Knock knock knock.
Slide.
"Password?"
"You're really going to waste my time with this?"
"Password or I can't let you in, pal."
"Janus is Judgement."
Slide.
Click click clank.
"You're good. Come on in."
"You Gothamites are pathetic." Drakon beat his shoes against the floor as he stepped in, glancing at Robinson Park, standing across the street like a miniature forest for a moment. "You get these stupid themes in your heads and make yourselves so damn predictable."
The doorman, a tall but round man, chewing on a toothpick, looked him up and down. "What the hell are you doing responding to the call then?"
"Good money. My last gig ended a bit too prematurely, and I've heard Dent is paying double right now." Drakon shared the doorman's examination, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses at the two halves of black and white suits he was wearing crudely stitched together.
The building itself was a well-lit studio, statues and paintings covering the walls and floor, naturally displaying various dichotomies. To the right were classically-styled frescos, imitations of Grecian marble statues and a wall painted an almost irritating shade of white. To the left the wall was painted in black, surreal, violent images hung in their frames and the sculptures took on a sharper, more dangerous look. Drakon muttered something to himself his guide didn't hear.
"The boss is upstairs."
"Second floor right?" The contempt in Drakon's voice was audible.
"You hate this city so much, why'd you come here?" The chubby doorman led him to the stairs.
Drakon didn't reply, and the two walked to the second floor, silent. When they came to a second door they were present with another door. The chubby man fumbled around in his coat pocket for a key and cracked it open just enough to peek his head through. "Sir, we've got that guy you asked for."
"Good. Send him in." The voice within was gravely, but not quite the uneven snarl Drakon usually heard described.
The door gave way to another room, decorated much like the first floor. Drakon noted a replica of David to his right and a severely damaged replica, maybe Egyptian, to his left. At the end of the long room paintings of roses, white and red, decorated the two sides of a figure standing before an imitation of a relief from Waltham Abbey, depicting the two-faced god Janus.
The figure, dressed the same as his cohort, flipped a coin as Drakon approached him. "I heard you killed your first man when you were a child."
"And I heard you on the TV, you don't sound the same in person," Drakon said and stepped closer.
"Prison cells. Always add some unwanted reverb," the figure said.
Drakon continued to muse as he stepped closer. "Why the hell would the hair on the back of your head be bleached? I thought that guy hit you in the face."
"Dyed, actually. I like to stay consistent."
Drakon stood only a step behind him now as he continued to flip the coin. The tiny click of the door locking behind them was just barely audible. The man flipping the coin slid a hand into his jacket.
The hitman thrust his palm into the back of the figure's head and he shouted, not as gravely as before. A pistol hit the ground as the dazed man was swiftly trapped in a headlock at his side.
A bullet rang through the room, Drakon turned and faced the man at the door. "Bullock, right?"
"How the hell did you know?"
"The real Two-Face would have had at least two guards, wouldn't he? That was my first suspicion." Drakon tightened his grip, holding the imposter toward Bullock as he stooped and stole his gun. "You think you can outdraw one of the world's finest hired hands then, Lieutenant?" He looked down at the lookalike in his lock. "How young did you say I was when I first killed somebody?" The room was silent for a few seconds aside from the grunts and struggle from Two-Face's duplicate. "You gonna unlock the door?"
Bullock and Drakon shared a glare for a few seconds before Bullock slowly lowered his gun. "Take it easy. We don't want any trouble."
Drakon remained in place another few seconds before moving in a whirl, pointed the gun at the painting of Janus and unloaded several rounds. The painting, revealed to just be a large, printed poster, tore at each side as Angel and Robin ran out from it. Bullock's support kept Drakon flanked on three sides.
"You must have thought I was some kind of idiot," Drakon said and returned the pistol of his captive's head. "That I wouldn't know the difference between one of Gotham's most annoyingly insistent acts and a police sting."
In each of Robin's hands was a batarang, Angel had a hand to her sword. Still, the imposter struggled. "Somebody wanna give me a hand here? Any time now!"
"Let him go," Angel said.
"Your fight is with us," Robin took a step forward.
"Let him go easy, pal. Or you're never seeing the outside of his room again."
Drakon didn't give any attention to all of the noise. Above all else he was concentrating, waiting on one sound above all of the rest. His singular single to act. No one else in the room heard the drawstring as it was pulled back, but it was all Drakon was waiting for.
The assassin ducked. The blunted arrow flew through the air and hit Bullock in the face, knocking him to the ground in a shout of pain. Green Arrow tore aside the shredded remains of the poster and pulled back another arrow, but Drakon had already thrown his captive toward Bullock. He ran to the right, backhanding Robin out of his way and jumped through the window. The three vigilantes approached the broken glass as Drakon ran toward the park across the street.
"Damn it all, best laid plans, am I right?" Bullock grumbled.
Robin and Arrow went directly for the window after him, but Angel stepped closer to their imposter, still on the ground, and offered him a hand. "Are you all right?"
His whole body shook as he accepted the hand. "I… I guess… I'm sorry I screwed it up."
"Man had a gun to your head," Bullock slapped him on the back. "You gotta be in Gotham a long time before you're used to that." He looked up at Angel. "You waitin' on something, kid?"
She turned toward the shattered window and said, "Take care of him." And followed her companions, grappling hook to break her fall and all. When Angel reached the park, Robin and Arrow were already waiting on the outside.
"Took you long enough," Robin said.
"In another circumstance, I'd say it was too dangerous to split up," Arrow said. "But I think communication is good enough and we can at least hold our own. Don't fight him by yourself, find him and then call out. He's not trying to win, he just wants to get away. No one's paying him to kill us."
Nothing more needed to be said, and the three rushed into Robinson Park. Angel reflected on the many times she had pursued criminals into its small forest. The studio they used for the sting really had belonged to Two-Face at one time, and was considered prime real estate among the criminal population for its proximity to the park for a quick disappearance.
Her head was elsewhere and it hurt. The exchange with Sadie was still at the forefront of her thoughts, though she hadn't said a word about it to anyone else. Every few seconds she reminded herself to keep her mind of the mission, but it just kept drifting away.
A small part of her noted she didn't use to have this problem. It used to be much harder to focus on anything but the task at hand, but that now seemed like a lost art. She wondered if she'd lost any of her effectiveness since she found God and Sadie.
The park's center was almost pitch black at night. She paused, briefly, with every few steps at the sound of rustling leaves before concluding it was just the wind. Squirrels and birds chattered through the trees overhead, but still no sign of the assassin they had tried to corner.
"No sign of anything yet?" Arrow asked over the transmitter.
"That's what the silence means, yes," Robin said.
"Sheesh, Batman really is the good cop when you two go out, isn't he? Anything on your end, Angel?"
Angel put a hand to her ear and said, "Nothing."
"He's very good at this. There's a reason he's made it through fights against two Green Arrows before. Just keep your eyes peeled for—"
An open hand was thrust out from a tree at Angel's side, grabbed her by the face and smashed her into another old oak. Without time to react, a second hand grabbed ahold of the transmitter in her ear, tore it out and crushed it.
"Well, you are supposed to be the quiet one, after all."
Angel got ahold of the one hand he held her with and wrenched herself free, now face to face with Drakon in the dark of the park. The fight was underway without a moment of hesitation, the first punch on both sides set the mood, neither combatant was giving this anything less than everything, a force sufficient to kill a weaker opponent.
Angel was largely on the defensive, she weaved around this punches and blocked whatever she couldn't dodge. Even when Drakon hit her forearm instead of her face, the pain was still intense. Meanwhile, Drakon's own body shape seemed to resist any pressure point strikes she threw, either that or he'd built up some kind of resistance.
Between the cover of night and Drakon's years of experience, Angel struggled to read his movements, leaving the blows that did land missing their mark and largely buffeted. Punches to the head only brushed with the cheek, shots to the body went off center. Drakon's strikes remained consistent, rattling her brain with any shot between the eyes and causing bruises when his fist hit her armor. At least, judging by the grit of his teeth, that feeling was mutual.
Between a flurry of strikes, Angel could see the glint of a knife Drakon pulled from his jacket, and made it to her sword quick enough to catch him in a clash.
"Come on, kid, is that really the best you can do?" Drakon laughed. "Or does Gotham's reputation really precede it?"
Given much more time in control, Angel was sure Drakon would get enough control to end the fight and escape. She didn't like what she was about to do, but she knew she couldn't let Drakon escape.
She broke the blade lock, kicked the knife from Drakon's hand and went on the full offensive, pounding at his muscular body over and over. Not every attack landed, some were blocked and Drakon met many of her attacks with his own. But more importantly, Angel forced the pain into the back of her mind. She was going to be very sore later, but in that moment, all she had to do was outlast him.
Within a minute of mutually accepted strikes, Drakon began to slow down. He hit harder, but Angel's quicker attacks were swiftly adding up to a lot of damage. His fists were denting her armor and the shots to the face left her seeing stars. Still, nothing would slow her down. Drakon's heavy hits lost their frequency, his body started to shift, his balance about to give way.
"Why won't you fall?!"
"You first."
Angel shuffled forward and delivered a last front-snap kick to his chin, the hitman at last hitting the ground with a pained groan. For a moment, the fight seemed to be over. The park went silent as the pain slowly sank in.
"Thank you for not disappointing."
Angel looked up, only faintly recognizing the voice before Drakon shouted and growled in pain. A figure in pure black, barely visible, stepped on his hand and Angel could only guess he was looking directly at her. Once again, as if from nowhere, the man with the scars and blonde hair took his place at his side.
"You." Angel took her stance and clenched her fists and retook her stance, wincing as she tried to force the pain away again.
"Settle down, little Angel, I'm not here for you," Lipov looked toward Drakon. "I have a question for your pal here."
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Drakon demanded.
"A man who's sorely disappointed you didn't remember him," Lipov said. "But more importantly, I'm wanted to buy some flowers."
Angel had waited long enough. She rushed toward Lipov, but in a black flash the Odmience cut her off with a strike to her already dented chest, knocking her to the ground. Lipov grabbed ahold of Drakon, pulling a gun from the inside of his coat and pressing it against the assassin's head.
"Flowers, Drakon. I want to buy some flowers."
"Are you kidding me? You're making that demand with a gun to my head?"
Angel knew this sounded familiar, somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on why. And either way, she couldn't let him proceed. She drew her sword and swung at the Odmience, who threw the attack to the side and thrust his blade's handle into her face, another blast of the concealed pain revealed itself.
"I got a dozen of bitter gourds twenty years ago," Lipov said. "Are they still in style?"
"Twenty years?! You're going to ask me about twenty years?"
Angel clashed with Odmience again and threw a kick at his side, but he outmaneuvered her and returned the favor.
"How about this then?" Lipov said. "I'm ordering for a very special woman. She likes quiet nights out on the town. What should I buy for her?" The grip on his gun tightened. "I wouldn't want to cancel this order.
Angel threw a last punch. Odmience accepted it to the face and didn't even seem to move, then thrust her into his knee and threw her to the ground.
"… You want to buy that woman a dozen musas," Drakon said. "And you didn't hear that from me."
"Much appreciated." Lipov hit Drakon upside the head with the butt of the gun and dropped him. "Odmience! My zakonchili."
Angel had pushed back to her feet, trying to keep her breathing stable as she faced her opponent one more time. Three whoosh sounds filled the air, one of them making Lipov shout and keep over for a moment, a pair of dull arrows colliding with the trees behind him.
"Angel!" Arrow yelled rushing to her side and pulling back another.
"Why the hell didn't you call?" Robin was only a few steps behind.
Lipov looked between the three of them. Odmience's stance said he was more than willing to fight, but Lipov shouted, "Odmience! Teper'!"
The two retreated into the darkness, the night shading them as they ran. Arrow fired at them a few times before they vanished completely. Then he held Angel's shoulder and tried to keep her stable. "Are you all right?"
"Sore tomorrow."
"You're just letting them go?" Robin shouted. "Fine, I'll get them!"
"What would he have wanted with Drakon?" Arrow said.
"He wants David… my father… something about flowers," Angel said.
Robin was about to start running, but stopped and turned to her. "Ordering flowers? Do you not know what that means?"
She shook her head.
"I guess you wouldn't, really… it's code talk. How assassins refer to other assassins." He stepped over to the other two. "When you said he was hunting your father, I thought he was probably some kind of outsider. Like Cain was hired to kill someone he knew… but he knew the flower codes, huh?"
"Do you?" Angel asked.
"Not by heart. Father has some of their old codebooks, but they change every year." He looked toward the direction the two had run. "Usually you use it to hire someone. But he wants to call a killer just to kill him personally, apparently."
"Go," Angel said.
Arrow looked to her, "What?"
"Follow them. Try to catch them. I will be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"You just fought Drakon one on one," Arrow said. "I don't know much of anyone who would be fine after that."
"Go after them. You have to."
Robin didn't need any more convincing, and took off in their direction. Arrow led her to a strong old tree and gently led her to the ground before he stepped over and cuffed the unconscious Drakon. "I'll call the police, see if Tim and Steph can come give you a hand getting back."
"Thank you," Angel said.
"Sure you'll be all right?"
"Promise. Go."
Arrow gave her a last nod before running in Robin's direction. Angel gave a last sigh and rest against the tree.
