Caracas, Venezuela

2:45pm

Enrico Guerrero looked behind his back once more for the seventeenth time before entering the bar.

He'd been paranoid ever since Ricardo had been killed. No Ricardo meant no protection. He was just another bossless thug who roamed the streets, streets of the people he terrorized. Anything could happen at this moment.

He was greeted with the distinct smell of whiskey, booze and cigarette smoke. He looked at his surrounding. Two white men sat at a booth across the room, a tall muscular black male appeared from the bathroom and joined them. His eyes too, had been watching him.

Guerrero nudged the idea of them being potential threats and considered that he was just paranoid. Fucking Americans. They were nothing but tourists looking for Venezuelan girls and liquor ten times their body weight. Get drunk. Get high. Have sex. Typical American life.

He sat at a stool, facing the bartender.

"Scotch. Olvide el hielo. "

The man nodded his head and went to fetch him the drink.

There was a brief moment of silence as the Latin music continued to play from the old radio that was rested on the shelf.

The former thug shifted his gaze to a rusty mirror hung up on the cement wall. When were they ever gonna clean these things? The place'd been pure filth. No wonder not many came here in the first place.

Even though it was an eyesore, something caught his eye.

He could've sworn he saw one of the American men watching him.

He rebuked the thought and accepted the drink once the bartender placed the brown colored beverage before him.

"Gracias."

"De nada."

It wasn't the bartender.

A masculine black hand slapped on the wood surface. Beneath it lied an American fifty dollar bill.

Enrico looked up nearly shitting his pants. A black man stood beside his stool, facing the bartender.

"Get me one as well. This time, with ice."

"I could've paid for it myself. "

"No. No you couldn't." He lifted his wallet to his face.

"How did you-"

"Enrico Guerrero." He threw the man back his wallet. "Thirty three years old. Wanted for eight homicides that occurred in the past six months. Former member of La Hermandad..."

The man was aback. "What do you want from me?"

Right then, the newsreporter chimed in the background.

"…just recently, investigators identified the body as Ricardo Mendez. Him and his men were found dead in the wearhouse location. What appeared to be a shootout was rather a bloody massacre…"

"That."

Enrico scoffed. "What business is that in it for you, American?"

"Was Marco responsible for the assassination?"

"Fuck off."

Enrico raised the glass to his lips. Before the criminal could take a sip, Hunter grabbed him by the collar. Guerrero grunted, nearly choking on his drink.

The soldier turned to the unsurprised store owner who, little did Guerrero know, tipped the man telling them he frequented the joint-especially in these hours-and that he had already taken a little…compensation for that information.

"We'll just be a moment."

"No hay apuro."

Moments Later…

Enrico's face met the clogged toilet one last time as Viper held down the base of his neck to the porcelain throne.

"Sad to know this was one of the joints you'd extorted money from while working for Ricardo." A white man with a thick beard and a baseball cap had his arms folded. "Or should I say sad to know you'd actually show your face here in the first place."

"Stay on subject, Kozak." Hunter spoke.

"So we're gonna ask you one last time." Viper removed his head from the piss water. "What happened that night?"

"We were ambushed." He breathed.

"No shit."

"No," Enrico shook his head. "Some kid. White. American. Barged in. Demanded to know what was going on."

"We need a name, amigo." Kozak was the one who spoke.

"I-I don't know his name." He gulped. "He was just there. Many of us suspected he was a decoy-working for Marco-infiltrating his way in to confirm he was there."

"How would you know?"

"The timing. It was just too coincidental. He came but then so did they. Minutes later." Guerrero said. "Then during the shootout, he was...gone."

"We're really gettin' at nothin' here, boss." Viper threw him out of the stall, he landed at Kozak and Hunter's feet.

"You sayin' we should just off him?" Kozak pulled out a small pistol.

"Wait!" He gasped. "He has-he has something I remember him by."

"What?"

"A scar! He has a big nasty scar on his left cheek that curves, you know like the letter 'J'?"

"The letter J? What does it mean?"

"I don't know. Drunk night with his friends? I have no idea."

"You're really fucking with us here, boy."

"Look, Marco has a hell of a lotta people working for him. Do you know how many gangs, criminal organizations, thugs that are out there? You gotta big fuckin' spectrum to chose from."

"You're right," Viper snatched the gun from his comrade and raised his pistol. "But we're going to make that spectrum one man smaller."

"Shit!" Enrico ducked.

"Viper!" Hunter cried.

"There's something else he's not saying." He protested.

"Fuck, okay!" Guerrero surrendered. "The Latino Gang. Another criminal organization that Marco controls. They have women-thirty two of them-that was brought here from the States. They were the women we were expected to receive."

"And where are they now?"

"Their main headquarters is in Maracaibo. I'm guessin' they got them locked up in some crate at the port." He said. "They're probably going to have them out on the streets by tomorrow."

"Thanks for your cooperation."

"Fuck y-"


South of Venezuela

3:00pm

Jason Todd's eyes opened to his disappointment as he realized this time, this all hadn't been some crazy dream.

Every sensation felt very real. The pain that still settled on his wounded chest, the slice on his arm thanks to Deathstroke. It told him it wasn't going anywhere. Not anytime soon.

He went against his body's will and sat up, his bare feet touched the wooden floor beneath him.

He'd been escorted by two of the soldiers to a room. Or at least that's what he'd like to think. The door was locked from the inside. Most likely guarded by more of the men. Obviously, they didn't want him going anywhere. From the looks of it, he was their most prized possession. Ranging from either being a potential assassin, to dollars.

Millions and millions of it.

It was decent. Nothing special. Twin size bed, nightstand, a large glass panel similar to what he'd seen while he was in the dining hall with Marco. The building been elevated no more than one hundred and fifty meters off ground, giving him a breathtaking view of the forestation.

The sun spilled over the thick virescent canopy the leaves provided. The Casiquiare was no more than a few miles away still reflecting a crystal bright radiance. A few hawks sung while dancing in the sky before the ascended sun, rejoicing in a new day.

For a second, Jason was in awe. For a second he felt…life.

But he knew this scenery wasn't going to be permanent.

"Good evening, handsome."

Jason almost jumped to the sound of the feminine voice. He swirved his body in the direction of one Geneva Kwayana.

"Did you sleep well?"

She'd been leaning against the wall once more, munching on a red apple. She was wearing a jumpsuit but this time, it was sleeveless with a thick black band spiraling down her left arm. The zip was pulled down enough to give him a perfect view of her breasts…

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Not long."

"Why the hell are you here?"

"Do you want a bite?"

"…No..."

"Suit yourself."

"Answer my question." Jason shook his head in frustration as he rose from the bed, exposing to the woman his torso in which Geneva happily ran her eyes across. Which then made him regret ever getting up in the first place...and thankful he wore sweatpants to bed.

"What do you want?"

"I was sent here to wake you."

"And I'm capable of doing that on my own." He turned his back to her. "Now get out."

Kwayana chuckled. "You really are one miserable soul, Jason." She bounced the fruit in her hand. "A good evening back or maybe a 'thanks for saving my ass' would've at least been nice..."

"I never asked for your help."

"But you needed it." She took a step closer. "If I hadn't stepped in, Marco would've never heard of you. He would've never given you that offer and Slade would've killed you and left your body floating in the Casiquiare by now." She crossed her arms. "It was the only way to keep you alive."

"Since when did you care if I lived?" He spun around."It's not like you left me for dead to the dogs back in Gotham."

"And it's not like I prevented Jenkins from putting a bullet in you in Caracas." She retorted.

Jason mimicked the face of someone who'd been reminiscing the past. "Oh yeah and that time you sent me to the basement to rescue the women," he said. "He kinda left me to burn alive down there."

"I agree he took it a little too far." She said. "But I wanted to see what you were capable of."

"So that's the reason you sent me?"

"Yes."

"You have a helluva lotta nerve, Geneva."

"If you'd stayed with Sam, they would've put a bullet in you too." She stated. "And with that comes a long lost runaway who is found and a Bruce Wayne mourning over a son that really died."

He hated it because she was right. Dick and Tim were there that night-if they had seen him, they would've alerted Bruce-dead or alive.

"What about you putting me in Slade's crosshair?"

"He never intended to kill you." The Guyanese woman spoke. "As you just experienced, he wanted you alive for interrogation. "

Geneva raised a hand before he could protest. "Look, Jason," her voice grew softer "I knew you were damn capable of getting yourself out of those situations in New Jersey."

"And if I hadn't?"

"Faith, Jason." She continued bouncing the apple. Her eyes trained on it. "I trust your instincts."

Internally, he cursed her then turned his back once more to reach for his shirt.

Right then, Jason knew it. He felt it coming. It was coming. The whistle of an object projecting its way towards him. He heard it. A sound only a trained ear can pick up. Years of training from the Batman allowed him to do so.

Without thinking, he turned around and caught the apple that was a few inches away from crashing to his face.

"What the hell?"

"You should too," She claimed while smirking. "Get dressed. You're wanted downstairs for a psych evaluation in thirty minutes. Standard procedure if you were worrying."

She turned and headed towards the door. Jason watched her from behind. There may have been many disagreements he had about her. But he could agree on one thing…

She had a nice ass.

"Open." The sounds of chains being unlocked were then heard as Kwayana stood by, smirking at Jason. She opened the sliding door and stepped outside to two armed guards standing side by side. She stood between them.

"Don't be late." She said before closing the door, leaving Todd completely alone.

"Psych eval my ass." He muttered. What else did they want from him?

Did they already think he was crazy?

Jason looked at what she left behind. It had only been bitten once, no signs of polyphenol oxidase at work. Meaning she was telling the truth when she said she hadn't been here for that long.

He ran his fingers along its smooth surface, its polished scarlet layer, its coolness against his warm, overheated skin. Juice leaked from where she had eaten, giving off its distinctive crisp, sweet, savory smell that traveled to his nose causing his salivary glands to respond, saliva seeped through his mouth; crawling under his tounge.

He noticed he was hungry. His stomach growled in anticipation of the food.

So he did what any irrational, hunger driven human would do and followed his instincts…

…he bit the apple.

A/N: Ahh the symbolism…

*Gotham City is located in NJ according to DC.