Ammon stood in the makeshift gym, watching Kimiko move through the obstacle course he'd set up for her. She dodged, weaved, and navigated it with the kind of fluid grace that had impressed him from the beginning. When they first fought, she barely broke a sweat. Now, though, she was drenched, her shorts riding up and her tank top clinging to her like a second skin. He knew she was pushing herself harder, trying to close the gap she perceived between them.

It was a strange relationship they'd developed. He couldn't help but feel a soft spot for her, she reminded him so much of Cassie, the same silent determination, the same drive to improve, to be the best version of herself. Cassie had a similar look in her eyes when she was focused, a mix of intensity and vulnerability that had always tugged at his heartstrings. That was why, when Kimiko had eyed a tiny keyboard at a music store with almost childlike fascination, he couldn't say no. It was almost cute how she lit up at the sight of it, and before he knew it, he was buying it for her, despite the shopkeeper's attempts to up-sell them on a whole range of instruments.

Kimiko had fallen for the keyboard hook, line, and sinker, but Ammon had put his foot down when she started eyeing other instruments. Logic won out when he pointed out that mastering the keys would take time, and it was better to focus on one thing at a time. She had reluctantly agreed, though he could tell she was already planning her next move.

Turning his attention away from the tablet he was preparing for the Feds, Ammon noticed Kimiko standing before him, hands on her hips, chest heaving as she caught her breath. She gestured at him with a "come on" motion, and with a roll of his eyes, he pushed back the stool from his workbench and hopped into the ring at the centre of the room.

Red Hood would probably be tickled pink if he ever found out that Ammon had taken a page out of his book, using the system's loopholes to essentially steal various warehouses and abandoned lots. The loopholes were ridiculous, really, but they allowed him to acquire property that no one was using. It was a small rebellion against a system that let places like these rot instead of helping those in need. He was trying to correct that wrong by setting up shelters for the homeless, providing more than enough space for the downtrodden. But he was torn, his focus split between his poor-man's philanthropy and adjusting to Bruce's early years of limited gear and resources while still trying to fight the good fight.

Getting back home had taken a back-seat for now. The roots he was setting down weren't for himself, they were for the innocent people who were getting screwed over by the powerful in this world.

Kimiko suddenly touched her face in a pointed manner, and Ammon stared at her in confusion, not quite sure what she was getting at. She let out a silent huff, covered half of her face with her hand, and then pointed at him, then at the ring.

"Oh," Ammon said, realisation dawning on him. "Yeah… no."

Kimiko's determination was impressive, but she had a habit of refusing to accept defeat. Her solution to a perceived skill gap was always to push herself into situations where the odds were stacked against her, hoping it would shore up her abilities. And now, she wanted to fight him in his demon form.

"Beat me as I am, and then we'll talk," Ammon said, trying to dissuade her.

Kimiko huffed in frustration and, in a bold move, peeled off her sweaty tank top, leaving her in just a sports bra. The sight of her toned body, glistening with sweat, was undeniably attractive, and he cursed under his breath. He blamed Pamela for his current state of mind, the spike in his horniness was her fault, no doubt.

"That's not going to work," Ammon said, hoping his voice was as firm as he intended it to be.

Kimiko just curled her lip in a mock denial, her eyes glinting with mischief as she shrugged her shoulders, clearly not deterred by his refusal.

"Kimiko, you can't seduce me into a literal bloody fight," Ammon warned, feeling the need to clarify his stance. "And just to be clear, that wasn't an invitation to continue."

She pouted, but the playful gleam in her eyes didn't fade. She was relentless, but so was he. He had to be, because giving in to her request wasn't just about winning or losing a fight. His demon form was a different beast altogether. It wasn't just an enhancement of his physical abilities; it was a raw, primal force that tapped into the darkness within him, a darkness that was relentless and hungry for blood. Pulling at shadows that were everywhere. He had some control over it, but the longer he used it, the more he felt his grip slip, the more his base urges went into overdrive.

He wasn't going to put her, or himself, in that position. Not today.

Kimiko, however, didn't seem satisfied with his answer. She tilted her head, silently challenging him again, but Ammon held his ground. He wasn't going to let her push him into something reckless, no matter how much she tried to provoke him.

"Look," Ammon said, softening his tone slightly, "I know you want to get stronger, but there's a time and a place for everything. This isn't it."

Kimiko stared at him for a moment longer, then finally gave a small, reluctant nod. She understood, even if she didn't like it. Without another word, she turned and began stretching, preparing for their usual sparring session.

Ammon watched her for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and something else, something that made his chest tighten. He cared about her, more than he wanted to admit, and that scared him. But he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now.

As they started sparring, he pushed all those thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the rhythm of their movements, the give and take of their punches and kicks. He would train her, help her get stronger, help refine that dog-fighter style she had, but he wouldn't lose himself in the process. He couldn't.


They moved in tandem, a silent dance of shadows through the shipping yard. Kimiko wasn't on the level of anyone in the Bat-clan, but when it came to stealth, she could hold her own. Her movements were fluid, precise, almost effortless as she glided between the containers. He was in his Freak persona, following suit high above, the two of them weaving through the labyrinth of steel and darkness.

Kimiko had proven herself time and again, taking down guards as they strayed too close to her hidden form. She was efficient, her strikes swift and clean, leaving no trace of her presence. Thankfully, tonight, she wasn't being too rough, no broken bones, no unnecessary deaths. Ammon knew she could easily cross that line, and tonight he was grateful she held back.

It was a typical drop location in New Jersey, drugs, guns, the usual contraband. Armed guards patrolled the area with a laziness born of overconfidence, as if they were simply going through the motions, waiting for the next shipment to arrive. Ammon had seen it all before in Gotham's own shipping yards, the cesspools of criminal activity that dotted the city like festering wounds. Home sweet home.

Their target was a shipping container at the far end of the yard. Ammon had managed to extract the information from the remaining conscious guards, though not without difficulty. His bones were intact, and Kimiko's rage had been held in check, for now. But as they approached the container, a chill ran through Ammon's veins. Something was wrong.

The sounds. The muffled cries, the soft whimpers. He knew those sounds too well, and they twisted his stomach into knots. This wasn't a drug shipment. It wasn't guns or contraband. This was something far worse.

He pried open the container, his heart pounding in his chest. The hinges creaked, protesting as the heavy door swung open. What greeted him was a nightmare.

Women, girls, even young boys, dozens of them, were packed into the container like cattle. The stench hit him first, a rancid combination of sweat, urine, and despair. But it was the looks on their faces that broke him. Hollow eyes stared back at him, empty of hope, empty of life. The resignation in their expressions was a knife to his heart, twisting deeper with each breath he took.

Ammon ripped off his makeshift two-toned mask, needing to separate himself from the cold, apathetic persona of Freak. He couldn't be that person right now, not when faced with this horror. He crouched at the entrance of the open container, his heart heavy, his soul sickened by what he saw.

"It's okay," he whispered, his voice soft, barely more than a breath. He reached out a hand, offering a lifeline to those trapped in the dark. "It's going to be okay. I promise."

The words felt hollow in his mouth, but he had to say them. He had to give them something, anything, to cling to.

Behind him, he could feel Kimiko's fury simmering just beneath the surface. She was a coiled spring, ready to unleash her rage on the monsters who had done this. It took every ounce of his willpower to hold her back, to keep her from executing these flesh-peddlers on the spot.

Not because they didn't deserve it. They did. Every single one of them. But because they could lead them to others, others who were still out there, still in chains, still suffering. If letting these bastards live meant saving more lives, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

But he wasn't without his own sense of justice. The leader of this operation, the one who orchestrated this vile trade, would leave this place with one less hand than he'd started with. Ammon would make sure of that. There was no law, no justice, that could fully account for the horrors these people had inflicted. But he could at least ensure that the man would never forget the price of his sins.

He moved into the container, helping the women and children out, one by one. Each one flinched at his touch, their trust long shattered by the cruelty they had endured. But he persisted, his voice a constant reassurance that they were safe now, that this nightmare was over.

Kimiko stood guard, her eyes scanning the yard for any remaining threats. But her gaze kept drifting back to the container, to the faces of the people they were saving. She had seen horrors before, lived through them, but this was something else. This was a reminder of the world's darkest corners, the places where even the strongest hearts could break.

Finally, the last of the captives were free, huddled together in a small group, their fear still palpable but slowly giving way to a fragile hope. Ammon turned to Kimiko, his face grim, his voice tight with controlled rage.

"Get them to safety," he instructed, knowing she would understand the unspoken part of his order. He couldn't trust her to be near these monsters any longer. If he did, he might not be able to stop what came next.

Kimiko nodded, her expression unreadable, but there was a glint of something in her eyes, something that told him she understood exactly how close he was to the edge. She gathered the women and children, leading them away from the yard, her movements swift and protective.

Ammon watched them go, his heart heavy with the weight of what he had seen. The Freak persona was gone, replaced by the man who still believed in justice, even in a world that seemed determined to snuff it out. He turned back to the container, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the leader of this operation, the man who had orchestrated this horror.

He would live. But he would never forget what Ammon was about to do to him.


Kimiko had opted to stay with the people we rescued, which made sense on multiple fronts. She could relate to them in a way I couldn't. The abuse I had dealt with was the run-of-the-mill kind, shit parents being shit parents, but the hardcore crap she and those people faced was on another level of abhorrence. Plus, where I was going required, well, I'd like to say subtlety, but with Kimiko, subtlety was as likely as a brick being thrown through a glass window. She couldn't talk, and she couldn't write in English.

So she was holed up in a warehouse I'd procured, stocked with supplies for the people we saved, while I headed out for a face-to-face meeting with Grace Mallory, the recipient of my dead drops to the Feds.

Thanks to Babs and all those lessons in hacking and whatnot, I really shouldn't have been able to find a quote-on-quote "retired" Fed. Her digital footprint was clearly bait. Someone at Grace Mallory's level should have been a ghost, someone with a paper trail that could easily be burnt, leaving no trace. But here I was, standing on a balcony overlooking a dense forest below, just outside her so-called "safe house."

Mallory approached with the air of someone who was perpetually unimpressed. Her gun was holstered, but as I tapped into my demon half for a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, I sensed three snipers locked onto my position. She was thorough; I had to give her that.

"You know, I picked this place so I wouldn't have loiterers popping up," she said, her tone dry, eyes narrowing as she studied me.

"Sure, ma'am," I replied, my voice laced with just enough sarcasm to match hers.

"Fine, supe, let's cut the bullshit. You're the one who's been sending those packets to my supposedly deactivated account."

"Can't call it deactivated if you're receiving them just fine," I snarked back, pulling off my mask to reveal my face. I had nothing to hide, ironically, revealing myself was the best way to avoid unnecessary animosity.

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she took in my appearance. "You're young."

"Perfectly legal, if that's what you're angling at."

She rolled her eyes, a long-suffering sigh escaping her lips. "Please don't tell me 'cunt' is your favorite word?"

"Well, it's up there, but I'm partial to calling everyone a wanker beforehand," I quipped.

She didn't dignify that with a response, but I could see her mentally filing that information away. She was sharp, shrewd, exactly what I expected. "So what's the play? Got tired of the Vought agenda and decided to strike back at daddy dearest?"

"Not a Vought prima donna," I corrected her, shrugging my shoulders casually. "Just a man, " She scoffed at that, so I amended, ", a young man, a little lost and a little far from home, who can't turn his back on people suffering."

Her eyes narrowed further, as if she were trying to peel away the layers and see the truth underneath. "I'll admit, it almost seems like that's your play, the not turning your back on suffering. But I've dealt with your kind before." Her words confirmed what I already suspected, the Feds were building a file on me. "So cut the shit and tell me what you want."

Her distrust was palpable, and though I knew it came from a reasonable place, it was still grating when directed at me. "Believe what you want, but it doesn't change the facts."

Mallory opened her mouth, probably to retort, but I cut her off by pulling out a phone. I could see the flicker of expectation in her eyes, did she think I was here to make a request? That flicker was quickly extinguished when I showed her the photos and videos of the people Kimiko and I had saved.

"Human trafficking. New Jersey Shore," I said, zooming in on the map to the exact location. I didn't bother remembering the name of the place, it was irrelevant. "The survivors are here; the traffickers are there."

Mallory's eyes scanned the screen, her expression unreadable, though I could sense the wheels turning in her mind. She was already calculating the next move, assessing the value of the information I was providing.

I'll wash my digital footprint of the places the two groups are held up in. Worst case scenario, I start anew under another pseudonym.

"Name?" She finally asked, and when I gave her the name Red Hood dubbed me with on the field, she let out a snort. She then looked up from the screen, her gaze piercing as she met my eyes. "Why the face-to-face? You've been doing fine with the dead drops. What's changed?"

"I wanted to make sure you understood the stakes," I replied, my tone serious. "This isn't just another drug bust or weapons deal. These are lives, innocent lives. And I need to know that you'll do more than just file this away as another operation."

For a moment, there was silence between us, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Mallory's expression softened, if only by a fraction, and she nodded.

"I'll see to it that they get the help they need," she said, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

"That's all I ask," I replied, slipping the phone from my grip, allowing her access to the information I had packeted for her.

Mallory stepped closer, her voice lowering to a near-whisper. "You know, you're making a lot of enemies by playing both sides. Vought isn't going to sit idly by while you keep undermining their operations." She was assuming I knew more than I was letting on, which was fair but even still, quite the assumption, "And the Feds, well, they aren't exactly known for playing nice with wildcards."

"I've made my peace with that," I said, my voice steady. "I'm not here to play by their rules or yours. I'm here to do what's right, no matter how messy it gets."

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded again, this time with something almost resembling respect. "You're a strange one, Freak. But maybe that's exactly what we need." Ah the friendly, I can be trusted as more than a informant angle.

"Maybe," I echoed, stepping back from the balcony's edge. "But remember, I'm not your asset. I'm not anyone's. I do this my way, on my terms."

"And if your way leads you to an early grave?" she asked, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of concern.

"Then I'll die knowing I didn't compromise who I am," I replied, turning away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got people to get back to."

Without waiting for a response, I made my way down the balcony stairs and back towards the forest. As I walked away, I could feel the snipers still trained on me, but I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I'd made my point, and Mallory knew it.

I'd play this game as long as I had to, but I wasn't playing it for anyone but myself and the people who needed someone like me, someone who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

The forest swallowed me up as I headed back to Kimiko, my mind already shifting back to the next steps. There was no rest in this line of work, no pause button. But as long as I had a say in it, I'd keep fighting. For anyone who couldn't fight for themselves.


A/N - Published - 2024/08/27

Yo, thanks for all the support shown to this story, its always appreciated

Idea's and thoughts are welcome also.