9. Midnight Snack

Jason was in a state of shock and disorientation. The moment he turned around and saw the vigilante behind him, he knew he was a goner. When he was yanked up, he thought about screaming, but he couldn't find his voice. In an instant, he was practically thrown into the passenger side of a black armored car. There was a moment of blackness before the vigilante appeared on the other side and the soft glow of the car panel illuminated the dark space. Jason didn't move; he hardly breathed. He felt like he would be killed if he simply breathed wrong. The car pulled out in a flash leaving him to clutch whatever he could for support.

A million thoughts raced through his head as a cold silence penetrated the car, tank, whatever the hell it was. His hands clenched around his knees as he tried to process his surroundings. Using his periphery, he slowly glanced towards the vigilante. It was hard to see in the darkness, but he could make out that the vigilante was focusing on the road ahead. With a quick, stealthy move, Jason's hand groped across the side of the car to find a handle or a release lever. He felt his fears become even more real as he realized there was no escape.

Jason settled back into his seat. Stiff, silent, terrified, he didn't tear his eyes away from the vigilante. If he was going to get the back end of a fist, he wanted to know it was coming. Another more terrifying thought raced through him. What if the vigilante had found him putting the diamond in the wall? For a moment, the immediate terror gave way to a whole new future terror. If he survived his encounter with the Batman, Selina would be the one to end him.

Jason jumped when, the Bat held out his open palm in front of the teen, "The diamond."

A wash of relief flooded over Jason. By some wayward stroke of luck, the vigilante hadn't seen him. That was one less person who was going to kill him. Now all he had to do, was survive the encounter.

Jason summoned whatever form of confidence he still had left, "Don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"Nowhere you're going to find it," Jason retorted with a boldness he didn't realize he still possessed.

"Try me."

Jason was jolted a bit but responded quickly, "My partner has it. I don't know who she is; she recruited me off the street a couple of nights ago, gave me instructions, said she would give me a grand if I helped her out."

The kid was lying, at least in part, Bruce knew that. It was obvious to a trained eye though he might have gotten away with it on anyone else's watch.

"You're lying."

Those two words instilled the fear of God in Jason. He felt a bit panicked but kept his loyalty to Selina, "I'm not telling you anything alright! No way in hell!"

A bitter silence entered the car.

Bruce was having a harder time than usual dealing with the kid. His usual tactics weren't going to work; dangling a child off of the side of a building didn't seem productive. Besides he had known many street kids during his stay with Selina. Being difficult seemed to be a shared trait among all of them. Scaring him would only make him clam up even more. He didn't think the kid had the diamond. Bruce had secretly hoped that the kid still had it so that he wouldn't have to face Selina again. He should have known Selina well enough to predict that she wouldn't trust someone to keep something of hers for long. Still, the kid was the only tie to Selina. So, he needed to try another tactic. Instead of forcing the kid to talk, he could persuade it out of him.

"So, the wrench just happened to slip," the vigilante said flatly.

Jason blinked; it took him a moment to realize that he was talking about the previous night, "What can I say, I've got butterfingers." Was that another joke from the vigilante? Jason found himself smirk a little. His confidence started to return.

He finally started to look around. Various buttons, monitors, and switches were on the control panel of the car. The silence the penetrated the car made Jason anxious. He felt the need to have some control over the situation. He wanted to flip the interrogation around.

"How the hell did you know where to find me?" Jason asked. "Finding a street kid is like finding a needle in a haystack."

Suddenly, the Bat's hand gripped the back of his collar. Jason almost yelped but managed to suppress it when the vigilante pulled his hand back just as quickly. In between his fingers was a small, metallic-looking device. Jason touched the back of his collar in delayed action.

"You put that on me when you grabbed me last night, didn't you."

The vigilante's silence only confirmed it.

"Sneaky bastard," Jason muttered under his breath. So, Selina had a point in not letting him go home immediately. He realized how much trouble he was in, but he wanted to turn it back onto the guy if only to save face. "So, you spend all this time and resources looking for one kid?"

"A kid with a stolen multimillion-dollar diamond is worth trailing."

Well, he had a point.

Jason felt the need to justify it, maybe he could convince him to go easy on him by reminding the Bat that there were other guys that he could focus on. It was a long shot, but he would do anything not to be pummeled, "I just didn't peg you for the kind of guy to care about the rich snobs getting jacked—killed, sure—but not jacked. I thought you were more interested in guys like the Penguin and Thorne. Yet right now, you're what, picking on a couple of thieves who stole a rock."

"I do not tolerate any crime in this city," the voice was low and severe.

Jason tried to continue despite the chill that ran down his spine, "Yeah, there's got to be a hierarchy, right? Thorne's been especially bad since he got into town a few years ago. He controls a small part, but it's like a dictatorship."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you doing anything?" Jason continued to try and not sound accusatory, "You seem to be focusing on Penguin and his guys. Yeah, he's bad, he has the guns, but Thorne is a real piece of work dealing in drugs and people. He's just making it worse for everyone. He's like a king, and no one's doing anything about it." Jason nodded his head forward. "He's got places where he abducts homeless people to use as drug mules. I've seen the aftermath, they've got scars everywhere. They pack those people. Did you know that?"

The vigilante was silent, almost indicating that he hadn't known.

Jason thought about it for a moment. It was understandable that there were holes in the information. The people of the Narrows were notoriously tight-lipped; it wasn't odd to find a kid who couldn't count past sixteen but could name almost every single one of Thorne's enforcers and their trade routes. The only reason they weren't a resource to any form of law enforcement was because of the silence creed that penetrated the community. The only way to know the Narrows was to be in the Narrows. By the looks of the vigilante's entire operation, he couldn't be from the Narrows. That was going to leave a blind spot. It did seem that the vigilante worked alone; taking down all the problems and focusing on every facet of the underworld would be an impossibility alone. A sudden thought entered Jason's mind. Maybe it was some sort of "fanboy"—as Selina would probably say—wish, but maybe he could be on to something.

"Y'know, I could help you," Jason said quickly.

The vigilante paused in a moment of confusion at the out-of-the-blue-statement, "Help me?"

Jason licked his lips nervously before he continued, "Street kids see and hear everything; we're like flies on the wall. If I get anything, I can tell you. While I'm around here, I could tell you what the gangs are doing, where they're moving, and anything else that might be helpful. You'd be surprised how much you see in the Narrows in broad daylight. I mean, Anarky put up fliers for his stupid recruiting rally. I've been told that I can still pull off the 'cute and innocent kid' vibe. If that doesn't work, I'm pretty good at sneaking around. I can get you information that someone dressed as a bat can't, and I doubt you do much recon during the day."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, considering there's a new headline with you in it every other night, I suspect your sleep schedule is nocturnal. Plus, I think anyone would notice a man dressed as a bat walking around in broad daylight. I mean, eight weapon caches in the last, what, month would keep anyone busy."

"You've been following me," there was almost a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I—I" Jason stopped. "I saw you take down a mugger a while back. I was up on a fire escape, and I saw you slam a mugger into a wall. You beat him down like he was nothing. I don't know it was—" he almost said 'cool' but stopped himself. He felt like he couldn't admit it. "I've never seen someone with that kind of power. I've been kind of following you in the paper ever since."

Bruce hadn't noticed anyone of the sort hiding in the shadows. If the kid was telling the truth, he must have been particularly stealthy.

Jason continued, "You're doing something that the cops haven't in years. They're all tied up with bureaucracy. You're out here kicking ass and taking those parasitic assholes down. If I could do that, if I could kick some of their teeth in, even metaphorically, then I'd be doing something to make it easier for everyone." Jason paused for a moment, "Look, I don't like stealing."

The vigilante turned his head slightly indicating disbelief.

"Ok," Jason smirked, "It is fun, but—" he returned to a serious tone. "I do it to survive. I would give anything to have an actual meal, you know? I—most people steal out of a need, right? To be honest, it's not your regular poverty that's keeping the people down in the Narrows and other parts of Gotham. It's the gangs. If you keep doing what you're doing, they'll eventually get taken down or be so weakened they can't do anything. Then, maybe people can start to get back up on their feet."

Jason realized that he was spilling his guts. He knew that it was partially the nerves talking—he talked too much when he was nervous—but he meant it. Everyone was suffering. Jason never felt like he was an altruistic person, but, if he could make life suck less for someone else, then he wouldn't mind helping.

"Look," Jason said quickly. "You took down Anarky, and that guy was hellbound on causing chaos. You're now taking on the Penguin and the gangs. The only way I see it, you're going to change things, and that's alright in my book. I may not be an angel, but I hate people like them more than anything. They'd be better off dead. You can do something about these guys. I can help you with that."

The kid was making good points. Having a partner—an informant—would allow him more time to focus on the real matter at hand. He was still just breaking into the information circles, and they were tightlipped no matter how much cash was thrown at them—information was invaluable. Plus, Selina had hired him, whether it had been on the spot or not. That meant he was reliable at the very least; he was lying on her behalf after all. Right now, the kid was the only tie back to Selina since she had disappeared the previous night. Maybe he could even use him to get information and Selina.

A memory flashed into his mind: Alex Winthrop, a fifteen-year-old whose throat was cut because the mission was more important than any life. The memory had been seared into his mind. The frightened teen had glanced at Bruce with begging eyes; he had wanted Bruce to save him. Bruce had to make a choice. He chose the greater good; Ra's slit his throat without a second thought. Alex paid the price for his continuous meddling in things that most would leave alone. No, he couldn't recruit him. The war to save Gotham was no place for decent people, let alone children. He couldn't let another innocence die.

There was another thing that bothered Bruce; he hadn't allowed it to surface until now. Red hair, a fixation on violence, a proclivity for delinquency, an obsession with him, and the need to joke in stressful situations: it was all coincidence, but Bruce didn't like it. It reminded him too much of him. He knew that it was partially irrational, but it was a gut feeling. He couldn't allow this kid to get close, either for the kid's safety or perhaps even his own, but he couldn't leave the kid on his own.

The silence returned. Jason swallowed. He thought that he could have gotten a response, maybe even some leniency, if he tried to help him. He liked the idea of helping the vigilante taking on the gangs; he wanted to do something to bring those bastards down a peg. Now though, there were some quick turns that the car took; Jason wasn't sure where the Bat was taking him. He had lost track several streets ago and the windows were tinted on his side making it impossible to see out of it. The fear started to settle in again as he realized the situation again. Whatever levity and openness he had once felt evaporated with the silence.

Suddenly, the car skidded to a stop. Jason worriedly glanced to his left as the vigilante vanished out the side and left him in darkness. Several thoughts pinged around in Jason's head. Where the hell was he? The door to the passenger side was whipped open and he was seized by the scruff of his neck. In a flash, he was yanked out of the armored car. He let out a short yelp; it was all his constricted throat could muster. He was roughly put down on the ground, and his head bumped against something metal. Whatever the metal thing was propped him up in a sitting position. His hand was suddenly above his head, and he felt cold metal on his wrist.

Dazed and confused, he tried to regain his composure quickly. He noticed the warm summer air on his skin and saw the open cityscape around him. He looked back to his wrist and saw that it was handcuffed to a metal fence. He quickly scrambled to his feet. The black figure of the Bat slinked back towards the armored vehicle.

"HEY!" Jason yelled as the figure headed back into the armored car. "Hey! What the hell!"

"That leg injury is going to keep you from moving around for a couple of days; I suggest you stay here for the time being," the vigilante said sternly.

"Damn it!" Jason yanked against the handcuff and fencing. He pulled against it hard, trying to squeeze his hand out of the handcuff. It wouldn't budge. "Come on! You can't do this! I can help you!"

"I work alone," the vigilante responded as he entered the vehicle.

"Hey! Don't—" the engine revved and the car sped down the street in a flash. "—leave. . ."

Jason cursed profusely. Great, he had gotten himself out of one pickle and into another. He tried again against the gate, but it wouldn't budge. His eye was pulled upwards and he read the bolded lettering on the gate. He grumbled curses as he realized his situation and a light turned on in the building that the gate surrounded. He sat down as he remained cuffed to the fence of the Falcone Orphanage.

The secret basement of the Iceberg Lounge provided a place of tranquility for Ed. Tranquility was like a natural resource, and Ed refined it into fuel for his mind. Oswald had barely given Ed five hours and already he had already gotten to work. The first hour was simply unpacking everything; there was a lot to unpack. Before, there had been nothing but a blank wall and a couple of unused tables. Now, there were boxes upon boxes of Ed's things, contraptions, and info on the vigilante. Apparently, Ed had stored things over the years in a storage unit on the edge of Gotham and had paid some people to bring over the contents even before he had struck a deal with Oswald. Oswald realized that Ed had a lot of confidence in his persuasion abilities.

Oswald made his way down the secret staircase to the underground room. He found Ed as he had expected, furiously constructing his wall of conspiracies and connections. He was still in his green suit, but then again, Ed rarely dressed down. There were only a few of his men still lingering, but they quickly left with a gesture from Oswald.

"Hello Oswald," Ed greeted without turning around. "I've made progress now that my things are all set up. I'd say I'm close to nailing him."

"So," Oswald said with a hint of worry; he had hoped to beat Ed and keep him on as a resource. "You figured him out already?"

"Well, no," Ed shook his head. "But I've made great headway from the flight over and in the past couple of hours. Behold, my list of suspects!"

Edward swung his hands dramatically and sidestepped to reveal a large corkboard with multiple pictures and red wires that connected them. There were different labels and newspaper articles. It was a chaotic mess, Oswald couldn't see how the man in green made any sense of it. He started to count the pictures of the suspects—one, two, ten, twenty, fifty—

"Wait," Oswald stopped counting after a couple of seconds revealed that it was futile. "How many are there?"

"Oh, approximately 7458," Ed nodded quickly. "I don't have all of the pictures up yet. But rest assured, I will whittle that number down over time."

"Whittle it down?" Oswald breathed exasperated. That will take ages, Ed! Are you sure you're not just handing me the wager? I thought there would be more competition."

"This would have been easier if Gotham were not such a city of outliers. If you haven't noticed, there are some rather extraordinarily extra-violent people here. The worst thing that I can do is rule the real suspect out. So, I cast a wide net."

"How wide, Ed?"

Ed turned around to face Oswald with a slightly annoyed expression, "I thought you wanted to win."

"I fund both sides, I have a vested interest in whichever way this goes. I don't like seeing my money wasted checking through several thousand people's backgrounds."

"Fair enough," Ed nodded. "Just took into account male Gothamites, who are over 5' 8" and have the appropriate physique. That's about as wide as possible. Next, I just have to examine any potential military background, financial income, social connections, and finally, create a profile for the Batman and apply it."

"Simple," Oswald said sarcastically.

"Yes, simple but time-consuming," Ed shook his head, missing the sarcasm.

As Ed continued to scan over his work, Oswald found his gaze shift to Ed's workbench. There were half-made inventions and contraptions lying on a table. From experience, Oswald knew this was what Ed did when he was "relaxing" or "taking a break." Among the confused unorganized myriad of mechanical parts, something stood out to him. A long, almost gun-shaped object was hidden under a tarp; it was placed off to the side, separate from the other parts like it was being worked on.

"What's this?" Oswald made his way over the object.

Ed quickly cut him off by stepping in front of the work table.

"Another subject for another time," Ed said quickly, "maybe when it's finished."

Oswald rolled his eyes, "Of course."

"Heard you were planning something against the bat," Riddler changed the subject quickly. "Perhaps you took this wager because you knew it was close to won?"

Penguin smirked, "Maybe. We'll know in a few days when the bat is dead."

"If he's dead."

"When he's dead. I'm going to oversee it myself so it gets done."

Ed made a face, "Oswald, your strength in the underworld is anonymity, your ability to distance yourself from all your criminal enterprises on the surface. From what I've studied, the Bat may not kill, but he does not fail in arresting people who get in his way. If the Bat takes you down, then it would be hard to explain to Gordon."

"Like Gordon can do anything, I've got enough friends in high places," Oswald smirked, "Are you afraid that I'm going to win, Ed?"

Ed thinned his lip, "Perhaps I just don't want to see an old friend end up in prison again so soon." He rocked from side to side a little as Oswald looked up in appreciation. "If your assets get seized again, I lose my chance as well. Also, it wouldn't be much of a competition if my rival was out of the game."

Oswald rolled his eyes again—as if he could expect an emotional response from the Riddler. He turned to the staircase and started to waddle up it to return to the Lounge's main floor, "You want to beat me? Whittle down the list!"

Lee woke to find her bed empty. This was not uncommon. Gordon often found himself working late nights or dealing with an emergency at four in the morning. What was strange was that she remembered Jim coming home early, and she hadn't been woken up by him quickly getting his clothes on to leave. She glanced at the clock to make sure that it wasn't later than what she thought. She sat up, 3 AM was no time to be getting up.

Lee shifted off of the bed and made her way out of the room. After checking the bathroom and Junior's room, she made her way down to the first floor. She noticed a low warm light coming from the kitchen. She entered the moderate-sized kitchen to find Jim seated at the kitchen table while looking down at a newspaper.

"What are you doing up?" Lee asked as entered the room.

"Thinking," that was the only reason he gave.

"Oh, that's dangerous," Lee commented casually.

Gordon smiled slightly, "You can go back to bed. I'll be up soon."

"I don't think I could rest easy knowing something's bothering you more than usual," Lee took a seat opposite of him. "Come on, I'm a trained therapist and a doctor; I bet I can cure what ails you."

"I don't know," Gordon muttered as he tapped his fingers. "I've been thinking about it since the night of the gala. Bruce is so different."

"Oh," Lee exhaled. She remembered her brief encounter with the man during his first surprise entrance. "Yeah, I know. He's a little more. . . outgoing."

"You can say that again," Gordon gave a short smile. "I would have had a hard time recognizing him if I hadn't seen him on the TV beforehand. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to know that he's back and safe. I just thought that maybe—"

"You two were cut from the same heroic cloth," Lee finished.

Gordon sighed, "Is it stupid to think about it like that?"

"It's a lot to put on him," Lee said with a soft smile. "Not everyone could live up to your shining example."

"No, but I thought—he was such a different person years ago. During No Man's Land, if I had anything I needed to get done, he was right there willing to volunteer. Now—" he shook his head. "Maybe seeing him again was just a little. . ."

"Disappointing?" Lee nodded. "I understand. I can't say that I'm not disappointed with how he turned out. The circumstances were not easy on him. If I went through all the things that he went through at such a young age, I would have taken a lifetime vacation from Gotham—spent my days on some beach. I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but he has reasons."

"I don't blame him either, but he seemed to have left with a purpose. I could see it when he told me he was leaving. I don't want to think that he might have abandoned that for shallow pleasures."

"I know that," Lee nodded slightly.

"I just don't want it to destroy him," He turned the paper so that Lee could take a look at the paper. It was talking about Bruce's general reclusiveness after the Anarky incident. "But maybe it already has. He was distraught after the whole incident at Wayne Manor. Maybe coming back to Gotham under the circumstances was too much of a shock. Harvey suggested something the other day that made me think for a moment—" he paused for a second. "It was something that I knew Bruce would never do, but Harvey pointed out that he wasn't the same anymore. Maybe I've been taking it to heart when I really shouldn't without talking to him. I've been wanting to speak with him since, but I haven't had the time. I don't know what I would say to him."

"Hey, I know that the exterior might be a bit rough, but when I saw him, I knew there was a piece of the old Bruce in him." Maybe it was a bit of a stretch, but she had to give Jim hope. "If you wanted to see him and talk to him, I bet he'd meet you in a heartbeat. You're one of his oldest friends." She touched his hand. "Don't worry, the old Bruce is in there."

"Yeah," Gordon sighed. "I just hope he comes back soon."

The guy was freaky looking. The hooded man had entered the empty 24hr store about half an hour after three AM. The clerk had glanced up as he came in but didn't look at him too long though. He had lived in Gotham long enough to know some people were really touchy about being stared at, especially when they looked as scarred and unnatural as this guy did. The clerk quickly averted his eyes. It was better to keep his head down than stare and get in trouble.

The stranger wandered the aisles for several minutes. The clerk didn't pay too much attention. There was the possibility that man was shoplifting, but he knew better than to confront someone over that. People had been killed for less. He glanced over occasionally, just to make sure that he hadn't disappeared into the back room or something. Eventually, the night caught up with him, and the clerk started to drift to sleep when suddenly a shopping basket was slammed onto the counter.

The clerk jolted awake, and a small chuckle came from the man. The man didn't say anything, so the clerk looked over the items. There were some food and alcoholic drinks, but the more outlandish items attracted his attention. There was an assortment of small gags, things that were usually bought by parents with whiny, annoying brats. At the bottom of the basket, there was an as-seen-on-TV hair growth product.

"Do you know if this actually works?" The man asked as he tapped the hair growth product. He had a raspy voice like he hadn't spoken in a long time.

The clerk shrugged, unphased. He started scanning items; it would be best to get the guy out as soon as possible. He just creeped the clerk out. That didn't stop the customer from speaking.

"I'm really nervous because I'm going to be meeting some old friends soon," he smiled as if reminiscing. "I just want to look my best for when I see them again. I had an accident. Spent a long time in the hospital. When you've been in the hospital as long as I have, you get really stiff and gross. I was at a really crummy hospital too. Got bed sores all the time, and I had to build back up my muscles because they atrophied. Not to mention I couldn't speak. The worst part though is that no one visited! Not a single colleague or pal of mine for as far as the eye could see. My best friend and my girl didn't show up either. Though maybe I did make him angry before I left. But my girl? She has no excuses."

"Uh-huh," the clerk nodded lackadaisically and scratched his beard.

The pale man kept on talking despite the clerk's obvious lack of interest, "Missed so many birthdays, holidays, so I've got to do something for him, for all my friends. Something they'll never forget. So, I'm going to need a lot of those propane gas tanks. I'm planning something of a barbecue."

"I need your I.D. then."

The man cocked his head to the side, "Do I look like I'm a minor?"

"You don't look like you're human, man. I don't know," the clerk shrugged. "City policy gotta keep track of who buys propane. Also, you can only buy three propane tanks, Gotham regulation."

"Regulations, so many regulations. Just take my word for it. Name's Jack, no—doesn't sound right. Jethro then." He screwed up his face. "No, no, nothing sounds right. John maybe, or perhaps-"

"Jerome?"

The man exploded into laughter. The laughter made the clerk jump as it was the only sound the man had made louder than a whisper. Oh great, he was one of those freaks.

"In another lifetime, maybe," He said as the laugh petered out.

"Look I just need your I.D.," it was really too late for the clerk to want to deal with this guy.

The man searched his pockets until he took out a small card. He slapped it face down and slid it across the counter. It was obviously a playing card.

"Very funny, man," the clerk turned over the card in his hand and read the card's coat. "Come on."

"Oh, fine then, no propane," The figure huffed. "I'll get it somewhere else."

"Yeah, fine," he tallied the rest of the items. "That'll be 56.78." He found himself sniffle a little. Something smelled strange. Maybe the hotdogs on the rotator were burning again.

The man already had already pulled out a ratty wallet and was going through it. It was evident from first glance that there were no cash or credit cards in the wallet.

In spite of the apparent lack of currency, the pale man turned the wallet upside down, shook it theatrically, shrugged to himself, and tossed the wallet over his shoulder, "Oh dear, looks like I don't have the cash."

The casher groaned, usually, he wouldn't care if someone just walked out the door without paying. It was Gotham; he wasn't going to get shot over a stolen slushy or something. Now, he was genuinely pissed. The freak knew he had nothing to pay for his stuff at the beginning, and he was just toying with him. It was almost like the guy wanted conflict. Something about him just radiated unease. The clerk found himself checking for the gun under the counter with his free hand. His eyes watered as the smell continued throughout the air.

"Look, buddy," the clerk kept a stoic tone. "Go hassle someone else, alright? You want to take the stuff, go ahead. I've got more important things to do, alright?"

The figure just nodded and shrugged, "Good on you; taking a fall for me. Yeah, I think there are more important things that require your attention, like the fire."

"Fire?" The clerk scrunched up his face in confusion.

The strange man rolled his eyes and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the back of the store. The clerk followed the gesture. He jumped as a black plume of smoke billowed from the half-open janitor's closet. For a moment, the clerk forgot the man as he felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He quickly turned and picked up the desk phone behind him to call 911. He wasn't met with the sound of a dial tone. He cursed and left the counter to go take care of the flames himself. If it continued at this rate, he wouldn't have a job by tomorrow.

The clerk sprinted into the hallway next to the backroom and almost tripped over a stepladder that had been precariously placed in the middle of the hallway. He glanced up for a moment and noticed that the stepladder led to a disconnected fire alarm. Ignoring that, the clerk quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher from the corner of the hall and headed to the fire. He shoved open the door to the closet and fire lurched forward with a flash of heat. Some of the cleaning chemicals had evaporated or otherwise combusted, and a noxious smell made him woozy. He quickly fixed the nozzle and went to work extinguishing the flames.

Meanwhile, the man had disappeared behind the counter. He quickly went over to the keyring and grabbed the keys to the outdoor propane cage from behind the counter. He took a moment to examine the VCR connected to the overhead security camera and ejected the tape. He grabbed his basket and spun to leave the store and the clerk to battle the flames. Suddenly, he stopped. An idea, one too perfect to miss, popped into his mind. Besides, he couldn't have someone figuring it out to soon. Best get rid of the witnesses. He set the basket down and walked casually to where the clerk was frantically putting out the flames. He stopped behind him, observed the clerk's frantic actions for a moment, and raise his foot to a comical height.

"That's something you'll definitely get fired over," the clerk barely registered the words before the next action.

The clerk was suddenly shoved from behind. He let out a yell as he fell right into the arms of the flames. A second in and his clothes caught fire. He let out a scream in agony as he attempted to pull himself from the flame. The burning chemicals seared into his clothes and skin. He immediately started to roll on the ground and flailed to extinguish the flame.

The hooded man, unfazed, simply walked down the aisle back to the front of the store. On his way, he scooped up a couple more boxes of the hair care products and dumped them into his basket. He paused once more at the counter and looked over at where the clerk had left his "ID" and picked it up.

"Might need you later," He stuffed it into his pocket and left the store full of smoke and the anguished screams of the clerk.

Thank you for all the support! I'm still working on making consistent updates and settling in with my new schedule. Good thing though, I took the time to outline most of the story, so that should help in the future. I had one before, but not as detailed.

Thank you for your consistent support with favs, follows, and reviews (reviews especially help because I can see what you guys like so I can continue doing that).

As always, thanks for reading!