South of Venezuela
10:42pm
Geneva Kwayana just knew.
There was always that gut feeling, that instinct that told her. It was right. It was always right. And she trusted it.
She trusted it more than anything.
Recruits first day usually consisted of a normal psych eval. Hugo gets inside their heads and have them tell him their entire sob story within fifteen minutes.
But she knew what else lied ahead.
Recruits would be implanted with radio frequency identification chips-trackers that are used in the trade industry to identify and keep tabs on goods manufacturers sent overseas. Because it's no bigger than a grain of rice, it was the perfect device Scorpius sought to insert their recruits with.
But having a radio frequency meant it was capable of being rerouted.
She shashayed past the guards who didn't think twice to look behind them once she walked by. Geneva smirked not in satisfaction, but in comical amusement.
Men.
She slid through the door and stepped into the control room. The occupants already there didn't bat an eye upon her arrival. Most of them were typing away at their keyboards but some, once they saw her walk in, swiftly changed their screens. She walked over to one of the workers.
"Up," She gestured to a guard by raising an index finger.
The man obsequiously obeyed, getting up from his seat as quickly as possible.
She took over as she tapped away at the keys, her fingers moved swiftly and professionally across the board. Although, this could have been done by anyone who cared to know how.
He owed her for this.
The computer made a satisfying beep as the cursor moved itself to a different location. Geneva made sure she deleted all tabs and evidence before she leaned away from the desktop.
"Next stop, Jason." She muttered to herself.
"I will be getting the women early tomorrow morning." Luis Baez spoke into his cellular device to one Marco Torres. "I guess this is another successful shipment."
"Luis, mi amigo. Do I ever disappoint?"
"My men just came back down from Gotham city thanks to Black Mask. Felt that side mission Jenkins and the girl was able to pull off was plausible payback. The bastard still had a grip on the DA's office." Baez said. "But they're all kinds of levels of fucked up."
"Well you know. Costumed freaks and all." Marco replied through a puff of smoke from his cigar as he leaned back in his desk.
"Let's just hope they haven't spilled any info to the feds." He spoke. "Or to anyone else for that matter."
"I'm sure they've kept quiet. I doubt there are any traitors in our midst." He moved forward, staring at the picture of his newest recruit on his computer monitor. "Trust me, hermano."
"What's trust in a world of liars?"
Scorpius Military Base
Training Center
Ground Zero
10:55pm
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
"This is all your fault!"
"Dad, please. Dad please stop hurting me."
Slap.
"Words. Can't. Describe. How. Much. I. Fucking. Hate. You!" Willis shouted while beating the young boy to a pulp.
Punch.
Punch.
Kick.
"Willis," Catherine choked. "Willis. Please don't leave." She begged as she grabbed onto his leg only to be punched in the face, adding another bruise to her already bloodied and swollen face.
"Get the fuck off me, bitch!" He screamed. "I fucking pray to God I don't see that little shit or you again you fucking whore."
"We have a son, Willis," She cried. "We have a son!"
"…I hope that pathetic, mistake of a bastard rots where I fucking left him."
The six year old Jason Todd shivered in the dumpster as he heard the argument take fold. Tears poured from his eyes.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
"Mom, please…stop. It's killing you!"
Jason protested as he attempted to hold back her lithe pale arm with his inadequate eight year old strength. Catherine Todd instinctively backhanded her son, causing him to fall backwards.
She stood in shock, her meth-induced beamy eyes were now filled with trepidation. Her chest rose and fell. She swiftly turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting herself in for the fifth time that day.
"Why can't you see that I need you?" His voice cracked as he leaned on the other side of the door. "I thought you loved me…"
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Kick.
Punch.
"Mom?" Jason rushed in only to find the woman convulsing in the small bathtub, the needle still stuck in her arm. "Mom. Please stop. You're scaring me."
He shook her, thinking it'd help her snap out of it. Yet, her limbs continued to shake, life was being sucked from her eyes by the second.
Eventually, she just stopped. Her limbs fell with a thud, her body stiff and still. Nothing left but a carcass that once housed the soul of his mother. Even in her moment of freedom, she still looked trapped. As if there were an ominous presence that still possessed her body.
"Mom, wake up, " he sobbed into her bosom. "Why won't you wake up?"
Punch.
Punch.
Kick.
"Jason, I promise I'll be there for you. I won't let anything like that hurt you ever again."
Bruce leaned forward to him, he rested a hefty hand on the thirteen year old's shoulder.
"Just trust me."
The blows grew faster, harder, his knuckles were telling him to stop.
"Batman's not coming to save you, Jason." Joker's voice vibrated in his ear, his warm breath sent shivers down his spine.
"H-He'll come."
Punch.
Kick.
Punch.
Punch.
"It's been six months now, Jason. I think it's time to face the facts!"
Pow.
Pow.
Pow.
Pow.
"Batman. Never. Cared."
The depression of his fists in the punching bag became deeper.
"You're nothing! And you always will be!" Willis's voice echoed in his head.
Jason still persisted absentmindedly, his eyes were now glazed with lukewarm fluid.
"You were never a son to me, Jason." Bruce uttered before stepping out of the burning Manor, leaving him to die consequently.
Sand hit his eyes the next strike, a small opening formed in the fabric. He continued pounding until the material zipped open, the tan contents exploded everywhere.
He wondered if it was just fate or God telling him to stop his three hour work out session before he did more harm than good. He doubted both. He didn't believe in either.
Throughout this entire time, his head felt abnormally heavy, as if his thoughts manifested into actual weight. It felt like a ton. He grabbed his forehead, his sweat lubricated his palms. Everything felt like a blur. All he could recall this day was him being sedated by Hugo, having some crazy dream that ended with him being shot down by GCPD, then waking up on a hospital bed as if he recovered from some surgery.
They refused to tell him what they did. Nor was he in the physical or situational state to interrogate. He was told he managed to incapacitate four men while in some sort of a semi-conscious, hypnotical condition. He had to keep low. Already being on the wrong side with Slade and fighting with more people would prove to be fatuous on his part.
Placing his arm on the equipment and resting his head on it thereafter, he closed his eyes. It continued to trickle down his forehead as it tickled his nose and like raindrops, fell onto the mat. He panted through his mouth, releasing the marinated anxiety and anger.
He was the only one in the vast space that was known as the training room. Thankfully, the guards kept their distance. He figured that after the incident, the men were probably reluctant to want to guard an irrational, enraged teen who nearly killed four trained ex-militia with his bare hands.
Heels clicked from the distance, coming his way. Its sounds grew louder by the footstep. It allowed Jason to snap out of his brooding state.
"I knew I'd find you down here…"
Geneva.
The vision of her naked body molested his memory once again. He shut his lids tighter, thinking it would help shake off the unwarranted image. He cursed under his breath.
What now?
"How are you feeling?" Her voice introduced itself.
She was dressed casually: white blouse, form-fitting jeans and black high heels.
"What do you want?" He asked a little too harshly, masking the part of him that was slightly glad she showed up before he totally lost his mind.
Geneva nodded her head. "I take it that you're doing fine then." She crossed her arms, revealing a black duffel bag in one hand. "At least in your book. Usually the soldiers' first days don't go very well."
Jason began unstrapping the band around his wrist. "I'm sure."
She looked at the broken punching bag. Sand dripped from the tear in the center, piling up on the floor beside his feet.
"It looks like you need a distraction." She digressed. "Fortunately, we actually have a serious issue at hand."
"And that would be…" Jason crumpled the tape once he tore off the last piece.
"Get dressed." Geneva ordered as she threw the bag before him. "Meet me outside in five minutes. We don't have much time."
"What?" Jason asked "What are you-"
"I'll explain then." She said as she turned around. "Just hurry."
With that, she exited the room. Her heels muffled, its sound bounced off of the distant walls as she strode further away.
Jason took a moment to consider just what in the hell was going on. Was this another test? Another one of Hugo's mind games? If so, he'd be the last subject to be the most enthusiastic.
But it was nearly past his curfew and she did have a sense of urgency in her voice. As if she weren't lying. If this was real, he would be thankful. She was right. He needed to get his mind somewhere else.
He opened the bag and took out the uniform. Combat pants, black compression long sleeve shirt, throwing knives, smoke pellets, a semiautomatic handgun.
Todd inserted the magazine in the slot, jamming it down until he heard that distinct click. He then clocked the gun, the sliding piece of metal glided smoothly in his control then clacked back into place.
You don't need belief to know the truth, Jason. He remembered her say that night at the Docks while he was a mustard seed away from pulling the trigger.
"Okay, Geneva." Jason muttered under his breath while keeping an eye on the weapon. "Let's see if you are honest."
A/N: Honestly you guys, sometimes I feel like not writing anymore but crazy thing is: I STILL DO! I don't know why! It's like something in me just continues even though I don't want to. It's crazy. It really is xD it's like an addiction.
Thanks anyway people!
