Red Hood stands in the center of Gotham Park, waiting. His guns feel heavy in his hands. He scans the area twice over. He came early.
The park is quiet; shut down for the night. He's deep inside, so deep that it's hard to hear the city snore. It's dark.
He's alone, aside from Barbara's soft whispers into his ear that everything will be alright. That everything will go as planned.
Nothing ever goes according to plan, but neither of them mention it.
It's quiet.
He hears them coming before he sees them. Five or so men, all covered in those tattoos; but there will be more. Heads don't come without hands.
"Come, Red Hood. Don't you want to see her transformation?"
The word 'transformation' makes a shiver claw up his spine.
If everything weren't on the line, he'd kill them all right where they stand. "The note said the meeting place was here. Tell me where they are."
They'd planned it like the fight would come down here. Batman and Red Robin crouch in the dark, watching. It wouldn't be too hard for them to follow him, probably, but that doesn't mean he wants to give up this territory quite yet.
"The note said if you came here you'd get to see them. You're in no position to bargain."
Red Hood points his gun. "My bullets say otherwise."
The Oracle's voice whispers through the speakers inside his hood, "Careful."
The cultists laugh. "Oh, you dark soul, unable to step into the light!"
Jason huffs. He's heard enough villain monologues to sense one coming on, and he can already tell this one got a D minus in evil speech class.
"What's the individual to fear but individuality? Death is the great equalizer, everyone faces it. It's something that deserves a celebration. An audience. Kill me now and I will have my audience of brothers! That is enough for me, to die for the cause of Transfuse--"
Jason zones out sometime around this point. The five build off each other, each looking captivated by one another's words and messages as they go on and on and on about how death is so noble and blah ba blah ba blah. It's a little disturbing.
If it weren't for his hypocritical backup, he would have shot at least one of them in the lung by now just to see how they face the music.
Death doesn't feel so fair when it's happening to you.
They turn on their heels and start walking away, still babbling. Red Hood cusses under his breath and follows. They lead him to the same car that kidnapped Antigone.
All five of them took up all the seats, so he knocks on the window. "I get it. You want to die. Don't sweat it," It'll come sooner than you think, he almost adds, "But I came here with the intention of getting some people. If you don't—"
One of the men gets out, holding up a key. "Darkness cannot mix with light. We would overcome you." He opens up the trunk.
A retort, hot on Red Hood's mouth, dies when his gaze falls on the open compartment.
Antigone's yellow dress, now in tatters with the ends tinted red, whines at him. His body slackens. His heart thuds.
The man takes the opportunity and shoves Red Hood forward, catching him by surprise. Red Hood lets himself fall and get locked into the trunk, because if this is what it takes to get to her, then this is what would be done.
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Ghostwriter
FanfictionAntigone Jackson operates on a thin string woven of flimsy finances and desperate hope. Crippled by grief and her new-found duty of raising her late sister's son, she's not in any position to strike back against the forces maneuvering around her. B...