Chapter Text
After her belly growled for the third time, causing her classmates to continue to snicker derisively amongst themselves, Riley O’Reagan considered tearing her tearing out her stomach with complete sincerity. After weighing up the pros and cons for a moment, she came to the conclusion that the right move would in fact be to lobotomise herself with her pencil. She’d still be starving, but at least she will be too brain-dead to care.
Truthfully, being to too brain-dead to care would solve a lot of her problems, but no true Gothamite allows little things like systemic injustice, costumed crazies, and protecting life-or-death secrets to keep them down.
She wished that at least that last thing was a tad easier. Natural blue hair is a dead giveaway if you know what you’re looking for, and dressing like a punk is only a band aid solution. She hopes, the inevitable day the cat comes out of the bag, that it will be the Penguin who scoops her up. Being forced to get rid of evidence, weapons and bodies alike, for the rest of her days would be a merciful fate compared to what the rest of those psychos could cook up.
On the bright side, she could say with all seriousness; “I didn’t choose the punk life, the punk life choose me.” Which made her chuckle on the inside. On of her life’s small pleasures.
Regardless, she mustered up enough willpower to resolutely ignore the giggling and side-eyes until her severely overworked math teacher called it a day a good ten minutes before lunch actually started schedule. By the time the words left his mouth, he had already crawled into his sleeping bag and had conked out.
‘God I wish that were me.’
Riley somehow managed to drag herself to her school’s cafeteria and looked wistfully at the menu. She reached into her pocket, rummaged around for a moment, only to pull out some tissues, a paper clip, and a dead fly. ‘How’d that even get there?’ she thought to herself while slinking off to the corner of the room to feel sorry for herself.
“Special delivery!” A sandwich was suddenly thrust in front of Riley’s face; it was the crappy sort usually found in Gotham high schools which barely get enough funding to function, but to Riley, she may as well have been presented with a five-course meal intended for the Queen of England.
“I love you.”
“I know.” Stephanie Brown, her classmate, and the only good thing in Riley’s soft shitty life, plonked herself down on the seat next to her. Riley snatched the sandwich out of Stephanie’s hands and began to wolf it down. “When’s the last time you ate anyway?”
Riley turned her gaze toward her best friend mid-bite; there was the usual look of genuine kindness and concern that she hated and what warmed her heart in equal measure. The last time Stephanie knew for sure was last Friday when she spoiled her to a meal after class. On Saturday, Tommie, the veteran who lives in the alleyway next to Riley’s apartment building, shared a couple of his protein bars with her. So naturally, she replied “Last night, had to skip breakfast though.”
Stephanie, bless her heart, did not look convinced in the slightest, but did not press the issue. Riley was glad, she did not want to cry her eyes out so early in the day. She couldn’t afford to waste water so frivolously.
The school day, seemed to drag longer than usual that day, but eventually she left school to begin stalling until she could go home. It takes about half an hour to jog from Gotham North to Mr Doyle’s apartment. It was a hard balance to strike between getting back just late enough so Doyle had already drunk himself to sleep while also coming home early enough to avoid the streets getting too dangerous.
Privately, Riley was quite proud of herself for working out her current system. It took a lot of testing, information gathering, and an imaginative route through the sewers in order to craft the perfect re-entry plan. What was once a dangerous game of sprinting through gang territory for forty-five minutes was now cut down to a thirty-minute power-walk through the underground. Like she said; Perfect.
Well, there was that one time she turned the corner and bumped into Killer Croc, but any Gothamite worth their pocketknife knows how to run away from danger on a moment’s notice. Plus, the Batman was there to kick his ass before things got that bad.
She still remembers the look of sympathy in his eyes. Not that she could see them through his white googles-things, but Riley knew somehow that he understood. But if the Batman could save everyone, she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
She didn’t begrudge him when he turned around without a word, and retreated back into the darkness, Waylon Jones in tow.
---{ Elsewhere }---
After catching up on sleep for a few hours, Riley snuck out of her neighbourhood to get to her night job at Bat Burger. Why anyone thought the people of Gotham were willing to risk going out at night for Bat Burger of all things, except maybe to rob the place, was beyond Riley. She guesses it fits with the bat’s whole nocturnal gimmick.
Stupid business decisions aside, the arrangement works pretty world for Riley, minimum wage for doing pretty much nothing. She had worked retail in the day once, never again. So yes, even if it fucks up with her sleep schedule hard, it’s the best job she could realistically ask for. She just needs to make sure that fucker Doyle doesn’t find her stash and splurge it on cheap beer and lottery tickets. Again.
‘There’s just one problem with the job,’ she thought dryly, as the door chimed to signal it’s opening. ‘the idiot’s who actually DO eat Bat Burger at 3-AM.’ Riley rubbed her eyes in a vain attempt to make herself look vaguely presentable. ‘Time to play Gotham’s favourite game…’
‘CRACKHEAD! OR! ROBBER!’
While Riley was psyching herself up, the new arrival slowly walked toward her. They were wearing shades in the dead of night, giving her hope to was a junky looking for a meal to go with his fix. Hope that was dashed the instant he started talking.
“Hello…” He paused to read her name tag “Riley.”
‘Shit, he doesn’t sound stoned at all, no chance of red eyes behind those sunglasses…and who actually calls staff by their real names except to threaten them!’ She thought while trying to hide a grimace. “Welcome to Bat Burger, home of the Bat Burger, may I take your Order?”
Riley prided herself on being able to say the slogan with a straight face and winning smile, meanwhile she prepared her trump card in case things went ugly. The only loose end would be if someone watched this man enter the building in that case.
“I’ll have a…”
‘…’
“hmmm…”
‘Oh my fucking god.’
“I believe I’ll have the Night-Wings with a side of Bat-Fries to go.”
“Do you want me to Jokerize your fries?” The customer looked back at her with a pained expression “Are you threatening to poison me miss Riley?” Maybe if she lived in a normal city, she would have lost her patience at this point. But Riley lived in Gotham. Frankly, she was more relived by the fact that he most likely wasn’t going to stab her with a shard of broken glass after all. “It’s a seasoning.”
“No thank you.” Riley was alone on her shift, meaning it was also her job to go back into the kitchen to prepare this guy’s meal. “So Riley, how is it working at Bat Burger?”
‘Chatty bastard.’
“Not bad I guess.”
“Are you paid well?”
‘The fuck do you think?’
“Well enough I suppose.” Riley finished his order and turned back to give it to the man so he would piss off. But to her dismay, he stuck around to continue chatting to her while eating his fries.
“I ask about your pay, because I was wondering if you would appreciate the opportunity to make a little extra.”
‘And there it is…’ Riley’s winning smile turned into an icy glare, she really didn’t want to clean the floors and wipe the security footage, but you can’t have shit in Gotham. “Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
To her surprise, the man paled in shock and started exaggeratingly waving his arms. “No, no. no! That was not at all what I meant miss! Tell me, do you know who I am?”
“Um, should I?”
“I suppose I should not have expected to be recognised in my civilian persona. But perhaps, this will rel-ish some trapped memories?” Riley was so blindsided by the shitty pun she barely noticed him slipping on a green balaclava. “Condiment King?”
“The very same! I have come to make you an offer I that I’m sure you’ll find quite enticing.” Her eyes once again narrowed in suspicion. “Sorry, but I want no part of your carnival of crazy.”
“Are you sure about that, this whole time, you’ve been eyeing my Night-Wings like a starving dog. Can you really afford to ignore me?”
‘Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, this guy is more perceptive than I thought…’
“What do you want freak?” The Condiment King didn’t react to her jab, and simply pulled out his wallet, to reveal more money than Riley had ever seen in her life. “First, a tip, for your service.” He passed her a $20 bill. “You can expect another five hundred after the job.”
“As for the job itself, all I need is for you to secure and deliver ten boxes of Firefly hot sauce to our meetup point tomorrow night. You’ll be paid on delivery.”
Riley would not consider herself a righteous person, she could never understand what possesses the bats to roam the streets looking for trouble. How could she when she could barely look after herself. But she hardly a fool, Riley has been bombarded by PSAs for over decade all warning her what happens in this specific situation.
If a shady man offers you great money for an easy job, it’s a trap. In the case of drug dealers, their go-to strategy these days is to pay kids to deliver packages to other dealers while having another guy take a photo of the kid in the act. They then use the evidence to blackmail the kid into doing gods knows what, by threatening to give it to the cops. All of Riley’s instincts were telling her that taking this job was a bad idea. And yet…
‘It’s Condiment King.’ What’s he gonna do with this stuff anyway, make Robin have to drink some milk to get rid of the aftertaste? It’s not like it’s the Joker standing in front of her, asking for a vat of cyanide and arsenic.
“I’ll do it.”
“Lovely, I’m sure I’ll relish getting the chance to work with you!”
“You already made a relish pun!”
Condiment King ignored her and simply passed her a burner phone and a…business card? “Why do you even have this…” But the king had already scrolled away to the doors and looked over his shoulder to say one last thing “We shall meet at 2AM in the Coventry, I’ll text you the precise location later. Don’t be tardy!”
Riley just looked down at the bill in her hand.
‘I’m not a supervillain, but $20 is $20.’
---{ Elsewhere }---
Riley got home, went to school, came back home late, and caught up on sleep like usual. She even headed back to Bat Burger like usual, but not without preparations. Her paranoia had got to her and decided to take some precautions before the job.
Doyle is a gun-nut, and while his firearm are locked down, she could still grab a bullet-proof vest. Along with it, she wore a balaclava to cover up her very recognising hair, along with the rest of her features. The track suit she wore didn’t have a hood, and she would look suspicious strolling around with the mask and vest visible, so she rooted around Doyle’s closet for his raincoat he never wears to cover up.
Breaking into Bat Burger was child’s play, as well as replacing the camara footage of her crimes, as well as meeting Condiment King with last week’s footage. All she had to do now was haul her loot to the meeting place which wasn’t too far.
“Ahh, and so the prodigal daughter arrives!” The king was standing very conspicuously in the middle of a deserted street. The opposite of Riley’s tactical choice in clothing, he was dressed in green latex and wearing a diaper. “This is already exhausting..” Riley complained.
“Don’t be so glum chum! You are making the easiest five hundred dollars in your life.” he said with the sort of grin that would make a cartoon character’s teeth sparkle. “Let’s just get this over with already, you got the stuff.”
“Here you are my dear.” he said, pressing and insane about of money into her gesturing hand. “By the way, I decided to give you something a little extra!”
The glare returned.
“Please stop interpreting my words so harshly! I only wish to give you a gift.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like a small black choker and a small grenade-looking thing. “This is a great invention that transforms one’s voice, why don’t you give it a go!”
She levelled the choker with a great deal of suspicion but came to the conclusion that the king probably isn’t a sex pest, just a very odd man with a bad habit of sticking his foot in his month. Upon putting it on, underneath he balaclava, she felt a strange tingly sensation on her throat. “Testing, testing 1 2 3.”
Her voice had suddenly become a deep contralto, with a heavy distortion, like those voice changer devices in the spy movies. Except the spy heroes probably don’t have to deal with hearing their voice come out their very mouth sounding like that. “Wait a sec, why aren’t you using this!?”
The Condiment King let out a small laugh before directing a patronising gaze toward Riley. “When you get to my level, no such devices are necessary for intimidation.” She scanned the king’s face once, twice, and three times over.
There was not a trace of irony.
“Regardless, I believe this is the end of our business together, my good henchwoman.” He said while loading the boxes of hot sauce into his truck.
“I ain’t a henchwomen, I’m a goon, get it right.”
“Oh, and what might the difference be?” He turned back to Riley, giving her his full attention.
“A henchmen is in it for the cause, they fight because they believe in their boss. That’s not me. A goon works for money, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Hmm, truly, you have quite the mercenary mindset…” Riley did not like the twinkle in his eye when he said that at all. She was about to say as much when all of a sudden, a birdarang cut through the filthy Gotham air and severed the pipe connecting the king’s guns to his sauce containers.
“I told you I could get them both in one!”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”
On of a nearby rooftop stood two figures. One clad in red and black, equipped with a metal bo staff and looking absolute full of himself underneath his domino mask. Robin. Riley was as surprised as most when a third Robin appeared just six months after the death of the second. With how brutal and unhinged Batman was back then, it was considered unthinkable that he would take another protégé. Guess this guy proved them all wrong.
The other figure was wearing purple and concealed most of their facial features with a face mask, but Riley could see blonde bangs above her eyes. She looked pretty pissed off, which she could definitely relate to. ‘Off all the crimes happening in Gotham, and they chose to hunt fucking Condiment King!?’
She only knew the purple figure’s name, Spoiler, because Stephanie mentioned her the joining Batman & Robin’s fight against Cluemaster a couple of weeks ago. The man had gone to ground since then, but Riley wanted Arthur Brown to be out of his daughter’s life permanently. ‘I guess I should just be glad this girl has helped Steph out, if even indirectly. Though it’s not like I can mail her a gift basket.’
The point is, Riley was among only a handful of people in the city who knew this girl, since Spoiler had never been in the paper or involved in the takedown of any big villains. It’s not even clear if she is actually working with the Batman, though if she was sent here with Robin it’s probably true.
Condiment King seemed way less worried than Riley about the appearance of two ninja-detectives hell-bent on kicking their asses, something he confirmed with his proclamation a second later. “Batman is a fool to have sent his flunkies to apprehend us! The two of you shall fall to the combined might of Condiment King and…”
“THE MERCENARY!”
The two on the roofs immediately began to size up the unknown quantity, too professional and disciplined to dismiss her as a threat despite her current company. Though she had no delusions that they were actually wary of her, especially not when fighting broke out and Riley’s malnourished bones would snap like twigs. This that in mind…
Before Riley came home from school to an empty house, her mother would always tell to “fake it till she made it”. Granted, she was most likely talking about tough interviews and not staring down battle-hardened vigilantes, but the same topic should apply right? Don’t show a shred of weakness of they will sense it like shark smelling blood.
“I don’t have time for this foolishness.” She knew first time they heard her voice; they’d be thrown off; she used their surprise to dart off into a nearby alley. For a few scant moments, Riley’s pipe dream that they would focus on the king while she made her getaway was brutally ripped away from her with the sounds of boots stomping from behind and gaining on her by the second.
Luckily, she was well-practised in running away. Any Gothamite was really, but her speciality was free climbing. No one ever expected her scrambled up fire escapes like a feral monkey and Spoiler was not different. She made it halfway across the rooftop when she heard the signature sound of a bat’s grappling gun.
‘Oh yeah, forgot about that.’
Spoiler reached the rooftop and flipped off the ledge, retaining her momentum and soaring above Riley, landing just a few paces behind her. The vigilante’s dive gracefully transitioned from roll to tackle as both fell from the roof back onto an alleyway. From Riley’s pocket, the grenade-thing slipped out and came to a rest of the ledge.
The balaclava-clad burglar, managed to break out of Spoiler’s hold on the way down causing the two to enter and standoff once more. “You may as well surrender, y’know, there’s no escaping this.” the vigilante stated plainly, though Riley could see the smirk in her eyes.
“Who said I was trying to escape?” Her baseless threat was only meant to buy a few seconds to let her think of some kind of hair-brained scheme to get out of this mess. In that respect, it worked perfectly.
The grenade was pushed off the ledge by a crow a moment earlier, it slowly it got caught on nail poking out the building, pulling the pin, and dropped directly onto Spoiler. It detonated, a wall of gravy enveloped the blonde which swiftly hardened, totally immobilising her. Worst of all, it smelled positively putrid. ‘That poor girl, it’s gonna take all night to get those stains out, let alone the smell...Hmm, I should probably say something.’
“Until we meet again, Spoiler…” When Riley said the girl’s moniker, her eyes widened for some reason, but she didn’t really care why and instead walked off without a word. Once she turned the corner, her carefree walk instantly turned into a dead sprint.
Riley didn’t stop running until she had collapsed into her bed.
---{ Elsewhere }---
The walk to school next day was crappy like usual, that was until she stopped by an Italian food truck and bought a couple of calzone’s with her ill-gotten gains. Riley hadn’t even heard of a calzone before, but she now knew that tasted fucking good. She almost skipped breakfast today, having not registered that for the first time she truly could afford to treat herself, instead of rationing out her merger wages to buy rice and eggs.
Not that she had any plans was eating in fancy restaurants every day, but this money could easily provide someone three meals a day, for four weeks straight if they were smart. But most people don’t live with a Franklin Bean ahh motherfucker who can seemingly survive entirely on Bud Light but will empty the fridge into their fat face as soon as their dependant buys groceries. And has a sixth sense for finding one’s secret stash of earnings.
‘Money goes a lot less far when you have to eat out for every meal.’ Riley thought bitterly, as she reached into her pocket to retrieve the burner phone Condiment King gave her while she waited for Stephanie. On it’s contacts list were the names of countless C-list dumbasses with more money than sense. The Bouncer, Dr No-Face, Bag O’Bones, Captain Stingaree, Egghead, the list went on.
‘I shouldn’t have to accept my lot in life. I shouldn’t have to put my life on the line for scraps. I shouldn’t have to be the school charity case!’ Long buried dreams that Riley had thought dead began to stir in her mind. She wished she could replace her sneakers’ that got water-logged a month ago and still squelch whenever she walks, that she could finally buy clothes that she didn’t root out from the bottom of the bargain bin. ‘I wish that just once, it could be ME treating Steph to dinner…’
Riley was broken out of her musings when Stephaine collapsed onto the seat next to her, dumped a sandwich in front of her and promptly faceplanted onto the table. She smelt like bleach and bad gravy.
“Um…you good?”
“What do you think!”
‘Jeez, what crawled up her ass.’