"They are knocking now upon your door

They measure the room, they know the score

They're mopping up the butcher's floor

Of your broken little hearts"

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "O Children"

TWELVE HOURS EARLIER - GOTHAM JUNIOR/SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL

If there's one thing I know about teenagers, it's that they're absolutely terrifying when they want something. At the moment, it was the bag of Starbursts I dangled from my hand like a carrot before a horse.

"Alright, listen up," I leaned against the desk, restrained in a straitjacket other people called a business suit and tie. The bandage on my branded cheek itched like the slow crawling of time towards lunch, and I gave the bag another teasing shake. "Who can tell me what 'The Cask of Amontillado' by Edgar Allan Poe was about?"

I'd only been subbing this class for a week, but I could already tell that these kids were about to frenzy over these Starbursts like sharks. The minute the question was out of my mouth, hands sprouted into the air. One extra hand caught my attention. Jonas in the back, was a kid that was a lot like me - loved to read, didn't much like other people knowing it. He hadn't talked before in regular class, but he was in detention with me often enough. He knew I wouldn't judge him for reading the literary anthologies I gave him.

"Jonas, what've you got?"

The boy was tall, knobby-kneed, and dark. I could only just see his eyes under the afro. "It's about revenge, sir. Montresor-" He said the name like it was spelled 'mon-dresser'. "He thinks that Fortunato screwed him over somehow, it ain't explained or nothin'. But he thinks that he screwed him over, so he's trying to get him into the basement to kill him."

And that's the power of teaching and Starbursts. Even the street kids learn Poe. I tossed him a pink Starburst, and winked. "Great job, Jonas. Alright, that's what I'm talking about...Show of hands, who knew what the Latin at the end meant?" I lifted my hand, scanning for others. "Nobody knew?"

I put the bag of Starbursts down on the desk, and explained. "Well, it's sometimes translated into Italian, but it means 'rest in peace'. See, the ending of the story was about revenge, but it's also about penance. Kinda goes with the good and evil unit that your usual teacher is assigning you, having you read stories about moral problems. These problems are in our everyday lives." I pointed to each kid and let the silence ring out. "All of you have choices to make. Hard choices. And only you can make 'em. What kind of person are you going to be?"

I turned and came around the desk. I grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote 'Montresor' and 'Fortunato' on the board. "A lot of people automatically assume that Fortunato's innocent. He's simply lucky, hence the name. Fortunato, in Italian, means 'fortunate one.' Take someone like Superman."

I drew an 'S' in between Montresor and Fortunato on the board. "Who do you think Superman is more like, Monty or Fortunato?"

I heard mostly Fortunato, until one person said Montresor. It was Jonas again, in the back. I quirked a smile. "Jonas, why do you say Montresor?"

"'Cause Superman could kill, he just don't."

Another student, a redheaded girl in the front, scolded him. "How could you say that? Superman's a good guy. He saves a bunch of people, and he's standing up to that dickhead Lex Luthor. He couldn't kill."

"Watch your fuckin' language, Marissa," I said, the class erupting in snickers. I tucked the stick of chalk behind my ear and crossed my arms. "Well, Jonas, what's your response?"

Jonas's cheeks flushed with all of the eyes on him, but he scratched his hair and then said, looking at his pencils. "Well, he's got laser vision, X-Ray vision, super strength, and can fly - I'm preeeeeetty sure he could kill Lex in a second if he got mad enough. And he's an alien, not a saint. He's been livin' here forever, or so he says, so he must've picked up something. Plenty of people do stupid things, mean things, even kill people. Even if he's a good guy now, don't mean he can't be a bad guy later."

"Exactly," I looked at the class, and offered a smile. "None of us are all one thing or all another. If you do a bad thing, there's consequences. Yeah, Montresor buried a former friend alive over an insult that he never identifies, if one ever happened. Bitch might have made it up for all we know." The class laughed and I knew I had them hanging on my every word. "But it's the choices that define you. The heroes we put up on a pedestal have done great things, I won't dispute that. But they've made mistakes. Same with the villains. They're human - well, most of them. The good things don't erase the bad, and the bad shouldn't overpower the good. It's a balance. Your job as young people is to recognize those mistakes and learn from them, improve yourselves. Everybody can have a second chance if they want one, and if they work for it."

I flinched when the bell rang, and the scraping and sliding of chairs ended the class for me. I gathered my papers, and called out, "Alright, alright, push your chairs in and enjoy your lunch."

Jonas was about to go by, but I stopped him on his way out. I leaned against the desk, "Good job today. Great participation. See? Told you they wouldn't judge you. If you know what you're talking about, they have no choice but to take you seriously."

His eyes grew three sizes when I handed him the bag of Starbursts. He held them in his hands, and I recognized the tremble. He was a street kid. A street thief. Might have something to do with how skinny he was. "You sure, sir?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. But share - give everybody the yellow ones."

And off he went into the hall. I stared out at the sea of empty chairs and sighed. I erased the chalkboard, loosened my tie and rolled my sleeves up. The scars shone silvery against my skin, but most of their black magic was gone. I had to cover them for the kids, but I didn't have to cover them against myself anymore.

"Never would have thought you'd be good at this."

I knew the voice, and heard the door shut as he came into my room. I sat behind the desk and started sorting homework between the classes. "Alfred was teaching me Keats when you were still wetting the bed, Replacement."

Tim's three-piece put my cheap slacks and button-down to shame, with Ray-Ban sunglasses and a pair of gloves covering a metal hand straight from Victor Stone. He had even grown his hair out, into a military cut that still kept him from looking entirely businesslike. The nickname I had for him didn't phase him anymore. "I never wet the bed…" He watched me sort homework for a second, and then asked, "You sure you don't want a better job? I know you wanted to support yourself with something other than laundered blood money after you sold the tanks, but…"

"If I wanted a better job," I stood with a stack of homework in my hand and walked to the folders in the back. "I'd have one. I'm overqualified for Wayne Enterprises, and Lucius already has one too many survivor's guilt poster boys, Tim, he doesn't need me."

"My job is merely advisory, to look after Bruce's interests and occasionally to close deals. You know that," Tim shrugged, and reached into his coat. "Not why I'm here, though. I'm here about our rooftop ventures."

"Find that asshole that nearly plugged you in last week?" I walked over, hands on my hips to check out the Wayne Enterprises envelope he was unfolding.

"Actually no, but I will," Tim opened the envelope to take out pictures of what looked like a scope to a sniper rifle, and manufacturing schematics for bullets I didn't recognize. Not a good sign. "These were stolen from Wayne Enterprises late last week. The scope is comparable to Deathstroke's, but the lenses are made from alien metals, which enables them to see through bulletproof and even bombproof walls."

He pointed to the tip of the bullets, which had a symbol scrawled next to it. "Recognize that?"

I squinted, and lifted Tim's hands to see closer. "...Is that a Red Lantern symbol?"

"Yeah," Tim said, and I could hear the apprehension in his voice. "The bullets' tips are made from the same material that goes into a Red Lantern ring. I talked to John Stewart to confirm. He said that Red Lantern rings are specifically designed to penetrate any barrier with enough hate and anger...whoever stole these bullets is out for blood."

I scrubbed a hand down my face. "...Jesus. What the hell are these things doing in Wayne Enterprises? I was under the impression that it wasn't a weapons company."

"Really? You wanna go there? Have you forgotten where the Batsuits and Batmobile that turns into a tank come from?" I didn't appreciate Tim getting snippy with me, but he had a point. "There are tracers on the bullets and the scope, they haven't left Gotham. They've actually been moved to Founders Island."

"Why there?"

"...because those bullets are the only things strong enough to penetrate the walls around Lex Luthor's office," Tim said, putting away the pictures and the envelope. He crossed his arms. "With election day next month, he doesn't have much time to waste on Gotham, but he knows that the Red Hood hangs his hat here."

I grumbled, and the suitcase of guns I kept by my desk looked really good about now. "He's right to take precaution in my city...no wonder construction's taking so long. So let me guess. You want me to be Wayne Enterprises' errand boy and get it all back for you?"

"I mean, unless you're too busy discussing Shakespeare…" Tim teased, "I've even got a few ideas of sweeteners for the deal. I know a favor from you doesn't come cheap."

"Civility doesn't come cheap from me, my dear Replacement," I leaned against the desk and ran a hand through my hair, white streak sprayed black. "I'm listening."

"I'll throw in a penthouse in Miagani Island."

"Keep dreaming."

Tim took off his sunglasses, and hung them from his breast pocket. "Jason, that place is barely holding itself together. You still haven't fixed that hole in the engine bay."

"I like my firehouse," I said. Something tightened in my chest as I added, "It's got something cozy about it. And I've been meaning to fix the hole, it's just I haven't had enough spare sheet metal to fix it with."

"You've been meaning to fix it for a year," Tim said, "Let me do that on top of the sweeteners."

Business meant sometimes getting what you don't want. Some say the same thing about compromise. "Fine. What else do you have?"

"You get to keep the scope," Tim wasn't going to let me anywhere near bullets fueled by anger. "And depending on who it is, do what you want with the thief. The police don't have eyes on this."

"Scope and the bullets or no deal." Hardball.

"Like hell I'm going to let you have those bullets."

I smirked. "Seem to have no problem with me near enough to steal them back for you. Five bullets. For special occasions."

"Two." Tim sometimes thought about the estimated number of people I hate the most. He still counted Bruce.

"Four." I countered. He estimated wrong. "You keep forgetting Harley and Scarecrow. The old man isn't on that list anymore."

"Fine." Tim sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm probably going to regret this, but...I suppose I know where you live, so there's that. Four bullets are yours by the end of it. And I patch the hole."

"And I do what I want with the perp."

"Right."

I grabbed my lunch bag from beside my suitcase and sat down at the desk. I unrolled the top of the brown paper, and started pulling out tupperware. "Nice doin' business with you. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

He slipped his sunglasses back on, and moved to leave. I was about to crack open the orange soda when I heard him ask, "Who's the fourth? The fourth person you'd use a bullet on?"

"Talia," I drank a long swig of orange soda and let it fizz in the back of my mouth before I swallowed. "She took precious memories from me while I was held by Falcone...made me feel like I was going to lose the one person who believed in me. I plan to make her feel the same before I kill her."

"You suck at this game."

I rolled my eyes, the gravel on the rooftop digging into my stomach. Stakeouts were a lot like long road trips: if you didn't have a game to play, you were bored out of your skull real fast. And I'd already blasted through my limited library of audiobooks. So what must I resort to?

"Can we play something else?" I asked, my mask fixed on a thermal scan of the top five floors of the LexCorp tower. "Six Levels of Separation is fun, but it gets old fast."

Barbara usually suggested a different game, but tonight, she had been quieter. I was about to find out why. "...Actually, I need your thoughts on something."

"Work or personal?" I scanned the other rooftops surrounding the tower. Nothing. I slid a hand down my side to my snack pouch, and fished out the whole grain crackers I'd been saving.

"Personal," Barbara said, and there was a long pause.

I furrowed my brows, tearing open the pack of crackers. I tapped the side of my mask, and the front pushed forward about an inch so I could eat and do surveillance at the same time. New modification I'd fixed. "Babs, just tell me...Whatever it is, we can handle it."

"Even if it involves Dick and Tim?"

I stopped mid-chew. I picked a piece of cracker out of my teeth. "...This about your feelings for Dick and not knowing where you stand with Tim? Y'know, that thing you should resolve real soon."

"I...actually resolved it ages ago."

"...What?" I squinted into the mask, checking the floors. Nothing. "Define 'ages ago.'"

"About a year. It was...before the final push against Falcone."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Hello pot, this is kettle." Barbara sighed into the comms line. "Listen, I'm just going to say it out loud...Dick and me, we...we kissed. It was right before the battle, right after you'd called in to say that you were on your way to Gotham. And...he was about to leave. He said that he couldn't promise that all of you boys would make it. That any one of you could die that day…"

Something tightened in my chest as she was talking, and I did my best not to think of dawn. "...You kissed?"

"Yes…"

"Have you told Tim?" I had to ask.

"No, I-"

"Barbara. It's been a year." Barbara Gordon was a genius in every other aspect of her life, but...with relationships, she and I were in the same boat. I hunted for words in my head. "...Barb, you have to tell him. You guys have been off and on for a long time. He's been waiting. For you."

"But what would it solve?" Barbara asked, exasperation in her voice. "This is what I needed your opinion on. What would it serve if I told Tim? Dick and Starfire are still inseparable, and they're in Bludhaven together. Attached at the hip. It's not like Dick would leave her for me."

"He'd know the truth, for one thing," I pointed out. "...He's an irritating little shit to me, but he deserves that much from you for how he's treated you. He's been there. You wouldn't have anything to hide from him, and you could be honest with him...Do you care about Tim?"

"...Yes, but…" I heard a tapping that I assumed to be her nail against a key. "I care about him like that ex you still think about sometimes and know he'll always be there, but he isn't...the one, you know? You know you could be with him, and you know you could be happy. It's just that there isn't the absolute...it isn't like it is with Dick."

"...I know, Barb…" I rubbed the back of my neck, which was starting to ache from the position. "I know it isn't. I've known you and Dick since I was a kid, and…" I had to ask the hard questions now. "...Has anything happened between you and Dick since then?"

"...We talked about the kiss. It was a month later, at that victory party we threw."

I didn't go. There wasn't much to celebrate. Falcone might be dead, but Talia was still alive. And the cost had been too greedy for my liking. I stayed home and drank myself stupid. "What'd he say?"

"That it was a 'heat of the moment' type of thing, and that if we were happy with other people, we should stay that way. He asked me if I was happy with Tim, like...like he might change his mind if I said no." She sounded so tired. I made a mental note to swing by the Clocktower before I went home. "I didn't answer him. I said that I was sick of lying, and he agreed. He was too. He looked at me, really hard. Like he might explode if he didn't kiss me. You know?" I grunted. I'd felt something similar, once. "And just when I thought he might, I said I was happy. I didn't say with Tim, but...I said I was happy that he and I were still talking, that the four of us were a team, and that you're better."

I scanned the rooftops again. Nothing. I licked my dry lips. "Then what?"

"He smiled," She sighed into the comms line. "That smile that just…"

"Lets you know you'll be okay?" I offered, and felt myself smiling as I remembered the time that Dick spent with me after I got back from the airport that night. "Like no matter who or what hurt you, that it was going to be okay because even if there were a thousand pieces to the puzzle, he'd help you put them back together? Didn't matter if it stayed. Because Dick Grayson had your back."

"Yeah," She said, "Then he left. And I cried."

"Why didn't you call me, Babs?"

"You were hurting enough, Jason." Her voice was soft, gentle as her hands. "I didn't want to set you back."

I searched for activity. Nothing. "...I could've used the company. I could've taken care of you. The way you took care of me. I would've dropped everything and gone to you."

"My hero." She said, and I heard the begrudging grin from her. "But..that's enough of my troubles. How are you doing?"

"Staying busy," I said. Something caught my eye on the top of the Queen Industries building across from LexCorp, a bit of movement. Oliver, that better not be you. "Trying to keep the crates closed."

"When was the last time you listened to her records?"

"Last week." I brought up my gauntlet, and hacked into the Queen Industries rooftop surveillance. Someone was up there, keeping to the shadows. And something metal glinted off the lights as it turned. "When was the last time you checked on her?"

"This morning," Barbara said, and there was something heavy in her voice, but I wasn't paying much attention. I had my eyes on a possible bogey. "She had coffee with Lois, and was given an assignment by White regarding the Metallo attack two days ago. She was safe, don't worry, but she's been taking the tougher stories since she's been promoted."

"Good for her," I meant it. I was happy that she was succeeding in Metropolis. The more ties she made there, the less of a chance she'd come here.

"Jason. I know you miss her-"

"I don't." A lie. "She distracted me, jeopardized our entire enterprise last time, and honestly, I got too attached." A lie, a lie, and the truth. A truth I didn't regret, but still a truth.

"Her leaving hurt you, I get that, but don't you think you're being a little too hard on yourself?"

"Her leaving was the best thing that could have happened, for both of us," A pair of red eyes peeked out of the Queen surveillance cameras, and I recognized them. Infrared binoculars. They were pointed at LexCorp.

"You fell in love, Jason, it's not a fault."

"I did not fall in love with her," Another lie, a fatter one that made me shiver. "And she wasn't in love with me. We became friends, that's it. Good friends that got too close and dangerous. She was helpful in getting rid of Falcone, that's it."

"That's the excuse you've been giving me for the past year, but I know you, Jay. You loved that girl and don't try to deny it." I hated it when she was right sometimes. I really did. I wanted to rip my helmet off and throw it away. Chuck it in a dumpster. "You were hung up for weeks after she left. You fought every night and didn't bother to patch yourself up after, Alfred found you crying. I can't even remember the last time I saw you really cry. You'd cry her name out in your sleep. Jason. You loved that girl. You loved her so much. It's normal and okay to be heartbroken."

"Fine! So maybe you're right." I let out a groan of frustration that was half the realization that the guy I watched was readying a grapple gun, and half the realization that Barbara was onto me. I got to my feet, and got out my line-launcher. "But this ain't the time to discuss this, Barb. Possible suspect on the move."

"Alive, Jason. Alive."

"Whatever," I said, and fired the launcher. I saw something like a spider's web glint in the light as it stretched to the tower. I kept a hand on the launcher as I zoomed the binocular function on my tactical hood. "...The hell?"

The guy hung from what looked like a bow, zipping along the line into the tower. I braced my legs as my boots impacted the window, and shattered when I rolled to a stop. He was just down the hall, and I saw what held the line. An arrow.

"Oliver?" I called out as I got to my feet.

Something shuddered in him, and his hand reached back in a flash, before I ducked behind a desk to avoid arrows. Not Oliver. My fingers found my guns, and I shot back at him, smell of gunpowder coming in through the mask's vents. More arrows whizzed through the air, and one landed an inch by my foot. The arrows were red.

I'd heard about Oliver's archer prodigy, only through rumor among co-workers in crime. Apparently, the guy had been trained by native Americans...I suppose some truth could be lent to the idea. I tried to peek and get a better look, but the arrows he kept firing kept me dug down behind the desk. "Listen, dude, why are you after Lex Luthor? I might be on your side."

"Shut up!" He shouted back, and his voice sounded...young. Maybe just older than Tim.

An arrow thrummed with vibration as it stuck to the wall above my head, but then it started to whir, a ticking noise before I had to move. I holstered my guns. I kicked the desk on its side and used it as a shield as ran at him. Arrows punctured the wood centimeters from my hood, but something thudded against the desk. I tackled him to the ground with the desk on top as the arrow he'd shot exploded. A chunk of the wall tore out, and a weird part of my brain reveled in the mental picture of Lex Luthor writing a check for reparations.

I drew my fist back and punched through the wood, splintering the desk. I found a fistful of his gear, a deep crimson leathery material, and pulled him through the hole. Long loose strands of ginger hair and a few dreadlocks fell over his face, and against his pale skin, a green tattoo trailed down his right arm in a sleeve. Blood ran down his nose onto his lip as he seemed unconscious.

Seemed.

His head lifted, and I caught his green eyes filled with amusement as he reached back for an arrow, and stuck it in my chest armor. He pushed away from me and backtracked. I stared down at the arrow wedged in my armor, and then back at him flatly. "...You done, Robin of Locksley? Doesn't work."

The edge of a smile curled his mouth. "Wait for it…"

And then he bolted down the hall. Before I could pursue him, the crackling started and I felt the armor get bone-chilling cold. I wheezed as it constricted my chest, my hands clawing at it. I saw it freeze over, and start to spread to my arm before I peeled the chest plate off. His laughter echoed off the walls as he rounded a corner, and I tore after him. "Get back here, you little shit!"

My zip-kick nailed the wall ahead of me and threw me round the corner, catching his ginger hair as he glanced over his shoulder. He notched an arrow and shot at me, the fletching brushing past my shoulder as I dodged. He called back, "Give up, you won't stop me!"

"You even know who you're talking to?" I reached to my belt and flung shuriken at him, which missed and dug into the wall as he turned. I didn't slow down as I grabbed them from the wall and threw again, banking the corner.

He yelped as two nailed his shoulder, and his hand clawing at his skin. There was a ding, and I saw the elevator at the very end of the hall open. He dove inside, rapid-firing arrows through the opening so I had to take cover behind a table in the hall. I peeked around the corner when the arrows stopped, and saw him wave when the doors closed.

"Son of a…" I jogged to the door, and took a breath. I checked the hall behind me to make sure it was empty before I crammed my fingertips into the seam of the elevator doors, and my arms sang as I finally felt some give. The dark elevator shaft opened up, and I pushed the doors wider. The lip of the other door across the gaping shaft was at least eight, nine feet away. A bead of sweat slithered down my face.

No time for hesitation. I hooked my fingers over the doors, and thrust myself across the gap, tapping the button on my gauntlet. I drove the spikes into the metal shaft with both forearms, and sparks ricocheted off the tactical hood as I slowed to a stop. I looked up, and scanned the elevator going up in X-Ray. He was moving, but there was a shimmer to his form, like the gear my men wore over a year and a half ago to block detective vision. Someone did his homework.

I unhooked a gauntlet from the wall and reached for my grappler, nailing the floor of the elevator. I zipped up to it, and clipped the line to my belt, slipping my knife out of its sheath on my thigh. I dug it into the floor and cut a hole, sawing the metal. My arm burned, and when the patch fell through the shaft, I unhooked the grappler, put it back on my belt to climb through. The guy had his back to the corner of the elevator, his brows together and his mouth screwed into a frown.

"I'll admit, you are one determined dumbass," He said as I took the second to catch my breath.

I still had the knife in my hand. "A dumbass that isn't gonna let you get on with whatever you're doing without knowing why."

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes. He pressed a button on his bow, and it straightened, the string disappearing. He put it in his quiver like it was any other arrow. Instead, he reached for his own knife he kept in his boot. He held it with the knife pointing out.

"Don't tell me you like Luthor," He said, but I already knew it wasn't animosity that drove this. I could hear it in the shake with the name.

"I don't," I said as we circled each other, "Odds are, I might want in if you tell me what you're really doing this for."

"You wouldn't understand." His jaw was tight.

I smirked. "What? He steal your comb?"

He shook like he might charge, but at that, he snorted and busted up laughing. He reverberated off the walls, his back against the side with his knife in his hand as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Soon, his giggles infected me and I found myself chuckling. "Did you like that one?"

"That was freakin' great," He said, and then lowered into a stance. He was still grinning, "'Did he steal your comb?' Jesus Christ."

We lunged at the same time, our metal clanging as we went at each other like wolves. My knife tried to swipe him in the same arc his just missed my neck, and I had to admit. I hadn't seen someone this good since sparring with Deathstroke. He fought like a native, like he was trained by a plainsman. Maybe he was.

He snuck his blade under the strap that held the thinner layer of kevlar beneath my chestplate, twisted it to bring me closer so he could knee me in the gut. I doubled over, but used my grip on his shoulder to pull one of the two shuriken out and stab him with it in the thigh. He groaned, before he sliced the armor strap and I barely had time to catch the light flashing off the metal before it drove into the side of my tactical mask.

The display went dark.

I sheathed the knife and patted my hood, trying to find the release. I heard the doors swoosh open, and him calling, "You're alright, man, but I can't have you following me."

When I finally found the release button and thrust my hood off, I whirled to see him at the end of the hall beyond the open elevator doors. His bow raised, an arrow notched. "Nothing personal."

A lie.

He loosed it, the arrow singing until it struck the wall behind me before the elevator doors shut. I tried to jam my fingertips in the door like before, but then the arrow started to whir as three beeps sounded.

Roy Harper felt the blast before he heard it. He felt the vibration in the floor, just a moment before the boom. A brief wash of regret chilled him; he didn't know the Red Hood from shit, but he'd been nice enough, even funny. But he couldn't let that distract him. He approached the offices, and let her face flood his mind, his ginger hair bouncing as he jogged.

He couldn't stop. His lungs heaved from all the running he had done, from all the running he had yet to do, and the quiver bumped against his shoulder blades all too like a baby carrier. He wondered what she was doing at his cousin's, whether she was drawing or playing with her toy dinosaurs.

When he got to the offices, kicked down the door and told the secretary that if she moved, he'd put an arrow in her eyes, he wasn't just making an empty threat because it's what any other crook said. He was making a plan for himself if they hurt his daughter. When he said that if she told anyone she'd seen him, that he'd kill her family, he wasn't going to make good on that promise. He was repeating a threat made to him about a year earlier, when he held his crying girl to his chest as her mother was killed before his eyes.

He knelt by Lex's desk beyond the secretary lobby, pulled out the bomb from inside his quiver and began to arm it. He had memorized the code when he couldn't sleep. He could have armed the device drunk with time to spare. But before he could input the final digit, he heard a voice from the door. Heavy breathing.

"Listen…I just want to talk."

A shock of black hair with one bloodied white streak matted to his head, the Red Hood was pale and filthy, half his shirt blasted off his body and his bare hands raised, palms out. He didn't look impaired or injured at all, but he did favor his side as he stepped forward. His blue eyes pierced Roy something deep.

Even if his hands were raised, Roy knew a cowboy when he saw one. Hood's hand would be on that gun the second he touched the keypad. He straightened and faced him, readied his bow. He saw the blue eyes widen as Red Hood saw more of his face.

"What do they have on you, man?"

It was then that something cold dripped down his cheek. He said through his teeth, tears clouding his vision. "I don't have a choice, okay?"

"Let me help," Hood said, and he stepped into the office beyond the secretary lobby.

Roy knew what he was doing. He was protecting the secretary. It was noble.

"I know the look of a guy with no choice," Hood was saying, and when Roy lifted his bow, he stopped. "Okay, okay, I'll stay right here." Roy nodded, sniffing. "I know the look of a guy with no choice, y'know why? Because I used to be that guy. I thought I had no choice and I did, and I didn't know it until it was too late to take it back...Let me help you avoid that, alright?"

"I can't," Roy repeated, his fingers trembling on the bow. "Don't you get it, I don't have a choice! They're gonna kill her if I don't!"

Hood's eyes got even wider, and a muscle tensed in his neck. "Who? Who's gonna kill her?"

"I can't say. It's my daughter," Roy bit his lip, and took a haggard breath. "They're gonna kill my daughter if I don't blow the roof off this place."

"Listen to me carefully," said the Red Hood, his shoulders squared. He dropped his voice so only they could hear, "The only security cameras in this office are the ones in the hall outside. The ones in here haven't been installed yet. You have to blow this bomb for them to know you've done your job, right?"

Roy stared at him, and swallowed. He nodded. "It has to be done. It's a message to Luthor, a kill card for what's to come and a frame job."

"...For who?"

Roy's eyes never left the Red Hood. "For you. They knew if anyone made a go for this place, it'd eventually attract your attention. But I'm blocked from your detective vision and the security cameras will be replaced. But they'd recognize you. The idea was to frame you for the assassination attempt, to pit you and Luthor against each other. If I did that, I'd get my daughter back."

"Okay, let's start with this: I hate Lex Luthor as much as the next guy, but I refuse to be pegged for the assassination of a guy I don't like if I wasn't the one who planned it," Red Hood seethed, and Roy saw the guy's hands fidget for his gun. "Second, you'll never see your daughter again if you don't follow my instructions. You're gonna leave the office with the secretary, and take her into the hall. You're gonna go to your employers when the office goes boom, you're gonna get your daughter back, and then they'll ask you to wait for further instruction, right? Just to hunker down?"

Roy nodded, his face stark at what this guy was going to do. Hood went on. "You're going to go to the apartment buildings in Bleake Island, the one on 9th street facing the Clocktower, room four-one-nine with your daughter and whatever you need. You'll find a key above the doorframe. Wait there for me...or are you still going to shoot me full of arrows like an asshole?"

Roy lowered his bow slowly, and his eyes searched the other man for falsehood, pity, even a lie. "Why are you helping me? I just tried to frame you."

"Got a soft spot for clueless kids, dumbasses, lost causes, and gingers." Red Hood marched back into the secretary lobby and wrangled the woman out into the hall. He snatched the detonator out of Roy's pocket, and fell to his knees by the bomb. He studied the wiring, then asked, "What's the last digit to arm the explosive?"

"Seven," Roy said, "...What's your name?"

"What are you still doing here?" Hood said, glaring up at him. "Get going."

Roy huffed, going to the door but still turning to ask again once his hand was on the knob.

"What's your name?"

Red Hood smirked over his shoulder as he armed the bomb and stepped to the window.

"Rumplestiltskin."