Blood Red Blades

Chapter One

The Black Mask,

Jason Todd

       Roman Sionis cursed under his breath, trotting into the wide room through the large oak door. He was running a gloved hand through his choppy black hair, holding a clipboard in the other. His glossy – was that Italian? – shoes hit the ground in a quick pace, stopping at the polished and slightly messy wooden table. His grey eyes were frantic, and his posture was rigid, a clear sign that he was nervous and stressed. Black bags under his eyes were becoming more prominent against his olive skin and worry lines had faint traces on his forehead. Maybe I should give him a break, a tropical getaway? He deserves it for dealing with me and my... issues. 

"Roman," I sat up straight, wincing as my bandaged leg hit against the edge of my table. "what's wrong?" 

He placed the clipboard down and slid it over to me, knowing that I had a nasty bruise forming on my side that makes it hard to stretch. He started talking as I gingerly picked the board. "This is the information on the gang you requested, the uprising one."

I scanned the page, "Kelpies."

He nodded. "Seems as if you were right. They are targeting Gotham Academy, but I sent a few negotiators to delay them until you gave your word to..." He waved his hand around to make his point.

Kill them.

"They have good fighters," I placed the board down, shuffling in my cushioned red chair and placing my elbows on the table, interlacing my fingers and pursing my lips tightly. "Trying to take the violent route... it could lead to an all-out war in Gotham."

"That would be bad," The older man nodded.

"You sent the negotiators?" I asked, my own icy blue eyes baring into his calm grey ones.

"Yes," he casually said, stuffing his hands into the crisp blue blazer's pockets.

"Make them offer a deal – they would work under me with all the perks-"

"So, the normal?"

"-but they can't sell to children or teenagers."

"Right, the normal," he noted, "And if negotiations fail?"

I narrowed my eyes, "Then they would face the wrath of the Black Mask."

Roman wore an expressive look of complete and utter deadpan. "Really?"

I shuffled, leaning back and draping myself over the red, behemoth swirly chair. "What?" I asked in a less dramatic tone, but in one that was whinier.

Roman, who had pulled out one hand with a phone, gestured to me. "You look like a black-and-blue sack of cr-"

I scoffed, "Please, I look absolutely dashing, like always."

"You look like someone dashed you."

There was a tug in my chest. Besides being my personal assistant, he also took the role of concerned and sassy guardian. He held concern for me, and I had for him. Not that either of us would allow our pride to admit it, though. It sounds familiar, like a lingering sense of déjà vu.

I huffed, eye twitching once or twice. "Do not. Besides, shouldn't you be talking more respectively to your boss?"

He scoffed, "Is that a way to speak to an elder?"

"Whatever you say, old man," I shot back, leaning forward before letting out a sharp hiss as my side bumped into the armrest. A flair of pain engulfed my right, making me grip tightly onto the armrest, forcing my tense muscles to relax. After the pain had died down considerably, I let out a breath that had rested in me. Roman was by my side, holding a steaming ice pack in the black gloved hand. I waved him off, slowly pushing myself up using the handles of my chair and careful not to stand of my bad leg. Roman's right, I mused as I grabbed the crutch the medic had left for me, damn that-

"You expect to take them on again like this?" Roman gestured at my pathetic frame as I hobbled to the glass window that spanned the wall behind me. "You may be an assassin or vigilante, but you aren't immortal."

I stopped at the window, eyes fixed at the horizon, which was glowing a fiery orange that was slowly dwindling out. It was dusk, the last time for any sane folk to go home and barricade themselves in. It was around this time that the gangs would run through their schemes one last time and the Bats of Gotham prepped themselves up for beating the hell out of criminals – not that it has ever worked. It was at this time of day that I felt most restless, most excited and most definitely on edge. Roman suggested that it could be something about my missing past. This led to a full-blown debate on what could've happened back then. Goon? Officer? Street rat? The possibilities were endless.

Officer Robin Haywood. Doesn't sound too bad.

Well, assuming my name is Robin Haywood. It was sad and pathetic that I didn't even know my own name. Hell, I wouldn't know my own parents if they were right next to me, if they are even alive. Roman presumes they are dead, or else they would come for me or even-

Not today, not now.

"I know," was dragged out of my mouth, as my eyes raked across the blackening skyline, feeling a pit grow in my stomach, "But if I don't, who will?"

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I feel like this chapter is too short. I have a tendency to write long chapters in the way of one chapter per month, so I'm trying to publish weekly/as soon as possible, but that requires me breaking down chapters into tiny parts. Apologies for that.

(Also, I own nothing. Not the art or characters. Those belong to DC or the respective artists.)