Where Terror Strikes Nightly [Jason]

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The city was dark, drenched in the shadow of looming storm clouds, where no moonlight could reach the world below. The air tasted foul, but at least it was cool to the skin. In the distance, the sound of shouting echoed through the streets. Two drunken men, caught in a brawl outside of a strip club. One should be curious as to when they'd hear the police sirens. But for those that were well aquainted with that particular area, they knew it would never come. On a dark knight in Gotham's east end, a fight was the least of anyone's problems. No one would call it in. Hopefully, the men could settle their differences without the death of the other. But this was Gotham, and much to the misfortunes of others, one of the two men, if not both, had a weapon. And then, of course, their spectators would flee, leaving the pair at each others throats.

Lauren had spotted the fight from the alley, just across the street. She remained hidden, of course, fearful of the events that were taking place. The darkness hid her small frame from predatory eyes, however. The rumble of distant thunder prompted Lauren to find shelter, and she slipped deeper into the alley, her tail flicking anxiously behind her, as her sharp eyes cut through the darkness. On either side of her, trash lined the walls. Normally, she'd find decent pickings. Her stomach growled, demanding food, but Lauren swallowed the feeling down. She didn't want to be caught in the rain. Her hunger would have to wait. Water wasn't exactly a favorite element of hers. It was cold, wet, and uncomfortable.

She hopped easilly over the chainlink fence that blocked off the rest of the alley, but her teeth clamped shut at the loud noise it made. On such dangerous ground, silence was key. Fearful that her position had been given up, the dumpster was the first place Lauren fled to, hiding around the side of it to peer catiously out. When nothing else moved, other than a rat scurrying across the concrete, Lauren crept her way back into the open of the alleyway, turning away from the fence to face the road opposite of the one she had come from. Across it's cracked surface was another dark alley, but this one didn't join another two roads.

Rather, this one stopped at a wall, but more importantly, it had an awning. It hung over a door, which Lauren assumed to be a side entrance into the building. Not that that mattered. It was shelter, she best shelter she could find at the moment, and already Lauren thought she had felt a rain drop splash upon her shoulder. Of course, at that moment, she raced across the dark street to reach the alley, slipping under the awning just in time. Behind her, it looked as if the sky had opened. Water began to suddenly hammer the streets. Despite her head being covered, the rain fell with such force that Lauren still managed to get splashed.

She pressed herself as close to the wall as she could manage, gazing out at the rain as the storm moved in. Lauren hugged her legs close, closing her eyes tight as lightning streaked across the sky, leaping at the boom of thunder. Storms had always frightened her, but not so much as other things. She could at least stand it without panicking. Lauren watched the puddles form on the ground, frowning as the water began crowding her position. As tense as she was, Lauren nearly screamed as she felt the door bump her form. Someone was trying to get out. But why? It was pourning!

Looking up, the first thing that she noticed was the knife, which quickly sent her retreating into the rain, much to her displeasure. "Here kitty kitty." A male voice called after her. Lauren was sure now, that the building's inhabitants must have seen her from the inside somehow, and they now had the intent of keeping her around. The sounds of heavy footsteps splashing through the water behind her set her legs punping harder. The concrete was slippery to her bare feet as she fled from the alley and into the street, swerving right. The rain struck her hard, soaking her thin clothing. Despite her run, Lauren shivered with cold.

Down the block Lauren fled, trying to hear her pursuer through the storm. She slid into another alley, hoping to find some advantage, but there was none to be found. In fact. Lauren found just the opposite. Her foot caught crumbled cement, sending her crashing to the concrete with a squeal. Firm hands clamped around her waist, dragging her up and twisting her to slam her back against the wall. Lauren felt a blade pressed to her throat, and responded with a frightened hiss. She caught a glimpse of his face, and he looked crazy, with red eyes and a broad grin. As if he were on drugs. That explained his actions. Her claws flexed, but with the knife pressed to her throat, there was little Lauren could do. Fear engulfed her.

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Werelight casts long shadows on dark nights. Tonight, the moon's glow was outshone by city lights; two silhouettes, stumbling and cursing, outlined in the vacant street. A separate silhouette stood hunched against a motorbike, propped against the club wall. The alleyway shaded the figure from the bystanders' view, not that they weren't all already too intoxicated to notice. The two opponents, in their drunken stupor, withdrew weapons and quickly dissipated the onlookers. His eyes looked on, interested, through the slits in his red helmet. Thunder clapped, foretelling a storm. Telling between thunderheads and city smog was a task he wasn't concerned on perfecting. He stood by idly as the pair circled each other, inclined neither to step in nor to continue gazing at the inevitable sequence of events. It was a nightly performance he had seen overmany times.

Eventually, after having watched the two cowards stare at the other for a good three minutes, he stepped from the recesses of the shadows and strode toward the two drunken men. The man facing opposite him noticed his approach first and, in pure alarm and intoxicated stupidity, shot a slug far over Jason's shoulder. He heard the shot clang off the trash cans in the alleyway and withdrew his own magnum from its holster. Once he reached the other, who still had a full clip of bullets loaded, he kicked the gun from his hand and slammed his skull on the harsh concrete in one swift movement. Gun still at his side, he spoke to the other, "Put the gun down, or you won't get as lucky as your friend." His companion's head was seeping blood into the nearby sewage drain. Seeming to think he would prefer outright death over bleeding out, or alternatively not thinking at all, the man moved his thumb to cock his gun. In the second before he shot, Jason drew his gun up to shoulder height and shot the man through the throat. After he fell, limp, next to his comrade, he picked up both of the fallen guns and chucked them in the sewage drain down which their blood would soon mix with the falling rain. After disposing of the guns, he heard the chainlink fence rattle. He sighed, thinking that he never got a moment of peace in this glorified hell.

Athletically leaping onto his bike, he sped down the alleyway in favor of the populated street. It seemed nothing good ever happened in Gotham's alleys. A particular instance with his mother came to mind, but he pushed the memory away with an occupied thrust of his psyche. The fence loomed. With unerring accuracy, he shot the lock on the fence and burst through to the other side where he saw a leg disappear around the opposite corner. Another fluid object followed, which his hood identified as a tail. He shrugged the option off as a mechanical malfunction and slid to a halt in the now-damp alley.

His bike was stylishly customized. Chrome finish covered the front and back wheels, as well as his control panel and many other of the bike's streamlined gadgets. The wheels were as thick as the bike itself, giving it a look of stylized dexterity. There was no windshield or the like; his hood was crafted with aerodynamics in mind. Despite the machine's exterior simplicity, it was created with raw power in mind and as a powerful challenger to bikes designed for both Bruce and Dick, just with his own rogue touch to it. The entirety was quite the steed to behold.

Dismounting, he walked with practiced calm toward where the disturbance in question had disappeared. Before he could reach the building's edge, he saw a woman huddled across the street under an awning. His hood identified her leg, and oddly enough her tail, positively to the subject. He relaxed. This woman wasn't up to anything suspicious. He had suspected an associate of the now-dead street fighters attempted to flee with his life after seeing how he handled the situation. Knowing she was not what he expected, he would have turned back toward his bike to leave, but something about her tail and her apparent youth piqued his curiosity. Engaged, he leaned against the wall much in the same way he had leaned into his bike before; difference being his interest, this time, was much more innocent.

Within a few moments of his reverie, he was grateful for his brotherly interest in her. A man emerged from the building she was sheltering beneath. Following a cry of surprise, and then an expression of outright fear, she fled from the threat. The man, undoubtedly intoxicated, took pursuit. He scowled while taking swift steps back toward his bike. They had already rounded the corner when he revved the engine and sent the wheels turning. He took a shortcut through another alleyway, skirting dumpsters and cowering hobos as he went. Squeals of terror directed him to the alleyway where he saw her held tightly around the waist as he held a knife to her throat. Waiting until he pushed her against the brick wall so as to get a clear shot, he revved the engine again. Her attacker to looked in the direction of his headlights, distracted and alarmed. Using wood propped against a dumpster as a ramp, he flung himself and the bike into the man's full view and caught him in his side with the front wheel. The knife fell, useless, to the ground beside the young woman as he landed and skidded to a stop five feet from the dazed man. He dismounted his vehicle to stand before the now-unarmed man.

As the man began to regain his composure, Jason instructed the woman, "Grab the knife." The man, at full height now, looked from him to his fallen knife and took a step back toward the woman. Expecting this, Jason drew his gun and cocked it. "Touch her again and say goodbye to your arm. No, screw that, your head." Convinced that retrieving his weapon was futile, the man turned his attention back to Jason. Jason sized the man up. He looked in decent shape. At the very least, he was worth a try. Red eyes gave probable cause to his actions, though Jason never liked to excuse away violence. But, there was normally a reason. After being around violence for so long, you began to see patterns. It didn't take a genius. Thankfully, he wasn't one.

Smiling devilishly through his mask, he returned his magnum to its holster and opened his hands as if to signal he was unarmed. "Let's make this interesting." Subliminally, he knew the man would be no match for him. Besides likely being higher than Wayne Tower, Jason had had years of superior training and experience. Who was this guy but a freeloader with decent muscle mass? Still, he was anxious for an exciting bout of violence of late. He felt like he was so close to Batman he could taste it, but he had yet to connect fist to flesh. Besides aggravating him, it put him on edge. Anticipation made him anxious for a meeting, but either Bats hadn't realized he was there or he was ignoring his presence until he threatened the billionaire vigilante directly. Somehow, he suspected with Riddler's plans, he would capture his old mentor's attention sooner rather than later.

Circling each other, the two men squared off and the young woman's attacker threw himself into the fray first. But Jason was woefully quick in dismissing his advances. The man threw a right hook at his cheek which he swiftly dodged and used the man's awkward stance to his advantage. Taking the man's arm in one hand and his ribcage in the other, he flung the man over his shoulder into a pile of rank garbage. A few moments later, the man recovered and again aimed a punch at his chest. Slapping down his hand and aiming his own punch at the man's face sent the man sprawling on the alley floor. He grimaced as the man stayed down, his head bleedingly slightly into a puddle of murky rainwater. Speaking more to himself and the woman than the man, who he guessed was knocked unconscious, he said, "Well, that wasn't nearly as fun as it hoped it would be." Accepting the excitement was over, he again drew his gun from the holster and dispatched a shot into the back of the man's head. "Shame." He spoke more about his lack of sufficient challengers than the life he had just ended; what was another leech living in the East Quarter? Nothing. He was nothing. Just as Jason had once been: nothing.

His attentions returned to the young woman, who he looked over briefly while passing toward his bike. At the press of a button, the engine awoke and sent deep, pleasurable groans echoing through the dark alley. As he settled onto the bike's seat, rain now running down his hood like beads of sweat. If you looked close enough, you could see his blue eyes through the slits in the helmet glance darkly through the alleyway. Deigning to be a gentleman, he sat back on the bike and scowled down at the woman. What clothes she wore were tattered and she wore no shoes at all. Here was another nobody. Difference was, this one's life was being spared. But, he thought, she has potential. Her claws had extended in the man's grip, and would have been useful had he not trapped her so successfully. And her tail ought to be used for more than just looks, similarly for her ears. Here was a Catwoman in the making, just a lot more cat-like. The prospect was gleaming in the moonlight, oh-so-tempting and ready for the taking.

He removed his mask. Showing his face to her, he pasted on a charming smile and leaning tantalizingly as his bike purred. "Need a ride? ...Or maybe some warm clothes? A nice fire to curl up next to?" He didn't mean to appeal to the cat-like nature that she appeared to be privy to, but the words tumbled out before he thought on them. Ultimately, he figured it didn't matter. With luck, she would be grateful and desperate enough to look past his myriad of flaws and word choices.

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If the man, in his drunken stage, with a knife pressed firmly to Lauren’s throat, proved to be so terrifying, the aggressive appearance of Red Hood brought an even more panicked feeling that reflected within Lauren’s expression of terror. As the wheel struck her attacker, Lauren had spun in a fall sideways to the concrete. She was lucky to have managed to catch herself, sliding to her hands and knees with her head stretched around to view the scene as it had changed so quickly. Her hero, if he could be called that, was quick to bark an order that she was hesitant to obey. Grab the knife? Not likely, in her state. But Lauren did manage a clumsy attempt of knocking the weapon back and out of reach.

She froze at the sound of a gun. Her ears rose to full height, as her breath caught. Oh shit, he was going to kill the guy. Of course, Lauren was no stranger to death. Lauren lived in Gotham, after all. And while she had experienced her fair share of murders, it didn’t mean she had grown used to it. In fact, the events had only served to make her more timid, and the gun brought up memories that she had tried to forget. With her eyes wide, Lauren observed. She couldn’t describe her relief when he put the weapon away; choosing instead to brawl with her attacker, but the tone of his voice surfaced wary feelings.

Lauren turned her head at the violence. It was another thing she wasn’t new to, but that didn’t mean she wanted to watch at that moment. When the sound of combat ceased, Lauren dared a peek. As expected, Red Hood had dispatched his opponent with ease. Her eyes widened again as he pulled out his gun. ”No!” Lauren protested just as he emptied a bullet into the back of the man’s head. What was the point of that, if not simply for the pleasure of the kill? The guy was down. He had offered no more threat. Yet Red Hood had seen fit to kill him? It had been totally unnecessary.

Lauren said nothing else, but rather backed herself against the wall as she eyed her savior. Lauren wasn’t against killing when it had to be done. She understood when it was the only way. But this time, it had not been the only way. The man’s life should have been spared. But Lauren wouldn’t dare speak out against Red Hood. He’d dispatch her in a second. She wanted to hide herself as he examined her. Muddied, wet, and just outright unappealing as she was. Her small and trembling frame didn’t help.

She expected him to drive off, to leave her to suffer in the rain. For a moment, it looked that way. And then, in an action that took her by surprise, he removed his helmet, exposing himself to the rain. Unlike Lauren, he didn’t look unappealing at all. In fact, he was quite handsome, and for some strange reason, that put her more at ease. She hadn’t been expecting him to offer her a ride, either. Lauren gazed at him with her still wide eyes for a few moments, reviewing his words. Some warm clothes and a fire did sound enticing. So enticing, that she nearly forgot the events that had happened just a few minutes earlier, and took a step toward the bike with a nod. ”Yes please." Lauren responded eagerly.

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With shaded, crystalline eyes, peering down the sights of his magnum, he felt no hesitation in pulling the trigger. What needed to be done needed to be done. He didn’t feel compelled to explain it to anyone only because he knew that he was doing what any morally-guided person should do. Granted, the single man wasn’t a threat to Gotham by his lonesome. It was the principle of the thing. He knew from experience that if one man got shipped off to Blackgate or the Asylum, there was a 99% chance that he would escape or be released and continue doing whatever it was he was doing before; simple as that. Even simpler, the only other conceivable prison that was inescapable was death. Albeit, he himself had found a way out; but that wasn’t the point. Point being that with a bullet in his head he did a helluva lot less harm than he did without. The same was true for the two street brawlers who thought they’d endanger innocent lives. Boom; dead and decaying by his hand.

The catlike woman’s reaction, however, was understandable because of her apparent ignorance of the workings of the world. Such was the way of things; the shapings of the cosmos. Carrying a gun at his hip was his protection from fate, much the way her claws were the ways she dealt with similar things. The manner by which they both protected their livelihood likely differed, but only because their outlooks on the world differed just as much. That also was the way of it. Coming to terms with the reality that he would likely be unable to change Bruce’s own perspective was a harder aspect as such, but he was beginning to get there. In his mind, it was still worth a shot or two.

Regardless, his own meanderings were ones he intended to make known to the girl. It was the least he could do, what with all the baddies that roamed the streets at night. Persons needed the means to protect oneself and secure ones state of mind and living. It was obvious the girl hadn’t acquired such means, and Jason had no intention of letting her leave without some helpful knowledge under her belt. His removal of his mask was an unspurred act of trust; showing his true face would hopefully inspire the girl to trust him, in which it succeeded. Despair, he realized, was no small force and was likely to be thanked for her eagerness.

He gestured, broadly, to the back of the bike’s seat as he edged forward, showing her where she was to sit. The bike’s purr was idle as she began to approach. He thought fleetingly on where he was to take her. His numerous residences throughout the areas of Gotham allowed for some variation in his houseguests. Also, it kept him from being too tightly monitored. No one truly knew where all of his apartments were, which he made sure of. That and others were well-learned lessons from the Batman. Trust no one completely, if anyone at all. Besides that, always be prepared was an ever-present motto. The myriad of apartment buildings, placed all across Gotham and the surrounding areas, he believed lived up to Batman’s expectations. Despite there being other “safe pads” in major cities throughout the United States and the world, the stress on him to remain alert never ceased.

Once the girl mounted his bike, the engine revved in response. After once again donning his hood, they sped down the avenue toward one of his apartments. The traffic was minimal on the eastern edge of Gotham, for no person in their right mind would drive through that part of the city at night, but it began to get more crowded as they drove into the business quarter of the city. This section was much more secure; apartment buildings had their doors locked at night to discourage wanderers, so Jason was near-positive that the building was be inaccessible except by facial recognition. This, predictably, he had refused to comply to, so he was left with the more adventurous entrance: the fire escape.

He parked his bike, which he had dotingly dubbed Tank, in his space against the protective concrete wall. After dismounting, a thought flickered through his mind as he began to rub his gloved hands together and walk toward the building’s outside. He glanced back at her while speaking, but not disturbing his path toward the building’s outer wall. ”I don’t think I caught your name.” The question was innocent enough. A name was better than continually calling her “cat girl.”

He tightened his leather gloves on his hands. The metal layer that acted as a guard around his knuckles rapped against the metal structure as he approached it and tested it for structural density. The apartment building was relatively new, and was one of the few in the business sector of Gotham. It was priced higher than the purely residential areas, and was more lavishly furnished. He was only unwilling to buy an estate or manor from the highest class of residential area in the city. Not for the cost, for he had much to spare, but for his imminent proximity to those he’d rather not live so close to. It helped him sleep better.

Rather than dive head-first onto the metal platform, he again gestured widely to the girl, and smiled charmingly at her from under his hood. ”Ladies first?” He figured she would hesitate, closely following up the charismatic question, ”If not, you could always follow me.” At this stage, the last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable. He wanted to keep a close eye on her, and watch to see how agile she was on a more unstable surface, but it wasn’t worth risking her safety around him. A time for familiarity would come later; that was, if she agreed to his offer.