Roy followed Jason to the scene of the crime. They had waited on their motorcycles for the police to leave, and it was almost night before they got anywhere close. "Batman and company should be in Gotham by now."

Jason grunted in reply.

"Should we call?"

Red Hood scoffed, almost annoyed. "Don't call. You only call if there's an emergency. Checking in isn't something Batman does." Jason paused for a beat, considering. "He's got a good system."

Arsenal almost tripped over his own feet. "Are you admiring him?"

Jason turned swiftly in Roy's direction and glared. Suddenly, he heard laughing and looked frantically in every direction, pulling out his gun. "Do you hear that?"

Roy listened intently. "Hear what?" he asked, but pulled out an arrow anyway.

"That laughing," Jason replied, searching the rooftops. The laugh seemed to be all around him. It wasn't the Joker's laugh- he knew that like he knew the back of a crowbar- but it was maniacal all the same, and he tightened his grip on the gun.

"Hello, Red Hood," a voice said, and it replaced the laughing rattling around in his brain. "How are you feeling?"

Jason growled and kept looking around wildly. Roy followed Jason's movements, but he couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary.

"I hope you've figured out by now, Jason, what I'm trying to accomplish here." The voice gained volume; his head was pounding. "I hope you know what exactly is going to happen to you."

"Hood," Roy said, "is this the time when I should call?"

"No!" Jason yelled. "Don't call. We don't need him."

"That's a lie, Jason," the voice said smoothly. "You need him to protect you, to love you, but it's much too late for that. Old enemies have paid a lot of money for your head, and you'll be one of my favorite kills."

"Deathstroke," Jason spat. "How are you in my head?" Roy was still confused when he heard his comm link beep. "Don't answer that!" Jason yelled. It was getting hard for him to keep moving. He really needed to lie down. Or punch something. His eyes closed, Jason breathed slowly through his nose.

"The drugs have been pumping perfectly through your system, as you can hear," Deathstroke laughed. "Crane can do wonders when he has the right incentive." The voice became an echo; Deathstroke, wherever he was, was getting closer. "Since you'll be dead soon, and I'm going to get a lot of money for your corpse, I'll have a little fun with you sharing some secrets."

"Why-"

"Why you? Why the deception? That's an easy one, Hood. As for the motive, the crippled drug trade in Gotham was willing to pay anything to see your pretty helmet as a trophy on their wall. Now, from our last get-together, I realized that the direct approach doesn't really work. The best way to get to you, Jason, is to pretend I'm gunning for someone better."

"Makes sense," Jason said grimly, but then gasped as every memory of Dick, every memory of feeling inadequate flashed through his mind. He landed harshly on his knees. Roy ran over and picked him back up. Jason leaned heavily on his teammate.

"Another perk to the drug, which has just a hint of fear toxin in it for good measure, is that you're extra perceptive to my voice coming through a modulator at just the right decibel. Which means if I bring something up, your mind responds in the way you just experienced. Because here's the other thing I know about you: you may be in peak physical shape, but your mind is about 70% gone."

His violent psychotic break after the Lazarus Pit came back to him, finding out about his replacement hit him like a ton of bricks, Batman's abandonment, Sheila Haywood's betrayal, every night spent crying and screaming in a dirty apartment in Crime Alley, every motorcycle ride that took him to the edge of Wayne Manor made him drop the gun and start hyperventilating. "Call," he wheezed out. "Call!"

"It's too late for that, little boy. I've been working at your mind for a while now. This is just the end."