The darkness of sleep was devoured by the first blast of light and the sound of shuffling about. The young one in the bed fought the light with a raised hand, but could not ignore the commands to rise. The injuries still hadn't healed all the way, but he had grown anxious in the last week.
"Vstavay. Perestat' tratit' vremya."
Russian. Lipov was warning him.
The Odmience rose from his bed and clutched his bandaged ribs. His broken arm had recovered, though some pain seemed to linger no matter how long had passed. Stiffness, more than anything else. Every day since his recovery began the sounds overhead tormented him. They were faint, but different hums and rattles still penetrated the deep underground he and Lipov always returned to.
As the Odmience pushed off his bed, Lipov nearly forced his uniform into his hands. He hadn't worn it since the night the girl had captured him. Despite his recovery time, even touching it again made him uneasy. Lipov wore a blue pullover and had a matching hat sitting on a table near his laptop. The makeup he'd applied before waking the Odmience left him a little paler than his natural tone.
"Ladit's ney." Lipov was growing more aggressive. "U nas segodnya napryazhennyy den'."
The Odmience, completely naked save for his bandages, stepped into the uniform of pure black and slowly worked the suit up his body. Lipov stood with his glare like fire until he hesitated a moment with the uniform up to his neck. When he did so, Lipov closed the distance, grabbed the neck of the costume and pulled him close enough that the Odmience could smell his breath, which somehow stank of sweat.
"Nie zawiedz mnie ponownie."
Polish. Lipov was not to be trifled with then. The hood was over the Odmience's face as fast as he could pull it.
Lipov's glare softened, he raised a hand and strokes the side of the Odmience's face. "Good boy." He took the zipper on the back of his mask and slipped it shut. "Good boy." Lipov pulled back his hand and slapped the Odmience across one cheek. The apprentice didn't react, Lipov motioned and led him toward the exit.
Everything still ached. His cheek, chest, arm and especially his head. The Odmience wasn't sure he had recovered enough to go anywhere, but he was in no position to fail Lipov again.
Beyond all else, the word Rafal still echoed through his skull. It seemed like a lifetime since he had heard it, but every memory still made him sick.
The Odmience couldn't remember a moment of his life before Lipov, if there had been one at all. In spite of any efforts at imitation, he could never emulate any sounds from the mouths of anyone he encountered. And for the first ten years, he had only ever been, "Odmience." Only for a few short months, years ago, had he ever known anything else.
It began before dawn in Boleslawiec. The two had traveled through much of Europe over the years, but Poland always seemed to take a lot of Lipov's attention. It had been three months since their arrival and they were leaving again within a few hours.
Lipov sipped wine in the kitchen of Danshov Georgiy, a high-ranking Bratva member who laid dead with a snapped neck in his den. Odmience stood by the fireplace, gasped for breath and vomited.
"Time was good. Your constitution's still pathetic." Lipov downed the last of the wine in Georgiv's glass. "You're going to keep at it until you get it right. If you have to kill Cain on his deathbed in thirty years, so be it."
If there had been anything left in the Odmience's stomach, he'd have vomited again. Georgiv was his fourth kill, and the first time he'd killed more than one man in a year. He never imagined the act could disturb him so. One of his earliest memories was Lipov pulling a knife across a man's throat. The way the man, a blonde with a ponytail, hit the ground, blood staining his white shirt, body overwhelmed with convulsions, slowly stopped moving was forever burned into the Odmience's mind. But somehow, witnessing a kill was nothing compared to being forced to do it himself. The way their bodies stopped moving, the way everything just stopped, the Odmience didn't even understand it, but every act tormented him.
Lipov crossed the den to a pack he'd tossed aside when they'd arrived. "Get changed. We have a train to catch." He pulled a small package out of it and threw it to his apprentice.
The Odmience took only a few more seconds to breathe, but Lipov was never patient with him.
"Sdelay eto." Lipov
The time for recuperation was over. The Odmience unzipped, peeled off his costume and slipped on the clothes Lipov provided: a pair of pants and a turtleneck that kept the scar around his throat covered.
Lipov opened the packet: a box of makeup. "Hand."
The Odmience put out his hand. Lipov rubbed off some of the foundation and adjusted the coloring a bit before he went to work smearing it over the scars that covered the Odmience's face. Within minutes of the kill, the two could pass as an innocent father and son just passing through the city.
The two had passed through Boleslawiec many times, the Odmience had learned the paths in and out of the city by train years before. Lipov had said they were heading for Dresden, which meant a stop in Zgorzelec, with a cross over the Bobr river viaduct partway through. The Odmience had observed the way time and again. A tiny plan had come to mind with each journey, but he always snuffed it out for fear of its failure. After that night, however, the idea was at the forefront of his mind.
As if to compensate for the Odmience's still-fractured body, Lipov lifted a lot of the night's weight. Lipov had been making phone calls and researching Gotham's inner-workings on a computer in the corner of the hideout for as long as the apprentice had regained consciousness. Lipov's plan involved a truck, the Odmience would ride in the back of it while they went wherever they were going. The Odmience could almost always understand what was being asked or commanded of him, but Lipov limited his communication largely to commands. Even if the Odmience heard something not intended for him, he didn't usually understand well enough to comprehend what he overheard. The extent he understood was that he'd failed and probably attracted some unwanted attention from his target's allies. Lipov felt it was time to seek some assistance.
"I didn't care about the girl before," Lipov said. "She was just a tool for punishing the son of a bitch. But she nearly killed you." Lipov laid a hand on the Odmience's shoulder as they approached the exit. "She'll pay for that. I'm sure you can't wait to repay Cain's spawn for what she did to you."
The Odmience dared not push the hand away. Though he couldn't grip the full meaning of Lipov's words, he couldn't shake the feeling of contradiction.
As the Odmience and Lipov boarded the train for Zgorzelec, the younger poured over his thoughts hundreds of times. The Odmience had no understanding of distance, Lipov never permitted him more than a few feet from his sight. All of the Odmience's attempts to run ended in failure. He was not confident in his plan, but the thought of being forced to kill again made his gorge rise. The boy didn't know how many times Lipov planned to put him through it, or when they would finally face the "David Cain" Lipov always raved about.
Throughout the train ride the Odmience kept his eyes on the window. Lipov always sprung for emergency exit rows for the extra legroom. Lipov sat in the spot closer to the window, as if he anticipated the Odmience's plan. The master sat back with his eyes closed, though his student knew better than to ever believe he'd fall asleep. Lipov looked as if he was daring the Odmience to try something just so he could punish him for it. Still, the boy's eyes remained on the window. It wouldn't even be two hours to Zgorzelec, but it felt like days before they reached the bridge he waited for.
The Boleslawiec Rail Viaduct was one of the longest rail bridges in Europe. It stood over twenty-six meters above the river and ran for four-hundred ninety meters. To use it as a means for escape was beyond dangerous. But then, so was every additional moment spent with Lipov.
Boleslawiec remained on either side of them. A small forest of trees and the train was all that kept the Odmience from returning. As the bridge entered his periphery, the boy took a last swallow and stared at the window. They were only seconds from the viaduct and it would only be a few more before the train made it to the other side. If Lipov was feeling ambitious, he could jump off and follow him back into town.
The last seconds came. It was then or never. The boy lunged for the escape lever. His fingers gripped the handle, he began to pull back.
Without opening his eyes, Lipov grabbed the Odmience's outstretched arm. The look he flashed was like a dog barring his teeth.
"Syad'te."
The Odmience thrust himself toward the window as he forced it open. Already other riders on the train were turning toward he and Lipov. The master pulled him back and pushed his small body against the seat in front of them.
"Syad. Te."
The Odmience pushed and kicked. From the corner of his eye he could see the bridge fast approaching. He only had a few inches to go. All he had to do was reach the window, tuck and roll. Escape was so close—
"Usiądź!"
Lipov's Polish only made his reactions more extreme. Usually they forced him into an uncomfortable still, but not that day. The chance, maybe the last chance, would slip through the Odmience's hands in a few seconds. The student gripped one of Lipov's hands and bit the side with all his strength. Lipov shouted. The boy's mouth filled with blood. The bridge was just outside the window. The Odmience jumped.
His perfect tuck and roll could only do so much when the child's body flew out of the train running over thirty miles per hour. His entire body was overwhelmed as he scrapped down the hill against the grass and toward the trees surrounding Boleslawiec. The turtleneck had helped mitigate a little more of the damage, but cuts and bruises were already forming all over his body. It took a few seconds for the Odmience to even register everything that he had done. When he pushed up, a chipped bit of tooth slid out of his mouth and stars shined before his eyes. It was a minute before he remembered his purpose as the train approached the opposite side of the bridge.
When the thought of Lipov jumping out of the train struck the Odmience, he forced himself up from the grass. He had somehow survived phase one of his plan. Now he had to retreat into Boleslawiec.
The Odmience rode in the back of a large truck, surrounded by bags of flour and boxes full of cans and bottles of other foodstuffs. He couldn't see it, but he was sure Lipov was constantly looking at him in his rearview mirror to confirm he hadn't tried to run off. It had been years since he'd made any attempt, but Lipov never trusted him. The truck was silent apart from an occasional shift in the containers when Lipov drove over a bump. It was so for over an hour.
Lipov only broke the silence to mumble, "Get down," when they reached their destination. The truck went silent again save for the truck's creek to a halt. "Evening officer."
"ID?" The voice was that of an older, rugged man.
The Odmience couldn't see Lipov well, but he could make out the pass of a card. The man on the opposite side of the truck mumbled something the boy couldn't hear and said, "Go ahead."
After a few more minutes of nothing but car sounds, Lipov parked. At the Odmience's feet was a gigantic, empty burlap sack. With a nod from his leader, the Odmience sat atop the open sack and clutched his knees to his chest. When Lipov came around to collect the rest of the food. In his already-warm costume, the heat was overwhelming, the boy hoped he wouldn't be waiting long.
The doors in the back of the truck were opened. Lipov made some undiscernible small-talk with someone else at the back as objects were loaded onto a cart. Eventually, the Odmience's bag was lifted and loaded on with the rest. With a tiny squeaking noise, they were closing in on their destination.
"Stay pretty quiet around here?" Lipov could adapt to a number of dialects surprisingly well when he cared to.
"We don't get the real weirdos, they're up at Blackgate," the other man said. "This place is pretty much the most normal part of the city, I've always thought. The girls here have made some bad decisions, but they've still got their wits. Least that's what I think."
A little more silence between them followed. Doors creaked open, the wheels on the cart slid against the floor.
"Sorry about this, but I've been holding it since we left town. Is there a bathroom on the way to the kitchen?"
"Sure, sure. Down this hallway here."
The cart turned, the Odmience turned with it.
"Protocal says I need to accompany you in. Sorry about that."
"Rules are rules," Lipov said. "Lead the way."
The Odmience sank deeper into this hold. He knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and braced for the worst.
A door slid open, the cart rolled over a small threshold.
"You uh… You need to bring the cart in here?" The other man asked.
There came a shink and a slash. The Odmience heard the gasp loud and clear, but was sure it didn't make it past the door. There was a slam as his body hit the ground. The Odmience sat up enough to confirm what had taken place and saw Lipov as he was at work stripping the body before the blood was cold, shifting his character from delivery driver to women's jail guard. The boy retreated back into the burlap bag, Lipov stuffed his delivery suit in with him and the cart began to roll again.
Within a few minutes the acoustics suggested the two had moved into a much larger room. It was mostly quiet, though some voices the Odmience couldn't understand echoed somewhere in the distance. With nothing but those far-off sounds and the rolling noises of the cart, the Odmience settled for a while. But then he heard the light tap tap tap of some material against iron.
"Jillian Miranda Fanning? Inmate A-141?"
"Hm? Wha… what?"
"Warden's called for you. Come with me please."
"Ha! Bitch you're in so much trouble!"
"I didn't do anything, I swear I—"
Then came the sound of the iron cell rolling open. "Now, Miss Fanning." Lipov said.
With more mocking from the girl's cellmate, the Odmience sensed her approach as Lipov slid the door shut and locked it again. Lipov turned the cart around and began back the way he had come.
"What the hell is this about?" The girl asked. "I told you—"
"Did you enjoy your little stint in that power armor, Miss Fanning?"
"I… what?"
"I read all about it. You and your friends were overwhelmed by the Batgirl. She snuffed out your fun rather quickly, didn't she?"
"What are you getting at, creepshow?"
"Do you want to pay the Batgirl back for how she humiliated you?"
"Of course I do. But what does—"
"I'm putting together a little team, Miranda." Lipov said. "We saw your antics, and I believe your skills could become something incredible with a little more direction. Do you like the sound of that?"
"… I mean… they confiscated my suit. I'm already serving a jail term right now, trial's not for months? What are you gonna do, break us all out? Richie's still in the hospital—"
"All in good time," Lipov said. "That little team of yours, what name were you using again?"
"… The Reapers."
"I like it. I like it a lot."
"So where are we going now then? I still don't even know who you're supposed to be. If they catch me they're going to make it even worse—"
"I wouldn't worry about that now," Lipov said. "You can tell them you were just my captive. Your friend with the sonic gauntlets, where did she end up getting placed?"
"Tracey? I think she's in Cellblock G."
"Perfect. Let's pay her a visit."
Early one morning in mid-May, a single nun made her way to Saint Raphael's Church along the western edge of Boleslawiec. There had been talk of someone potentially vandalizing the old church, and the sisters took turns helping to clean up the mess after Father Nils confirmed there was no perpetrator to be found. That morning the task fell with Sister Mary Katya. Sister Katya was a tall, round woman in her early forties, and she always enjoyed the short walk to the church to contemplate and pray.
When she arrived at Saint Raphael's, there was a note waiting for her near the baptismal font. Simple statements and instructions from Father Nils that he had a quick errand to run and there were, again, random pieces of litter scattered in the downstairs kitchen, stolen from the church's charitable stock.
"Bless whatever soul has to steal like this." Sister Katya shook her head and descended the stairs. When she had made it halfway down, she froze, as if she had just heard something. After a few seconds she continued downward, listening carefully. There was something there, light like a scurry.
"Father Nils?" She called down as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Is that you?"
There was another quick shuffle and then it was completely silent. Sister Katya noted the broom and dustpan leaned against the wall. She at first grabbed the broom and held it as if it was a weapon, but quickly dropped her guard and muttered, "Father, forgive me." She cleared her throat and called out, "Are you the thief?"
Nothing came from the kitchen. The nun approached it with caution.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I'm not even going to stop you. I only want to help you."
Still no new noises came. Sister Katya passed into the dim room and flicked on the light. There came a very faint crinkle from the pantry in the corner.
"I don't want you to go without," Sister Katya said. "I don't want you to be afraid. I'm only here to help."
She approached the pantry and hesitated a moment before touching the handle of the door. She didn't know if the figure within would be aggressive, if they would strike when she revealed him. But with a small prayer for strength and comfort, Sister Katya opened the door.
The tiny body within collapsed before she could even see his face. Without so much as a choke or a gasp, the boy clutched Sister Katya's shoes and sobbed.
Sister Katya didn't know how to react. The boy's cries overwhelmed the prayer-fueled thinking when she opened the door. He stank of sweat and urine, his clothes were caked in mud and grass stains. When Sister Katya knelt and held up his face, she was taken aback for a second at the scars and scratches that ran all over him. As soon as she removed her hand, the boy began to sob again. Sister Katya did not know what to make of him, did not know where he came from or why he was there. All she knew was the lord must have guided him out from a horrific place. Going with nothing but feeling, the nun set a hand on his back.
"It's all right, son. You're safe now."
