Tropes and how not to die from them.
Apr. 23rd, 2016 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runningredSome things go according to plan. And then some things don’t.
And in Jay’s experience, things usually don’t.
Closing the drug ring down looked all good and easy. Right up until it wasn’t.
The operation was exactly what it seemed on the surface – a drug lord with half a brain and a couple of good lieutenants running a surprisingly profitable ring selling a not entirely stable party drug.
That didn’t answer enough of questions about the where the drugs were coming from for Jay’s tastes but questions like that could be answered later. Once they had the leaders in custody. And Jay could ask them nice and slow.
Red Hood and Squire had everything under control, taking the bad guys down neatly and easily. It had been a while since he’s fought back to back with someone and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. And Beryl’s style as Squire was flowing and impressive.
And then it wasn’t neat.
Or easy.
In fact it was a fucking disaster.
There was a sudden hiss and gas filled the air. Jay’s helmet filter clicked in instantly but behind him, he heard Squire start to cough. Shit! Her costume wasn’t fitted with anything more than a domino to cover her eyes.
He swung around, hand out to pull her close. Close he could cover her. Close he could pick her up and carry her if he had to.
But the warehouse was full of goons and the choking noises Squire was making weren’t good.
Time to get out.
Squire’s weight shifted as she collapsed and Jay had to move to hold of her.
It was a fraction of a second’s distraction but it was too long.
His suit hardened as the shock of gunfire hit him. Small arms. It was built to take that. Even if it hurt. Tomorrow he would be black and blue. Which didn’t matter as long as he got through tonight.
As long as they both got through.
That was the other half of working in a team – making sure you both got out.
Squire breathing was evened out as she fell unconscious and it was safer to lay her on the floor as he fought. She weighted so little it wasn’t going to take much to scoop her up and her suit was only lightly armoured so there was no use using her as a shield the way the Bat learnt to do, trusting in each other’s gear.
His mask’s infer-red cut through the smoke and he struck out, keeping the goons at bay, working in a tight circle around Beryl’s prone form.
And then he heard to explosion and dropped, covering Squire as the blast hit them both.
Small arms fires, yes. But the suit couldn’t take the business end of a bazooka.
Jay rolled, arms wrapped around Squire to protect her but the explosion threw him across the floor. His head smacking hard against the wall as he landed, putting himself between Beryl and the hard surface.
He felt the helmet crack.
Then nothing. Lots of nothing.
For fuck knows how long.
He woke up stripped of armour and squashed into a cramped cage too small to stand; the smell of blood, sweat and dirt in his nose. Surrounded by other cages.
It didn’t take him long to assess the situation. After all, the captives in the other cages were very eager to talk. With the desperation of the dying, needing someone to know their names before the end.
It would have been funny if it wasn’t such a shit situation.
It didn’t take Jay long to find out the truth of what was going on. Their captors were loose lipped and careless. After all, dead men could tell anyone.
The dealers had been a front. A way of testing the stability of the drug. The real aim was to create a chemical weapon - something that would to turn even the soggiest weakling into a berserker. No doubt to be sold to some despot leader or another. Just another runner in the global arms race.
But the secondary tests were more intense still – cage matches for the entertainment of rich idiots. A profitable sideline to a messy science experiment.
The gladiator trope.
Jay rested his head against the bars of the cage and tried not to laugh. It was just like something out of a cheesy comic book.
Fuck his life!
Only it wasn’t working. The drug had some of the desired affects but they were short lived and after a few doses, almost always fatal. Except for a few champions. Fighters who got stronger and fiercer with every dose.
But the pit bosses and their megalomaniac backers couldn’t work out why it worked on some and not others. Why some people because the desired super-soldiers and others started bleeding from the eyes after one or two shots.
The sad bit was Jay already knew exactly why.
It was Ivy’s mind control pollen – one of the components in the cocktail that make up the shots they gave each fighter before they were thrown into the ring. It was meant to make the fighters suggestible, make them easy to wind up into a fury.
But for one in a hundred people, those possessed of a rare genetic recessive, the fury was real. Ivy’s pollen turned them inside out and made them the most violent version of themselves. Mix that with Crane’s fear serum and the person was fighting their worst fears, in everything and everyone around them.
Jay knew because he was one of those one in a hundred. Something he’d found out the hard way, the first time he’d came up against Ivy.
The first time he’d been exposed, he’d nearly killed Bruce. Fourteen years old and barely a year in the suit, Alfred had had to shoot him with a tranquilliser to keep him from tearing Bruce apart in sheer brutal fury.
The organisers of this game had been using the drug ring and the fighting pit to find those one in hundred to experiment on. And using everyone else as they took as canon fodder for the gladiatorial games.
Jay was assessing lock on his cage when he was jabbed from behind with a needle and his cage slide along rails towards the pit. Somewhere behind steel doors, a crowd cheered and jeered. The sounds made his blood boil, burning adrenalin into his system.
He fought to calm himself, trying to slow down his breathing even as his heart races. The longer he could keep himself calm, the longer he had before the drug took effect. Two minutes. Maybe three. It might be enough.
If he could fight his way out, take as many of those assholes down with him as possible then put himself back in the cage, he might - might just get through this without killing anyone who didn’t deserve it.
Someone pushed a sword into his hand, short and brutal. His fingers closed around it, barely feeling it. The blood lust was rising and already edges of his vision where greying out. His feet moved without his notice as the pit doors opened and he saw who he was about to be matched against.
Squire. And she didn’t look like she was going to make it two steps, let alone another fight.
Oh fuck, he was going to kill Beryl!
Fighting to keep himself under control, he was pushed through the door.
And fell.
And in Jay’s experience, things usually don’t.
Closing the drug ring down looked all good and easy. Right up until it wasn’t.
The operation was exactly what it seemed on the surface – a drug lord with half a brain and a couple of good lieutenants running a surprisingly profitable ring selling a not entirely stable party drug.
That didn’t answer enough of questions about the where the drugs were coming from for Jay’s tastes but questions like that could be answered later. Once they had the leaders in custody. And Jay could ask them nice and slow.
Red Hood and Squire had everything under control, taking the bad guys down neatly and easily. It had been a while since he’s fought back to back with someone and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. And Beryl’s style as Squire was flowing and impressive.
And then it wasn’t neat.
Or easy.
In fact it was a fucking disaster.
There was a sudden hiss and gas filled the air. Jay’s helmet filter clicked in instantly but behind him, he heard Squire start to cough. Shit! Her costume wasn’t fitted with anything more than a domino to cover her eyes.
He swung around, hand out to pull her close. Close he could cover her. Close he could pick her up and carry her if he had to.
But the warehouse was full of goons and the choking noises Squire was making weren’t good.
Time to get out.
Squire’s weight shifted as she collapsed and Jay had to move to hold of her.
It was a fraction of a second’s distraction but it was too long.
His suit hardened as the shock of gunfire hit him. Small arms. It was built to take that. Even if it hurt. Tomorrow he would be black and blue. Which didn’t matter as long as he got through tonight.
As long as they both got through.
That was the other half of working in a team – making sure you both got out.
Squire breathing was evened out as she fell unconscious and it was safer to lay her on the floor as he fought. She weighted so little it wasn’t going to take much to scoop her up and her suit was only lightly armoured so there was no use using her as a shield the way the Bat learnt to do, trusting in each other’s gear.
His mask’s infer-red cut through the smoke and he struck out, keeping the goons at bay, working in a tight circle around Beryl’s prone form.
And then he heard to explosion and dropped, covering Squire as the blast hit them both.
Small arms fires, yes. But the suit couldn’t take the business end of a bazooka.
Jay rolled, arms wrapped around Squire to protect her but the explosion threw him across the floor. His head smacking hard against the wall as he landed, putting himself between Beryl and the hard surface.
He felt the helmet crack.
Then nothing. Lots of nothing.
For fuck knows how long.
He woke up stripped of armour and squashed into a cramped cage too small to stand; the smell of blood, sweat and dirt in his nose. Surrounded by other cages.
It didn’t take him long to assess the situation. After all, the captives in the other cages were very eager to talk. With the desperation of the dying, needing someone to know their names before the end.
It would have been funny if it wasn’t such a shit situation.
It didn’t take Jay long to find out the truth of what was going on. Their captors were loose lipped and careless. After all, dead men could tell anyone.
The dealers had been a front. A way of testing the stability of the drug. The real aim was to create a chemical weapon - something that would to turn even the soggiest weakling into a berserker. No doubt to be sold to some despot leader or another. Just another runner in the global arms race.
But the secondary tests were more intense still – cage matches for the entertainment of rich idiots. A profitable sideline to a messy science experiment.
The gladiator trope.
Jay rested his head against the bars of the cage and tried not to laugh. It was just like something out of a cheesy comic book.
Fuck his life!
Only it wasn’t working. The drug had some of the desired affects but they were short lived and after a few doses, almost always fatal. Except for a few champions. Fighters who got stronger and fiercer with every dose.
But the pit bosses and their megalomaniac backers couldn’t work out why it worked on some and not others. Why some people because the desired super-soldiers and others started bleeding from the eyes after one or two shots.
The sad bit was Jay already knew exactly why.
It was Ivy’s mind control pollen – one of the components in the cocktail that make up the shots they gave each fighter before they were thrown into the ring. It was meant to make the fighters suggestible, make them easy to wind up into a fury.
But for one in a hundred people, those possessed of a rare genetic recessive, the fury was real. Ivy’s pollen turned them inside out and made them the most violent version of themselves. Mix that with Crane’s fear serum and the person was fighting their worst fears, in everything and everyone around them.
Jay knew because he was one of those one in a hundred. Something he’d found out the hard way, the first time he’d came up against Ivy.
The first time he’d been exposed, he’d nearly killed Bruce. Fourteen years old and barely a year in the suit, Alfred had had to shoot him with a tranquilliser to keep him from tearing Bruce apart in sheer brutal fury.
The organisers of this game had been using the drug ring and the fighting pit to find those one in hundred to experiment on. And using everyone else as they took as canon fodder for the gladiatorial games.
Jay was assessing lock on his cage when he was jabbed from behind with a needle and his cage slide along rails towards the pit. Somewhere behind steel doors, a crowd cheered and jeered. The sounds made his blood boil, burning adrenalin into his system.
He fought to calm himself, trying to slow down his breathing even as his heart races. The longer he could keep himself calm, the longer he had before the drug took effect. Two minutes. Maybe three. It might be enough.
If he could fight his way out, take as many of those assholes down with him as possible then put himself back in the cage, he might - might just get through this without killing anyone who didn’t deserve it.
Someone pushed a sword into his hand, short and brutal. His fingers closed around it, barely feeling it. The blood lust was rising and already edges of his vision where greying out. His feet moved without his notice as the pit doors opened and he saw who he was about to be matched against.
Squire. And she didn’t look like she was going to make it two steps, let alone another fight.
Oh fuck, he was going to kill Beryl!
Fighting to keep himself under control, he was pushed through the door.
And fell.
