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Under international law, mythical creatures are recognized as autonomous and fully conscious beings. The language the UN decided on is similar to the way they talk about meta-humans, with a grudging acceptance that they are in fact worthy of basic rights and aren't simply another resource for humans to commodify. Most people respect the law because it points out the obvious.
There are quite a few assholes, like the creep sitting across from Jason, who believe innocent people are another get rich quick scheme.
If he hadn't sent his goons to his base with a cordial invitation, Jason would've pinned the boss as a teacher or office worker. Nothing about his blue button down shirt, sensible tie, and big wire-frame glasses screamed mythical creature trafficker. Then again, monsters rarely look like monsters.
The man also hadn't stopped smiling, even when Jason barged into his admittedly tidy office housed in a mansion in Old Gotham. He just crossed his hands neatly on the mahogany desk and asked if he wanted anything to drink before the meeting began.
The untouched tea in front of Jason grew colder by the second, the steam growing thinner with his patience.
"We're something of a distribution center, see," Mr. Smiley explained gleefully. "You should see our client list, Mr. Red Hood: Metropolis, 'haven, Star..."
Jason crossed his arms and sank back in his seat, reminding himself to kick Dick in the ass for making him suffer through this.
Three days ago, Dick Grayson went missing. No witnesses, no clear explanation or any discernible motive. Civilian kidnappings weren’t uncommon given the Wayne family’s status was basically a gigantic neon sign flashing “GET RICH QUICK”, but three days without a threatening phone call or at least an old-fashioned scrapbook ransom note spelled trouble.
Naturally the entire clan lost their collective shit and Jason got roped into utilizing his extensive intelligence network. Lo and behold, he got the golden tip. The tip wasn’t about Dick Grayson specifically, it was about a local trafficking ring auctioning off a unicorn later in the week. This, of course, was relevant because Dick happened to be one of the only unicorns in Gotham and therefore a big ticket item should anybody get their grubby hands on him.
How some random shmuck managed to both figure that out and catch Dick remained unknown, and ultimately was unimportant. What mattered was now Gotham’s entire underbelly now knew the Wayne family’s second most closely guarded secret and were hungry to cash in on it. Hence why he started smacking hornet nests and baited this asshat into extending a disgustingly polite invitation to meet.
Jason could feel in his bones Batman and the rest roosting on the adjacent rooftop growing antsy. If he hadn't disconnected the communicator inside his helmet, he’d probably be hearing Damian cursing him out for taking so long. Honestly he’d take that over the headache from sitting across from Mr. Smiley.
“The plain truth is every major player wants a share of our stock. Do you know why? Because our wares are the absolute best in the market, so good we have private collectors tripping over themselves making offers on the rarest species Gotham can offer.”
“Like unicorns?” asked Jason.
“Like unicorns,” agreed Mr. Smiley.
Jason grunted, fixing his posture to properly look the little man in the eyes. “How long have you been here, pal?”
Mr. Smiley hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Oh, three years or so. Why do you ask?”
“That’s long enough to know there ain’t any trafficking, human or otherwise, in my city. So either you're the stupidest motherfucker on the planet or you've got some Nth metal balls asking me over for tea.”
“Now, now, no need to get testy,” said the boss cheekily. “I am quite aware of your policy, and while I find it exceptionally noble I do believe you can be swayed once you see how much our business could benefit you.”
God, if Dick’s life didn’t hang in the balance Mr. Smiley and his superior wit would be a smear of gore on the wall right now. It had been quite some time since Jason felt physically repulsed by a suit. He’d need two showers to get this guy’s muck off him.
Expertly, Jason covered the full-body shudder by cooly leaning across the counter, fingers laced together. “Sway me then, Smiley.”
“It’s Simone.”
“Buddy, do I look like I fucking care?” Mr. Smiley said nothing, just kept on smiling. Three showers. Definitely three showers. “Here’s the deal: Show me this great merchandise that’s goin’ to re-polarise my moral compass or the floor’s goin’ to be wearing that annoying smile attached to that god-ugly face of yours.”
Mr. Smiley closed his eyes and tilted his head. "Of course," he said pleasantly. “Please follow me.” He slid from his chair, his polished shoes clicking on the hardwood as he scuttled past Jason through the office’s heavy oak door.
Under the watch of two burly guards, Jason followed. He expected to be led outside and instructed to tail a black SUV with tinted windows or some other evil guy car on his bike to a secondary location, a warehouse down by the docks, perhaps.
Instead, Mr. Smiley opened another door down the hall and ushered Jason inside an elaborate study. Landscape painting hung on the wall as well as some movie memorabilia that seemed out of place. A giant desk sat in the middle covered in stacks of loose papers and folders. Not one, but three taxidermy bears presided over the space.
The two guards corralled Jason toward the floor-to-celing bookshelves that constituted a back wall. Mr. Smiley stood across from him, hands clasped behind his back. “Barrow, be a lamb?” He asked pleasantly.
One of the guards snorted and walked up to a signed headshot of Basil Carlo. Moving aside the frame that probably cost more than his entire apartment building’s combined rent revealed a simple keypad. Barrow used his bulk to shield the code from view. Jason startled as the bookshelves split apart and he was unceremoniously pushed into the hidden elevator.
Mr. Smiley chuckled, bouncing on his heels like a child about to be given candy. “I don’t come down to the floor very often, so this is a real treat!” He said, chipper as always.
Jason said nothing. The elevator seemed to grow darker the further down it went, a pungent smell wafting from the vents. He curled his hands into fists, trying very hard to keep the hissing whispers in the back of his mind contained until he heard a sharp ding.
The elevator doors opened. Jason supposed he did ask for a warehouse, and the sprawling gray basement he stepped into definitely fit the bill. Workmen in overalls sat in forklifts stacking heavy crates on the far wall. Some were set aside, hidden under cheap blue tarps. He couldn’t see inside but the muffled cries of distress told him enough.
A small round pen had been erected in the middle of what he assumed to be the auction floor. Jason’s stomach plummeted. Jason had only seen Dick’s full shift a handful of times, and it was when he was too compromised to control it properly. Seeing it here, in some dingy basement surrounded by misery sickened him.
The unicorn that was his kidnapped brother lay with his legs folded neatly underneath him. His black coat was slick with sweat and coated in dirt. Dried blood crusted on his nostrils, and a puddle had formed by his front hooves. Waves of dark hair obscured the blindfold strapped on his face, making it difficult to gauge how awake Dick was. The thick silver collar locked around his neck glittered under the light as they approached.
Resting his arms on the pen’s bars, Jason lazily pointed at the offending object. “That a Morpheus Collar?” He asked tightly. Dick’s tail flicked, the long swath of hair at the end brushing up dust, but otherwise didn't react to his voice.
Mr. Smiley nodded, beaming. “For a man against trafficking, you sure are knowledgeable about illegal magical items.”
Jason took a deep breath. Wildfire ravaged his insides, begging to break free and leave the entire block a desolate wasteland. Pure hatred crackled on his tongue like popping candy. He swallowed tediously as Mr. Smiley kept yapping beside him.
“It is, in fact, a Morpheus Collar. A client supplied it himself when he requested the unicorn for his private collection. Unfortunately, he had to back out due to conflicts. Fortunately, he graciously allowed us to auction off this beautiful prize with the collar included. One door closes, another opens, as they say.”
“Bet you can’t tell me this client’s name.”
“Well, no.” Mr. Smiley rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I pride myself on our company’s strict client confidentiality policy.”
“Figured as much,” Jason said boredly. “Bet it was someone close to the Wayne family, though.” Mr. Smiley’s eyebrows furrowed and he huffed a laugh. “C’mon, it’s not rocket science. Also, people can’t keep their mouths shut when the gossip is hot enough. Consider that your one free piece of advice.”
While they talked, a small crowd of workers had amassed around the fence. One man, big and broad and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a pug laughed heartily. “A’course it’d be Wayne! No wonder he adopted the brat. Wanted to keep this beauty all to ‘imself, eh?” The man reached through the fence to brazenly grab Dick’s horn and shake his head. Dick gnashed his teeth at the abuse, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth.
Another man without any exceptional features snorted rather wetly. “Figures the rich philanthropists hog all the good merchandise,” he said, wiping his nose and then wiping his hand off on Dick’s heaving flank. “Far as I’m concerned, we’re just getting a piece of the pie.”
The blue stones inlaid on the collar suddenly blazed to life. Jason pushed off the gate, stepping back as invisible runes flashed brilliantly in the empty spaces and magic pulsed along the collar’s seams. Dick shuddered, globs of blood falling from his nose and lips and splatting onto the ground, and then went deathly still. Gradually, the runes melted away and the stones dimmed.
Once it was clear the fight had been taken out of him again, the men went back to jeering, poking and prodding his brother like an object only existing for their belittlement, for their profit; like he was less than nothing.
This time when the flame called, Jason answered. Hellfire ignited in his stomach and grew teeth and claws that tore up his throat. Thick black smoke sparking with red lightning pooled from his mouth and nose as he calmly removed his helmet. Jason rolled his neck, accommodating the shifting bones as they broke and reassembled into a twisted canine shape. Brilliant white daggers protruded from a stretched set of jaws, curved up into a dangerous smile.
Pug Face and Snotty Joe and the rest of the men finally noticed the malevolent entity. The blinding flash of his terrifying jaws reflected in each pair of eyes and Jason happily devoured their fear. He sighed, tasting the bitter sulfur at the back of the swirling shadows constituting a throat. That was all it took for the men to scatter, yelling and comically trampling each other in retreat.
Oblivious to the panic sweeping the floor, Mr. Smiley cheerily continued pitching the operation. Of course these things naturally fall into place. We just happened to receive a good tip is all. Luck is really the key to success, Mr. Red Hood. Fortune favors those bold enough to –”
The advertisement broke off as Mr. Smiley frowned at the trembling hand tugging at his sleeve like it was using him as an impromptu tissue. He looked into the terrified face of his employee, annoyed. “Is there a problem?” He asked exasperatedly. The employee made a pitiful noise and pointed at the horror taking shape behind him. With a huff, Mr. Smiley turned. It took him a second to realize just how deep in shit he was. "Oh dear."
A thick, ridged tongue lolled out of Hellhound’s mouth, slapping the floor wetly before arcing back upwards to lick at the black and red Resentment staining his muzzle. He let out a raspy cackle and spoke in a voice like static razor blades. “I suggest you bozos run away.”
Mr. Smiley squeaked like the rat he was and ran, joining the tangled horde trying to cram itself into the elevator. Not long after, he heard the muffled sound of an alarm. Good. The whole nest of Bats would be upon them before the elevator reached the top.
While letting Hellhound settle the situation, breaking those groping hands and shattering jaws that mocked and spat, sounded delicious, Jason had more important things to do that required a bit more control of his own psyche. The upside was the men would die in seven days regardless – perks of being the vessel for pure resentment and damnation.
“Losers,” Jason muttered in Hellhound’s uncanny snarl as the infernal beast began melting away. Shadow pulsed and dispelled as it grew nerve and muscle and scarred skin. He worked his jaw, the puzzle of split bone and muscle putting its pieces back into place. The elongated tongue rolled back until it fit neatly inside a human mouth, albeit tinged with the lingering blood and ash.
And, fuck, everything hurt. Jason groaned, shutting his eyes tight to block out the residual red tinging his vision. Hellhound paced the back of consciousness, spitting fire and predictably letting Jason feel every bit of anger at being denied its fill.
When the pain settled back into being bearable, Jason placed his helmet on the ground and shakily unlatched the gate. Drugged or not, unicorns could rip you apart in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t keen on dodging the deceptively deadly teeth Dick had at his disposal.
“That’s it,” he said, stepping gingerly around the slobbering mouth to get at the collar. “Just keep on sleepin’ so I can get this thing off.”
Morpheus Collars, despite their incredible powers, were remarkably easy to defeat. Jason slipped his tools from the inside of his coat and easily picked the hefty padlock keeping the collar secured. He jumped back as it dropped to the ground, the now powerless stones shattering on the concrete floor.
As soon as he registered the collar’s absence, every muscle in Dick’s body loosened. He tossed his head, nickering as he tried to navigate his limbs. Legs flailed as he rocked backward onto his side, dropping his head dramatically to the floor. After a few seconds he tried lifting it again, only to flop back down. The sudden burst of strength seemingly wore off, leaving Dick snorting and breathing heavily on the ground.
The blindfold probably wasn’t helping any, but Jason really didn’t want to lose an arm attempting to remove it. Better to let Dick recover at his own pace.
And luckily Dick was too stubborn to take long, concussed as he was. Blue light enveloped his prone form and the equine silhouette rippled, morphing into something mostly human before fading away. Soon Jason found himself staring at Dick’s curved spine, mottled with bruises and vertical wounds. Tan skin bled into jet black fur starting at the center of his back, extending down into powerful haunches, mottled white hooves, and spindly tail. Equine ears still remained on either side of his head, meaning he probably – yeah, Jason saw the horn as Dick stirred, rolling over onto his hands and knees.
Blindly, Dick groped for the fly mask attached to his face. His fingers kept catching on the rat’s nest of sweaty hair sticking to his neck and shoulders.
“Whoa, hey, relax.” Jason crouched beside his brother, grabbing his wrists. Dick flinched back from the touch, baring his teeth in a bloody snarl. “It's me. You know it’s me. Relax.”
The assurance doesn’t completely alleviate the tension but Dick’s heaving breaths slow some. He sagged, head dropping to his chest. It was as much a nod as he was going to get, so Jason, adjusting his grip to brace his shoulder with one hand, felt around his head with the other until he found the buckle. Carefully, he released the mechanism and the mask fell to the ground.
Dick squinted against the harsh light, ears swiveling wildly and pinning back. It took him a few seconds to focus on the red insignia on Jason’s chest and longer to find his eyes. His mouth opened around a pitiful croak.
Jason nodded, using his sleeve to wipe away some of the blood on Dick’s face. “You’re ok.”
The elevator whirred as it descended. Outside the pen, the communicator which inexplicably clicked on whenever Hellhound emerges relayed Tim’s message that they’re on their way down.
Heaving a sigh, Jason gripped Dick tighter. “We've got you.”