"Three hostiles inbound," Oracle relayed, his voice calm but firm. "Armed. I think they're militia."
"You think?" Tigress panted, driving her opponent into the ground with a swift takedown.
"Their security cameras' resolution sucks, okay? They've got militia colors. There," he replied, flashing a quick feed of grainy figures on the team's HUDs. "I disabled the electronic lock to the door. Have at 'em."
Just as Oracle had predicted, three militia operatives stood guard, oblivious to the silent shadows closing in. A few swift, precise strikes later, they were out cold, and the team moved forward, unseen. Everything was going smoothly.
The mission was supposed to be simple—an extraction. If it had just been stolen data, Oracle could've handled it remotely. But this was different. A hostage. That meant boots on the ground. That meant risk.
"Wait here. I'm disabling security measures—" Oracle started, only for Kid Flash—now going by Impulse—to cut him off.
"I'll just grab a keycard, it'll be faster. And you can kill the cameras anyway, right?"
"Uh, yeah, for sure. Just let me do that before you barge in."
With a few keystrokes, Oracle fed the security feed a loop, rendering the cameras useless. No red flags, no outside interference, just another silent mission buried under bureaucratic oversight.
"All good."
"Roger that, Blue Bee—uh, I mean Oracle," Kid Flash snickered.
"Dude, come on. Now isn't the time—"
"Exactly," Tigress cut in, her tone dry but not unkind. "So, the two of you—focus, please."
Jaime could hear the smirk in her voice. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
"Oracle, which floor did you say we needed to reach?"
"Sub-level three. You're almost there." Jaime scanned the updated feeds. "Heads up. I count at least eight more hostiles, all armed. Assault rifles. Watch yourselves."
"Don't we always?" Kid Flash swiped the keycard and zipped into the corridor before the others could stop him, taking out the guards in a blur of motion.
They reached the hostage in record time—only to find a new problem waiting for them. A remote-controlled explosive collar. Jaime's fingers flew over the keyboard, bypassing the failsafes. Every second counted. The militia was already scrambling; likely realizing something was wrong.
"Talk to me, Oracle," barked Tigress.
"Almost there. Keep them occupied for—got it." The lock clicked open.
The team wasted no time, disarming the last of the militia before extracting the hostage and slipping (back) into the night. Clean. Precise. No casualties.
At least when Oracle was involved.
The scent of hot pizza filled the air as the Team settled in, the mission already shifting to the back of their minds.
"Hooray for zeta beams," Bart sighed in relief, snagging the nearest slice. "Couldn't stand the thought of cold pizza. Or worse—room temperature pizza."
"I believe you," Jaime said, wheeling himself into the room, a stack of paper towels balanced on his lap. "Which is why there are, like, eight pizzas for the lot of us."
Cassie swooped in, taking the paper towels and spreading them out, pressing a quick kiss to Jaime's cheek in the process.
He pretended not to notice the others smirking.
Jaime—Oracle—rolled his shoulders, watching the team unwind, the mission already shifting into the past. A successful op. No casualties. Warm pizza waiting for them at base.
That was the way it should be.
At least, that's what he told himself.
"Alright, let's see what we pulled," Nightwing said, sliding a hard drive onto the console. The glow of the monitors flickered across his face as he turned toward Jaime. "Oracle, you up?"
"Already on it." Jaime's fingers danced across the keyboard, decrypting the files with practiced ease. Firewalls flared to life, trying to stop him. They weren't nearly fast enough.
Bart leaned against the back of his chair, balancing a slice of pepperoni on one hand. "Dude, it's so weird seeing you behind the screen now. Feels like just yesterday you were out there with us."
Jaime exhaled through his nose, eyes never leaving the screen. "Yeah, well, yesterday was a long time ago."
A silence settled over them, thick enough to feel. Even Bart—who was physically incapable of silence—didn't push further. Tigress shot him a look over the rim of her soda can that silently screamed, 'Not now.'
Nightwing leaned in slightly, arms crossed. "You know you don't have to do this alone, right?"
Jaime's fingers hesitated over the keyboard. A fraction of a second. Too long.
They don't get it.
Sure, they missed him. He missed them too. But this was where he belonged now. Out there, in the field, he was a liability. Slower. Weaker. A target. No matter how much they wanted to pretend otherwise, Jaime knew the truth. A mission could go south in a heartbeat, and he wouldn't be fast enough to react. Sometimes, he still reached for the Scarab's voice, expecting a tactical readout, an instinctual response—
Nothing. Jaime swallowed and forced his hands to steady.
"I'm not alone, Nightwing," he said, forcing a smirk. "I've got all of you."
Nightwing didn't press. He just nodded and clapped Jaime on the shoulder. A wordless, 'we hear you.'
Jaime's screen beeped. "Decryption complete." His brow furrowed. "…Huh."
Cassie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, perked up. "Huh? 'Huh' is never good. What kind of 'huh' are we talking about?"
Jaime's hands moved faster now, pulling up files, scanning for patterns. He didn't like what he was seeing.
"This isn't just stolen data." His pulse quickened. "They were tracking metas—real names, locations, patterns."
A cold weight settled in his gut as his brain caught up with the full implications.
"This wasn't about one hostage," he murmured, his voice tight. "They're collecting people."
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Nightwing was already moving, Cassie frowned, and Bart had completely abandoned his pizza—which was never a good sign. Jaime felt it too.
That old fire, the same one that used to burn before every mission, every fight, the part of him that hadn't stopped being a hero—only adapted- flared to life. He tapped into the network, cross-referencing every name, every file.
"…We need to move. Now," Jamie ordered.
Tigress cracked her knuckles. "Already ahead of you, Oracle."
Jaime watched as his team—his family—readied themselves. Even from behind a screen, he was still in the fight.
And this time?
He wasn't letting anyone slip through the cracks.
A/N: This may not be the glorious ending I envisioned 12 years ago when I started writing this; but it's finished. It's always such a bittersweet experience, bringing a story to a close; so much has changed since 2013, even the characters I fell in love with. But in a way everything stayed the same, too. It's weird.
I put off publishing this prologue for years; having had maybe 95% of it written in 2020; I could never bring myself to send it out. "It's too short," I told myself, or "it's not enough". I suppose for now, it will have to be enough.
To all my readers, thank you. To the 53 people who followed this story, or even favorited it and maybe left a review; know that your support has been invaluable to me. It's crazy to me that over 50 of you thought this story was worth following along, and I hope you'll find some of my other writing to your liking. I feel like I'm saying my goodbyes to a family member :')
As always, thanks to my beta-reader, long time friend & pen pal; the amazing author that, without whom, I would never have finished my first multichap story 'The Ghost and the Guard Dog', and whose writings have brought me great comfort and entertainment, the one and only DarkUnderworld!
Please leave a review; you can enjoy my stories on here and on Ao3.
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