thearena | [ OPEN ] So, apparently, it IS a small world after all.

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[ OPEN ] So, apparently, it IS a small world after all.

Who Tim Drake and OPEN
What Tim arrives in the arena.
Where Main Street towards Tomorrowland
When Week 2
Warnings/Notes None so terrible. Punchy has grievous head wounds.

When his body raises up over tube, Tim runs. It's the beauty of the fight or flught response in the absence of an aggressor - just go; you can panic later. He doesn't wait for the platform to stop, doesn't study his surroundings for more than the instant that it takes to verify that there is, in fact, ground aside from the platform.

Other things click into place quickly as he moves along a street. The long abandoned stores. The absence of people. If this really is an arena, he doesn't see or hear his competitors yet, but he's not stopping to really observe until there's some room between where they put because it's obviously where they want him to be. Sticking out like a sore thumb, a lone target in the open.

It's unnerving, having so very little to go on. He should have fought more on the way in. Too late for that now, he thinks. Work with what you have.

The arena is old, crumbling in fact. Has it been used before? Is it real, broken down by time? If it's a facade, someone wasted a lot of time reclaiming materials for... What? Some place that unknown assailants throw their kidnapped victims and force them to battle to the death? It doesn't make sense, and almost everything makes sense once you know enough about whose behind it.

Well, he hasn't seen anything clownish, so that eliminates the almost. But what he does see still stops him in his tracks.

Tim catches as his breath, alternating staring at the large, domed structure ahead and checking his six. He remembers that building, remembers promising that he's not too little or too scared, just please one ride.

It's Space Mountain.

This is Disneyland.

Which means that he needs to add 'when he is' onto the growing list of questions that he has. None of which will ever get answered if he continues to stand around gawking like a mint green dope. Space Mountain is as good a place to start as any - if he can climb it, he'll have a good view.

He starts towards it, because that's better than letting his mind waits while it works out if he's now spiraling through time like Bruce was, and he's moving quickly but with more purpose now, keeping close to any buildings and debris and generally trying to stay out of the middle of the street. Get to the mountain, see what there is to see, find out if this is a real death match, then worry about the big picture.

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Punchy jerks his head over to look at the plastic. He has to rotate his spine a lot further than he otherwise would, but being blinded in one eye has that effect. It also takes him a fraction of a second longer to identify it as a pointless piece of plastic and calculate where it must have come from.

"Yo, I know you're up there," he says, turning to face where Tim's hidden in shadow. He takes a jump up over the cattle stall rail and lands gracefully, not in a combat stance but not in a relaxed one either. Someone sneaking up on him could just be a scared person looking for resources, or an enemy that he'll have to tie up and...well, he'll figure that out when he gets to it. "I ain't gonna lay no heat, pinkie swear."

Tim takes a step back from the new arrival. About his age. Badly wounded, if he's taken the time for that makeshift bandage that looks like scrap cloth. That would explain the missing shirt. It also goes a long way to confirming that this is some sort of pitched battle. If it comes down to a fight, Tim hopes the kid has a TBI already.

He's a bit stuck on the slang mixed with the pinkie swearing. It's so incongruous that the phrase just sort of hangs there in the air, and Tim blinks. "What - I'm not going to attack either. I just got here."

His hand gestures upwards, in the direction of the other guy's face. "What happened?"

"Oh, chill. I can dig it." He nods and relaxes a little, taking Tim entirely at his word. He leans back against the rail. "Been getting a bit OD'ed on the murderin' type around here, you know?"

Punchy reaches up to touch his face, as if remembering for the first time the ghastly injury there, the empty socket and the gash running down to his neck. "Oh, this? It's no biggie, just got it bustin' some killer peeps and saving some civvies at the fiesta."

"Civvies? There are civilians in here?" The disgust is evident in tone and face. It's one thing to grab someone like himself, who might stand a chance, and another to put an innocent in with a crowd of 'killer peeps'.

Tim wants to relax and help put the guy at ease, but it's hard to do that when he's completely baffled. It's like... the words are in English, but he doesn't understand. There's three decades of slang in a few sentences. "So- this really is a death match. That's... not groovy.

"Yeah. Saw about four peeps put in the ground at the start," Punchy says, with a certain amount of gravity that has been previously absent from his speech. Reverence for the dead, really. And guilt.

"Some of the peeps here is just regular types. Even got some kids bumping around. And there's some stone-cold gangstas out here too."

Not wanting to know if the four dead were kids, Tim says nothing in response to that. What is there to say? I'm sorry? That never works. He can only hope that they never saw it coming and that this guy didn't know them.

And that he didn't kill them.

"And there's the ones that are in-between, like me. I'm Tim, by the way. Tim Wayne." The introduction is not as casual as it sounds. He knows that you have to a kidnapper to see you as a human being. Maybe Punchy's not the kidnapper here, but it's easier to fight a nameless face. "Where do you fit in on the scale?"

Punchy thrusts his hand out to shake with the enthusiasm of a puppy dog meeting another canine.

"Dope. My name's Punchy." That is totally not his real name, but he doesn't hand out his real name if he can help it. One of the perks of being a superhero, aside from the cool gadgets and hot babes, is the fact that you can leave boring names like "Matthew" behind.

"I'm a superhero. Savin' homies is my jam." He scratches the back of his head. "When I, you know. I saved two. It was so fast..."

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but... we're here," Tim finishes weakly. He eyes the offered hand before reaching over and accepting the handshake. "At least you know that it was worth it."

"A superhero, huh. I've known a few." The name Punchy almost puts a smile on his face, but Tim contains himself. Robin isn't the sternest sounding code name either. They're both better than Dove. Besides, it could be the guy's real name. He hasn't come across a Punchy, hero or villain. "So, does that mean you've got superpowers?"

"Fo' shizz. Besides, very least I'mma get myself a blinged-out eyepatch for all this. Figurin' when I survive all this I can start a line, you know, make mad bank off the one-eye thing."

That doesn't mean he plans on being the only one to survive this, and it's as if the 'only one walks away' idea hasn't occurred to him. He plans on saving everybody, if he can.

"I got the baddest skills, dawg. You ain't even seen shit this tier." Punchy grins, but it falters. "Not that, uh, I can do it here. I think they hacked my mojo when they brought me here. How about you?"

"You're... going to start an eyepatch-themed clothing line?" he asked incredulously. But, he thinks, not everyone has a billionaire adoptive father funding the night-time activities of a troop of caped crusaders. "Might not be such a bad idea, really. Some people are obsessed with heroes."

Punchy, if someone who talks like a gangsta can be trusted not to exaggerate, has just handed Tim more evidence that whoever is behind this is technologically skilled. He hadn't seen anything that couldn't be pulled off by a highly competent band of kidnappers yet. Suppression of meta-human powers, however, took a combination of biological knowledge and tech savvy. Who knows what other tech they might have.

How many functioning Mother Boxes were out there anyway? A boom tube... would explain a lot.

"I've never had any 'mojo' to miss," Tim explains with a shrug, "so I can't help you figure that one out. I just get by on my own. What did you do?"

"My name's Punchy, dawg." Punchy raises his eyebrows - he's never managed to raise just one at a time, so rather than a sassy expression, he just looks slightly surprised. "I punch shit."

Well, technically his magic puppet punches shit, but that's a little complicated to be boiled down to Punchy's specific flavor of jargon. He jumps back over the rail and starts walking back to the dismantled stereo, rubbing at his eye socket along the way. Who knew losing an eye would itch?

"And I do computer shit, too. I'm trying to bust us all outta this freakshow. Figure's shit's all on the silver, they got us all hooked up with mics and cameras and shizz, so if I can shut down their eyes and ears, they'll have to put a stop to this all at least for a little downtime until they can get back up and running."

"It's not always that obvious," Tim points out. "I know a Manhunter who doesn't, a Speedy who isn't any faster than me, and a Canary and Robin who can't fly."

Actually, he is one.

He doesn't follow Punchy, only moves up to the railing to get a better look. "I'm pretty good with computers."

Trying to shut down their observational security system sounds like a good distraction, but Tim doesn't think it will make them the whole operation. It'll put the place on red alert, possibly bring the real antagonists, the ones throwing everyone in here, but they might just decide to wait it out.

If this place is wired for sound and video, Tim doesn't want to be too openly identified with this plan. "I used to fix my dad's computer all the time."

"Yeah, me too," Punchy has to repeat his strengths unnecessarily, and that obviously doesn't mean he's insecure! "but I don't know jack about hardware. I'm all up in that binary, specially when you get me balling up on a network, but hardware?"

Punchy gives the piece of electronics a look as if he'd quite like to drop-kick it right about now. He doesn't like asking for help, preferring to believe himself some sort of lone wolf super badass, but he's been stumped for a little while now.

"You can give it a shot, I guess." He looks almost sulky, his moods switching around quickly and fluidly. He takes a seat in the roller coaster car where he's been sleeping and grabs his puppet to play with.

Whereas Tim is understating as much as possible without looking weak. This doesn't really sound hopeful, two guys who are more on the software side attempting to cobble together functioning hardware.

Particularly when one of them codes in binary. Maybe next week, Tim can show him MASM 1.0. Or a floppy disk, that'd be swell.

Punchy uses punch cards. It would be the best, singsong, computer-camp taunt ever, except Tim would never join in. He's quietly amused at the serendipitous wordplay.

With one hand on the railing, Tim hops over and lands neatly on his feet. He picks up something, a capacitor is his best guess, and turns it over in his hands. "What are exactly are you hoping to make it do?"

But when he looks over for the expected response, Punchy has a puppet. Tim does not like puppets and dolls. They have guns, they're full of plastique, they're mouths to spew all the venom that the man is too spiritually beaten down and crazy.

Now is probably a good time to go.

He doesn't only code in binary! He can code in just about anything. Give him a weekend with a programming language and he'll pick it up as if he's been doing it for years! Unfortunately, his lingo for the stuff is stuck in the 80's, because whatever cosmic accident granted him technological genius also crammed some serious obliviousness into his thick skull.

"Looking for a way to make it jam whatever frequency their network is running on. Not that I know what kind of wavelengths they using. It's all kind of guesswork up in my bean right now. Rough, demo shit here." He glances up from where he's playing with the doll, making it walk along the front of the roller coaster. "Oh, hey, this is Judy."

His lingo for a lot of things is stuck in the 80s, maybe the early 90s. Tim is having a hard time taking him completely seriously, and it's seriously hampered by Punchy playing with a doll. Named Judy. Punchy and Judy. Punch and Judy.

So now Tim's in a dim, confined area with a teenager that has a height and probable weight advantage, possibly negated by a grievous head wound. He's talking like he learned English by watching Boyz in Da Hood, and he's playing with a doll. A doll that is named after half of a very famous puppet show about a serial killer and his first victim, which isn't coincidental because he named himself after the worse half of the act.

"Uh. Hi, Judy." Tim gives a miniscule wave, barely flicking his fingers. He is wondering just when all of this got out of his control. "Why not try to receive the signal first? Fine-tuning the wavelength could give you a positive result that way. You're never going to be sure, otherwise, if you attempt to jam first."

"She's named after my sister." Punchy says that with a strange sort of reverence, a seriousness that rivals the gravity he expressed when talking about the Cornucopia. It matters, to him. It's the only connection he still has to her. "Usually I get her some Catholic threads, you know, like a nun, but I ain't found any in this joint."

He sticks his hand in the puppet and makes it wave at Tim, before putting his feet up on the roller coaster car hood and stroking his chin.

"I can't figure out how to get it to play anything but just sound right now. You shoulda heard it a few hours ago, it was nothing but jams from Cinderella on loop. It doesn't receive by anything but tape." Which, Punchy worries, makes this all a worthless endeavor. "I got a chip from one of those marker things, and I know it's for broadcasting, but it doesn't match the speakers."

He sits up, suddenly determined.

"I need more parts. I know what to do."

He picks up on the reverential treatment of Judy immediately. He thinks of uniforms in sterile glass cases, of holograms and stone memorials, of costumes changing color and code names changing. All in memoriam.

Tim does not ask about Judy, the nun or martyr or young maiden who merits such a strange tribute, to be recreated as a puppet more than once. "Usually" dressed as a nun. How scarred is Punchy by the loss, that he needs to have her effigy with him in such a violent place?

"You got it to stop playing Cinderella. Even if you can't figure out how to get it to do anything else, I think you can chalk it up as a success," Tim points out. The trouble with Disneyland is that it was, well, Disneyland, and it was bound to get irritating after awhile. "What do you need? I can keep my eyes open if you're specific enough."

"No shit. I should be getting mad props for that from those baller with the cash, but..." he gestures to the skylight, where no parachutes full of gifts have recently landed. "Maybe they use some other kind of music when they's editing this shit up. Or maybe they just got bad taste. I'd be thinking they'd want some beats with a little more aggro on the bass for a murdergame."

Punchy looks back over at his little pet project.

"I need a receiver. Some sort of broadband or wireless. All I got is what you can jack in, which is only tape input right now."

He just blinks at the mad props, baller with cash statement, glancing up at the skylight which... is just a skylight. Tim can manage most of Punchy's lingo; that isn't the problem. He's obviously missing some connecting thread.

Or it's just more of the puppet crazy bleeding through. Forget about it, for now.

"Main Street," Tim said automatically. "Didn't they have those bullhorn looking speakers on poles to broadcast sound for the parades? Those have to be receiving."

He had no idea how it was that he remembered this, but it seemed as likely a spot as any. There were other places, rides heavy on VR, that might have similar tech, but Main Street was the friendliest option. How could anything go wrong on quiet little Main Street?

Punchy snaps his fingers. He doesn't like congratulating other people, because success is a bit of a zero-sum game for him, but he has to admit Tim has a point. "Mighta had cables, but shit, best opt-in before the train hauls out."

He sets his stuff to the side, then tucks the puppet in the waistband of his pants. "You gonna play mailman or should I?"

"Think you can manage it yourself?" He regrets this immediately. What was he thinking, suggesting that the guy with a head wound go out in the open and climb poles without any gear? He might as well paint a target on Punchy's chest. Tim rushes to change the response. "Actually, I'll get it and bring it back here. I want to get a better look at the place anyway."

He scrambles back over the handrail because, friendly or not, Tim's still nervous and on edge with everything about this place. He doesn't want to have his back exposed longer than he has to. "How many do you think you need, provided I find even one?"

"Fo' shizz, I can manage it myself." He gets back up, but admittedly he's a little lightheaded. The lack of clean water and blood loss has left him just a bit dizzy all day. He sits back down. "But you can go get it if you want."

He strokes his chin as he thinks about that for a moment. "Three. Two to bust up laying down the experiments, one to use when we got the sitch figured."

Tim nods at this. Three would be a safe number, but he's not sure that he'll manage that. Disneyland looks, as Punchy would say, busted. Finding three intact pieces of equipment will be tough. "I'll do my best."

He's not sure why he's so eager to help. Probably due to the injury. Anyone who was badly hurt and still focused on sabotaging a common enemy, the one who kidnapped them, has his allegiance.

Unless this is all an elaborate ruse, and Punchy is the real enemy, secretly hired by the League of Assassins to gain Tim's trust and... what? The theory springs a few leaks here. Anything that he can come up with that would be worth this setup - there are easier, cheaper ways.

"I'll back as soon as I can." Tim starts walking backwards towards the tunnel.

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[ OPEN ] So, apparently, it IS a small world after all.

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