The Red Hood is back in Gotham after a year long international trip, only to find that another anti-hero has come to control crime in his absence.
When they meet, he is drawn into a dangerous game that she has been playing for a long time, which was...
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The wind rattled through the heart of Gotham, harsh and cold. It reminded the woman crouching on the rooftop of a time when she didn't know how to leap off a building and not fall to her death, and in some ways that time was much easier.
She gave her gear a once over, just to check her ammunition was fully restocked (even though she'd looked two minutes, five minutes ago) and her grappling device was firmly attached to the utility belt, like it should be. Then she glanced at the GPS tracker in the palm of her hand. The dots showed the cargo trucks were on the move, like clockwork, every alternating second and third Tuesday of the month at 3:05am. A pattern subtle enough that the cops were clueless, yet so predictable to Felix. Of course, it helped a little that her background gave her an intimate knowledge of the Gotham drug trade. She rolled her eyes. This goddamn city had barely changed.
A short way off, the soft rumble of engine motors cut through the night, getting louder as they got closer. Felix's muscles tensed, waiting for them to appear, waiting for the right moment. The seconds ticked by as the noise of the procession of trucks drew ever nearer until headlights appeared in her line of sight.
"Good luck cleaning this up, you dick," she said to herself with a kind of smug satisfaction, and detonated the explosives. The trucks that were packed full of semi-automatic weapons and drugs exploded in huge jets of orange flames, two or three flipping completely over and screeching down the road in a flurry of brilliant sparks. The scent of burning metal and C4 explosives were a comforting familiarity to Felix as she scaled the the side of the building and landed on the gravel in four seconds flat.
With one handgun drawn she strode with purpose to the truck that had skidded to a stop immediately in front of her and crouched down before the broken windshield. Black glass was scattered across the road, lit up by the flames so they rippled like liquid. Behind the crushed windshield was a man and a woman hanging upside down in their seats, arms dangling against the roof of the cabin. Blood trailed down their faces and the woman seemed to either be unconscious or dead. She didn't particularly care. She only needed one of them to carry the message.
"Hey," Felix said, pointing her handgun at the forehead of the man, who was in the driver seat. He let out a groan, eyes flickering open only to start to struggle, as if it might do him any good. "Can you deliver a message for me?" The man, trails of red rolling slowly up his forehead and dripping into his hairline, gazed at her in frozen, primal fear. He looked like he might be going into shock, but she jabbed at him with the weapon, which got him nodding crazily. "Good, good. Okay, I want you to tell Black Mask that all of this," she gestured to the carnage all about them and the convoys burning with cocaine-fuelled flames with her gun, "is basically because I don't like him." Felix smiled, baring her teeth in a grin. She actually had a whole other reason for this exciting and attention attracting debacle, but also enjoyed pissing off the so called 'King' of the Gotham underworld. It gave her a huge kick and had become a hobby of hers ever since he'd started doing anything he could to kill her. "Got it?" The man in the seat, clearly close to sobbing, nodded, the only noise he was making a strangled squeak.
