Riley swings up onto a gargoyle (in the mall? God--) and looks towards the boss. Below, Trent hurls a generator into the shadows.
This is bad. Super bad. Hella bad, even. It's Scarecrow's entire fault, and Riley will get him later if they don't die, but right now this is a massive problem.
Drugs work weird on Trent. They wear off faster (pity the fool that thinks 'big guy's down!') and sometimes they don't work right in the first place. Riley's not sure if this is working right or not; Trent gets pissed when he's startled. Hell, he's not even sure how this happened; Crane's not here.
There'd been a panicked evacuation, an order to lock the doors, keep him at least somewhat contained, and Riley had agreed to back the Knight up.
He hasn't seen them yet, but there's no reason to tempt fate. Not yet.
The Knight's helmet is locked on Trent, flickering blue stark in the gloom of the upper shadows, and Riley snaps his fingers until he looks before taking over the watch himself.
The Knight's head turns back to Trent while he signs, fingers slower and more careful.
Sedatives in the medicine cabinet. We hit him with both barrels and hope he doesn't kill us before they kick in. I'm going down now. Cover me.
Riley unshoulders his rifle, lines up his shot, and nods. The boss swings to another gargoyle, then down to the upper floor, and finally drops down by the first-aid box mounted on the wall.
So far, Trent hasn't seen him. He's still tearing apart the Chinese restaurant. Riley hopes it stays that way. The last thing he wants to do is turn this into Harambe, part two.
The Knight opens the medicine cabinet and pulls out a red box that Riley knows has preloaded syringes in it. Unfortunately, something else falls out, plastic tap-tappity-tapping on the floor, and Trent whirls around.
If I can hit him while he runs I can wing him, spin him off-course, maybe not kill him outright, maybe--
Trent charges. The Knight hurls a smoke grenade straight at him and grapples up.
If Riley was hoping he'd be less pissed, it would be fair to call him a dumbass. Trent emerges from the smoke cloud, coughing and cursing, and looks around the room until he spots (of course he spots) his fucking minigun. His custom-made minigun with extra capacity.
"Ready?" the Knight murmurs, slapping a syringe carefully into Riley's hand. He sets his gun down carefully on the gargoyle and nods. "On my signal."
And then he's moving, launching himself off the gargoyle to land squarely on Trent's shoulders. Ordinarily, a trick like that will lay his opponents flat out (ask him how he knows!), but Trent just snarls and tries to yank him off.
The sight resembles a very twisted bar bull. Gotham's version, maybe.
Whatever it looks like, the Knight leans back, out of reach of Trent's angrily grasping fingers. This is gonna be tight; Trent's armor is thick at the neck and it comes up to his chin. His tree-trunk bullshit arms, however, are on full display, and when Trent flails again, the Knight shanks one with the syringe.
"It's for your own good--"
He's lost his positioning, Riley sees it a second too late. Trent grabs his arm and the Knight's forced to go with it or lose it entirely. He hits the floor with a nasty WHAM! and that's a cue if Riley ever saw one.
The boss rolls aside before Trent can grab him again. When he turns, Riley swings directly into him and, syringe in hand.
He can't apologise. Probably wouldn't anyway. But he feels a little bad all the same when he lunges downwards to force the needle into the nearest bit of exposed skin. But only a little, because Trent smacks him aside hard enough to make his vision go spotty. That's a concussion. Instant concussion.
Grappling upwards makes him dizzy and nauseous, but now it's just down to waiting. They got him, and nobody even died.
