"It's been three nights," Nightwing muttered, lowering his binoculars for a second as he remained seated casually at the edge of the rooftop. "Three nights of watching Black Mask, and still no sign of our unhinged brother in the red helmet."
Perched a few feet away, Damian didn't bother looking at him at first. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be in Blüdhaven?" he asked dryly, irritation clear in his tone.
"And miss out on foiling Jason's latest murder plot?" Dick replied with a grin. "Not a chance." He sounded almost eager at the thought of annoying Jason.
Damian finally lowered his own binoculars and shot him a flat stare. "Father and I are more than capable of handling this. We do not require your assistance."
He returned to observing Black Mask, who was currently shouting at a cluster of his men below for reasons neither of them could quite make out.
"And let you two have all the excitement?" Dick scoffed lightly. "Yeah… no way."
He raised his binoculars again. "Man, it must be exhausting working for someone that volatile. He hasn't stopped yelling."
"I would not be surprised if he develops hypertension," Damian replied coolly, rotating his binoculars away from Black Mask and sweeping the surrounding rooftops instead. If Jason were anywhere nearby, Damian intended to spot him first.
Dick noticed the shift. "You think Jase might be watching us while we're watching Black Mask?"
"With Jason, paranoia is prudence," Damian answered without hesitation. "One cannot afford complacency."
"That's why Batman's doing his usual patrol loop," Dick added, leaning back on his palms as his legs dangled over the edge of the building. "Circling back every hour to check our six—just in case Jason decides to observe the observers."
"…"
"He keeps glancing at the window," Damian said quietly, still peering through his binoculars. "Staring at random buildings behind his office. As though he's trying to signal, 'I know you're there', to some unseen predator."
"Can you blame him?" Dick replied. "If I thought Red Hood might be hunting me, I'd be checking over my shoulder too. What would you do if you found yourself in that situation?"
He pushed himself upright from his lounging position, then rolled forward smoothly onto his hands. His legs lifted into the air in a controlled arc as he transitioned into a perfect handstand. After holding it for a beat, he flowed back down and landed lightly on his feet—right at the edge of the rooftop—balancing with effortless precision.
"Circus boy," Damian muttered flatly.
Dick winced theatrically, clutching his chest. "Wow. I swear I just felt Jason somewhere out there smiling." He narrowed his eyes at Damian. "You've definitely been spending too much time with him to pick that up."
He tapped his chin dramatically. "Wait—so I've been the topic of brotherly bonding sessions? That's adorable."
Damian rolled his eyes and ignored the jab. Instead, he answered Dick's earlier question.
"If I knew Jason was hunting me—truly hunting me, in full Red Hood mode…" he paused, lowering his binoculars and angling his head slightly to meet Dick's gaze. "I would retreat to the League of Assassins' current base rather than gamble on confronting him."
Dick blinked.
That wasn't the answer he'd expected.
It sounded pragmatic. Almost cautious—coming from someone as proud and combative as Damian.
For a moment, Dick wondered why his fiercely arrogant little brother wouldn't even entertain the idea of standing his ground.
"Wouldn't you want to prove yourself? Beat him and show you're better?" Dick asked lightly, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity beneath the teasing tone.
Damian didn't rise to it.
"I have not spent extensive time with Jason since his return," he said evenly, eyes still fixed through his binoculars. "But among us—when it comes to tracking a target and ensuring the hunt ends in success—he is the most proficient."
Dick blinked at that.
Damian shifted his stance slightly, adjusting his focus on Black Mask below. "Give him enough time," he continued with a calm but certain voice, "and even Father could fall to him in a deathmatch."
The statement briefly hung in the air.
As he spoke, Damian's mind flickered to the recorded footage of Bruce and Jason's confrontation—the speed, the brutality, the raw intent behind every strike. He didn't know what Ra's al Ghul might have thought of Jason. He didn't know where Jason had disappeared to for three years, nor how he survived Lian Yu with a gunshot wound and returned moving almost like a super-soldier.
But he had felt it.
The bloodlust.
He had seen Jason indulge it firsthand. The efficiency. The way he could erase his presence like smoke in the wind—there one second, gone the next. A predator in its purest form.
Jason's battle IQ was erratic but razor sharp. His skillset was unpredictable. His strength and speed were enhanced by something Damian couldn't quite quantify. And beneath it all was that relentless, inhuman hunger to kill.
Refined properly, Damian believed Jason would become something terrifying.
Dick exhaled slowly. Despite his surprise at Damian's conviction, he thought back to the same fight footage. "I don't buy that," he said at last.
"Maybe one day," he conceded. "But he's not there yet."
"You underestimate him," Damian replied without hesitation. "That would be your first error. And potentially your last, if you face him."
Dick arched a brow. Normally, he would have fired back with something sarcastic—something snappy and older-brotherish—but he stopped himself. If anyone here had the most recent firsthand experience with Jason, it was Damian. And right now, information mattered more than pride.
"He could be standing behind us at this very moment," Damian continued coolly, "and you wouldn't sense him."
He lowered the binoculars slightly as he spoke from experience.
"Trust me. He is exceptionally skilled at that."
His thoughts drifted briefly to that night during the Maroni drug bust—to the masked figure who had knocked him out.
Damian strongly suspected the masked figure that night had been Jason—but he hadn't had the opportunity to confirm it.
"Even Bruce would have a hard time sneaking up on me like that," Dick shot back, clearly unwilling to accept that last claim.
"Jason surpasses Father in the discipline of true stealth," Damian replied coolly, speaking less like a son and more like an assassin delivering an objective assessment.
"You cannot be serious," Dick muttered.
Still, despite himself, he turned and scanned the rooftop behind them, then the surrounding structures—just in case Red Hood had already marked them and Batman hadn't yet completed his patrol loop.
- - -
Ever since the Joker incident, Roman had been unraveling.
Between legal pressure, a blow to his legal reputation, and the lingering fear that Red Hood might slip into his bedroom while he slept, paranoia had become his constant companion.
"I keep feeling like I'm being watched," he muttered, turning sharply toward the buildings across from his office.
"You're paranoid, sir. No one is watching you," Li replied flatly, not even looking up from her tablet as she continued working.
Roman clasped his hands behind his back and strode toward the massive wall-to-wall window. He stared out at the skyline, scanning the opposite rooftops for any suspicious glint—perhaps the reflection of a sniper scope, perhaps a flicker of movement that might betray Red Hood's presence.
He held himself stiffly, posture rigid—an attempt to project confidence. To show he wasn't afraid.
But down below, his shoes shifted restlessly against the polished floor. A subtle tremor. The quiet physical tell of a man imagining a bullet punching through glass—through skull or heart—before he could even react.
"Maybe you're right," he said after a moment, with a tight voice. "But I can't shake the feeling that that bastard in red is out there somewhere… just waiting for his shot."
Li finally glanced up at him, her expression dull with indifference. "If it troubles you that much, perhaps installing a floor-to-ceiling window in your office wasn't the wisest design choice."
"I didn't exactly plan on having some psychotic bat-spawn toying with my life," Roman muttered. He studied his own reflection in the glass, fingers stroking his chin as he thought. "If he really wanted me dead, he could've done it already. So why hasn't he?"
"He did have the opportunity at the bridge," Li replied evenly, as though unaware that her employer's downfall was already quietly unfolding. "And he chose not to."
Her composure never wavered. She worked with such steady normalcy that Roman failed to notice the quiet betrayal sitting only a few feet away from him.
"Whatever that red-helmeted bastard is planning," Roman said, squaring his shoulders as if convincing himself, "I'm not going down easy."
Li glanced at him briefly. In this personal war between Black Mask and Red Hood, she felt little more than detachment. It didn't matter to her who emerged victorious—so long as her own safety and position were secured.
"Did you make contact with the mercenary I was referred to?" Roman asked, returning to his desk and lowering himself into his chair.
"Yes," Li answered simply. "He's already in Gotham. He should be here any minute."
"Good." Roman leaned back, satisfied. "The broker assured me this guy can solve my Red Hood problem. Once that's handled, business goes back to full throttle."
The broker—an intermediary Roman had hired months earlier—had helped him connect with buyers for his weapons shipments while also supplying him with select hardware.
At least, that arrangement had worked smoothly—until Red Hood began intercepting those shipments. Some were hijacked and dumped into the ocean. Others were destroyed by explosions.
Though there was no concrete proof, Black Mask was convinced Red Hood had kept part of the intercepted shipments for himself. Not just sabotage— theft.
"He's at the door, sir," Li said, glancing down at her tablet.
"Good. Send him in." Roman poured himself another drink, the amber liquid sloshing lazily in the glass.
"Let him in," Li relayed through the security channel, instructing the guards to allow the visitor upstairs.
The office doors swung open.
The mercenary strode in without hesitation, boots echoing against the polished floor as he approached Black Mask's desk. No pause or deference.
Roman studied him openly, skipping pleasantries. "I have to admit… it's unsettling. You look a little too much like the problem I'm trying to eliminate."
The man wore a red bandana mask over his face, with full combat gear on. Twin pistols rested holstered at his sides.
"Similar mask. Similar weapons," Roman continued. "For your sake, I hope you're just as capable—and just as unhinged."
The mercenary casually lifted his hands to adjust the collar of his trench coat, then pulled out the chair opposite the desk and sat down without waiting for permission.
Both Roman and Li registered the confidence—borderline arrogance.
"I'm not big on self-promotion," the mercenary replied coolly. "Let the results speak."
"What's the situation?" he asked, shifting straight to business.
Li provided a concise briefing—Red Hood's interference with shipments, the ongoing threat. Roman added that beyond serving as temporary personal security, the mercenary's primary objective was simple: bring him Red Hood. Dead or alive.
Black Mask leaned forward slightly. "You think you can handle that… Mr. Mercenary?"
The man didn't hesitate. "I understood the assignment when I accepted the contract. I wouldn't be here if I couldn't."
He leaned back in his chair as he spoke with a steady voice.
"And call me Grifter."
- - -
New fic update:—
Shazam: The Last Thunder.
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