CHAPTER 35:
"Recoup & Loss"
"Don't harm him, please. We'll give you whatever you want," the dapper servant said. "I admit, we were deceiving you in saying we could expunge your criminal record. But in helping my master, your assistance will go a long way with the parole board."
Hugo Strange kept his fingers pinched on the Occipital neuralgia. "I want that—the Neuro-Diffuser," he demanded.
Tim felt as if he was about to fall into unconsciousness. It wasn't pain that was driving the feeling, it was the complete numbness of every nerve and muscle of his body that was draining the strength out of him. Like Chinese Acupuncturists, if someone knew what they were doing, then they could render a person completely immobile for as long as they wanted, or out-cold.
"Alfred, give it to him!" Tim hissed. "It doesn't do us anymore good anyhow."
Whether it was a slip of the tongue, Alfred gasped at the sound of his real name spoken. They were using Spyral technology Dick Grayson has brought back from his time there to disguise their identities, and if they were to speak a name, they had agreed on fake ones. Though they hadn't needed to speak them yet, now with his real name said, they were no longer needed.
"Very well, sir," Alfred said, dreading the consequences. He handed Strange the Neuro-Diffuser and Hugo took it with his free hand. "Please refrain from harming the young master any further."
Slade's gun was pointed directly at Strange. "I don't know why you're giving in to him, he's not going anywhere," he said.
Strange grinned big. "Oh, on the contrary, Slade, I'm truly going places after this, because I now have something more precious than gold. I have information. And that can be a commodity that can wield untold wealth, notoriety, and, indeed, in my case, freedom to do what I wish. I have an eidetic memory, and after 'the young master' spoke your name, dear butler, all the pieces were finally put into place. Everyone knows Alfred is the name of Bruce Wayne's notorious butler, so it doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce you are Alfred Pennyworth, and this young man is in fact Timothy Drake. And since we're in this clandestine place, I can further deduce, playing on my detective skills, that we are somewhere under Wayne Manor. Further to that, since Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke, has been frequent to engage with the Batman and his little Robin minions in battle, therefore, it's elementary, that the secret I now possess can bring down a once proud dynasty and cause the very fabric of an empire to come crumbling down."
Once Hugo Strange finished out cackling with laughter, Slade Wilson eyed him. Hugo then said, "Are you feeling it, young master— Timothy Drake? I can't see your face because of this interesting distorting technology masking it, but I know this must be painful. I did fix you, as you wanted, but I can unfix you, too. Your clothes also give you away, so high and elitist. How pathetic!"
Suddenly, the Spyral technology disengaged, something Alfred did. As their identities were already exposed, there was no longer any need for the charade. The hurt on Timothy Drake's face was apparent and his face was turning a shade of ashen from the pain.
"That's enough, Doctor!" Alfred said. "You've made your point!"
Hugo Strange let go, and Tim Drake let out a heavy gasp and a sigh of relief. Slade went into immediate action and pinned Hugo against a wall, the gun pressed into his left cheek. But Hugo kept smiling. He knew he had won.
"You are correct, Dr. Hugo Strange," Timothy Drake said, he was folded over, as if trying to catch his breath. But, in fact, the pain had momentarily immobilized him, and he was trying to get back the feeling of his extremities and nerves. His muscles felt very sore and like lead weights. He needed time for them to heal. "Our chicanery has been exposed, but what are you going to do now? Now that you know who we really are? Escape from us will be next to impossible."
"Escape? You're gladly let me go. Or I'll expose your secrets to the entire world. The Caped Crusader will be done."
Tim sighed. "Slade, let him go."
"Are you crazy? Look, I'm no fan of Batman, but to let this lunatic loose will be suicide. Not to mention the Wayne reputation. And Wayne Enterprises has been instrumental in rebuilding an embattled Bludhaven. An event that I now regret being a part of. The Batfamily and I have had our squabbles in the past, but—"
"I said let him go!" Tim repeated harshly.
Both Slade and Alfred gave the other a confused look, but then Slade stepped back from Hugo Strange after a nod from Alfred. Tim lifted himself up straight, Hugo fixed his ruffled shirt and then circled around to face Drake face to face.
Still smiling, almost with an eternal grin like the Joker, Hugo said, "A pleasure doing business with you, Timothy Drake. You thought you could trick me into fixing you without exposure, but now you've done so much more damage, it's almost comical."
"Thank you for stating the obvious, Doctor. I've already had lectures for my stupidity from others, I don't need one from you!" Tim suddenly smiled sly. "But I want to thank you, Doctor, for restoring my circulation and muscle control. I thought I would have to spend a great deal more time recuperating in therapy to get strong again. But it would seem you've brought it all back with a vengeance and more. Allow me to repay you in full for everything you've done."
Tim clutched the arms of the wheelchair and suddenly the arms of his shirt ripped as his biceps budged with strength and power. He looked at Hugo Strange with such an insane smile that it almost appeared to Slade that Tim had flipped. Tim then rose from the wheelchair in free form and without any restraint or disability.
Hugo's grin suddenly faded as Timothy Drake came to stand strong and taller than the villain. He was a healthy young man with a strong, body-builder like physique—as one of the member of the Batfamily, Red Robin. No doubt honed with years of weight-training and acrobatic prowess.
"I told Slade to let you go, but I never said you could leave this place," Tim Drake said with a devious grin. "I'm going to make you a permanent member of this place, saturate you in keratin, a naturalistic substance that will never decompose, and intern you in one of our trophy cases, to be looked upon for years to come—like the Russians did with Vladimir Lenin in Red Square. Every villain will gasp as to why and when the methods of the Batfamily changed from a Non-Kill Policy to one of complete and utter annihilation."
"Okay, he's snapped," Slade said.
"Master Tim, settle down. It's not as dire as it seems."
"No, Alfred—it's worse! Through my actions I have exposed our family's deepest secret to a man who could destroy everything Bruce built. My predecessor: Arkells—despite being my future self, he did come before me—said he developed mental issues after dealing with problems arisen from maddening things of this nature. Perhaps Jason is correct in his philosophy: kill the bad guys, so they can't do any more harm. The only way for our secret to be remain one is for those who know of it to be forever silenced."
Hugo Strange took a few involuntarily, frightened steps back, his face ashen, as if he was about to be brutally murdered by a sadistic madman—a demon in human form. The lighting in this boxed room was dim, most likely on purpose to help with the charade of mysteriousness and deception. But now the lighting gave new purchase to Timothy Drake's demonic-like aura.
Batman had a strict rule: No killing. But perhaps Hugo had gone too far this time threatening Timothy Drake. He had mental data on Bruce Wayne, but he had very little on Timothy Drake aka Red Robin. Obviously the stress of things had finally taken its toil.
Hugo gave a glance around. He saw a door and went to it, then twisted the handle, pulled on it, but it was locked.
"You won't escape that way, Strange," Tim continued. "In fact, you won't be going anywhere, ever again."
Tim Drake's shirt burst open from a flex of his chest and arms as he spread them wide, two buttons popped and flew across the room. Tim's actions reminded Slade of a comic book hero, only Tim Drake wasn't turning green, he was turning red, his blood-pressing rising. Hugo flinched as they acted like miniature projectiles similar to bullets. He was much stronger and much more muscular than Strange had originally surmised when he had touched Drake's neck to administer treatment for his neuralgia.
Red Robin was truly a person sorely dedicated to his trade of crime fighting. Would that really mean killing to keep it a secret?
Just then, Pixie stepped forward, and slapped Timothy Drake hard across the face. The sudden strike knocked Drake off balance and his adrenaline rush crashed. He collapsed backwards, having to force to take a step back from the impact, and fell to the floor next to his wheelchair on his butt, tripping over his own feet.
Shocked, he felt his face. Alfred immediately rushed to his side. "Ow!" Drake expressed.
"Are you okay, Master Tim?"
But before he could answer, Pixie said, "How dare you! What you just said to Hugo Strange went against everything Batman stands for. Dick Grayson was pushed to the brink, he even lost his memory for a while. But even when he wasn't himself, he never yield. His morals firm. Now he's out fighting again. Batman doesn't kill. Everyone knows that! You're a disgrace to the Batman legacy, Timothy Drake!"
"Ow," Drake said again, feeling his face. "You hit me quite hard."
"And you deserved it!"
"Keep him away from me!" Strange said. "I promise I won't tell anyone the secret of this place. Or Batman's secret!"
"Oh, shut up, you whiny turd! You're not going to tell anyone anything!" she said. And she deserved a high kick to Hugo Strange's face, hard enough the impact banged Strange's head against the door, knocking him out cold when he collapsed to the floor. She snorted out frustration and then turned back to Tim Drake. "Now, do you want some of that?"
"Um, certainly not," Tim said. "Relax, Pixie. I was merely roleplaying. I'm a firm believer in Batman's cardinal rule not to kill." Alfred helped him to his feet. "But I sure got the fool going, didn't I? Had you fooled, too. But—ow! You didn't have to hit be that hard, it smarts." Alfred told him that the slap would probably leave a small bruise from the impact on the bone, but it will heal. "And hey, I'm back to my old self again. So, at the very least, I owe Dr. Hugo Strange thanks for his help."
Pixie blinked confused. But Alfred assured her that Tim was being genuine.
"I'm glad, you looked like you had snapped," she said. "He knows your secret. What do we do about that?"
"We have ways to erase his short term memory," Drake said. "Thank you both for you help in this matter." He tilted his head, then he noticed his semi-naked, and in front of a lovely, young woman. He subconsciously folded his arms across his chest, blushed. He could understand why Slade found Pixie so attractive. "Come, I'll show you a once-in-a-life-time opportunity. I'll give you both a tour of the Batcave, after I put on a new shirt. Alfred, will you see to the preparations for Hugo Strange's mind erasure?"
"Yes, sir," Alfred said, then left.
x x x
When Hugo Strange awoke, he found himself in an infirmary hospital bed. He couldn't remember how he got here, but when his mind awoke to the reality of things, he saw two people standing over him: Red Robin and the Warden of Arkham Asylum. Standing next to the door was an armed guard.
"H—how did I get here?" he asked confused.
The Warden looked at Red Robin, then said, "You had a mental breakdown, Hugo. You were so obsessed with finding a cure to Scarecrow's Fear Germ—and by the way, one was found—you collapsed from stress and exhaustion. Red Robin came back to inform us that a cure had been found and to tell you personally when we found you unconscious in your prison cell an hour ago."
"Call it a courtesy call, Doctor," Red Robin smiled. "I'm glad you're okay. Now you can relax. No need to stress yourself further."
Hugo sighed. "I feel so tired, and, also" —he pondered— "I think I've forgotten something?"
"You bumped your head when you collapsed, Hugo," Warden said. "Short term memory loss is a side effect of a nasty hit to the noggin, and if you hit your head that hard to suffer short term memory loss, then it must've been a very hard hit. But we'll let you rest here. The infirmary doctor will look after you. Then, you'll be escorted back to you cell."
Hugo nodded, then Red Robin and the Warden left.
x x x
The pair walked a little further down the outside corridor, when the Warden said, "It's a good thing you managed to pick him up, Red Robin." Drake had told the Warden a lie where he had found Hugo before bringing him back to Arkham Asylum. "We still have no idea who broke him out. We have Security looking it. We suspect the culprits dressed up as medical psychiatrists and then walked out without detection. We found the two guards that escorted Dr. Hans Reinhardt and his assist Ms. Dust unconscious in Hugo Strange's cell fifteen minutes after they left the prison with debris from a strange device that self-destructed soon after we discovered it. When we informed their superiors, they sent us pictures of two completely different people. Someone had hacked into our systems and falsified information. That takes someone with an expert working knowledge of our systems and computers. We have experts working on that. However, it looks like the person covered their tracks very well, and we may never find out who did it."
Red Robin smiled to himself. He couldn't have done it without Alfred's help.
"I'm glad you went with my rouse that Hugo Strange had short term memory loss, Warden," Red Robin said. "I did question him, and asked him who had broken him out, but he said he didn't see their faces—that they wore cleverly crafted latex masks. As I told you, he tried to attack me when I found him and I had to rough him up a little, hence the injury to his face. I kicked him."
"And you, as well, I see." The Warden gestured to the bruise on Red Robin's left cheek. "Now he doesn't remember even leaving Arkham. We can't even question him."
Red Robin shrugged. "I'm sorry about that, Warden. There was little choice. Hugo Strange is a big man. I saw an opportunity and took it. We both know if he ever got back into the public again he'd create havoc. He's a psychopath, after all."
"Yes, I know. And thank you once again for your efforts. I'm sure Batman is very proud of you." Red Robin smiled. "By the way, I haven't see Batman around much. Is everything okay?"
"He's dealing with some personal issues at the moment, but he's just fine. I'll tell him you asked."
x x x
Once things were settled at Arkham Asylum, Red Robin left the prison and mounted his motorcycle parked just outside the main gates. On a secure audio channel, he contacted Alfred. "Red Robin to Mother Hen…"
"I really wish you wouldn't call me that in open dialogue," Alfred said. Red Robin laughed. "All went as planned, sir?"
"Like a dream. And according to Hugo Strange, that's all it will be. Thank Slade and Pixie for me again, if they haven't already left?"
"Will do, sir. Will you be coming back home now?"
"Yup. Any luck in contracting Batman and the others on Treasure Island?"
"Negative, but according to the homing beacon in the Batplane, they did land without incident."
"I want to see if I can join them."
"Is that wise, sir? You still need to recover. You're not at one-hundred percent."
"I feel great, never better. I do feel a pang of regret, however, in using Hugo like we did. And we won't even be able to reward him, because his memory was erased of events."
"We'll send him some flowers and a thank-you card," Alfred said facetiously.
Red Robin laughed. "Or maybe a colouring book with some crayons," he said humorously.
"Didn't you give something similar to Master Dick on his birthday last year, sir? He didn't take kindly to that."
"Well, he deserved it. He was acting like an overly protective parent, like he does sometimes."
"He was only protecting you and your future."
"By filling my wallet with condoms? I was dating a great girl, and yes, we were thinking about it, but when half a dozen condoms dropped out of my wallet surprisingly, she was shocked as was I. Just because Dick—well, you know, he's a womanizer, or was, before he and Barbara got back together—had a scare with another woman thinking she was pregnant when she said she was late, doesn't mean he has to be Mother Hen 2.0." Alfred was silent. "Sorry, we need a better callsign for you. Suffice it to say, I got a call to jump into action and we couldn't get together. I later found out she was seeing another guy on the side anyway."
"So, it all worked out, as it often does, sir. See you back home soon. Out."
The communication ended. Red Robin switched on the cycle, revved it up, and then sped off down the road. He decided to take a backroad, knowing there would be little traffic. This way he could push the cycle to its max and get some speed and go for a joyride before heading back home. He had taken it several times, so it was familiar to him.
Suddenly, there was a blow out, and the front wheel of his cycle exploded. It was such a powerful explosion that it affected the safety systems that would quickly adjust, instantly inflating the tire. Red Robin found himself flying over the front of the cycle as the tire rim carved into the payment, causing it to flip over. He hit the ground hard and then rolled, coming to lay on his back.
He groaned, and it felt like every muscle in his body was just hit by a sledgehammer. He lay there still, but at least he could still feel, unlike feeling the effects of the Neuro-Diffuser, which was nothing. He wondered what the hell happened as he craned his neck up.
Suddenly a leg stomped on his chest, and he cried out in pain. He looked up and saw a man in black armour with a mask holding a long-range sniper rifle.
He gasped when he realized who it was—the second sniper in Jake Handles plot to destroy Nightwing: KGBeast—Anatoil Knyazev.
He was a former Russian agent in the KGB, an assassin from the East, hence, supposedly, his namesake. He was also known in other circles as EB, (as in EveryBody's deadliest assassin; the go-to mercenary more often than most; their primary choice because of his reputation to get things done, according to Batman's information).
The KGB no longer existed in its previous form. It was fractured after the fall of old Russia into what is known today as the FSB (the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation) and the Foreign Intelligence Service.
EB's self-proclaimed number one status angered others, but he always got his target, which was why he was so highly sought out. Even more than Deathstroke.
"Well, another Robin out for a joyride," came his masked, cybernetic voice. "So, tell me, boy—where is the original Boy Wonder? I have some unfinished business with him. Nightwing has officially, at this point, become the bane of my existence."
To be continued...