[A/N] Yeah, I know. Super late. Sue me. But I'm trying to get back on track. We'll see.
Chapter Seven
The road was slick. The oil and rain fell into a dangerous pattern on the streets. Marcus watched the cars slide before stopping at the light. Red illuminating his shadow on the corner on Harlan Avenue. He pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders and adjusted his beanie. The cars rolled on. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wet brick of the alleyway. He kept one eye on the trashcan that held his stash under the lid and the other out for potential customers. It was thirty minutes later before he recognized a black and silver Rolls Royce turning the corner. It stopped at the green light, and Marcus stepped out of the shadows and off the curb, looking both ways. Clear. He was five feet from the open window when he heard a sharp crack reverberate through the streets. Something warm and wet splashed up against his face.
"What the hell?" He wiped his face. He looked at the car, noticing a hole in the windshield about the size of a ping pong ball. "Man, you've got some damage to your-" He stopped mid-sentence as he turned to look at his usual customer.
The driver of the Rolls Royce no longer had a head. There was a jaw hanging from what was left of his skull, but Marcus couldn't see much else. He tripped over the curb, stumbling back from the sight, and scrambled up to his feet. He passed out of the light and the scope of the man laying three blocks away and ten stories up.
Slade smiled underneath the orange and blue mask.
The rifle was broken down in a matter of seconds, and Slade was off into the Gotham night. The money had already been wired, and he was ready for the real reason he came to the crime ridden city-research. There was one incredibly good thing about Batman, just one, Slade surmised. The Batman had managed to acquire the most diverse, and insane, criminal gallery of any hero. And each one owed a debt of revenge for a certain little bird, too. One, in particular, was going to be helpful in his current endeavor, turning a robin into a bird of prey.
Slade slid onto his bike and raced off into the night, towards the overbearing shadow that was Arkham Asylum.
Robin watched, hands on his utility belt, as the bank robber waved his gun around the half demolished bank. The Titans hadn't been extraordinarily together on their attack formation, and Starfire had accidently flown into Cyborg and through a load bearing wall, bringing down a good section of the bank. He knew that his leadership skills were not at an all time high, considering he kept seeing the dead faces of his friends flash before his eyes, but even Batgirl could take down a cracked out bank robber without this kind of damage. Oh, what she would say if she could see him now.
"Look," He said, watching as the gun turned to focus on him now. "You're surrounded. Just put the gun down and put your hands on your head." Like that ever worked.
"You are most outnumbered." Starfire dusted building debris off her shoulder.
"Yeah, dude, just give it up already." Beast Boy stuffed a finger into his ear, cleaning it out.
"Give it up? Yeah, yeah. Sure thing." The robber chuckled a bit and released his grip on his gun, but kept his grip on his jacket.
Robin could tell his team was ready to pack this guy up. Bank robberies didn't really hold their attention anymore. They could usually just show up and that would be enough to stop it. But there was something about this guy that felt different, Robin thought, watching the man twitch a bit. He was a junkie, that was for sure. He could read that a mile away, but there was something else. Something about the way he was holding his jacket with his free hand. There was a bulge around his middle. He had something strapped to his-
Just as Robin was coming to a realization, the robber was moving his right hand into his pocket.
"Titans!" Robin shouted, leaping back. "Bomb!"
"Bomb?" Beast Boy shouted, diving behind Cyborg.
"Hey!" Cyborg shouted, trying to get a hold of Beast Boy.
"Focus, guys." Robin watched as Raven remained stationary behind the man.
"How-how did you know?" His eyes wide, he moved his jacket and revealed a large black package strapped to his stomach. There was a blinking green light on the front. "Nevermind. Stay back! Just stay back!"
"Alright, alright. We'll stay back." Robin held up his hands, but nodded his head towards Raven.
She began chanting quietly, trying for a feeling of calm. She was never good at emotions, but meditating helped her understand a sort of peace.
"What's wrong with her? What is she doing?" He revealed the switch in his pocket. "Make her stop. Make her stop!"
"Dead man's switch." Robin looked at Raven. "We've got to keep his hand around that switch so Cyborg can defuse that bomb." He looked at Cyborg. "You can defuse that bomb, right?"
"You're kidding, right? Of course I can defuse that thing." Cyborg snorted.
"Right. Okay, guys, let's keep him distracted while Raven does her thing."
"Friend Robin?" Starfire called out from her position. "I think Beast Boy has that covered."
In fact, while they weren't looking, Beast Boy had shifted into a fly and began buzzing around his face. The man had already slapped himself twice trying to squish him.
Robin put his head in his hands. "Titans…go." He muttered.
Slade looked up at the imposing building, seeing the lights begin to switch off in the cells. Arkham Asylum was going dark for the night. Just in time for a little visit to a certain inmate. He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a grappling gun. He had already made sure the security cameras were going to have a bit of a malfunction in 60 seconds, and the guards were never hard to bribe. In fact, for an asylum holding Gotham's most dangerous lunatics, Arkham was quite easy to break into. Especially with Batman on other business. The murder of a high ranking businessman involved in Gotham's golden boy's industry, Wayne Corp, was enough to garner Batman's interest. And if it wasn't enough, he had left a little present for the Bat just in case.
Time was up. He fired the gun and scaled up the side in record time. Ding. Floor 8. Home of the demented attorney with a serious coin fetish, a man with too much make-up and not enough brain cells, and, the man of the hour, the straw scientist.
His boots clicked softly on the stone floor, too quiet for anyone else to hear, except the inmates who became attuned to every sound out of place. He saw the glint of a coin toss out of the corner of his eye, and passed by that cell without a second though.
"Ooh! You're not the bellhop!" A voice cackled into the night. "This place has lousy service. See if I stay here again!"
Deathstroke ignored him. He knew that would only invite further comments on Jokers part, but he could really care less.
"So…whatta you say, ole one eyes, help a poor clown out?" He rattled a cup against the glass door of his cell. "Or at least donate for the cause. Some of us a too stingy with our money." He hissed the last part at Two Face. "For old times' sake."
"We don't have 'old times,' Clown." Deathstroke said, moving past the green haired man to the last cell. "Scarecrow."
A small form in the corner of the cell looked up at the sound of his name. A bag shrouded his face, and straw stuck out of his sleeves and neck. "Who calls the god of fear?"
Deathstroke rolled his eye. Seriously? "Long time, no see, Dr. Crane."
"Ah, the assassin."
"Ha!" Came a shout from the next cell. "Well, he certainly knows how to murder a good time!"
"You're just asking to be dismembered. Slowly."
"Gulp! Jeez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of creepy today!"
Deathstroke aimed his gun at Joker's head in the cell.
"Scarecrow. How would you like a day pass?"
The masked man lifted his head, revealing a hangman's noose around his neck, and a grin stretched across the burlap.
Harvey Bullock spent twenty minutes staring at what used to be Aaron Hardwick, Manager of Accounting at Wayne Corp before he reached for his spare donut. As usual, he missed the subtle entrance of the cloaked figure to his left. And, as usual, spilled his coffee when the figure spoke.
"Sniper shot."
"Jesus. A little warning would be nice."
Bullock couldn't tell, but he thought he saw the eye slits narrow a bit in the mask.
"Yeah, yeah. We got that from the scene."
"A professional hit."
"Or a really lucky amateur."
"Professional." The figure insisted, gliding past Bullock and circling the car. How Batman managed to still look threatening when looking at shards of glass, he didn't know.
"Well, we'll figure it out. It is our job, after all."
But Batman wasn't paying attention to the Detective, not surprisingly. He was examining the way the car sat heavy on the back tires.
"Pop the trunk."
"What? No. We're still waiting on the forensics guys. Don't want to ruin a print."
Batman reached into the car and pulled the trunk lever.
"Hey!" Bullock spat donut at him. "What did I just say?"
"Definitely professional." Batman said, opening the trunk. And definitely trying to get his attention. As if the Manager from Wayne Corp wasn't enough, the body in the trunk definitely was. Batman backed away into the night, anger etched into every inch of leather, while Bullock came around the back end.
He choked a little on the remainder of his late night snack when he saw what sat there. A man lay bound and gagged in the trunk. He was dressed in a costume version of Robin's uniform and had a bullet hole clean through his head.