Post by Drake on Oct 9, 2014 19:55:48 GMT -5
#2: New Knight Rising Part 2
City of Hoods
Blüdhaven, New Jersey
September 2014
Harper Row looked at her sleeping brother one last time to make sure he was in fact asleep before she ducked out of their motel room and closed the door quietly. With a backpack swung over her shoulder and a leather jacket protecting her from the cold, Harper set off, one goal in mind.
Finding the Red Hoods.
The previous night, she’d managed to gleam some information for the motel’s owner. The Red Hoods were a group of vigilantes that adopted the mantra “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.” With no fear of murder and a relentless determination for justice, the Red Hoods had taken upon the name of their inspiration, a legendary vigilante by the name of—you guessed it—the Red Hood, and set off to wipe all crime from ‘Haven, starting with petty crime and the remaining organized mob families.
Harper turned left into an alley, looking for trouble. Nothing and no one. Great, it took one alley during the daytime right as she arrived in Blüdhaven to be mugged, but now, an hour or two before dawn, as she wandered alone through the Haven, it was going to take…how long? Thirty minutes?
Not even, apparently. Alley #2 and Harper was mugged. No Red Hoods, however. She had to act on her own, breaking the thug’s arm and nose, and sending him crying to his momma.
It took another hour to be mugged again. This time…still no Hoods, only a couple civilians too scared to help. It was fine. Harper could take care of herself. Poor kids never saw it coming, unless, of course, they noticed the stun stick before Harper jammed it into their stomachs.
The next alley? Nothing. However, just as Harper, frustrated, walked out of the alley, ready to throw her backpack down and give up, a few douchebags in black ski masks got caught holding up a gas station across the street. And, oh boy, did they get caught.
The Red Hoods were efficient. There were two, both young men, one black and one Hispanic, and they quickly and calmly beat the life out of the muggers with baseball bats. Then, they had the courtesy to drag the bodies outside and clean up the blood. The Hoods had more class than all the vigilantes Harper had worked with or seen, that’s for sure.
Afterwards, Harper managed to catch them before they ran off.
“Back off, kid,” said the African-American, eyeing Harper. He clearly didn’t think she could handle herself. He clearly didn’t know Harper.
“Sorry, no can do,” Harper retorted with a sly grin, “As little green men would say—take me to your leader.”
“Listen, we don’t even know you—“
“Hey, Josh, lemme handle this,” the latino teen gently pushed his partner aside and stepped forward.
“Miss, it’s not that we don’t appreciate your offer—I think it’s an offer to help, right?—but the Red Hood gang isn’t just some sorta group of citizens working together to help. We’re…tough, our methods extreme,” the boy explained.
“I know, and I like what I see. I’ve got experience kicking ass,” Harper said, arms crossed.
“Yo, girl, listen to my boy Davis here, and—“ Josh didn’t finish his sentence. Harper had flipped him over and onto the ground before he could even register what was happening. She made sure not to knock him out or hurt him seriously, but still, the boy got what was coming to him.
Davis backed off, bat in hand, wary, “You—“
Harper tisked, “That wouldn’t work on me anyway. Now, I’ll say it again…”
”Take me to your leader.”
“…Wilson Desmond immediately took the opportunity provided by his cousins’ absence to take control of the Desmond crime syndicate, but alas his intent proved fruitless. Things had fallen apart far too quickly on far too large of a scale. Organized crime was as good as gone in ‘Haven. When the Court attacked, it was—as some might say—the straw that broke the camel’s back…” Tim had fallen into a mesmerized state of reading aloud. He’d spent all night in Cluemaster’s creepy lair going over all the files he could, and he was absolutely exhausted. Still, he read on…or he would have, if his phone hadn’t rung.
Tim answered it from his wrist-mounted computer, still staring intensely at the screen in front of him, “Hello?”
“Tim? Thank God! I’d assumed you’d spent the night at someone’s house, but when I found your backpack here at home, I thought…” It was Tim’s Dad, Jack. Shit.
“Wait, Dad, slow down. What’s wrong? It’s a Saturday.” Tim said exasperatedly, leaning back in the crooked seat.
“No, it’s not. It’s Friday.” Oh no. “Tim…are you okay?” No, he was not.
Tim leaped off the chair, finally breaking it, and shot his grappling hook at the hole in the ceiling, “Sorry, Dad! I just…uh, I’ll see you later. Leave the backpack! I don’t need any of my books today!”
“You sure…?”
“Bye!” Tim hung up. Crap, crap, crap!
Gar Logan slammed the door behind him as he rushed out of his apartment home, tears streaming down his face. An elderly man, short with a beer belly and an explosive temper, pulled the door open and ran after him.
“You’re damn right you get outta here! And don’t ever come back you Changeling freak!!” The man only ran a few steps after Gar before stopping and watching the green-skinned boy run.
Gar ducked into an alley and collapsed against a wall, gasping for air. Well, there goes another home. Great…and that wasn’t even the worst of Gar’s problems. His skin was now green—changed overnight—and his canine teeth had sharpened into fangs. Still, it got worse. Bunched against his back, hidden from the world to see behind a Coast City Sentinel Tshirt and shorts, was a tail. Like, a monkey’s tail, but green. Gar cried silently. A freaking monkey’s tail! What the hell was he?
“Err…” a homeless man shifted in his cardboard box home next to Gar, causing the teen to jump. The man, half empty bottle in hand, turned and looked at Gar. He blinked twice, before rubbing his eyes, “Must be seeing things…drunk too much…”
The man looked again. Gar remained there, eyes red from crying.
With a half-hearted smile, the man looked Gar over once again, “You special, boy.”
“Special…” Gar leaned against the wall and slid down it, sitting next to the homeless man, “Like autistic kids, or—or old dudes with Alzheimer’s.”
The homeless man offered Gar his bottle apologetically. The teen looked at it once, before shrugging, and taking it.
“Why not?” He took a swig, before gagging and nearly throwing up the hard whisky. Still, Gar returned for another drink.
Great. Homeless, mutated, and now drinking. Gar was doing just great.
“Timothy Drake.”
Dr. Hathorne drearily called Tim’s name for the third time, his last strike. Was the boy in attendance today or not? No one, not any of his classmates, his friends—or lack thereof—answered. Some just stared off into space. Others didn’t even try to conceal that they were texting. Lastly, one or two had fallen asleep, allowing a snore or two to echo across the room.
“Timothy Drake.” One last shot, and…silence.
The door to the classroom slammed open, and Tim rushed in dressed in the Kane Private Academy uniform—black slacks, shoes, and a white button up and red tie. His sleeves were rolled up, as per usual. The school had grown slightly more relaxed over the prior few years. No more belts, no more jackets, and the children were allowed to roll up their sleeves. Still, Tim couldn’t look any more uptight or awkward as he sat down in his seat on the front row, meeting Dr. Hathorne’s weak stare.
“No Timothy Drake, I see,” Dr. Hathorne looked down at his computer and marked Tim absent.
“Sorry, sir, I’m here now,” Tim said. Hathorne didn’t respond. “Sir?” Still, the teacher acted as if Tim wasn’t there.
The boy behind Tim slapped him on the back of the head. Jim Didio, the biggest asshole Tim knew. He tried to be so ‘hardcore’ and ‘edgy’ but just came off as a tool, and a bully. Tim regretted ever turning around.
“What?” the black-haired boy growled.
“Doc Hathorne gave you four strikes, Drake. That’s one more than usual. You know the rules. No tardiness. You’re here or you aren’t,” Jim flashed a cruel smile.
“Ya have fun sucking Hathorne’s thorn, Dildio?” Tim retorted, turning back around, “Corporate tool.”
“Douchebag.” Jim muttered.
“That was so creative! I’m proud of you!” Tim sarcastically whispered.
Jim scowled, and leaned forward, “You want this, Drake? After school, you and me. The baseball field.”
“Sorry, I don’t like you that way, Jim…or at all. Try Hathorne. Might have more luck with him,” Tim quipped. By this point, Hathorne had finished calling roll and was getting started teaching the class the basics of Roman history.
“It’s on, Drake. Show up so I can ruin your face, otherwise…” Jim struggled for a clever ending, before lighting up and saying, “Otherwise I’ll ruin your rep.”
“I’m soooo scared,” Tim teased.
“You better be.”
“Have fun with that, Dildio.”
“I swear to God, stop calling me—“
The classroom door opened, silencing Didio. In walked Principal Davis with a blonde girl. Tim couldn’t quite put his finger on what nationality she was, which made him think she was a bit of an assortment, a hybrid if you will. However, Tim could put his finger on just about every other part of her, as well as a few other things. She was smoking hot. Jesus! And Tim thought Bette Kane was attractive… This girl made Bette look like Lindsay Lohan.
Someone dog-whistled behind Tim. It was probably Jim.
“Excuse me, Dr. Hathorne,” Principal Davis apologized, before glaring at Jim Didio, “And Mr. Didio…” Bingo!
Principal Davis turned to address the class, “Ms. Artemis Drakunovski here was a little late to school today…as well as this year. I hope you’ll excuse her.” With that last word, Principal Davis ducked out of the room. Artemis glanced at Dr. Hathorne, who motioned her to a seat near the back of the room. She took it.
Class had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting…
At about noon, Gar awoke to the sounds of shouting. At first, he thought he was back in the home, old man Cromwell yelling at and possibly—if he was really drunk—beating on his kind, sweet wife, Esmeralda. However, Gar was disappointed to find his situation was worse. He was alone, lying against a wall next to a homeless man, Gar’s neck stuck up against the wall so as to cause him more pain than he’d wish on his worst enemy. Of course—of freaking course—he was still a little drunk, tipsy, and kids were throwing rocks at him.
Screw the Haven.
Gar scrambled onto his feet. The homeless man remained passed out, drunk, even when one of the rocks hit him. The boys laughed and bellowed as they bullied Gar. The green boy ducked under a rock, backing away. One of the older teens stepped forward, aggressively. Gar flinched. The boys laughed.
“I bet this freak’s a chicken-changer,” the aggressive boy joked.
“Or maybe a rat. He kinda looks like a rat,” another said.
“It was a joke, dumb ass.” The aggressor turned to yell at his friend, giving Gar the opportunity to run. He didn’t get a step before the boys saw him.
“He’s running!”
“Get ‘im!”
Gar ran as fast as he could, but the boys slowly gained on him. Crazy weird mutation and he still was as slow as a tortoise.
“Get back here, freak! Changeling!”
God, please no! These kids were violent and mean! At best, he’d get off covered in cuts and bruises with a concussion, but at worst…well, it was ‘Haven after all. He was a Changeling—Gar shuddered at the thought—no less. This was awful! He didn’t wanna die! Hadn’t he had a crappy enough life already!!
Suddenly, Gar’s perception of the world changed. He felt lighter, freer, almost…flighty. Wait. He actually was flying…and smaller! What the hell?
“Toldja he changed into a chicken!” Gar was enveloped by something enormous…a hand. He’d been caught.
“That’s a pigeon, you idiot!”
“You’re the idiot, idiot!”
“Shut up!”
“You—“
Suddenly, Gar was free again. The boys were silent. He took off into the sky. When he got high enough, he looked back, curious as to why he’d been freed.
A lone girl stood in front of the five boys, only now two of the teens were unconscious at the girl’s feet. Gar’s savior was dressed in black raggedy spandex, with a cape made of—quite literally—scraps of black cloth; a simple black domino mask covered her face. A yellow outline of a bat had been drawn crudely into her costume.
“Leave.” The girl ordered. The boys did as they were told without a second thought, dragging their unconscious friends away.
Suddenly, before Gar could cheer the boys away, he found himself falling to the ground. The girl swiveled around and caught him.
“Oh—thank you,” Gar muttered, looking at her face. She was hot—like, super hot! Her dark hair was cut a bit short for Gar, but still…damn! Superheroes just kept getting hotter and younger, didn’t they?
The girl set Gar down, “Protect yourself.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Gar muttered. The girl turned and leaped onto a wall before jumping back and forth between walls like a ninja, going higher and higher up. In a matter of seconds, she was gone, leaving Gar to wonder…
Who was she?
The Red Hoods that Harper had met after the robbery wasted no time truly proving the teen’s words true. Before even agreeing to take Harper to their base, and ultimately to their boss, the Hoods made the ex-vigilante come with them on a number of “missions” as they called them. It usually consisted of stopping a mugging or robbery, and either beating the living crap out of the thugs who’d started the whole ordeal, or literally beating the life out of them. Throughout the violent crusade, Harper managed to keep herself from dealing any lethal blows, but she had to admit the goons she fought would be hurting—if they weren’t in a coma—when they woke up in the hospital.
At last, after Harper single-handedly knocked out and brutally injured every single one of thirteen gang members during the midst of a gang fight, the Red Hoods agreed to take her to their base. She was amused to find out, however, that the Hoods called it...
“Our home. The City is our home,” Davis Martinez explained, as they walked calmly down a ‘Haven block, ignoring the odd glances given to them as people noticed their red—or in Harper’s case, blue—hoodies and the blood that stained their clothing.
“I’d hope you’d think so. ‘Haven is where you live after all,” Harper retorted.
“No, Blüdhaven hasn’t been our real home for a while,” Davis continued with a pained expression, as if he’d never really known a true home, “It’s just Ground Zero for our quest, our crusade. We hope it’ll eventually extend outwards to Gotham, Detroit,” the name stung deeply into Harper’s core, “maybe D.C.”
“The City…it’s what you called our base,” Josh Henderson, still angry at Harper for knocking him out, muttered.
“Right,” Davis jumped back in, “The City…well, that’s our rather bland codename for it.”
“Lame codename, and believe me, I know lame codenames,” Harper said, “What’s it really called?”
“Well, there’s a reason we gave it a codename.” Davis stopped in front of an abandoned subway ramp, long since abandoned, boarded over with ‘KEEP OUT’ signs and wooden planks. ‘Haven’s underground rail system hadn’t been used since the Blockbuster. The damage had been too catastrophic, and the city was deep enough in debt, so they’d decided to abandon it. However, Harper had a sinking feeling it wasn’t as abandoned as she’d been lead to believe.
“Word gets out…and, well, people will know where to find us. It wouldn’t be hard.” Davis kicked open the weakly sealed boarding, and stepped through. Josh, and then Harper followed him. The older latino teen continued narrating, “After all, everyone in the Haven knows Scarlet Rails, or as we call it…” Davis grinned foxily, “Just guess.”
Davis took off his backpack, and produced a flashlight, which he turned on and shone throughout the tunnels, exposing red spray painted messages leading any and all likeminded individuals to…
“Scarlet,” Harper whispered, “The City of Hoods.”
Before anyone could give Harper a proper response, a voice came echoing down the corridor.
“PASSWORD!”
Davis shined his light forward, illuminating a group of skinny teens, dirty and grimy, who looked like they were homeless. All of the kids were dressed in red.
“What is it, Wednesday or Thursday?” Davis shouted back.
“Friday!”
“Oh, right…” Davis blushed, and turned to Harper, who smirked in response. The boy tried a weak smile, before looking back at the red-dressed teenagers.
“Owls fall when Hoods call,” Davis said, knowing it by heart.
“COME ON DOWN!”
“We can freakin’ hear ya!” Josh angrily roared, already hopping the turnstile and hurrying down the long hallway.
As Harper neared the children, she noticed they were armed with firearms. Even the youngest—possibly twelve—had a gun. When she passed them, they gave her a welcoming nod, before immediately turning back and examining a small laptop at their feet. It was lit up with a map of what looked like the subway system. A few blinking lights seemed to signify the teens, and Harper and co. Further down there were…wow. There were a lot of blinking lights, leading Harper to wonder.
“Just how many do you have?”
“What?” Davis replied.
“How many Red Hoods?” Harper asked.
Davis shrugged, “Dunno. Never really counted before. There’s been a census, I think, but that was months ago. We’ve grown ten times over since then.”
“So, a lot,” Josh interjected.
“A lot,” Davis agreed.
Harper had been lead to believe they were a small vigilante taskforce, but these numbers seemed to imply the Red Hoods were more like an army. ‘Haven was in worse shape than Harper imagined if the citizens had become so disillusioned to form such a massive group.
Davis led Harper down a maze of rails. It took half an hour, maybe a full sixty minutes. Harper couldn’t be sure. What she could be sure of was that Cullen was awake by now, probably wondering—or knowing; her brother was smart—where his sister had gone. The young woman pushed her brother out of her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to feel guilty. She was doing this for him.
Eventually, Davis came to a stop. Harper didn’t have to wonder why. In front of her, through an assortment of hallways, was the largest tent settlement Harper had ever seen. Everywhere she looked was a wave of red.
“Welcome to Scarlet,” Davis offered, arm out.
Harper got more than stares—glares—as she entered the City of Hoods. It was clear she was an outsider, and not just from her azure clothing. She glanced at every little thing, found herself carrying herself a little taller, shaking a little. She’d never felt so nervous in her life. But she should feel pangs of fear, right? Harper was standing in the middle of thousands of murderers and…
“I know what you’re thinking,” Davis interrupted Harper’s daydream-state, “The thousands down here…most of them aren’t vigilantes. They’re the family of the Red Hoods who go up and make a difference. Sure, some may act as doctors, cooks, or whatever, but it’s the Red Hood Crusaders that really help. They’re the reason they’re allowed to stay down here in the first place. Without a Crusader in your family, you aren’t welcome here. It’s Scarlet’s number one rule.”
“’Course there are exceptions. If a Red Hood falls in combat, their family’s allowed to stay in Scarlet as a gift, a final payment for their sacrifice,” Davis said.
Wow. Just wow. Cullen could live down here? No rent, free food and hell, probably even schooling? Harper couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“So…who’s in charge?” Harper asked, feeling a pang of pride swell in her chest. What if she led the Hoods? Imagine how Cullen would be treated then.
“That’d be who I’m taking you to,” Davis explained.
“That’d be her,” Josh—Harper long since had assumed he’d left them—said, pointing to a woman in a courtyard in front of them, lying alone on a bench adorned with scarlet blankets and roses. She reminded Harper a bit of herself, actually. She was pale, had a mohawk—red, instead of Harper’s blue—and wore an assortment of punk clothing, including shredded black leggings and a red leather jacket. Her left eyebrow was pierced and embedded with two golden rings, and her chilling demeanor made even Harper shiver a bit. The young woman seemed to bleed killing intent.
Two rather attractive young men—early twenties Harper assumed—fanned the scarlet woman with shredded cheap Chinese fans as she ate round, voluptuous cherries. She was treated as if she was royalty. Everything about the scene pissed Harper off. Still, she kept her cool. That was relatively speaking of course, as there was no air condition in the tunnels and ‘Haven was in the middle of one of its worst heat waves ever.
“Red Dart,” Davis bowed, “I present to you a new hopeful recruit.”
The woman’s head perked up, and despite the fact that she’d watched Harper as she had walked in, she acted as if it was the first time she had noticed the azure-dressed teen.
“Name?” Red Dart spoke with a mild New Jersey accent.
“Harper Row,” the Detroit native beat Davis to the punch, “Reporting for duty.”
“Ah,” Red Dart motioned her man-slaves away, before sitting up and staring intently at Harper. She popped a cherry into her mouth. “And what can you do, Harper?”
“She’s a good fighter, sir,” Davis explained, “Hood Joshua can testify that.” Josh weakly nodded, clearly resenting the fact he had to be reminded of his embarrassment earlier.
“She’s alright.” Josh muttered.
“She looks weak, skinny,” Dart said.
“She is standing right here,” Harper interrupted, “And I can take care of myself, believe me.”
“Harper…” Davis begged, but the teen wouldn’t have it. She held up her hand, silencing him.
“With all due respect, my type of soldier doesn’t just come walking in every day. I’m the best of the best,” Harper explained forcefully, “I’m also willing to do whatever it takes to join the Red Hoods.”
Red Dart smirked, “I like your attitude, Ms. Row.” The young woman stood up, yawned, and stretched, before lazily continuing towards Harper. “The real question is are you all bark and no bite. I got no room for weak bitches here, girl.”
Harper wasted no time proving herself, grabbing Josh by his head before he could respond, and slamming him towards the ground. He would’ve been seriously injured, more than even before, if Harper hadn’t caught him before he hit the ground, holding the young man up.
“$%^& you, bitch!” Josh tried to beat Harper’s legs, but to no avail. Harper dropped Josh to the ground as Red Dart grinned, amused.
“So…?”
Red Dart nodded, “Very well, Ms. Row. The ceremony begins in an hour. Prepare yourself, mentally and physically.”
That’s all Harper needed. It was on. She’d go through with whatever this ‘ceremony’ was, she’d join the Hoods, getting Cullen a home, and she would use the vigilantes to track down and eliminate Jock. That was her plan.
This was her truth. Harper Row was done playing games. Criminals needed to pay.
Let the Punishment Fit the Crime, Harper thought.
Oh yeah, school had gone well. Or okay, Tim thought. Okay was probably a little more accurate. Artemis was, like, super awesome and funny, and…well, she wasn’t all that into boys. Not that Tim assumed she was a lesbian or anything, but she’d rejected any guy that came close to her, including Tim. Still, she had been fun.
Now, after an hour of explaining to his dad that he was spending the night at a friend’s house and that, yes, he had gotten to school on time, Tim was jumping casually back into Cluemaster’s base. He needed to spend another night going through the files, getting all the information he could.
Or, he would have done that, if he’d been alone.
In truth, Tim found himself looking into the grimacing expression of someone he never thought he would meet: Richard Dragon, one of the original Outlaws and ‘Haven’s protector for years.
“I think we both know what I am about to ask,” Richard said grimly, arms crossed.
“’How is McDonald’s new breakfast burrito?’” Tim tried.
Richard grunted in response, before saying, “No, boy…”
”Who are you?”