Content Warning: Minor Character Death
Maria Fording
Grind A Day Coffee Roasters, Downtown Gotham
Wednesday, September 19th, 2012
"Coffee for Simpson!" Maria shouted, "Medium dark roast, 2 shots espresso, no room."
She put the drink on the counter and turned back to the register.
"Zank you!" Simpson called, smiling at her as he picked up his drink and she spared a second to wave back. He was one of her favorite regulars since he tipped well and never got annoyed if there was a long line. Maria always liked to come up with stories about her customers, and she imagined Simpson could have been a Swiss banker, with his smooth accent, perfectly tidy hair and impeccable suit. Not to mention the silver money clip he carried in place of a wallet.
A woman with electric blue hair and a pair of green headphones around her neck stepped up to the register. Maria decided that she was an aspiring indie-pop singer who wanted to make it big with her next album.
"Hi, welcome to Grind a Day, what can I get you?"
"Give me a large cappuccino with almond milk."
"Sure. Anything else?"
"And I want one of those gluten-free blueberry scones."
"That'll be six forty-five. Cash or credit?"
"Credit."
The customer handed over her card when there was a loud crash and several people shouted in alarm. Maria looked up to see a crowd of people gathering around the door as the room erupted into chaos. She pushed the card back at the customer and hurried out to the front of the shop.
"Go get Britt!" she called to Kyle, who immediately disappeared into the back to go find their manager.
"He's having a seizure!" someone shouted as Maria pushed her way through to the front.
"Is there a doctor?!" another voice shouted. Simpson was on the ground, face turning bright red and swelling quickly. His hands clutched his throat and he writhed.
"Someone call 911! He's having an allergy attack!" she shouted. At her words, at least five people pulled out their phones and started dialing, "Does anyone have an EpiPen?"
"Here!" an older man with white hair pushed it at her. She knelt down next to Simpson, ripping the blue cap off the end and slamming the needle down into his upper thigh, holding it for the count of five. She waited for a sign that it had worked, that he could breathe and his throat had stopped swelling, but the thrashing just got worse.
"It's not working!" she yelled, starting to panic.
"911 is on the way," Britt announced, kneeling next to her. Maria had no idea how her manager could be so calm at a time like this, "Just a few minutes. Get him on his back."
With the help of Britt and some of the other customers, they rolled Simpson onto his back.
"It's okay, you're going to be fine," Maria told Simpson, her voice shaking.
"Is there another EpiPen?" Britt asked calmly. The people who'd been watching in frozen silence scrambled back into action, digging through their backs and coats and yelling at each other frantically.
"I'll check his bag!" Kyle announced before ripping open Simpson's briefcase in a last-ditch effort. Simpson's face was still swelling and his skin was the color of a tomato. Sweat dripped down his face and his eyes were wide. He clutched at his throat, wheezing and huffing and choking.
"Found it!" Kyle shouted triumphantly, practically throwing another EpiPen at her. Maria scrambled to catch it, but shoved it at Britt as soon as she had.
"You do it! I messed it up before!"
Britt took the injector and paused.
"What are you waiting for?!" Maria shrieked.
"It hasn't been five minutes! You're supposed to wait."
"But it didn't work! He can't breathe!"
Britt looked down and her face paled. She nodded and nobody said anything to stop her. Maria held her breath while Britt injected him again. After that, everything happened so fast, but somehow so slow at the same time.
Simpson gasped and his chest rose up and down in rapid, shallow motions, moving faster and faster but it clearly wasn't helping. Maria grabbed Britt's hand a squeezed it tight, feeling Britt's fingers clench around hers in response.
"Come on, please, please," Maria muttered, watching helplessly as Simpson kept choking, "Please, please be okay, please…"
"Any sign of the ambulance?!" Britt shouted.
Silence fell over the coffee shop like a shroud.
"No!"
"Oh my god," a woman muttered, burying her head in her husband's shoulder. The man across from her sank into a chair, hands digging into his hairline. Everyone else had their hands over their mouths, eyes wide with shock and horror. Kyle dropped to the ground next to them and placed both hands over Simpson's heart. He started doing quick, hard and even chest compressions while he counted to himself. Maria couldn't move. She felt tears drip down her cheeks.
"Oh god," Britt whispered, "Oh my god."
Dick Grayson
Stop & Stop Grocery Store
"Alright, so Alfred needs us to be back within an hour," Bruce tells us, pulling the grocery list out of his pocket, "There's not that much stuff on it, so if we stay focused then we should make it back in plenty of time."
Cassie shifts in his arm, pointing excitedly at the cart.
"Car! Gimme Car!"
"She wants to sit in the cart," Timmy tells Bruce, not looking up from his Nintendo DS.
"I think we can manage that," Bruce responds, pulling out a shopping cart from the row. He starts to set Cassie in the kiddie seat, but she starts squirming and kicking.
"No! Car!"
"She wants to sit in the cart," Timmy repeats, focused intensely on his videogame, "She doesn't like the kiddie seat."
"Of course she doesn't," Bruce sighs before setting her in the main body of the cart. Stephanie giggles when Cassie immediately lies down, taking up the majority of the storage space.
Bruce turns to me, "Does she always do this?"
I grin and nod, trying not to laugh at his confusion. Who'd have thought the great and powerful Batman couldn't handle a trip to Stop and Shop?
"Where exactly am I supposed to put the food?"
I shrug.
"She'll move stuff around to fit. Also, don't get eggs until the end. Actually, you should just hold anything breakable because she likes to smash stuff together. Don't let Jason hold anything because he'll use it as collateral to get cookies, Timmy will probably drop it and Steph refuses to hold anything that isn't fuzzy or purple. She likes eggplants though, so if we need any give them to her."
Bruce takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Anything else I need to know?"
"Jason is trying to climb the Coke display," I point behind us, fighting back a cackle when Bruce whirls around.
"Jason! Get down from there!" he sprints towards the display, leaving behind the cart, the shopping list and the rest of us.
Oh boy.
What was Alfred thinking, letting Bruce go grocery shopping, let alone taking all of us? This isn't even Alfred's usual grocery store. He goes to this fancy place near the country club that has an order ready for him to pick up as soon as he gets there. Bruce is out of his league here and that means it's up to me. I grab the back of Timmy's shirt before he can walk in front of a very full shopping cart. Then I reach for our shopping cart.
"Let me push it!" Steph cries, grabbing for the handlebar. I step out of the way to let her, but she's so short that she can barely see over it.
"Do you want some help with that?" I ask her, keeping one of my hands on Timmy's shoulder.
"No! I can do it!"
I wait patiently while she struggles to maneuver the cart towards the food aisles. It's not a fast process, but every time I try to help her, she tries to bite me. It doesn't help that Cassie is now standing at the front of the cart, bouncing up and down yelling, "Go! Go! Go!"
Slowly, we manage to make it to the Coke display. Bruce got Jason down without knocking the entire display over, but he didn't do it in time to stop an angry employee from storming over.
"Hey! Keep your kids off the display! If he knocks it down then you're going to have to buy-" The employee stops dead. His name tag reads, "Kenny."
"Oh my god… you're Bruce Wayne! No way! You…still can't let your kids climb… but I mean… you're… Wayne…"
Bruce sighs and the muscles of his jaw clench. He puts on his warmest, fakest smile.
"I'm so sorry about that. Jason won't do it again. Isn't that right, Jason?"
"Sure, whatever."
"It's no problem, Mr. Wayne! If you need anything let me know. It's an honor to have you in our store today. Uh… I'm… my name is Kenny, Kenny Peterson, and I'm the assistant junior manager, if you want to send an official commendation to the regional manager. Not that you have to! I just wa-"
"Absolutely. I'd be happy to," Bruce interrupts before Kenny can continue, "Thank you for your understanding, but I'm actually on a bit of a tight schedule."
"Thank you so much! I'll let you get back to your shopping! If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask!"
"I'll keep that in mind," Bruce starts to walk towards the produce aisle, keeping Jason by his side. After a second, he realizes that the cart and the rest of us aren't following because Stephanie got one of the wheels caught in a stray plastic bag.
Bruce sighs, moving back over to the Coke display. He crouches down, staining the leg of his custom-tailored pantsuit on the soda encrusted linoleum floor. Jason takes the opportunity to wriggle out of Bruce's grip while he struggles to detach the cart. Cassie continues to jump up and down, making Bruce's task even more difficult.
Finally, Bruce manages to get the wheel and the shreds of plastic bag separated. He stands up, dusting off his hands and grabbing the handle.
"No!" Steph shouts, grabbing the bars, "I want to push it!"
"We've been here for five minutes and we haven't gotten past the entrance. We need to move quickly, and that means you can't push the cart right now."
Jason and I glance at each other, trying not to laugh. Bruce is a sucker for puppy eyes and there's nothing my little sister hates more than being told 'no.'
Sure enough, Stephanie's lower lip begins to tremble, her head tilts to the side, her eyes open wide.
"But Alfred always lets me push it!" she whimpers.
A tear makes it way down her face, and as it does, her adorableness increases. Bruce stares back at her with icy stoicism and irritation. It takes about two seconds for him to melt.
"Please? Daddy?"
Jason and I snicker. She's good at it, but Steph should really know better than to use the full power of her puppy face for something as trivial as pushing a shopping cart. I guess you can't really tell an eight-year-old what to do.
Bruce finally sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose again.
"Alright, fine. You can push the cart."
Stephanie's face lights up and she throws her arms around him.
She lets go and grabs onto the cart, pushing it happily towards the produce aisle. Bruce stares after her for a second with a shell-shocked expression on his face. Then he shakes his head, puts a hand on Timmy's back to direct him, and follows Steph through the store.
"He threw someone off a building last night," I comment offhandedly to Jason. Of course, he made sure there was a pile of full garbage bags and an old mattress to cushion their fall so they wouldn't get hurt.
"Batman, mighty protector of Gotham, vanquished by a puppy-face. Don't let the rogues find out, or the city is doomed," Jason smirks. I snort, imagining the utter chaos that would erupt if any of the Rogues could see Bruce's soft side.
"Why were you on the display?" I ask, watching as Timmy almost walks into a stack of tomato-sauce jars.
"It looked fun."
Jason punches my arm and points to a tall display of high-end maple syrup near the oranges. The glass bottles are stacked intricately in a looping pattern that reaches chest-level.
"Wanna play Jenga?"
I roll my eyes.
"We're not playing Jenga. Jay, you should cut Bruce some slack. He's never gone grocery shopping with all of us before."
Jason shrugs.
"C'mon Goldie, he can handle it. He's Batman."
"Not even Alfred takes us all shopping."
"That's because Alf knows what he's doing."
"Are you saying Bruce doesn't know how to do the grocery shopping with kids?"
Jason pretends to look scandalized and protests, "I'm just wondering if he's ever done the grocery shopping at all."
"Okay first of all, you know for a fact he hasn't. And second, taking it easy on him is the best way to get him to buy you Pop-tarts."
"Nah, I already got that covered. I put pop-tarts on the list in Alfred's handwriting."
"That's not going to work. He knows Alf's handwriting too well."
"That's why you're going to read the list to him, and tell him it's real."
"You want me to lie to Bruce over something stupid. What's in it for me?"
"I'll share my pop-tarts."
"And?" I prompt, crossing my arms.
"I don't know, uh, I won't bother you and Roy at the next Wayne party?"
"Jay, Roy already likes you better than me. Plus, he always ditches now."
"How 'bout I cover for you the next time you sneak out," Jason offers.
The floor drops out from under me and my heart stops.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know, when you say you're at 'community service' but you don't get back until two in the morning?"
"Jason, promise me that you will not tell Bruce or Alfred about that. You can't tell them!"
"I wasn't gonna," Jason scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, "I just figured you might want a cover story in case they catch you."
"Jay, I'll help you with the Pop-tarts, but you have to promise me you'll never tell them about me sneaking out. Please!"
He looks even more suspicious, but finally he makes a face at me and nods.
"Your secret's safe with me, Goldie."
"Don't call me that."
"What are you going to do about it, Goldie?" He sticks his tongue out.
I would shove him, but we've left Bruce alone for too long already and I decide to be the bigger guy. And also because Jay is eyeing the maple syrup display and I don't want to be a human bowling ball. We catch up as Cassie begins grabbing everything within arms' length and stuffing it in the cart around her.
"Stephanie, can you grab some oranges?" Bruce asks, putting a four-pound sack of beets back on the shelf and trying to stop Cassie from grabbing it back.
"I got it!" she grins, flouncing off to the fruit display.
"Make sure to get fresh ones," Bruce adds, playing tug-of-war with Cassie for his shirt sleeve. Jason and I follow Stephanie, watching as she pulls oranges off the pile and inspects each of them individually. She picks up a lumpy one, makes a face and puts it back. She starts digging deeper, pulling oranges from the edges of the pyramid, but the next eight aren't even close to good enough. She purses her lips and studies the stack of fruit carefully, eyes moving slowly over the display. It starts at the top and gets lower and lower and lower until… she finds the perfect one. Her eyes shine bright with victory. She reaches for an orange at the very bottom of the pile and pulls, holding up her prize triumphantly.
Then the entire display caves in, and oranges plummet off the table like barrels going over Niagara Falls and she lets out a yelp before she's buried under a cubic foot of fruit.
"Oh, for the love of…" Bruce sighs and runs over to rescue Stephanie. Kenny the assistant manager hurries over, apron and glasses askew.
"Don't worry about this, Mr. Wayne! It's not a problem! We'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy- AAAH!"
The "AAAH" is accompanied by Kenny slipping on an orange, tripping forwards, and crashing into the display of fancy maple-syrup. A four-foot wall of maple syrup comes crashing down against the linoleum floor, smashing into pieces and spraying sticky syrup in an arc through the air.
"Cleanup in aisle one," sounds over the loudspeaker after a few seconds of chaos. I look back at the cart in time to see Cassie drop down to the ground and pull on Timmy's hand. He follows her blindly into the next aisle, face buried in his DS.
Uh-oh.
I look around for Jason, but he's gone. Bruce, now covered in syrup and orange pulp, is apologizing profusely to Kenny and trying to pull Stephanie out of the pile without her getting cut on any glass.
I'm still holding the shopping list.
Broccoli, five crowns.
Moving through the chaos like that scene from Pirates of the Caribbean with the guy walking down the exploding staircase, I put a few heads of broccoli in the empty shopping cart.
"I have to go to the bathroom!" Stephanie announces as Bruce lifts her off the ground. He looks at her and sighs. Then he sees me crossing apples off the shopping list. And that's when he realizes the rest of his kids are AWOL.
"I can go by myself," Stephanie reminds Bruce. Bruce blinks at her and he gives his best 'There is no way in hell I am letting you do that' face.
He looks at me, at the shopping cart, and then back at Stephanie.
"Want me to call Alfred?" I offer, pulling out my phone.
"No!" he snaps, "We're fine. Just give me a second."
"I hafta pee!" Stephanie reminds him. Bruce sighs again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He turns to me, trying and not really succeeding at hiding the desperation in his face.
"Please go find your siblings."
"I've got it," I assure him. He looks so relieved I don't have the heart to tell him it's probably too late. Bruce takes Stephanie to the bathroom, not looking back as custodians descend on the mess. I stick the grocery list into my pocket and head towards the aisle that runs through the center of the store, keeping my eyes and ears open. I pass by the snack food aisle and stop dead. Timmy is sitting on the ground in front of the corn chips, face buried in his DS. I turn the cart and make my way towards him, waiting to see if he notices me. He doesn't.
"Hey Timmy," I bend down, waving a hand at him.
"Hey," he doesn't look up. His face screws in concentration and he clicks the button rapidly. After a few seconds the screen brightens and he relaxes.
"Where's Cassie?" I ask.
"Hide-and-go-seek," he answers, mind still trapped in the game.
"Hide-and-go-seek?" I repeat, waiting for him to realize exactly what he just said.
"Yeah."
I wait. After a second, his head shoots up, a look of semi-horrified realization on his face.
"Oops," he says after a second.
"Yeah, oops," I tell him, holding out my hand for his DS. He closes it and hands it over guiltily.
"Where did she go?"
"I don't know!" he protests, "I wasn't looking."
"When did you start playing?"
"Uh… ten minutes ago?"
Ten minutes. A hyper five-year-old looking for somewhere to hide in a place with thousands of nooks and crannies to slip inside of and shelves to climb and we're absolutely never going to find her. Deep breath. It's fine. Stephanie is with Bruce, Tim and I are going to find Cassie. She'll probably be somewhere up high. She loves to climb stuff. Tim follows me out of the aisle and I turn around when we get to the refrigerator case full of butter. That's the best spot to see a tiny black-haired child standing at the very top of the cereal shelves, balancing on a tower of Cheerios boxes to try and reach the aisle 8 sign.
My stomach drops.
Everything happens in slow motion. The boxes of Cheerios under Cassie's feet tip over as she jumps to the sign. The problem isn't that she might fall and hurt herself. The problem is the avalanche of cereal boxes the fall in her wake, and the sudden mob of concerned shoppers that might notice a five-year-old hanging from a sign ten feet off the ground. Tim and I rush forwards, crunching through the wreckage of cardboard boxes and thousands of spilled Cheerios, leaving cereal dust behind us.
"Get down!" I call to Cassie when I'm standing below her.
"No!" she giggles.
"Cassie, please!"
"No! Be tall!"
"For me? Please!"
Cassie sighs dramatically, but lets go of the sign. The crowd of onlookers gasps and she plummets down. I catch her, but the angle is bad and we both hit the ground. Cheerio dust fills my nose and mouth and I cough, but it's hard to get the air back when Cassie is sitting right on my chest.
Then it gets worse.
Everyone has their phones pointed at us, and there's a man in a News 12 vest with a real camera. I close my eyes, let my head fall into the pile of cereal on the ground, and groan.
"Recognized: Robin, B-01."
The cave materializes around me and the first thing I hear is hysterical laughter filtering in from down the hallway. Wally's hysterical laughter. My stomach sinks, but I force myself to make my way to the living room. Sure enough, it's my worst nightmare. M'gann, Conner, Wally and Kaldur are sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn sitting untouched on the table in front of them, in preparation for the movie night that should have already started. But instead of a Quentin Tarantino movie, the news is on.
"...shopping trip got a little out of hand today for billionaire and father of five, Bruce Wayne."
"Robin!" Wally whirls around. Tears are coming out of his eyes in between bursts of laughter, "Oh my god!"
"Have you... seen the news recently?" Kaldur is laughing too, but he's being slightly more reserved about it. I shoot both him and Wally a glare, stomach sinking through the floor while I refuse to look at the screen.
"Celebrities, maybe they're not so much like us after all," the other anchor jokes. Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not dealing with this.
"Sorry, what did you say, M'gann?" I turn to my new favorite teammate in the world.
"I thought you couldn't make it tonight," M'gann says, valiantly ignoring the laughter behind her.
"I just came to drop off a book Canary lent me," I say, "Besides, Batman will kill me if…"
I trail off as the screen switches and Wally and Kaldur erupt in a new round of laughter. I finally summon the courage to look at the tv and see a very irate Bruce covered in maple syrup and bits of Cheerios, dragging Stephanie in one hand and Jason in the other. The newscaster looks like she's close to tears as she fights back giggles and her colleague breaks off into a 'coughing fit.' Wally falls off the couch laughing.
Nope, that's it. I'm leaving.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I say hurriedly.
"Recognized: Robin, B-01."
I lean my forehead against the wall of the phone box and take a deep breath, trying to get control of myself. Oh my god. It was one bad trip to the grocery store. Why did it have to get on the news? I need to have a low profile, not have my face plastered all over the news! At least there wasn't any video of Cassie jumping off the sign. I groan and thump my head against the wall again.
An alarm on my phone goes off and I jump. It's almost 7!
I run out of the phone booth and around the corner to where my motorcycle is waiting. I can't be late.
But I do have time to put on a pair of sunglasses and a hat and make sure my hair looks as messy as possible. You can't be too careful.
The Haunt
"Why are we stopping?" I ask, watching blankly as Slade grabs his towel and moves towards the door, "I thought we still had another hour?"
Slade nods.
"There's something else we have to do tonight. I promise it will be easier than this."
He turns right and disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone in the training room. I look around at the mats and equipment before shrugging and grabbing my water bottle and towel. I follow him into the office, watching in confusion as he starts clearing everything off the table in the center of the room. He moves the stacks onto his desk, piling the papers precariously high. There are dozens of photographs of the exteriors and interiors of various buildings, and about thirty pictures of security cameras and motion sensor locations. Slade stuffs them all into an envelope and tosses it on his desk.
"Sit," he nods at the folding chair that normally functions as my desk chair. I hang my towel over the back of the chair and sit, taking a gulp of water while Slade does… whatever it is he needs the whole table for. He rolls a stack of blueprints into a tube and shoves the tube into one of the drawers. Then he turns to the newly-cleared table and shakes his head.
"I'll be right back. Don't move," he orders, storming out of the room.
I crinkle my nose at his words. Where am I possibly going to go?
To spite him, I get up and walk over to his desk to look at the precarious stack of papers. The top one is an account sheet, covered in numbers. I look closer, scanning through the financial statement the way Bruce taught me to during one of his endless board meetings where people just talk at him for six hours. It's a statement for an offshore account. A very large amount of money was transferred into Slade's account from an unknown party. The transaction is labelled with today's date. I shrink back, pressing my hands over my mouth so I don't let any sound out. Most of the jobs Slade accepts pay immediately upon completion. Whatever this contract is, it happened today.
Slade killed someone today.
Footsteps echo in the hallway, steel boots against cement. Slade is right outside the door. I scramble back to my seat, trying to look bored and not absolutely terrified or out of breath. The door swings open and Slade enters with a large black case in his hand. The door closes with a loud snap. I flinch. Slade's head swivels towards me and I look away, staring at the dust accumulating on the ground around the table's legs.
Slade lets out a low chuckle and moves around to the other side of the desk. Paper rustles and then he's moving towards me. I cross my arms over across my stomach and look at the door.
"I'm going to assume by your suspicious silence that you saw this?" Slade thrusts the paper at me and I clench my hand nervously, keeping my head turned the other way, "Richard, answer me."
I let out a long breath and mutter, "Yeah."
"So despite me explicitly telling you not to move, you decided you'd investigate my affairs anyway?"
I swallow, but Slade is waiting for an answer.
"Yeah."
"Knowing that you would regret seeing whatever you found?"
The hair on the back of my neck rise and my hands are getting clammy. I squeeze them tighter, looking at how pale and bloodless my knuckles look instead of looking at Slade's expression. Judging by the cold, smooth tone of his voice, I'm screwed.
"Since you're so curious, would you like to hear the details?"
My eyes narrow and a pulse of adrenaline floods through my body. I glare up at Slade.
"I don't need to hear them. Someone paid you a lot of money, you pulled a trigger, and now there's one less person on the planet."
Slade snorts and sits on the edge of the table, setting the case down on the ground with a soft thump.
"You know, ordinarily you'd be right. But not for this one. It had to look like an accident."
"What, did you hit them with your car?!"
"Less violent."
"I don't want to play twenty questions to figure out how you murdered someone!" I snap.
"Then you should have listened to me the first time," Slade replies smoothly. I lean back, glaring at the floor. He's not going to back down, so I just have to get through it as fast as I can.
"Poison?"
"Very close."
"I don't know."
"Think."
I bite my lower lip to stop myself from retorting.
What do I know? The murder looked like an accident. Slade didn't shoot the target, hit them with a car or do anything that violent. Poison is close, but not right. How can you kill someone by kind-of poisoning them and make it look totally accidental?
"Where were they?"
"Leaving a coffee shop."
"Where were they going?"
"Based off their morning commute, the target was heading to work."
"How?"
Slade raises an eyebrow.
"I mean, how were they getting there? Like in a car, or a bus?"
"Taxi."
"Were you the taxi driver? Did you put something on the door handle or the seat? Like a weird poisonous vapor that you're immune to?"
"No. I told you, it wasn't poison."
"But you were the taxi driver, right?"
"No."
"Did you hire the taxi driver?"
"No. It was just a regular, completely ordinary taxi," Slade states dryly, "You're going to have to think a little harder."
His mouth quirks up to the side for a fraction of a second, the same way that Batman's does. He's is laughing at me. I grind my teeth together and try again.
"Whatever you did, did you do it before the target got coffee or after?"
"Before."
"Did you do something to the coffee?" I guess, shrugging my shoulders.
"In a matter of speaking."
"But not poison."
"No."
"Was it something they were allergic to?" I ask, but even before Slade nods I know it's the right guess, "You put something they were allergic to into the coffeepot so that they would have an allergic reaction! And… you stole their EpiPen so they couldn't get epinephrine while they were in the taxi."
"Replaced both of them with an inert substituted, but otherwise correct."
"But what if someone else had the same allergy? You could have killed a bunch of people!"
"It is a possibility, but fortunately, the allergy is very rare in America."
"What allergy?"
"Celery."
"What?"
"Celery. It's a very common allergy in parts of Europe, particularly in Switzerland, the target's home country."
"You killed someone with celery?!"
"Celery causes an incredibly severe reaction. Adding a small concentration of celery water to the coffeepot was more than sufficient to cause the reaction."
"But you killed them with celery."
"Yes."
My eyes drift down, absently scanning across the wall behind Slade. My brain is spinning. Slade murdered someone and he made it look like a total accident. People have allergic reactions all the time. Most of the time they have an EpiPen or they get to the hospital in time, but sometimes they don't. And even if someone suspects foul play, all they'll find is celery. Celery! There's nowhere for an investigation to go from there. Slade is going to get away clean.
A hand squeezes my shoulder and I jump.
"It will be a very long time before I teach you how to use vegetables for evil," Slade says, "So for now, let's get back to business."
My stomach squeezes so tightly I can't breathe. He picks up the case and lays it on the table. It's a thick black briefcase, with silver clasps.
"Open it," Slade orders.
I slide off the chair and walk over to it, stomach churning nervously. I take a deep breath and undo the clasps, lifting the lid. There's a piece of orange and black fabric on top. I pick it up and it unfurls into a uniform. I inhale sharply and almost lose my grip on it.
"I'm not sure how it will fit, but I can get it resized. You'll have to try it on."
I shake my head, mouth opening and closing. No sound comes out. Slade pulls the uniform out of my hands and lays it flat on the table. It's mainly black, with a section of orange from the chest to the belt. Unlike my Robin uniform, which is a synthetic fabric as strong as Kevlar, there's armor built into it. When I put it on, it'll be like wearing a hockey chest-guard.
"How am I supposed to move in that?" My voice comes out hoarse.
"We can adjust it later to suit your fighting style better," Slade says in a tone that suggests I need to adjust my fighting style to fit the suit.
I bite my lip and look down.
"What are those?" I point to the case, where there's an odd assortment of equipment.
"This is your new arsenal. You won't have a utility belt, so it will take some getting used to. There are a dozen pockets on the arms and legs, and you will have holsters for additional weapons. Those will come later, though."
I pick up an S-shaped projectile and risk an eyebrow-raise, trying to be funny in an attempt at pretending that any of this is fine.
"I know you like your theme, but this is a little much."
"What do you call your custom-made projectiles, Robin? The bird-shaped ones?" Slade asks, "Oh, right. Birdarangs. I think we'll call it even on theme."
My cheeks burn and I set the projectile to the side.
A pair of canisters comes out of the case next. They're almost identical; both small, but one has a ring on the end.
"Grenades. I admit, they're a bit old fashioned, but they come in very handy on occasion. This design is impossible to trigger accidentally, and you will use the utmost caution at all times," he holds up the other one, which has the ring, "This is just a smoke bomb. It will produce a much denser smoke than the pellets you use now. I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but do not inhale the smoke."
"Why? Is it poisonous?"
"Not in small doses. But you will pass out."
Next, Slade hands me a metal cylinder, finger aimed at a small indent near the center.
"Press there," he instructs. With a click and a hiss, it expands into a metal bo staff. I twirl it over my palm to test the balance and it slashes through the air without any resistance.
"It's so light," I heft it up and down, and it barely takes any effort.
"It's an experimental alloy designed for military use. It's supremely light and incredibly strong. If you'd prefer, the staff can be configured to extend blades from either end."
"Uh…" I press the catch again and the staff collapses back to its previous size. I place it on the table next to the projectiles, "I'll pass for now."
Slade shrugs and tosses me the next item in the case. A pair of sturdy black gloves, almost exactly the same as the ones on my Robin uniform except…
"Where's the computer?"
"The what?"
"The holocomputer? You know, the thing I use to pull up mission schematics, building plans, GPS locations, communicate with the League, look up information in an emergency, or hack into security systems?"
"You won't need one."
"But what if I need to hack something?"
"Then that will be a mission-specific tool that you will receive prior to said mission. Otherwise, you will be staying off the grid, or you will hack the computer systems manually."
Is he serious?!
I open my mouth, but he shoots me a warning and my mouth shuts itself. Stupid no-computer gloves. Slade pulls something new out of the case. It looks like a long strip with other strips and sections of fabric attached, with clips attached at random. He hands it to me and my mouth goes dry. It's a drop leg holster.
"You'll be equipped with two holsters, along with additional compartments for knives and other blades. The bo staff is stored at the back of the holster belt. You'll need to try it all on to make sure it fits."
"Now? Like, right now?"
Slade nods, pushing everything towards me. My hands ball into fists and my pulse races, but I reach forwards and grab the uniform off the table. He doesn't say anything as I head for the door, so I cross the hall to my room and close the door behind me. The uniform is a little loose, but it's closer than I thought I would be. The sleeves are a little too long, and the extra material bunches around the waist. But the chest pad is actually not that constricting, and the extra armor makes me feel a little more secure. The padding along the arms will make hand-to-hand combat a lot less painful.
I'm not ready to look at the mirror yet, so I take a breath.
"It's not that bad," I say out loud to convince myself. It doesn't work.
I open the door to go back to the office, but Slade is waiting outside with a pair of black combat boots and the holsters. Ignoring the holsters, I pull the boots on and lace them up slowly. They fit perfectly… and they also look really cool. Not that I'm ever going to tell Slade that. But then I'm done putting the boots on and the holster is sitting on the ground and Slade is still waiting.
I tug on the gloves, pretending to readjust them. There's a loud sigh.
"Just put it on or I will put it on for you," Slade threatens impatiently.
Nope! No way! That is not happening!
I clip the belt around my waist and start adjusting straps, not letting myself think about what I'm doing until I tighten the second holster around my right thigh. There's full length mirror on the wall next to the bathroom door. I turn towards it slowly. The orange pops against the black, and my heart misses a beat when I see Deathstroke in the mirror.
But it's just me.
Slade's hand grabs my shoulder while his other hand presses something over my eyes. I let out a yell but he lets go immediately, and then I realize he just put a mask on my face. I inhale through my nose, trying to find the courage to open my eyes. When I do, I can't tear them away. The person in the mirror looks evil, just like all of the villains and assassins I've spent my life fighting against. If the Team saw me now, they'd shoot first and ask questions later.
Slade puts his hand on my shoulder again, but this time, his grip is gentle but firm.
"Renegade."
AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
Like I said before, that Slade guy sure is a fine, upstanding citizen with only the best of intentions. Stuff's going great for everyone and it will definitely stay that way!