Post by Drake on Dec 24, 2014 17:29:09 GMT -5
Ultimate Outlaws
The Lost Outlaw
By Drake
The Haven
Nearly Thirty Years Ago
A lone figure crouched atop a gargoyle. His brown trench coat rustled slightly because of the cold winter wind. Black body armor, pants, gloves and combat boots kept him nice and cozy in one of the single worst blizzards in Blüdhaven history. Damn it, did he love this city, but it seemed to invite all sorts of terror—natural or otherwise. It was a lot like his home, in that respect. ‘Haven’s twin housed even worse horrors than the frigid city.
The vigilante’s mask, composed of white wrapping like a mummy’s, shifted as the man scratched his nose. The wrapping concealed most of his face, but brief glimpses of burnt, bright red skin and cracked, broken lips hinted at his past. Even so, his piercing blue eyes remained unscathed and stared out past the enormous, quickly rushing snowflakes and to the city still bustling below. ‘Havenites could handle anything, including this blizzard and the war that bustled underneath the surface. Tenacity was the citizens’ greatest strength and weakness.
The slightest of taps drew the vigilante’s attention from the city to a figure slinking through the shadows towards him. He did not turn to face the figure, instead merely frowning.
“Don’t play games with me, Ryder,” the vigilante scolded. The shadowed figure emerged from the darkness, exposing a scantly dressed yellow-skinned teenaged boy. His hair was messy and bright green, and his only semblance of protection from the elements was green briefs, a red fur cape and equally crimson boots and gloves. Despite his unusual appearance, the boy’s most striking attribute was his obnoxious, crazed smile.
“Ah, you got me again, Uncle Hush!” Jack Ryder sighed, “But you know you’ve gotta call me The Creeper when I look like this!”
“Please, Jack, leave our master alone.” Another man, not much older than the sixteen-year-old Jack Ryder, stepped out from the shadows. He was tall, tanned and had blond hair. He too wore nearly nothing, just athletic pants and sandals.
“God! Dick, Jack, what is with you two? How can you stand the cold?” A third young man emerged, closer to the blond’s age than Jack’s. This new arrival also had blond hair, although it was more yellow than anything. His facial features were raised, almost appearing artificial as if he’d has his face transformed through plastic surgery. Unlike his compatriots, he wore a thick red winter jacket, pants and black snow boots. A comfy ski cap rested on his head, masking it alongside a black domino mask.
“What did I just say about my codename?!” Ryder complained.
“Dragon, Creeper, and Redbird—“
“I told you to call me Cluemaster,” Arthur Brown retorted.
“Boy,” Ted Grant, still appearing the same as ever thanks to his unusual aging habits, appeared now, dressed in his Wildcat costume. He smacked Brown on the back of his head. The young twenty-something flinched at the impact and massaged the back of his head. “You do nothing related to clues.”
“Mystery work! Developing a list of all our enemies, and—“
“The Canary does all ‘a that,” Ted interrupted.
“Well…I’m working on it,” Brown admitted sheepishly.
Hush had remained quiet and calm the entire time, the briefest hint of a smile evident on his face. Ted took a second to turn his attention away from his pupils, and reached his hand out to Hush. The vigilante took it, and jumped off the gargoyle and into his friend’s arms, giving him a fierce bear hug.
“It’s good to see you, Bruce,” Ted said, holding his friend back out.
“You too, Ted.”
“You know, we could have used you the past few months. ‘Haven’s been going to hell. The League and Court are about to go to war. All of the mob families are freaking out and trying to get out while the getting is good. For a while, we were afraid you’d done the same,” Ted said.
“I know all about the war, Ted. It’s why I was gone,” Hush paused, glanced at the young men around them, and leaned in to whisper, “I destroyed the Pits.”
Ted’s eyes widened in shock. “The Lazarus Pits? But…but then…”
“There are two left,” Hush agreed, “The one in the League’s headquarters in Nanda Parbat and the one—“
“—In Blüdhaven,” Ted finished.
“It’s why I’m back. I have to finish this,” Hush explained.
The two friends enjoyed a brief quiet moment. Their pupils—even Ryder—knew when not to speak. Ted knew all too well what his friend’s words meant.
“It’s a suicide mission, Bruce,” Ted stated. Arthur gasped. Richard smacked his friend on the back of his head, causing him to flinch again.
“Believe me, I’m aware of the likelihood of my success and survival. However, it must be done. The only reason the two factions war—“
“—Besides the fact that they hate each other—“
“—Is because the Court of Owls wants a Lazarus Pit and the secret to Ra’s al Ghul’s immortality. With it gone, Ra’s will be all but beaten. One Lazarus Pit can only last so long. Moreover, the Court will be forced to stop their attacks on League strongholds.”
“Bruce, I…at least let me come with you,” Ted begged.
“No, this mission…it’s like you said, there’s no coming back from it. You’re needed here. The boys—“
“I’m a frigging adult!” Arthur interjected.
“Yeah, and I’m sixteen!” Ryder agreed. Both were shut up by Richard Dragon, who hit them on the back of their heads.
“The boys need you, Ted. Dinah needs you. You’re the one who founded the Outlaws,” Hush continued, but Ted wouldn’t have it.
“We created the Outlaws together! Hell, you were the first! I was just a drunken boxer before I met you. Now, because of you, Bruce, I’m—I’m—“
“A drunken boxer who happens to be the leader of a team of vigilante heroes,” Hush teased, and then let his brief attempt at humor die as he put a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Ted, I know about Dinah. Watch over her, and when her kid arrives, watch over it too. The next generation needs you. Me? I’ve been unwanted since the day I was born.”
“Bruce—“
“No, Ted, please,” Hush backed up, “Just…forget me. Don’t let my name go down in history for anything but infamy. The things I’ve done, the acts I’ve committed…”
“You’re a hero, Bruce Wayne! Goddammit, stop treating yourself like this! Forget the guilt!” Ted roared, tears falling effortlessly to the ground. The young heroes had never seen their mentor cry before. In fact, nobody had. Ted’s father had made sure of that, beating the lesson into him. Now, however, the boxer-vigilante couldn’t help himself.
“Ted,” Hush was now on the edge of the gargoyle again. “I am about to sacrifice my life for this city and it’s not even mine. I know my actions are heroic, and therefore I know I deserve some sort of recompense for them.” The ironic statement caused Ted to pause, keeping him from speaking. What the hell was Bruce talking about?
“I request two things for this heroic sacrifice, Ted.” The still-weak attempt at humor was lost in the frigid wind, “First off, never mention my name to anyone ever again. That includes you too, boys. I want to be forgotten. Second…” Hush looked at his feet, embarrassed, “Please watch over my brother’s son. They…they named him after me.”
Ted nodded, aware that there was no way he was going to push past Hush’s determined suicidal state of mind. “I’ll do it.”
The grizzled Wildcat looked up, tears still falling freely down his cheeks, and noticed Hush leaning over the edge of the building. He was about to jump! No! Not yet!
“Thank you, Ted Grant. Merry Christmas.”
And with those final words, Hush fell back off the building, and fired his grappling gun, hooking onto another building and swinging away.
----
The League of Assassins’ ‘Haven base sat in the city’s beating heart of crime, just a block away from the Desmonds’ headquarters and two more blocks from three other mob families’ homes and supply depots. It served the League’s purpose well, allowing them to easily pick off the criminals around them. However, in a city like Blüdhaven it was hard to put more than a dent in the larger criminal network.
The League’s base was a four story tall mansion—comparatively small for the vigilante group—and sat over, like most of their other bases, a Lazarus Pit. A wall nearly as tall as the building itself surrounded it. Guards dressed in standard black League garb stood watch. No ordinary criminal could pass them, ordinary being the paramount word.
It took Hush approximately twenty seconds to clear the walls, only knocking out one guard in the process. Thirty more seconds and he’d be in the mansion, creeping through its vents. He would have been too, should he not have encountered…him.
The Red Hood, dressed in—as anyone would expect—a red hooded cloak. The young man was not the first to use the name, nor was he even the first vigilante to claim it as a codename. That honor belonged to the very first Red Hood, the same hero that had inspired all the others, good and bad.
The teenaged vigilante almost yelped as Hush pulled him back behind a wall, the elder’s hand covering the young man’s mouth. Red Hood relaxed when he realized it was Hush.
“The hell are you doing here?” Hush whispered.
“I had to come. Figured I’d be the only one with the balls to raid the place,” Hood admitted.
Hush grimaced, and pushed the Red Hood against a wall. The boy grunted in pain, but otherwise didn’t react.
“Elliot, you’re a child. You should be home on Christmas Eve, not—“
“Home? What, with my butler, sitting next to a fire trying to forget that my parents are buried ten feet in the ground in the backyard? Hell no!” Hood said. “The League has to pay.”
“Yeah? And what are you going to do? Sneak inside, maybe hurt or kill a few of Ra’s al Ghul’s lackies, and end up in the ground next to your parents? It’s a suicide mission,” Hush said.
“Then why’re you here?”
”To die!”
Red Hood was visibly shaken. Hush loosened his grip on the boy. He could see the shock and fear behind the boy’s domino mask. He knew Tommy Elliot had never seen him like this. Not many people had.
“I have a plan, a stronger one than yours, but you have no part in it,” Hush explained, “Get out of here, Tommy. Live.”
“But—“
“Go!” Hush whispered, pushing the boy off. The Red Hood gave him one last look, aware it was probably the last time he’d see him, and then ran off.
Hush took a deep breath, clearing his mind again and focusing. The mission. It was all there was. He had to complete it. With that last thought, Hush hopped up the wall and unlocked a window. His timetable was off now. The guards’ shifts could have changed, or one of the assassins could have awoken from his standard thirty-minute nap he assumed nobody noticed. This could end badly.
It did end badly. Hush’s direct path to the air vent was blocked by not one sleeping guard, but three very awake ones, and they all saw him.
“Shit,” the vigilante whispered.
“(Alert the others!)” one of the assassins ordered in Arabic. One of the other guards ran off, and the two remaining assassins slunk back towards the door, trying to conceal themselves in the shadows. Three could play at that game. Hush fired his grappling hook at the lighted chandelier, sending it crashing to the ground. Darkness enveloped the room.
The assassins immediately went for the night vision goggles on their belts, but two well-thrown batarangs knocked them out before they had the chance to put them on. Hush knew the darkness like it was an old friend. He’d trained and lived in it for so long that he didn’t require his sight to target enemies anymore. He might as well have been blind, because his four other senses had been honed to perfection, allowing him to easily locate anyone in the dark.
A clatter of silent footsteps drew Hush’s attention. The assassins believed they had him, that the dark was his enemy. They were wrong. Even with night vision goggles, they never saw him until he had them. By that point, it was too late.
The vents weren’t an option anymore. He could easily be shot and killed, or flushed out with incendiaries. A more direct approach was required, but the doors to the basement were locked and there was no busting through high-grade titanium without an explosive. Hush’s problem was that he needed the C4 in his belt to destroy the Lazarus Pit, unless…
Hush could hear more assassins running through the hallways. Even Ra’s al Ghul’s boisterous voice echoed to him, threatening him and giving commands to his personal guard. Hush didn’t have much time. He reached into his utility belt for the C4, began reading himself, and prayed his plan would work. Ten seconds later, Ra’s, dressed in green robed battle gear, entered the entryway followed by a dozen of his best-trained assassins. There would be no hiding from them. Luckily, that wasn’t the plan.
Hush dropped from the ceiling. The thirteen warriors all knew where he’d be and drew their swords to ready an attack. Hush managed to contort his body to dodge the initial few stab and slash attempts, and landed on the ground in a three-pronged position. He lifted his hand, exposing the trigger, and pulled back his jacket to reveal the C4 strapped to his chest.
“Don’t even think about it,” Hush grinned wickedly.
“Please, vigilante, we both know that should you have the courage to press that button—and I do not believe you do—I could simply revive myself with a Lazarus Pit,” Ra’s chided, and lifted his hand, preparing to order the death blow.
Hush raised the trigger again, “Ah ah ah. Ra’s, you need a body, or even just a scrap of yourself, to use the Lazarus Pit. This is grade three C4, strong enough to blow all of us to kingdom come…strong enough so that there’ll be nothing left of you to dip in a Pit.”
Ra’s paused. If the words Hush spoke were true…Ra’s lowered his hand, aware they had just hit a standstill.
“What do you want?” Ra’s demanded.
“Take me to the Lazarus Pit.”
“And let you destroy yet another one?” Ra’s shook his head, “I think not.”
Hush grinned, “Say your prayers, Ra’s.” The vigilante pressed gently down on the button, not yet activating the C4.
“Wait!” Ra’s shouted. Hush stopped, a millisecond from killing them all. Ra’s looked the vigilante in the eye feverishly, before pausing, and smiling, “Wait…if that C4 is strong enough to leave no single smear of my body left, then why not just end it now? Why not kill me?”
“The war wouldn’t end. Thousands would die in the crossfire between your League and the Court of Owls,” Hush replied instantaneously. Ra’s’ smile weakened, aware his point had been proven moot. Hush wasn’t here to kill him, but to stop the impending war.
“Very well,” Ra’s left the crowd of assassins and waved off his minions at the front door, “Follow me.”
Hush held back a laugh. He knew Ra’s wouldn’t give in so easily. He could hear the snaps as League snipers cocked their rifles. There was no way Ra’s would let him reach the Lazarus Pit.
The Demon’s Head unlocked the door to the basement. Hush hadn’t moved a step. Ra’s turned to him.
“Are you coming?” the master assassin asked.
If he took a step into the snipers’ sights, he would be dead, no time for activating the bomb. Then again, if he stayed here, Ra’s could very well have his twelve guardsmen kill him and escape the full brunt of the explosion. However, Ra’s al Ghul underestimated Hush. Even if he hadn’t fully thought through the new plan, Hush did have countermeasures in place for his original mission plan.
“Activate Code Red,” Hush whispered. Suddenly the windows to the mansion lit up as three silent car-sized planes descended onto the premises.
“Those planes are advanced Wayne Tech weaponry designed specifically for military use. The public is not aware of their existence. I assure you, you have never seen anything like them. Should I be killed, they will reign hell upon this building and leave nothing alive. Moreover, they will torch everything and everyone on the premises. Once they’ve completed their mission, not only will you be but ashes—too little of you left for a Lazarus Pit revival—but the Court will be free to access all of your remaining ‘Haven resources, including the Pit below our feet,” Hush explained.
Ra’s tried to hide his disappointed look, and ordered in Arabic for his snipers to hold their fire. He then waved Hush on. The vigilante met him at the door.
“You have new tricks,” Ra’s noted.
“While I was out of town, I…reminded myself of my family heritage,” Hush said.
“Well, you have won. Enter the Pit,” Ra’s opened the door for Hush.
The vigilante grinned, “After you.”
Ra’s frowned, but did as he was told and led the way down to the Lazarus Pit. Assassin henchmen followed them down, creeping out of sight but not out of earshot. They had no chance. Ra’s was right. Hush had won.
The Lazarus Pit itself wasn’t anything new to Hush. He’d seen so many by this point—both in his time working for the League and while he had destroyed the Pits—that the rather uncanny, beautiful sight did nothing to amaze him. Ra’s, on the other hand, was entranced. Dozens of uses and a rather impressive obsession with immortality fueled the master assassin’s insanity.
Or so Hush thought. The villain lunged out and knocked him to the ground faster than he could register. Far too late did Hush realize the trigger was now in Ra’s’ hands.
“I admire the effort, vigilante, but your death was inevitable,” Ra’s drew his sword and raised it, “As Leader of the League of Assassins, I do hereby declare your punishment for the traitorous acts you’ve committed to be death by execution.”
The sword impaled Hush, but at the last second the vigilante had managed to shift his body ever slightly so that the blade missed his heart. He was not as beaten as Ra’s assumed. Hush grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it down. Ra’s let go, and the sword was driven further into Hush’s chest.
“What are you—“ Ra’s’ jaw dropped as Hush pulled the sword from his chest. The vigilante swung the blade at Ra’s, but the master assassin managed to dodge the blow. He stepped back and called for his assassins, but Hush silenced him by slitting his throat.
“Hush now,” the vigilante managed through a mouthful of blood.
Ra’s’ assassins were leaping down the steps now. Hush had only seconds to act. Barely managing to keep his focus, Hush dropped the sword and picked up the trigger. He stepped back and fell, landing a few feet from the Lazarus Pit. The assassins were at Ra’s’ body now, and paused, unsure of whether to go for Hush or save their master. That uncertainty would be their doom.
Hush coughed up blood. He had to act. The C4 had to be enough.
With no thought other than to finish the mission, Hush pressed the trigger.
----
Ted Grant could not keep his eyes off the television screen, as ABC News—as well as dozens of other news channels, he was sure—covered the explosion in western Blüdhaven. Bruce had done it. The man had averted a war, and saved the city. For some reason, Ted couldn’t have been more disappointed.
Wildcat’s pupils sat around him on stools, all of their gazes glued to their master. At half past midnight on Christmas morning, the Wildcat Gym was darkened, its only source of light the Christmas tree weakly flickering in the back and the TV shining in front of the four men.
“We should have the mayor release a statement about the bombing. Hush should be commemorated as a hero,” Jack spoke up.
“For a bombing? No…” Ted shook his head, “Anyway, you heard the man. He wants to be forgotten. That’s the least we can offer him.”
“We can’t just forget him!” Arthur argued, “Hush was our master, same as you. He was a hero! He can’t just be a memory to us!”
Ted turned to the boy, tears falling again, “I KNOW!! I…I know. We’ll never forget him. That’s the irony of it all, Art. We’ll never forget him.”
Ted took a deep breath, and wiped away his tears. Arthur and Jack had to do the same. Richard just stared off into space grimly. The older vigilante stood up and switched off the TV. Nobody protested. Ted threw on his boxing sweatshirt, and turned to his pupils, a slight smile his attempt at lightening the mood.
“How ‘bout s’mores, maybe some hot chocolate and then we all head to bed?” Ted asked.
“Hell no!” “No way!” “I’d rather not.” All three young men replied simultaneously.
A real smile formed on Ted’s face, mischief creeping into his eyes as the Christmas tree in the back lit up, the flickering gone.
“Well, in that case, how’re we gonna spend our Christmas?” Ted wondered.
Richard Dragon crossed his arms. Arthur Brown circled his left arm around to loosen it. Jack Ryder slammed his fist into his other palm. All three young men grinned widely as Jack responded.
“Why don’t we go wish the Court of Owls a very merry Christmas…”
The End
----
Merry Christmas, everyone! The story continues in Ultimate Knights.