The night was neon and electric inside the little Floridian nightclub. Music pulsated through the air as tangibly as one of the dancers, a ghost made of soundwaves, and the smells of sweat and alcohol and a hundred different perfumes.
The Costa Rican man seated at the bar was like a ghost as well - present, yet not. He sipped an iced tea and tapped his fingers in time with the music, but was otherwise oblivious to the party. He could've been the only one there, for all he seemed to care about his surroundings.
"Hey." A Chinese man about the same age as the bar's - up until that moment - sole patron sat down to the man's left. The first man acknowledged the newcomer's greeting with a curt nod, but said nothing and returned to his drink.
"You look like you've had a rough day," the newcomer observed, undeterred. "Can I buy you a drink?"
The first man was equally undeterred in his mission to become a human cinderblock. "I don't drink alcohol."
"I'm not judging!" the newcomer replied, actually looking impressed. He flagged down the bartender. "Can we get a round of whatever he's having? Thanks!"
The bartender nodded and walked off.
"Hope you like iced tea," Cinderblock said drily, taking a long sip of his.
"It's not my favorite, but I don't hate it." The newcomer remained vigilantly cheerful. "Can I ask why someone would wanna come to a nightclub just to ignore everyone and drink tea, though?"
"No."
A pause.
Then, "I like the atmosphere. It's loud, but it's a controlled sort of chaos. Helps me relax."
The second man nodded. "Actually, that makes sense. I never thought of it that way, but there's something to be said about the, uh… the –" he snapped his fingers, looking for the right word, "energy. For sure."
The first man made a "well-there-you-go" gesture, then drained his glass.
"What has you so interested in some rando at the bar?" he asked. "You seem like one of those obnoxious, life-of-the-party types."
The second man dropped his voice conspiratorially as the bartender set his order down in front of him. "I'm the party police. It's my sworn duty to make sure everyone's having fun."
Cinderblock actually cracked a smile at this. Party Police flicked the straw of his iced tea playfully before sliding it over.
"Well, here's to a job well done," Cinderblock said, holding up his drink. Party Police obligingly clinked glasses, and they both took a sip in unison.
"Does this mean I've won you over?" Party Police asked.
Cinderblock snorted into his drink. "I'd never admit it, but yeah."
"Awesome! I'd hate to have to arrest you."
"Me too. Not real big on handcuffs."
Party Police laughed. "Do I want to know?"
"Doesn't matter whether you want to know or not, because I'll never admit anything."
He paused. Frowned. Gripped the edge of the bar for support.
"Okay, I'll admit one thing. You spiked my drink without me noticing."
Party Police's smile grew chilly, like a snake's before it strikes. "Very observant, Jason Todd."
"Honestly, I was… looking for an opportunity… to do the same thing to you. Chien Xi Han, right?"
"Obviously. And my sister can't wait to meet you."
Jason looked around. The whirling bodies and flashing colors on the dancefloor made him feel sick. The bartender winked at him, his face holding the same cold smile Han was wearing.
Han slipped an arm around Jason.
"Let's get you some air, buddy," he announced loudly, for the benefit of anyone who might care – which happened to be no one. "You're not looking so good."
He tossed some cash on the bar, then dragged Jason out of the club and into the night.
His consciousness was black and light; flashing, like headlights passing on the highway. One second, Jason was aware of being sandwiched between two grunts in the back of a car, then everything was gone – like being asleep but worse.
Even as hazy as everything else was, the smell of briny ocean and gasoline grew stronger. Jason was vaguely aware of the car door opening, then he was hauled out of the vehicle. The world swayed and bounced, and then Jason was falling, landing hard on a sheet of plastic, surrounded by the sounds of lapping waves and clinking chains.
"I really hoped you would be more of a challenge to kill," a woman's voice said. She floated into view, a swirl of white hair, brown eyes, and tan skin; Chien Na Wei, first class drug lord and Han's big, bad sister.
"All this chatter about the notorious Red Hood," she continued. "Bane of traffickers everywhere! Nightmare of the underworld! But look at you!" She actually seemed angry. "You fell so easy! Like an amateur!" With a look of pure disgust, she kicked Jason in the side, then pulled a gun from her belt. "Killing you will barely be satisfying."
"S'funny," Jason slurred, staring down the barrel of the gun, "I was thinking the same thing."
"What a shame that regret is worthless."
Jason sighed. "You must be misunderstanding me. I mean, I was thinking the same thing about you."
Wei's eyebrows knit together. "Wh-?"
Jason kicked her in the knee, cutting off her exclamation, flipped to a standing position, then kicked off the sole of his shoe, revealing a concealed detonator.
Wei stared for a moment, then closed her eyes. "Oh fuck."
The explosion ripped the yacht apart, throwing twisted metal hundreds of feet into the air in all directions.
As Jason sank, he felt a tugging at his ankles that hastened him along. He wasn't too surprised to look down and see cinderblocks shackled to his legs. After all, the cartel couldn't exactly have his body resurfacing.
He allowed his eyes to drift closed as the bubbles of air that escaped his lungs grew less and less frequent. Around his head, black hair dye floated away from the white streak in his hair like a smoky halo.
Fucking shit sand, what the fuck, this better not be Heaven or I'm gonna be having words with somebody…
Jason coughed violently and sat up, pain stabbing through his chest and sunlight burning his eyes. He winced in spite of himself. Soft hands gripped his shoulders and gently shoved him back to a lying position.
"Careful, little bird. I broke a few of your ribs while performing CPR," a soft voice said.
"Can you at least turn off the fucking… uh… sun?" Jason rasped between coughs.
The voice laughed. She was becoming more distinct now, more of a pile of shifting shapes than a blob. She was still, however, extremely orange.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" Jason asked, familiarity dawning on him.
"Perhaps another life, little bird."
Jason shook his head, blinking rapidly, forcing himself to see his savior clearly. Princess Koriand'r - or Starfire of the Teen Titans, as he'd known her - sat beside him in the sand in all her sunshiney glory: her golden skin, glowing green eyes, and massive red curls exactly as he remembered from when he was a kid.
Jason gaped, then leaned over and vomited a lungful of seawater onto the beach. Koriand'r patted his back forcefully, helping to dislodge the offending liquid.
Tamaranean firepower is the sexiest thing I've ever seen, Jason thought, sighting in a solar cannon that was the size of his torso, yet weighed about as much as a loaf of bread. Its lilac metal caught the sun at a hundred different angles, giving the weapon an almost heavenly glow. All that was missing was the angelic choir singing in the background.
Jason weighed the pros and cons of firing off a practice shot. His final list looked something like,
"Pros:
- Important to be familiar with unfamiliar weaponry
- New learning experiences should (almost) always be taken advantage of
- I really, really want to fire this gun
Cons:
- Trees could end up on fire
- Boats could end up on fire or completely obliterated
- This stupid, tiny island has no good places to construct even a normal shooting range"
Jason was saved from his deliberation by Koriand'r zooming out the door of the abandoned battleship that was serving as her home, grabbing him by the arm, and practically shouting "You need to see this!" in his ear while half dragging him down the beach.
"I didn't even do anything yet!" Jason protested as the gun fell from his grasp and plopped sadly onto the sand.
"Hopefully, you are about to do something!" Koriand'r replied. She sounded almost ominous. Ominous or scared.
Jason followed the princess through the halls, stumbling to keep up, until Koriand'r stopped in front of the computer console in her common area.
"I have diligently read the news every morning," she explained, "hoping to remember why I isolated myself, and while I have not yet found the answer, I have found something important enough to return for."
Without another word, she pointed at the screen.
A news article was splashed across the screen, complete with a photograph of the article's bruised, bloody subject.
"AMERICAN TO BE PUT TO DEATH IN QURAC" the headline read. The face in the photograph was familiar, even under the layers of grime and grief that sought to disguise it.
"Is that Roy Harper?" Jason asked, incredulous. Roy had always seemed like someone who could go through Hell and come out laughing about it, but while the man in the photograph smirked and held up a peace sign, a trained eye could see how very forced it was.
Koriand'r nodded sadly. "Lately, he has fallen quite far from grace."
"And I suppose you'd like to bring him back to the light – so to speak?"
"Like to?" Koriand'r almost sounded offended. "He is my friend! There is nothing I would not do to save his life."
Jason exhaled slowly. "Okay. Then I'm going to need a few things."
Roy wondered idly if there would be a point in trying to keep track of the days he spent in captivity.
A maximum of two tally marks would look pretty pathetic, he thought, brushing the stone with his good hand. Would it be in poor taste to admit I'm bored?
He started scratching a simple face into the wall instead. Two eyes, an oblong nose, and the top of a bald head soon appeared to be peeking over a wall, along with two hands, which clutched the top of the wall on either side of the face.
The door to his cell clanged open. Roy jumped, turning away from his drawing. A flash of phantom pain shot through what was left of his right arm, causing him to bite his lip to suppress a groan.
"I brought your last meal, 'superhero,'" a guard sneered, dropping a tray on the floor. "And a visitor."
A pale, nervous-looking priest with salt-and-pepper hair peered over the guard's shoulder.
"Oh god," Roy groaned, banging his head against the wall.
"Af-fraid not," the priest stuttered, "I only w-work for Him."
The guard rolled his eyes and stalked out of the cell, slamming the door behind him as he warned, "Five minutes!"
"I-I'm Father Hidalgo," the priest stuttered with a tentative smile.
"And I'm not interested," Roy replied, bending to grab the bowl of whatever-it-was he'd been served, then straightening up. He looked at the bowl. The bowl looked back. He set it back on the floor.
"Are you sure you don't want to listen to what I have to say?"
Roy took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before replying. "Look, I know you mean well, but I was raised Navajo, and I intend to die that way."
He returned to scratching at the wall.
"Something tells me that's not where your apprehensions lie."
Roy took another pointed breath.
"You want honesty? Fine. Here's how I see the big picture: I'm gonna finish writing 'Kilroy Was Here' on this wall, you're gonna wander back to whatever do-gooder group sent you, and then that delightful prison guard you just met is going to take me outside and blow my brains out. After that, I literally do not care what happens. I just want the garbage fire that is my life to be over with, whether I end up in Hell or not. In fact, I probably deserve to go to Hell! So thanks for your concern, but it's wasted on me."
"Hmm," Father Hidalgo mused behind him. "Interesting take. Give me a moment to consult my book, would you?"
"Be my guest," Roy replied with a dry laugh.
Click.
Now there was a sound Roy hadn't expected to hear. Slowly, he turned to see Father Hidalgo standing there, seeming a bit taller than he had been, holding an open Bible with a massive hole in the pages in one hand and a gun in the other.
"You seem rather intent on dying, but would you mind giving me one more chance to change your mind?"
"Depends on who's really asking," Roy replied apprehensively.
Father Hidalgo tucked the gun into the waist of his pants, set the Bible reverently on the floor, then peeled off his face. Or, rather, the latex mask Roy had thought was his face. The mask tumbled to the floor, followed by the gray wig that completed the disguise.
Roy groaned upon seeing the identity of his rescuer. There was only one person he knew of who was tacky enough to wear a mask under another mask.
"I'm screwed."
"That's nice," Jason Todd replied, drawing the gun. "Get behind me."
"Whoa! That seems a little forward. You could at least buy me dinner first."
"If I wasn't supposed to bring you back in one piece, I would shoot you right now."
Roy furrowed his eyebrow. "Who sent you? And since when do you do contract work?"
Roy's question went unanswered when the door was ungraciously thrown open.
"Time is up, superhero!" The guard jeered, waltzing into the cell. Then, he saw Jason and froze, staring. Jason cut him down with a single bullet, then grabbed the man's gun and slung it over his shoulder.
"You coming, or am I eating dinner by myself?"
Wordlessly, Roy darted after Jason - the little, unfinished Kilroy seeming to smile after him.
"Who sent you?" Roy asked, repeating his earlier question. "Why is the Red Hood in Qurac, chasing down former superheroes?"
"Is this really the time for that?" Jason asked pointedly.
Bullets flew through the air so thickly that some of them had to be colliding with each other. Jason was driving a stolen Jeep in zigzags so wide he was barely gaining any ground. Roy was attempting to return fire with Jason's gun, but one man against a battalion has fairly decent odds against him.
"We're definitely going to need bigger guns," Roy allowed, ducking a hail of bullets.
"You just said 'we' as if you trust me," Jason replied with a smirk.
Roy barely hesitated before pressing the gun to Jason's temple.
"Who. Sent. You?"
A ball of angry fire shot across the sky just then, small bursts of it breaking off and blazing down to Earth, stirring up horrified screaming. As though a switch had been flipped, the gunfire stopped.
"That would be the big guns, who sent me," Jason replied, his smirk now wider than ever.
With a THUD, the fireball landed on the hood of the car and dimmed. Jason kept on driving without even the smallest flinch. Starfire stood proudly in front of the two young men in a cloud of smoke, dust, and ash. Eyes blazing, skin glowing, and hair like a volcanic eruption, she had rarely looked so terrifying. Roy had never been so happy to see her.
"Roy, I believe you know your benefactor? Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran?" Jason said by way of an introduction.
"Good afternoon, Roy!" The princess said with a grin.
Roy stared. He lowered the gun. He felt his eyes sting, and found himself choking on the next breath he took. He was… safe? The rest of the world hadn't given up on him?
"And if it'll put your mind at ease, she's not paying me," Jason added, then paused. "But one of you owes me a new Bible."
"We can discuss this later," Kori interjected. "Such as, when we aren't in a warzone."
"Take it away, princesa," Jason replied. He turned to Roy. "You might want to hold on."
Gracefully, Kori spread her arms wide and allowed herself to fall back in a swan dive that seemed unnecessarily dramatic but looked cool, landed with a backwards somersault, and held out her hands, grabbing the front of the vehicle as it rolled toward her and lifting it off the ground. Jason and Roy were both thrown back and forth like balls of paper in a room full of high school students, especially once Kori actually took off into the sky, leaving the desolate prison in her fiery wake.
"You doing okay?" Jason shouted over the wind that howled by.
Roy shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could. "I've been through worse!"
"Obviously! That's not what I asked!"
Asshole!
"I'm not going to throw up on you, if that's what you're worried about, shortpants!"
Jason smirked. "That's all I needed to hear! Minus the 'shortpants' bit."
"You're right! That's Dick's nickname! How 'bout we workshop some new ones, Dead Robin?"
Jason's voice dropped so low it was hard to hear. "Careful."
Roy felt a shiver he didn't think came from the wind. "Sorry. I'm not used to the idea of you not being antagonistic."
Jason's nostrils flared, but all he said was, "Fair enough."
As the landscape flew by, the two men regarded each other, on equal ground for the first time. Well, nearly.
"Would you take that stupid mask off?" Roy asked. "I already know what your face looks like!"
Jason raised an eyebrow, then reached up and peeled away the crimson domino mask, letting the wind carry it off to parts unknown. His eyes were so strange. They'd always been odd – deep brown with a blue blotch in each that was caused by heterochromia – but now his pupils were also ringed by a poisonous green. Must've been a resurrection thing. But if Oliver's eyes had ever been like that, Roy hadn't noticed.
"Happy?" Jason asked, his freckle-dusted nose scrunching. Suddenly, he seemed more like the kid he used to be.
"Rarely," Roy replied, voice dry. He was remembering better times, and the memories lashed at him with venom that stung and laughed and threatened to crush him with guilt.
Oh god I wish I'd just died.
A mile above Earth, Jason sat in contemplative silence, staring at the pages of the paperback in front of him without really seeing the words on the page. Whatever. He'd probably read The Princess Bride ten times already. There were more important things to think about.
He was even with Kori, they'd agreed on that. And for the first time in all the time he'd known her, Kori almost seemed as though she'd rather be left alone. She, however, had made it her mission to help Roy get back on his feet.
Roy, however, seemed almost intent on staying down. He'd hardly gotten out of bed after landing on Kori's island, waking up screaming every time he fell asleep, barely eating, and, at one point, giving Jason a random, yet probably deserved, verbal beatdown about the time he'd kidnapped Mia Dearden.
Was it running away, Jason wondered, if there were no obligation for him to stay? Kori didn't need him, Roy didn't want him, and he could always –
"That page must be fascinating! You've been staring at it for the last half hour!" a voice said, cutting through his thoughts.
"Huh?" Jason looked up. A flight attendant was watching him with a bemused expression on her face. She had earthy, brown skin and short, amber hair. Her hazel eyes sparkled, almost as if she was trying not to laugh. She seemed sweet enough.
"I was going to ask you if you wanted anything to drink," she replied, "but I didn't want to interrupt you in the middle of something important. But it's been almost thirty minutes since you last flipped a page."
"Oh, you know how it is," Jason replied, a little embarrassed, "every word's a treasure that deserves close contemplation."
The flight attendant, whose nametag read "Isabel," raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Do you want something to drink?"
Did he?
"Can I get a ginger ale?" Jason asked.
"No problem!" Isabel replied cheerfully. "Enjoy your contemplating!"
Dumbass, Jason berated himself. He flipped to the next page and drew himself into the world of intrigue, romance, and adventure. Isabel gave him an approving smile when she returned with his drink.
As the plane touched down in Osaka, Japan, Jason stuffed the handful of unused cocktail napkins that came with his drink into a pocket of his blazer, tucked his book into the messenger bag that comprised the entirety of his luggage, and slung the bag over his shoulder. He was uncomfortable being unarmed, but everything he needed was at his safehouse. If he ran into trouble on the way, he'd just have to improvise.
Getting a cab downtown was easy. Better yet, the driver felt no need to engage in small talk, just asked Jason for the address and fare. The ride downtown was peaceful.
After the ride was not, however. The sun was just beginning to set, sending businesspeople home and bringing partygoers out to replace them. Jason wove his way through chattering, brightly dressed clusters of people, his eyes darting in every direction, hair standing on end, fists clenched, daring the night to throw anything at him. Crowds were bad. Crowds meant collateral damage if anything went wrong. And things always went wrong.
He reached his safehouse without incident.
Jason pulled the cord his key was hanging on out from under his shirt, where he had been wearing it for safekeeping next to the gold cross he never took off, and shimmied it into the lock. Something flickered behind one of the windows, and Jason felt like banging his head against the door. He was so sure he'd been careful. Despite the rising tide of "about to beat someone's ass" within him, he avoided taking out his frustrations on the innocent slab of wood and opened it normally.
Half a dozen guns cocked as he flipped the light on. Chien Na Wei and a handful of henchmen stood in the middle of his kitchenette, looking steamed, but otherwise amazing for someone who Jason distinctly remembered blowing up. Jason closed the door behind him.
"Jason Todd." Wei's voice was as icy as her snow-white hair. "You killed my baby brother."
Jason raised his hands in a sarcastic placating gesture.
"I'm sorry," he said, "honestly. I meant to kill you too."
"It's a good thing I plan better than you," Wei replied with the slightest sneer. Her henchmen were all aiming steadily at his chest, a blank-faced firing squad just for him.
"C'mon, you wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you?" Jason asked, grinning at his impromptu houseguests.
Wei raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I?"
Jason pretended to consider that. "Okay, fair enough."
He ducked and danced around the first round of bullets, reached into a planter box, pulled out a gun of his own, and returned fire. Two of the assassins dropped immediately, followed by a third. Jason ran straight toward the hail of bullets, leapt onto a countertop, and flipped onto a fourth, picked off a fifth, then shoved the fourth into the sixth and shot them both.
Wei sighed, as if she'd been expecting a similar result.
"What was that about planning better than me?" Jason asked, straightening up but pointing his gun at Wei.
"Clearly," she replied, "not everyone has what it takes to kill a cockroach."
She pulled her own gun from her holster, but Jason shot it out of her hand before she could do anything with it, then shot her in the abdomen and shoulder for good measure. She fell to the floor with a look on her face that was almost enough to make gravity itself fear her retribution.
"Yup," Jason agreed, "guess not."
"You'd better kill me, you little bitch," she hissed. "Or I'll make sure you suffer next time I find you."
Jason stepped gingerly over the fallen bodies of Wei's hit squad and crouched down beside her. "From one cockroach to another? You seem to be the only one suffering from our meetings. Get over it."
With that, he turned and walked away. It was a cocky move, but no bullets came after him, and he disappeared into the bedroom. He was relieved to find his gear untouched and right where he'd left it, behind a drop panel in the closet. He cleaned everything out of the hidden cavity – no way he was coming back now – and appraised it. Everything was still there:
- One of Jason's signature red helmets
- A pair of reinforced, black tactical pants
- A red, armored shirt
- A black leather jacket with red accents and a couple of bullet holes
- Gloves and boots that would've been unassuming, if they hadn't been in with everything else
- A red gun belt with a hip holster on either side
- The two guns the holsters had been made for
- And enough .45 caliber ammo to sink a none-too-determined canoe.
Jason grinned. The Red Hood was about to make a comeback.
Just for the hell of it, he climbed out the window after collecting his gear. He wouldn't be returning to the compromised safehouse again, so it was really his only chance.
Someday, I'll put extensive author's notes up on .com, but here are the basics:
- If you try and order hot tea at a bar, no one knows what to make of you.
- Han is an OC, but Chien Na Wei (nicknamed "China White" by Oliver Queen) is from Green Arrow: Year One and she will be back.
- I wrote the second scene after watching an episode of iZombie. I liked it enough to keep it.
- CPR is nothing like it looks in the movies.
- "Kilroy was here" is a WWII U.S. Army calling card, of sorts; a way troops would tell later battalions "Hey! We were here!" For some reason it's making a comeback and my hometown is plastered with Kilroys.
- Kori is stronk
- Why pick one eye color when heterochromia exists?
- Jason's costume sucks, I'm redesigning it.
- I have no consistent updating schedule, but just assume that I want me to publish the next chapter more than you do.