Bruce had never been a fan of aliens. They were an unknown. An unpredictable threat. He saw his friendship with the Kryptonian Kal-El as an exception to these rules, and the only one that he was willing to accept. So, when an alien vessel crashes in...
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The Iceberg Lounge was one of those places that smart people knew to stay away from. The kind of place that always showed up on the news for gang violence, stabbings, shootings, the works. However, if you lived on the streets like Jason Todd did as a kid, you'd know it was where shady people went when they needed something.
It was an establishment owned by Oswald Cobblepot, a guy with a name that Jason always thought sounded like it belonged in a Harry Potter book. You see, Cobblepot had to crack down on all this drama. Despite how deep his pockets were, he could only bribe so much. All of that attention on his bar was making him sweat, so guns were eventually banned. The last thing he wanted was the GCPD getting nosy.
This fact was going to make Jason's job tonight a whole lot easier.
Music was blaring and the main room of the lounge was shrouded in shadow with only pulsing strobe lights momentarily providing visibility to the patrons present. It was easy enough for Jason to slip behind the security at the front; now for the even easier part.
A bellowing laugh overpowered the music as Jason strode by a booth. "Didn't realise it was Halloween! Where's your mom?!"
The man stepped out of the booth and approached Jason, who was clad in his Robin suit. Without slowing his urgent stride, Jason rammed his forehead into the man's nose.
He didn't watch as the guy fell backwards onto his table, throwing the various cocktails onto his still-seated friends.
Robin scanned the dozens of faces, ignoring the pain that throbbed through his skull.
"What the fuck!?"
"This a prank or something!?"
Gang leaders waved, causing their goons to push to their feet and trail over to Jason like sharks to blood. The henchmen started barking at him, he didn't really care what they were saying. He was ready to reply though.
Nobody could really tell what happened because of the damn flashing lights. The result was periodically visible freeze frames of Robin throwing elbows into peoples' jaws, stomping kneecaps, snapping bones, and punching out teeth.
The bubble of brutality drifted across the Iceberg Lounge, converging on the table belonging to Vincent Valen.
At this point, Robin was panting and flecked with blood. It wasn't his blood. In his wake was a trail of bloodied men writhing on the ground.
As Valen's bodyguards rushed the teenager, Jason clutched one by the top of his skull, slammed his face into the corner of the table, then threw a haymaker into the other's lower jaw.
They both dropped like sacks of potatoes.
Now with no one standing in his way, Jason stared at the frozen Vincent Valen who was much too terrified to even try to flee. Jason glanced down at the table, snatched a drink that was miraculously still upright, and skulled it in a single breath.
