Chapter Twenty-Seven:
"Allies And Enemies"
Jason clutched the "man stopper" gun in his hand, pointing it at Damian's chest. His hands were stable, but his mind was shaking with endless doubt. He still didn't know whether this was the real Damian or a fake. Was this Damian one of Handles' photo-kinetic constructs, or was the control collar around his neck really driving him to fight? He knew Damian was much stronger than this, but it was painfully apparently that Handles' tech was much more advanced than he realized. Even Tim would be in awe.
Jon Kent had said that the image of a person can be duplicated with ease, right down to the colour of their hair and the pupils of their eyes, and it could be programmed to handle complex tasks. But Personality was next to impossible to copy, a human mind had to many complexities. Damian's own personality had not shown itself yet. Although Jason had seen degrees of his fighting skill, the kid had not spoken. Until he heard the teen's voice, he would remain steadfast and careful.
"Oh, hell…"
He finally decided and trusted his instincts. He holstered the gun, then went over and picked up the other escrima stick.
Damian was an excellent swordsman, learning the trade when he was a member of the League of Assassins, but how well was he with a baton, or fighting with an escrima stick? When Jason was Robin, he and Dick didn't have a lot of time to spar, but when they did, Dick showed him quite a lot in what little time they had together before he had to leave on some sort of mission for The Titans.
Dick's escrima sticks had changed over the years. They were originally just large batons, but then he had to advance them to keep up to the newest weapons of today's criminals, and eventually he redesigned them into the electrified force they are today. Handles must have seen them on a prior occasion to duplicate them so well.
Jason pressed the button to switch on the escrima stick. It had enough voltage to fry a turkey. And at that moment, he thought of Damian's rescued pet turkey Jersey. On more than one occasion, that damn bird would attack him out of nowhere, hiding in the shadows, stalking him, and trained to kill, like a skilled assassin. Damian was just that devious, he would train the bird to do that. If Jason had that bird here right now, he'd fry it, and then eat it. It could go for a turkey sandwich right now.
His stomach grumbled just thinking about it.
The turkey liked Dick Grayson, however. It was almost like Damian had trained it to only attack certain people like an attack dog. Once it did attack Dick, but that was because the bird didn't recognize him in his Nightwing costume at the time.
Right here and now, Jason was about to fight a mock-up of Nightwing—Nightwing Junior—in front of him.
He was the same size now when he sparred with Dick way back then before his tragic demise by the Joker, and before all those memories flooded back.
But he was about to fight Damian, who like him, had a tendency of fighting dirty.
Dick Grayson was a clean fighter and he had the skills to back up his keen battle-sense, so he didn't have to resort to rotten trickery. Though, that didn't mean Dick didn't fight nasty on occasion. He mostly out wit his opponents tasking them during battle and talking to them. Dick said it helped him with tense situations and it also annoyed his enemy. A distraction tactic, he said.
So, Jason knew, if Dick taught him anything to fall back on, it was to always trust his instincts and to use everything at his disposal, and to exhaust all options before having to make the ultimate decision to end a life.
That was Dick cardinal rule.
Batman didn't kill, either.
Red Hood, however, had killed hundreds of people. And he knew they all deserved it.
Both he and Damian held escrima sticks in hand. For a moment, they just stood like statues and waited for the other to move. Patience was a virtue, but he knew Damian wasn't a patient person. They were evenly matched at the moment: stick vs stick. But experience and skill would determine the outcome to this battle. And Jason had far more skill than Damian. Damian may have had experience training with masterful warriors, but Jason was a street fighter. And he knew how to win by any means necessary.
Come and get me, you sob! He mentally taunted.
As if on cue, Damian attacked first. They clashed and crossed escrima sticks like epic warriors on the battlefield and the electricity from each stick sparked and sizzled with every hit. They pulled back and then clashed again, crossed sticks once more, and pressed against the other, neither giving an inch of ground. The sticks hovered inches from each other's face almost lighting up their teeth with dancing current. Jason could feel the heat from Damian's stick across his bare face.
He didn't know where his face mask had gone, probably fallen off, but that didn't matter to him.
Jason looked the other straight in the eye, then said: "Sorry about this Damian, but I have to know before we continue…"
Trickery, down a dirty like the person that he was, Jason hocked a lugee and spat just shy of the top of his escrima stick that edged close to Damian's face. He knew what he was doing, and as the glob of spit shot through the air, electrical current snaked through its moisture, electrifying it, and as it spattered Damian in the face, the boy yelped and pulled back from the sudden shock.
That was it. The indication Jason was waiting for. This was the real Damian. A PK construct wouldn't yelp.
And it was the distraction he needed.
He set his escrima stick to its third highest level and shocked Damian in the ribs. Damian screamed. But Jason didn't let up and pressed again, not letting Damian recover, even increasing the voltage higher, zapping Damian's strength. No one can resist being electrocuted continuously without it weakening them severely. This was the main reason Dick used the escrima sticks, because they were a non-lethal weapon. He refused to kill. He refused to be like Batman.
And yet, there was a major flaw in Dick's "No Kill" ideology. The same criminals kept coming back, escaping from Arkham Asylum. When Red Hood killed criminals, they stayed dead.
When Damian dropped to his knees, his body fell like a sack of wet cement. He first folded over, cradling is stomach with his arms, but with one last zap to the back of his neck, the boy fell unconscious. Jason then plunked the escrima stick from the boy's hand—for which the kid had used to grip as a way to fight pain and wanted to hang onto even as he fell—and threw it away. He then ripped the collar from Damian's throat, and tossed it asunder near the shore's edge but just shy of the tide, sinking slightly into the wetness.
Jason dropped his own escrima stick and immediately checked Damian's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. He was thankful he hadn't killed the kid, and one of the best allies he knew against the never ending battle against the criminal element. Bruce would have kicked his ass, otherwise. And harder than what he did after the incident with The Penguin.
Jason snapped his head towards Harvey and there was just enough time to see the villain's image vanish into thin air, a bitter disdainful glare on Two-Face's face. He had lost. Or had he merely wanted to be an observer and made a bet with himself? Knowing the man, he probably did, and was furious that one half of him had lost.
Returning his attention back to Damian, he breathed a little heavy. His armour was making him sweat and his muscles ached. He may have had the body of a twelve year old, but all this added weight took a toil. He had saved the brat from Handles' control collar, but at what cost? And, in truth, he was now by himself.
And what's happened to Jon Kent? Jason wondered.
Jason sat down cross-legged and sighed. "Okay, now what do I do with you?" He looked at Damian sprawled out unconscious in the sand. "With this body, I'm too small to carry you to safety, or anywhere else, in fact."
He hoped there was a way to turn him back. He didn't want to relive his teen years all over again. Although, if he had too, he knew he would change a few things and make better decisions. And avoid history repeating itself.
But I'd still tell Bruce off! Playing with Bruce is one of my utmost joys in life.
But for once, he wished Bruce Wayne was here. He felt vulnerable. Was it the kid in him that felt this way, or was it a sense he was alone right now, whereas he normally had people around him to help him. People like Arsenal, Roy Harper. Roy had helped him get back on his feet after Bruce's beatdown. He remembered Roy had said that he'd like to put an arrow straight through Batman's heart for what he did. And also, "That son of a bitch is off my Christmas card list starting today," he quipped.
It was mid-morning and the humidity was beginning to raise, the sun baking the beach. With a mere touch, Jason could feel how warm the sand was getting. Sand sifted through his fingers. The island seemed to have its own temperate zone. If he had to guess, it was close to 80 degree F, (26 degrees C), and he was sweating a lot. His clothes and armour felt like they were baking his body like his own personal sauna, but he didn't dare take them off for fear of another sudden onslaught from Handles PK minions.
He also knew he couldn't leave Damian out in this heat wearing his Nightwing Junior suit or he'd cook. The back of Damian's neck was already showing tanning with the collar now removed. He had a white ring around his neck where it had been secured.
Quickly looking around, he saw a small outcrop jettisoning out from the rocky terrain that was the leg-edge of the mountain that sprang from the middle of the island. Whoever built this island was very skilled and designed it in such a way that its appearance would be normal to any aircraft passing by, if they happened to enter its airspace. However, current information on the island had the restricted airspace within several miles of it. Along with its ecological boundaries, sea craft were also barred from entry according to standing restrictions.
Buoys were placed far out to sea to warn any craft to stay away, claiming its protected environmental status, with an auto message. He now recalled seeing a few buoys. The pre-recorded message said craft identification would be recorded if they entered the area and would be passed on to the appropriate authorities for punishment, such as fines and/or lost of privileges, as per stated laws.
This is what Jason had heard when the Batboat had entered the island's protected region and he didn't have any doubt that it was all Spyral's doing and not Maritime Authorities. Jake Handles probably had the Batboat in his eyes the whole way. Hence Harvey Two-Face was ready for them when they docked.
Turning Damian over onto his back, he took hold of his arms, then dragged him across the sand to the shady outcropping, and settled him down in the shade, but then went back and collected the control collar he had thrown away. He thought at some moment it may come in handy, or maybe Tim could use it. So he slipped it into his other empty gun holster.
He sat down next to a sleeping Damian, and sighed.
Now what?
x x x
Harvey Two-Face was beyond livid. He ripped the headband off his forehead that he used to control his photo-kinetic double and tossed it, smashing it against the wall. The velocity of the throw and hit was enough for it to shatter like glass. He then squeezed his father's coin in hand to give him the strength to further prevent an eruption of unbridled rage against one of his bitter enemy's.
It was like he had bet on a winner—and he had mentally, betting on Damian Wayne to crush Jason Todd—but ended up losing on both ends. He flipped his coin, but against all odds, it landed in his palm on its edge. That had never happened before, and there must have been an indent in his palm that folded just at the last second it landed that caught the coin to land the way it did. In the game of Craps, if you roll the dice and got one-and-one, that was called Snake Eyes, and you lost.
This was a lost no matter how he saw it.
Harvey growled, cupping the coin in his hand. "That damn little shit," he said. He felt like shooting something or someone.
"Relax, Harvey," Handles said with a cool head, sitting at his computer. "I figured this would be the end result. Despite his pint-size, Jason Todd is still a formidable foe with Batman's training under his belt." On the screen before him was the schematic of what looked like a tall radio tower with four large teeth-like prongs, similarly seen in cityscapes to allow for wireless communications technology to flourish in large metropolises. But while it may have looked like such, its operation was much different. "He was not going to lie down easily. Those two have a difficult history, and put aside the fighting skills, Todd would never lose to Damian Wayne. His psychological profile wouldn't allow it."
"Turning Jason Todd into a kid didn't help matters," Harvey snarled. "He's just as annoying as ever!"
Harvey looked at one of the floating projection screens that now showed Jason Todd sitting next to Damian Wayne in a hollowed out outcropping of the island's mountain side. The island had cameras everywhere, so there was no place for anyone to hide. The pair almost seemed displaced from reality and this gave Harvey a sudden thrill which made him chuckle.
"I want another chance to kill him," Harvey almost begged. "Jason Todd needs to die. I've made it a vow to kill him just like I murdered his father years ago. I still don't know how he survived that beating the Joker gave him."
"Neither do I, but I don't much care," Handles said. "If he wants to putter around on the island for a while, let him. He can't stop us."
In another part of Handles lair, but seen from where Handles sat, Jon Kent lay bound to an X-table with a small chuck of green synthesized Kryptonite next to him which made him as infertile as a week old puppy. He moaned semi-conscious, but he was still awake enough to see everything going on around him.
"The control collar I used on Damian Wayne was a success, but I should've known that when you restrict instinct, you dumb down reflex. Damian Wayne is a fighter, but AI can restrict individuality and hence brain creativity, which is key to a fighter."
"You won't win…you're lose," Jon said weakly. His eyes drooped, giving away to just how much the Kryptonite was affecting him. It wasn't pure Kryptonite, but something Lex Luther, Superman's arch-enemy, had created to synthesize its effects. "My friends will come and rescue me, you'll see. Damian will never give up. Once he sets his sights on something, he always finishes it."
Handles stood up from his chair after swivelling it around and approached Jon Kent, also grabbing something from a side table.
One of his hands was artificial and he didn't bother to hide it. He shared Harvey Two-Face's philosophy: never hide your pain. It was part of a person. Handles was an ex-agent of Spyral who had supposedly died after one of his adaptability gloves triggered a faulty explosive device causing a building to collapse on top of him. His body was also 80% burnt by the explosion and he wore a mask, but openly showed the horrible, burnt side, instead of covering it.
He survived due to sheer will power and was he built artificial limbs, an arm and a leg, by his computer with a sophisticated, free-thinking Artificial Intelligence, that he shared an intimate bond with. It spoke to him using the very implants Handles designed to control others, two of which he had surgically put into Dick Grayson's left and right hemispheres, paying the surgeon a fortune to do so. Then Handles had him killed, instructing Deathstroke-Slade Wilson- to do so, disposing of the body.
Deathstroke and a second, highly qualified, sharpshooter, were paid for a very delicate job, but separately; each other being the safeguard for the other. Handles only needed one to make the shot to incapacitate Dick Grayson/Nightwing to make it look like an assassination attempt. Once his plan was set in motion, he would force Grayson to live out the rest of his life with amnesia, a destroyed man. It was to be a most sinister revenge for his actions that day that nearly cost Jake Handles his life.
And if it wasn't for that dame Damian Wayne interfering, it would have worked.
When he came to stand next to Jon Kent, he cupped the boy's face and cocked it from side to side with his artificial hand, looking the kid over, thinking of whether he could duplicate what he did with Damian Wayne. In his other hand was a control collar similar to what he had placed around Damian's throat. Jon had watched Damian struggled when it was put on, Harvey Two-Face held Damian down while Handles secured it. Damian had tried to fight against its mind control, but to no avail. Now, the same collar was placed around Jon's throat, and with the Kryptonite, he was far too weak to fight back.
The control was almost instantaneous.
Harvey grinned, then patted the boy's face. "He won't be trouble to us anymore," he said, smiling satisfied.
Handles agreed. "Yes, the son of the last survivor of Krypton is now under our control." He turned his artificial hand on its side and out popped a miniature projector unit that was connected to his main computer. The screen gave him access to the collar and he made sure everything was optimal. "There was a massive amount of technology on this island when I took possession of it over a year ago, even I was unaware Spyral had collected so much. So many wonderful things, powerful weapons Sypral took from tyrants, deposits and other terrorists, each worth their weight in previous gold. Including what I'm calling the Sub-Harmonic Shock Disruptor, or SHSD, for short." Handles finished with what he needed to do with Jon Kent, leaving him semi-comatose, and turned back to his computer. Harvey followed.
The schematics of the SHSD was rotating on the large monitor of his computer, it was one of the most powerful computers on the planet, ever learning, ever evolving, and controlled by him. Handles then used his hand and plucked the SHSD from the screen as removing something from a box, and had it float aimlessly over his open-palm faced artificial hand, using it to generate the image.
He smiled excessively pleased with it. "I've been testing it on an unsuspecting world populace, using 'sonic attacks' to cause earthquakes, tidal waves, and the such, and it hasn't disappoint. Every test was perfection. I have even used it on people, using a narrow beam to specifically target those I choose. It's almost ready for its final test. I must admit, I have a little OCD. Things must be perfect for me to render the tests complete, all angles. But I need a large enough target, a worthwhile target, to satisfy my need."
"If I can suggest a target for you?" Harvey grinned when he thought of it. "When you first told me, I couldn't believe it. Bruce Wayne was Batman. But then it started to make sense and he has billions to afford all those damn gadgets! Target the Batcave, under Wayne Manor. Once Batman is out of the way, they'll be no one to stop us from taking the world hostage!"
Handles leaned over and typed in Wayne Manor's location into his computer to get latitude and longitude coordinates. "Excellent idea, Harvey! A truly wondrous target for the final test. Dick Grayson has recovered his memories, and no doubt, he'll remember the SHSD and tell everyone, and where it's located. He attempted to sabotage it when it was brought here, but the stupid fool was naive. He should have known I knew how to fix it. As they said in the Wild West, let's cut the Batfamily off at the pass."
Suddenly, an alarm sounded inside Handles lair. He brought up a visual on a floating projection screen. Harvey growled and Handles eyes narrowed, as a visual of an airplane came into view. "If I recall, they call it the Batplane," he said. "It would appear, we won't need to target them on their home turf. They seem to have brought the fight to us." Handles smiled. "Very well, let them come. This island will be the sight of my glorious triumphant and the final resting place of Batman. I hope Grayson is with him. It's time I show the world the awesome power of this island…and the Batfamily will be the SHSD's final beta-test!"
To be continued...
