The early evening air in Mystic Island carried a faint chill as Jason Todd and Taylor Rutledge made their way through the countryside towards Renault Winery. The distant murmur of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves blended with their footsteps, creating a subdued soundtrack to their journey.
Upon reaching the winery, a mix of dim lights and the comforting aroma of aged wood greeted them. The attached restaurant, Taste 1864, beckoned with promises of refuge. As they entered, the eyes of other patrons flicked up from their meals, fixating on the visible evidence of a recent struggle. The bruises and blood that adorned Jason and Taylor.
Seated at a quiet corner table, they navigated the menu as the waitress approached. Taylor's choice of Korean BBQ wings and Jason's order of short rib waffle fries reflected a blend of flavors that mirrored their diverse backgrounds. The decisive moment came when they opted for the big barrel bucket, which came with two bottles of wine and an assortment of beers. It was the most economical way to get absolutely plastered.
The waitress, her eyes discreetly scanning the visible aftermath of their skirmish, jotted down their order and left them in a momentary solitude. Taylor, breaking the silence, shifted uncomfortably and broached the subject of finances. "Hey, Jason, I'd hate to put you on the spot, but I'm kinda flat broke at the moment. You got some cash on you?"
Jason, his gaze momentarily distant, sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I got us covered. Don't worry about it."
The tension lingered as they awaited their food, the ambiance of Taste 1864 creating a cocoon of privacy despite the prying eyes of the other patrons. Soon their barrel of drinks came out and the two cracked open their drinks. Taylor opened a beer, Jason poured himself some wine, and drank them up.
Finally, Taylor cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "So, Jason, what's the deal with this closure you're after? You're the one who wanted to talk. Lay it out."
Jason hesitated for a moment, he poured himself a glass of wine. Swirling the condensation on his wine glass, "It's about understanding, Taylor. I need to piece together my past, make sense of the chaos. It's not about blame or revenge. Just... closure, you know?"
Taylor nodded, taking a sip from his beer. "I get it, man. We've all got our demons. Let's talk through it."
The two men clinked their drinks in silent agreement before taking another sip, the cool liquid providing a temporary reprieve from the weight of their shared histories. The noise from the other patrons and the ambient music created a subtle barrier, allowing them to converse without every word echoing in the ears of curious onlookers.
Jason leaned back, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Taylor. "You see, Taylor, I was one of the Joker's victims. I took a beating, a brutal one, and it messed me up, physically and mentally."
Taylor listened intently, his gaze fixed on Jason's eyes, searching for the pain and understanding in those haunted depths.
"When the Joker killed me, or so he thought, I came back, but not the same. I embraced a darker side." Jason omitted his past as Robin and his present as The Red Hood. "I've walked a path soaked in blood, seeking justice my way, but something about the Joker's demise... It left me questioning everything. I came here to find answers, maybe even closure."
Taylor absorbed Jason's story, the weight of the revelation settling between them. "That's heavy, Jason. I mean the Joker did some terrible things, and I'm sorry you had to endure that. But what does it got to do with me?"
Jason took a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I tracked you down because you were there that day, in that alley. You took him down, you saved Gotham from the Joker's madness. I needed to understand why, and maybe... find a way to move on."
Taylor's expression softened with empathy. "I get it. I never wanted to be a hero. It just happened, and now I'm stuck in this spotlight. But I wasn't trying to save people, or the general public. It just fell into my lap at that moment. I was only protecting myself."
Jason nodded, the acknowledgment of shared pain bridging a gap between them. "I thought maybe confronting you would help me make sense of it all. Now, I'm not so sure."
Taylor sighed, setting down his beer. "Jason, we're both scarred. You from taking that beating from The Joker, and me by what happened that day, but maybe talking about it is a step towards healing."
Their conversation continued, weaving through the complexities of their pasts, the scars left by the Joker, and the uncertain paths that lay ahead.
As the night wore on, that bucket grew emptier, but the weight on their shoulders began to lift, replaced by the understanding that they weren't alone in their struggles.
Taylor, now considerably more intoxicated than Jason, leaned in with a curious glint in his eyes.
"So, Jason," Taylor slurred slightly. "How the hell did you find me here? It's not like I'm listed in the phone book."
Jason, choosing to keep the details of his tracking skills a secret, decided on a fabricated story. "I'm a private investigator. I found a lead, followed it, and here we are."
Taylor's brow furrowed in mild concern, "You didn't dig deeper into me, did you?"
Jason, maintaining the lie, shook his head. "Nah, man. I don't care about you or your past. I just wanted to find you."
Taylor, seemingly satisfied with the response, eased back into his chair. The alcohol, however, continued to work its magic, and Taylor's attempts at casual conversation with passersby became more animated.
Taylor looked at a passing gentleman and winked, "Hey, how are you? I'm doing fine since I killed The Joker!" He winked at the guy who decidedly rushed away.
Jason, realizing the potential danger of Taylor's loose lips, intervened, urging him to keep things quiet. "Hey Taylor, how about you shut the fuck up?! I thought you wanted to keep a low profile?"
Taylor chortled, "The Gotham Gazette already beat my anonymity to death the moment they posted that article about me. Not much to keep secret now."
As the hours passed and the alcohol consumption increased, Jason decided it was time to settle the bill. He paid, helping Taylor to his feet and guiding him out of the restaurant. Taylor, a bit wobbly on his feet, made it just outside the estate before emptying his stomach.
Jason, ever the vigilant companion, held Taylor's hair back as he retched. Once Taylor recovered, Jason handed him a bottle of water, their unsteady reflections visible in its plastic surface.
With a contemplative look, Taylor turned to Jason. "Why couldn't Batman stop the Joker? I mean, seriously. He's got all these gadgets and skills. Why not just end the Joker and save Gotham from the chaos?"
Jason sighed, grappling with the age-old conflict that defined Batman's crusade. "Batman doesn't kill. It's his rule. He believes that crossing that line turns you into something you're not, something worse."
Taylor's bleary eyes held a mix of frustration and contemplation. "But come on, he could've found another way. Paralyze the guy, imprison him in a way he can't escape. He could've done something. Anything! Instead, he let the Joker run rampant."
Jason, not unfamiliar with these debates, nodded. "You're not the first to say that. But Batman's got his principles. They're what make him who he is."
Taylor, swaying a bit, looked at Jason with determination. "One day, he's gonna have to apologize to me. Because he put that on me! Because I had to stop him rather than letting the Joker go on with his madness. I'll make him see that."
Jason, recognizing the slurred sincerity in Taylor's words, merely nodded. He had called for a taxi to drive them back to Taylor's place.
As the taxi pulled up to take them back to Cyrus's place, Taylor couldn't help but note the stark contrast to the taxi he once drove. "This one's a lot cleaner than the old cab I used to cruise around in," He remarked, a hint of envy in his voice.
Jason settled into the back seat alongside Taylor and, glancing out the window, initiated a casual conversation. "So, Taylor, is being a taxi driver all you want to do, career-wise?"
Taylor, gazing at the passing scenery, shrugged slightly. "It pays the bills. I served in the military, and the government sends a nice stipend my way each month. The taxi gig helps me get by."
The night continued, as they journeyed back to the refuge of Cyrus's home. Arriving back at Cyrus's place, the taxi's engine hummed to a halt. Taylor thanked the driver, Jason paid the fare, and they stepped out into the cool night air. The quiet surroundings of Mystic Island embraced them, a stark departure from the chaotic world they both carried within.
Jason helped Taylor towards the front door, and Taylor fumbled with the keys, his unsteady hands betraying the effects of their shared revelry. Jason, ever watchful, steadied Taylor as they navigated the threshold.
The door creaked open, revealing Cyrus Johnston, shotgun in hand, his grizzled features etched with vigilance. "Who the hell are you? Who's this, Taylor?" Cyrus demanded, his gaze unwavering.
Taylor, swaying a bit, quickly spoke up, "Easy, Uncle Cy. This is Jason, a new friend. We just had a few drinks."
Cyrus, eyeing Jason with a scrutinizing gaze, reluctantly lowered the shotgun. "Friend, huh? He ain't trouble?"
"He ain't trouble, Cy."
Cyrus gave Jason a nod, "All right. Take it slow."
With a cautious nod, Jason gently guided Taylor through the door and into the familiar surroundings of the house. They navigated through the living room, adorned with the warm glow of a single lamp.
Once inside Taylor's room, Jason helped him onto the bed. The events of the night had taken their toll on Taylor, and he mumbled a thanks as he settled in.
Exiting the room, Jason found Cyrus standing guard. The shotgun, while lowered, remained in his firm grip. Cyrus, now seemingly more at ease, accompanied Jason to the front door.
"Thanks for helping him, but I want you out of here now." Cyrus acknowledged, his gruff exterior softening slightly.
"No problem. Just making sure he gets to bed okay," Jason replied.
Cyrus, still cautious but appreciative, offered, "You need a ride somewhere? It's late."
Jason shook his head, "Nah, I'll walk. Thanks, though." He needed to get his bike that he parked a while back.
Before stepping into the night, Jason turned back to Cyrus. "Mind if I check on him tomorrow? Make sure he's doing alright?"
Cyrus regarded Jason with a measured gaze, probing for sincerity. "What're your intentions, son?"
"Just wanna make sure he's recovered, nothing more. We had a rough night," Jason explained.
After a moment of contemplation, Cyrus nodded. "Alright. Come back around ten in the morning. Don't be late."
With an agreement in place, Jason disappeared into the night, leaving Cyrus Johnston to keep a watchful eye over Mystic Island. The door closed behind Jason, marking the end of an eventful night.
Jim Gordon ascended to the rooftop of the GCPD, the brisk night air ruffling his coat as he approached the Bat Signal, a symbol that had beckoned the Dark Knight countless times before. However, tonight, the roles were reversed.
Batman stood beside the iconic beacon, his silhouette blending with the shadows. Jim couldn't help but chuckle, "Normally, I turn on the light to get you. What's the occasion, Batman?"
Batman's response was devoid of humor. "We need to talk, Jim."
Jim's brows furrowed in concern as he took in the gravity of Batman's tone. "Alright, let's get down to it."
"I've dug into every database I have access to," Batman began, his voice carrying the weight of relentless scrutiny. "Credit histories, public records, employment records. It has led to nothing. No history, no trace of him existing before a few years back. It's as if he materialized out of thin air. I am running his photograph against every database that I can."
Jim Gordon leaned against the parapet, his eyes narrowing as he processed Batman's revelation. The stark glow of the Bat Signal cast shadows across his furrowed features. "You're saying he just popped up out of nowhere a few years back?"
Batman, his cape billowing in the night breeze, nodded solemnly. "Exactly. No school records, no social security number, no employment history. It's as if he materialized in Gotham recently. And I need to know why."
Jim's gaze remained fixed on the city below, a city perpetually caught between the struggle of order and chaos. "You think he's hiding something? Maybe a criminal past?"
"It's a possibility," Batman replied, his voice low and measured. "Gotham can't afford unknown variables. The Joker is gone, but we need to be sure who Taylor Rutledge really is."
Jim sighed, a weariness etched in his expression. "Batman, you've always been about getting answers, about digging deep. But sometimes, maybe some things are better left buried. The city has had enough turmoil. Maybe it's time to focus on rebuilding."
Batman, unyielding, stepped closer. "Jim, I need to know who he was before he became the center of attention. I need to know if this is the end, or the beginning of something."
Jim met Batman's gaze, his eyes reflecting the weight of their shared history. "What if the truth isn't something you want to face? What if it opens doors we can't close?"
The Dark Knight's response was resolute. "Then I'll face whatever comes next. But I won't let this city fall prey to the unknown."
Jim furrowed his brow, absorbing the gravity of Batman's findings. "And you think Taylor's hiding something?"
"Perhaps, but everyone has a past, Jim. Taylor Rutledge shouldn't be an exception," Batman replied, his cape billowing in the night breeze. "I need to know who he was before Gotham knew him."
"That's why I need your help, Jim," Batman stated, in a rare admission of vulnerability. "I know you got your hands on Taylor's fingerprints. I need them to run through my systems. We need to find out who he really is."
"...No…" Jim, however, surprised Batman by refusing outright. "I don't care…You hear me? I do not care who Taylor Rutledge really is."
He stood up straight as he addressed his ally, "I care about what he has done for this city. The Joker is dead and buried. Frankly, that's all that matters to me. In fact, I have made it a goal to see Taylor Rutledge get a public commendation for what he's done. Truth be told, I hope to convince him to join the force! We can use him for public relations!"
Jim Gordon stood against The Batman, "So no. I won't help you, I can't. Not this time."
Batman's stern expression revealed his disappointment. "Jim, I need to know who we're dealing with. The city's safety…"
Jim cut him off, "The city's safe, Batman. That's what matters. You've crossed lines before, and I won't help you pry into someone's life. Not this time."
An air of tension hung between them, allies now on opposite sides of an ethical divide. The Batman, usually the one demanding answers, found himself denied by a steadfast ally.
"You disappoint me, Jim," Batman voiced his frustration.
Jim met his gaze evenly. "And you disappoint me. Let it go, Batman. Gotham's been through enough."
The Dark Knight, embodying his emblem, disappeared into the night, leaving Jim Gordon alone on the rooftop. A sigh escaped the weary commissioner as he pondered the cost of chasing shadows in a city cloaked in darkness.
In the dimly lit hotel room, Jason Todd tossed his bag onto the bed, the weariness of the day settling over him. The distant sounds of Mystic Island's nightlife seeped through the thin walls, a backdrop to his thoughts. Just as he contemplated stretching out on the bed, his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with the unmistakable silhouette of the Bat symbol.
"Bruce," Jason muttered to himself, the weariness in his voice evident as he answered the call. "What do you want?"
Batman's stern voice crackled through the line. "You're in Mystic Island. Why?"
Jason hesitated, acutely aware of the line he was about to toe. "Needed a change of scenery, you know? To clear my head of…everything."
A disapproving silence hung for a moment before Batman's tone intensified. "Does it have anything to do with Taylor Rutledge?"
Jason sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, it does. How did you know?"
Batman's voice cut through the static. "I keep tabs on everything. Now, tell me, have you made contact?"
"Yeah," Jason admitted, bracing for the inevitable lecture.
Batman's words were crisp and to the point. "Good. I've been digging into Taylor's background. Until a few years ago, he didn't exist. No records, nothing."
Jason, caught off guard, processed the information. "Nothing? That's strange, when we talked he said that he was prior military.."
"Military, huh? Thank you for the lead. Seeing as you have made contact, I want you to find out more," Batman commanded. "Get closer to him. We need to know who he was before Gotham."
Before Jason could push back or ask questions, Batman abruptly ended the call, leaving Jason alone with the weight of his mission. The sterile hotel walls seemed to close in as he processed the gravity of the assignment handed to him.
The phone call echoed in his mind, the gravelly voice of the Dark Knight delivering directives that left Jason torn. He hadn't expected Batman to be so direct, so unequivocal. The charge to get closer to Taylor Rutledge, to unravel the enigma surrounding him, hung in the air like an unspoken contract.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jason ran a hand through his unruly hair, conflicted emotions swirling beneath the surface. His gaze fixed on the motel room's cheap wallpaper, but his thoughts were miles away, entangled in the complex web Batman had woven.
Taylor Rutledge, a man who seemingly emerged out of nowhere, was now the focal point of Batman's scrutiny. Jason's mind replayed the moments he had spent observing Taylor, the conversations shared over drinks, the genuine camaraderie that had developed. Was he now meant to exploit that trust for the sake of Batman's relentless pursuit of information?
His phone buzzed again, a text from Batman, terse and demanding: 'Keep your distance, but stay close. We need to know who he is. - B.' Jason clenched his jaw, wrestling with the conflicting allegiances that defined his tumultuous relationship with the Dark Knight.
The room, once a temporary haven, now felt like a cage closing in. Jason's eyes darted to his motorcycle, parked outside, a symbol of freedom and escape. He considered fleeing Mystic Island, leaving everything behind.
Yet, an undeniable sense of duty tugged at him. The memory of the Joker's reign of terror, the scars that marked his own journey, resonated within. Batman, in his stoic determination, sought answers to protect Gotham from the shadows that lingered. Jason, torn between loyalty and moral ambiguity, grappled with the decision that lay ahead.
