Returning to the moment
Jul. 26th, 2016 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runningred{Following this}
Jay heard the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing as he stepped into the arena.
All calm, all even.
Perfectly under control.
He walked to Squire, seeing the fear in her eyes, the blood on her skin. She shifted her weight on her mangled ankle; fingers clasped around the handle of the sword she knew would be no use to her.
But Jay just smiled to her and nodded. Trusting she understood.
She sagged with relief, shaking hands letting the sword fall to the blooded sand of the arena floor as he reached for her. The sedative patch on the palm of his hand sticking to her skin as he cupped her neck. “Rest. I’ve got this.”
Her eyes slipped closed as she fell into his arms, the painkillers in the patch working into her bloodstream. He lowered her to the ground, ignoring the boos and jeers from the crowd above them.
They had come here to see death, and soon enough they would.
He savoured that moment, shifting Squire’s slight body into the recovery position. Any moment now, they would realise what was about to happen. Any moment now there would be fear and panic. Any moment, they would know the consequences of their actions.
Bruce had used the mission to turn Jason into a soldier.
Talia had used debt to turn Jay into an assassin.
This crowd, this people had used Jay’s own fears to turn him into a monster.
But his life had already turned Jay into a weapon. Hard and sharp and without remorse.
The suit appeared slowly, darkening from the boots up as he stood. A piece of theatre worthy of the Bat as shadows seemed to envelop Jay from below to form armour.
Black, streaked with red. Clothed in darkness and blood.
He stared out at the crowd as the blood red helmet formed over his face. Feeling their horror mounting. Feeling the fear.
A disc shot from his hand and into the air, glittering in the arena lighting, drawing their eyes as he threw the charter marked knives at the exit doors. The knives and disc went off together – charter explosives sealing off the exits just as the EMP blast from the disc erased all electronic devices not shielded by Jay’s suit. There would be no record of what happened here.
The guards were a beat slower to react than Jay expected and he stepped forward to meet them. They were armed of course, but with weapons they never expected to need and barely knew how to use.
Jay adjusted his grip on the short sword they had forced into his hand, what for them had been moments ago. When serum had sung in his veins, when fear and fury had consumed him.
But now he was cold as ice. As cold as the steel in his hand.
These men enjoyed their work. Enjoyed torturing and tormenting their captives. As much for their own entertainment as for others. They had knowingly injected their victims with the chemical fear and sent them out to kill each other. And they had loved it.
Jay didn’t hesitate to kill them. Striking them down before they could lift the barrels of their guns.
He strode into the fighter’s pit, blood dripping down the blade as screams of rage and fear mounted from the arena above.
Locks smashed under the back end of the sword. Freed captives scrambled to help each other up.
Jay gestured towards the back exit his helmet scanner detected and threw the keys to one of the least injured fighters.
Three remained in their cages. The champions.
They had been dosed too many times. Their minds eaten out by rage and fear and blood-lust till there was nothing left. Those three he put down with swift and painless mercy. As he hoped someone would have done for him.
He calmly walked back into the arena, dropping the weapon to lift the unconscious Squire, cradling her against his shoulder. “This is what your money bought.” His voice echoed, amplified by his helmet over the sounds of panic as the punters desperately sought escape from the all too real danger. “You paid for death. And now you have it.”
He lifted the launcher from his belt and fired smoke grenades into the fluorescent lights, adding darkness to the panic.
Inside his helmet, he could hear the tumultuous clatter of police radios, closer and faster than he expected. Time to leave.
Another round into the launcher, explosives this time, put a hole in the roof. His jumpline motor whining as it lifted them both out.
The cold drizzle of the London night clung to Squire’s skin as Jay laid her down on a rooftop several blocks away. And for the first time in a very long time, he missed wearing a cape. Lacking anything else to wrap around her, he opened the front of his jacket and held her against his chest for warmth. Waiting for her to come to.
When she did, it was in silence, not wasting words to ask what had happened. Jay had chosen their perch well and she could see the blue and red flashes of police vehicles and hear the whoop of the circling helicopter. The arena had been inside one of the most exclusive private clubs in London, its membership boasting peerage and parliament. People who had mistook privilege for power and money for right had paid to watch them kill each other. Like the emperors of old.
But now their secrets were open for all to see. The very roof torn off their temple of blood.
Squire rubbed her eyes, trying to scrub away the sand from her skin. She groped at his belt, looking for the first aid kit supplies all masks carried. “They saw our faces.” She commented, the shake in her voice belying her calm tone.
Jay hummed an agreement, peeling the back off a painkiller patch and offering it to her.
She pressed it down just above her mangled ankle with a sigh. She wouldn’t be able to walk on it for some time but at least now she wouldn’t feel it. “Where will you go?” Both of them would have to lay low and they knew it. There was no point voicing the obvious.
He shrugs. He already knew his next move but it was better she didn’t.
She read his non-answer clearly enough. “I’ve got a safe house a couple of blocks from here. Drop me off before you go.”
He lingered on the windowsill of her flat, making sure she was settled. Tomorrow her mentor would be with her to see to her wounds. Tomorrow London would be safe and back in the hands of justice. But tonight, a young woman with pixie red hair shifted her weight painfully on the bed.
“Jay.” She addressed the darkness, feeling him there still. “Why am I not dead? I’ve seen your medical files; you have the recessive gene that makes you violent under Ivy’s pollen. They dosed you, you should have killed me.”
He stepped down from the window ledge and crossed to where she lay. He cupped the curve of her jaw, kissing her temple in a silent brush of lips on skin. “Rest.” He ordered and pulled the blankets up around her.
She rolled away from him, eyes closing. “When I saw you I was glad.” She admitted, half to herself. “I’d rather it was a friend who killed me.”
There was no answer. Nor had she expected one. She already knew Jay was gone.
Jay heard the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing as he stepped into the arena.
All calm, all even.
Perfectly under control.
He walked to Squire, seeing the fear in her eyes, the blood on her skin. She shifted her weight on her mangled ankle; fingers clasped around the handle of the sword she knew would be no use to her.
But Jay just smiled to her and nodded. Trusting she understood.
She sagged with relief, shaking hands letting the sword fall to the blooded sand of the arena floor as he reached for her. The sedative patch on the palm of his hand sticking to her skin as he cupped her neck. “Rest. I’ve got this.”
Her eyes slipped closed as she fell into his arms, the painkillers in the patch working into her bloodstream. He lowered her to the ground, ignoring the boos and jeers from the crowd above them.
They had come here to see death, and soon enough they would.
He savoured that moment, shifting Squire’s slight body into the recovery position. Any moment now, they would realise what was about to happen. Any moment now there would be fear and panic. Any moment, they would know the consequences of their actions.
Bruce had used the mission to turn Jason into a soldier.
Talia had used debt to turn Jay into an assassin.
This crowd, this people had used Jay’s own fears to turn him into a monster.
But his life had already turned Jay into a weapon. Hard and sharp and without remorse.
The suit appeared slowly, darkening from the boots up as he stood. A piece of theatre worthy of the Bat as shadows seemed to envelop Jay from below to form armour.
Black, streaked with red. Clothed in darkness and blood.
He stared out at the crowd as the blood red helmet formed over his face. Feeling their horror mounting. Feeling the fear.
A disc shot from his hand and into the air, glittering in the arena lighting, drawing their eyes as he threw the charter marked knives at the exit doors. The knives and disc went off together – charter explosives sealing off the exits just as the EMP blast from the disc erased all electronic devices not shielded by Jay’s suit. There would be no record of what happened here.
The guards were a beat slower to react than Jay expected and he stepped forward to meet them. They were armed of course, but with weapons they never expected to need and barely knew how to use.
Jay adjusted his grip on the short sword they had forced into his hand, what for them had been moments ago. When serum had sung in his veins, when fear and fury had consumed him.
But now he was cold as ice. As cold as the steel in his hand.
These men enjoyed their work. Enjoyed torturing and tormenting their captives. As much for their own entertainment as for others. They had knowingly injected their victims with the chemical fear and sent them out to kill each other. And they had loved it.
Jay didn’t hesitate to kill them. Striking them down before they could lift the barrels of their guns.
He strode into the fighter’s pit, blood dripping down the blade as screams of rage and fear mounted from the arena above.
Locks smashed under the back end of the sword. Freed captives scrambled to help each other up.
Jay gestured towards the back exit his helmet scanner detected and threw the keys to one of the least injured fighters.
Three remained in their cages. The champions.
They had been dosed too many times. Their minds eaten out by rage and fear and blood-lust till there was nothing left. Those three he put down with swift and painless mercy. As he hoped someone would have done for him.
He calmly walked back into the arena, dropping the weapon to lift the unconscious Squire, cradling her against his shoulder. “This is what your money bought.” His voice echoed, amplified by his helmet over the sounds of panic as the punters desperately sought escape from the all too real danger. “You paid for death. And now you have it.”
He lifted the launcher from his belt and fired smoke grenades into the fluorescent lights, adding darkness to the panic.
Inside his helmet, he could hear the tumultuous clatter of police radios, closer and faster than he expected. Time to leave.
Another round into the launcher, explosives this time, put a hole in the roof. His jumpline motor whining as it lifted them both out.
The cold drizzle of the London night clung to Squire’s skin as Jay laid her down on a rooftop several blocks away. And for the first time in a very long time, he missed wearing a cape. Lacking anything else to wrap around her, he opened the front of his jacket and held her against his chest for warmth. Waiting for her to come to.
When she did, it was in silence, not wasting words to ask what had happened. Jay had chosen their perch well and she could see the blue and red flashes of police vehicles and hear the whoop of the circling helicopter. The arena had been inside one of the most exclusive private clubs in London, its membership boasting peerage and parliament. People who had mistook privilege for power and money for right had paid to watch them kill each other. Like the emperors of old.
But now their secrets were open for all to see. The very roof torn off their temple of blood.
Squire rubbed her eyes, trying to scrub away the sand from her skin. She groped at his belt, looking for the first aid kit supplies all masks carried. “They saw our faces.” She commented, the shake in her voice belying her calm tone.
Jay hummed an agreement, peeling the back off a painkiller patch and offering it to her.
She pressed it down just above her mangled ankle with a sigh. She wouldn’t be able to walk on it for some time but at least now she wouldn’t feel it. “Where will you go?” Both of them would have to lay low and they knew it. There was no point voicing the obvious.
He shrugs. He already knew his next move but it was better she didn’t.
She read his non-answer clearly enough. “I’ve got a safe house a couple of blocks from here. Drop me off before you go.”
He lingered on the windowsill of her flat, making sure she was settled. Tomorrow her mentor would be with her to see to her wounds. Tomorrow London would be safe and back in the hands of justice. But tonight, a young woman with pixie red hair shifted her weight painfully on the bed.
“Jay.” She addressed the darkness, feeling him there still. “Why am I not dead? I’ve seen your medical files; you have the recessive gene that makes you violent under Ivy’s pollen. They dosed you, you should have killed me.”
He stepped down from the window ledge and crossed to where she lay. He cupped the curve of her jaw, kissing her temple in a silent brush of lips on skin. “Rest.” He ordered and pulled the blankets up around her.
She rolled away from him, eyes closing. “When I saw you I was glad.” She admitted, half to herself. “I’d rather it was a friend who killed me.”
There was no answer. Nor had she expected one. She already knew Jay was gone.
