Chapter Text
Cassandra turned fighting into art.
The way she moved – fluid and natural. As simple as breathing. She charged, shoulders hunched, body leaning forward into the motion. The right cross rocketed from her body and Jason desperately slipped out of the way.
She hopped on her back foot, propelling her knee as he caught it with his right hand. Jason felt the impact rattle his bones. A split second later, out of the corner of his eye, Cassandra brought a 12-6 elbow come crashing down aimed at the crown of his head.
He slipped slightly to the side, feeling the tip of her elbow graze his temple and smash into his collarbone.
A distinct snap could be heard, and he bit his bottom lip in sheer pain.
Jason held up a hand as his team tried to move in.
“She’s mine,” he said.
He watched her as she stepped out of range. Taking note of how she bent her knees, the position of her feet. Scanning her.
Cassandra felt goosebumps travel up her skin. There was something uneasy by the way he moved. Reserved. Patient. Analytical. He fought like Tim.
And yet, his collarbone cracked back into position.
Favouring his back foot, he kept his front leg almost weightless as if it could pivot at a moments notice. His guard was stiff – quick to react – with his palm wide open. Jason was letting her take the offensive…
…and when he caught a punch, she could see him calculating it. The velocity. The timing. The angle. The power.
Cassandra pushed onwards. With her caught hand, she reached over with her right elbow, and it came crashing down with an axe-like motion.
Scalpel met flesh.
His right eyebrow gushed open, bleeding down his face. Trailing over his eye. The silence held out and Cass saw the reason why it wasn’t Bruce who walked through those doors, but rather Jason. His grin reached ear-to-ear. He brought his gaze back on her. She could see the veins on his forehead pulsate, the deep gash curled in on itself. It flattened out. The flowing red turned pink. Her eyes widened in horror.
“No,” she said in shock.
The Lazarus Pit had found a new host.
The perfect host.
“What happened to you?”
“Oh?” He raised his brow. “Now, you care.”
“You can’t let the Pit control you.”
He stared at Cassandra, the unruly smile on his lips, as he twisted his feet into position. It was instant. How he dropped his weight, knees bent and let rip a devastating right hook to her floating rib.
Her organs shifted.
She didn’t see it coming.
Then, the front kick to her solar plexus. It propelled her back – putting a considerable distance between the two – and it felt like her lungs were in her throat.
Before he could advance, a voice called out. “Jason!”
Barbara.
Jason half turned to the group by the ground, keeping an eye on Cassandra. Barbara tried to get to her knees, but a Caste member pushed her back to the floor. “Don’t do this. Please.”
Jason stilled.
It was…weird hearing her beg. It sat uncomfortably in his heart, the despair in her eyes, the clip in her tone. “We know! I’m sorry that it took us this long to find out, but we know now. Please, Jason. Don’t do this. This isn’t you.”
The sincerity in her voice, it almost sounded like she was sorry on his behalf.
“Know what?” Jason probed.
“Croc…Waylon set you up to this. We – We should have been there for you. You pushed us out, but we didn’t even try.” She stumbled over her words. “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you when you needed us. I know how close you were to Roy, I know, and I wasn’t there.”
Jason scrunched his brow.
He turned to Waylon with a questioning glance. The man shrugged. “They think I made you do it.”
Jason should have expected it, but hearing it, seeing how they were so desperate to deny their involvement in arguably one of the worst moments of his life.
It filled him with contempt.
“We can fix this, Jason.” Kate jumped in. ‘We can fix you.’ He hears the underlying message. The rage bubbles. Watching them squirm, trying to justify themselves, absolving themselves of their sins.
“Two years, and all of the sudden you start to care.”
“We have always cared,” said Cassandra as she slowly stood to a more relaxed state.
“We haven’t always showed it, not in a way you needed.” Barbara urged. “But we’re here, Jason. We have always been here.”
“You fucking hypocrites.” He grinded his teeth in a snarl.
“I know you,” Barbara said. “That’s why I need you to walk away from Waylon.” She stressed, eyeing the humanoid. “You can’t listen to him. You can’t listen to the Pit. This isn’t you. You wouldn’t have ever killed those people without him whispering in your ear.”
“I DIDN’T KILL THEM!”
It cut through the noise.
“What are you talking about?” Steph exclaimed.
The rage inside him grew. He could see their world crashing around them as they desperately tried to hold onto dear life. Refusing to see. Needing a scapegoat for their guilt.
“I never killed them,” he strained.
“But Bruce…” Barbara couldn’t physically finish the sentence. Like it hurt her to say.
“Bruce doesn’t know shit,” he growled. “Bruce did what he always does. He saw me, and he assumed.”
Barbara scrounged up the courage to ask. She pulled back the fear and tried to be resolute. Tried to be strong. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He hated them for asking.
“Why? Why!” His body almost curled in on itself, as the hate and disappointment bubbled over. “You never asked! You didn’t even bother!”
“But Bruce loves you.” Jason whipped his head back to Cassandra.
“Love?” The tension in his voice rises. “Love?!” He then yanked the hem of his suit down, showing that grotesque scar. “Is this what you call love?!”
He could see the fear in her eyes.
She knew he wasn’t lying.
“Love doesn’t mean shit when his actions say otherwise.” Then, he turned back to them. Emotions written on his face. “You think I don’t know the kind of man he is? I know him better than anyone. I know if push comes to shove, he’ll let his own family die than get blood on his hands.” Turning his rage back to Cassandra. “So, don’t you tell me that he loves me!”
Jason could see it in her eyes, desperately trying to hold onto the symbol. Her life – her purpose – breaking down around her.
In that moment, she tried to regain a semblance of control.
Cassandra looked back at him – truly looked at him – for the first time that night.
He looked like violence incarnate.
The raise of his shoulders, the veins in his neck, the tenseness in his fists. His entire body screamed violence. Cassandra Cain didn’t know how to react. She has met violent men, but none came close to the sheer vehemence Jason exuded.
A figure of pure black.
“Cass! Don’t!” Kate cried out.
Her body reacted without her consent.
Jason’s raw, unfiltered desire for violence overwhelmed her, and all she could do was fight back. She didn’t mean to. Without telegraph, a technical perfect right cross, right across the chin.
She didn’t see him move…
The bones of her middle finger snapped on impact. Jason’s right elbow came clean, and she shuddered to a stop.
The Bats tried to push themselves onto their feet, desperate to stop the fight. The Caste members held them down, as the Amazons lined their throats with sharpened steel.
Then, Jason advanced.
Undoubtedly, the most skilled fighter within the family, Cassandra’s ability to read people came to her like instinct.
An instinct that she could not turn off.
It reacted to danger.
She had not learnt her lesson the first time they had thought.
Her eyes stayed wide, examining the way he moved, the way he would radiate aggression almost at will. Jason could see her desperately scanning his body, but it was too much white noise – too much feedback.
Cassandra ‘Orphan’ Cain relied too heavily on her Sight.
As he charged forward, he could see how her instincts kicked into gear. She rushed to bring her hands up by her head, anticipating catching his left. Cassandra involuntarily gasped as pain ruptured upwards as his right fist drove into her floating rib. Again.
The cave echoed with a crack.
“Jason! Stop!” Barbara begged.
He didn’t. He won’t.
Jason wanted it to hurt, to make her feel like he felt. Hopeless. Desperate. In pain. Cassandra held the symbol of the Bat at almost a higher regard than Bruce, and Jason hated her for it.
He was the culmination of all their sins.
The anti-thesis to the Bat.
Cassandra had become blind to what the symbol had turned into.
Cassandra hopped back, gaining much needed distance before she pounced back into the fight. A slight twist of her feet, she put her entire weight behind the right roundhouse kick. Fast. Powerful. And yet, Jason grits his teeth.
He turned into the kick, bracing for impact.
It felt like she had kicked an oak tree.
The tree’s vines came to life, wrapping his arm around her leg. Cassandra looked up as a powerful right cross smashed into her face, ramming her nose cartilage into her skull. Blood poured – coating her teeth in crimson – as she fell onto her back, his arm still wrapped around her right leg.
Through blurry eyes, she could make out his silhouette, as Jason twisted his right arm over her ankle. A wave of worry washed over her, and she desperately pushed herself off the ground, pulling her leg in. Drawing their bodies close.
Trying to snap her ankle.
The violence in him spoke true; he tried to cripple her.
She brings her other knee up and it smashes onto the underside of his skull. His teeth crashes together – echoing inside his head – as Jason’s head whipped backwards.
Cassandra’s victory was short lived as a hot, piercing pain shot through her leg. A Push Dagger was lodged deep into her outer thigh.
Mutual destruction.
And only one of them had enhanced healing.
Jason continued to fall backwards, pulling her leg with him. The ground came abruptly fast. She curled into a ball as her shoulder collided with the floor. A fiery pain coursed through her shoulder and her left arm laid helplessly by her side. Unresponsive.
Jason scrambled onto her back and as she felt his weight press onto her shoulders, Cassandra curled her head into her chest and rolled forward. Breaking the scramble. She spun to a kneeling position, turning around to face him but he maintained the pressure.
The knee was devastatingly close to her face. She desperately brought her remaining arm to block, but the impact threw her back, almost onto her feet – and in that moment, she saw it…
…the animus.
The carnal need for blood.
Jason didn’t look like a black silhouette anymore.
His body was filled with a deep red.
The metallic taste of blood coated Cassandra’s mouth. Jason marched forward with a lust for violence in his eyes. And yet, it wasn’t like the other fighters she had faced before, playing with their food.
He was learning from her…
Right arm raised into guard, Cassandra watched as his right shoulder loosened, and the small twist of his hips told her that Jason was throwing an elbow. She bobbed slightly under the line of fire, and yet it never came…
The Push Dagger sunk into her quads.
“Cass!” Kate and Barbara yelled, worry in their voices.
Cassandra’s leg went numb. She tried to put weight on it, only for her to collapse onto her knees.
Then, he took an instep.
Slight turn of his heel, twist of his hip. His knee was quickly raised into a roundhouse to her temple. Desperate, she raised her hands, covering her head, only to watch in horror as it rotates into a question mark kick into her stomach
Her lungs gasped for air.
She could feel her ribs dig into her heart.
A dribble escaped her lips.
“CASS!” Barbara screamed. She lurched from her captors grip, racing across open space, sliding to Cassandra’s side. Then, she turned to Jason. “What the hell, Jason?!”
He kicked her square in the chest, sprawling her back.
“Shut up,” he demanded.
“Dammit, Jason. We’re trying to help.”
Jason stared at Barbara. There was anger in her eyes, as she held her chest in pain. He barked a laugh. “Help?” Jason waved an arm around. “Is this what you call help? Is the last two years of my fucking life what you call help?!”
“Master Jason, I think this is quite far enough.”
“Calm down, little one.” Artemis laid her hand on his shoulder. “There will be time for yelling soon enough.”
He flicked a gaze between Artemis and the two Bats. The rage seeped out of him. He sighed. “You’re right.” He nodded to two members of the Assault team.
“Jason!” Barbara tried to yell. Yanking from the grips of her captor. “Listen to us!”
For the first time in two years, it was he who turned his back on them.
One agent hooked his hands under Barbara’s armpit whilst the other pulled a cannister from the pouch. Shaking the cannister, the audible click of the ball inside could be heard, she sprayed a foam gel over Cassandra’s lacerations.
Emergency field dressing.
The gel began to expand, self-applying pressure to the wound, and then began to harden. With a quick motion, she firmly looped medical gauze over the area three times. Cassandra hobbled to her elbows, eyeing the pair of medical scissors the agent pulled from her waistband.
“Do it,” the agent tested. “See what happens.”
Cassandra clenched her fist but did nothing.
Instead, she turned to face Jason. Staring at the back of a man she once called ‘brother’. The red had fizzled out of his body, now clinical white.
The rage in Jason bleeds out.
He plops himself into the chair and lets out a deep, guttural sigh, feeling the adrenaline die out and listens to the distinct thrum of the computer boot up to life. Being back in Gotham – in the Cave – brought back emotions he had thought he made peace with.
The memories came rushing back.
Guilting him to stop.
Jason hated it.
“Little one…” Artemis called from his side.
He peered from the chair; his eyes widen at the scene before him.
After all this time, the old man still kept it around.
“Is this…”
“Yeah,” Jason said slowly. “My old Robin suit.”
A good soldier.
Her voice hitches at first, only to rise with an uncontrollable rage. “After everything he did! He still kept this?!”
It was unnatural how well kept it was. Temperature controlled and regularly cleaned. When he first wore the costume, he remembered how ecstatic he felt. Hands on his hips, beaming with pride.
Boy Wonder.
He felt like he could take on the world.
The little boy who had hope and wonder. The child that was given a second chance at life, yearning to be more than what he was.
For the first time in his life, he felt like he was a somebody.
Now, several lifetimes later, Jason stared at his old uniform…
…and he felt nothing.
“For a guy that’s supposed to be the world’s greatest detective, he sucks at looking at what’s right in front of him.” Jason shrugged. “He sees what he wants to see. When he looks at the stars, he sees his mother’s pearls. When he looks at me, he sees a dead soldier.”
Artemis voices it out for him. “That bastard.”
“Bad Man,” Biz agreed.
“Leave it, Ar. It’s just a fossil of a past life. Nothing more.”
“Shouldn’t we at least burn it?” She asked.
Jason smiled warmly. “Later, there’s more important things to deal with.”
Artemis huffed, leaning against the chair, her hair falls by his side. A few strands delicately brush against his cheek. “Too bad he doesn’t know what he’s losing.”
Jason bit his lips in a half-smile. “Marry me?” He mouthed silently.
Artemis stifled a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
It was magic to his ears.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispered.
She scrunched her nose. “Maybe later, you stink.”
As Cass was dragged back in line, she peered over her shoulder and blinked.
The clinical white slowly filled his being until it became a silhouette of sunset yellow. Gentle. The two Outlaws were a ruler length away, and she could see the desire float between. The shine in his eyes and the sparkle in hers.
The realisation came crashing down.
“Hey,” Barbara said gently. “Are you okay?”
Cass nodded but didn’t dare speak.
Jason was in love.
“Jesus. He didn’t need to go this far,” Kate commented, eyeing her leg. Cass looked down as it throbbed in pain. The laceration stretched as she knelt on the ground, the harden gel digging into her flesh.
“He’s gotten stronger,” said Cass.
“Faster, too.” Kate agreed. “A guy that size shouldn’t be able to…”
The sudden silence caused Cass to worry. She turned to Kate, but the woman was engrossed at the monitor, staring in horror at the image of a Wayne Foundation function. Delegates and politicians lined the photo and among the crowd, standing prominently in the middle of the photo was Bruce. To the right of him stood Augustus Adderson, a man Kate was aware of yet never met. However, the woman to the left of Bruce was someone Kate made her gut churn.
A woman who was almost like an aunt to her and Bruce.
A woman whom the Kanes had frequently invited to dinner during Kate’s formative years.
Elaine Peterson.
Head of Legacy Conglomerate.
“Jason, what are you doing?” Kate asked tensely.
“Gotham royalty,” Jason explained. “Alongside the Waynes, they practically built the city. But they were always small fry, only getting a piece of the pie. Looks like they want the whole fucking thing.”
“No fucking way are you saying she’s behind all this.” Kate shook her head. “The Petersons have been a model of excellence for generations. Elaine would never tie in with the underground.”
“No,” Jason said. “You’re thinking of the wrong Peterson. It was Jordan Peterson – Elaine’s dear old dad – that set the standard. Not her.”
Jason swivelled around to the group. “When Jordan was alive, the foundation was his flagship. The shipping and logistics company was basically a side-business to him. In fact, he made a policy that whenever the business grew, so did the foundation. People over profit. It was why he and Thomas Wayne were so close.”
Then, it dropped like a bomb.
“But old man Jordan isn’t calling the shots anymore. You should know, Kate. You were at the funeral.”
Her face dropped.
“Gotham takes; it always does. And somewhere down the line Elaine grew old and cynical. Tired of doing the same thing, hoping for a different outcome.” Jason stared at Kate, staring into her soul. “When he died and the company was handed to her, do you remember what her first order of business was?”
“She turned the company public.”
He nodded, solemnly. “No longer did the company answer to the Peterson family, rather the shareholders.”
Jason tried not to think about it.
The Cave seemed to have that power over its denizens. Trapping them in memories long suppressed. Old memories came flooding back. When he didn’t have to think about how the world spun around.
His mom was on the short-list of applicants who could be accepted into the cancer treatment program. He was ecstatic when he had first heard the news. For a sweet, blissful moment, he had hope.
Gotham had a talent in killing hope.
“She said it was to grow the company to heights it had never been before,” he said. Like he was reciting a news article. One he had read thousands of times. “The foundation would grow with the public listing. At least, it was supposed to.”
The others could sense it.
How close it hit to home.
“She kept the old programs alive, to keep face,” he said. “But unlike her old man, she never increased funding. In fact, accounting for inflation, they were getting less each year.”
“Oh my god,” Barbara breathed out, appalled. “Your mom.”
It cut through the cave.
Jason bit his lip, shaking his head, the face of his dead mother floated to the forefront of his mind.
The tourniquet loose on her bicep.
The used needle wobbling in her arm.
He tried his best to push the memory down. “One day, she decided enough was enough. She set a plan in motion to cut the rot of the city and build it back up in her image. No matter the collateral.”
“But why?” Kate questioned. “If she wanted to do all this, she wouldn’t need to make the Red Hood a target. She could have done this legally.”
“Because Jason was the Narrows.”
Barbara’s voice carried through the air. She could see the dots begin to line up and it filled her with rage. She turned back to Jason. “It’s the rent, isn’t it?”
He tipped his head into a nod.
Barbara turns to her team. “Most of Crime Alley are financially illiterate. You target those with bad credit, ones who don’t understand the rates, hell, ones who don’t even speak English, and you promise them a home with funds to relocate, they would sign in a heartbeat.”
“The American dream,” Duke murmured.
“Once it’s all built, they would be allowed back home, only in the beginning, to make it look like the Restoration Project worked. But Jason would have read the terms. He would have noticed that the new homes would be too costly for the average Narrow to cover. Predatory Lending. Landlords would increase rent to meet the district’s new value. He would have objected to the plan.” The horror begins to play out. Gotham crying in agony. “And when he speaks, Crime Alley listens.”
“You were the patsy,” Kate said aloud.
“And you handed me to them on a silver fucking platter.”
Barbara bit down on the bile on her throat – trying to be clinical – focusing on the facts. “But she couldn’t have planned this on her own. She needed a catalyst.”
“Egon,” Jason said.
He let out a deep sigh. It was almost a lifetime ago, but it felt like yesterday. The man’s dirty blonde hair was slicked back, hands behind his back. Broad shoulders. Razor thin smile.
“You know him,” Cass concluded.
Jason nodded. “German degenerate fuck…”
“Master Jason,” Alfred chastised.
“No matter how much Elaine believes to be the boss – thinking her money gives her power – she’s not. He is.”
Artemis delicately rested her hand on his shoulder, but her eyes burned with vengeance. “How did you meet him?” She asked.
Jason sighed. “He used to run black-ops missions for the KSK back in ‘97. Counterinsurgency. That was his speciality. Serious wet-work stuff.”
“Then, he realised the public sector didn’t pay too well. So, he went private. Started as a military contractor. Hopped around continents for a bit. Wherever there was a civil war, he would be there. After a while, he took over an arms group that operated in the Western Hemisphere. A couple years later, I joined.”
The cave remained deathly silent as Jason told his story.
It was a rarity within the family. Few ever had the chance to hear about the missing years. The ones where Jason had built himself into this figure of a man, filled with rage and retribution. It felt like they were standing at the edge of a swamp.
One where it would swallow them whole, if they were not careful.
“He retaught me how to punch, how to hurt. Then, I found out he was one of the largest child slave traders in Eastern Europe and, well, that didn’t sit with me.”
Jason cracked his knuckles, flexing them in a way that seemed like he was reliving the memory.
“Poisoned his drink. Mountain Dew, the heathen.” He shuddered. “Dropped like a sack of potatoes, and off I went. To think, after all these years, after all the teachers I’ve killed,” he stares off wistfully. “I forgot to double-tap.”
Artemis firmly held her hand on the small of his neck. “Then, we should head out.”
“No,” said Jason. “You two stay here.”
“Absolutely not,” Artemis said firmly. “He ruined our lives. I want to be there when we…”
“Princess,” Jason cut in. “Please.”
His voice sounded blisteringly raw, it stopped her cold. She stood there momentarily shocked. Jason wasn’t one to plead. He would fight tooth and nail to get what he wants. Seeing him like this – vulnerable – it broke her heart.
This was more than revenge.
“This was my mistake. My fuck up. I need to fix this.”
He blamed himself for what happened.
“Red him,” Bizarro said softly.
Artemis crushed him into a hug, digging her head into the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her, firmly holding onto her back. She hated herself. Artemis hadn’t realised how important this was to him. Living on borrowed time, for a mistake he made years ago, knowing how he almost lost them.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Jason needed closure.
She needed to trust him.
Like he had trusted her with Akila.
Gently, she let him go. Artemis stared into his eyes, almost poison-green with a hint of blue. How long had it been since she last stared at his eyes? They had changed.
“Go,” she said softly. “Break his legs for me.”
The corner of his lips curled upwards.
That devil of smile.
The one she fell in love with.
“Jason,” Barbara called. “What about us? Let us come with you.”
Jason turns to Barbara, a lifetime of memories resurfaced, and the dull ache in his heart grew as he looked at her kneeling on the floor, knowing this was it.
“This is bigger us, Jay.” She pleaded. “This decides the fate of Gotham.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jason said. “This decides the fate of Crime Alley. My alley.”
It was the end of the line.
“You cut one of us. You get cut back.” Remember those words, Barbie? From one of our first team-ups together. Lot’s changed, hasn’t it?”
“Not this, Jason. Never this.”
“I’m not that kid anymore. The one that cared so much about your opinion. That kid died when you let Batman cave his face in. That kid died when he had to spend a month in a coma.” His voice grew colder. “That kid died when you did nothing.”
The guilt was there.
Barbara knew the impact she had on Jason’s life. She once meant the world to him.
His friend.
His teacher.
His Batgirl.
Living on the street, weakness was a sin. But with Barbara, he trusted her with his failings. He trusted that she had his best interest at heart. Over the years, he had kept that tiny bit of hope that she still believed in him.
That hope died on that rooftop.
Beaten to death.
Jason holds the silence in the palm of his hands. The regret etched on her face. “And I hate that I love you, all of you. But you cut me…”
“Jason, no.” Barbara begged.
“This is me cutting back.”
“By risking the entirety of the Alley?” Kate argued. “This isn’t the right path.”
For a moment, Jason stood there unblinking. Pulling each word apart and inserting it back like a puzzle.
Something inside him broke.
He cackled. “Right path? Right path? Excuse me if I don’t believe a single fucking word out of your mouth for your complete lack of accountability. Excuse me if I strayed off the beaten path because you don’t like the fact that you made a mistake and can’t handle it.”
The whole cave doesn’t dare to make a sound, his laughter echoed up the stairs into the Manor halls.
Trauma is violent. Messy. Processing emotions can be hard, painful even. For everything that had happened to him, Jason was trying to process his horrors the best he could. All that fighting, war after war. All that gaslighting, alone at night with no-one to care for him. All that resentment, ostracized and ridiculed. Some may see his reaction to the past as ridiculous, insane even. However, for Jason, it was him trying to make sense of a messy situation. A reasonable response to an unreasonable situation. Jason’s flippant remarks somehow hurt more than screams of anger. As if denying them as family was the easiest thing in the world.
“Am I wrong? I must be because I’m the ‘failure Robin’.”
The girls winced. If this was a fight, Jason was landing every punch. “That’s not true, Jay.” Barbara speaks. “You never were.”
Jason smiles keenly. “But you said it yourself. I’ll never be Dick Grayson.”
She flinches at the old memory, hearing the hurt that was left to rot for God knows how long. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Jason’s face turned grim. “I know you didn’t. And I had forgiven you long before I died, because you were hurt, you were angry, and that was fine. But forgiveness does not mean forgotten. And do you want to know the best part?”
The gleam in his eyes was razor-sharp.
“I learnt what it means to be Dick Grayson and I gotta say, I’m so fucking glad I’ll never be him.”
Two years ago, that would have been over the line.
A lot has changed in two years.
“And I’m glad I will never be like Bruce. Like Batman. Like the man that couldn’t do his fucking job,” he growled. “Because, at the end of the day, he has made it clear that the only pain, the only suffering, the only anger that is justified is his. Only his. And I’m done cosying up to that bullshit.”
In that moment, they understood that nothing they could say would change his mind.
“You may actually love me, you may not. I can’t find it in myself to give a fuck anymore.”
“Then, at least let me come with you.” Duke raised his voice.
“And me!” Stephanie chimed in. “The Narrows is our home as much as it is yours.”
“And wait for you to stab me in the back? I don’t think so.”
“Dammit, Jason! Lives are on the line!” Kate barked.
“Yes, my life!” Jason reared. “The life that you keep burying and hoping something better crawls out. The life you have objectified and denied for years. The life you forfeited when Bruce came marching in with orders to excommunicate me. That Jason is dead, because of you!”
Their silence was his answer.
Then, he turned to Duke and Steph.
“Where were you when your home was burning to the ground?” Jason asked as the cold air gripped them by their hearts. “Where were you when they screamed in pain? When they begged for their lives?!”
“That animal does not get to live!” He jabbed a finger at Egon. “He doesn’t get to breath the same air. NONE OF THEM DO!” He bellowed. “I’m going to finish this. Me and them. For the whole world to see. I will drag them into the light, because I refuse to fight in any of your shadows anymore.”
Activating his hood, the tech effortlessly gliding over his skull. His deep baritone voice masked with distortion. “Repent…or don’t. I don’t care. There is no ‘us’ anymore. Only Red Ronin.” Jason leaves with the Outlaws, leaving the remnants of the Wayne family to feel the cold, empty silence of the Manor.
Jason’s words hurt, but his actions cut deeper.
Not once did he even glance at Alfred.
~
Past midnight, Gotham never slept.
It crawled with an aching tiredness that Egon had acclimated to. Close to his 50s, Egon knew he couldn’t rely on his body like he had once used to. At this time of the night, old scars tended to act up. It reminded him of the boy. The scar tissue in his throat would tighten, unable to breathe or swallow properly. Egon glanced at the inhaler laid simply on the office table, next to the bottle of 20-Year-Old Glenlivet to keep him company.
Two ounces and a single sphere of ice.
Though, it had long rose to room temperature, now a thin layer of water on the surface.
Egon will admit, the boy had been resourceful. Disappearing without a trace in an uncertain condition, even he had to admit, it was impressive. Where could he had gone to? Who could he had contacted for protection? Egon had entertained the thought of reaching out to Talia – the one who first introduced the two of them in the first place – and asked her if she knew the location of Jason Todd.
She said ‘no’, but he had been in this business long enough to know when someone was lying to him.
Unfortunately, there was not much he could do. Whilst he had regained a notable position of power, he was still a small fish in a very large ocean. Waging a war with the League of Assassins tip-toed the line of stupidity and suicide.
At 3:52AM, Egon counted the minutes by, idly swishing his whiskey glass.
Tonight, the Nobodies were supposed to hit a brownstone house on the Upper East Side. Months of planning had gone into this operation, laying the groundwork for a small, but noticeable criminal network growing in the belly of Gotham City. It had started with the attacks within Crime Alley. Small, but noticeable. Enough that it would be reported, but not enough for local law enforcement to act on.
That allowed him to escalate…
To the moment where the Nobodies would venture outside the bounds of Crime Alley, like a plague spreading its virus through the beating heart of a city.
It would create a statistic.
One that told the story of an incompetent police force that allowed a criminal network to grow until it became too dangerous and unavoidable.
A story that depicted Crime Alley as Patient Zero and that the war on crime was ineffective.
A story of how it created monsters that Gotham let roam free, like the Red Hood, who slaughter innocents by the dozens.
A story that Peterson could sell to greater Gotham.
Which was why he knew she was currently on the 42nd floor – despite the mind-numbing time – preparing herself to stand centre stage when the news of the home invasion – mere blocks from her own home – would inevitably take place.
By the second hour without further communications from his team, Egon had developed an unpleasurable churn in his gut. Gooseflesh had broken out up his arms.
In this business, uncertainty killed.
He quickly dressed into his copycat Red Hood uniform. Double laced military boots, thick cargo pants, long-sleeve body armour and brown leather jacket.
At a distance, he looked the part.
The Legacy Conglomerate office was situated on the edge of Gotham’s Central Business District.
Whilst the building held the Legacy logo, it was owned by Brookfield Properties. The top five floors housed Legacy, with a sixth on the subterranean levels for mailing. Egon’s office was situated on the North-Eastern corner of the 38th floor.
The motion sensors flickered the lights on. Legacy had an open-floor layout; ‘hot-desking’ was the corporate jargon he had heard used around the office. Not a soul in sight. He made his way through the hallways into the elevator, briefly taking a glimpse of the security camera.
It did not matter to him as he was wearing the boy’s domino, in fact, it benefited him.
Egon exited onto the 41st floor where the executive boardrooms were and the special staircase onto the 42nd floor was housed.
Past Holland Room – which faced West over the city – he began to hear the laughter of men and women. It seemed like they were celebrating the night away, in preparation for victory. Uncaring of the uncertainty the night held.
“Demolition crews are primed with plans for the first stake in the ground by the end of the month.”
“I got to hand it to you, Eli.” Gabrielle Porter said. The Chief Investment Officer for Belmond Capital. She was the first Elaine convinced to join the project. By far the easiest. She didn’t get to her position without cutting a few throats. “I only bet on winners and when you asked me to help you fund this endeavour, I was a little apprehensive.”
“When have I ever lost?”
Porter tips her head in acknowledgement, glass of champagne pressed onto her bottom lip. “Touche.”
“And, just in time.” Elaine spots him, waving him over. “Everyone, the man of the hour…”
Her smile faltered.
She connected the dots rather quickly. The brown leather jacket. The military cargo pants. She noticed how one arm hid behind his body as he walked in, with only one handgun visibly strapped to his side.
“Ah, Mr Adderson.” Doctor Richard Feynman greeted.
An orthopaedic surgeon Elaine had introduced him to. The man had helped with the operation on his knees. Arms wide, smile spread from ear-to-ear, the doctor greeted him like an old friend.
His brains spattered across the room.
BAM! BAM!
Face muscles dropped, eyes wide in shock.
He toppled backwards like a mannequin without a stand, the back of his skull oozed brain-matter onto the carpet.
Then, came the screaming…
And the begging.
“Oh my God! Please no!” Porter shrieked. She dropped her glass of champagne, bringing her hands up to plead for mercy. Feynman’s brains covered her face. Gravely-pale with dilated pupils, she stuttered a breath staring down the barrel of the firearm. The barrel still warm.
She felt her stomach churn, as a drop of the Doctor’s blood trailed down her cheek onto the edge of her lips.
Porter tasted iron.
Hands over her stomach, she lurched forward in nausea as the contents of that evening’s celebration came rushing out onto the white carpet and the edge of Egon’s boots.
Egon put three rounds into her in an act of annoyance.
That left Elaine.
She was the only one to move. Ducking behind the mahogany desk the moment the first round entered Feynman’s brain. Egon could hear her gasping for air. The desk shook as she pressed her body against it.
“Come out, Elaine.”
“Why the hell are you doing this?!” She demanded, the tip of her head peeked over the edge of the table.
BAM!
Chunks of timber splintered out. Elaine shrieked, flinching into a ball. “Stop! Please stop! Is it the money? I’ll pay you more, I swear!”
Egon inched his way around the desk; gun trained on the mahogany desk. Gotham City never seemed so bright at night, or so silent. The tower window loomed behind him, the distant thrum of a helicopter vibrated through the air, and he spared a short glance outside.
Egon’s heart jackhammered.
Thousands stood below.
Amassing like an infestation of mice, the streets were flooded with the denizens of Gotham City, and in that moment, he could feel their eyes on him as the city held its breath.
“I found you.”
Egon spun around, gun outstretched to the dark hallway behind him. It was a voice that haunted his nightmares; laced with anger and venom. Slowly, bit by bit, the shadowed face of the boy stepped through the darkness.
Outside, on the streets of Gotham, numbering in the thousands, the mice roared.
The Alley was here.