Cats Eat Birds - Damian Wayne/OC

50 | TRIAL ONE

UNKNOWN | CRISTEN

     CRISTEN IS HUMAN. The equivalent, at least. If Cristen had ever really been human at all, that bit of her was long gone, no matter how hard she wanted it. Soaking under a red sun for the first time should have been a beautiful, hidden relief, but the way her bones ache says only one thing: this is a punishment.

Like how a yellow sun usually felt much more white, this red was... copper. Bloody copper. Copper in Cristen's mouth, her eyes, her ears, her legs. Her brain. It was experiences like this, ugly experiences, that forced her to learn things about herself she shouldn't know. One thing she now knew for certain... humans were ridiculously fragile creatures.

Not all of them, at least. Damian would have been out of here by now. Any of them would be. But Cristen, who had spent her life sensing with her powers instead of her nerves, took ten or more minutes to figure out she was chained up—never mind that she'd been changed and celled.

Imprisonment. That was the go-to word. Of course, Cristen was actually trapped, but her mind's feet were confined to the space within her skull. Taking a step into the outside world, feeling out her environment—all of it had to be done from her brain. From her. For so long, Cristen had believed the universe had been out to get her... but without her insight, the shreds of that bond were too far to reach.

Every-day attire had been exchanged for a plain white outfit, and any means of hiding extra tools in her arsenal had been scavenged and taken. They'd cut out the tracker in her forearm. No bobby pins, no knives, no hidden gadgets. No Cristen. Because whoever this was, whoever was chained and collared in this tiny red-sun cell, could in no way be Cristen Young.

Worse: it wasn't Stray, either.

"I know you're awake," said a voice. Not the man behind the shed, but someone else. "It must be unusual, going without your powers for the first time since youth. Tell me, does it hurt? Can you stand?"

Cristen felt her throat, startled by the touch of her own hand, and unnerved further by the collar there. She knew better than to try to break it. Cristen wouldn't be strong enough, and there was nothing in her cell to break it on anyway. Now she really was a prisoner—they used the same kind of inhibitor collars on the metas in Belle Reve.

"I can kick your ass, if that's what you want," scowled Cristen.

She couldn't see who was speaking. The glass was tinted, red either from the light or the rage in Cristen's chest. But it was a man, presumably older than her. He knew this was her first time without her powers—so he probably knew more, too.

"Cristen," says he. "Do you have any clue who we are? Or was Batman too cowardly to inform you?"

Carefully, Cristen pushed herself to a stand. The cell was circular, small enough to fit a shower, with no clear point of entry or exit. She tested the glass with one hand. Without her powers, she could handle enough—but she'd been training to handle more, and that training wasn't exactly finished. Without her strength, Cristen lived in a world of steel instead of cardboard.

Damian would have been out by now. She hoped he was looking, knew that he would. Cristen didn't deserve him.

"You're the League," Cristen said. "These stupid—al Ghul people. And I mean that as literally I can. You must be pretty fucking stupid, given I'm still alive and they're almost here."

He laughs. There's a small speaker in the base of the glass, but it's not small enough to take off. "That's funny, Cristen. But I don't think Batman knows where here is. Neither do you."

Cristen flexed her fists. "What do you want with me?"

"I told you. You're here to prove yourself," said the man. "The Grandson of the Demon—he has chosen you. He may not have acted upon it, but when he returns to us to lead, he has chosen you as his right-hand. His wife. You will carry his heir. I trust my master, but he is still a boy, and a boy with poor judgment. I wanted to confirm that his choice was good for our organization."