Author's notes: Now that we are entering Part Three of Daylight, it's time that I gave you a schedule update. As much as I've loved doing weekly updates, real life has kinda bonked me over the head that weekly + college student + having a job = no worky. Nope. So, updates are going from weekly to biweekly. Except when there's a sidestory, so yippee for that!
Cover art by moi. It isn't really what I planned (Roy's face is a bOOGER), but FF informed me that I apparently have a limit on cover pictures, so... have a sneak peek for what the story cover is going to be.
Warnings: Violence, graphic descriptions, character death, and language.
PART THREE: CHANGING TACTICS
9. SURVIVORS' REWARD
Information that can be disclosed at this time:
Wall Cassandra, Wall Iris, and Wall Lois are each separated into four districts. Over these districts is placed a Garrison Commander, excepting the districts within Wall Lois, and a High Commander with jurisdiction over every district within the Walls.
Natural resources of districts range from farmland and forests to rivers and lakes. Some hold mines and factory towns, or broad plains and livestock production. Since the fall of Wall Cassandra, goats, pigs, and pet animals are frequently killed at young ages in order to preserve the lives of more important livestock such as chickens, cattle, sheep, and horses.
Districts are listed as follows (south, east, north, west):
Wall Cassandra [BREACHED]: Mars, Gotham [B], Krypton, Blüdhaven
Wall Iris [BREACHED, RECOVERED]: Central, Atlantis [B, R], Oa, Harbor
Wall Lois: Bialya, Themyscira, Metropolis, Star
Captain Roy Harper was not amused by the sudden decrease in Blackjackets. He wasn't surprised, either. The captain walked over to the one who was still left, an unconscious teenager without gear or uniform jacket. He hadn't expected the Blackjackets to leave one of their own behind, but considering how much of a wreck this kid looked like, it did make sense. He would have been a deadweight on their getaway.
Harsh, Roy thought. He crouched, grabbing the boy by the hair on the back of his head and pulling back to see his face. He looked surprisingly young, but he wasn't the youngest Roy had ever seen out on these battlefields. The white streak in his hair caught the soldier's eye for a moment, being the sort of thing he hadn't seen before, but he decided it wasn't worth pondering over right now. Even unconscious, something about the kid spoke of a fighter's spirit. They would have a hard time dealing with him.
Roy looked up sharply as his ears caught the familiar whine of a particular set of Maneuver Gear, and he released the Blackjacket in order to stand up. The kid's face planted into Roy's boot. The captain watched as Barry Allen's protégé banked sharply around a corner, his shoulder barely above the ground, and trotted to a halt in front of him.
"You're late," Roy reprimanded him.
"Had to refill," Wally West replied, pulling back his hood to free a shock of orange hair. Bright green eyes scoped the area, lingering on the abandoned Blackjacket. "Better decide what you're gonna do with him quick, Roy, because there are a lot of Titans inbound."
Roy growled. He looked over as an Atlantean approached—a graduate of the local Trainee Corps, going by his uniform. He was surprisingly dark to be flaunting his tattoos so openly. "C-Captain Harper," the teen managed to say, "is there any way we can help?"
Roy looked over the "we" that the Atlantean referred to. Of the four trainees—two boys, a woman, and a kid who looked like he still should be learning how to salute—two were currently helping the barely-conscious Hal Jordan up to his feet, one was speaking with Roy, and the other was watching the both groups anxiously.
"Names?" Roy queried.
"La'gaan, sir," the Atlantean introduced himself, and quickly indicated each of his companions as he named them as well. "Jaime Reyes, M'gann M'orzz, and Garfield Logan. We're all trainee graduates of the 104th Squad, sir."
Roy nodded curtly and gestured to two of them. "Reyes, La'gaan, you two will carry this Blackjacket out of here. Squad Leader West—" here he directed a slight glare in his comrade's direction "—will show you where to go. M'orzz, Logan, make sure you get Squad Leader Jordan out of here."
"What about the Titans those Squad Leader West mentioned?" Logan asked, turning worried blue eyes in Roy's direction. He was definitely a kid, but he definitely had sharp ears.
"I'll take care of those," Roy answered. He stepped out of the way as La'gaan and Reyes hurried past, and glared at Wally again. "And West? We're going to have a talk after this."
Anyone else would have been shaking in their boots at the prospect of facing Roy Harper's wrath, but Wally was unconcerned. The more time Roy spent around the younger soldier, the more convinced he became that Wally West was simply insane. Freakishly good at what he did, but insane.
Then again… insane was something of a requirement in the Survey Corps.
No one caught the smirk that slid across Roy's face as he took a step back and shot up to the rooftops. Catching his footing, he turned slowly as he sized up the various Titans closing in on their position. It was a lot more than the size of their group warranted—no doubt it had something to do with the Blackjacket's Titan power.
What a day. Roy looked over, watching the trainees and soldiers escape, and waited until they were well out of his way before moving.
For reasons Dick did not know, a Survey Corps soldier had saved him and his youngest brother from his own comrades. And as if that wasn't confusing enough, when the soldier had told them don't worry, you can trust me, his voice was one that Dick knew. It was utterly impossible, but the evidence (voice, smile, speed, freckles along the right jaw) could not be denied.
"Dick? Dick, we've got to move."
Dick hadn't realized that he'd even frozen until Tim grabbed him by the crook of his arm and yanked him back from the open door. The teen snapped his fingers rapidly in front of his older brother's face, eyebrows pinching together in worry.
"Dick, can you hear me? Hello!"
Dick snapped a hand up and closed his fingers around Tim's wrist, halting the limb's movement. "I'm fine," he said. It was a massive lie, and Tim didn't buy it for even a fraction of a second. "You're right, Tim, we have to get out of here. There's a cache in the basement of this building, we can change out of these uniforms and escape from the district."
"Good thinking," Tim nodded. He glanced back toward the open door as Dick lead the way to the floorboards that, once removed, would bring them down to their cache. "The Survey Corps is here now, so no one will notice a couple more hoods."
Dick stopped, the splinters of one board pricking into his fingers. "We're not going to wear hoods, Tim," he said quietly. He was reluctant to meet his brother's eyes, but he did so anyway, and saw the confusion he expected. "We can't go after Jason. Captain Harper is among the top elites of the Survey Corps. His skill makes Hal Jordan look like a novice. Not only would we fail to save Jason, Tim, but we'd only get caught ourselves."
"So what's the plan?" Tim asked. He sounded so certain that Dick had a good one. "Ambush?"
Dick finished opening the hole into the basement and gestured for Tim to hop down. Both could hears Titans outside, and the shrill singing of blades, and with some haste they jumped down into the basement. Tim lit up a lantern, and Dick closed the floor over them.
Every time Dick went underground, he was surprised by how muffled everything was down here. People spoke quieter on instinct—"Shouts'll bring everything down," an under-Lois native had told Dick once—and sounds from the surface were dull, heavy impressions. No longer could the whine of 3D Maneuver Gear be heard. The impact of Titan feet made the floor and walls of the basement vibrate.
"So," Tim said again. This time his voice was more flat. "The plan?"
Dick sighed, turning away from Tim as he peeled off his uniform jacket. He stood still for a moment, staring down at the insignia between his two clenched fists. "We go home," he replied. He didn't need to look to know the horrified look that had to be appearing on Tim's face now. "Jason will be taken to Wall Lois, so we go home and figure out what to do."
It was a long trip back to Wall Lois. After escaping Atlantis District, leaving the Survey Corps and the remnants of the Garrison to take care of the rest of the Titans, Tim and Dick changed from their false Survey Corps uniforms and into the garb of civilians. Then it was up to them to blend in with the crowds until they reached one of the stables the Commander kept stocked for them.
It was a little thing, but Tim was glad to see their usual horses waiting for them in the stalls—Dick's jet-black stallion, Nightwing; Tim's high-spirited filly, Robin; and Jason's sour-tempered piebald, Hood. Tim felt a twist of guilt when he saw Hood, for the young stallion was looking to the stable door entrance in search of the third rider he knew should be coming.
Dick stroked the horse behind his left ear, just as he liked, and quickly withdrew his hand before he was nipped. "Sorry, Hood," he apologized. "Jason's not coming today."
Tim crooned gently to get Robin's attention, and scratched his fingers along the filly's jaw. He had learned that there was no getting the chestnut's cooperation if he didn't follow this routine. Dick left Hood and went over to Nightwing. The stallion butted his head playfully against Dick's chest, but Dick only patted the horse's mane absently.
Dick and Tim didn't speak to each other as they saddled their horses and set out. It was well after dark now; Tim hated riding at this time, fearing that the flickering light of their lanterns would be insufficient for the horses and cause a sprain or break. The latter had happened to Jason's roan, Red, and the gentle mare had to be put down. Nearly a year passed before the teen had been able to bear the thought of riding again.
Tim breathed easier when dawn came, but there was still another night of riding to come. Eventually the horses were left behind in another stable just within Wall Lois, and the two teens pulled dirty old cloaks around their frames and descended into the underground. The brothers stuck close together down here, watching the desperate poor with wary eyes. Tim's mouth filled with the rotten taste of the tunnel towns, and was reminded once again why he hated the monarchy of these Walls so fiercely.
After hours, they slipped into a hidden network of narrow, natural tunnels. At times they were able to walk, but most of the journey was spent crawling on hands and knees or wriggling between tight walls.
Dick hadn't said a word since leaving Atlantis. It was jarring, frankly, but Tim wasn't willing to break the silence. He kept catching Dick with a look that suggested he was lost in thought, and each time he seemed to grow angrier. Tim knew from experience how terrifying Dick was when he was angry.
They finally reached the overhead trapdoor that would bring them up into the massive cavern beneath New Wayne Manor (called such because the original had been in Gotham), and Dick unlocked it and pushed up. The Commander was waiting for them as they pulled themselves up into the cavern.
Dick turned to give Tim a hand up, since he wasn't quite tall enough yet, but he wasn't looking at his younger brother. His gaze was fixed on Bruce, an unsettlingly familiar look on his face. It was the anger Tim had been seeing for three days now.
Tim crouched to close and lock the trapdoor again, his eyes darting nervously between Dick and Bruce. Something was going to happen, but he wasn't yet sure what it would be. He cringed as the hinges of the trapdoor pitched loudly enough to echo through the entire cavern. He always forgot when it was his turn to grease the hinges.
Dick straightened up, brushing dust off his dirty underground cloak. He met Bruce's eyes with an even stare. Tim could see the fingers of his right hand twitch for a moment. "Commander," the Blackjacket said.
"You made the right call," Bruce replied, sounding as calmly removed as ever. "By escaping Atlantis without Jason, you avoided placing yourselves in the same position. I've been able to track him to where he's being held now. Leave the rest to me."
Tim murmured his obedience to the order, but much of him bridled at the thought of leaving his mistake for someone else to take care of. If he'd just held onto Jason, this wouldn't be happening. He should be standing here right now, berating Tim for forgetting to grease the trapdoor hinges again. "My ears, runt! Have some consideration for my ears!"
"Is that all?" Dick asked. His stare had hardened, and he stepped right up to the Commander. Tim wasn't sure if he was supposed to do something or not.
"It is," Bruce answered.
Dick's teeth bared in a snarl. "Bull." He barely took a moment to draw his fist back and smash it across Bruce's face—Tim was stunned that the blow actually hit—and the man stumbled back. Blood was already dribbling past his lips.
"BASTARD!" Dick shouted. Tim flinched, his arms automatically lifting into a defensive position. "YOU SICK, MANIPULATIVE BASTARD!"
Tim had no idea what to do. It had been a long time since Dick had exploded like this, and when it happened, Bruce and Jason were always on hand to calm him down. But this time Bruce was the cause. Tim wasn't sure he had the power to make either of them back down.
Bruce regained his stance, steady and straight-shouldered. When he spoke, his voice was just as calmly removed as before.
"I take it you've encountered Wally West."
"Wh-who?" Tim stammered.
"You knew all along, didn't you," Dick snarled. His fists were tight at his fists, cheeks flushed with rage. "For seven years my best friend has been alive, and you knew! Did you think that by telling me, my motivation for fighting the Titans would wane? Is that what this was about? Controlling me?!"
"You need to calm down."
"Screw you!" Dick shouted back, raising his fist again. Bruce took a step in retreat. "Screw all of this! Don't you get it yet, Bruce, what I've been trying to show you this whole time? You don't have to manipulate people to get them to help you. Dammit, you sure as hell don't have to manipulate your sons!"
Tim flinched again. Bruce displayed no emotion.
"It's for the benefit of humanity—"
"As Jason puts it, humanity is pretty rotten as a whole," Dick retorted. "And you're a prime example of that fact."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. Tim found his nerve again, and ran in between the two. It was terrifying when they fought—once, it had lead to a broken arm for Dick. Months had passed before the two spoke to each other again, and Jason and Tim had constantly been caught in their furious crossfire.
"Stop," Tim said urgently. "There's no time for this. We're all exhausted—these past few days have been… worse than a nightmare. We need to get some rest, before we do something we regret, and then we'll figure out what to do in the morning."
Bruce had that look in his eye, like he was going to dismiss Tim's words as naïve, but then Alfred stepped in. Tim hadn't even noticed the butler arrive.
Alfred Pennyworth had been a servant to the Wayne family since before Bruce was born. In fact, the Pennyworths and the Waynes had formed a servant-master relationship generations ago. When things got ugly in the patchwork quilt that was the Wayne household, and they did a lot, Alfred was the one who intervened with his clear thinking and firm rebukes.
"Master Timothy is right," the butler said. Bruce turned to face the older man. "A conflict arising between the two of you at a time like this could mean young Master Jason's death."
As always, Alfred's words brought them all back down to earth. Dick was still seething, Tim could see that at a glance, but he wasn't going to let it get in the way until the mission was over. Tim didn't want to think about what would happen then. Maybe Bruce would be the one ending up with a broken arm this time.
As for the Commander, his expression was unreadable. He nodded in acknowledge of Alfred's reasoning, then walked away without another word. Dick took the opposite route up to the mansion. Tim stayed behind with Alfred, giving the butler a distressed look.
Alfred smiled gently and placed a hand on Tim's shoulder again. The gentleness of the touch relaxed the tension wound up inside of Tim, and he managed to give a grateful nod to Alfred.
"You did well, Master Tim," the butler commended him. "As your older brother continues to grow, his disagreements with Master Bruce's way of thinking have become more volatile."
"It can't be good to have them in close proximity with each other for so long," Tim mused, frowning worriedly. "One of these days they're both going to explode, and I'm afraid it'll be enough to bring the Walls down." He shuddered, then looked up at Alfred once again. "Speaking of which, how are things in Atlantis? Do you know?"
"From what Master Bruce has told me, Wall Iris can withstand the Titans once more," Alfred replied. "He's rather proud of the engineers in his division, even if he doesn't say so. It took a full day to eradicate the Titans within Atlantis—most of the work was done by HE projectiles, since your plan brought many Titans to the city's edge, and the rest were taken care of by the Survey Corps. Naturally I don't know this, but we've even managed to capture one 4-meter and one 7-meter Titan alive.
"However." Alfred's expression became deeply saddened, and he sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "2,097 soldiers are dead or missing, and 897 have been wounded. That is greater than 20% of the Garrison troops stationed within Atlantis District."
Tim sat down, putting his head in his hands. "That's no victory," he whispered.
"Master Bruce counts it as one," Alfred replied. Tim's head snapped back up as he turned a horrified look towards the older man. "He sees the sacrifice as necessary, since it has enabled us to take a step forward against the Titans."
Tim stood up, stiff. He shook his head. "I know you love Bruce, Alfred," he said quietly. "We all do. But I'm starting to think, more and more these days, that that man is coming unhinged."
He walked away. Sweeping back the folds of his grimy cloak, he began climbing up the rungs that would bring him up from the cavern and into New Wayne Manor. As he climbed, Tim hoped that the trainees who had survived the fight for Atlantis were having better luck now.
La'gaan had been trudging through the streets of Atlantis since dawn for three days now. Though he wore a mask like everyone else, the stench of slowly rotting corpses was enough to make his head reel. At least, it was yesterday. After nearly seventy-two hours of this, he didn't even have the stamina to vomit anymore. Which begged the question of when he had last eaten.
Neptune's Beard, he was tired. Although it wasn't even late afternoon yet, he could feel the exhaustion setting deep in his bones. One foot dragged after the other. The Atlantean lifted up a gloved hand as he walked, staring dully at the blood-stained material as he wondered how many more bodies he would have to move before nightfall. Then he stopped, frozen in position as he saw.
Slumped up against a partially caved-in wall, a single dead eye staring across the street, Trainee Corps uniform in tatters. He had been killed by a bite, half his head and almost the entire right side of his torso. La'gaan's throat closed, but he managed to choke out a name nonetheless.
"J… Jaime?"
It couldn't be Jaime. But it was. La'gaan could recognize the blue scarab pendant hanging from a chain around the corpse's throat, accompanied by the simple wooden cross that Jaime would murmur to when he was especially troubled. He said that it reminded him of home. And the one eye remaining, still open, was unmistakably Jaime's. The deep brown was simply too familiar for it to be anyone else.
"Trainee, do you know his name?"
La'gaan didn't turn at the sound of the supervising medic's voice. He was still frozen, eyes fixed on the corpse of his best friend. "I was wondering why I hadn't seen him around yet," he murmured. "But this couldn't have happened… not to Blue. What happened?"
He turned to comrades, his gaze entreating. "Did… did anyone see him? Please tell me Jaime didn't die like this alone!"
His classmates had no answer. Most wouldn't meet his eyes. The medic was talking to him again.
"If you know his name, Trainee, tell me now," she insisted. "It's already been four days since the hole was sealed, and we haven't finished collecting the bodies. At this rate, there could be an epidemic." The medic sighed briefly before giving La'gaan a harsh look. "Do you understand? There isn't time to mourn your friends yet."
She was talking sense. La'gaan absolutely hated her for it, but she was talking sense. He swallowed, taking a few shaky breaths as he turned back around to face Jaime's body. "104th Trainee Squad," he told the medic. "Captain of Team 19, Jaime Reyes."
"Jaime, then?" The medic wrote the name into a notepad filled with too many of them, and nodded in a weary way. "It's good that we have a name, at least. Let's get back to work."
"Did you say Jaime Reyes?"
The medic flinched back as a second trainee seemed to materialize within centimeters of her face. La'gaan's stomach dropped, and for a moment he thought he really was going to puke. The trainee confronting the medic looked exactly like Jaime, down to the little scar on the left side of his chin. The Jaime lookalike took the medic by the shoulders and shook her, his expression darkly intent and almost frenzied.
"Jaime Reyes! Did you just list him among the ceased?"
"Yes," the medic replied, somehow remaining calm. "Now let me go, Trainee. There's work to be done."
The trainee released her, but ignored the work. He went straight to Jaime's body, dropping to a single knee, and a necklace swung loose from beneath the folds of his shirt. A blue scarab pendant. The trainee stared at the half a face Jaime had left, his jaw clenched, throat working. He put out a hand to grip Jaime's remaining shoulder, smearing blood across the tan uniform sleeve.
La'gaan had no idea what he was supposed to do about this. He didn't even know what to think. "There… there are two of you?" he choked.
The other trainee, somehow wearing Jaime's face, looked up. His expression was utterly different from the Jaime Reyes that La'gaan had spent so much time with, but he knew exactly who this was. They had trained together many times before. Beetle, Jaime's other personality.
"I am Khaji Da," the trainee told La'gaan. His voice was gruff and La'gaan knew it well, but now it shook. "We have known each other for some time, La'gaan." He looked back to Jaime and took the teenager's chain and pendant, dropping it over his head to join the one he already had. La'gaan would have said something about contamination, but he was speechless.
Khaji Da's fingers curled into fists, tremors running up his arms. "I have failed in my oath to Bianca Reyes," he said hollowly. "To the Reyes family. To Ted Kord. I have failed…"
Without another word, he stood up and walked past La'gaan to rejoin the other trainees at work. The young soldier held his shoulders straight and kept his eyes fixed ahead. He did not look back. La'gaan stared after him in mute shock. For three years, three entire years, he had never realized that there were actually two of them. Not simply separate personalities, but separate bodies.
Jaime was dead. But Jaime was also alive. La'gaan gave up, his legs and emotional fortitude failing him as he fell to the street next to Jaime. He closed his eyes to the flies already crawling through his friend's flesh and reached over, taking the cross Khaji Da had left behind. La'gaan knew it was a religious thing for Jaime, which he honestly didn't get, but it had been precious to the other teenager. The least La'gaan could do was ensure that it wasn't burned with everything else.
He hid it away inside of one of his pockets and stayed by Jaime's side. The Atlantean kept crying out symbiosi and didn't know why.
Jason's eyes didn't snap open. It was usually difficult for him to wake up; a disadvantage in dangerous situations. The teenager's mouth bent into a puzzled frown as he blinked up at the ceiling above him, poorly-lit stone bricks that he didn't recognize. Wary now, he moved his arms in to sit up.
His arms didn't move in. The Blackjacket could hear chain links clinking against each other, and now became aware of the thick iron cuffs around both of his wrists. The metal was freakishly cold. Looking around, Jason saw that he had been chained to the walls on either side of… oh, crap. This was a cell.
Jason turned his gaze outward, carefully examining the two soldiers just beyond his cell's barred door. One was a woman, long blond hair with cool blue eyes that sent nasty chills running up and down Jason's spine. She was seated with one leg folded over the other, regarding Jason with an almost clinical curiosity.
The other soldier was a man with scruffy ginger hair, leaning up against the far wall with two fingers loosely holding a lit cigarette. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else. Both soldiers wore Survey Corps uniforms.
"Any questions?" the woman asked. She was borderline smirking, which made Jason feel more than a little uneasy. He remembered who she was now—the leader of the Survey Corps, Commander Dinah Lance. The man to her left had to be Captain Roy Harper. People claimed that he was as strong as an entire brigade. He wasn't a Blackjacket, though, so Jason wasn't going to take it as fact.
"Questions, huh?" Jason asked back. He pointed to Harper. "Got another one of those?"
Captain Harper gave him a condescending smirk, took another drag from his cigarette, and said nothing. Jason glared at him, then grumbled before electing a more appropriate question.
"Where am I?"
"An underground jail cell, as I'm sure you can see," Commander Dinah replied. "The Military Police has retained custody of you. We were only recently able to get permission to speak with you."
Recently. That implied that Jason had been down here for a while now. He pondered that for a moment, but his attention snapped back to Commander Dinah when she withdrew something from one of her jacket's inside pockets. "Hey, that's—"
"Your key, yes," Commander Dinah confirmed. "You can have it back later, provided you survive these next few days." The soldier's eyes flicked over the old brass key. Jason suspected she had already memorized every detail. "The basement of your house in Gotham, Catherine Todd's house, holds the answer to the mystery of the Titans. Is that it?"
"Pretty much," Jason replied. He shrugged, reaching a hand up to tap his head but reaching the end of his chain before he could. He settled for pointing. "It's fuzzy in here, Commander. But I do remember that's what Dr. al Ghul told me."
"You have amnesia, and the doctor who supposedly gave you this Titan power of yours has been missing for the past seven years." Captain Harper snorted. "That's convenient."
"Try forgetting all your studying on a regular basis for years," Jason retorted. "It's really not all that convenient, Captain."
"Gentlemen." Commander Dinah's voice was sharp, and the look she gave Captain Harper made it clear that they had been over this topic before. "Roy. We already know that he has no reason to lie, so long as we don't inquire about his brothers. And yes, I do agree that there is still too much that we don't know."
Her eyes went back to Jason, measuring him in the exact same way Bruce always did. He could see why they were both commanders. The Survey Corps' leader nodded slightly, as though agreeing with some internal thought.
"Right now, Jason Todd, we need to know what you want to do."
Jason hadn't been expecting that question. He also hadn't been expecting Commander Dinah to know his full name. Hadn't Bruce destroyed all of those records? He stared at the commander for a moment, wary.
"What I want to do?" he repeated.
"That's what she said, idiot." Captain Harper pulled the cigarette away from his lips, breathing out a plume of smoke before continuing. "Look, to get to your house, we have to retake Wall Cassandra, and the simplest way to seal the gate would be to use your Titan power."
"It's more than likely that Titans will determine our fate," Commander Dinah added. Her expression was solemn. "In principle, the Colossal and Armored Titans are the same as you. Your decision is the key, Jason. The key that could very well end up saving all of humanity."
"I… I am?" Normally, Jason would have responded in a scoffing manner. But Commander Dinah's eyes held him in some sort of terrifying thrall. She meant every word she said, and honestly, that scared the hell out of Jason. He tried to sluff it off. "I mean, humanity is pretty rotten as a whole. Not so sure I want to be that key."
"Then what do you want?" Commander Dinah asked.
Jason thought about it. Could he do what they were asking of him? He thought back, going to the vague memory of looking through Titan eyes at a world he wanted to reclaim. He remembered only a wild, killing rage when he tried to remember the previous shift. Would he do what they were asking? Jason thought further back now, seven years ago to a ten-year-old boy gripping an iron rail with small, bloodied hands.
"I'll kill them all. You hear me, Titans?! You're dead! Every single one of you."
"Answer up, kid." Captain Harper had been wearing this infuriatingly unimpressed look on his face through the entire meeting, and now he frowned at Jason through a thin haze of smoke. "What do you want to do?"
What did Jason want to do? That was a simple answer. The teenager straightened up—as much as one could while chained to opposing walls, anyway—and his face set into a bloodthirsty grin. Commander Dinah met the gaze unflinchingly. Jason had a feeling she could have stare-downs with rabid dogs and win.
"I want to get out of these walls," Jason growled. "As a soldier, a traitor, a Titan, I don't care! But I'm going to get out there and I'm going after every Titan I can find. And I promise you, Commander, Captain, that the bloodbath won't stop until every last Titan is wiped off the face of this Earth!"
Neither the Commander nor the Captain changed expression. Captain Harper's eyes, however, seemed to glint. It looked nearly the same as the glow of his cigarette.
"Not bad," the soldier commented. He moved away from the wall and went straight up to the cell's door, blowing a perfect smoke ring between the bars as he stared down at Jason. Jason returned his stare defiantly, his eyes watering as the smoke reached him.
"Dinah," said Captain Harper, "tell the brass I'll take responsibility for him." Jason's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and Captain Harper gave him a look that bordered on a sneer, or perhaps a snarl. "It isn't that I trust the kid. If he betrays us or loses control, I'll kill him on the spot. That should be good enough for the brass, since they know I can do it."
Forget that he wasn't a Blackjacket. Jason had absolutely no doubt that the man on the other side of the cell door was as strong as an entire brigade. The skin along his spine crawled; perhaps the Titan part of him also recognized what threat Captain Harper posed, and feared it.
Either way, Jason was doing his best not to look completely petrified. The Commander or his brothers had better think of something fast, because Jason had a feeling that if he was stuck anywhere with this guy, fatalities wouldn't be long in coming.
"Welcome to the Survey Corps, brat," Captain Harper said lightly, and Jason felt a moment of panic as he realized that the soldier had seen right through him. Captain Harper smirked and tossed Jason a cigarette before walking away, apparently deciding that he had participated in the conversation enough.
Jason managed to catch the cigarette and looked to Commander Dinah. The woman gave him a look utterly lacking in pity. "I don't smoke."
Outside, Roy's cigarette and match packets were promptly snatched and returned. The captain turned an exasperated look on his comrade of several years now, Squad Leader Wally West. The younger soldier leaned back on the bench he had taken, propping his boots up on the table as he lit his stolen cigarette. A faint orange glow was cast across his face, blending with the rosy colors of the sunset above.
"You've got a salary, West," Roy said flatly. "Buy your own."
Wally shrugged, gesturing widely with the lit cigarette tucked securely between two fingers. "Babe doesn't like me smoking," he explained. "Bad for my health and all. So I only do it once in a while."
"Huh." Roy took another drag. "Jade's the one who got me started on this. One of the better things she's done for me." He gave Wally a sidelong look. "And speaking of doing… what the hell was that back in Atlantis?"
Wally was suddenly very interested in his boots. The muddied toes tapped the air rapidly. "What do you mean by that?"
"You pulled the Blackjackets out," Roy stated. "But you left Todd behind. If you'd grabbed him and Drake, the leader would have been able to escape on his own. Why leave behind the only one who can't escape?"
Wally shrugged, parting his lips to release a thin cloud of smoke. His expression was almost apathetic. "I thought Drake would be able to hold on."
"Bullshit," Roy snapped. "You think way faster than that, West. What are you up to?"
Wally's eyes crinkled up as he smirked over at his comrade. He chuckled into his cigarette and gave the captain no answer.
Roy growled. Wally's manner was often wide open, but when it came down to it, he was really the most enigmatic of them all. "You're a piece of shit, West. A majorly screwed up piece of shit."
Wally didn't chuckle this time. His smile was broader, and bitter.