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Kung fu? Well, that was one of my good ones.
"Alright, boys. Fan out."
Meatship? Welcome to Gotham. Today the sensoriums echo with the clapping of rain on canvas. Eleven men in standard League of Assassins' field garp file slowly through an old, disused fairground. It's hard to believe people actually came here in the recent years before it was abandoned, let alone when it first opened during Gotham's heyday almost a century ago. It's hard to imagine one of the city's own police commissioners was once held hostage here. It's hard to imagine its last owners, the rather astutely named Circus of the Strange, actually had it refurbished to look like this. Like a David Lynch movie.
The ninja detachment spread out into the soaking morass of tarpaulin and amusement rides long since rusted under decades of rain like this.
"HUTT--!!"
That's the noise of one of them disappearing painfully. There's further groaning, albeit the groaning of old machines, and the ghost train rattles into life. When it spits the first cart out, the rest of the men can see their unconcious comrade bruised and broken, strewn ominously in the seat.
On the other side of the causeway, there are three quick thudding noises. One of the men edges his way over, only to find the coconut shy, the coconuts in question having been systematically knocked from their poles.
The second man cries just like the first as he's dragged into the stall.
The game plays on and the men are picked off one at a time. Only two of them are good enough to see him coming. A few of them go down without a sound, but most do so screaming. If they're lucky, some may walk again.
Meatship? Welcome to Gotham.
Meatship? Welcome to Gotham. Today the sensoriums echo with the clapping of rain on canvas. Eleven men in standard League of Assassins' field garp file slowly through an old, disused fairground. It's hard to believe people actually came here in the recent years before it was abandoned, let alone when it first opened during Gotham's heyday almost a century ago. It's hard to imagine one of the city's own police commissioners was once held hostage here. It's hard to imagine its last owners, the rather astutely named Circus of the Strange, actually had it refurbished to look like this. Like a David Lynch movie.
The ninja detachment spread out into the soaking morass of tarpaulin and amusement rides long since rusted under decades of rain like this.
"HUTT--!!"
That's the noise of one of them disappearing painfully. There's further groaning, albeit the groaning of old machines, and the ghost train rattles into life. When it spits the first cart out, the rest of the men can see their unconcious comrade bruised and broken, strewn ominously in the seat.
On the other side of the causeway, there are three quick thudding noises. One of the men edges his way over, only to find the coconut shy, the coconuts in question having been systematically knocked from their poles.
The second man cries just like the first as he's dragged into the stall.
The game plays on and the men are picked off one at a time. Only two of them are good enough to see him coming. A few of them go down without a sound, but most do so screaming. If they're lucky, some may walk again.
Meatship? Welcome to Gotham.