Taye’s Terrifyingly Terrible Tank of Thoughts

[Tayeisnotamused]

12:00 AM

You know what I mean by a Not-Mcmansion? One of those houses that's got the same old cookie cutter style, but still small enough that its owners can pretend to be humble, man-of-the-people types? Well that's exactly the kind of house I perched on the opposite roof from now. I supposed it fit the folks that lived there rather well.



"W1FNY, this is 'W1LET. Secondaries confirmed away and primary in place, over." The Ham Radio at my feet crackled. Fancy encrypted shit was only necessary if you expected anybody who overheard you to get suspicious. We didn't.



"LET this is FNY, can you confirm the tertiary, over?" I was glad I'd actually remembered protocol this time. The boss's vets all had one giant stick up their arses about it and I couldn't be fucked with yet more complaints.



"FNY this is LET, tertiary unknown but presume in place. Control doesn't anticipate problems. Confirm clear to proceed, over."



"LET this is FNY. Clear to proceed, but if this goes wrong drinks are on you, over." I sighed. On the other hand, they weren't nearly as fucking paranoid about some stuff as they should be. Sure, I wasn't expecting a high school babysitter to be able to stop me, but I had far too much experience with just how loud teenage girls could be when they wanted to and this one was hot. I didn't wanna have to shut her up.



"FNY this is LET, understood." I didn't miss the snickers in the background. Asshats. "Undergoing final equipment checks now. Standby for Control, out."



I took another look at the target building. Three stories of jet-washed granite and a wide awning over a front-facing porch. There was one round the back too according to the floor plan, but I shouldn't need access to the rear of the house. All three levels had three large windows each, and I could only see through the bottom row. That was good, it meant the primary was likely in bed.



Growing on the roof beside me was a tuft of moss. It was tiny, but it'd be enough for this. I pressed my palm against it, feeling the plant melt beneath my skin and concentrated. Up through my arm, then into my neck and up right through my head until I felt a pressure behind my eyes. I blinked once and looked. My vision having zoomed right in, I could now see the windows more clearly. They latched from the inside – annoying but normal– and lucky for me there was a tiny gap between the cill and the RO. Not so lucky for the family who lived inside, though, I imagined the place had a draft. I sympathised, I was cold myself.



Pro Tip: do not hang out buck naked on a windy day. And if your power makes you do it like mine, cry.





Satisfied the job was possible, I focused on warming up. My routine began with basic flexibility: shoulder and spine backbends;rear hand clasps, a lying cross and wrist-biceps stretches for my upper body. One legged pikes, kneeling lunges, Pancakes, Butterflies and Calf stretches for the lower. Following that were jumping jacks and knee tucks for Cardio and finally onto bodyweight exercises for muscle endurance: one set each of press-ups, sit-ups, crunches, bicycle crunches and a long plank. I must have looked ridiculous, especially with my dick swinging in the wind, but I'd been doing this for a long time and I was far past caring.



"FNY, LET, this is W1EHR". Control, then. "Weather report is sunny. You may go, over."



"FNY, EHR, proceeding to stage one now. Radio silence in place until exfil is complete, out." I didn't bother listening to their confirmations, I had bigger things to worry about now.



Placed to one side was a potted plant, and I didn't hesitate before grabbing hold of that just as I had done the moss. Only this time, as it melted I didn't focus to direct my power anywhere. Instead I just watched as pale, freckled skin was slowly overtaken by viscous, dark oil. It travelled up my arm, over my shoulder and spread from there until it coated me head to toe. It was almost as nice as clothes. Fuck you, power. Fuck you today in particular because I just knew I was gonna catch shit from the guys later for doing this in the buff.



From there I tensed up, forcing oil downwards to pool and then compress beneath my feet as though on stilts. It made my legs heavy, but it was only temporary and something of a necessity when I didn't have mass to spare on smoother but messier ways of getting around. And for this job, I didn't. The boss wanted this done without a hint of cape involvement, and personally I'd prefer not to be publicly associated with this sort of work too. It'd be bad for my rep and bring down heat from the PRT.



When I was ready, I poured all my attention onto my body and just… pulsed my Oil legs. Wind resistance hit hard as I accelerated upwards, thrown bodily into the air by a mixture of hydraulic force and… well physics-defying bullshit. I wasn't the smartest guy around but even I knew this shit shouldn't work, I was far too heavy. And yet it did.



It was always a little terrifying throwing myself forwards into open sky like this, the ground blurring past below me and knowing that had I been even a little too slow I'd fall. This was far from the highest I'd jumped –just a few metres above the rooftops– and hitting the ground wouldn't kill me but it'd fucking hurt..



…I had to shove those useless worries into a deep, dark corner of my mind as I approached the target property. I bent my knees and tucked them up against my core, then lowered my head to rest against my chest and covered it with both arms. A groan left me as my body collided with asphalt, and sharp pains lit up through my mind as I rolled to a stop and tore up loose shingles under me.



"Fuck!" I did my best to muffle my cursing, but I didn't think I'd succeeded. I'd just have to hope nobody heard. In my experience, most people were remarkably good at brushing off strange noises if they didn't have good reason to be suspicious. Stupid really, nature had made us jumpy little things for a reason. Danger was everywhere, especially nowadays. But modern life was full of weird sounds and people had adapted. And hey, if it made my life easier, then who was I to complain?



Jumping to my feet in one smooth motion, I took stock of my surroundings from a new vantage point. The garden was pretty massive and a rather convenient tree grew right up next to the house. I leaned over and confirmed the rear windows were parallel to the front. That was useful, the plan hadn't come with a secondary exfil point and I didn't really need one, but in a worst case scenario where I needed a boost it was easy to reach.



A little farther up the street was an intersection, and I knew that parked just past it was an unmarked white van. Kinda stereotypical if you asked me, but nobody had and I wasn't being paid to offer up opinions. Unless someone had royally fucked up, I just had to get the target over to it quietly and my part in this would be done for the time being. Instead I just raised my hand straight up into the air, and was satisfied to see a white light flash three times from a window on the corner property. Clear for stage two, good.



I focused on moving oil down to my feet once again, but where before I'd been shoving as much weight down there as possible this time I was aiming for precision. I moulded my boots to the exact shape of the roof, slipping into all the little cracks and crevices that would be all but invisible to the naked eye and gripped as tightly as I could, which was pretty fucking tight. Then I walked forward, not stopping once even as I ran out of roof and stepped down and underneath the awning. Blood rushed to my head as the world inverted, but I didn't care. Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all, wall-crawling was ten out of ten the most fun use for my power and I didn't get to do it all that often these days: most of my work was in broad daylight and a shiny figure in all black stood out.



I approached the middle third floor window and crouched down to increase my contact area with the ground, or rather the roof. This was the trickiest bit. Focusing on my right hand this time, I unspooled it in my mind, and in the real world the oil glove unraveled into hundreds of wriggling tendrils less than a millimetre thick. I put my hand –now flushed red from blood rushing into it and slick with sweat– against the window cill and the tendrils slipped under that gap I'd identified earlier.



I couldn't see with them, but I got tactile feedback and I'd practiced extensively with it. I felt my way up the opposite side of the cill, up across cool glass itself and scrabbled about in either direction. Gotcha! A single tendril had found something handle-shaped, so I had the rest converge on it and merge into one much thicker appendage and twisted. I smirked as I heard the sharp click of the mechanism unlocking, and the window swung inwards with a barely audible creak. It seemed these people kept hinges well lubricated, that was good for them and for me.



Swinging myself inside, I landed softly on a thick carpet. I was in a hallway, and thanks to the floor plan bossman had given me I knew the layout. On the left was a storage closet and a bathroom, and to my right was a staircase. I could hear a young woman's laughter echoing up the stairs over the noise of late night TV: the sitter then. That was ideal, I wanted her nice and distracted.



Beyond the staircase on the far right however, was my target's bedroom. The door was painted a bright blue and stuck to it were wooden letters carved in animal shapes, they read out Dinah. God I loved shit like that. Admittedly I'd never been sent after a child before, but I'd broken into enough offices to know that name plaques were king, because intel could be wrong.



I tried the handle: locked. That was odd, but I brushed it off, maybe the babysitter was an ass, or maybe Mr and Mrs Alcott were shitty parents. Either way, it just made my job easier. I split the large tendril that had been my right glove into several smaller ones again and plugged them into the keyhole. Lockpicking was a skill I'd learned years before I'd gotten powers and I had to silently thank my Dad for preferring to ground me instead of some of the more creative punishments he'd tried on my sisters.



Within a minute, the job was done and I swung the door inwards as silently as I could manage. Dinah's bedroom was pretty normal for a well off girl her age: filled with dolls and kids' books and cluttered with random crap she probably thought was cute. I appreciated the Bad Canary poster though, the girl had at least some taste.



What wasn't so normal was the girl herself. Rather than being tucked into bed, out of it from a migraine as I'd hoped she stood by the window, a box of matches in one hand and a lighter in the other. She looked terrified, and it really wasn't healthy for little girls to have bags under their eyes. Still, there was a steel in her spine that I couldn't help but respect.

"You work for him." She practically growled.



"If you mean Coil, sure." I shrugged. "Surprised you'd know that, but whatever. You gonna come quietly?"



"I'm not going anywhere." Her breath hitched as she thumbed the lighter on and held it out beside the matches.



"Kid," I sighed. "You haven't got a choice. A little fire ain't gonna hurt me. Put that shit down, give up the fight and I promise I'll be gentle."



"It's not supposed to hurt you," she smirked. "73.9% chance you suffer no harm. But you won't be able to reach me while burning and a fire will draw attention. You won't be able to get me."



"Fucking thinkers," I groaned. "Right, that's a good point. I'll give you that. But will you at least listen to me before you do that?"



"Talk."



"You've got a strong power. You know that and Coil knows it too. You're valuable, Dinah. And valuable people go far. Come with me and you'll see."



"I don't want to let him use me."



"Why? What's the alternative? The PRT? You wanna be a good little Ward, a stooge for the government for however long you live before they throw you at an Endbringer."



"I don't want to be used by anyone."



"Well tough shit, kid. Welcome to the real world, where everyone's using everyone. You've already fallen victim to it and you don't even know it. Your uncle, the Mayor? He likes being photographed with you because people love a family man and your cousin's too old for that cute factor anymore. Your friends? I wouldn't be surprised if half of them only like you because you're rich!"



Dinah glared. "I don't have to listen to you!"





"Fine," I rolled my eyes. You don't like that truth. How about this? Sasha Cohen. Eighteen years old, attends Arcadia where she takes AP classes in Math, Physics and Chemistry. She got the job because her mother is your uncle's secretary."



"How–"



"That doesn't matter," I cut her off. "What does is that I'm getting impatient, and if you actually pull the bullshit you're threatening then you're gonna piss me off. And if I can't take that out on you. Well, someone has to be held responsible don't they?"



"You wouldn't dare!" She put up a defiant front, but I could see that I was getting to her. Good, because I wasn't lying. This was getting annoying and if she cost me money and rep it would turn personal.



"No?" I chuckled. "I don't like beating up girls, especially the hot ones. But you seem like a good kid, which means you'll do what I say if I mean it. So let me promise you right now that if you fuck around, I will beat her black and blue. I'll break both her legs, I'll pull her arms out of their sockets and I'll crack every single one of her ribs. Do I make myself clear?"



"You're a monster…"



"Do I make myself clear?"



"Ok." There were tears in her eyes, now.



"Gimme the box. The matches, too." She slid both across the floor and I kicked them under the bed.



"He won't hurt you, you know." I put on my most soft, sincere tone of voice. "Coil's a professional, he just wants your power. Give it to him and he'll look after you." Truth be told I had no idea if that was true, the guy came across as a massive creep. But if it made her a little more compliant it was worth the lie.



"Let's… let's just go." She seemed to have pulled herself together enough to realise the faster we got out of here, the better for the sitter. Pragmatic, I liked that.



We left the same way I went in, but I had to wrap my Oil suit around Dinah too for her protection. She hated it, but she didn't protest too much and we were mostly silent as we approached the white van on the adjacent street. Its rear doors swung open and a big, beefy black guy I recognised by his nickname, Ol' Yeller leaned out. "That the primary?"



"It is. Exfil complete."



Yeller nodded. "Get in, Control wants us back at base before the diversion team's done." I climbed in, pushing Dinah ahead of me and took a seat against one wall.



Yeller didn't settle down, though, instead fiddling with a small box that opened up to reveal a full syringe. Dinah noticed it too and I saw her eyes widen, but I grabbed her firmly by the shoulder before she could think about doing anything stupid. Yeller nodded at me, walked over and crouched beside her. He took a solid grip on her forearm and rolled up her sleeve, shuffling along it for a nicely exposed blood vessel. Once he found one he didn't hesitate, pushing the syringe into the terrified girls' arm and depressing it to insert the anaesthetic inside.



Dinah fell asleep five minutes later.

 

[Tayeisnotamused]

Anthony "Tony" Hood was fucking crazy and he knew it. He always had been. Ever since he was a little kid, he'd been so much more than everyone around him. Not in an arrogant way, it's just that the rest of the world was so fucking boring. People were obsessed with self-discipline, with verbal filters, with rules, just holding yourself back in general for no good reason.

He'd never been like that and it showed. He said what he wanted to say and did whatever he wanted to do, and it'd made him infamous. Teachers, Cops, his Social Worker, they all hated him. They were always warning him that if he didn't change, didn't stop doing fun shit like climbing onto the school's roof or stealing a car from a car thief and joy-riding it back to its owner or even just sneaking into a high school party as a middle schooler and making it out with a hot older chick that he was gonna go down a bad path.

There were only two adults who actually liked him. Arthur Hood, his dad, a former con artist who'd gotten out of jail when Tony was seven and been too drunk to know which way was up half the time ever since. He was a shit dad, but Tony loved him anyway.

And then there was Coach Mathews: the guy who'd seen a delinquent little shit beat up a kid twice his size over a pack of gum in elementary school and decided to teach him properly. MMA was great, fighting was just so much more fun than school. And he was good at it too, really good. Good enough that he'd beaten a kid slated to compete at an international level in a year or two handily. The only reason Tony had never tried going pro was because he had a curfew and juvie was fucking boring after a while.

Other kids liked him at least. They'd always thought he was cool, and the few teacher's pets who didn't were too afraid to fuck with him.Which was funny really, because Tony had never hit someone who didn't have it coming in his life, they really had nothing to fear.

Now, he had to admit that had the world not gone to shit his critics probably wouldn't have been wrong. He'd have ended up spending his whole life in and out of prison, or maybe dead. But sucks to be them, the world had gone to shit. Nobody had been expecting it, really: one moment everything was cool, and the next nukes were flying and people were dying and society fucking collapsed and there was anarchy.

Tony's dad hadn't made it, he'd been in the city for work when the bombs dropped. So after a beer and a smoke in his dad's honour, Tony had picked up his father's gun and walked to the Sheriff's office to volunteer for the new militia. He'd been reluctantly accepted despite his age because they needed bodies, and within a week he'd been fighting looters and bandits. He'd been good at it too, quickly becoming the Sheriff's most trusted scout and, in a hilarious turnaround to before, a valued part of the community. He'd even almost convinced his longtime crush Sarah to go on an apocalypse date with him…

…and so of course that was when his luck ran out and he'd been shot seven times in the stomach defending the hill that overlooked the main road into town. It had been a slow, agonising and worst of all boring death. Three hours lying down on a shitty cot in a shitty bunker listening to his bro since elementary school Donny telling him he'd be remembered and the sounds of battle outside. By the time everything had begun to fade, if he'd had the energy he'd have cheered.

That's when he met her, the Greek goddess Eris and, apparently, his patron. She'd told him he wasn't done yet, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in Gotham City.

Which was where he found himself now, dressed in a corny red and green costume with a Supersoaker in one hand and five angry men tied to their chairs in a circle around him. They were all gathered on the roof of the Soder Cola building (and god did that stuff taste like ass) for a day of fun and games. Or at least, his idea of fun and games.

"What is the meaning of this, Parrot Prince?" Mayor Hill was really reminding Tony of a Pufferfish right now, cheeks puffed out and back straightened as much as the fat man could manage in a poor attempt at hiding his fear. "I am an elected official, the people of Gotham will not stand for this… this treason!"

"Oh, please," Tony laughed. "Most Gothamites barely care who the President is, let alone you. Also, head's up Mr Mayor, your fly is down." Hill flushed bright red, leaning over as far as he could over his own stomach to check. When he saw that his fly was in fact done up (or at least Tony assumed so, he hadn't checked) he shot up indignantly and opened his mouth to yell, only to choke as a stream of water shot straight into his face." By the time the corrupt old guy had stopped coughing and spluttering, Tony had just about got his laughter under control.

"You think you are funny, do you, boy?" He turned to see a man with dark eyes, a bushy beard and heavily tattooed neck sat opposite the rotund Mayor. Andrey Kristenko, the self-proclaimed king of Little Odessa. Leader of the local Bratva.

"Well, Parrots have been entertaining people since forever. So yeah, pretty much," Tony chuckled.

"You are not," Andrey said flatly." But I am. I can be very funny. I will be laughing for days when I get out of here and make you pay. First, I will cut off your fingers. Then I will cauterise and salt the wounds so that you do not die of infection. After this I will move onto your back, flaying the skin off one layer at a time and salting each time yet again to keep you alive. Finally, I will cut your cock and balls off, and I will burn but not salt these wounds so that you die slowly and painfully of whatever disease chances upon you."

"Wow dude, anger issues, much?"

"I am not merely angry, I am furious. And it is only your arrogance that stops you from getting on your knees and begging for a quick death right now." Tony snorted.

"Oh come on," he chuckled. "How long have we known each other now, Andrey. "Two, three months? Yeah, it was March when I beat up those guys of yours' who were dumb enough to spring my trap for Robin. You threatened me then, too. But look where we are now. Me, free as the most majestic Macaw. You? Tied to a chair."

Andrey lost his temper." You fucking–"

"Oh, can it already." Carmine Falcone cut in from his own chair next to Tony. "Spare an old man's ears, why don't you?" Falcone did look genuinely put out by his Russian counterpart's language, which was kinda funny for a guy who probably had more blood on his hands than the rest of them put together. He'd been in this game a long time, after all.

"Not going to threaten me too, Carmine?"

"Don't need to," the old man replied. "You're on my shitlist now, son, make no mistake. But I'm a patient man. I can wait. Today, you're strong and I can't hurt you, but you won't always be. Eventually, you're going to make a mistake. All men do. You'll get hurt, or get sloppy, or trust the wrong person. And when you do, that's when I'll do my damndest to kill you." Tony blinked.

"Huh," he shrugged. "That's an oddly mature attitude for a gang leader to have."

"The benefits of getting old, son." Carmine chuckled. "If you live to be my age, you'll understand too. Brashness is for young men."

Tony turned to look at his remaining two guests. They were both still unconscious. Or at least, Maroni was. It was harder to tell with Black Mask. Both men had been such a pain in the ass on the ride over that he'd had to pay a disqualified nurse to dose them with enough anaesthetic to keep them asleep for a few hours. He just hoped she knew what she was doing, it'd suck balls if he ended up having to take them to Gotham General.

"Boss, you there, over?" The radio on Tony's hip crackled to life.

"Loud and clear, Cockatoo."

"The GCPD are holding their position. They've got the building surrounded and Police Snipers on Wayne Plaza. We've got two men on every window and five on every door on the first three floors, plus Budgy is on the tenth with a scope. They won't catch us off guard if they try anything."

"Glad to hear it. Any sign of the Bats?"

"Not yet, sir. I'll keep you posted." Tony figured he had better check in with team two.

"Lovebird, this is Parrot Prince. What's your status?"

Silence.

"Lovebird?"

"I think your man is down, son." Carmine chuckled. "And look behind you." Tony spun around, only to grin excitedly when he saw none other than Robin himself stood on the opposite end of the roof.

"Robin!" He cheered. "Dude, it's been hours. Where were you? I was getting bored up here."

"Seriously?" Robin groaned. "I don't have time for this today, Parrot. I'm busy. So, I'm gonna give you one chance to turn yourself in before anybody gets hurt." Oh, Robin was in one of those moods.

"Lovebird's already been hurt," Tony pointed out. "Just because he's a goon doesn't mean he doesn't count."

"The guy guarding the stairs?" Tony nodded. "He'll be fine, I just tied him up. Now are you gonna come in quietly or not?" Tony thought about that for a moment.

"Nope," he laughed, switching the mode on what had at first seemed like an ordinary Supersoaker. Robin leapt back, dodging a burst of bird droppings that splattered against an Air Con unit.

"Gross, dude," Robin growled. "What the hell is wrong with you? So fast Tony could barely keep track, his nemesis whipped out a Birdarang and sent it flying straight into his Supersoaker, where it buzzed with static and forced him to drop it with a yelp as a bang and a waft of smoke shot up from the toy.

"Hey, those things are expensive, asshole!" Tony shot forward, closing the gap with Robin in seconds and throwing his fist forward for a hard punch. Robin dodged, responding with a sweeping kick that forced Tony to jump backwards to dodge. And just like that, the real fun began.

Tony kicked out, laughing as Robin dodged in a counter-attack of his own that was promptly blocked. Robin attempted an elbow strike, Tony dodged and countered with a headbutt. Robin dodged, repeat.

This? This was what Tony lived for. The satisfaction of fighting someone on his level. Every strike he landed, every burst of pain when he himself was hit, the pounding of his heart as adrenaline surged through his limbs. There was no better feeling in the world. And he knew Robin agreed, as hard as the other boy tried to hide it. He could see it in his movements, all flashy flips and tricks that were technically unnecessary but looked cool as hell. "So uh, what's got your panties in a twist today?" He grunted as Robin's fist connected with his chin, exhilarating in the taste of copper in his mouth as he sprung backwards.

"Math," Robin scowled as he surged forwards with a punch. "I've known how to do Calculus since 6th grade, but nooo, I have to waste time on homework instead of more important things like figuring out where the Joker's hiding." Tony grabbed his arm and judo flipped the other boy over his shoulder. Robin grunted as he landed on his back, but kipped up onto his feet without pause and lashed out with a knee that Tony had no choice but to block, pain jarring through both arms. Had he mentioned that he loved this?

"Oof, sucks to suck, nerd." He laughed. The boys threw a combination of punches and blocks at a speed few could hope to keep up with. "This is why I don't bother going. I've got better shit to be doing."

"I guess school is kind of a waste of time for you." Robin smirked, throwing out a Birdarang that Tony just failed to dodge, hissing as it clipped his side. Luckily, it was just a normal one, but he still scolded himself for getting sloppy. "I've seen your grades. Nothing above a D? I'm almost impressed."

"Hey!" Tony rushed forwards, catching Robin off-guard with a solid punch to the stomach that forced his nemesis to roll backwards." It's not my fault Blackgate's classes suck."

"Blackgate's Educational Programs have won awards," Robin attempted revenge with a spinning kick to the head that brushed the top of Tony's hair as he leaned backwards Neo-style. "You're just a dumbass." Tony scowled and Robin grinned victoriously.

"Oh yeah?" It was time. "Well if I'm so dumb, what's that make you for falling into my trap?"

"What trap?" Robin lunged forwards again, throwing his bodyweight into it and the breath emptied from Tony's lungs as he slammed back onto the cold rooftop, Robin's weight pinning him. "This was the most obvious ploy in the world, dude. Lure me in with hostages and surround me with your guys. And it failed, I snuck past them and they're all too busy fighting the GCPD to help you out now anyway."

"Are they?" Tony's smile turned feral. "Open fire!"

Robin's face fell and he flipped backwards as Parrot Knights leapt up from their hiding places on a neighbouring rooftop and cried "For the Parrot Prince!" as they sprayed his too slow nemesis with bird droppings. He himself stayed perfectly clean, down on the ground as he was, but he snickered when he saw that Mayor Hill, Andrey, Carmine, Maroni and Black Mask were covered in the stuff.

Tony hopped to his feet and stared down at Robin, who was slumped against the Air Con unit, dazed by a mixture of pain and disgust. "Macaw, report!"

Macaw was a lanky guy named Mal. He was a couple years older than Tony with dirty blond hair and an impish face. Like all Parrot Knights, he was dressed in a green suit with a red tie. To signify his rank as one of Tony's officers, however, his beaked mask was painted the bright blue of the Spix Macaw. "Wing squad is intact, Your Highness. We retrieved Lovebird too, he's fine. Budgy informs me the GCPD are still in a holding pattern, while Cockatoo has readied our exfil route. We wait your command."

"Why would we retreat now?" Tony frowned. "The fun's just started. Robin will be up again in a few minutes". Macaw hesitated.

"Well, your highness–"

"Oh grow a pair, boy." Carmine spoke up. Oh, right, Tony had forgotten about his guests in all the excitement. Andrey and Hill were pissed, he could just about see the murder in their eyes through the birdshit that covered them. Carmine however, was as composed as always. "You should leave because Batman was spotted back in Gotham last night. You took down the boy wonder, he won't be far behind."

"Shit!" Tony spun back to Macaw. "Why wasn't I told? You're supposed to be my spymaster, dude". Macaw winced.

"I tried, your highness, but you were too busy messing around with that feather machine you bought from Toymaker to listen." Tony blushed. His feather machine was awesome, okay?

"Fine," Tony sighed and grabbed his radio. "All teams, this Parrot Prince. Return to Home Tree. I repeat, return to Home Tree. Out." Then he looked at Macaw and the rest of Wing Squad and grinned. "Let's fly!"

Tony waved goodbye to Robin as he leapt off the roof, his cape flaring out into a glider as he soared over Gotham. Wing Squad quickly caught up, their blazers serving the same purpose. Below, he grinned as he saw two of his Parrotmobiles (pickup trucks painted in squad colours) aim the huge cannons in their beds at the police cordon, spewing out feathers dipped in tar at the cops and scattering their line, creating gaps for the vehicles to shoot off through. Cockatoo did good work.

Today had been a good day.