Chapter Text
*beep*
“You have a new contract, Renegade. Target: Roman Sionas. His reach is getting a little too close to Bristol, and the elites are getting antsy. Take your time—this job needs to be done right.”
*beep*
My week started like any other: a day of surveillance, a night of laying on a roof with a sniper in my hands, and a scope positioned dead center between Mr. Sionas’ eyes. The perfect shot, until a batarang whizzed past my ear and hit the rifle.
“Neither you nor your master are welcomed in Gotham.”
“Ah, but Batman, we’re just trying to clean up your streets.”
“Murdering a man in cold blood does not make Gotham cleaner.”
“But a man like him walking away free just so he can turn around and murder one of your own does?"
I left. It’s never a good idea to complete a high-stakes contract on the first day. Roman Sionas could live another night.
“Recent reports show a new persona rising in The Gotham Underground, taking on the deceased Joker’s mantle of The Red Hood. We urge citizens to stay inside their homes.”
“Fear rises across Gotham as citizens question whether a new Joker has risen after three years.”
“There’s a new face in The Gotham Underground, citizens are wondering if he is a friend or a foe.”
This time, I chose a different rooftop—better visibility in the smoggy Gotham night. My aim was perfect—precise—until panicked movement below caught my eye. Tonight, my plans would be changed again due to an unlikely team-up with a Little Robin.
“Didn’t the brooding, dark knight teach you not to wander off alone, little birdy?”
“Not little—and I had those low-life thugs handled.”
“And I believe the Joker survived that crowbar to the head.”
Sometimes difficult and high-risk targets need to be observed across multiple days before the contract can be efficiently completed. Roman Sionas would see the sun rise one more day.
“Batman…did the public ever see the real reports of the Joker’s death?”
“…No. The public was told he stumbled into a prison fight that resulted in a fatal injury.”
“So, only a handful of people know it was…Nightwing…and a crowbar?”
“Very few.”
I chose to take my shot earlier this time—previous attempts proved this to be the best course of action; there would be fewer…distractions. I realized how wrong this decision was when I felt the hairs on my neck rise and caught sight of the red suit behind me, standing against the Gotham skyline. He had no visible weapons.
“Batman doesn’t like mercenaries in his city.”
“What Batman doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
. . .
“Do you ever wonder what B would do if you came back? If he. . .if he would forgive you?”
“…the question isn’t whether Batman would forgive me, but would I forgive him.”
The little bird possesses a certain...intellect...and it will cause him trouble in the future. But the facts cannot be denied, his words made the sniper in my hands unsteady. Roman Sionas would survive another night.
*crack*
“Is this thing working? . . .oh, it is. Roman Sionas, what’s up? Heard your little crime family has started selling to kids in the alley. . . we don’t play that way around here, haven’t you heard? Stop your supply now, or else, the next head in my bag will be yours.”
*crack*
Due to previous failures, I determined that my target needed a more personal approach. Sionas had been alone for ten minutes, anxiously fiddling with a black mask in his hands. It would be the perfect time to complete the contract. At least, I thought so until a man wearing a bright red hood busted down the door.
“Hood.”
“I warned you, Sionas. All you had to do was stop selling to my kids. But then I get word that you didn’t decrease the supply. No, you increased it.”
“Money is money when you work in my business.”
“Not when it involves the kids in my alley.”
The fight started as any gunfight would. But then it devolved into a fistfight between the two men; that’s when Red Hood’s hood slipped off his head. There was an obnoxious beeping coming from somewhere to my right, but I barely noticed it through the white static drumming in my ears.
“Hey, Dick. It’s Jason.”
My eyes locked onto the familiar dark hair on his head—exactly the same, bar the tuff of stark white near the front.
“I got a new lead on my mom. . .heading to Ethiopia—”
Where once sat a black domino across the bridge of his nose was now replaced by a red.
“Know you’re off-world—”
Two guns, but still taking advantage of his words and surroundings.
“Could really use some backup—”
No longer a skinny fifteen-year-old, but eighteen with shoulders to match. . .him.
“I didn’t know who else to call—”
Jason—alive.
“Bye, I guess.”
One final beep and the room exploded.