Cold-Blooded

Fission

The shooter's identity was concealed by a tattered cloak that shimmered in the light, every inch of their visible skin covered in black and blue material and the gun they were using was a complete replica of Jason's own firearm; they had stepped forward once and Alias fired a warning shot of ice by their feet out of defence. She didn't notice Nightwing lose his balance until she felt his weight being pressed onto her, and she managed to transfer him into a seated position on the floor before she straightened up and glared at the shooter. It was something about their signature. It was incredibly familiar. "Why does it feel like I know you?"

"'cause you do, Alias. Look, this is a really bad time, and I didn't mean to shoot Grayson―"

"How do you know his name?"

"I know everything. I came here 'cause you need my help."

"I don't think so." Alias ducked into a bolt and vanished in a cloud of dusty ice but the shooter barely moved a muscle, only looked over their right shoulder and ducked, fast. Nightwing didn't even see it happen, only witnessing Alias bounce across the floor and recover swiftly. His eyes were too slow to catch a speed so inhumanly fast. It was then that the Meta realised that their entire left arm was replaced with inorganic matter. "How did you..."

"The memories that you have about your meta origin ain't entirely true. Syndicate never existed through human eyes and yet was created by mortals. Your powers are entirely organic. You're not even supposed to be alive." She blinked. Not...alive? Living? What the hell was this person talking about? Of course she's alive..only, Jason said the exact same thing. And so did Sinclair.

"As much as I...wanna listen to this," Nightwing hissed as he swayed to his knees. "I'm losing a lot of blood here...probably too much..."

"Then tell me, whoever you are," Alias spoke after she knelt down to deal with Grayson's injury; her hand let out a soft hue as light bent through her fingers and around his bicep. "What am I?"

"Long story short: as the first conditioned mercenary they wanted to test your limits via punishment, see how much 'ice queen' you can become while you're on the field. You deviated during a mission, they punished you and, in turn, your power turned against you, freezing your organs and killing you from the inside out. Alias died a couple years ago in Syndicate HQ, all the way in London, so I have reason to wonder why she's here healthy and kicking ass." As the cloaked figure was talking they slowly made their way forward, their steps careful and silent, and stopped a metre in front of the twosome. Their anatomy was more noticeable up close; it was a male with some sort of voice modulator. "Somehow you managed to wake up and it's been a few months since Syndicate caught onto your scent. I mean the first time you guys met, that was literally a couple guys out of the many they have back home."

"So why am I here?"

"Why? I was gonna ask you the same thing, I honestly don't know. When I found out you were here, I pretty much turned rogue after pulling off that stunt to find you but, boy, Syndicate sure hate―"

"Stop saying that." Alias stood up again, with Nightwing in the fireman's carry. Her healing had an anaesthetic side-effect that caused the subject to be really drowsy. She never understood why it happened but only that it worked. "How can I believe someone who won't even reveal themselves? You can be anyone for all I care."

"Okay, good point. Urm, well, I am a wanted man in Gotham amongst the ruthless and immoral and I'd rather keep it on but, I mean, you don't have to take my advice―"

"Good. I won't. I should kill you for shooting Nightwing and rousing suspicion of a bomb that never existed." She turned and walked away from the man, a disappointed look on her freckled face as she took the stairs, and the shooter crossed his arms. He was determined to show Alias the truth, whether she cared or not.