Issue 3
Assassins
Its dark, and Batman is falling again.
Plummeting in empty space, dropping into infinity. His descent halts abruptly, he's gripped in Bane's powerful hands. He can see the black and white mask looming over him – staring, taunting. He can hear the muffled sounds of combat in the distance. Everything seems to slow down as Bane lifts him up overhead, then slams him downward with an echoing roar. His back crashes into Bane's knee. Searing pain shoots throughout his entire body. He wants to scream, but no sound comes from his throat. He's simply falling again, spinning and spiraling like a broken doll with no control over his own body.
At that instant, his eyes open. The black and white mask of Bane is gone, and instead he sees a different face, this one hidden by a dark, oversized hood and a solid-color, dark mask. Though the dim morning light makes it impossible to distinguish any definite features, Batman recognizes the signature get-up of the League of Assassins. The Assassin's hand is reaching toward him, as if to wake him.
Batman reacts instantly, his hand shooting up to catch the Assassin by the shoulder. His other hand locks around the man's elbow. He sits up quickly, rolling his weight forward and flipping the man onto his back. The whole maneuver only takes an instant. In the next instant, the Assassin's foot hooks around Batman's ankle. The Dark Knight is once again flat on his back. He's either still half-asleep, or the Assassin's reflexes are as good as his own.
As soon as he hits the ground, he rolls to the side, just missing a descending strike from a recurve bow. He's back on his feet, stance low and hands up. the archer adopts the same pose. With a moment to think, Batman notices Bane standing off to the side, gun drawn and eyes on the two combatants. There are other figures Batman can sense at the corner of his vision, but they make no movement.
No movement, that is, until a teenager in a red suit with black accents steps forward. Batman notices the black bat-symbol on his chest even before he looks up to see the unmasked face of Jason Todd.
Robin steps between the two fighters. "Batman, this is –"
"Al-Sahim," Batman interrupts.
The archer pushes back his hood and removes his mask, revealing the stern features of Starling City billionaire Oliver Queen. "I left the League, just like you did before me."
Still suspicious, Batman watches the three remaining figures step forward. "And what about them?"
He recognizes two of the newcomers. The first figure, dressed all in black with the requisite hood and body armor, was his mentor in the League before Ra's al Ghul took him under his wing personally. David Cain and his brother Arthur were the best the Assassins had to offer, with the exception of Ra's himself and his daughters.
Another possible exception might be the other man watching Batman and the archer stoically. His face covered by a two-tone orange and black helmet, and equipped with matching armor, Deathstroke the Terminator stands with his arms crossed, a sword resting within easy reach at his waist, and an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
The third figure is a woman Batman doesn't recognize. Oriental, with jet black hair framing a white mask, gray armor with a red sash, and a katana in her hand. She looks dangerous enough, but there's some invisible element that sets her apart from the four Assassins.
"I go by Green Arrow now," the archer continues. As the sunlight increases gradually, Batman notices the archer's costume is green, rather than League black. Green Arrow introduces the others. "I think you know David Cain and Slade Wilson. And this –" he points to the woman – "is Katana. She's not League."
"And the others?" Batman repeats.
Cain chuckles. "I'm still League through and through, boy. Don't worry, though, I'm not here on League business. I'm as lost as you are."
Batman shifts his gaze to Deathstroke, noticing the obvious tension between him and the Green Arrow. Slade Wilson and Oliver Queen had been rivals since their training days. The fact that Ra's passed over Slade twice – choosing first Bruce Wayne and then Oliver Queen as his heir – only added to Wilson's animosity.
Deathstroke meets the Dark Knight's gaze, and gives his answer in a flat tone with just a hint of a challenge. "Well, I left the League too. I only kill for money now."
Outright laughter from Cain. Batman hates the sound of it. It carries him back to his days training in the League of Assassins. David Cain was the most dangerous man in the world next to Ra's himself, and he knew it. His students could have easily defeated entire special forces teams singlehandedly, but Bruce, Oliver, and Slade were just children playing soldier next to Cain. Sometimes the Dark Knight still felt that they were.
Now, here the master stands, reunited with his three prize pupils in a bizarre twist of fate. He hasn't seen the Dark Knight since the latter had fought his way out of Nanda Parbat. Ra's had allowed Batman to return home, believing the city's corruption would eventually drive him back to the League. When it did not, the Demon's Head had sent Deathstroke with an army to destroy Gotham. To everyone's surprise, the Batman had defeated the Terminator. Shamed by his failure, Deathstroke had never returned to the League, and so the title of Heir to the Demon had fallen on Oliver Queen.
David Cain had never understood what the great Ra's al Ghul had seen in any of them. Personally, he had always thought they were weak, and he still thinks it now. They have skills, certainly, and physical strength as well. But when he looks at his students, the only three who ever had the potential to become true masters of death – the most dangerous men in the world – he sees only three children, playing dress-up. It's like watching a Halloween party, with a Bat, a B-movie serial killer, and Robin Hood.
That's when he notices Bane, still standing there watching, gun lowered but still ready. He sees the stance, the look in the eyes; sees through to the man under the black and white mask.
And he smiles. This is a real killer.
As for Bane himself, he senses a kindred spirit in the master Assassin. He has the air of a man who laughs at danger, who relishes any chance to prove his fighting prowess. The other newcomers certainly seem dangerous as well, but they're younger, and lack the ruthlessness he senses in Cain.
Suddenly, Katana speaks up for the first time. "Now that the introductions and obligatory size comparisons are out of the way, does anyone know how we all ended up on an alien planet? Or, better yet, how we get off it?"
Cain immediately takes charge. "I don't know how we got here, but it seems our first issue is survival. We should head back to the red parachute."
"You know where it is?" Bane asks.
Cain nods, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. "Found it last night, right before I got the drop on those two." He gestures at Deathstroke and Katana.
Batman interrupts before either of them can reply. "Why do we care about the red chute?"
"Supplies," Cain announces with a grin. "Weapons, ammunition, even some food." He pats the bandolier of grenades across his chest. "That's where I got this, but I couldn't carry everything. Wanted to travel light." His grin widens as he turns to Batman directly. "Maybe we could get you some real weapons, instead of throwing knives shaped like flying rodents."
Batman gives his former mentor an icy glare. It has next to no effect on Cain, but it does stifle Robin's laughter.
By now the sun is above the treetops in the east. Bane re-holsters his pistol. All eyes turn to Cain, who shrugs finally, and sets out toward the sunrise, keeping just inside the shelter of the trees. The rest file behind him. As the tallest of the group, Bane maintains a vigilant lookout in every direction. Deathstroke keeps his one good eye on Cain, not fully willing to trust him. And Batman – bringing up the rear – watches the entire group cautiously.
As they trek through the jungle, the trees seem to get bigger and bigger. Birds and monkeys chatter in the treetops, while unseen creatures scurry through the undergrowth. The entire jungle teems with life, and yet the group never actually sees any animals. Just a constant chorus of discordant sounds, wearing slowly on everyone's nerves. From his position in the back, Batman can see tensions rising as time goes on. and an eerie feeling starts building in his gut. An instinct that tells him there are more dangerous things than just birds and monkeys watching them. At one point he even stops, frozen, listening. He's certain he hears a clicking sound in the branches overhead – that same clicking he heard on the balcony at Arkham. He looks up, hears an almost electronic-sounding hum, but sees nothing.
It's a little before noon when Cain signals for the group to stop. By now, everyone has their weapons drawn, and they scan the trees anxiously as the master Assassin gets his bearings. After a moment, he gestures forward and to the left, and the procession starts off again.
They find the red parachute, caught in the branches of an enormous tree, just a few minutes later.
On the ground at the foot of the tree are military-grade plastic cases, strewn about after dropping free of the parachute. Three of the crates holds full-auto M4s, while two more boxes contain loaded magazines for the rifles. There are a half dozen each of Beretta pistols and Glocks, plus two SIGs and even a Smith & Wesson revolver. Two MP5 submachine guns, a crate of hand grenades, and an assortment of bladed weapons. Along with MREs, water bottles, and med kits, there's more here than the group can carry. Whoever made the drop wanted them to have plenty to choose from.
Everyone in the party drinks some water eagerly and tear into a box of energy bars. They haven't eaten since they woke up falling from the sky yesterday morning. Hunger and thirst satisfied, and kitted out with their choice of weapons, the apprehensions of the morning's hike start to slip away.
Batman lets out a sigh, turning the Smith & Wesson over in his hand. It's a well-made revolver: heavy barrel with clean, bright sights, cylinder tight but not too tight. The dark finish on the metal keeps the gun from reflecting the sunlight, and the rubber grips are comfortable in the hand and won't deteriorate in the humidity. Caliber is .357 Magnum. With only a few cosmetic differences, this is the same type of gun that killed his parents, all those years ago.
He sets it back in its case when he notices Robin watching him intently. He knows Jason doesn't need his mentor – supposedly a role model – giving him ideas about firearms. That is a choice the boy will have to make for himself, when he's older. For his own part, Batman wants nothing to do with the weapon. He doesn't need it.
Cain sets another case in front of him. "The revolver's a great choice, Bruce. Reliable in any conditions, which is important when you're in the jungle. Still, if you want something with more firepower…" he opens the case. Batman looks down at the tricked-out SIG 9mm. Ported barrel, Tritium sights, extended magazine.
He shakes his head, watching Katana test the balance of a new fighting knife.. "Not interested, Cain."
"I understand you don't want to use lethal force when you're upholding truth and justice," Cain answers. "But you're not fighting crime today. There's no telling what's out there, and you should be prepared."
He nods toward the rest of the group, who have all slung rifles over their shoulders and strapped various handguns and knives to their belts. Still Batman shakes his head. With a grunt of impatience, Cain tosses the pistol to Robin.
With the exception of Katana, the rest of the group freezes. Any conversation stops abruptly as all eyes turn to the Dark Knight. A steely look in his eye, Batman starts forward; his fists are clenched. For a silent moment, the Bat and the Assassin stand toe to toe, eye to eye. Cain smiles slightly, while Batman's face remains expressionless.
"Fine. I'll take a rifle in case of animals." Batman turns to Robin. "Find a holster for that, and a couple spare magazines."
Robin quickly does as he's told, as the rest of the group waits for Batman's next move. Ignoring their stares, he sorts methodically through the remaining weapons. After a few minutes spent inspecting his choices, he selects a heavy-barreled AR-10 and attaches four spare magazines to his utility belt. As he shoulders the rifle, the others finish stowing their equipment.
"So," the Green Arrow asks, "are we here to do a job? Is that what this is?"
Batman shrugs, but Cain nods. "That's my best guess. We just have to find out what it is. I suspect whoever brought us here will let us know soon enough."
The last part at least Batman agrees with, as do the others.
Suddenly Deathstroke cocks his head, listening intently. "The jungle. It's gone quiet."
Everyone stops to listen. Not a sound anywhere. The treetops, the undergrowth – birds and monkeys and whatever else have gone completely silent. Not even the rustle of movement.
Then a new sound breaks the stillness. Horrifying in its awful strangeness, yet with a somehow familiar tone. A bestial roar, or a snarl in the distance. The sound carries, repeated by multiple throats. All at once, the team recognizes the meaning in the alien chorus.
A pack is closing in.