Chapter Text
The rain drizzles down on the slippery buildings of K. Corp. Windows are dripping with the evening deluge as a certain woman approaches K. Corp’s police station. The guards routinely raise their scanners towards her as the woman naturally raises her hands as they speak up through the sound of the pouring.
“License and registration, miss…”
It only takes a couple glances for the guards to recognize the orange hair under the hood.They don’t bother with the rest of the formalities, stepping aside as they radio in some words to higher-ups about the visitor. She salutes some passing officers on the way to the waiting room. A clerk tells her to wait until she’s allowed to go to the commissioner's office, so she pops down on a cold metal bench. Colder than she remembers.
She picks at some lint on her raincoat. She’s suddenly so conscious of how heavy it is with water weight, how much it dampens her movement. How do guards walk around all day while wearing a belt and tools? She glances over to a nearby one. The security guard is wearing complete K. Corp riot gear, with the heavy duty vests, thick helmets and green outlines down vertical their uniform. He has a baton about half a meter long. Nothing compared to the harpoons she used to throw daily on the Pequod, she can handle it.
Boots stomp towards the lobby benches of the police station, keys on the side of the man’s hip jingling as he approaches the waiting area. The woman fidgets slightly in her seat, zoned out in her mind before she notices the commissioner with a cold scowl approaching. A scowl that slowly turns into a playful grin. The man opens up his arms in greeting as he gets closer. “Great to see you, kid!”
The woman exhales as she hears the word “kid.” She complies on the hug. “I’m way past that.”
“Haha, sorry, force of habit from when your dad used to bring you around here. Speaking of, I bet he’s real proud of you for picking up where he left off.” He comments, giving her a pat on the back during the unwilling embrace.
The woman mentally sighs at the mention of her dad. Not like she had a choice anyway. “I-it’s good work, what he used to do.” The woman replies, the smell of aftershave starting to fill her nostrils. She scrunches her nose as she makes distance from the older man, forcing out a half-smile “I guess you were his co-worker?”
The commissioner pumps his fist to the air. “Hell yeah! Not just me though, half the police force on here, haha! But enough chitchat, let’s go.” He gestures for her to follow, and she does, though not without sitting in her seat for an extra second. They both head towards his office, which is all the way upstairs. They even have to take an elevator up. With the newfound privacy, the commissioner inches a bit closer to ask.
“So, why did you apply? Your dad told us that you had a different job.”
“I did.” The woman replies, knocking some of the evening rains off her raincoat. “Not anymore though.”
“Oh, why not? You get laid off?”
Her chest tightens. “They died.” Her words fall on a quieter tone.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” The man apologizes, awkwardly looking at the mirror in the elevator.
“It’s fine. It was bound to happen.” She still remembers. She has to fake a cough to choke the emotions from coming out. Not right now.
The doors slide open, and they continue deeper into the building until they reach a decorated office. It's a huge place, with a carpet spanning at least half of the floor, filled with tons of badges and medals of honors from the past commissioners. Pictures of the last residents hang behind the commissioner's desk, where he sits with a slight groan. She looks over to the most recent one, noting how that version of him still had hair. Though, she can’t make eye contact with the picture of her dad.
The commissioner places his hands down on his lap.”So, let’s get this over with. Usually I have Grace downstairs do the paperwork for me, but this is a special occasion. I mean, your dad called me and everything, so..” He then rolls his chair over to the computer on his desk, next to a neat pile of papers. He starts typing in some stuff. “Okay, full name. No need to ask you that, haha. We all know what your name is [CENSORED].”
Her heart sinks as she realizes. “Dad” didn’t even bother to update the commissioner. Or rather, didn’t want to. She hesitates before continuing. “A-actually, that’s not my name anymore.”
The officer raises his eyebrows in confusion. “Not your….oh, does this have to do with your…?” He gestures to her general appearance. The longer hair, makeup, the feminine features. His face turns from confusion to realization.
The woman nods, a strange look of shame on her face. “Yyyyeah…I’m….more comfortable like this, now.”
“...I see. My apologies. I knew I remembered you being a boy last I saw you, but I thought it was my memory playing me….” He mutters as he furiously types away at the computer. At least he’s open minded about it. She was hoping it wouldn’t be like the last conversation she had about it.
“...but then again, that was years ago, soooo we’re gonna have to update some of your info. Like that old picture of yours..” A violent tap at the enter key and a confirmation sound from his computer. “Okay, let’s get started on that. What’s your name now?” The commissioner asks, a friendly smile on his face. He seems to be….conscious about the atmosphere.
The woman lets out a sigh of relief. If she was religious, she would be thanking God or whoever is up there right now. She confidently answers. “Call me Ishmael.”
“O-kay, Ishmael. That’s a really strong name. To be honest, if you still had your dad’s name, I’d probably be calling you [CENSORED] too, haha-” An uncomfortable glare from Ishmael stops his yapping. “...ookay, sorry. Nevermind. Let’s stick to Ishmael.” Tap tap tap at that keyboard of his. “We are going to have to update your ID picture, because of your new appearance and all. Yeah. I’ll make a call, hold on. Wait right here.” The officer rises up from his desk and then starts tapping at his phone. Once he exits out of the room, it’s just Ishmael and that damned painting. It seems to be starting right at her.
She shifts in her seat. Her father’s words are ringing through her head as she re-reads the words on the officers’ uniforms in the paintings. POLICE. Her, a police officer. This is where her dad used to work before he retired. He thought that his sons would fill in the gaps for him, only for her to go off to the lakes, wearing a stupid boating outfit instead of a blue uniform, with an entirely new name instead of the one he gave her. Though, just a month ago, she was back to pencil-pushing in U. Corp after her rendezvous on the lakes ended. She hasn’t really talked about it with them, though. Not like they need to know about how she tried to put herself back into a desk job, tried to make her life boring, to forget whatever obsessions she had left on the ship. Whatever sins she left to sink down to the depths.
The commissioner enters back in. “Okay, I just made a call. You can get all your info updated downstairs.”
Ishmael snaps out of her zone. “O-oh yeah, right. Thank you, Commissioner Dent. It means a lot.”
“Hey, anything for you. I owe you one. I mean, I owe your dad, but he’s not exactly around, is he? Haha. Oh yeah, wait, before I forget…” Dent digs around his pockets for a bit before pulling out a police badge. “Welcome to the team, Officer Gordon.” The last words roll off his tongue easily.
Gordon. Her father’s last name. Her last name. Another reminder of why she truly came here. She never asked for this, it’s her duty now. She has to prove she’s capable of herself, or she’ll wind up an even worse disappointment in their eyes. No matter what it takes.
….
….
A district attorney’s office. A woman’s desk is stacked to the brim with piles and piles of paper. Papers full of evidence against a certain man, to be on trial tomorrow for countless counts of murder, money laundering, and racketeering. Who is the man? Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I can say, however, is that this is not the district attorney. This is the desk of the assistant district attorney, Rodion. I would say her full name, but it’s way too wordy. You already know it.
As she flips through another stack of files, this one on a certain amount of evidence on a count of laundering, the real district attorney walks in. She sees the pile and scoffs. “Working late again, Romanovich?”
Rodion looks up from her desk. She doesn’t look very enthusiastic to see the older, and I mean old, woman enter. ”Of course I’m working late, it’s the case of the century tomorrow. Not every day we get to convict one of the Thumb.” She gestures towards all the papers. “And there’s no way he’s getting out of this.”
“Pft, case of the century. Case of the week, maybe, since it happens every week.” The older woman doesn’t even attempt to smile back, instead planting her bag on the desk. “Rodion. We only took the case because it’s a formality. It’s not our personal duty to convict the accused, it’s just our job. And whatever happened to “innocent until proven guilty?”
Rodion sends a look of disbelief. “Miss Ivanovna! You do know who we’re dealing with here, right?!”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I do.” Ivanovna replies, taking a pile of papers on her desk and tossing them into a bin “I’m starting to wonder if you do, because if you really do, you’d do the same as me. You’d realize this is pointless.” She tosses another pile into the trash. Rodion watches with a disappointed look.
“We can’t just give up because he happens to be rich and influential! Justice is blind!” She cries out as she watches Ivanovna dump another pile of papers, this time from her desk, into the trash can.
“Maybe you are.” The woman harshly replies, before picking up the bin. “It’s Friday, Rodya. Why don’t you, I dunno, see your boyfriend or husband or whatever guy or maybe even girl you’re supposed to be entertaining, instead of this case.”
Rodion sits there in disbelief, angrily watching her fellow district attorney walk out with the bin full of piles of paper that she spent countless days collecting for this case. Did she seriously just walk out like that? One of these days, she swears she’s gonna knock whatever’s wrong with her head right.
….
….
The station roars, carriages and wagons arriving and leaving every other minute. The rails shake, almost shiver, handling the full weight of all the passengers colliding against metal and steel. Announcements blare from the trains, slowly fading as the departing ones start to accelerate further and further away from the station. And there are voices of different pitches, high and low, all over the place. It's starting to wail on the poor officer’s ears. Ishmael’s chest tightens and her breathing quickens, and she’s growing conscious of how cramped she is in the crowd. She would stick in some earbuds to dampen the noises, but she’d rather not run the risk of getting pickpocketed, and it would look bad for an officer to be wearing some.
She looks back and forth at the ticket she bought to find the specific section her train is in. The price was effectively cut in half for only being a one-way ticket and having a coupon, but that’s only a quarter of the price she’ll pay for coming to P. Corp.
P. Corp. That’s where the commissioner decided to have her posted up. At first, it didn’t sound so bad, but once she started hearing murmurs while she was taking pictures for her ID and badge, her curiosity got the best of her. “No worries, Ishmael. Your dad used to be stationed there too! Right up until you were a year or two old I think….” He thought that it would comfort him, but it only made her feel worse. And it doesn’t help that they didn’t even give her fare for the ticket.
P. Corp. On the posters and ads, all you see are the streets and the buildings from above, the clean concrete buildings and freshly-painted rooftops. The work of men and women who died hell knows how long ago. From the posters, it looks like an accomplishment to come there, fool you into thinking it was civilized. She’s even heard rumors from the officer back at the stations that the residents don’t even call P. Corp that anymore. They call it Gotham.
….
….
A judge’s gavel slams on the sound block, and the watching audience yells out in despair and anger as the accused man stands up from his seat, along with his lawyers. Some of the audience members opt to throw bottles of water at him, others random objects from their bags and purses. He doesn’t even bat an eye. The prosecuting attorneys are also yelling, but instead at each other. Well, more accurately, one at the other. The older one, the district attorney of P. Corp, ignores the younger one's cries as they both stand up from their seats. She ignores the audience as well as some throw litter and coins.
“WE HAD HIM PINNED FOR RACKETEERING, AT LEAST! WHY DID YOU JUST THROW OFF THE WHOLE THING?!” Rodion yells out, chasing the current district attorney as they both storm out of the courtroom. She’s furious, obviously, the trial was terrible. Not only did the defendants have evidence that came seemingly out of nowhere, the jury was completely biased and the judge barely even listened while she (as in just her, Ivanovna barely said anything the whole time) prosecuted with evidence that was suddenly overruled because of “circumstances” and “tainted evidence.”
“I told you, Romanovich, it’s pointless. He got the jury and the judges bought. We’re lucky that we still got paid out of that by the department.”
Rodion stomps in front of the older woman, placing down her suitcase as she grabs her. “PAID?! HE’S WALKING FREE, AND YOU CARE ABOUT GETTING PAID?!”
“No, Rodion. I care about being alive.” She replies, pushing Rodion out of her way as she heads toward the exits. Only then does Rodon notice that some strangely dressed men and women have been tailing her. “You really are a dunce, aren’t you? This isn’t about justice or corruption or whatever you want to call it. This is about survival. I’m risking myself even talking to you right now, Romanovich.”
“H-how can you call yourself a district attorney…?!”
“Just fine.”
Rodion stands there in anger as she’s forced to watch Ivanovna walk out. She wants to keep yelling, but….she can’t exactly ignore the glares from the clothed men and women, and she’s not exactly the district attorney herself. She’s just the assistant. She exhales, frustrated, before picking her suitcase back up. Right as she walks out the door, however, she ends up nearly walking into a shorter woman by mistake. “A-ah, sorry, I didn’t see you-”
“The Capo says hi.”
Rodion barely has time to react as the woman pulls out a knife from deep within her coat. She’s just able to grab ahold of the woman’s arm, pushing against her on the stairs. They should have sent somebody stronger, obviously, since Rodion is both tall and strong. She’s able to grab onto both of the wrists of the woman, tossing her down the stairs of the courthouse. She painfully rolls down the stairs, gruesome sounds of agony as parts of her body hit each individual step. The courthouse officers rush from inside and nearby to surround both Rodion and the woman. ……survival. What a fucking city, huh. She made a mistake, coming to Gotham. She spent all those years at law school for what, assassination attempts for doing her job? Great. Now this isn’t about justice and morality anymore. This is about survival.
….
….
Hong Lu sits in his penthouse, staring aimlessly outside the windows, and to the black void of the night. He sits alone, the room of his penthouse barely furnished even though he’s been living in Gotham for months now. Tidy, because nobody’s ever over to ruin anything anyway, not to mention his butler Xiren cleaning up whatever messes he makes. He stopped bothering to challenge her months ago, anyway.
Gotham. That’s what the “Gothamites” call P. Corp these days. Once one of the more peaceful districts in the City, the presence of prominent Finger and Syndicate members ruined this safe haven, turning it into just another district of the City. As high up as his penthouse is, he can still see how tightly guarded a passing car is, surrounded with motorcycles and thinner cars. Probably one of those higher-rank Capos of the Thumb.
But as plainly horrible this place is, it’s his only place of resistance against the inevitability of this world. A district far too “boring” to entertain the audience in his eye. A penthouse too high in the clouds to witness anything worthwhile. It’s all he can do. Because any other act of defiance will be in vain, after all. People are born to die.
It’s September Nineteen. It’s nearly three months since he turned thirty, yet he hasn’t done anything. Hasn’t done any philanthropist actions towards helping the city, no point in that. Hasn’t messed around with the local syndicates, that’s just making things worse. He hasn’t even gone out to party so that the paparazzi finally have something to put in their papers. The time passed doesn’t feel real. Nothing is real, maybe. Has he ever been real in the first place?
In an effort to clear up his mind, he switches on the TV, the news channel already on it. He flips through all the different ones, trying to drown out his thoughts with hopefully more dead bodies. It’s all awfully boring stories about murders, serial killers, bank robberies, and syndicate wars. Where’s all the interesting stuff?
“-he prominent Thumb Capo was found not guilty earlier today, with a unanimous vote from the jury. However, the public gallery did not take kindly to this, tossing various amounts of materials at both the Capo and the district attorney, Alyone Ivanovna. Speaking of district attorneys, just a couple minutes after the trial, a suspected Thumb associate attempted to assassinate assistant district attorney Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov–danb that’s a mouthful, try saying that three times–before being tossed down the courthouse’s flight of stairs by the latter. No statement has been released from either, probably since the associate is still in the hospital, unconscious. Meanwhile, Rodion is in police custody and hasn’t spoken up about the event yet, so we’re gonna have to see. Now, about this city’s newest poster boy, Jia Baoy-“ Click.
No need to listen to that. “--Chief of the G.C.P.D has spoken up about the recent attempt on the attorney’s life. He stated this afternoon in an unscheduled press conference the following: ‘We will not stand for this injustice in our courtrooms. Even if the results of the trials are unsatisfactory, it is our duty as civil servants to respect the decisions of the courts. And regarding the recent attempt on Miss Raskolnikov’s life, we deeply regret the event. We have arranged for her to be in special protection by our finest men and women. We promise that she will be safe until the issue settles down.’ However, he still has yet to respond to the recent allegations of bribery from criminal syndicates, such as the Thumb himself, not to mention recent rumors of an affair-” Click.
While they are interesting, he doesn’t really like being reminded of what happens downstairs. “-yet another batch of victims of the Ring have been discovered, found brutally mangled and stretched into grotesque shapes of quote unquote art. Warning, the following footage is not safe for work. The art depicts….”
He leaves it on, the “art” displaying on the screen as his mind wanders. This city is eating itself alive. He knows it. And it’s not helping that a strange part of him urges him to act. It’s been acting up ever since he came to Gotham. There’s no point in it, so why bother? It’s gonna hurt him both physically and mentally. Though, there’s not much left to fuck up.
…though, there is a different itch for him to scratch. One that is no more reasonable than his urges of action, but it’s one that he can deal with at least. He rises from his couch, trying not to catch the attention of his servant, Xiren, as he sneaks into his cabinet. He climbs up toward a higher cabinet, reaching deep towards the back to find clothes he buried deep, as well as an eyepatch.
The woman that steps out of his room is strange. Heels that he’s already learned to walk in. heavy makeup that hides certain features of his face. A short skirt to direct eyes away. large oversized hat to cover whatever’s left. A trenchcoat covering his figure. A voice higher than usual. And a strange eyepatch over a certain eye. It’s a disguise, allowing him to exit out of the building without being recognized.
He carefully steps around the penthouse, not to alarm Xiren that she’s leaving. Though, Xiren spots her anyway, but doesn’t bother commenting. Well, more like she somehow can’t comment on it. Disregarding this, he opts to go down the stairs instead of the elevator, all six stories. Once he escapes the stairway, he goes around the back to exit out of the building. Then, he snoops around for a couple blocks before nonchalantly strolling out of an alleyway as if nothing’s the matter. If he’s gonna see this city, he’s gonna see it herself. Without the audience. And at least one of those scratches is being itched.
The whole walk has been educational. He’s been sized up like a piece of meat a dozen times by now. He’s walked past catcalls from teenagers, pleas from drunkies, half-hearted insults thrown from insecure men and women. Which aren’t so bad. He wishes that one of them would take action and finally just kill him. Just grab him and use him like the rotten whore that they’re gonna say he is and chop him into pieces until he’s just another news article. Though, his thoughts are rudely cut out by a different voice. One that sounds way too young.
“You look sad, lady. I can help cheer you up.” A little girl says, poking him from behind. Hong Lu stares at her for a second. She barely looks older than he was when he was forced to watch the Kong family get massacred. Something in him screams at him to do something. Hong Lu ignores it.
“I doubt it. How old are you even?” He politely asks, a calm smile on his face. The girl tries matching this, though it’s not as authentic looking. She’ll get there.
“As old as you want me to be-“ She quickly gets dragged away by an older man, yelling insults at her. Hong Lu doesn’t stop the man from doing so. He simply watches as the man shouts at the little girl.
“No, you dumb bitch, that’s a woman! You’re supposed to go after men!”
“I-I’m sorry, I was just doing what you told me-” She’s swiftly interrupted by a slap to the face. Something in Hong Lu pushes him. You’re already scratching one, might as well scratch the rest.
“Who says I’m not interested?” You fool. This is pointless. You’re an observer, not an instigator.
The man looks up, giving Hong Lu a quick up-and-down before dismissing him. “Wha, no. You don’t look the type.”
“I don't look like the authorities, do I?” He speaks up, shifting closer towards the strange man. He’s making her uncomfortable. He’s pushing it, really.
“Shut up, we’re finished here.”
“Actually, I think you’re finished with her.” He’s provoking him. He really shouldn’t be, everybody’s doomed in the end anyway.
But it’s what he deserves. At least he’ll die tugging against the flow instead of letting it guide him.
The man’s eyes dart back and forth from the kid to her. It’s too obvious. Hong Lu easily dodges the knife he swings out of his pockets. He’s pretty fast, but not fast enough. He grabs his arm and twists it violently before delivering a stern kick to his lower section, a loud crack echoing in the streets as he hits the ground with a hard thud, grasping for dear life as he tries to breathe. Other men come and surround Hong Lu. One tries to throw a punch. He catches it and throws him behind. He kicks another away. He throws his shoulder into the chest of that one, knocking her to the ground.
Then a sharp, piercing pain. He feels the sharpness of a blade dig into his thigh as she looks down to see the man again, knife lodging deeper into his leg. He crushes his throat with a knee before pulling it out. Crimson flows from the wound. The pain is grounding, almost making him realize what the hell he’s doing. His eyes dart around for the little girl, but she’s already disappearing into the night, getting dragged away by a taller, more muscular man. Pointless, this whole thing was. Pointles-
“HANDS UP!”
A police officer yells from a distance, a flashlight blinding his eye and the other eyes of the men. She’s pointing a tiny gun towards them. Such a tiny gun, yet it intimidates enough of them into putting their hands up and getting lower. Hong Lu naturally lets a calm smile out and follows the order, even though he can still see the men in the distance dragging the poor girl away.
The orange-haired officer slowly gets closer, ordering something into the radio on the shoulder. He sees some of the men realize this. One of them’s adjusting something in their back pocket. Just let it happen, Hong Lu. She’s gonna die anyway, being an officer and all. It’s her fault for trying to bring order in a city without order.
The next second, the man is knocked out, his head violently being thrown forward by a kick before he falls to the ground. The officer trembles a bit watching the woman, but once she sees the knife from his back pocket get thrown out, she realizes. She fires a loud warning shot into the air, dissuading the rest of the men to drop whatever hidden weapons they have far away from where they kneel.
“You.” She points the firearm towards Hong Lu, who still hasn’t kneeled yet. He looks back at her, makeup starting to fade away from the blood splatter. Still too much to be recognizable, but damn do people bleed a lot these days. “Get the hell out of here.” The officer commands, gesturing towards a nearby alleyway. Oh. She’s letting me go.
Hong Lu gives her a friendly smile before limping away as she disappears into the night. He looks back to where he last saw the girl being dragged away. She’s gone. He couldn’t help the poor kid, he couldn’t do anything. As usual.
He has to take the elevator up this time. Nobody’s on the elevator, but the camera watches her intently as he limps in with his ridiculous outfit. He’s already anticipating what kind of rumors are gonna be spread if he doesn’t bribe the security guards into deleting that footage. As she swings open the door of the penthouse, she sees the outline of a person already waiting for her. Xiren.
“Young master. Where have you been?” She plainly asks, not commenting at all on the outfit.
"Just went for some fresh air.” He responds shortly, still flashing that same, friendly smile. The blood staining his teeth say otherwise.
“Understood. Let me help you.”
Hong Lu limps towards Xiren, painfully keeping his smile up, though he ends up knocking over a glass and a precious vase on the way. Xiren will clean it up anyway, as always. He can make as much of a mess as he wants, and it’ll be gone the next day.
As he sits down, tearing off the eyepatch and wiping off the sweat from his face and the makeup with it, Xiren dutifully gets to dressing the wound. He sits there, staring at the ceiling, in defeat. He couldn’t do anything. As much damage as he inflicted on them now, it won’t have any lasting effects on them. They’ll keep using her. They’ll keep doing what they’ve always done. He can beat them all half to death, but he can’t stop them. He can’t make a difference. Maybe this isn’t real after all.
How can he stop anything? He’s tried time and time again, but it just won’t work. When he was a kid, even little acts of rebellion were swiftly diminished and punished. Even now, his attempt at vigilantism failed horrendously. He’s really just meant to watch, after all. He blinks hard with his left eye. Fine. If they want to watch his futile efforts, so be it. He doesn’t twitch when Xiren disinfects the wound. He doesn’t groan when the needle pierces his skin to stitch. But he does when he remembers the little girl.
He has wealth. He has the resources. He has an entire penthouse to himself. He has experience, training in martial arts and countless sources of medicine. Yet he couldn’t even save a little girl. He’s better off watching it from thousands of feet up than twenty.
As he stares down at Xiren, he is reminded that the person that has accompanied him throughout this isn’t a person anymore. A living reminder of what happens when you try to resist. The Heishou annihilated the only person that tried in his life, turning her into nothing but a living reminder of how futile it is to try.
….one more time wouldn’t hurt.
“…..Xiren?” He asks, voice slightly cracking as he speaks up for the first time without the higher voice. Her head raises, an expressionless look. “….what….what do I do?” He says, sounding just like he used to all those years ago.
As expressionless as she is, she seems to think about it for a second. He stares at her eyes as she responds. They’re….alive, somehow. “Walk the path of your own choosing, young master. Whichever that may be.”
The same words she said years ago. He almost starts laughing at the words, but they strike deep. My own choosing….
Those men, they listened to the officer. Why? Was it the threat of the gun? Was it the authority of the badge? Or was it the fear of death? The fear of God?
…fear. That’s it. They were afraid of the officer. Those men, they stopped because they were scared of her. Just like how the Heishou and the Cuckoospawn terrified Hong Lu into inaction by completely annihilating all those people, including those he cared about. Like Xíren and little Jia Hian.
Jia Huan. As much as he hates to remember, the memory of his long distant friend fills his memories. Ultimately, his death at the hands of the Cuckoospawn terrified him enough to do nothing. Jia Huan….what was he scared of?
….
….
Three little kids follow each other along a narrow path in their garden in Hongyuan. They play with each tower merrily, chasing and running from each other, laughing and screaming in excitement. All until they stumble across a small little underpass near a bridge. While little Jia Baoyu and his playmate, Lin Daiyu, continue to follow, young Jia Huan hesitates to follow.
“Oh, what’s wrong Jia Huan? Scared of the dark?” Daiyu teases, sticking her tongue out from under the bridge. Baoyu chuckles next to her.
“Haha, how funny. We shouldn’t tease him, however, he might end up crying.”
Jia Huan starts to turn beet red as he yells out in response. “I-I’m not! I’m not scared of the dark!”
“Then come over here then!” Daiyu responds, tugging at Baoyu’s rove to urge them deeper into the dark. However, the sounds of chirping and squeaking freeze them in their tracks. “U-uhm, what was that-“ Ten, twenty, maybe fifty bats suddenly fly out from where they are perched, flying and bumping past the two young kids. They both scream out with terror as they run out from under the bridge. Jia Huan, even though he is at least thirty feet away, screams just as terrified as he watches the bats fly up into the sky.
“I-I’m not afraid of the dark! I’m afraid of the bats!”
….
….
Bats. I remember now. Little Jia Hian was always afraid of bats. Hong Lu laughs at the fond memory of him playing with his friends. Friends he hasn’t seen in months. Years. He looks down at Xíren, who had just finished cleaning up the wound. “Thank you, Xíren.” She dutifully nods, standing back up and making distance. Hong Lu looks over to his cabinet, filled with plenty of fabrics and clothes. Tools. He has everything he needs now.
Thank you, Jia Huan. I know what to do now.
I shall become a bat.