Author's Note: Oh geeze, I'm sorry for the long delay on this chapter, folks! Life and work took over, and then I just had a pretty horrific writer's block. I know where the story is going, but I just wasn't sure how to get it down on the page. I think it hasn't helped that the Red Hood comic has been mediocre at best lately… but I finally buckled down and got this chapter done, and have started work on the next one. We're inching closer to the climax as all the pieces are coming together. Also, I got to use the Justice League Beyond universe Flash, who is a girl speedster, which is fun. I hope you enjoy, despite how long it has been! ~ Tsuki

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I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.

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Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 22/? (Beyond Broken: Chapter Four)

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Doctor Walter Richard Shreeve waits in silence. Well, he doesn't really have much choice in the matter—silence is all he can know without his suit. But this particular silence is pregnant with anticipation. He can feel the vibrations of doors opening and shutting in the Blackgate high-security-wing surrounding him. It radiates through the floors, sending information to his fingers. Someone is currently going from cell to cell—not every cell, certainly many appear to be skipped—and making their way slowly toward him. He carefully counts the minutes between each door opening and closing. About five to seven. Someone is questioning, searching for something, being careful.

By the time his own cell door slides open, Shreeve has adopted a posture of suave boredom—a posture he almost drops as he stares at the unfamiliar figure in his doorway. The man before him is tall and muscular, his fit frame covered in a black compression shirt and grey fatigue pants. The man's hair is streaked with silver and his right eye is covered in a simple black eye-patch. Shreeve tries to remember if he's ever seen the man before, but it doesn't take long for him to feel certain that he doesn't know him from Adam.

The man silently holds up a small, spherical node. Shreeve recognizes it immediately and doesn't even hesitate for a moment when the man presents it like an offering; he snatches it from the man's fingers and slips it into his left ear.

Suddenly the whole world clicks into clarity again. A roar of sound, a cacophony. The hum of the prison lights. The whir of the air-conditioning fan. The muffled yells of prisoners throughout the complex.

Shreeve finds himself sighing, taking it all in. "Lovely," he sighs. "Though I assume this isn't charity. Who are you and why are you here?"

The man with the eye-patch scowls, his one visible eye narrowing. "Who I am isn't important. But I'm here looking for information."

"I'd suggest a university library over a prison," Shreeve half-scoffs, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "Easier to get in and out of too."

"I doubt a university would have the sources I need," the man replies. "I'm looking for information about Batman. Specifically—who has it out for him recently."

Shreeve blinks twice and then smirks. "I haven't heard a thing."

The man doesn't look amused, but he mutters: "Funny. But irrelevant. My sources say you can read lips—and you're smart enough to know what information is valuable. So, do you know if anyone has been talking about a major move on Batman?"

Shreeve shrugs. "I fail to see—even if I did have such information—what benefit it would be to share it with you. You're a stranger who has offered me nothing. And please don't make some sort of plebian threat. Those, frankly, are beyond boring by now."

The man in the eye-patch is silent for a moment before saying, "You can keep the hearing aid. My guess is that it would be a tactical benefit in here if people still think you can't hear them…"

"A generous offer," Shreeve agrees. The hearing aid doesn't give him nearly the range of sound that his suit would, but the idea of hearing anything at all makes him nearly shudder in pleasure. But this is freely offered—if this man wants information, he'll have to give more. "I keep the aid and you tell me why you're asking about the Batman." The man in the eye-patch looks ready to scoff, but Shreeve holds up his hands and grins. "I promise you, it will be worth it."

The man hesitates then says: "Batman is missing. He was taken."

Shreeve raises an eyebrow. That is useful information; if he manages to escape Blackwater soon, he'll have fewer obstacles in his way. Still, a part of him feels strangely saddened by the news. Batman was… interesting. And if anyone were to kill him, Shreeve has always hoped it would be himself, revenge for having the miracle of sound stolen from him.

After a moment, Shreeve admits: "There has been someone reaching out to Gotham's regular players. I have seen rumblings of it. They asked for Batman to be 'kept busy' for a very particular window. No one was allowed to try and kill him yet. Just—"

"—keep him busy," the man finishes.

Shreeve nods. "And wear him down, perhaps. Seems like a fairly sound strategy, doesn't it?"

"Who was doing the 'reaching out'?"

A shrug then, followed by a half-smirk on Shreeve's lips. "No idea. I was already locked up. But whoever it was, they seem to have had a lot of credits to offer. Millions even. That's what dear Professor Billings seemed to be talking about, anyway. Follow the money—and maybe you'll find the Bat."

The man with the eyepatch nods. "Thank you for the help, Doctor Shreeve."

"Oh, the pleasure was mine." As the man leaves, Shreeve closes his eyes in the dark… and listens.

.

.

"Any luck?" Jason asks again, probably for the fifth time in just a few minutes. He can hear the clicking of keys over his earpiece, followed by a sharp: [[No.]]

Jason scowls and stares at the Tokyo horizon. He had woken up miles away from Luthor's hotel room, his head pounding in response to the knock-out drugs. Jason had seriously considered storming back to Luthor, this time gun in hand and demanding answers a lot less pleasantly. But then he had noticed the data chip taped to his wrist. The information had been heavily encoded, much too sophisticated for Jason to break; computers and he have always had a complicated relationship—he can work with them all right, but he never took to them like Tim did. So, Jason did the only thing he could think of: he stripped the data off of the chip and sent it to someone who could break the encryption. Which is how he has ended up on the line with Bruce again…

"Anything now?" Jason asks.

[[You ask again, and I'm hanging up,]] Bruce replies coldly. [[This is delicate work. Luthor's coding is sophisticated.]]

"Yeah, we'll buy her a freakin' medal." Jason groans and rubs his head again. It's still throbbing, and Jason can barely keep his eyes open. He tries to remember exactly when he slept last—being knocked out didn't exactly count. The aches and pains of his body have been starting to tally and his healing hasn't been able to keep up. But he can't stop now. Not yet.

There is a beeping sound now, and Jason barely stops himself from saying: "Anyth—"

[[Got it. It's an audio file. I'm sinking it to this frequency now.]]

Jason's earpiece crackles and Lucinda Luthor's voice travels through. [[Congratulations on breaking my encryption. I guess I will reward you with something for your pains. I do apologize for not giving you this information in person, but you can understand my position, or you likely will soon. When going into business with scorpions, one must protect herself. So, this message will only play once and then it will disintegrate into inaudibility.]] Jason hears Bruce curse, followed by clicks and the sounds of the Batcomputer as he tries to counter-act Luthor's defense. Jason just sighs and closes his eyes, listening intently.

[[There is a temple, high in the Himalayas, on the peek nearest where I met you and the Batman with the alien. It is easily confused with the other temples of the area, except that it has a jade tiger on the door. That is how you will notice it. The people who I conducted business with were there, though they likely are not now. The information I gave them requires a lab to be used. The temple would be inconvenient. You may find clues there, however. Whether you go or not is not my concern. I did take the time to research you some, Mr. Todd, while you were incapacitated. I must say, you do seem to have a complicated relationships with Bats… fighting the old, now saving the new. Interesting. But I do trust that, if you are compromised, that you will not reveal how you came about this information. More specifically, if you do reveal this exchange to my former business associate in any way, even under torture, then know that there will be people sent after me. And assuming that I survive the ordeal, and be assured that I am a survivor, I will hunt down whatever scrap of you is left and make you suffer for endangering me. That is all.]]

The message crackles, pops, and then is silent. Jason has to mentally congratulate Luthor on perhaps having even scarier sounding threats than he does.

"Got all that?" Jason asks Wayne.

[[I wasn't able to preserve the file—it's gone now. But, yes, I heard what she said.]]

"When's the soonest flight you can get me to the Himalayas?"

[[We're running out of time. I've contacted the Justice League. Flash and Superman will meet up with you at the temple, and Green Lantern is sending a Boom Tube.]]

Jason winces. Great, all he needs is to add nausea to all of the other aches and pains… but Bruce is right. Travel is taking too much time. Who knows what is happening to Terry?

.

.

For the Flash, the world moves in slow motion. For her, a minute can seem like an eternity. Which is why she offers only a quick, "Hihappytomeetyou" when she first sees the man in the red helmet shuddering in the Himalayan cold. With her speed-force sensitive vision, she can see the faint remnants of Boom Tube energy. Rough. Personally, she prefers to run across the world to avoid those if she can. And this time she even got to have a little race with Superman. Plus, running and her super-speed metabolism keeps her warm. All in all, she thinks, pretty shway.

"There are people inside," Superman now declares, looking at the temple in front of them. "Ten of them, I think. The structure is mostly wood, but several rooms look blurry to me. They must have used lead paint."

The man in the helmet nods. "Lead paint isn't exactly common out here—that must have been intentional. They thought you might be snooping around, Superman."

"Boringboringboring. Canwegoinnowandlookforclues?" The Flash taps her foot at super-speed, causing the snow around her foot to become crushed flat.

"I'm game." The man in the helmet pulls out two guns, the chargers flashing at ready. "I'm really in the mood to hurt things."

"No," Superman states flatly. "No guns."

The man stiffens at the spine and whirls around to face Superman. "Oh give me a break! I won't kill anybody!"

"No."

The man curses and sticks the guns back in their holsters. "Fine, oh great and powerful alien leader. After you." The man makes a low, sarcastic bow. Kal grimaces and then floats toward the temple's entrance.

Then everything explodes and fire blazes everywhere.

"Ohmygodohmygod. Wehavetogosavethepeople…" Flash says in one breath. Then she notices figures dressed in black running toward her. "Ohokaynevermindtheyarecomingtokillus. Shway."

The battle lasts seconds rather than minutes. Flash takes down three guys pretty lickity-split, though one manages to slice her with a sword on her arm. It's barely more than a scratch, but she's annoyed that he even got that. To hit her while she was moving at super-speed… these guys are pretty good. Superman creates a small whirlwind with his breath and speed, taking down five of these mysterious ninjas all at once. The man in the helmet takes down one ninja with intense ferocity, and then looks around at the bodies around him.

"Way to make a guy feel inadequate," he mutters.

"Sorryjustwantedtomakeitquick. Nobiggieyouareprettygoodyourself! TotallyshwayIreallyreallypromise!" Flash grins and speeds over the masked man's side. "Soanyideawhotheseguysare?"

"Yeah," the man answers gravely. He taps the side of his helmet, as if triggering an earpiece. "Old man? We've got a problem." He reaches down and pulls a button from the unconscious body lying on the snow. The button is silver and intricate, unique like nothing Flash has ever seen. But the man in the mask seems to recognize it, turning it in his fingers slowly. "League of Assassins. I think the one who nabbed Terry is Ra's Al Ghul."

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.

The world is still hazy, like he's trapped in clouds, but it is slowly coming into focus. He is cold. He is strapped to some sort of medical table. From the sounds around him, he thinks he is more likely in a lab than a hospital. His body feels heavy, weighed down. He tries to move his fingers, and he can do so somewhat—but it takes real concentration.

"Oh good, you're conscious," an accented voice says. Terry tries to turn his head, causing his vision to swim and lurch. He groans. "Careful—we've kept you unconscious for quite some time. You must take it slow. Now, tell me your name."

Terry licks his lips and struggles for voice. "Terry Mc—no, wait. I… I don't know who you are. I shouldn't…"

"I know your identity, Mr. McGinnis. I was just checking to make sure you do. I need to be assured that the low-level of oxygen to your brain didn't cause any major or long term damage. Now, count to twenty for me, please."

Terry does so, his voice sounding scratchy and out of use to his own ears. The man makes a humming noise and Terry can hear him typing something down.

"What… who are you? Where am I?"

There is silence for a moment, and then a bespeckled and silver-haired blur that Terry assumes is a man emerges in his view. "My name is Dr. Ivan Geboren. You are in my care at an undisclosed location."

Terry frowns, vaguely recalling black cloaked figures, an alley way, a sword slashing at him, a blow to the head that had made him stumble. "Were those ninja guys yours?"

"Not mine. My employer's. Hold still please—" Geboren reaches forward and Terry feels a sharp pain in his arm. He cries out at the unexpected sensation. "Good, nerves are responding. Now, I need you to—"

"I'm not doing anything! What do you mean your employer? Where the hell am I?!" Terry uses all the energy he has to struggle against the bonds keeping him down. But he is weak and they are tightly secure, so nothing budges. The only result of the struggle is that a wrist cuff cuts into his arm a bit; Terry can feel a trickle of blood trickle across his hand.

"No, no, stop!" The doctor growls, "If you continue to harm yourself by struggling, I will have to sedate you again, which is risky for your brain. I prefer not to—"

"What do you want with me?!" Terry screams, his horse voice cracking with lack of use for… how long? Terry has no clue. The thought terrifies him.

"Count yourself lucky, boy," a soft voice breaks through Terry's struggles. The sound is cold and dry; it sends a chill down Terry's spine for reasons he can't explain. "Your pitiful existence is going to serve the greater good."

A dark cloaked figure comes forward, shoulders hunched over. Terry still can't see much detail, but from what he can make out the person looks small, broken. Yet Terry still finds himself filled with unease.

"Who are you?" he asks, his eyes straining for details.

"We've met before, though I looked much different then. This body is at least male, though it is hard to tell now." A rasping cough escapes the person's lips and Terry sees the figure's shoulders shudder with strain. "I was once the man who brought down civilizations. Now I am barely anything. But you, boy, will change that. If I cannot have the Detective, I shall take the next best thing…"

The tone of the word 'detective' causes Terry's breath to catch in his throat. "Ra's…?" Terry trains off, his mouth turning the 's' into a near 'z.' The figure snorts.

"It is pronounced 'Raish,' as you should very well know by now. I shudder to think that you are the one who is supposed to live up to the Detective's legacy. How disappointing. How plebian."

Terry scowls. "And yet you went pretty far out of your way to get me. Why?"

"I thought it should have been fairly obvious by now. But then, as we have established, you are rather lacking in brilliance. I need a new body, boy, and I will only accept the best. One which will restore me to strength and allow me the power to command again. Yet all of my heirs are dead—I have no blood relations left who are worthy to be my vessel. And so I would take on the form of my rejected heir, he who could have been my son-in-law and second in power if only he were not so stubborn. I will have the body of Bruce Wayne as my vessel. Any less would be an insult to my name."

"Er… okay?" Terry's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "So, why kidnap me? It's not like Wayne is going to come after me in person. You're not going to capture him this way."

"I do not seek to capture the Detective. I have already resigned myself to the secondary body. It is not ideal, but an incomplete Bruce Wayne is better than none."

Terry shakes his head, trying to clear the fog and hoping that will help al Ghul make more sense. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he finally admits. "At all."

"Oh, don't play naïve," Ra's snaps. After a few moments, the raspy voice begins to chuckle darkly. "Oh my, you really don't know, do you? The Detective never shared his discovery with you."

"What? What discovery? What are you talking…?" Terry stops himself. This is a trap. It has to be. His vision is becoming sharper, and he can see Ra's yellowed teeth spread wide in a wolfish smile.

"His discovery of what you are, Mr. McGinnis." Ra's al Ghul shuffles forward, moving his head so that his mouth is next to Terry's ear. The hollow breathing makes Terry's blood run cold, but not as much as al Ghul's next words: the revelation that shatters Terry's world entirely.

.

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"It all matches up," Dick Grayson agrees. "I followed up on Shreeve's information, and the credits offered Billings is a match for an old League of Assassins route. And Ra's al Ghul is one of the few people outside of the family or the League who know that Terry is Batman. Between that and the assassins at the temple, it has to be him." Jason nods in agreement, which makes Dick feel a bit out of sorts. When was the last time he and Jason agreed on anything?

"Ra's al Ghul is dead," Bruce snaps in return.

Jason rolls his eyes in response and mutters: "Sure. Just like he has been before—about a thousand times." Jason's biting tone isn't quite as harsh as it usually is. The younger former-Robin looks like he could pass out at any moment. Fading bruises, Boom Tube nausea, and exhaustion are writ clearly on his face. "Supposed impossibilities aside, how are we going to find Terry?"

Dick frowns. "And why would the League want him? They've never gone after any of us except to get to you, Bruce. It doesn't make sense."

"It might have something to do with the break-ins in Japan," Jason says. "I was trying to track these guys down and managed to catch up with one of them. Now that I think about it, the guy I fought may as well have had 'League of Assassins' trained written all over him. They were stealing research about implanting human consciousness into machines. You know, kind of like the Joker did with Tim." Jason pauses to mutter a few more curses under his breath, as if he is required to just by sheer mention of the Joker's name.

Dick raises an eyebrow in response. "And if Ra's was working with Luthor, he also has nanotech research. Combined, he might be—"

"—trying to implant his consciousness into someone else's body! Shit!" Jason slams his hand into the side of the computer. Dick immediately winces and glances at Bruce, but the former Batman doesn't react at all to the abuse of his computer. Instead, a scowl is fixed on his face and his eyes are dark and distant.

"But why Terry?" Jason continues. "It makes no sense! Ra's is a purist—he certainly thought all of us were beneath him. Bruce was the only one who really interested him. Going after Damien made sense, but Terry's not—"

"My son," Bruce finishes. There is a severity to the tone which makes Dick's breath catch in his throat. He looks at Bruce again, waiting. "But if it is Ra's, then he probably knows what I know."

"Which is what?" Jason's expression is one of impatience and annoyance. He hasn't noticed Bruce's tone or hesitation. "What do you and Ra's know?"

Bruce turns in his chair, his eyes fixed squarely on the costume cases across the room, a cold memorial to a past of injury, secrets, and death.

"That Terry is my clone."

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TO BE CONTINUED…