Ultimate 'Haven #6: The Curious Case of... Pt. 3

[The Wonderful Wachter]

Last Time in the pages of Ultimate ‘Haven

The search for Aaron Langstrom is on and nobody cares about Lincoln March. Well, that’s a lie. Red Hood cares. He cares a lot. And so do the police and the media. As for our faithful heroes, they have their priorities correct. Just ask Roland Desmond’s gofer Inspector Arnot… of course Batwoman left him in no condition to tell his story. With night falling, Redbird remains a step behind his mentor-gone-rogue and has to rely on advice (and another calling ‘wild’ card) from the Red Hood.

Look to the sky.

Dictated but not read,
-Arthur Brown, Master of Clues.

PS: Jason and Helena got all High School Musical only for the claws to come out of Steph—wait. THAT’S MY DAUGHTER!

Ultimate ‘Haven #6
The Curious Case of Aaron Langstrom Pt. 3
On Leather Wings

They talked me into going to the circus. Said I needed to get out of the house and out of my head. I told them I do get out but apparently my hooded evenings don’t count. It was the same circus all over the news and the net awhile back. The one where Wonder Woman first appeared. I’ll admit, it was cool even if that giant lady’s replacement, the MIGHTY GIGANTOR, was something we’d all seen before.

It was almost a perfect evening of friends together, forgetting our troubles and the city. But, y’know, the city doesn’t forget us. Ha. I’m sure Jay would have loved it.

A Big Top Rumble.

These were not the conditions Mark was accustomed to working and it really should have bothered him more but in the grand scheme of things, it was all so exhilarating. His work would be groundbreaking tonight. So he would ignore the not-quite sanitary environment. He would delude himself into thinking the strange stain in the corner was rust and not blood. Everything was fine. It would be fine. He had his beakers and chemicals. He gave the shelf beside him a second glance… he had his syringes. All was well.

Nevertheless,, he could not shake the feeling that something was off. Days like today were done in fancy laboratories. Or they were done in castles on stormy nights. Sometimes they were even made in dungeons, far from prying eyes and eavesdroppers; conditions perfect so that one could hide the screams.

They were not made in tiny, rectangle boxes with barely any breathing room.

Mark finished sanitizing his hands for the sixth or seventh time. He was far too excited to keep count. He steeled his breath. Today would be the day.

“During… during World War II,” Mark began, grabbing the nearest syringe and accompanying vial in front of him, “each, uh, each c-c-country tried to one up the, the other with the next best, um, weapon.” Yes. Weapon. He wasn’t doing this for that. Just science. “Allies versus Axis. We… We… had the Manhattan project and um…uh a few others. But the Germans, yes, yes. The Germans. They had the mighty Übermensch!” Mark was quite proud of his accent on that one.

“Sup… Super Soldiers. Man’s next best thing. It was, was found then lost and then found again and,” he lifted up the vial and shook the illuminating liquid inside, “and improved. Advancement. Ev-evolution and adaption. Scientific breakthroughs. Your… your father is really quite the genius. You, yes… yes… You should be proud of that. Mine certainly wasn’t. He-he didn’t understand me or my brother… Our mother did though… she did.”

Mark faced his subject, momentarily confused as to why he had been able to give his grand mad scientist monologue. The subject was not gagged, only restrained. So strange. So very strange. He shrugged.

For his part, Aaron stared at the doctor without any immediate fear. He still wore the pajamas he had been taken in. His favorite with Finn and Jake on it. The needle did not scare him. He was used to them. He knew what it was to be poked and prodded. Mark took notice of that.

“I… I… was always a fan of people like-like The Rani and-and the great Baroness Paula von Gunther,” there was that accent he was proud of again, “growing up. I could relate to them.” Silence. “Before your-your time I suppose.” He tested the syringe. “But you know what they say… never meet your heroes.”

Aaron never turned away from the doctor. He never shied away as the strange doctor searched for a vein. The straps were too tight and he would not cry. He would not cry.

“Oh,” Mark remembered why this had been quite the one sided conversation, “That is… that is correct. You-you cannot hear me. Lets work on that.”

As the strange serum flooded into his blood system, Aaron continued with that eerie stare. He did nothing as the mad man waited for his body to metabolize the foreign body. Not even when the pain wracked his body and he felt his tear ducts grow wet.

“Anything?”

“My father is going to rip out your throat with his bare teeth,” answered the subject matter-of-factly.

“Perfect.”

Now to draw the subject’s blood again.

Desmond Estate,
Blüdhaven

The compound was incredibly beautiful from a distance; completely asymmetrical with angles and curves mixing as one. It lost only a speck of that beauty upon closing in and noticing all the security, more so than even the most paranoid in the Haven. The home was situated upon a remote bluff overlooking the Atlantic. Not a single neighbor could be seen with the naked eye or even with binoculars. The Desmonds liked their privacy. They had for as long as Kate had called the Haven home and probably long before it.

No one knew much about the family. There were strange rumors around the previous patriarch, all unsubstantial. Less strange were the beliefs that they were in the pockets of the Five Families up in Gotham but neither Kate and Wingman nor her father and B.P.D. had proven any foul play despite numerous reports (and countless claims they led the largest gang in Haven). They were clean. They ran charities. They had their own pharmaceutical company which had increased their fortune since the turn of the century (the older brother Mark was apparently the genius behind that though Roland was the brains that kept it in business). Nobody had seen the matriarch in nearly fifteen years. Not even to visit the doctor.

If Arnot was in their pocket, as Cluemaster had proved by following the money, it explained why they hadn’t found anything. Desmonds had the great inspector warning them or burning evidence. Good then. Maybe it meant she’d finally be able to put a dent in their operations now that she had put a dent in their mole.

Kate had only infiltrated the compound once in recent memory with Jason as her wingman. It had been a training exercise under the cover to make sure the brothers hadn’t pulled a Norman Bates with their mother. She was breathing, albeit with the aid of an oxygen tank. It was hard but not impossible.

She repelled up the bluff side, slid through the security, and waited patiently in the tea room with Mrs. Desmond. There was no need to announce herself. The bell attached to the old woman’s wheelchair did all the work for her.

Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding!

A man in a horrid sweater-vest eventually arrived as a dutiful son would. Roland did not have the look of the criminal. In fact, he looked like that slightly pudgy, slightly short neighbor who would water your plants while you were away and thank you for letting him do it. He went to his mother’s side immediately, unable to discern what was wrong.

A wrinkly hand and shaking finger pointed to the corner. Pointed directly at –

“Batwoman!” exclaimed Roland in complete surprise. Even his voice was an unmasculine low tenor.

Kate had perfected the art of embodying a terrifying shadow over the years. A room lit only by the fire in the fireplace gave it an extra bit of spine-tingling chills. Most people always had one of two reactions to that wraith-like appearance, the white face and the vibrant blood-red lips. Roland had the more common one. Luckily, his mother was okay after he nearly stumbled back over her.

Cape billowing behind her, Desmond found his throat in Batwoman’s hand and his head exceedingly closer to the fireplace than any single man would be comfortable with.

He broke down into rambling babbles immediately, begging her to let him go and that he hadn’t done anything.

Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding!

Batwoman’s white eyes narrowed in suspicion. They all nearly broke down like this. Arnot, a trained cop, had broken down just as quickly mere hours ago. But there was something off about Desmond’s sobs. It seemed almost sincere.

“Where’s the boy?!”

“Wh-what boy?”

“Langstrom. Aaron Langstrom!”

Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding!

“The one on-on the news?” he cried, “That was in Gotham!”

She grabbed a hold of his shirt and yanked him up just as the smell of singed hair wafted up to her nose. There seemed to be earnestness in his tone and posture and yet… Her eyes narrowed as a chill passed over her body. The fire died down. Desmond’s breath fogged before him. Somebody had walked over her grave.

“Wrong lead, Bats,” the voice of another tried its hardest to force itself out of Mama Desmond’s harsh throat. “Ole Man-Bat is on a rampage and he mighta …”

Deadman didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. Kirk would be able to find his son. Now she had to find Kirk.

The son fell to the floor like a pile of wrinkled clothes while the mother gasped for breath. Each labored gulp of air grew as the flames in the fireplace began to warm the room once more. Kate spared Roland one last look before vanishing out a window.

“Mother?” Roland inquired softly, nearly a whine. “What—“

“I’m fine, Rollie, but perhaps you should warn your brother,” she ordered in a far, far different voice than before.

Ding!

Safehaven Free Clinic
Blüdhaven

Her mom refused to let her out of sight this close to the Gallows or the protective walls of the soup kitchen and Stephanie refused to go in until she finished her phone call. It’d be rude. So both women, generations apart, had the same frustrated expression on their blond-bangs framed faces. Both tapped their feet in unison. If her father was there, he’d have been appropriately reserved about making a joke.

“What do you mean you forgot?” Steph growled into her cell. “And where have you been? Why’d you duck out –“

“Emergency… Rich—“

“Don’t even try that lie. Mr. Richard is just as worried about you losing your scholarship as I am.” Heavy breathing came back as his answer. “You can’t miss our study sessions. You can’t afford to fail and you can’t afford to miss the play!” she hissed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother tapping her watch. In a moment as clear as day, Stephanie realized just who she sounded like.

She shivered in dread.

“We can study later tonight,” he gasped.

“I’m volunteering tonight, remember!”

“Uh…” it sounded like air was whistling by him.

“And why are you breathing so hard?”

“Freerunning. Clears the head.”

“Free…” Odd flapping sounded overhead but Stephanie didn’t immediately pay attention it, “running.”

She glanced up in time to see a small figure with a yellow cape spread wide glide down the street. A firing of grappling line sent him zipping farther and faster over the top of her mother’s clinic and out of sight. Stephanie rolled her eyes in disbelief.

“Don’t see that every day,” her mother muttered, “hang up, Stephanie.”

Stephanie tried to keep any worry out of her voice. “Be careful. Don’t… trip.”

“Won’t be a problem.” He ended the call.

After vanishing at the Superbowl just as the Royal Flush Gang launched their attack, the scaling of the school, and that one on one they had on New Years, how he expected her to not figure out his secret was beyond her. She had to wonder what sort of trouble he was running after this time. Must have a lead on March.

Her shoulders fell in a sigh. Nothing could be done now. At least he tried harder than her father in keeping her in the dark.

“Dr. Brown! Miss Steph!” an excitable voice called out with the distinct cadence of a running step. “Did you two see that!?! It was Redbird and I think he was chasing a giant bat!” a boy was between them now, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Yes Garfield, we saw,” her mother answered exasperatedly. “You two should really get inside.”

Garfield was a small little thing in clothes far too big for him, far too many freckles, and shaggy red hair that never seemed to get properly cut. He was adorable whenever he was clean. A compliment he hated almost as much as his name. He lived nearby and he had been coming to the food bank/soup kitchen for as long as Stephanie had been volunteering. Longer likely since her mother knew of him from before and helped him with a bad fever when he was younger.

Social workers had never found anything wrong with his living conditions; a subject he rarely spoke about. Steph had asked her mother, thinking she might know more, but the answer was one she knew without asking. There were many kids like him in Haven. Far too many. And Jason had been one until for some reason, he became a vigilante and started going to her school.

“Your father will pick you up at nine on the dot. I have a shift all evening. Stay inside with Mr. Law until then.”

“I know.” Stephanie waved goodbye, “C’mon Gar. Lets get inside where it’s warm.”

“Did you know Redbird was at the Superbowl? He fought side by side with the Great Machine!”

Yes. Stephanie did know. More’s the pity.

Train Graveyard
Blüdhaven

Grappling onto the leg of an enraged Man-Bat was high on the list of mistakes Jason would never make again. He realized that now. What had started as a thought that it’d be more efficient to keep up had turned into a terrifying experience and he did not get terrified easily. Man-Bat had ignored him for the most part. Maybe the Kirk-bit inside him recognized Jason. Sounds good, right?

Wrong.

Being ignored meant that Man-Bat didn’t care enough to advertise his flight patterns. Jason had bounced off more walls than he cared to count. Ran across roofs at breakneck speeds and barely avoided crashing through a billboard. About the only joy came from the one time he got to run sideways down an alleyway.

He should have kept to the paragliding.

Back at the safehouse, Jason had to make a call. It was not a fun call to make – the literal call for Arnot’s ambulance on the other hand… – where he had to let Red Hood go in order to chase after Kirk in a stolen, unmarked police car. He knew it was the right one. He trusted both his gut and heart on this. It’s just his head… Ugh. He thought he’d meet his hero under different circumstances. Not in the middle of getting blindsided by a half conscious man or being stuck between a bat and a hard place.

No. No. Nononononono!

Kirk was descending. Jason was getting closer to the ground. Abandoned train carts created a graffiti colored labyrinth. Just great. He heard the clickings of tell-tale echolocation a breath before he had to let go or be forced to empathize with a bug. His cape spread, slowing him down far too slowly. Shins banged against the top of the cart. He tumbled across and over the edge to land hard on his shoulder.

Man-Bat circled high above.

Jason lay below.

It hurt far too much to scream.

Mark steadied himself as the boxy makeshift laboratory shook around him. He immediately checked to make sure all the blood he had drawn from the subject was properly stored. After that, he catalogued the remaining serums. Only then did he check on the subject.

The straps were holding. They had been created to hold something much larger than this subject in particular. He trusted in their make.

In the distance, he heard the screech of metal grinding. Inside the cart, Aaron screamed. A loud, rebounding primal scream that echoed all about Mark. In vibrated him to his core. This… this was not normal. Fascinating he thought.

“You are much, much more interesting than my previous subject. He-he would only curse at me in Spanish,” Mark prepared the next serum. “Let us see what your…” the cart shook, “f-father’s cocktail does to you.”

A train was moving. Man-Bat was on top of the train, trying to claw his way inside. How ‘bout that? The disjointed thoughts in Redbird’s head matched the feeling of his shoulder.

An even worse idea than hitching a ride on a crazed bat-monster started to enter Jason’s mind. He started to ignore it and go for the safer, tracer option when the choice was taken from him. A blood-curdling scream erupted out of Man-Bat. It wasn’t echolocation. It wasn’t even rage. It was one of pain. Dimly, Rebird watched as electricity raced over the carriage as the train itself began to pick up speed. First the beast was stunned then it collapsed weakly, unable to fight it.

Four indistinguishable figures covered the cart. Quickly. Efficiently. They stabbed something into Man-Bat.

No more time to think.

Jason fired off his spare zipline and tried not to scream as his shoulder popped back into place. His crouch atop the back of the train was perhaps not his best but he couldn’t complain. No, he really couldn’t. He was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Air breezed past him, the train accelerating. He dashed across multiple carts, batarangs in hand – not to throw… to cut, to make them bleed. He reached Man-Bat’s cart before the figures had realized he arrived. They seemed to have been discussing what to do next. They weren’t the typical Haven thugs. Well dressed, well armed, they still stood no chance when Redbird was upon then.

His batarangs tore through them like Man-Bat’s claws had torn through the metal at their feet. The baratatata of machine gun fire, the flashes of muzzles, the scream of the wind, and he had to take into account the giant sleeping monster, praying they didn’t shoot Kirk by accident… or on purpose. It was revitalizing.

A shadow landed on the back of the train cart behind the last goon standing. He had some common sense. Only some.

“No!” yelled Redbird as he dove for Man-Bat’s feet.

The two – goon and monster – slid off the side of the cart, Kirk most likely taking the brunt of the impact. Redbird hung half over the edge, observing the crumpled white furred form of the Outlaw. He couldn’t save him.

“Good of you to finally show up,” Redbird growled as he struggled to rise.

Kate did not offer to help. The white eyes of her mask were still staring back at her uncle as the train took them farther and farther away. They narrowed in a way Jason had come to interpret as meaning pain was on the way.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“We find Aaron.”

Capes whipping behind them, Batwoman and Redbird stood together once again.