"theres a lady who knows
all that glitters is gold . . ."
in which a wannabe hero leaves the safety of her own life to help a girl
with a very strange problem.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FLOYD LAWTON WAS HAVING A BAD DAY.
His phone charger broke, he dropped his last cup of coffee and ended up having to go to some millennial place, his next job cancelled (they made up), the diner near his place was closed, and, as it turns out, looking over your shoulder for a dangerous assassin was not fun. (Not that it was his first time looking over his shoulder.)
In some way, he was looking forward to finally setting foot in Titans Tower to check in on DJ and Gar. Not that he would ever admit it to their faces, but their humor and annoyingly positive outlook was a breath of fresh air that would certainly be appreciated after the day he was having. (Again, never would he say anything like that to them.)
The Tower itself he had seen before, both the exterior and the interior, from the scope of his sniper rifle. So, he knew what to look for when walking up the street that houses the large building. Next to it was the building he set cameras in to keep an eye on Deathstroke's last known hideout, which had turned up nothing, but that was actually a good sign.
DJ had given him the passcode to the Tower, so that wasn't a problem either. He typed in the numbers that would allow access to the Titans' home, and let the elevator carry him up to the floor DJ told him they would be on.
The real problem came when the elevator doors slid open and revealed the hallway that would lead to the front room.
His forehead creased in confusion as his one good eye fell onto the sight before him. The drapes were flowing with the breeze, whipping and revealing the shattered windows that certainly should have been intact. There was broken glass littering the floor, sparkling and glinting with the lights above. Several bloody paw prints that could only be from a large animal were smeared against the dark tiles.
The crime scene before him wasn't the only peculiar thing about the room, but the lack of voices. It was just after seven, so he knew that the teenagers should've been awake. Not only because nobody goes to sleep at seven, but because it was a scheduled visit, planned days ago. They knew he was coming.
"Arrowette?" He called out to the silent interior, his voice bouncing across the walls.
Nobody answered him. The paranoia of an assassin rocketed in him. He drew his gun from it's holster and clenched the handle. He didn't want to scare either of the teenagers in case he was wrong, so he kept it dropped at his side, but ready at a moment's notice.
"DJ?" He called again, slowly creeping down the floors and to the first archway that led to a larger room. "Shit."
The large kitchen and living room area revealed his exact fears. He dropped his gun and ran through the opening, dropping to his knees next to the unmoving form of the youngest Queen. Her body was laying on its side, awkwardly positioned with one of her arms under her ribs, and the other atop her leg. He put two fingers to her neck, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the steady thumping of a pulse against her skin.
