Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. Boo.
WELCOME BACK! I hoped everyone enjoyed the break. I did! After much thought, I know what I'm going to do with the sequel to Getting Traught. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ GETTING TRAUGHT THEN GO READ IT BECAUSE THIS IS THE SEQUEL!
If you have any suggestions, I'm all for them. Just no killing or inappropriate things. You know what I mean.
Now, I present to you, sequel to Getting Traught….
The Renegade
Chapter 1!
The dark figure was perched on top of one of the highest buildings in Gotham City. It crouched next to a snarling gargoyle, watching the ground for its prey. Find and kill, were the orders. Don't be seen, but leave a mark. Let them know you were there. Toy with them, taunt them, and let them know who's in charge. He didn't know who they were, but he always did what his masters told him to, no questions asked.
He had been up here for so long that he was consumed in his thoughts. He had trained vigorously with his master for many months now. He could steal, lie effectively, disappear into shadows, take down bigger opponents in seconds, hack and control technology, kill, and many more things. He was getting better at it too, even though he had only been with his masters for a few months.
But every second spent with them, no matter what he was doing something was wrong. He felt as if he didn't belong there, that something was off. He felt as though there was something bigger out there, that there was someone inside him that could be more than who he was now. But that feeling always died whenever he trained. "You have no feelings." His master would say. And he was right.
The figure blinked as a person came out of the club across the street. He crouched down lower, making sure not to be seen. He was sure he couldn't be, even if the prey did look up, but as a master of stealth, he had to be sure.
The prey walked along the sidewalk and turned a corner. With impressive speed he shot up and jumped over to the next rooftop, silently following his prey. He followed him for about ten to twelve blocks, staying in the shadows as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop.
Finally, the prey walked up some steps to his apartment, took out his keys and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside his house, the dark figure leaped to the roof of the prey's apartment, scaled down the side of the building, and broke open the latch on the kitchen window. He slid inside, then closed the window and hid behind the counter as the kitchen light was turned on.
He heard the prey rummage through its pockets and set loose change, keys, its wallet, and everything else it carried on a table. Then he heard it put its coat on a hook.
As he recalled, the hook was by the door, so the prey's back was turned. He took that moment to slip out of his hiding place and stand behind the prey. He didn't make a sound.
They prey turned around and jumped back. "Gah!" it exclaimed, holding its hands up in defense. It lowered them when it realized it was only a boy.
The boy started to analyze the prey the way he had been taught. Male, he thought. About six foot two, one ninety to two hundred pounds, mid-fifties, balding. The boy also noticed how he leaned slightly to the side. Leg injury- weak point. Target acquired.
It had only taken a second, not even, to analyze his prey. In an instant, the boy struck the man's leg, and he fell to the ground, sputtering.
"Who-who are you? What do you want?" The man asked. He tried to get up, but the boy stepped on his chest. He didn't say anything.
"Please- please I-I'll give you everything in my wallet, all my money, please, just don't hurt me!"
The boy ignored the man's blubbering pleas. He didn't tolerate weakness, and he didn't care for this man. He took a knife out of his back pocket and leaned down.
"No! No, please, please, don't kill me, please, I- HELP! HELP! PLEASE HE-"
But the man's cries were cut off as the knife was stuck in the side of his neck. The boy hadn't taken his eyes off of the man's- he watched as his eyes became glassy and blood spilled out of his mouth. The boy swiped the knife across the man's neck, cutting it open.
As he was taught, he felt nothing at all.
Make your mark, were the orders. Let them know you were here, and that they could do nothing.
The boy reached his gloved hand into the man's spilling blood, and went over to the nearest wall. And with the blood, he drew a large red 'x'.
The blood still dripped down the wall as the assassin disappeared out the window.
AN- Ah, it's so good to be back. Hope you enjoyed. Btw it's been six months since the events in Getting Traught.
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