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chapter one / toss a coin to the dead man
Roy Harper stumbles blindly into the dark apartment; the plaster on the walls is crumbling with a yellow haze in the stark moonlight, beer cans littering the coffee table and floor. It's a mess, in complete disarray. Trembling fingers clutch his bow. He looks to the window, the full moon taking up most of the skyline, the blanket of stars shrouded by Gotham's streetlights.
Flexing his knuckles anxiously, Roy can feel his body buzz as he takes in white powder dusting the coffee table—the faint traces of three white lines on a rectangle ashtray and a rolled five dollar note resting beside it, show the apartment owner's leftovers from last nights binge. An ugly feeling crawls into his gut, compelling him to take a step closer and release the itch that's been phantom scratching at his limbs since he'd given up.
But he holds his ground.
Releasing a tense breath, Roy pushes down the bile rising in his throat and rakes his metal hand through the red strands of his hair before edging the wall, and pushing open the door to the bedroom. He grips his bow tighter, arrow already notched and ready to fire.
If it weren't for years of experience, lingering behind Oliver Queen with his arrows drawn as they discovered sights of horrors that one could ever forget, Roy Harper would have thrown up right then and there, but once again he forces down the bile and carefully steps towards the scene. He lowers his weapon.
The covers flung from the bed, red stains the fabric. It's clear that Markus Romano attempted to flee before being trapped—nail-sized scratches in the paint of the windowsill inked with red blood. A quick glance to Markus' hands tells Roy all he needs to know. I wouldn't call you if I didn't need you, the voicemail had sounded; resonating in his skull, but man I think somebody is trying to break into my apartment and I didn't know who else to call. Those were probably Markus' last real words. The thought is offhand, a passing mention in Roy's mind before he continues to assess the scene. He fumbles with the arrow notched in his bow.
Chewing on his lower lip, Roy slings his bow around him before pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping in the passcode. He taps on Jason's contact, thumb hovering over the call button before he thinks better of it. 'WAYNE' begins to flash like a warning sign. It takes five rings for him to pick up the phone and utter his greeting.
"Harper," he says, "it's not often you call in. What can I do for you?"
"I need your help. I think I found something for Jason."
The line crackles as a silence falls between them, humming for a few beats and then Roy begins to hear rustling. He can only assume that Bruce is moving somewhere more secure before continuing the conversation. Roy takes the chance to rise to his feet, stepping back from the blood-written word and tapping his foot anxiously. The itch to run, far and away, only grows with the passing of each tense moment.
