Shadowboxing (Part Four)
By TheLostMaximoff
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. However, I do enjoy writing about them instead of typing up papers and preparing for final exams. Hopefully you enjoy it enough to R/R.
There were moments when Adrian Manheim really hated his job. Some of those moments were painful and he cursed his job out of that pain. Some of those moments occurred when he became cynical and disillusioned about the world around him. Then some of those moments occurred when something completely stupid and absurd happened. Now was one of those moments.
"Mr. Stephen Stype," said Manheim as the coroner opened the door of his apartment, "Congratulations, you've just been named a contestant of the 'Where the hell is the Batgirl suit?' contest." Two officers moved past Stype while Manheim flashed the man a search warrant.
"There's nothing to find in here," assured Stype as Manheim and the remaining officer moved into the apartment.
"Hope you're right," replied Manheim. The three officers began combing through the apartment. Manheim watched Stype begin to sweat. Stephen Stype was the product of a single-parent home; his father's to be exact. Unfortunately, Stephen's father never paid very much attention, if any, to his son. Eventually, Stephen liked being alone so much that he preferred it to the company of others. He became a workaholic at everything including his chosen profession of being a coroner. However, unbeknownst to anyone, because no one really knew Stype on a personal level, he had developed an unhealthy fixation on something . . . or rather someone.
"Don't touch that," ordered Stype as Officer Jenkins placed a hand on the doorknob that led to a closet.
"Touch that, Jenkins," ordered Manheim. Jenkins nodded and opened the closet door.
"This is rich," proclaimed Jenkins as he looked in the closet. The walls of the room were covered with photos and newspaper articles. All of them were dated after the big earthquake. All of them were about Batgirl. In the middle of the room, a costume hung on a rack. The entire room was a shrine to Stype's secret obsession: Batgirl.
"It's mine!" snapped Stype as Jenkins came out with the costume draped over one arm, "I paid enough money to get it."
"Mr. Stephen Stype is the lucky winner," announced Manheim as he began cuffing the man, "You've won the right to remain silent . . ."
"You can't do this to me!" snarled Stype as he lunged for Jenkins, "You want her for yourself. You can't railroad me after the money I paid you."
"He said ya got the right to be silent," replied Jenkins coldly. Manheim smirked while he was hidden behind Stype. This was going exactly as he had hoped.
"I don't care," said Stype as he struggled to get at Jenkins, "I'll kill you for this! You can't expect me to take the fall when I paid you to get that costume for me."
"Guy's insane," replied Jenkins as he looked to Manheim and the other two cops, "Seriously, you know I wouldn't do that. Look at him; he's got a freakin' Batgirl shrine in his closet. Guy's a lunatic."
"I paid you three hundred dollars to take it from the evidence room," stated Stype, "You said you'd be on duty that night so it was no problem for the right price. All I had to do in exchange was falsify the time of death in my report . . . and pay you the money of course."
"He's lying," said Jenkins nervously, "I'm telling you he's lying."
"Actually he's not," replied Manheim as one cop moved to cuff Jenkins while Manheim took the Batgirl suit from him, "but he does do a good summation if I must say so." The cop cuffed Jenkins while Manheim gave the man a grin.
"I got it from here," assured Manheim as he clapped Stype on the back, "Stephen Stype loves Batgirl . . . a lot. So when we wheeled in the chick, he wanted the suit she was wearing. It was a collector's item, would've fetched a nice price on eBay but he had more personal plans. Of course it was police property so Stype wasn't stupid enough to try and steal it himself but he knew someone would be stupid enough if he paid them the right amount."
"It's not true," denied Jenkins.
"Stype paid you three hundred dollars to steal the Batgirl suit," stated Manheim, "but you needed a little something extra. You wanted him to incriminate Robin even further."
"Damn costumes," muttered Jenkins as the officer led him away, "You can't trust 'em. They've made this whole damn town into a war zone where the only ones that die are real people like you 'n' me. None of them ever die, they just keep knockin' the shit outta each other day after day."
"We have some lovely door prizes for our runner-up," responded Manheim, "First is the right to remain silent. I'm sure you can fill in the rest of it." This didn't answer the main question. Someone framed Robin and it sure wasn't these two all by themselves. Manheim figured Jenkins was secretly working for someone but he didn't know who. Maybe Robin himself could solve that mystery.
XXXXX
The smack in the face hurt but it managed to jumpstart something in Tim Drake's brain and rouse him back to consciousness.
"Ow," muttered Robin as he looked around. The room was very Oriental which he took to be Cassandra's doing. He looked at the walls, noticing the large collection of weapons. There was a desk in front of him at which sat Cassandra with a very large computer display behind her. Robin figured there were guards at the door. Shrike might also be somewhere not too far away. This was definitely not looking good for him.
"Nice decorum," said Robin, "Who's your designer, the leader of the Yakuza?"
"That's no way to treat a former partner," replied Cassandra although she smirked a little at him. She had missed his humor. It was always refreshing.
"Good word choice," agreed Robin, "So, this the part where you gloat? That doesn't seem like your style."
"I want to make you an offer," replied Cassandra simply as she steepled her figures and rested her arms on the desk, "Will you hear it?"
"Not much choice," replied Robin as he figured out what was keeping him in his seat. They had put his hands behind the back of the chair and then clamped them together with some high-tech manacles. He realized he didn't have his utility belt either.
"I know where you keep everything," said Cassandra as she saw his surprise and motioned to the belt on her desk along with most of Tim's lock-picking equipment that he usually kept on his person.
"What's the offer?" asked Robin.
"This computer is hooked to satellites," explained Cassandra, "They have a chemical in them that turns people into killers. It can do everyone on Earth all at one time. I want you to help me."
"Wait," said Robin as he tried to contain his laughter at the absurdity, "You frame me for your own murder to make me lose my credibility. You kick the crap out of me and then hold me hostage. Now you tell me that you want me to help you turn every man, woman, and child on the planet into a lunatic? Are you sure you haven't already been affected by this chemical?"
"Don't mock me," snarled Cassandra suddenly as she glared at him with daggers in her eyes, uncharacteristically agitated, "Don't you dare do that!" Robin studied the girl in front of him. He had started carrying a couple extra picks that Cassandra didn't know about. Even now, he was silently attempting to break free with one of those picks. He had to keep her distracted and, God help him, he couldn't let her read him.
"Or what?" asked Robin, "You won't kill me. You would've done it already if you had the guts to."
"I thought you would help," explained Cassandra, "This world is ugly, Tim. It takes everything you love away from you and then it takes you too. Your parents, Stephanie, the few people I called friends. Doesn't it make you hate this world?"
"Conner," added Robin quietly. He knew that would hit something in her. Before Wonder Girl, Conner Kent had loved a different Cassie.
"Conner?" asked Cassandra, "He . . ."
"Yeah," replied Robin, seeing his normally stone-cold adversary suddenly on the verge of cracking, "He died defending the planet and gave everything he had for this world. So did Stephanie in her own way. Maybe you enjoy spitting on graves but I sure as hell don't."
"You're lying," said Cassandra as she looked at Robin, "No . . . you're not lying." Robin bit back the pain of watching perhaps one of his last friends become lost. He focused on picking the lock on the manacles and on keeping Cassandra emotionally off balance.
"Cass, you know this isn't right," pleaded Robin, "You know it in your heart that doing this will only make things worse. You used to want to make the world a better place. Why throw all that away now?"
"It will never get better," snapped Cassandra coldly, "Everyone dies. When I killed that man, I thought I had done a bad thing. I'm not bad; I'm just being myself. Nothing will get better. You'll just end up killing yourself if you try."
"Maybe so," relented Robin, "Maybe the world won't get any better but I can't stop trying." He knew this pain. So many nights after Stephanie's death and his father's death he would ask himself if he had chosen the right path. Was it worth it in the end? What was the price of making the world safe? Was it really worth losing everyone you loved? Tim Drake didn't have answers to those questions. He couldn't follow the right clues that would lead him to the solution. After Conner's death, he felt that he had been pushed over some line. He had to push back though. He couldn't let himself become this, couldn't let himself become consumed by the pain of life.
"I already have stopped," assured Cassandra as she turned and punched a few keys on the computer display, "It's started." A large digital clock appeared on the screen and began counting down. Cassandra turned back to Robin, the yellow bat symbol on the chest of her uniform now mocking him because she wore it with such dishonor.
"You're a disgrace," spat Robin distastefully, "You don't know what wearing that suit even means. You think because life gets tough and because your parents are killers that it gives you the excuse to become one too? Grow up, Cass, and stop being so stupid." A few more seconds and he'd be free. He knew that would touch the right nerve.
"Don't you dare!" snarled Cassandra as she suddenly leapt over her desk and grabbed Robin by the throat, "Don't you ever call me stupid! Don't ever!" Robin suddenly wondered if freedom was worth a crushed windpipe but in two seconds the cuffs were off. He brought up one hand and knocked Cassandra in the side of the head with the manacles.
"You want to be what your parents taught you to be?" asked Robin as he saw Cassandra trying to steady herself after the shot to the head, "I'll be what mine taught me to be." He bit back the tears as he hit her in the head again. Thankfully, one more blow was all it took to knock her out. Robin grabbed his belt and the rest of his equipment and then checked the clock. Fifteen minutes till the end. That would be enough time.
"Of course there would be a password for the shutdown procedures," muttered Robin, cursing the learning curve of super-villains these days, "That would just make all kinds of sense." He then cursed himself for truly believing, for the first time, that Cassandra Cain was a real super-villain. He wondered if he could bypass the protocols. It was one thing to hack into police files that had little or no protection; it was quite another thing to hack into a heavily secure, world-wide network of satellites all in under fifteen minutes. Tim continued typing at the keyboard. He'd have to guess the password. He didn't think he could hack it in time.
"Voice-activated," muttered Robin as he quickly glanced back at Cassandra, "You really want to make my life miserable."
"I don't have much love for Miss Cain," hissed a voice, "but I've got even less love for you and you don't cut my checks." Robin felt the dagger press against his throat and ceased his typing. He knew Shrike was here somewhere.
"As long as I live, I'll never understand how you guys can be this stupid," replied Robin as he elbowed Shrike in the stomach and moved the dagger away from his throat. Tim kicked himself off of the computer terminal, walking upwards and then flipping backwards to end up behind Shrike. There was no time for this.
"I mean, hey, if you think you can crack that system better than me then go for it," said Robin as he kicked Shrike in the back, "Otherwise, how about I save the day?"
"I'll at least have the pleasure of killing you before the end of the world," assured Shrike as he slashed at Robin with his knives. Robin flipped in a back handspring to avoid the attacks and quickly kicked one knife from Shrike's grasp.
"I'll be back," assured Tim as he secured his grappling hook to a beam in the rafters and effectively zipped up and swung over Shrike to get to the computer, "Please, keep yourself entertained until then."
"You don't get off that easy," replied Shrike as one of his throwing knives sliced through the grappling cable while Robin was in mid-swing. Robin twisted his body to make sure he didn't land on his face and crashed onto the computer terminal.
"Ow . . . again," muttered Robin as he rolled off the terminal and onto the floor. That couldn't have been good for him or the computer system.
"That's the trouble with birds," jeered Shrike as he stalked towards his injured prey, "No matter what happens, they just won't shut the hell up." He kicked Tim in the ribs for good measure.
"You know what the trouble with hired assassins is?" asked Robin as he attempted to get back up and got hit in the ribs again.
"Enlighten me," sneered Shrike.
"They don't have any common sense," replied Tim as his fist came up between Shrike's legs to connect with the man's groin. Shrike doubled over in pain as Robin grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him downward, cracking Shrike's jaw on the computer terminal. Shrike went down with a groan and didn't get back up.
"Let's check the score," said Robin to himself, "I don't know the password, don't have the right voice even if I knew it, can't hack the system this fast, and my little tango probably screwed up the system anyways." He clicked a few keys and jerked his hand back to avoid a shock. He checked the clock and groaned. It was still going with ten minutes left.
"At least I set a new personal record before dying," mumbled Robin as he tried to figure out what he was going to do.
"It's always nice to do that," assured Cassandra. Robin turned to see that she was back on her feet.
"Shut this down," ordered Robin.
"Make me," shot back Cassandra as she took a fighting stance and readied herself. Robin stared back at the terminal. The fate of the world depended on Cassandra Cain talking. He would've laughed at the irony if he had the time to.
"Winner takes all," said Robin as he pulled out his bo. He was going to have to fight her in order to get her to stop the clock. More impossible than that, he was going to have to beat her.
"Winner takes all," agreed Cassandra with a grin.