A/N: So.. um. How you been? Cool, cool. Let me just say that seperating from the military sucks balls. There is so much crap you have to do, it's all I can do to write ANYTHING. That being said, here's the next chapter of Stone Heart. I hope you all enjoy it. Hmmm... well, not much to report. I have a brother in law, but he and my sister have been effectively married for years now, they just finally made it official. There's something poignant about watching your younger sister walk down the aisle. I'm very happy for her, but it made me feel old and not entirely successful.
I mean, at the whole relationship game. Still, I guess the military does that to you. Things will change when I get to Florida. I have every hope and confidence that they will.
So enough about me. The devil is in the details, and there's... well, alot of detail in this one, lemme say. Omens and portents and strange things going down at the Chaser.
I REALLY like this story... I enjoy writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it. In any case, I switch tenses at certain points during this chapter to denote that what is taking place isn't what is in the scene. I tried italicizing the affected portions of the story so people won't get confused. Hopefully it works.
Nonsensical? That'll teach me to write author's notes at 5 in the morning.
Meh.
"All your eyes have ever seen. All you've ever heard, is etched upon my memory. Spoken through my words. All that I take with me, is all you've left behind. We're sharing one eternity, living in two minds. Linked by an endless thread, impossible to break." Act I Scene 3- Through My Words, Dream Theater
Robin was not a particularly deep sleeper.
If anyone asked him to recount his dreams the morning after, he would be hard pressed to tell them anything. It wasn't that he forgot them, it was simply that his dreams fell into two categories. They were either so mindnumbingly boring that only a serious glutton for punishment would listen to them, or they were so personal that he wouldn't reveal them to anyone. Not even Bruce.
Especially not Bruce. Batman was a mentor, a father figure, a measurement of worth. He was not a shoulder to cry on. Or one to tell your problems to.
Unless your problems could be arrested or beaten into lawfulness that is. Preferably both.
A murder so many years ago had ensured that. It was as though a part of his developement had died then, and been replaced with a cold, sure, implacable need for justice. Or perhaps revenge. The Just thing and the Right thing to do sadly don't always equal the same thing.
Justice is blind, after all.
Which is not to say that Robin did not respect and, after a fashion, love Bruce. He just couldn't stand the man. Mainly because he wasn't a man at all, he was a force of nature, a sort of justice personification. Despite his own personal tragedy, Robin just couldn't agree with everything the Dark Knight believed in.
In any case, as previously stated, Robin was not a deep sleeper, and as such, the tinny sound of his communicator speaking up caught his attention instantly. Coming to full awareness in only a few seconds, he sat up in his bed in the dark and hit the button.
"I'm listening." He said simply.
A smooth baritone voice tickled his ear. His eyes widened imperceptably. "Sorry to call so late, Robin. You said you wanted us to call immediately if we had a need for you guys, and unfortunately crime don't wait 'til after we've had our coffee."
Detective Michael Washington sounded tired, but in command. He was a good cop. One of the best.
Robin frowned. "It's not an emergency or you would have sounded the Titan alarm. What else would you need us for?"
Sergeant Washington sighed for a moment, and Robin could almost hear him rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We've got a mess down here... you're just gonna have to come and see for yourself. Something here don't add up, and I have a hunch there might be..."
He was silent for a moment, as though listening to someone Robin couldn't hear. "Just, get down here when you can, ok?"
"Alright Sarge... we'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Don't rush or nothin'. Take your time, this mess ain't going no where."
Robin smiled tersely. "See you in fifteen."
"Right."
The communicator went dead.
Robin was up and dressed in less than two minutes.
Raven, on the other hand, slept very soundly. In her case, however, it wasn't so much a tiredness as an overly strong connection to her dreams. Her blood and heritage combined to make her dreams frighteningly real and prophetic... she couldn't control them.
Sometimes, after a particularly vivid nightmare, she woke up with bruises. Once she had awakened with a two inch gash in her left thigh. It was fortunate that her blood also ensured that she would heal quickly and without scarring.
Physical scarring anyway.
Tonight she was having a particularly vivid... dream? Nightmare? She wasn't entirely sure. Certainly there was something unsettling about it, but it was not the typical gloom and doom, with people turning to stone, and Trigon coming to destroy all that was good in the world, not that sort of dream at all.
She was frankly getting tired of those.
No, this dream was different. If she had to label it as anything, it was just plain confusing. In it, she was standing in a circle of men, obviously thugs of some sort, who pointed and laughed at her. She turned every which way, but the circle was too tight, she simply couldn't get out, nor could she force them away with her powers. Suddenly, without her conscious control, she began to dance.
Never in her LIFE had she ever danced like this, she was frankly impressed and more than a little shocked. Where had she picked this up? Furthermore, why was she dancing for a bunch of thugs? Unlike most people, Raven had a singularly tight control of her subconscious, which of course meant that when it ran rampant all hell broke lose. In any case, the men surrounding her began to stop pointing and laughing one by one, turning away from her and walking into the mists that surrounded them.
Soon enough, there were only 9 men remaining. These men solemnly began clapping, then as one, bowed and walked away. There was a hint of sarcasm in their faces, and in the tempo of their applause, as though they were mocking her.
As she stood in the mists alone, two golden coins dropped from above, landing with an intensely musical sound at her feet. They rotated slowly on the ground, until both came to rest on heads.
She was just bending over to examine the intensely familiar face on one of the coins when a buzzing sound woke her up suddenly. She groaned and put her pillow over her head.
"Raven..." A voice through the door. It sounded like Robin.
"Go away, Boy Wonder. I'll kill you in the morning."
"I'm afraid this can't wait, Rae."
She blinked. "You really DO have a death wish, don't you?"
Nevertheless, she slowly got out of bed and then compensated by hurriedly changing from her pajamas into her leotard and cloak.
Thirteen minutes later found the T-Car and R-Cycle pulling up next to the Chaser. This was a part of town that was patrolled regularly by the Titans, and they were frankly shocked at the sheer number of police cars lined up outside. Cops didn't come uptown all that often. The effect of a police car in this part of town was something akin to the effect of a kitchen light turning on in a house infested with roaches. This was a testiment to how much the Titans had done for Jump City, since less than ten years ago a squad car was liable to get shot at uptown.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Robin and the rest of the Titans made their way towards the Chaser. Beast Boy stared intently at the rather rude neon sign out front until Cyborg elbowed him hard enough to make him stumble. The green elf rubbed his arm and gave the metal teen a dirty look, which was ignored.
Detective Washington was a large burly bald man with dark skin and a bushy mustache over thick lips. He was currently downing a steaming cup of coffee. Crushing the paper cup in his huge fist, he tossed it without looking at a rookie officer, who juggled it awkwardly for a few seconds and then quickly whisked it away. The Detective stared at Robin evenly, then nodded his head.
"Coffee, if you want it. Sorry about the hour."
The Boy Wonder waved this off dismissively. "It's part of the job, Detective. Now what exactly prompted the... er, consult?"
While Cyborg and Beast Boy snagged a cup of Joe from the harried looking rookie, Raven eyed the Chaser with idle interest. A few bullet holes and shattered glass could be seen through the open door, along with police tape and various officers wandering about the interior. From this distance it was hard to tell, but several stains glimmering darkly in the clubs interior lighting suggested that something particularly unpleasant had occurred.
She forced her attention back to her leader and the detective, who were going over the details.
"-normally, you'd be right. I wouldn't call you in. Thing is, security cameras picked up somethin' interesting, and frankly, I ain't never seen nothin' like it before. I was thinkin' since you hero types run into crazy sh-, er, stuff, all the time, you might have some insight."
Robin crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it couldn't hurt... but exactly what kind of "crazy stuff" are we talking about here?"
The Detective nodded in the direction of the club. "Follow me. It's probably best if I just show you. That way what I think is going on here won't color your perceptions of what happened."
The group gathered together and carefully walked past the police tape. Several forensics guys and a couple of police photographers were busy taking samples and pictures.
The air stank of discharged cordite and something else... a richer, more palpable odor of sulphur, not unpleasant, but very strong.
Raven shivered oddly as the scent stirred something in her she'd long repressed. Beast Boy wrinkled his nose and scowled.
"Man... what's that stink?"
"Black Gunpowder." She and Robin murmured at approximately the same time. Robin raised an eyebrow at Raven, who crossed her arms and raised a sardonic eyebrow. Her stance dared the Boy Wonder to ask a question, but he simply frowned and refused the bait.
Beast Boy, oblivious to the tension, blurted out the obvious. "What, you mean like Yosemite Sam... that kinda gunpowder? How the hell would you know that just by smelling it?"
Robin turned to him and schooled him, not unkindly. "Batman was pretty adamant about detective work. All of the senses can be used to catch a criminal, and sometimes you don't have the luxury of a crime lab. So he used to point out different smells and then challenge me to identify them. Black powder is still used by ball and cap enthusiasts. Leaves a horrendous amount of smoke. Of course for how strong it smells in here, considering how long its had to diminish, we're talking about a ridiculous amount of firing-"
"Fifty four shots from two .44 calibre 6 cylinder revolvers, resulting in thirty goons with rap sheets longer than your arm headed to the emergency room."
Robin sucked in a surprised breath, and turned around to see a short matronly looking woman with grey streaked blonde hair and a forensics bag slung over her shoulder. A unlit cigarette rested loosely between her lips. She looked very professional, and had she worn any make-up, would have been considered very attractive. As it was, she just looked extremely tired and more than a little irritated. Robin had some experience with forensics team leaders, and she probably looked upon their encroachment of the crime scene as an invasion of her territory. Anyone without forensics training was at best a tourist and at worst a bumbling moron with a single purpose; contaminating potential evidence.
Robin looked skeptical. Raven had gone very still, staring at the Matronly woman with something akin to disbelief on her face.
Robin shook his head slowly as though he'd done a quick calculation in his head. "That's impossible. Two men with six-shooters couldn't possibly get off fifty four shots in the course of a single gun fight, especially facing off against a bunch of thugs with uzi's." He pointed absently at several bullet holes stitched in a precise line. As though pointing out where he'd got the uzi information from.
"They'd be lucky to get off six."
Detective Washington rubbed his face. "Er... Robin, meet Jessica Whately. Jessica, meet-"
Jessica smirked. "You're wrong on two counts, kid. One, it IS possible for fifty four shots to be fired in a single gunfight, because it was done here. Second, it wasn't two shooters. It was one."
Robin put his hands on his hips. The Boy Wonder was skeptical, but he also wasn't stupid. "You seem awfully sure of yourself... so I'm assuming there's some sort of evidence to prove this."
She nodded. "Good. Open mind. I like you, kid. Hey Mike, you show him the video yet?"
"You mentioned that before. What video?" Robin raised an eyebrow.
"I was gettin' to that. First off, lets lay out the facts. 10:45 pm, a single unknown perp walks into the club..."
Robin turned slightly, giving the floor a more than cursive look. He then followed the line of bullet holes and broken glass to the walls and next tier. He shook his head. It looked like a warzone.
"The perp has a short conversation with Carlos Santiago, owner and proprietor of the Chaser... I see by your dark expression you know who I'm talking about. Good. Saves time. Anyway, Santiago was in the middle of a major drug deal with what appear to be 9 unidentified Asian males, probably Yakuza or Black Dragons. We've confiscated over twenty kilos of uncut cocaine and five kilos of heroin, along with over (Author's Note: I've done a little research on this, and prices may vary by location, however I'm pretty confident that that's a good figure. If you know any drug dealers I'm sure you can school me, but I try to avoid people like that) 1.5 million dollars in cash. Either way, looks like Santiago was making a bid for the big time. In steps our unknown gunman, who promptly begins a firefight with 38 hardened criminals armed with automatic weapons. Two minutes later, he's the only one standing. Thirty thugs go to the emergency room, eight go to the morgue. He lets the unidentified asian males leave without a scratch, in fact, one of them bows to him, then he assaults Mr. Santiago, polices his brass, and vanishes... at least according to Mr. Santiago."
He snorted, looking grimly amused. "Not that Mr. Santiago is the most reliable witness at the moment. They had to sedate him pretty heavily to get anything coherent out of him."
Robin let out a long breath and walks into the club dance floor, following a strange set of tracks in the spilled blood. He shakes his head.
"Hobnailed boots, black powder revolvers... what the hell are we dealing with here?"
Washington jerked his head towards the stairwell discretely leading up to the next floor. "Come on. You should just watch the video. A lot of this makes a helluva lot more sense when you can watch what this guy does."
Robin nodded. "Come on team. Let's go." The rest of the Titans nodded. Raven jerked slightly out of the reverie she was in and followed quickly, her eyes strangely troubled. Starfire looked at her curiously.
"Are you troubled, friend Raven?" She asked curiously.
Raven shook her head slowly, looking distractedly away. "I'm fine, Star. Just a little unnerved at all the violence."
Starfire nodded sympathetically. "Indeed, friend. I am saddened by this unnecessary shedding of internal fluids, and eight people ceased? A tragedy most certainly."
Raven nodded solemnly, continuing to look troubled. The rest of the short walk up the stairs finished in silence. Detective Washington argued quietly with a technician for a few minutes, then finally got on the huge security system Santiago had set up. He fiddled with the mouse, obviously one of those old-fashioned officers unused to computers except on a purely casual basis, then managed to open the file on the station computer log and click the play button.
"This is before anything goes down. You see Santiago and the rest of his guys milling around, then..."
Nine individuals in sleek black suits show up carrying several brief cases. Santiago steps up to them and extends his arms out wide as though welcoming them into his house. The leader of the black suited individuals bows shortly, and Santiago gestures towards the booth with his beringed hand. The leader looks slightly uncomfortable and raises a hand in a negative gesture. Santiago shrugs and seats himself as though he hasn't a care in the world. A conversation takes place, but the cameras aren't rigged for sound, which would have been useless in a loud night club anyway.
Washington paused the footage and gestured to the upper right monitor. "Then things get a little weird. Watch the upper right corner of the room, camera three. We missed it the first time, but there's something you should see."
An individual slips into the room unobtrusively, walking at a sedate pace towards the wall of the establishment. He stands almost shoulder to shoulder with one of the goons standing guard, and the goon never moves an inch, even though at one point he glances right at the figure. The camera angle isn't terribly good, so only the lower part of the figure can be seen, and what is there is covered in a blue robe or cloak of some sort. Boots with external metal toes peek out from under the cloak.
Raven stared at this transfixed, but her position at the back of the crowd of Titans caused this to go unnoticed.
Washington paused it again and pointed at the figure. "See at first we thought maybe he was expected... some sort of VIP or personal bodyguard... because they look right at him but don't react. Keep watching."
The figure strides into the center of the dancefloor. It is now apparent that he is wearing some sort of dark blue cloak. The sex of the figure is difficult to discern because of the cloak, but something about the stride and the fact that the figure is tall and lean but muscled, with a particularly broad chest suggests masculinity. The hands are at the hips under the cloak. Pausing in the center of the room, right in the midst of the black suited men and the guards, he eases his hands off of his hips. The movement of his arms causes the cloak to fall open and the figure pulls his arms back and flexes his fingers slowly in a practiced gesture until the cloak rests behind a pair of holsters secured at the figure's hips. It was now obvious that this individual is male. The chest is covered in black leather, and the hands covered in leather gloves, no... too thick to be gloves. Gauntlets. Light twinkles from rows and rows of sequins, no... brass studs? No... bullets... rows and rows of bullets. A pair of gunbelts with more bullets crisscrossed at the waist and the two large silvery revolvers complete the picture. One of the gauntlets is black, the other... red?
Raven hissed and forced her way closer to the monitor. "Pause it! Pause it right now!"
Washington paused it and looked at the normally withdrawn and quiet teen in surprise. The rest of her team looked at her in gaped mouthed surprise.
"Rae? What's up?" Cyborg rumbled, sounding concerned.
"Yeah, what's going on? You know this guy?" Beast Boy looked curious and worried at the same time.
Raven said nothing, she simply stared at the image frozen on the screen intently, her expression one of muted shock and some small amount of pain... even a small amount of fear. So many emotions on the normally emotionless face caused the Titans to stare at one another uneasily, then watch her in quiet confusion.
The frozen figure is caught in a subtle forward tilted stance, his weight planted firmly on his left leg, foot at a slight forty five degree angle his right leg forward slightly. The tilt of the head and the angle of the camera allows some perspective into the hood, but the only thing visible are the shadowed hollows of the eyes... the eye color is light but due to the shadows could be grey, green, or blue. The hood covers any hair. A fine patrician nose, and then a concealing bandanna or scarf of the same color as the cloak rests over the mouth.
She eased back into her calm demeanor and let out a deep breath. "Sorry... keep... keep going."
Detective Washington raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He pressed play.
The action continues. Almost immediately the thugs react as though the stranger had suddenly appeared in their midst. Santiago seems to have expected the figure from the set of his features, but the asian males do not. Neither of the two groups expected the gunman to appear in their midst.
Beast Boy shook his head. "It's like... it's like they couldn't see him until he wanted them to."
Detective Washington nodded. "We got that impression as well. Thing is, there were some of Santiago's security eggheads upstairs when we got here... they were afraid to leave... and they said that there were no images of the gunman until he just appeared right in the middle of them."
Cyborg frowned. "The camera doesn't lie... and we can clearly see him right now."
Robin nodded. "Yeah, but maybe the eyes lie... maybe he was doing something that made everybody ignore him, even the people watching the surveillance video, until he wanted to be seen. Until he was ready. If he's a strong enough psionic, he might be able to pull it off, but then why the guns? He could have just had them all surrender peacefully."
Raven was still staring at the video intently.
A conversation occurs between Santiago and the gunman. Santiago makes a dismissive gesture and jerks his hand in a way that seems to speak of finality. Several of his goons reached for or raised their weapons.
A sudden blur of motion and several bright flashes of fire from the gunman's vicinity, followed by a swirl of cloak and then the figure is hidden behind a billowing, swirling cloud of smoke.
Beast Boy blinked. "What the hell happened?"
Detective Washington paused it, rewound the action, and looked at them all. "That's about what I said when I first saw it. He just seems to disappear in the middle of smoke and flashing lights. Well check this out. I'm going to advance it frame by frame."
He began to do so, advancing the footage nanosecond by nanosecond. Santiago's security system was state of the art, and even so, there were obvious jumps in the gunman's movement, as though he were moving too fast for the video to catch him smoothly.
The gunman reaches down and crossdraws both revolvers, spinning them both in an insanely fast spin that would have been instantly recognized by any Western enthusiast. He spreads his arms out firing three times with each revolver. This explained the sudden flashes of light as well as the cloud of smoke. The figure then bends low to the ground, showing remarkable flexibility, and begans to spin, his guns going behind his back still pointed in their original direction but now upside down. Both guns flare simultaneously, and then the gunman completes his spin. His hands cross, the fingers do something too fast for the eye to follow, and then several small objects began to drop out from between the gunman's fingers.
Robin narrowed his eyes. "That shouldn't be possible... no one's that fast."
Beast Boy looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Robin jerked his head at the still image of the gunman, his hands still crossed. "He's palming shells from the loops on the backs of his hands and his wrists, then somehow, he's pulling out spent casings and getting new bullets into the revolvers as he crosses hiĊ³ hands while advancing the cylinder to fire. Some old fashioned revolvers could be reloaded without breaking the weapon open, but eject, reload, and fire at the same time?"
Cyborg looked uneasy. "Well... obvious he's doing it somehow... so it IS possible."
Starfire blinked. "I do not understand why this seems so unlikely, friend Robin. Surely it is no less improbable than someone who can walk through walls, or change into cute animals?"
Robin couldn't exactly argue with that. Still, there was just something wrong with this whole picture. There was an artistry to the gunfighter's movements, like a martial art or a dance, and if there was one thing that Bruce had taught him, it was that there was nothing beautiful or artistic about guns. Perhaps the fate of his parents had left him a bit prejudiced, but Bruce was convinced that guns were the weapons of cowards and criminals. He'd driven that message home quite clearly in his young charge.
To a certain extent, Robin shared that prejudice. To see someone wield them so adeptly... it made him more than a little angry.
Beast Boy snapped his fingers. "Dude, he moves like he's in The Matrix."
Cyborg rolled his eyes. "Duh! I was more thinking Equilibrium, actually..."
"Hey yeah! That was cool when-"
"Shut up you two." Robin cut in, silencing the pair. "Keep going, Detective."
The Detective sighed. "That's just it, there ain't a whole lot more to show. About this time, the smoke gets so thick you can't see a damn thing, just some flashes and bangs. You don't really see what's going on until after the smoke clears up a bit."
The Detective advanced the video about two minutes.
The smoke is so thick it is like a white fog cloud in the club. Slowly, details can be seen. Santiago sits stunned in his booth, gun in hand, trying to penetrate the smoke. He is obviously agitated, his gun snapping randomly about the room. Several of his men writhe and cough on the floor in obvious pain. A faint shadow moves slowly to one of the bodies lying prone. It bends close to the man and does something near his neck, then there is some confused movement in which the shadowy figure does something to the body. After a moment, the figure looks up suddenly in Santiago's direction. The figure draws and points a revolver at Santiago's direction and slowly cocks back the hammer. Santiago drops his gun and the figure releases the hammer slowly and reholsteres the weapon.
Starfire looked slightly disturbed. "What was he doing to that man on the ground?"
Detective Washington sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That's just it... remember how I said that thirty men were injured and went to the hospital, and eight went to the morgue?"
The team nodded.
"Well, preliminary ballistics is a bit confused, because there was a lot, and I mean A LOT of firing going on, but since the calibre and materials used to make the assailants bullets is so different from Santiago's, we're pretty sure that our mystery gunman here didn't kill any of those eight. All of his shots were nonlethal take down shots... shoulders, legs, kneecaps, elbows, hands. The guy on the ground was bleeding to death, and well... when we found him, he had a tourniquet tied on his arm to stop the bleeding. The eight men who died were killed by automatic weapons. Caught in their own crossfire."
Robin started slightly, then looked at Beast Boy and Cyborg.
Starfire frowned, looking a bit confused. Raven continued to watch the video play out.
The gunman moves through the smoke, his cloak tattered and ragged from the numerous amount of bullets that had passed near him. Other than that, he appears completely unmarked. He pauses near where the nine asian men are still standing, their faces stunned and noticably pale. A brief conversation takes place. After a few moments, one of them tentatively bows to him, then they all quickly and without looking back flee the building.
They leave their money behind.
Detective Washington frowned. "This is what we're confused about. At first we thought this guy was some kinda new vigilante. Thing is, he takes down all these thugs, then he just lets the Yakuza or whatever walk. One of them even bows to him. That's why we think there might be some kinda connection-"
"They never drew their weapons." Raven said quietly.
The Detective looked at her. "Huh?"
The rest of the Titans also looked at their quiet member. She was still staring at the video, looking pale... well, paler than usual.
Robin nodded decisively as though her words sparked his own conclusion and he explained.
"He let them go because they didn't try to draw their weapons. If they had tried to defend themselves he would have shot them as well. Those are Yakuza... they aren't wearing the black bandannas that Black Dragons wear and they're reacting culturally in line with the Japanese mindset. In line with their code of honor... this was Santiago's fight, not theirs. The bow was to acknowledge a generous and honorable opponent. The leader didn't take his eyes off of the gunman as he bowed. That wasn't deference or kow-towing, it was a show of cautious respect."
Detective Washington raised an eyebrow. "That's... a theory. Actually, that makes a lot of sense. The Black Dragons don't usually operate outside of China town themselves. They tend to use non-asian intermediaries." He sighed.
"So we ARE dealing with some kinda vigilante super hero. Great. Don't you guys have some kinda rule about going into other heroes territories or somethin'?"
Robin watched Raven carefully, but said nothing. It was obvious that she had a different understanding of the gunman's motives. It also appeared that she didn't appear to want to volunteer anymore information.
The team was silent as the video continued.
The figure advances on Santiago slowly, and a very brief exchange occurs. Then the figure slaps Santiago hard enough to draw blood from his nose. The gunman holds something under Santiago's gushing nose, then slips that into his belt. He then leaves the babbling crime lord and begins hunting across the dance floor after something on the ground.
Detective Washington nodded his head. "He's policing his brass."
At the confused look from Beast Boy he grimaced. "He's going around picking up all the spent shell casings he left on the ground from firing his weapons."
Beast Boy made an "O" of realization and nodded his head. Detective Washington continued the video.
At one point Santiago makes as if to grab for the gun on the table. In a flash, the figure points one of his revolvers at him. He doesn't even turn away from what he is doing. Obviously outmatched, Santiago collapses back into his seat and begins sobbing hysterically.
Detective Washington cut in. "About this time we get a tip from an anonymous female caller informing us of what's going down at the Chaser. Dispatch sends a squad car. The caller wasn't on the line long enough to give any real information, and she was on a pay-phone in downtown, but she sounded... well... we think she might have been from around here."
The gunman finishs policing his brass and flips one of the tables upright. He carefully sets a pair of small twinkling objects on the table, then bends his head down and puts his hands on the grips of his pistols. He then walks carefully over to the wall just across from the door and leans against it as though waiting for something. Santiago looks up and darts his face left and right, as though searching for the gunman but it is obvious from how his gaze passes right over the leaning figure that he can't see him.
"He's doing it again." Robin announced quietly.
Beast Boy and Cyborg look at one another mystified. As one they blurt out the same conclusion. "Dude... Jedi Mind Trick."
Detective Washington nodded and gave them a sardonic roll of the eyes. "Yeah. Check this out."
Eventually several police officers enter the nightclub, weapons out. They thread their way through the injured men. Santiago stands up and charges one of them in a panic, and is quickly taken down hard by two officers. They cuff his hands behind his back and one of them begins to speak to him, probably reading him his rights. Several paramedics come running in and began helping the worst of the wounded.
The figure watches all of this for several minutes, then quietly slips out the open door and into the night.
Detective Washington cut off the video. "The rest is all us. Several officers walked right by him, even looked in his direction. None of them reported seeing anything."
Robin frowned. "What were those objects he left behind?"
The Detective sighed again. "Again, this guy is a weird combination of careful and careless. He has to know there's a security system but he acts like he doesn't care. He wears gloves and hides his identity but then he just leaves shreds of his cloak all over the friggin' room. He spent a good three minutes policing all of his brass, then after he finds all of them he just leaves two of them right in plain sight. Your guess is as good as-"
Raven looked at him intently. "Can I see them?"
He blinked. "Er... sure... actually I was gonna ask you to take a look at 'em. You're the witchy one, right?"
Raven raised an eyebrow, then simply glanced down at the cloak and the leotard and said nothing.
The Detective had the grace to look embarassed. "Ahem. Right. Well, there are some symbols on the casings... nothing we've ever seen before... almost look like hieroglyphics. Thought maybe you'd be able to identify them."
She closed her eyes. "Six of them, very small, stamped around the base of the shell, and a seventh one on the back?"
The Detective blinked. "Yeah... exactly like that... how did you-"
She reached into her cloak and drew out a small metal object tarnished with age. She deftly spun the dully twinkling bit of metal in a dizzying pattern between her nimble fingers, then dropped it into the Detective's waiting palm. He turned it over in his hands and nodded, looking back at her grimly.
"This is exactly the same, only older. I can barely make out the symbols on it. How did you get this?"
She turned and looked away, her face revealing nothing.
Robin frowned. "Raven... this is part of a criminal investigation... if you know something..."
She scowled. "This isn't happening. It's impossible. It can't be what it looks like."
Starfire put a hand on Raven's shoulder but she shrugged it off, wrapping her arms around her as though she were cold. Starfire looked saddened and slightly hurt.
"Rae..." Cyborg started.
"It can't be happening because they're all dead." Raven whispered.
She turned and looked at them, her face trembling on the verge of some great emotion, but still locked in that cold mask.
"They're all dead, and it's my fault."
She faded through the wall and out of sight.
She been on top of the Tower for quite some time when she felt a presence behind her. He'd probably waited for her to get her composure, although that didn't take much for Raven. She didn't break down, not like most people did. She couldn't afford to. Still, even a small breach of composure in front of them was mortifying.
She didn't turn, she didn't need to. Living in close proximity with them all allowed her to instantly recognizethem by their individual auras.
She hadn't had to be taught how to do that. She just could. It was one of those things her father had left her with. She could feel the concern radiating from him, but it was threaded by little spikes of suspicion as well.
Nothing her father had given her gave her much pleasure. Empathy least of all. She didn't have to meditate or chant to summon it up, she had to do it to control it. Otherwise it was always on. In Azarath that had been almost unbearable, since most of the people there either hated what she represented or feared her, and for good reason. Still, it was a plague that had hurt, and there had been no way to escape it.
A plague that had ceased when she had been taught...
No. Don't think about it.
He sat down next to her on the buildings edge and clasped his gloved hands in his lap. He didn't look at her.
"I figured you'd be up here. You always come here when-"
"I want to be alone." She finished for him. "Apparently the hint didn't stick did it?"
He sighed. A light breeze lifted his cape and stirred her cloak and she drew it closer for warmth.
"I want you to know that... you don't have to tell us anything." He said slowly.
She frowned. "You say that... but you don't mean it."
He shook his head. "I DO mean it. I know you can read me, and yeah, I DO want to know, but do you know why?"
"I might be a threat. I might bring something that would hurt your city." She said numbly.
He scowled. "I'm... WE'RE worried about you! You don't talk to anyone! Don't you trust us?"
She turned her head slightly. "It isn't a matter of me trusting you, Boy Wonder."
He sighed. "There are no charges being filed against the gunman. Detective Washington isn't happy about it, but... well, this sort of thing falls under the Vigilante Act. Since there was an obvious documented use of supernatural powers in the course of preventing a crime, even if it is the sort of crime that normally gets handled by the police, and since they intended to shoot him first, they don't really have a leg to stand on. Sure, they could try and get him on negligance for the deaths that occurred, but the DA won't touch it... he'd be laughed out of court if he even tried."
She nodded.
The mask glinted slightly as he oriented his gaze towards her profile.
"This problem isn't going away. You don't have to talk to the cops, Rae... they can't even press charges on you for withholding information, since the Hero Privacy Act protects information about vulnerablities and secret identities. You don't HAVE to tell me, but... well, I would appreciate it if you did."
She sighed and shook her head, drawing her knees up and wrapping her slender arms around them. The pose gave her a look of tired vulnerability, and Robin was dismayed to see it.
"I don't know WHO he is..." She didn't, she wouldn't even begin to guess. She didn't dare.
He nodded. "But?"
"I know what he is. Those shells were a message. The symbols stamped on them are the seven virtues of Azar. Charia, Liberi, Fronum, Induzia, Patoniti, Azaritas, Azaralita."
Robin cocked his head curiously. "Sounds like latin."
She shook her head. "Close. High Azar. English and common Azar are very close... almost identical. Latin and High Azar are even closer. Translated, the words mean Purity, Will, Self-Discipline, Diligence, Patience, Compassion, and Selflessness. Every bullet ever manufactured in Azarath had those symbols on them."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's a very odd thing to put on a deadly weapon."
She looked at him sidelong and shook her head. "Not really. Where do you think the name Parabellum for 9 millimeter rounds came from? Sic Vis Pacem Para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war. Besides, it makes perfect sense when the only ones who use them are Holy Warriors."
He watched her carefully and she turned her face back to the city, her eyes distant.
"They called them Knights of the Red Hand. Apocryphal Knights. The Red gauntlet symbolized the blood spilled to protect Azarath. Demons were a part of every day life. The monsters who are personified by evil men in this world were real monsters there, and it took a very special kind of man to fight them. The every day folk had a different name for them, though."
"What?" He asked quietly.
"Gunslingers." She whispered.
He hesitated for a moment, then asked. "You speak in the past tense..."
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Azarath is gone, Robin. I was the only survivor. The ONLY survivor. The demon who destroyed my home..." She stopped, her face crumpling a bit, then she shook her head and continued, though it sounded like she had originally intended to say something else. "He... wants me very badly. He destroyed Azarath to get at me, all of it. There CAN'T be a Gunslinger here. They wouldn't have allowed Azarath to be destroyed, not while they could still fight."
Her eyes opened, but she saw nothing, she was looking beyond.
"He never would have given up..." She whispered.
She started, as though she'd revealed a little too much with her musings. He didn't press the issue. She turned to him and her face was composed, tranquil.
"Those shells were left as a message. Gunslingers in Azarath used to have rotating attachments to specific assigned territories, where they served as protectors and lawgivers. Sort of like a soldier, judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. They weren't incorruptable... sometimes one of them would turn bad and had to be destroyed, but they were as close as men can get. They didn't get to own property, they didn't even get to keep their original names.
"On average they lived very short lives."
She sighed. "Anyway, sometimes one of them would have to react to a situation in another's territory. When this happened, they would leave shells as a message to one another of what had happened there. One shell signifies that the Gunslinger had meted out justice, two that his guns had been fired in the line of duty."
Her gaze hardened. "Someone is mocking their dedication, Robin. Someone is aping their Order like some... some copy cat... kids didn't say I want to be a Gunslinger when I grow up, in Azarath... it was a fate that no one wanted for their children, but they still served, and never complained. That someone would..." She lapsed into silence.
"What if he's for real?"
She shook her head. "Robin, if a real Gunslinger had come here he wouldn't have just injured those men. He'd have killed them. Fighting demons doesn't leave room for mercy."
He blinked. "That's..."
She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't live there, Robin. There was no other way. Demons don't take prisoners, and if all they do is kill you, you can count yourself very very lucky."
He didn't argue, but she could tell that it didn't sit well with him. "Maybe... maybe he's being cautious because he knows this isn't Azarath."
She frowned, that hard look returning. "I told you, it isn't possible. They all died." Her voice had that flat sort of finality she used when she was having difficulty surpressing her emotions and the subject was essentially over.
He nodded, and wisely didn't press any further. "Rae... thanks. For trusting me. I know it's hard."
Her face softened and she shook her head. "I told you, it's not you I don't trust."
She looked out at the city again, as though through sheer will alone she could find the answer to this unwanted reminder of her past. He watched her for several moments, then nodded quietly and stood, dusting off his uniform.
"Get some sleep, Rae. We're all exhausted. Sleep in. That's an order."
She nodded mutely, watching him retreat. The door shut and left her alone again.
"Where were you when I needed you, Simon?" She whispered.
It had taken some time, but Simon had found an odd metal stairway that extended all the way up the side of one of the buildings in this benighted city. From far above the landscape looked magical and impossibly clean, the distance the lightening morning sky erasing the shabbier details and turning the city into a glittering jewel. The sun had not yet risen, and Simon was there to greet it.
His cloak was a tattered mass of shredded ribbons thanks to the hail of bullets. It hung off of his lanky frame like the sail of a ship that had been through a storm. Sadly he had no garment to replace it. He'd have to find material to repair it. In addition he had not come out of the fight completely unscathed, as the four inch gash from a graze in his right arm testified. The needle and thread he would have used to repair his cloak were used for their secondary purpose, that of stitching closed his wound. He used a small amount of his alcohol used for cleaning to cleanse the wound, and his face betrayed no sign of discomfort through the operation in its entirety.
Simon was no stranger to pain.
Afterwards he stood and turned to the horizon. He was tired, dead tired, but there were certain duties that had to be attended to, that had been neglected for far too long, in his eyes.
Before Trigon had come to Azarath, the Apocryphal Knight Initiates had greeted the morning sun every day since the beginning of the Order. It was a gesture of great respect and humility, thanks for being allowed to pass through the night unharmed, and to the promise of the new day dawning.
If what Arella's shade had said was true, then no greeting had been given in ten years. There WERE no gunslinger apprentices to continue the tradition. Simon had not been an apprentice for some time, and it was not necessary for Knights to make the obsequience.
If he did not, however, no one would. So he closed his eyes and sang in the morning. Words never spoken on Earth greeted the day as it began in a strong, sure tenor. The voice was tinged with sadness, with aching loneliness and no small amount of regret, but it was there.
It could be heard. It did not break.
Some passersby looked around at the strangely echoing song, wondering at such sadness. It was a beautiful melody, and the singer was by no means untalented. All too soon it was done, and he allowed the morning to turn to silence once again.
He sat down heavily in the white gravel and leaned his back against a metal ventilation fan case. Carefully, he removed the crystal vial filled with Santiago's blood from his gunbelt and allowed it to drip in a steady stream onto his red gauntlet. The blood did not spill over the edges of his palm, instead lying in a strange splash across his gauntlet as though the crimson leather would not release it. After the blood pooled a bit on his palm, he unholstered his right pistol with his other hand and laid it reverently onto a soft cloth he'd laid out for just such a purpose. Unlike most Gunslingers his pistols had no names, for when he had first laid hands upon them, they had kept their own council. The spirits of those Gunslingers and Spirit Caste who passed on granted their names to most initiate's guns at the time when the initiate first held them. It was decided that the guns had had some special purpose in remaining unbound.
Still, the guns were the seat of his power, forged of his own trials and intricately bound to his life. They were tied to the Veils, to the Mental Fields, and sometimes glimpses could be caught of the Beyond. What was, what could have been, what is, and what will be were all connected to the Beyond.
Gunslingers had long known how to draw these glimpses out. They were sensative to Omens. The guns always demanded a price however. Simon felt the blood of a Tyrant, brought to justice and broken of his power in his own house, would suffice. It wasn't the lifeblood of a Tyrant, but he wasn't asking a terribly complicated or difficult question.
He turned over the gauntlet and allowed the blood to spill onto the etchings of his gun. It beaded on the well oiled metal, then slowly sank into it, leaving no marks on the surface, as though the gun had drunk of the fluid. After he had finished this action he folded the cloth over the gun carefully and arranged what was left of his cloak upon the top of this. Arranging himself comfortably, he laid his head down upon the bundle, the gun underneath, and closed his eyes.
He was so exhausted it did not take long to slip into slumber.
His dream was strange, savage.
He fought back against shadows with all of his might, but they hounded him mercilessly, their talons tearing great gaps in his flesh. Blood pulsed from a thousand wounds, and yet he felt no pain. Something cold burned in his chest, and he looked down, gasping at what he saw.
A bloody hole the size of a fist where his heart should be. He looked up with sudden, shock at a cloaked figure that descended before him, slender, exotic... the curves beneath the all concealing cloak were feminine, no the essence of femininity, and he felt himself drawn to her. He advanced against his will, drawn with terrifying certainty like a moth to a flame.
She looked up, her four gleamng red eyes like embers the darkness, then a gleaming, seductive and yet sinister smile. The figure was impossibly tall, improbably thin... and yet it was all he could do to blink, he could not tear his eyes from her form.
He collapsed onto his knees before her, not out of weakness but as a sheer act of will, forcing his treacherous legs out from under himself.
He began to crawl. Before her, he had no shame.
"Is this... what you wanted?" He whispered hoarsely.
"Is this what YOU wanted?" Her voice was life itself. It mocked him, but gently. Not unkindly.
She raised her fist and within it was a strangely shaped stone of some sort. It was oval, slightly larger than her pale hand, cupped gently. Fluid black in the dim light that surrounded her pulsed from it.
He realized that it was alive... that it was a heart.
"No..."
She lowered her hand and it disappeared into her cloak. "Finders keepers."
A whistling sound, and then a gleaming length of steel slammed into the earth before him, a longsword of the sort that the old Knights of Azarath would have used. He gripped the hilt and pulled, but he could not remove it from the ground. Finally with all of his might he heaved, and the sudden release of tension threw him onto his back, staring up at her shadow, and before it...
The sword remained in the ground, the hilt having snapped loose leaving the crossguard still attached to the blade. The light threw the sword into a shadowy silhouette, and yet he could see her clearly.
The light emanated from her.
"Where were you when I needed you, Simon?" She whispered playfully, and yet there was an undertone of pain, loss and betrayal in her voice.
He knew who the dark figure was then.
She had her father's eyes.
He lifted his head to the dirty grey sky and howled.