Chapter 2: First, Second, and Third Blood

This place is unbelievable…

After spending a whole day scouting the city, my mind's burnt out. I'm just walking back to my apartment, and every two blocks, there's someone being mugged in an alleyway. It's not something that needs breaking out the mask, but still really annoying.

"Ahhh!"

I run towards the screaming and turn the brick building corner to see them.

This time it's two gangsters robbing a hooker. Classy. I'll just handle it on the mysterious good Samaritan guise and no one will ask a thing.

Counting the steps to them. At about fifteen. Always good to get a running start.

On my approach, their figures get clearer. One small guy. His partner is almost double his size in width.

I'm practically stomping the concrete now. Splash a small puddle, and the idiots still don't notice. Eight steps.

They've got knives…..Or small forks. Any blade under ten inches can barely be called one. They're not holding it close enough to the woman so there's no danger to her.

Five steps. Going to jump the last three.

They finally notice.

That's right. Aim your face right into my knee aaaand….

*CRACK!*

Broken nose, a lot of blood, and maybe some bruising from his back landing on the concrete. He's still conscious, if barely. The blood's in his eyes and clogging up his nostrils. Should make use of every advantage. He can't breathe through his nose anymore. It would really suck if he couldn't breathe through his mouth too.

I cover his mouth with one hand, and he starts panicking. Doesn't pay attention to my other hand, much less defend against it. Controlled blow to the chin rattles his brain.

*Bam!*

Second blow goes to the temple.

*Bam!*

Have to be careful with that one. Too hard and it could kill him. So I do it gently enough so he's out cold.

"Hiiieeee!" the remaining gangster squeaks. He has his fork pointed at me, shaking harder with every passing moment. He's a junkie….

"I'LL STAB YOU!"

"Right….Want to try that again?"

"W-What?"

"I think you said something stupid. Take a deep breath and try to say something again, but smarter this time."

"…D-d-don't follow me!"

"There, you go."

He turns around and runs in that clumsy desperate way emasculated thugs do. It's like they're drowning in air. I almost change my mind to go after him, but I guess the woman takes priority.

"You alright, lady?"

"Y-yes…! Thanks-s…"

She's shaken up pretty bad.

"You need to call someone? Friend? Cop? I can walk you over or keep you company until—"

"I'm fine! My pimp is just a few blocks over."

"Sad day when you rely on a pimp over cops or friends."

Tears well up in her eyes and she exhales a stuttering sigh. Her hands tremble, as she pulls out a cigarette and tries to light it.

"W-Well….That's Bludhaven for you."

While I wait for her to calm down some, I take a look at the sleeping gangster on the ground. He's wearing some old jeans and shoes. His puffy jacket's stained with mud. And hanging around his neck is a black string with animal teeth hanging from it. The kind of accessory I've seen in Hawaiian wear stores.

Of course, it means something different. Gangsters from the Vamp syndicate wear "fangs" to identify their members. Sometimes it's an earring, or a patch, or even a keychain. Drives the police nuts when the thugs don't advertise themselves as thugs.

"HALT, VILLAIN!"

(You've got to be s****ing me….)

I see him standing at the end of the alleyway. Legs spread apart, hands on his hips, like he's posing for a pelvic thrust photo op.

"That's the guy Blüd Knight! He attacked me with that whore! They tried to scam me!" yells the gangster, who ran away before. Little prick is practically hiding behind Blüd Knight like he's his mom.

(Should've took down the weasel when I had the chance.)

"THE SCOUNDRELS! I CANNOT LET THIS PASS!"

The "hero" shakes his cape back dramatically and pulls two uzis.

(Crap.)

Training kicks in and I dive for cover behind a dumpster. Even if it's made out of metal, the bullets will go through with enough shots. Have to lay as flat to the ground as possible.

Flashes from the gunfire light the dark street. The sound is deafening as it echoes between the walls. Through the hail of lead, I can hear the faint cling of bullets sprinkling the pavement.

Uzis run through bullets fast on full auto. The fireworks last only a few seconds before he has to reload. As soon as the time window starts, I evaluate my condition.

(Crap.)

One of the bullet ricochets tagged my left thigh. I don't even register the pain until I see the actual wound. Moving around is going to suck….

And then my eyes meet hers.

Dead and open, her body riddled with holes and slow seeping with blood. I couldn't save her.

(Damn it.)

I can feel anger burning the pit of my stomach. Pain's getting dulled with the body chemicals pumping like nitrous.

Even with all the rage and adrenaline coursing through me, I can't just rush head on at Blüd Knight. Baser instincts get people killed by amateurs.

For all of Bruce's faults, there's at least one thing he did well. He trained the best in all of us. For Grayson, he honed his agility. Drake, he nurtured his mind. I wonder what he'll teach Damian.

In my case, he taught me to curb my emotions, which were always very….volatile if I'm putting it lightly. Bruce made me channel my rage and stubbornness into fuel. That seems to be something people mistake about me a lot. The angrier I am, the harder I concentrate. I'm not some gun toting crazy guy in a red mask.

I'm a gun toting highly focused guy in a red mask.

Before Blüd Knight finishes reloading, I jump to the fire escape above. Need to get as much height as possible before he starts shooting again. There's a hole in my leg, but my body's endorphins make it feel like it's not there.

After climbing a fair amount, I hear the Uzis click the next bullets into their chambers. A shower of gun fire comes shortly after.

I dodge the best I can, but it doesn't matter too much. The guy's a horrible shot. Add the fact that he's aiming up and I bet he can barely keep his arms from dropping. People get too used to shooting down and across. Firing up and at unusual angles puts a bigger burden on limbs than most realize.

The hail of lead stops again, and now it's my turn. Just need to control the descent and let gravity do the work.

Blüd Knight shifts his attention from reloading his guns to see what I'm doing. That's right. Aim your face right at my boot….

*CRACK!*

Steel toe shatters his face mask and night vision goggles. He's already unconscious by the time I pin him down. It doesn't take me half a second to take one of his uzis and load it with a new magazine.

I'm forgetting something. Oh, right. The weasel prick.

Guy turns to run away, but not before I put a couple bullets in his calves. Then another two in his shoulder and tricep.

"Limp away faster before I change my mind."

The weasel scurries away faster and I turn my attention back to Blüd Knight. It would be so easy to kill him now. I don't even remember resting the uzi's barrel on his forehead, but there it is. My index finger squeezing the trigger right to point of shooting.

I look back and see the dead woman's body still there. The devil on my shoulder yells in my ear to give in to the hate. What's wrong with killing him? Nothing.

Nothing's wrong.

Just do it.

….

A second passes….

….Then another.

The voice fades. The urge fades.

I breathe and the anger passes.

Something I've been doing lately. Waiting out my rage. Others are always telling me to fight it, but the problem is it always seems to fight back. But emotions are impatient. Given enough time, they give up.

I pistol whip Blüd Knight hard.

(They give up a little.)

Cars are screeching in the distance. I don't hear sirens, so they're not police. Gotta move before I get surrounded.

When I stand up and look over Blüd Knight's sleeping face, I make a promise.

After I patch myself up a little, I'll make sure to drop a Red Hood by later.