Arkham Asylum
One Year Ago
Pain.
Unbearable, merciless.
No contrition.
No regret.
Pricks.
Pricking around him, scratching at his Kevlar. A stinging, piercing screech erupted, as if a charlatan violinist were playing a horrid tune in his ear. Every movement played a note, a note that was ever agitating, ever deafening.
It drove him mad.
His arms burned from the thick rope constraining his forearms to the arm rests of the wheelchair.
It was the first thing he could sense when his mind slipped back to consciousness. It was there to tell him he was alive, that his body wasn't through just yet. There was still more pain he could take, still more bruises that could be made, still more blood he could shed.
He hated it.
He wanted to die. He wanted it to be over.
All of it.
No more pain. No more tears. No more blood, no more broken bones. No more lonliness. No more of the mental torture. No more memories of the crying boy as he lay in the dumpster one cold winter night-the only choice he had since his father locked him out the apartment. No more memories of the weeping eight year old boy who stood over his mother convulsing as meth took over her body. No more of the anger that welled up inside of him as he tried to figure out why he couldn't save her, why he was so fucking stupid.
Why it was all his fault…
No more trying to understand the reason why he deserved it. Why he deserved it all. This life, the shit that's constantly thrown at him every corner. He was tired of it.
He wanted it to be over.
All of it.
A noise came from behind.
Wait? What was that? Footsteps?
Jason snapped out of his self loathing state and composed himself.
"Batman? Is that you?"
There was no response. Jason's heart pounded in anticipation as they came closer. Please, Bruce make this be you, please.
Save me.
I need you.
He could detect a strong sense of body heat from behind as it lingered. The person breathed calmly, calculating, enjoying the moment of total control.
Bruce, please…
"Batman's not coming for you, Jason."
Robin's heart dropped as the black fabric was removed from his face. Light penetrated his pupils that had been so used to the dark. They burned as they shifted to adapt to the foreign surrounding.
"H-He'll come."
"It's been six months now, Jason. I think it's time to face the facts!"
"Fuck you!"
"That's the spirit! You're a real chip off the 'ol Bat block. Not that it'll do you any good."
"Why won't you just kill me?"
"What? No, no, no, no. I'm not going to kill you, not yet anyway. You're my sidekick now. Imagine it. You and me out on the streets, starting fights, picking on the weak, a regular dynamic duo!" He said as he punched aimless fists into the air for the sake of animation. "Just like Bats and that new kid of his."
What?
"No he wouldn't." His voice cracked
"You think? So this isn't Batman then?" He inquired as held the photo to his face.
Don't look Jason, don't look. It's a joke. Please, God make this be a joke…
He turned his head the opposite way. He wanted to throw up, his adrenaline production now on overdrive.
For the first time, the Joker wasn't lying.
It was Bruce. With some shaved brown haired teen. In a Robin costume. In his costume. In his place.
His heart paused. His skin ran cold. His muscles now lightweight.
" Weird. The pointy ears are usually a dead giveaway."
"No..."
"I really didn't want to show you that photo, really I didn't. But well, it was the only way for you to get closure."
"Now I know it hurts," He continued as he pulled out a crowbar. "But sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind."
Somewhere in the Amazon Basin, near the Casiquiare River
South of Venezuela
10:06 am
Jason woke up to an unexpected splash of cool water to the face. He gasped savagely for oxygen as his heart pounded in response to trauma.
He noticed he was tied to a metal chair. His hands were tied behind his back securely with a thick rope, stretching the bandaged stab wound on his bare chest.
"Wake up, boy." Slade introduced himself with his voice. Jason gazed above him. Deathstroke was still in his combat armor. He'd only taken off the mask, revealing a solemn, stern face. An eyepatch covered his right eye. From his knowledge, that was as a result of an...encounter with the Red Arrow. Said he missed his aim. Accidentally hit his eye.
Geneva was leaning by the chapped wall with her arms folded as she stared at Jason. She too was still in her jumpsuit. Two other soldiers stood trance like by the sides of the door.
"Now that I have your attention. I'm going to ask once and only once." He leaned closer to the eighteen year old. "Who do you work for? I don't care to know who you are. You're obviously not important to your employer if he sent you on a solo as dangerous as this."
"And you know you're not skilled when a so called world class mercenary got his eye poked out by a rookie." Jason snarled. "On his first shot."
"You know," Wilson began as he turned to one of the soldiers and motioned him to a wooden table across the room. The man hastened and arrived with a sog elite and gave it to the mercenary. "Old wounds can always be reopened. Just because they heal doesn't make it any stronger. It's not unbreakable."
With the last word, he slit Todd's day old wound. Jason shouted in agony. His nerves skyrocketed: the pressure, the throbbing pain. Crimson blood seeped through the white fabric.
"You're testing my patience here, boy." He said as he rested the bloodied blade against his exposed skin. "You should be running out too. Just a few more ounces of blood and you'll be out again before you know it."
"What if I'm fine with that?"
"Last night, you lost approximately three and a half pints of blood. But considering it's been sealed twelve hours ago and your body revitalized your red blood cell count, you're only three pints short. That's thirty percent of your total blood volume. Not long before you reach forty percent and fall into class four hemorrhage and suffer from hypovolemic shock." Slade's eye stared into his. "Let's just say you'll get what you wished for. But you may never wake back up."
"Now answer my question or I'll just have to make that process a bit quicker." The ex-militant held the blade to his face.
"I work for no one but myself." Jason snapped, unphased. He wasn't going to beg for his life. That's something he promised he would never do.
"Do you really?" He came closer, his arms behind his back. "You were at the Warehouse with Ricardo in Caracas last night before he was assassinated."
Jason could feel his blood pool up on his damaged skin, he grew lightheaded, his heart pumped faster than normal as it attempted to use the very little blood to transport the vital gas throughout his body.
"And if I worked for him I would've prevented this bitch from putting a bullet in him. " The second Robin focused his pair of blue eyes on the black woman standing across from him. "Now wouldn't I?"
Deathstroke considered for a minute. "Then why the hell were you there?"
"To stop the trade."
"For who?"
"I just fucking told you."
"I'm not buying it."
Wilson sliced Jason's arm serenely, patiently. More of the red liquid tissue leaked out. Jason gritted through his teeth.
"I ponder how many more cuts it would take to put you out. "
Todd swore under his breath. The liquid on his face began to heat up. He knew for sure the water on his face was mixed with sweat.
"I'll make sure the next cut will be somewhere you'll-"
"Parada." A Spanish, masculine voice came from behind.
Deathstroke turned his head. He grew less rigid and backed away from Jason.
A curly haired, anchor bearded man approached the ebony haired eighteen year old while smoking a cigarette. Although Jason never saw the man in his life, he was able to infer just who in the hell he was.
"No need to be uncivil to our little friend here." Marco Torres spoke as he gave Jason a brotherly clutch around the neck and rustled his hair. "Isn't that right, amigo?" He let out a puff of smoke into Jason's face.
Jason bowed his head, he was in too much pain to respond or react.
"Come on. Patch him up. Get him a beer. We don't want him dying on us now."
The crime lord signaled one of his men to Jason as they untied his bound wrists. He could sense the instant relief from the pressure on his wrists.
"Jason and I are gonna have to have a talk..." He patted his back "De hombre a hombre " Torres looked at Slade. "The right way."