M'gann M'orzz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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synergetic2014-03-15 11:10 pm
greentheywere) wrote in synergetic2014-03-15 11:10 pm
[KBP] Nightfall
'Perimeter secure,' M'gann reported, for about the fifth time that night.
She heard Robin's equally routine "Good work," and settled back in front of a post near the rear entrance. They'd spent most of the afternoon tearing their hair out, trying to find where M'gann would be most ready to restrain the assassins.
That assassins were involved at all was... not wholly new, nor even unexpected, but still not exactly what they'd been briefed for. Strange deaths, yes, with archaic, distinctive weapons, but that this was an organized, practiced, efficient force... well, that was disturbing.
It was uncomfortable to acknowledge. They did ensure that the bad guys would never act again-- something the League could never guarantee, not while Lex Luthor was rich, Ra's al Ghul was immortal, and Queen Bee was an absolute dictator. Not while Hugo Strange was running Belle Reve, and how long had that gone on?
It made her... doubt herself. Doubt their methods. Batman and Robin both had been quick to disabuse her of that idea, and she'd felt such a strong passion from them that she'd had to dampen the link to avoid reading too deeply into their minds, and while she believed their words, especially about justice, rehabilitation, and just--just the possible error of killing an innocent because how could you ever be sure, well.
They did ensure the bad guys would never act again.
'Sweeping again throughout my telepathic range,' she said, and she felt Robin's amusement.
'Wow, you're preempting me,' he laughed. 'Maybe I should take a nap.'
'Dude, I would so kill you, Wally answered, and he made a good show of sounding serious. 'Time zones are bad enough when all of you guys live on the East Coast and I'm in the Midwest. This other side of the planet thing is brutal.'
At least they were still joking. That meant she was safe to keep musing, so long as she didn't lose sight of the mission.
It was a large, grand house, and Zatanna was inside, performing at a get-together for the owner and his friends. Hitting the beat in the local underworld, the owner had tenuous links to an organization that would kidnap middle-class girls and sell them into prostitution somewhere in Europe. Nothing could be proven -- not even by Batman -- but the links were there, and he had a lot in common with the victims of the sudden deaths Batman had been looking into.
They'd been watching for a few days, sometimes M'gann shapeshifted into a generic, unnoticeable housemaid to get closer, and hoping that this group wouldn't target anyone else. It wasn't particularly efficient, but they had to try.
Had to-- and there it was.
'Miss Martian to team. At the very edge of my range, north-north-east quadrant of the estate. Unfamiliar minds approaching.'
'North-north-east,' Robin repeated. 'Public records show nothing but unspoiled forestry there, although my satellite scan registered a higher-than-norm heat signature.'
He paused.
'Don't move in just yet. Guy's still inside. But take your places, everyone. It's showtime.'
She heard Robin's equally routine "Good work," and settled back in front of a post near the rear entrance. They'd spent most of the afternoon tearing their hair out, trying to find where M'gann would be most ready to restrain the assassins.
That assassins were involved at all was... not wholly new, nor even unexpected, but still not exactly what they'd been briefed for. Strange deaths, yes, with archaic, distinctive weapons, but that this was an organized, practiced, efficient force... well, that was disturbing.
It was uncomfortable to acknowledge. They did ensure that the bad guys would never act again-- something the League could never guarantee, not while Lex Luthor was rich, Ra's al Ghul was immortal, and Queen Bee was an absolute dictator. Not while Hugo Strange was running Belle Reve, and how long had that gone on?
It made her... doubt herself. Doubt their methods. Batman and Robin both had been quick to disabuse her of that idea, and she'd felt such a strong passion from them that she'd had to dampen the link to avoid reading too deeply into their minds, and while she believed their words, especially about justice, rehabilitation, and just--just the possible error of killing an innocent because how could you ever be sure, well.
They did ensure the bad guys would never act again.
'Sweeping again throughout my telepathic range,' she said, and she felt Robin's amusement.
'Wow, you're preempting me,' he laughed. 'Maybe I should take a nap.'
'Dude, I would so kill you, Wally answered, and he made a good show of sounding serious. 'Time zones are bad enough when all of you guys live on the East Coast and I'm in the Midwest. This other side of the planet thing is brutal.'
At least they were still joking. That meant she was safe to keep musing, so long as she didn't lose sight of the mission.
It was a large, grand house, and Zatanna was inside, performing at a get-together for the owner and his friends. Hitting the beat in the local underworld, the owner had tenuous links to an organization that would kidnap middle-class girls and sell them into prostitution somewhere in Europe. Nothing could be proven -- not even by Batman -- but the links were there, and he had a lot in common with the victims of the sudden deaths Batman had been looking into.
They'd been watching for a few days, sometimes M'gann shapeshifted into a generic, unnoticeable housemaid to get closer, and hoping that this group wouldn't target anyone else. It wasn't particularly efficient, but they had to try.
Had to-- and there it was.
'Miss Martian to team. At the very edge of my range, north-north-east quadrant of the estate. Unfamiliar minds approaching.'
'North-north-east,' Robin repeated. 'Public records show nothing but unspoiled forestry there, although my satellite scan registered a higher-than-norm heat signature.'
He paused.
'Don't move in just yet. Guy's still inside. But take your places, everyone. It's showtime.'
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Of course, the vexing part about that was the understanding that even if she did capture him and hand him over, it wouldn't really change anything as it stood. With insufficient proof for incarceration, he'd walk right back out and go back to business-- only more carefully next time.
That didn't make killing him the answer. It made the answer creating the sufficient proof that didn't yet exist. Maybe it was riskier and took a little longer, but how could you bear the name of justice if your methods were the same as those you stood against?
Zatanna shuffled the deck of cards and pulled seven into a fan on display for the audience. For now, parlor tricks and stopping a band of assassins. But this guy better not get too cozy. As far as she was concerned, he was next.
--
Estate in sight. Perimeter fence cleared. Surprisingly few obstacles in defensive security. Intelligence reported there was a magician's performance tonight for entertainment. That was good, since it meant everyone would be distracted. Aya had the front entrance guard, Ken the rear. Youji had the kill.
Omi, as usual, was back-up and hidden cover, poised to slip in through the attic ventilation and snipe from the open ceiling rafters. Dangerous work, considering how much balance it took. But ultimately more practical than the air ducts, which were harder to navigate quickly and more limited in available lines of fire.
They split off for their separate assignments. Aya and Ken headed for their door guards. Youji moved with him up to the second floor and slipped in through a window. Omi continued up, scaling the roof and prying open the ventilation grate to the attic, which he loosely replaced once inside. From there, he descended to the rafters of the grand hall, where the magician was performing. Surprisingly young magician, too. Omi had expected a grown man, not a teenaged girl.
Youji was in place. He could only assume Ken and Aya were, too. Omi readied his crossbow for back-up and looked down to Youji. He gave the nod: everything ready. At your will.
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It would be nice not to do this in front of her, but that wasn't a risk he really should take, was it?
In the center of the room, just clear of the girl and the target, there was a large chandelier. A little flashiness wouldn't hurt, would it? He fired a line of wire to wrap around the connector between it and the ceiling, and brought it down.
"Hope no one minds a distraction," he said blithely, as it crashes and shattered.
The target yelped, running clear, and that pushed him into Youji's direction. He cut his wire line grimly and aimed again.
"Target acquired," he said, "but look out for the rats bailing on the ship.
And boss, keep an eye on the girl. One of them might target her."
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'Party's here!' She relayed over the psychic link as she spotted one at the door. She held her place, pretending not to have noticed him-- for now. The chandelier crashed down and the homeowner scrambled away... and right towards the deathtrap. Zatanna extended her hands towards the assassin.
"Egnahc sehtolc otni sgnidnib!"
--
Omi watched carefully from the rafters, his crossbow drawn and ready at hand. With Youji at the door, there weren't many avenues of escape, but that didn't mean he could let his guard down. Especially with that little rib from Youji. Boss indeed. If only he would actually treat him like one once in a while...! Sigh.
He turned his attention to the girl on stage. What most struck him about her was that she wasn't Japanese. Where was she from? Why was she here? Was she the daughter of one of his clients perhaps? It seemed odd, sickening even, that she would be here and performing when there were other girls just like her, her same age, that this man was abducting and selling overseas.
The chandelier fell. The small crowd scattered in chaos with the target heading right where he should. Then the girl chanted something and-- oh god what the everloving hell?! Youji's clothes...!
"Youji-kun!"
...So much for staying a secret.
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"Hey, now! Little girls shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts!"
He grunted as his struggling just sent him to floor, grimacing at the way his chin impacted on the ground.
---
'Move in! Zatanna's neutralized the front man. Miss M. called a total of four, so that's one for everybody!'
Robin ran straight toward her, rationalizing that you don't kill people without backup.
"Z," he said, breathless, "make sure no one else goes after the bad guy."
If Batman could get alone in a room with him...
Okay, he thought, if I was backup, where would I be?
And the immediate answer was 'above.' Getting the bird's eye view. He reached into his utility belt for a flash bomb and threw it toward the ceiling with all of his strength.
'Nobody look up!'
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"Whaaat, is my fun over already?" One for each was technically fair, sure, but come on, hers hadn't even put up a fight! Under the banter, however, she took the instructions seriously, and placed her full focus on the target. Ultimately, that was the most important job of all. You could always go after a bad guy that you didn't catch. You could never bring back a life that you didn't protect.
--
Omi tensed further as a boy in a cape ran over and joined the witch... girl. Omi wasn't sure what to call her, and there wasn't a lot of time to waste mulling it. With Youji incapacitated he had to get the target now, before he ran out of the room. He braced a hand against one of the vertical beams and took aim--
The entire room flashed blinding white. On reflex Omi recoiled and shielded his eyes... except his foot found no hold behind him. He screamed as gravity yanked him backwards off the rafter.
--
Zatanna panicked. Per Robin's instructions she'd avoided looking up but she heard him scream. Whoever had been up there was falling. And from that height--
He was going to die.
--
He was going to die.
Omi fired a desperate shot on his way to the ground based off memory of where the target had stood and instinctive calculation from years of training and practice. If he was going down he was taking that target with him!
As long as he didn't die knowing the mission had failed...
--
"Etativel mih!"
Zatanna's attention diverted in that moment from the assassins' target-- a life in danger-- to the assassin himself-- a life in immediate danger. There was no time for deeper reflection than that. Her magic stopped the boy's plummet two feet from the ground and there was a glorious fraction of a second where everything was perfect and awesome.
Followed immediately by a sickening squelch. And another scream.
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K.F., Miss M., subdue the assassins but do not allow yourselves to be targets, he ordered, trying to stay calm. To be able to make that kind of kill shot while in fear of your own life -- to even consider making the kill shot in fear of your own life...
He let the thought trail off.
Z's assassin squirmed up, managing a look at the victim. Criminal. Robin didn't catch every word of what he said, but it sounded like he was confirming the kill for himself.
--
"The hell kind of shot was that," Youji asked, trying to get a better look. "Obviously Little Miss Houdini wasn't going to let someone die on her watch, if she was protecting this guy."
He spoke freely, assuming the kids wouldn't understand. But they were speaking English, that much was obvious, and while he read it better than he spoke it, he was still straining for what words he could pick out.
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Zatanna had a very sick feeling in her stomach. She listened numbly to Robin's orders to the other half of their team; it was probably a good thing none were for her. A good part of her was still in shock. He was dead.
She just watched someone die.
--
He wasn't dead.
Omi needed a moment to process that. He fell from the rafters. He wasn't falling anymore. And he wasn't dead. He wasn't hurt. He didn't even feel the floor under him. What just happened?
Based on that scream, his arrow had found its mark. Omi took a moment to get his bearings, Youji's commentary meanwhile registering somewhere in the backdrop of his mind. What kind of shot was that. It worked didn't it? Was it so much to ask for something like 'Nice shot, Omi-- glad you aren't dead!'? Jeez.
He shook off the flash of irritation. The levitation spell ended and plopped him unceremoniously (but harmlessly) on the floor. After a quick look around Omi got to his feet. "Lucky for us she didn't protect him very well. Let's go!"
He reached into his jacket and pushed a pocket. The explosives he'd placed on his way down from the attic went off on the west side of the back of the house: far enough away from the entrance as not to hurt Ken, yet close enough to the grand hall to be as felt as they were heard. Within minutes the house would be engulfed in flames. He pressed the talk button on his headset. "It's over! Everyone clear out!"
He made a run for Youji as he dug into another pocket for his utility knife and flipped the blade open.
--
Zatanna tried to pull herself back together, to refocus on keeping the killer from going anywhere, but it was difficult. She just--
BOOM.
There went another thing wrong.
Zatanna felt angry. A combination of aggravation at herself, outrage on behalf of the stolen life, and frustration at the way this mission had gone so fantastically wrong so unbelievably fast. It wasn't right! Bad enough that these killers had succeeded-- now they had the gall to try to get away?! She'd show them something to try to get away from!
But before she could cast another spell, an unfamiliar laugh haunted through the cavernous chamber. Nasal, haughty, and sickly amused.
--
Omi threw to a halt as soon as he heard it. He knew that laugh.
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--and then there's that laugh. He cast a look to the two Japanese assassins. The tall one was rolling his eyes and the small one looked stiller than the grave.
His Japanese not being too good, he ventured to ask the assassins "What... happening?"
To the team, over the link, he added, 'Regroup to my location!'
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"What a problem we have here..." He remarked through a lazy grin twisted with amusement. His words made such perfect sense that Zatanna did not consciously register he was speaking Japanese like the others. He turned his gaze right to her, eyes manic with enjoyment.
"Asked to protect the target, and instead you save his killer while he makes the fatal blow. Quite an irony, isn't it?"
--
As Omi looked over and got his first good look at the caped boy, his eyes widened in recognition. But that wasn't possible. It was some wannabe imposter. Why would The Robin be in Japan?
Either way, though, hindrance though they'd proven, he and the girl weren't targets. And somehow, the girl must have done another spell to break his fall from the flash bomb. She saved him. They weren't bad people.
That understanding made it feel wrong to run out with Schuldig nearby. Omi glared at the man when he finally appeared. Schuldig was never good news for anyone. Between his presence and the rapidly spreading fire, this was nowhere anyone should stay. The boy's Japanese sounded rudimentary, though. So when Omi answered, he kept his words simple. "Danger. Both of you, run! Don't fight-- just out of the house!"
He spared only one quick slice of the knife to the strips of cloth binding Youji's arms and legs. He gave him a heft to help him up to his feet.
"I'll be right behind you-- take the main entrance!"
But Omi didn't leave. Not yet.
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Robin threw down a smoke bomb, running for Zatanna and launching them both toward the celing with his grappling line. A large table hurtled through the air they'd just vacated, aimed for the new guy.
'I know you can levitate but this was faster,' he thought, breathing hard, and not wanting to say he didn't trust her focus just then.
'Let's keep him off balance! Kid Flash, you're in charge of the original assassin.'
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"Isn't that sad," He called up to them, being sure to speak loudly enough for his voice to clearly carry. "You can't tell her what's really on your mind. Didn't anyone ever teach you to be honest? Trust issues are the root of every relationship that's gone south."
As for the table, it never crashed against floor nor wall. Still concealed in the smoke, it hurtled back in the direction from which it had come.
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'Someone or something is blocking my telekinesis!'
Robin grimaced, hoping Zatanna wouldn't see it-- but unlikely, she was right there. He had one arm around her and the other gripping the line attached to the ceiling.
And, soft, he said out loud to Z, "Need to hit that guy somehow. Free up Miss M."
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Under the confidence and sass, there was real insecurity there about her abilities. That man just nailed them-- and the expression to pass over Robin's face confirmed it was true. He didn't trust her right now. Worse, she wasn't sure she could blame him.
She didn't want to show any of that, however, and the prompt to attack was exactly what she needed for a distraction. She was itching to do that anyway.
"Mals sih--"
The spell broke off. There was a half second of confusion and surprise and then simple distress.
'I can't open my mouth...!'
The table crashed. A series of three light thuds hammered against one of the walls in quick succession. As the smoke cleared, there was the broken table, and close by was Schuldig with three darts in the wall behind him, all chest-level.
And, not far from him, was the assassin kid. He stood defensively with another dart half-concealed in hand.
"I told you Don't Fight! Hurry and get out!"
Weirdly, his words made sense this time.
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'Negative. But if whatever is interfering with my telekinesis also has telepathy...'
'Roger that. I'm guessing it's the unforeseen variable who's just negated Z, too.'
He leaned his forehead against Zatanna's, the 'trust' comment biting him enough to sting but not enough for him to go off task. Softly, he whispered, "I'm going to drop us. Try to hit the ground running, find M'gann and regroup if both of your powers are knocked out still. In one, two, three."
Robin landed neatly and rolled back head-over-shoulders to give Zatanna room to move and face the young assassin. He couldn't be much older than Roy-- well, much older than Roy looked.
'KF, how close are you to my position?'
To demonstrate how he felt about the assassin's advice, he threw a bola straight for his ankles.
"Murderers don't get a vote."
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--
Omi had most of his attention on Schuldig, who he could see, and on Nagi, who he couldn't see but who had to be there because of the way the table had flown back. He entertained no thoughts of outmatching either of them. He just needed to buy a bit of time for helping the other kids get out. He didn't want them to die, nor to be left trying to fend off two of Schwarz by themselves. They didn't know what they were up against with them!
Focused as he was on trying to help, it was actually a shock to have to dodge an attack from the very ones he was protecting. Omi's instincts were sharp, and his reaction time quick. He managed to leap out of the bola's path, sparing himself from bound ankles. He gaped incredulously.
"Idiot! I'm trying to help you!"
"Because I have so many reasons to believe you," The caped boy said back.
"Did you feel that big explosion? The building is on fire! If you don't get out and away from these two you're going to die!"
"So much arguing," the orange-haired man broke in, not even trying to hide the enjoyment on his face. "All you need is a little understanding."
"What are you doing here?!" Omi shot at Schuldig, but the words were barely out of his mouth before what felt like a psychic tidal wave struck him. The force was purely mental, but enough that Omi physically reeled back with a cry, clutching his head and sinking down to his knees.
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No stranger to psychic attacks -- thanks, M'gann -- he managed to stay on his feet, even as he dreaded the headache later.
He wanted to warn the others but the brain blast was too loud, flooding his mind with images. A child's unwavering trust in his parents, older brothers, a happy, idyllic, well-off family, a visceral trigger that echoed in his own memories and made his eyes behind the mask burn--but it shifted, brutally fast, into the kind of screaming terror only possible to someone too young to understand.
And all of that child's trust shattered, in an instant, under an unpaid ransom, and that stung him in the heart, too, because he couldn't imagine it, couldn't believe it possible, and he felt horribly guilty from the security that both his biological father and his foster father would have moved heaven and hell--
And there was hell, right there. The boy was rescued, and that Dick identified with, that Dick felt deep in his bones, watching, experiencing, his rescuer bring him to safety, away from the rest of the world, and show him how to--
His stomach twisted, deeply uncomfortable, as he saw arrows and darts piercing flesh behind his eyelids. The assassin was young, but gifted, skilled, and he knew what that was like, how that felt, that horrible mix of gratitude and hero-worship and a desire not to let someone down after they'd done so much for you, but Bruce never taught me to kill, Bruce would never ask me to kill, Bruce knows what murder is, better than anyone, and the assassin's rescuer -- Persia -- didn't stop there. He brought other boys in, but the assassin was the first, the one they looked to, the most experienced.
The last year or so accelerated by in a whirlwind. He saw his two unforeseen variables, saw the assassin going up against them, up against some kind of cult of immortality, saw the father who wasn't a father at all, saw him lose his sister right as he found her and his rescuer die in the same manner he'd ordered others to. They stopped the cult but didn't defeat them, and here they were.
Dick's face was damp. He swore he was sweating underneath his mask.
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He saw the boy with his family: mother, father, aunt, uncle, cousin. Closeness, warmth, and bonds beyond them that existed as part of their extended family, the community of the circus. It was a wildly different upbringing from his own but it seemed no less idyllic to Omi. Circuses were about fun and excitement.
It disappeared too quickly. The images of scandal, extortion, sabotage and murder flashed in quick succession. He heard the snap of the trapeze, saw their bodies that pitifully lay in a sprawl of death under the big top's spotlight. Everything gone, in one horrifying, unimaginable instant. The numbness, the shock, the hopelessness and the utter sense of aimlessness. Where did you go, what could you do, without the love and support of family? It was a feeling Omi knew all too well.
And the change. The appearance of a savior, a man offering his hand and taking the lost boy with no one else to turn to. This, too, Omi understood. The gratitude, respect, hero-worship, the desire to please them, to succeed. The training, learning to fight, learning to hack, it was so similar and yet so different. This boy's mentor was present. Visible. Love was never admitted and yet always there. He had found someone to call family again.
Omi was simultaneously glad on the boy's behalf and pained inside from seeing a manifestation of all the things he'd privately longed for after losing his family. Things he continued to long for to the present day, but accepted as things he would never have.
Even as the boy grew and began to notice that his hero was not perfect-- he had antisocial tendencies, obsessive behavior-- still that bond remained. It grew. Through the dual roles of family and crimefighting partners had grown a deep friendship. And, with it, some very strong convictions about right and wrong ways to go about dealing with criminals the law failed to take care of. It was never okay to kill. Never.
Omi knew, without external suggestion, if it had been his life... he probably would have come out exactly the same way.
The images receded. Omi found the floor on which he lay. He scrambled upright and looked, horror-stricken and confused, at the other boy. What had just happened. And, more to the point... was it real?
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Mutely, Robin tossed his best friend a pair of batcuffs for Omi's wrists and zip-tied his ankles. Wally shot him a look -- he definitely noticed the lack of witty repartee, but saved his comments for later. Robin inclined his head towards the exit, and Kid Flash lifted Omi bridal-style, pausing just long enough for Robin to throw down a smoke bomb for cover-- Robin to make his ninja escape, Wally to race for rendezvous point with Zatanna and M'gann.
He hated to leave the two psychics, but he had no mind to retaliate and couldn't risk his team.
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His ankles were already under the constriction of bindings, his hands pulled behind and cuffed before he could process the tying of his feet. And he was scooped up and wincing from how fast they were moving before he could process that.
"Hanaseyo!" He cried in desperation. Oh, this was the worst! He would rather have been left with Schuldig and Nagi than captured. Even left tied up alone in the burning building would have been better than this! And all because he'd cared enough to try to help them. Stupid...
He should have abandoned them and run with Youji.
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"The assassin knows who I am," Robin said, flat and lacking all preamble, flare, and sarcasm. "There were two additional psychics there. Aside from knocking out M'gann's powers, they... did some kind of mind meld between me and the assassin."
Wally looked down at the prisoner with a kind of awed horror. The level grinding their friendship had gone through before Robin would trust him with his secrets -- and only him, among the team and his civilian friends both -- and to have the choice taken away from him--
And also, that other thing.
"So. About. You-know-who?"
"He knows, too," Robin confirmed. "And I'm gonna have to find a way to leverage that."
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Omi stopped and reconsidered that little thought. Robin's real world identity was secret. Batman's, too-- and understandably so. If that was really who they were, maybe he could use that. He could never actually blab such dangerous information, but if they thought he might...
Speak of the devil. There came Robin down a tree, and Omi fared a little better with what he said. 'Knows who I am.' They seemed to be talking about him, though how Robin already knew that was baffling. Schuldig must have made sure he knew.
The rest of the conversation was difficult to follow. Omi thought for a moment, and tried to recall what he'd learned in English classes. Clumsily, he ventured in English.
"What... you doing with me?"
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"Wakarimasen. Um." He shot a look at Wally, who was amused in spite of himself. Dick keyed up a Japanese dictionary. "Anata o koroshimasen. If that's a concern. Anata ga shi... um, shinanai."
To Wally, he shook his head ruefully. "Side effect of spending half my childhood in Europe. Asian languages are just that teensy bit harder to wrap my brain around. Uh. Trying to hammer this point home. Watashi-tachi koroshitakunai. We do not want to kill you."
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"I know your secret. You know my secret. Is that right?"
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Wally nudged him with an elbow. "I'm even more of a Romance guy than you are, so..."
"I said he has a big secret. Or tried to. And that it's a good weapon," Robin said. "But here's the thing?" And he glared, full-tilt Batman-approved, right into the assassin's eyes. "I will not let you use it." From his utility belt, he pulled out a cloth gag, and mimed tying it around Wally's mouth. In Japanese, he added, "Simple, but it works."
Omi's hands were, after all, tied.
And he needed to be tried and convicted. Somehow. Robin spared a glance for the manor from whence they came-- or rather, the smoke and ash where it used to be. The body would be unidentifiable at this point, and...
"The forensics are history," Wally added, following his gaze. His uncle was a CSI, Batman was a detective-- between the two of them, they knew a thing or two about murder investigations. "I mean, your basic ways to link a murderer to a body are the weapons, which are gone; transfer evidence, which might still be present on this guy but everything to compare it to is gone. All that leaves is--"
"--Motive and M.O.," Robin agreed. "I have insight into both, but brain swaps are probably inadmissible in court."
"So are masks, usually," Wally deadpanned. "And you can't prove M.O. without linking him to the previous killings, which were also noticeably devoid of forensics. Absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence, but it's still absence of evidence. A total absence, from what I remember of the briefing these killings were something like a black hole, void of any evidence whatsoever."
"Which should be evidence in and of itself," Robin said. "From what I gathered during the mind meld, it's not that there was no evidence, it's that the evidence was likely suppressed. They got their marching orders from the chief of police, but he's since deceased."
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It was a strange solution, though. Either Robin was sincerely posing something too short-sighted to be believed, or he thought him too stupid to realize as much.
Or, possibly, he had an alternative resolution for the long-term that he simply could not access right now. But Omi still had another card, too.
"How long will that work, I wonder," Omi answered, sticking to slow Japanese since it seemed they had found consensus that Robin would have the tough job of speaking non-native.
"That I might say it here isn't your problem. Your problem is that I can say it anytime, anywhere. Because of that, I see three choices for you. One, you kill me, and become a murderer. Two, you imprison me for life yourself-- no trial, no law-- and become a kidnapper. Three, we talk, and find a solution that works for both of us."
He paused to give Robin time to translate and absorb that, then met his eyes without fear.
"What will you do?"
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