AN: Okay, so this is a really short chapter, and it's really late. I'm sorry - I've been having a bad time with my mental state lately, and so I haven't really felt much like writing. Hopefully, it's just a phase, and I'll sort myself out soon, but please don't be too mad if the next chapter takes a while. Thanks to Chaseha-Wing, teenagejustice, kaito kitsune, and LittleEvilAngel for the reviews - I appreciate it. Anyhow, hope you enjoy...


Stray

Okay, time to re-think aborting my recce of the surrounding rooftops – that looks rather a lot like a body to me. I close the distance in a few easy leaps, and my suspicions are confirmed. Poor kid. Well, kid is probably taking it a little far: he might not have been that much younger than me, from what I can make out. I guess there's just something about the way he's been laid out that makes him look incredibly young at first glance… Call me sissy, but I find it kind of creepy when killers take the time to arrange corpses as though they were sleeping.

I lift his wrist in a last-ditch attempt to find a pulse, but I'm not at all surprised to confirm his status as deceased. After all, with knife slashes like that in his stomach, I wouldn't exactly expect him to be particularly well. Actually, those wounds are a little odd. I lean closer to get a better look. Yup, no doubt about it, they're kris wounds. But why would anyone who had any idea what they were doing decide to slash at someone with a weapon that was designed expressly for stabbing? I mean, it's just daft… Apparently effective, but not logical. One more point on my list: I'm not that stupid.

I brush the dark curls away from the boy's face and frown at him behind my helmet. What did he ever do to deserve this, I wonder? If this is supposed to be an imitation of me, it's a bad one – I've never killed anyone who didn't do something to deserve it. Never. And, whilst I'm not exactly proud of some of the things I've done, I can still count myself one hell of a lot better than whatever sick fuck has decided to start killing kids on my turf.

I jerk away from the body slightly as a soft thump from behind me announces that I'm no longer alone on the roof.

"Jesus, Jase, what happened?" Ah. Timmy. I relax again.

"Someone doesn't know how to use a kris, apparently." Isn't it wonderful how I manage to constantly sound like an uncaring bastard at murder scenes?

"…Would this be a bad time to tell you Bats has decreed that I have to stick with you until this" Tim gestures slightly uncomfortably towards the body I'm kneeling beside "mess gets sorted out?" No house arrest? I guess Bruce has more faith in me than I thought.

"I can live with that: you're not bad company. C'mon, let's see what we can make of this before you call it in." I turn away from my little brother to search the body for ID, letting Tim deal with trying to find anything to suggest who the killer was. I find something in his back pocket – a shiny new driver's licence. He was Luka Andreivitch Tarasov. Russian father, at the very least, then… And only seventeen years old. Fuck it; I was right to call him a kid… I rest a hand gently on his shoulder and bow my head slightly. I'm sorry, Luka. I'll find whoever did this.

"Jay? I think I've got about all I'm going to get from here. It's not much, but we might be able to do some DNA cross-referencing back at the cave. You done?" Tim sounds hesitant, and I realise I've been staring at the body for a few seconds too long.

"Sure. Call it. Luka Tarasov. Born April 30th, seventeen years ago." I walk a few steps away while he contacts Bruce – I don't need to hear it.