A/N: Here's the chapter. Sorry.
Thanks to the following for reviewing.
debbiegirl , Nikki-4 , chinxy , raerobgal , Krimzontrique , Hajimari , DriftStar , S. , and I'm Solo .
Thanks for maintaining interest in this story. Means a lot. Seriously.
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Previous Chapter:
"What was that?" A man of about forty and of Hispanic ethnicity looked up from their game of poker. His buddy, Snakes, looked up as well.
"It sounded like …like someone just lost five times in a row!" he shouted, pushing down his cards and reach over the table to reach his side of the poker chips. He stopped when Puños - 'Punches' in English - didn't chide at him for cheating.
"No…I'ma go check it out," Puños pulled out his .45 and readied to stand up.
"Man, it's probably Joe on duty up there." The still working Port-a-Potty flushed besides them and Joe came out, zipping up his pants. "Shit…"
"Let's go. Someone's on the roof."
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Chapter 13: Riot At Sunset
Hands – flash – darkness – flash – pain – flash – loss – flash – help ....
Memories....
Cold....
Pain....
Dead...
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"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Blackout
"Could you have done a more stereotypical greeting?"
Blackout
"Stereo-what now?"
Blackout
"Shut up. ..Get on the other side, you idiot!"
Blackout
"Who you callin' an idiot, puto!?"
Blackout
"Shut the fuck up, both of you."
Blackout
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Puños walked around the fallen superhero as Snakes walked around the other side, guns cocked and aimed at the cape wearing freak. Joe came behind them, whirling around in case some other scumbag tight-wearing weirdos were waiting for them to take the bait.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Snakes asked as he came a step closer. The loose gravel on the building's rooftop crunched as he angled sideways to get a view of the man's face. The trespasser's cape, however, caped over his whole frame and blocked his view of his face.
"What's wrong with him?"
"How the hell should I know?" Puños came closer and tried to identify the immobile superhero from his side. Nothing.
"Jesus Christ. I think it's fuckin' Robin."
"Who?"
"You don't know who Robin is?" Joe glared at the other two men, mentally asking why the hell he got paired up with them. Snakes and Puños shrugged. "He's one of 'em, Kid Titans or whatever they're called. I saw him on tv once. Shit." He walked cautiously closer, coming up on Robin's crouched form from behind.
"What do you want us to do?" Puños asked, getting his gun ready.
"Let's take him out. Eric's a grateful guy. I hear he has a grudge against him and all. He'd reward us really nice."
"I dunno-"
Suddenly, gravel groaned as swift movement caused each man to back off, each groaning in pain.
"Fucking Christ! My hand!" Joe clutched his severely bleeding hand, a bird-a-rang protruding from his palm. Puños moaned in pain, on the floor, face already puffed and purple from a hit. Snakes stared wide eyes as his gun – holding it not seconds ago – was falling over the side of the building. His gaze stared up slowly at the figure towering over him. The man – more like in his twenties – was flushed, out of breath, and seriously pissed off. He didn't need to see the superhero's eyes to tell him that.
Robin took a step towards him.
"Wait, wait! We didn't mean what we said. I ....Joe! Joe said we should take you out. I didn't!" He side glanced towards the other man and caused him to cringe at his injured hand. "I-"
"Where...is Eric?"
"What?" he asked, "We haven't seen 'im for weeks. We've been hiding -"
"Aaaaah!" Joe lunged at Robin, a knife in his other hand. He slashed the air before him blindly, leaking blood as he swerved. Robin dodged each swing, a shadow clouding his face. Snakes scrambled from his thrown position and scrambled across to Puños, who had lost consciousness, and grabbed his gun.
"You ain't better than me!" Joe cried, "You cape wearing kid, I'll show you!"
"Joe!" Snakes warned, aiming at Robin's back. He fired. And suddenly cried in pain. The bullet had lodge itself into his own chest! He stared down at himself, surprised. "Oh, fuck." Joe glanced back, surprised as well.
A green gloved hand blinded him however, with a right hook.
Joe stumbled back, crying in surprised. Hands suddenly fisted his jacket and he was elevated from the floor, causing him to cringe his eyes open.
"Aaah!" he cried. He was being hovered over the street! He stared up into the hand's owner's masked eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
"I'll ask again. Where is Eric?"
"I don't know, okay? Pull me up!" They were only five stories off of the street. It wouldn't kill him but it sure as hell would hurt. He heard the guy growl. Suddenly, a hand released him. Joe flared the hands, grabbing onto the hero's arm. "Shit! Pull me up! Pull me up!"
"My arm... is getting tired. I'd advise you....not to lie to me!" He shook him, Joe letting a cry escape him.
"Okay!" the arm stopped shaking him. "Okay, I'll tell you everything I know." The hand however, did not retract. He still hovered dangerously over the edge.
"Talk."
"W-We haven't seen Eric for weeks. He got us to work a job for him with narcotics weeks ago and ...since then, we haven't seen 'im! I swear!"
"Hostages....where would he keep hostages?"
"What?" Robin sneered and shook him again. "Stop!"
"Hostages, you bastard, hostages!"
"In the warehouse! Up in the Miller slums!" the sneer left the guy's face but Joe wasn't consoled. All emotion was drained from the masked face and he wasn't sure if this guy would drop him for real.
"...his 'closely guarded' hostages...." Joe's eyes widened in realization.
"The police! You talkin' about those cops, right?"
"I thought you hadn't spoken to him...in weeks."
"No! No! I haven't but word gets around, you know!? Honest!"
"Then...where?"
"In the South loading docks? O-or up where he keeps his eye over his business up in Westwood!"
"You don't know?" the hero neared his face, jaw practically clenched shut in effort to control his anger.
"I'm not sure! I-I'm a low level guy. I haven't even personally met Eric!" the guy raised his chin, distancing himself a bit from Joe. Then, he turned from the edge of the building. Joe let a puff of relieved air as his feet now dangled over solid gravel covered roof top. "T-Thanks." His gaze snapped to the now immobile shape of Snakes, whose gaze remained with that surprised look. Then, Joe's eyes traveled down towards the wound on his chest. How the hell had the gun backfired?
Robin promptly dropped him.
Joe yelled when he landed on his hand, the bird-a-rang long gone and tossed before he had lunged at the hero. He snapped his gaze upwards when he remembered he wasn't alone.
Robin's fist made contact with his temple and all went black.
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Robin let out a shaky breath.
Then his knees failed him and he fell. He groaned as his sight swam. He blinked rapidly. Daylight was beginning to illuminate everything around him. His stomach clenched and he couldn't bare the nausea anymore. He puked. He dry heaved afterwards. With a shaky fist, he wiped his mouth.
He hoped he still had time. He didn't appear in broad daylight.
Standing on his knees, he slipped his still dry glove to his belt, pushing his bullet-proof cape aside, and protruded a bird-a-rang. He swallowed and his spit tasted bitter. He applied pressure on the device and its blades snapped open. Daylight began to glimmer off of their stainless steel edges.
He waited a breath before he brought one side to his lower arm and cut.
Blood instantly came forth, some dripping off his arm and falling onto the gravel. He let the bird-a-rang fall and with the same hand, touched the blood.
"Here we go," he whispered to himself. He touched the blood with his index finger and readied it as if filling a pen with ink. His vision still swam and he struggled to keep himself from blacking out again.
He began to draw a symbol on the gravel.
Daylight threatened him behind, reflecting on the windows of the building across. The beginning of morning traffic fell to a muted roar as Robin finished the last circle of the symbol.
Suddenly, it began to glow.
Grinning in humorless mirth, he lost control and darkness overcame him.
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The Reaper panted, leaning back onto a wall.
She was so strong and so weak at the same time.
The half demon girl laid at his feet, face turned away from him. He blinked and shivers sped down his unworldly spine. Waiting a breath, he stood up and his hand slipped into his pocket. He pulled out a cell phone and with slightly shaking fingers, began dialing.
"Hello?" He composed himself.
"I know the location of your prey." He heard the resuscitated man's gasp on the other end. There was movement then, silence.
"Where?"
"Gotham City. He's behind your trail."
"...I should have know." The Reaper glanced down at the still immobile body of the girl. "...where exactly?"
"Ah. The spawn of the demon did not go down without a fight. The detection of his essence in the city was all she let slip out before..." A sharp toothed smile graced his face, "..you know." He could practically feel the other man's fear. Silly Human.
"Where-?"
"I leave you to your search of the man of which you pledged revenge to at the last moments of your previous life. I have other matters to attend to." He flipped the device closed.
The room echoed with screams. Reveling in the aftermath of his work, he leaned his face upwards and allowed his concealment to leave him. He couldn't help it. A laugh bellowed from within him, bubbling up to join the echoes of the screams.
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"You aren't worried, are you?"
" 'bout?"
"Don't give me that," Beast boy swerved his controller to the right, avoiding the zombie on the 20 foot tall flat screen television set, "Are you worried about Rae and Robin?" Cyborg swerved as well and killed a creature about to attack beast boy's character. He got rewarded a new life crystal.
"They would have called if they were in trouble." He pressed the 'A' and 'B' buttons repeatedly as he shot his automatic weapon at a demon. He wasn't sure if Raven would have been offended of this new game of theirs.
"Would they have, though?" Cyborg blinked. He pressed the 'START/PAUSE' button. Beast Boy gave a small noise of protest. Cyborg stared at the flashing letters announcing his leading score over Beast Boy's. "Cy?"
"They have gone a while without communication..."
"So..." Cyborg blinked and shook his head, shifting his shirt from his chest and pressed the 'START/PAUSE' button again, resuming their game.
"I'm sure they're fine. Rae would have called me if she was in trouble."
"Sure hope so," Beast Boy sighed solemnly, a rarity of him, and continued the game. His solemn demeanor, however, didn't last long when he began to fall behind on his score.
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"You rang?"
Robin snapped his eyes open. Traffic blew their horns a distance from him. He stared at the weathered wall for a second before his arms pushed against a blanket on floor boards, propping him up. His head swam but it was nothing compared to before.
"How long was I out?"
"A few hours." Robin blinked, and he turned around to a sitting position. He felt disoriented. A lone television set sat on the floorboards of the single room apartment. A portable kitchenette laid not a foot from his sitting position. His gaze finally rested on the other voice's owner. His back was to him, red coat hanging over worn shoulders. A deceiving balding head peered over his own business, blocked from Robin's view.
"What time is it?"
"You have a watch." Blinking, Robin pulled back his right glove and peered at his watch. 4 in the afternoon. He groaned. A few hours, his ass. His gaze glanced quickly to where he had cut himself. There was no scar, or blemish of letting him know of what he'd done. The old man stood and he turned. His prosthetic robotic limbs whirled under his clothes. His lone real eye gazed blindly at Robin, and his robotic eye whirled in its lenses, magnifying the image, he imagined.
"You healed me."
"Enough small talk. What is it you want?" Robin rose his head and stumbled, slowly to his feet.
"I need to kill a Reaper." The older man snorted in mirth, turning to his kitchenette. He lowered himself to hang on the ball of his heels, swerving the stick in the lone cup on its surface.
"Go to a Priest. Those two-timers should be of some help-"
"The biblical sense of this doesn't help, Scavenger. ...I need a weapon." The villain's back stiffened.
"And why should I help you? I don't like to be summoned. I have my own battle to prepare for, you know. (1)"
"...I know. But I'm willing to negotiate." Scavenger rose to his full height and stared at Robin square in the eye.
"Alright. I'll see what I have that can help." Without another word, he headed straight for the wall behind the television set. And walked right through. Robin rose hand to rub at the pulsating spot where the bullet had bounced off of his back to hit the attacker. He guessed he should have warned those guys of his Kevlar suit but it didn't occur to him at the time. Someone's yell in greeting caught his attention of the pedestrians down below. It seemed like a whole other world down there. A world free of all the weirdness of being surrounded of meta humans. A goth dressed teen caught his distracted gaze.
Raven.
He sure as hell hoped she was hanging on.
Scavenger returned, a gun gleaming in his prosthetic right hand.
"This here's a gun carved by a geezer much older than time. Won it from him in a poker game where he lost his wife too," his proud smile wrinkled his face. "Called himself a cause against the evil meta-humans and crap. More or less, a Hero." Scavenger spit the word as if it were venom. Robin could care less if he hated his guts right now. All he needed right now was a weapon.
"Will it kill a Reaper?" Scavenger's head nodded, his shoulder length white hair bobbing in tune.
"Vampires, werewolf folk, demons-"
"Reapers?" he asked again.
"Fuck, I said it would," he shoved the gun into Robin's hands. Intricate designs gleamed on its surface, designs he knew would be in the books of unearthly magic residing in Raven's trunk. It looked like a shot gun but it's parts were too odd to be so. Though, the design was the same. ...a gun. He shook the thought away. He couldn't delve in that now. He nodded once and locked the gun to the back of his belt. It felt heavy against his side. He breathed and allowed his cape to engulf his broad shoulders. Scavenger's outstretched hand came into his peripheral vision.
"Now, my payment."
"What do you want?" he bit back his other reply. The villain could easily take back the gun.
"Your first born." Robin's eyes widened.
"What the hell-" Scavenger let out a bronchitis filled laugh, followed by a snort and him spitting out his own phlegm on the floor.
"What the hell would I want with some brat?" Robin swallowed, a weird stirring in his chest. "No, something more valuable."
"Such as?"
"Your identity." Robin remained emotionless, while inside, he calculated the window besides him, preparing to escape.
"Why do you need that?"
"Don't question my payment methods, Boy. I could easily take back that gun. I ain't done with the deal." Robin blinked and sighed discreetly.
"Fine." He rose his hands and slowly peeled back his mask. "I'm Richard Dick Grayson, only son of Mary and John Grayson, the Flying Graysons from Halley's Circus." Scavenger regarded his mask-less face for a minute. Then, he nodded to himself.
"Fine, Dick, just fine." Robin slipped on his mask. He could do with his identity as he pleased. Right now, he had other important matters to attend to. He slid up the glass panel of the window and boarded its edge. "Thank you, come again," Scavenger mocked behind him. Robin shot his grappling hook and moved away from the room. He landed on top of a commercial clothing department store and glanced back.
The window and the room he had vacated was no more. Just another space in a brick wall.
Glancing forward, he retracted his grappling hook and headed towards Gotham City Park. Bruce had not approved of the Scavenger. The methods of how the man tricked you into giving more than you received did not settle well with the Dark Knight. Robin tsked and landed gracefully onto the south column fencing off the south part of the Park. Their lockers shouldn't have moved.
The small training area of the Park was one of the reserved safe spots he had scattered in the city. For when things went wrong, there had been no going back to the Bat Cave. Spare clothes and utensils were locked in a locker in its locker room, ready for his use.
He'd try the boarding docks and up in Westwood as a civilian. He couldn't risk it as Robin. He still wasn't at his full potential. If he wasn't strong enough, how much of a help would he be to Raven? He blinked, finally on the roof top of the locker room of the park. Since the painful attack on the rooftop of the abandoned plant nursery, he hadn't sense any sort of communication from her part. A sense of dread threatened to overwhelm him but he fought to keep it down as he finally saw the room empty and slipped inside from a roof window. His boots echoed in the vastness of the room. A pool resided at the turn of the wall to his right, its surface reflecting blue. He found the locker untouched.
With a cry, he pushed his anger into the round house kick that broke the lock and busted open the locker.
The door fell heavily, echoing in the room. Jeans, a jacket, a t-shirt, shoes and a small duffel bag filled the contents of the locker. He grabbed the items and headed quickly towards the changing rooms.
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Gordon paced the floor.
Well, he could kick his own ass right about now.
He tossed his hat from his head and ran a hand through his thick gray hair. The room was scorching, with no windows. It could have been him but he felt they were all underground right now, probably a basement. Thing was, he was so dehydrated that they could also be up in the clouds.
They had had him.
They had found evidence incriminating Eric Buscema of his underground drug crime ring and a few other details that would have locked him away for a good amount of years before his backstabbing money would have bailed him out.
But who would have known the bastard was dealing in meta-human matters?
Well, certainly not him. He vaguely wondered if Robin knew. At least, he hoped he did. He was personally going up against the guy. Damn. Damn it all to hell and back.
"Hey Sung?"
"What, Epps?"
"I'm thirsty, man."
"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"
"I dunno. ...geeze. I ain't going on 'special' missions with the Titans anymore. You?"
"Not unless the pay's friggin' worth it."
"Hmmm, true that."
"Epps?"
"Yea?"
"Shut up."
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His strength returned to him slowly. The sun was beginning to go down. The setting sun's light gleamed in the body's hair at his feet. He breathed out and took out a cigarette. He ignited the small tube and puffed greedily. The poor sap of a human, Eric, should be withering in pain right now. He chuckled. His resuscitated disciples couldn't be away from him for a long time. Their bodies started to reject the abnormality of the unnatural he brought to them and soon, they could reject it strongly enough to kill them...again. He stuck the cigarette in his lipless mouth and placed cold hands under the half demon girl's neck and knees. He easily hefted her up in his arms. Her limbs hung limply from the body.
"Let's see of what you I have for you now, dear one."
Blackness again consumed him and soon, the room was alone.
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Robin sipped on the third cup of coffee in front of him. The small cafeteria café in the building let him supervise the Westwood building area. Buscema's building teasingly glared at him from across the vast gardens of the building's entrance. The docks had been a bust. Buscema didn't own that part of the city anymore. He had moved on to bigger fish.
"More coffee, sugar?"
"No thanks," he mumbled at the perky, college student, who smacked her gum in a fashion he deducted as flirting. Some sort of guilt came over him, making his mouth shut. Cyborg had been right. He sometimes out right flirted with other girls like any sleaze ball. And he had been right in warning him that things like that wouldn't have worked with Raven – with or without the threat of killing him if Raven got hurt – but right now, wasn't one of those times. He set down his cup and something clinked. He looked down in surprise.
He still wore the pretend ring.
The girl's shoulders seemed to slump as she noticed it too. With a nod, she left him in peace.
He hoped Raven was with the Reaper, and the Reaper within short distance of Eric. He had what he hoped was a weapon to defeat the Reaper now, and if Eric managed to follow with the Reaper's defeat, then it was fuckin' fine with him. He swallowed the bitter black coffee and took a bite of the small bran muffin he had picked. He had some energy for what he had prepared to do tonight, and the sense of nausea seemed to leave him all together.
He loosely wondered how the others fared. He knew they'd be fine. He just hoped they hadn't had gotten word of their predicament. He well knew he didn't want to involve any more people.
The gleam of the finally falling sun reflected off of the gun.
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A/N: Emo-ness galore. I guess. It's short but I was afraid I would put too much into one chapter. And you guys don't want that, right? No, of course not.
(1) Scavenger is a mobile villain the the DC Comics universe who is a collector of weapons pillaged from various heroes and villains. The fight mentioned here, was that he swore a fight against some godlike hero who defied him a while back and he's still in search for revenge, hence his ongoing collection of weapons.
It didn't mention anything about his summon or trading his weapons but alas, that is the powers of Fanfiction. Ne?
Yay for the vast information of The DC Comics Encyclopedia! Guess who now owns a copy...hehehe. Thanks mom.
Hope you read and enjoyed.