It was nearing the eleventh hour, and the clouds had settled overhead Gotham to give that dark, twisted city a gothic reverie.  Beyond the thick layer of smog, a deep dark blue horizon peppered with constellations shone brightly.  And for an instant, it seemed that a dozen of these constellations were quickly traveling towards the earth.<br/><br/>But they were not stars;  merely atoms soaring along and through space to form the concourse of veins and flesh.  Yes, atoms fused together to make a man.  And this man suddenly appeared, became aware, and understood his current plight.  The rug had been swept from underneath him, so to speak; and as soon as he came to, he flailed his long limbs, fighting with the kevlar-lined batcape as if he were attempting to escape a sleeping bag.  Air rushed past him, snapping at the scalloped-tipped ends of his cape, forcing the air out of his lungs, pushing the bile to the back of his throat (teleports always made Grayson nauseous).<br/><br/>Batman dove down, down, down, his neck craned up in what seemed an eternal nose-dive.  When he cleared the thick layer of smog and clouds, he extended his arms outwards, spreading his cape wide, and slowed his descent long enough for him to take several images from overhead with the digital camera in his eyepiece.  Vines.  Tons of vines.<br/><br/>Poison Ivy?  Fluoronic Man?  It didn't matter.<br/><br/>Batman plummeted further, slowing only when he neared the city street.  It was only then that he extended his arms once more, and used his paracape to glide unto a streetlight.<br/><br/>"Hh." he muttered as he drew a small gas-powered dispensing pistol from his utility belt.