes.

What a waste. What a blatant disgrace.

Shogun did not mind that Copperhead was naughty. But she hated that she was sloppy.

Having heard about the gathering through the grapvine of what was left of Gothams underworld, Shogun had decided to appear in person. It would mark her debut, so to speak, as the only interactions with the criminals of Gotham she had thus far had were all quite violent in nature. But tonight was the time for the spoken word, not the slashing sword.

Shogun sailed across Gothams skyline as a silent shadow, her form carried swiftly upon the frugal membranes of her in-built wingsuit. The goggles on her face protected her eyes from what would have been the rapid speed through the towers of the old city, as her body tilted this way an that to direct her towards the Monarch Theatre. A theatre of unknown historical significance.

Landing silently on the roof and sweeping for look-outs, Shogun slipped into the ventilation systems. A master of stealth, her metahuman body crept through the ducts and vents before emerging into the ornately decorated interior where she seemingly melted into the shadows. No one had seen her enter. No one knew she was there. But Shogun was watching.