Post by Drake on Dec 14, 2014 15:10:42 GMT -5
#3: New Knight Rising Finale
Seeds
Tim Drake stood, shaking, and barely managed to meet Richard Dragon’s gaze. The blonde man was one of ‘Haven’s oldest heroes and an expert martial artist. If things went south, what the hell was Tim supposed to do?
“Let me tell you, this isn’t remotely what it looks like,” Tim promised.
“It looks like you’re invading my friend’s base, and using his technology for your own…unwarranted purposes,” Dragon said without missing a beat.
Tim shrugged, “Actually, that about covers it.”
Tim was slammed against the wall before he knew what hit him. Faster than the teen could register, Richard Dragon had grabbed his collar and forced him away, barely avoiding a glass case containing an old Wildcat costume.
“Even worse, you use that logo…that costume as if to mock its previous owner’s name,” Dragon growled. However, Tim was the really angry one, his patience being tested more and more by the second. Hero worship could only go so far.
“Swear to God, I’m doing good. No mocking, no vandalizing. Look me up. I just…I accidentally found this place,” Tim explained, slowly reaching into his utility belt. Dragon smirked and flipped the younger vigilante around, his chest now facing the wall. Through squished cheeks Tim muttered, “Now that hurts. You have two seconds…”
“Boy, you cannot hurt me,” Dragon said. In most ways, it was true. Dragon was taller, stronger, more coordinated and certainly more experienced. Still, Richard Dragon was not smarter than Tim.
“Code Alice in the Rabbit Hole, activate,” Tim whispered.
“What are you…?”
Lights flickered on around Richard Dragon, causing the man to glance back. The base’s defense system had turned back on upon Tim’s command, activating three large turrets, all aimed down at the prodigal hero. He—a boy of no older than sixteen—had managed to not only hack Cluemaster’s files, but take control of and fix his damaged base-wide machinations and tricks. Dragon let go of Tim and stepped away, hands up.
Massaging his neck, the new Redbird said, “You’re not as dumb as I thought. Now, play nice…”
“Oh, I plan to,” Dragon admitted, “I know who you are, Redbird. In fact, I trust you. Now please, turn off the turrets.”
“Right,” Tim sarcastically said, crossing his arms. He had learned better than to trust Dragon. After all, Nightwing had tutored under the most paranoid superhero in existence. It only made sense he would pass on Batman’s teachings. “How ‘bout no.”
Richard took a deep breath, relaxing his senses. With a small flick of his hands, Richard sent three tiny projectiles flying. The miniscule weapons went right down the turrets’ shafts and broke them. With a loud whirring sound, the defense system shut down.
“What the hell?” Tim muttered, mouth agape.
Richard turned to face the young man, “Fingernail projectiles.” He flashed three fingers, the nails gone, proving his point. “Should you be in touch with your body, you can flex specific muscles in your fingers to remove your nails. The rest requires only a flick of your hand. It’s a common assassination technique used by the League of Assassins.”
“That…that’s not biologically possible,” Tim backed up, afraid Richard would attack him.
“Anything is possible with the proper control and training.” Richard stepped towards the boy, sending him closer and closer to the wall. Tim stepped back onto the edge of the Wildcat case, nearly tripping. Richard grinned, lifting his hand up. Tim reached into his utility belt, but stopped when the Dragon’s hand rested gently on his shoulder.
“I did not lie, my friend. I know who you are. I know I can trust you,” Richard explained. Tim relaxed. The older man would’ve ended him on the spot if he had been lying to him.
“Then why attack me?” Tim innocently asked.
“I required a test to prove your fortitude. You passed with flying colors.” Richard Dragon stepped away and turned to face the computer system at the back of the base. “In fact, I believe it was fate you found this place. We were destined to meet, Redbird.”
Tim lit up upon hearing that name. Instinctively, without hesitation, the teen asked, “Will you train me?”
Richard faced Tim, a smirk of amusement evident on his lips, “What?”
Tim blushed, but didn’t look away, “I’m sorry for asking, especially when you don’t really know me. It’s just…my mentor’s gone, and I’ve grown up wanting to be an Outlaw. This seems like my one real chance to make that dream come true.”
Richard crossed his arms, “You want to be an Outlaw?”
Immediately, Tim nodded, “More than anything.”
Richard Dragon knew an opportunity when he saw one. The boy was talented, brave, and good. He had a direct connection to Gotham, and perhaps most importantly he was just an adolescent. Artemis needed friends. She needed allies.
“I’ll think on it,” Richard played coy.
“C’mon, please!” Tim threw himself at his elder’s feet, “You don’t know what this means to me!”
Richard smiled gently, and tapped the boy’s head, causing him to lift it and look the Dragon in the eyes.
“Very well, Redbird. I will meet you here again at midnight. Come prepared, physically and spiritually, for an Outlaw’s path is a difficult one,” Richard declared.
And so it began. What Richard Dragon didn’t understand was Tim was ready.
What neither of them knew was everything was about to change.
To put it mildly, Gar Logan had had a rough day. For starters, he’d woken up to find himself changed, physically mutated into a green-skinned monkey boy. Moreover he could now transform into not one, but an assortment of animals. Not a single other Changeling in ‘Haven could do that. As if his day couldn’t get worse, he was kicked out of his home by his foster dad, gotten drunk with a hobo, been near killed by some asshole kids, and now—now—made the mistake of trying to shoplift a candy bar from a 711.
“Hey, kid!” A large man dressed in a red ski jacket tapped Gar’s shoulder before he could reach the door. The young teen, hidden under the hood of his purple sweatshirt, turned around and smiled meekly.
“How can I help you, sir?” Gar managed, looking at the ground to veil his face.
The man pointed to Gar’s obscured hands, which he’d hidden in the pockets of his sweatshirt to conceal the stolen candy…among other things. “What’ve you got in your pockets?”
Gar sighed. He wasn’t one for confrontation.
Taking the bar out of his pocket, Gar said, “It’s a Snickers. I…I was going to steal it.”
Now everyone in the shop had their eyes on Gar. The woman at the cashier glared at him as Gar’s confronter continued on.
“So…?”
Gar handed the man the candy bar, “Here. I’m sorry, I’m broke and homeless…”
The teen picked up scattered whispers of ‘runaway’ and ‘is his hand green?’ with his acute hearing. He bit the edge of his lip, ashamed.
“Kid, looks like you’re a little more than that.” The jacketed man suddenly pulled back Gar’s hood and, much to the teen’s dismay, revealed his face. All but a red-haired man in the back gasped. This wasn’t going to end well.
“Listen, I, uh—“ Gar backed away, opening the door with his foot. The man matched him step for step.
“You know what we do to your kind, Changeling freak?” The man ran a finger across his throat. No one inside the store came to Gar’s defense. Oh my God, he was really going to die…for stealing a candy bar!!
“Please,” Gar begged.
The man pulled a knife out from his crimson coat, “Your crime is attempted theft and the sacrilegious act of living. Your punishment? Death.”
Gar took a deep breath. His transformations still came sporadically. The best he could hope for was that he’d turn into something strong or fast…fast would be good. He could run away or—or…
Gar slipped over an untied shoelace. Just hilarious. His shoes would be his doom. How cliché.
’C’mon,’ Gar thought, ’Don’t die out here, Gar. Focus. Change.
The man was standing over Gar now, knife raised. ’Holy crap, CHANGE!’ But he didn’t, and the boy shielded his face, waiting for the end. Luckily for him, the end never came.
The Red Hood’s knife clattered to the ground by Gar’s feet. Looking between his middle and ring fingers, Gar saw the red-haired man from the store—the only one who hadn’t reacted negatively to his appearance—pinning the vigilante’s arm behind his back.
Gar’s savior was dressed in a sleek green and purple suit with a set of nerdy golden glasses on his face, and held a brown cane soldered with a golden question mark. Frowning fiercely, the man whispered into the Red Hood’s ear, “Your crime is attacking a child. Your punishment? An ass kicking.”
Without wasting any time, before the Red Hood could even reply, the green-suited man literally kicked his behind, sending him skidding across the sidewalk. The Hood began to stand back up, but was hit back to the ground when the suited man smacked him in the head with his cane. Now injured and visibly scared, the Red Hood scrambled off, only glancing back once.
Sarcastically and with a twinge of wit, the man muttered, “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.”
The doors to the 711 burst open and out walked the cashier with a fully armed shotgun. “Get the hell away from my store!”
The suited man held his cane out to Gar—at first making him flinch—in an attempt to help him up. Gar took it.
“Off we go then,” the man said. Gar nodded, following him away from the store. Once they were a block or so from the 711, the man slowed down and stopped Gar with his cane. The two were on the edge of a street in The Narrows, surrounded only by the homeless.
“Th-thank you,” Gar said, having resisted the urge to jump when the cane hit him square in the stomach.
“It was my pleasure….?” The man paused, clearly waiting for Gar to give him his name.
“Garfield—I mean, Gar Logan. Sorry, just Gar,” the boy stuttered.
“Can I call you ‘just Gar?’” The man asked.
“What?”
“Well, Garfield I Mean Gar Logan Just Gar is quite the mouthful,” he retorted.
Something cracked in Gar, and he broke out laughing. After all the craziness and hell he’d experienced, to hear a joke so ridiculous and so awful was incredibly refreshing and, admittedly, endearing. It seemed Gar wasn’t the only one amused too. The man was genuinely smiling, apparently pleased he could make the teen laugh.
Between hiccups and giggles, Gar managed, “So, what’s your name?”
“Isn’t that the question of the year.” Ironically, the man wasn’t asking. “Just call me…Edward.”
“Is that your real name?” Gar wondered. To be honest, the only thing about the man that seemed genuine was his personality. His suit was all too artificially colored, his face looked like it had been on the end of a scalpel more times than Gar could imagine, and his hair clearly wasn’t naturally orange. Something about the color just seemed…off. So, it would come as no surprise to Gar if Edward wasn’t the man’s real name. Moreover, his apparent lie was a bit creepy.
“Yes…and no,” Edward admitted, “I go by many names. If you wish, you can call me by my moniker—the Riddler.”
“The Riddler? Wait…” Suddenly it hit Gar. The colorful suit, the aura of mystery to the man, and his incredible fighting skills, “You’re…you’re a vigilante.”
Edward shrugged his shoulders, “Again, my answer is enigmatic. Yes and no. In the past, perhaps, but now…even I can not tell.” He paused to contemplate as Gar waited for a more definite answer. The teen was rather disappointed and amused when Edward spoke up again.
“Enigmatic…enigma. Ee-nigma. Call me Edward Nygma,” he decided.
“E. Nygma? You’re kidding me,” Gar retorted.
“No, jokes are another man’s specialty,” Edward replied entirely seriously. Next, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a card. “Should you ever need help again, just go to that address.”
Gar took the card and looked it over. There was a phone number and—as Edward had implied—an address.
“2583 Masterson Avenue,” Gar read aloud, before saying, “Wait, Masterson Avenue? There’s no such thing…” The boy looked up, only to discover Edward was gone.
Where the hell had he gone? And maybe more importantly, where the hell was Gar supposed to go?
Four simple words caused Harper to awaken.
“You have a visitor.”
Lying on her side in a tent somewhere in the middle of the maze of a city the Red Hoods called home, Harper allowed her eyes to flutter open. Davis Martinez stepped halfway into Harper’s temporary abode. Harper gave him a gentle smile as a response and sat up and stretched while Davis went off to get Harper’s ‘visitor.’ Truth be told, Harp imagined it was Red Dart—or one of her man-slaves—here to call her for the ceremony. Instead, it turned out she’d been visited by someone else, someone she would have preferred not find her…not yet….
“Hey, Harp,” Cullen Row smiled weakly as he entered the tent. Harper tried to hide her shame.
“What are you doing here, Cul?” Harper asked, staring blankly down at her sheets.
“Looking for you,” Cullen paused briefly, but before Harper could speak up, he continued, “Harper, please don’t do this. I—I mean, honestly, I don’t know what it is they do down here, or what they want you to do, but just the fact that finding you resulted in me nearly dying three times makes this seem like a bad idea.”
“Cul, please,” Harper stood up and grabbed her brother’s hand, “I’m doing this for you. They’ll keep you fed, healthy, educated. You might even meet a nice guy down here.”
Cullen pulled his hand away, his face contorted with anger, “This was never about me, Harper. Not since Dad died. This has only been about you and your stupid quest for vengeance.”
“Cullen!” Harper exclaimed.
“No, Harper,” Cullen looked his sister in the eyes, crying now, “You have to understand—Dad is dead! There’s no bringing him back! Cam—Cameron called me earlier. He’s worried sick, and—“
“Screw Cameron!” Harper shouted, “Screw all of this bullcrap! Cullen, Jock has to pay!”
“Harper, you’re a freaking hero, not a vigilante! Not like these people! This has to stop!”
“Stop?! Cullen, I can never stop! There’s this fire in me, and it won’t go away. No matter what I do, no matter who I hurt it just keeps burning, but—but it does dim a little when I think about Jock, dead at my feet…” Harper clenched her hands into fists.
“Harp, please! This is crazy!”
“BECAUSE I’M CRAZY!!”
Cullen flinched, causing the red to disappear from Harper’s eyes. She was holding his arms tightly, cutting off all the circulation. It was obvious he was in pain.
“Harper, please, you’re hurting me…” Cullen pleaded. Harper immediately let go and stepped back, shocked. She’d never hurt Cullen before. She’d never done anything so horrible, acted so much like her father.
Harper collapsed to the ground, shaking with sobs, “Can’t you see, Cul? I’m broken, and—and I—“
Cullen knelt down at Harper’s side and wrapped his arm around her. Crying with her, he managed, “C’mon, Harp. Let’s go home. Let’s go see Cameron again…”
The glass shattered. Harper pushed Cullen away and marched out of the tent, leaving without a word. Cullen just sat there, tears cascading to the ground, all too aware that he’d lost his sister and may never get her back.
Cassandra Cain, the seventeen-year-old vigilante without a codename, leaned over the edge of a gargoyle. Staring out over the Haven, the words to describe the gorgeous sight were lost to her…quite literally. After all, she had only just begun learning English, or any language for that matter. However, what she lacked in verbal depth, Cassandra more than made up for in talent.
“Show yourself,” Cass declared, nimbly twisting and turning around. A tall, brown-haired man in a suit stepped out of the shadows, grinning crazily.
“Man, that’s the second time tonight!” Jack Ryder didn’t seem all that disappointed.
“Speak.”
“What? That’s all I get after the…two years it’s been since we last saw each other?” Ryder mused, “No, ‘hey, Uncle Jack?’”
“Not uncle.”
“I suppose not. Then again, you never really hung out with the rest of the Outlaws, did you? Had your sights set on just one,” Ryder’s eyes betrayed the smile on his face. He hadn’t been teasing the girl. It was consolation, however brief and awkward. Any matter that pertained to Jason Todd was a serious one.
Cassandra refused to give Ryder a response. The man sighed.
“Listen, Cass, we’re calling the Outlaws—however distant—back together. Your father—your real father—would want you to come. He’ll be there. I know that’s not much incentive, but…”
“Redbird.”
“What?” Ryder asked, “Cass, Jason is…”
“No. New Redbird. He comes,” Cass demanded, “He comes; I come.”
“Sure, yeah, we could always use new blood,” Ryder admitted, “Although the others might think it’s in bad taste. Then again, Brand can’t actually taste anything, and he tends to be the most outspoken so I think we’re fine.”
Cass was not amused. “I tell him.”
“Great!” Ryder’s smile was genuine again, “I will be seeing you later, Cass.”
And with that last word, Ryder rather overdramatically flipped away, leaving Cass with her thoughts. Redbird…Tim…and Nightwing. The Outlaws needed them. She needed them. Cass resisted a blush. She needed him.
Harper Row wasted no time marching into Red Dart’s not-so-humble abode. Davis was standing in the doorway, and upon seeing Harper, stopped her.
“Whoa, Harp, I’m glad you’re here. We’re almost ready. Almost.” Davis admitted.
“We’re doing this—whatever this is—now!” Harper stated.
“No, don’t…this is a tradition.” Harper was already past him and heading in to see Red Dart, “Don’t challenge her—Don’t! …and you did.”
“Red Dart, now. The ceremony now.”
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Dart said, and, without missing a beat, “This is our tradition, our rules. Sit down, stop acting like a five-year-old, and wait it out.”
Harper ran her hands through her hair, “God damn it!”
“Actually, Lady Dart, we’re ready for the ceremony,” one of Dart’s many man-slaves said. The room certainly looked as if it was ready for…something, Harper thought. Dart stood in the middle of a red circle painted with…well, Harper hoped that was ink. There were weird symbols all over, and all of Dart’s servants stood around in red hooded robes. Even Dart had switched out her leather jacket for a vest with a hood.
“Well, if it isn’t your lucky day,” Dart said, “Come here then, Harry.”
“Harper,” the teen retorted, “Harry’s a guy’s name.”
“Whatever you say,” Dart clucked.
Red Dart took Harper by her shoulder and pulled her into the middle of the circle. The servants—including now Davis—surrounded the two women. All but one had their hands clasped together as if they were about to begin a prayer.
“This has got to go,” Dart pulled at Harper’s blue leather jacket, tugging it off. Harper tried to protest, but the cult leader wouldn’t have it, “No. Our tradition, our rules. You wanted to be a Red Hood. Blue isn’t allowed.”
“Now, Smith,” Dart motioned to the servant immediately behind her. The man was the oldest in the room, probably in his mid-thirties. His face was long, thin, and Harper couldn’t spy his hair under the hood. In his hands he held a bowl of what looked like severely darkened Kool-aid. That smell. Harper knew that smell. Salty, strong, and definitely not paint. Then again, it wasn’t human blood either. It smelled weird…
“By the great lord, by the traditions he taught, by the sinners we have slain,” Dart dipped her hand into the blood and turned to Harper, “By the bestial blood on my hand, and by the righteous quest we attempt, I do adorn thee, Harriet Snow—“
“—Harper Row.”
Dart smirked off the comment, “I do adorn thee with the mark of the Red Hoods.” The older woman proceeded to paint a target on Harper’s forehead in blood. The blue-haired girl resisted gagging. Red Dart grinned wickedly, noticing Harper was uncomfortable.
“Hood John Smith,” Davis spoke now, revealing he did in fact have some authority.
The lanky Red Hood with the bowl of blood nodded, before shouting, “Bring forth the sinner.”
“The sinner?” Harper looked past Davis’ head and to the doorway, where in marched two Red Hoods dragging a man in chains. Davis and another Hood stepped to the side, allowing room for the new arrivals to throw the criminal at Harper’s feet.
“Knife or gun?” Dart asked.
“What?” Harper muttered, only now realizing her part in the ceremony.
“Your weapon of choice? Knife or gun? Or, I guess, if you’re a sick bitch like me, we could get a baseball bat.” Dart wasn’t teasing Harper. Maybe Cullen had been right. Maybe these people were psychos. But then Harper remembered her father’s body, his broken, stabbed, tortured body.
“Gun,” Harper decided.
“Easy,” Red Dart admitted, “I like easy too.” She motioned someone on with her finger. A Hood in the back brought forth a crimson pistol on an equally red pillow. Harper’s hand shook as she lifted it, but as she rested it atop the firearm, her shivering stopped.
With a deep breath, Harper lifted the gun to the man’s head. He was gagged, but Harper could see the tears streaming down his cheeks as he silently pleaded for mercy. Had he given mercy, this criminal? A murderer? A rapist? Whatever the hell he was, it wasn’t good.
“Repeat after me,” Dart whispered into Harper’s ear, “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.”
Harper’s gaze hardened. This was it. This was her decision. There was no going back.
“Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.”
BLAM!
The man fell to the side, dead. Harper looked on, resisting the urge to cry, as the blood on her forehead dripped past her eye, down her cheek and fell silently to the ground.
Red Dart threw her arm around the girl, “Welcome to the Red Hoods, Harper Row. We’re gonna have a hell of a time together!”
Richard Dragon opened up the door to his apartment.
“Artemis, I’m ho--!”
The Dragon stopped midsentence, frozen in shock. The apartment was a mess. Chairs were upside down, tables broken, and glass shattered. There had been a struggle. Richard crept forward, and peaked into the kitchen. It, too, had been ruined, but there was a resounding difference between it and the living room. Richard clenched his hands into fists, seething.
SHE IS MINE. DO NOT COME FOR HER.
The words had been marked into the wall with a knife. The size of the incisions, the curve in the letters…Richard knew all too well who had taken Artemis.
CHK!
Richard looked down at his chest, shocked. Red seeped into his clothing. Blood. His blood. He turned around, clutching the wound. Richard Dragon’s eyes widened upon seeing his assailant.
“You…how are you--?”
“Hush now.”
CHK! CHK!
Two more bullets, right between the Dragon’s eyes.
Thinking only of his daughter, Richard Dragon fell to the ground and took his last breath.
12:37 AM, Hours Later
Tim Drake knelt over the outline of Richard Dragon’s body. Cops had gotten here first. Who knows what the hell they’d ruined, trashed, or hidden. Still, there was a crime scene…and an outline. An outline of a broken corpse. A corpse that had once been a man. A man that once been a symbol of hope for Blüdhaven, for Tim. Fists clenched and shaking with anger, the young vigilante did not notice the man standing just behind him.
“A pity, isn’t it?”
Tim swung around, and wasted no time impulsively shoving the man into a wall.
“Who the hell are you?”
The drawn out face of Edward Nygma contorted into distaste, “Breathe, Timothy, breathe.”
“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking to. ‘Name’s Rebird.” Tim tried not to add panic to the list of emotions surging through him.
“I know who you are under the mask. Don’t worry. I’m a friend,” Nygma promised, before looking at the outline on the ground, “He was my friend…”
Tim’s eyes widened, and he let go of Nygma.
“Why are you here?” Tim asked. “And who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Edward Nygma.”
“That’s a fake name.”
Nygma smiled, “Alas, it is mine.” Tim frowned. The man clearly wasn’t going to be entirely honest with him.
“As for why I am here,” Nygma stepped towards the outline and leaned on his cane, “I…wanted to speak with Richard, but I found out he had been murdered through the police emergency radio, same as you.”
Tim couldn’t keep panic from creeping into his chest. Who the hell was this guy? How did he know what Tim did or didn’t use, anyway? How did he know who he was?
“Why should I trust you? How do I know you aren’t Richard Dragon’s murderer?”
Nygma turned to face the boy, “Because, Timothy Drake, I am like you. My intelligence is beyond measure, my connections deeper than you could imagine, and while I may have a bum leg, my combat skills make professional martial artists look like toddlers fighting in the schoolyard. I am like you, but I am also older than you. If I wanted you dead or hurt, you would be dead or hurt.”
“Not exactly reassuring…”
“—No, but it’s the truth. You need me, Timothy—excuse me, Redbird—and I need you.”
“Why?”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Nygma extended his hand to Tim, “So what do you say? Help me catch my friend’s killer. Help me clean up ‘Haven.”
Tim hesitated. He didn’t know this man. Then again, he knew next to nothing about Dragon’s murder. There hadn’t been a bit of evidence on the scene. No bullet, no fingerprints, nothing. All he could tell was how Dragon had stood before he fell. He hated to admit it, but he did need Edward Nygma, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t investigate the man as he worked with him.
Tim Drake took Nygma’s hand and shook it, “Fine. I’m in.”
“Oh, this is so exciting!” Nygma squealed, “A start of a wonderful partnership!”
A start. That’s all it was, Tim reminded himself. He would bring Richard Dragon’s murderer to justice, and if Nygma turned out to be an enemy then he would learn the hard way that experience did not equate to victory.
JUST THE BEGINNING…
TIM, HARPER, GAR and CASS’S STORIES CONTINUED IN ULTIMATE KNIGHTS!
Ultimate Outlaws vol. 2 Finale: The Lost Outlaw—out December 24th 2014