synergetic | [KBP] Nightfall

[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.'

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

M'gann didn't waste time, upon seeing the strange man. Nowhere in the briefing... Hands extended, she shouted, 'Give me room!'

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.'

Schuldig had no difficulty evading the table-- he knew it was coming, after all. Instead, he laughed at the unspoken thought that passed through Robin's mind.

"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.

...she knew when it should have impacted, and that brief bit of awareness was just enough for her to slam a telekinetic force back toward the table. Irresistible force, meet immovable object; beads of sweat stood out as she focused her telekinesis on trying to push back.

'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."

Zatanna wasn't exactly sure who to be angry at anymore. There was anger at the assassin for taking a life (worse, the life she was assigned to protect and that she'd sacrificed by trying to save him). There was anger at the orange-haired weirdo for taunting her over her failure. There was even some anger at Robin for moving in and stopping her from casting a spell at said weirdo... and then. Then there was that interjection mentioning lack of honesty and trust issues. It shook her, enough that for the moment the anger dispelled.

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.

'Are you translating for the assassins?!' Robin demanded.

'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."

Edited 2014-12-06 06:36 (UTC)

Zatanna had not completely lost it. Whatever truth existed in that man's statement, right now they were acting as a team and trust was implicitly built into that bond. She gave the slightest of nods against Robin's forehead to communicate her understanding and readiness. As soon as they dropped, she carried out the instructions, hating the idea of even the appearance of retreat but as it stood she was only going to get in his way. Until she could speak again...

--

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.

Robin had just enough wherewithal to blast 'Two strangers!' over the link before he staggered. It was that or snap at the assassin again, and warning his team was more important.

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.

Omi sunk to the ground, where he lay curled on the floor with no lingering awareness of his surroundings. The visions in his head consumed him.

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?

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, a thousand different questions to the assassin -- no, Omi Tsukiyono, Mamoru Takatori, one of those -- but he felt the tickle behind his neck, of oncoming air displacement, the flash of red and yellow, as Wally barreled out from behind him, skidding roughly into Omi and knocking him to the ground.

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.

He'd barely gotten to his feet before he was back on the floor again, and the most disorienting part was he wasn't even sure what had happened. There was a split second's glimmer of bright color, quick as a bullet, and he was grounded. Only then did he realize it was another boy. And by then, it was too late.

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.

"Yeah, I'm not the polyglot, so if you could keep a lid on it until we get back to Rob..." Kid Flash trailed off idly. Rob was, in fact, in an upcoming tree, poised to leap down. Wally hit the skid and doubled back to wait for him, but the graceful leap into a businesslike crouch didn't happen. He just climbed down the trunk like a normal, non-showbiz person, and therefore, Kid Flash was totally prepared for his blood to run cold.

"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."

Omi caught a few of the words his carrier answered with, but not enough to make sense of the reply, and certainly not enough for any of his panic to subside. Captured. Worse, by a famous crimefighter. What was he going to do? He couldn't kick, couldn't hit, could barely even move. He couldn't even kill himself to protect Kritiker's secrets. Omi had not realized that Robin got the same psychic experience of his life that he had gotten of Robin's... Dick Grayson's.

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?"

In kind, Robin summoned his rudimentary Japanese.

"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."

The irony of course was that death was not what scared Omi. He thought again before he answered, this time in slow, basic Japanese, and a clarifying (rather than threatening) tone.

"I know your secret. You know my secret. Is that right?"

"More or less," Robin said blithely, splitting the difference between simple English and a kind of attitude nuance he just couldn't achieve in a language he wasn't fluent in. He switched to Japanese to make his point more clearly, "Anata, um, dai himitsu ga arimasu. Ookii himitsu. Something like that. Sore wa ii buki desu."

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."

A look of confusion crossed Omi's face through the first part of Robin's response. What he had actually said was that Omi was a big secret and a good weapon. Omi realized what he must have intended to say once Robin pulled out the gag, however.

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?"

Had to be Japanese, Robin thought bitterly.

"You know I'm conversant in three dialects of French, right," he said conversationally, nudging Wally in the arm.

"I was aware, yeah. Which is three more than I can do, if it makes you feel better."

"It doesn't, but thanks for trying." He pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd needed both Omi's given break and the pause to assert his own linguistic prowess in order to get decently sure of his translation.

He understood kill, and no, I'm not sinking to your level. He tried to distance himself from the feeling that he could have, if it wasn't for Bruce. He had been angry enough, back then.

He understood "no trial, no law" fairly well. He could guess at that.

It was a bit of a constraint, the lack of noble options. He wasn't killing anyone and he wasn't a kidnapper. Some kind of deal was not outside the realm of possibility, however. Even his family's murderers had been offered a plea deal.

He started walking, and Wally, throwing the assassin roughly over his shoulder, followed.

"Anything you say," he said, his Japanese slow and formal, "I can say, too. You have... um, comrades. The Justice League can arrest them on my word. We have a treaty with the United Nations. We can arrest--" God, how do I say this? He switched to English, "with justification."

"We need psychic translation," Wally interjected, picking up speed.

"Almost there," Robin agreed. Back to Japanese: "No good for court, but the League will believe me if I say--" He tapped his forehead, and pointed back to Omi. "That's enough to buy time for the League to investigate further."

Omi grunted as a shoulder dug into his stomach. Tied hand and foot, he couldn't struggle much, but he did remember he still had his mouth dart, and now a clean shot at his carrier's backside to boot.

He did not act on it yet, however, reluctant to heighten tensions when his true aim was to work towards reducing them. With that in mind, he was not impressed with the suggested threat to his friends. It didn't sound like Robin was receptive to negotiating, but Omi wanted to try one more appeal. That ground Robin stood on was not as solid as he seemed to think it was. Either that or he knew it wasn't but was as much of a bluffer as Omi.

"You can do all of that, but it helps nothing for you if I retaliate with revealing you. You can't return from that point. Are you really going to provoke me? I don't want to endanger you like that..."

He believed that, oddly enough. Whatever twisted things the assassin did, he believed he acted for the sake of justice. Endangering sidekicks was not just, ergo...

But while the threat was bloodcurdling, a threat not to Robin so much as to Bruce, which was unpardonable, he shrugged.

"If you reveal me, you reveal Batman," he said indifferently. "Batman -- or, let's be real, Bruce Wayne -- has resources. He finds a secret identity more convenient, but if you think everyone suddenly knowing he's Batman means he can't bribe the Japanese police force to take a second look at the cases your boss was covering up, well..."

They'd manage. "This isn't a chess match, much as I would prefer it to be. This is ping-pong. Anything you serve me, I hit back twice as hard."

He tapped his radio earpiece. "Robin to Batman. Rendezvous at my coordinates. We have a prisoner."

Edited 2014-12-09 02:14 (UTC)

Omi wanted to persist. That still didn't address the real problem. Batman and Robin, like Weiss, had a lot of enemies. The secret identities helped protect them, and that protection was something they could never get back, once it was exposed. But there was something else that stole his attention instead. He froze, at the mention of his boss and covering up and the police, suddenly unsure exactly how much information Robin already had on Weiss. And infinitely more nervous for that realization.

He should have realized it earlier given the stake-out. They'd been ambushed... they knew where they were striking and when. He just hadn't. Things had swiftly moved from one surprise to another and before any such reflection could take place, he was slung over Red Suit's shoulder trying to bargain with someone that, under any other circumstances, he'd probably have been downright honored to get to meet.

He didn't understand a word of the radio communication except 'Robin to Batman.' Realizing Robin was no longer paying attention and trying to draw Weiss to a rescue would more likely put them at greater risk of being captured with him, he let himself go limp in resignation, though the bitterness of giving up was plain across his face.

"Don't hit so hard that you miss the table," he mumbled.

"Acknowledged," said Batman, briskly, already lowering the Bio-Ship for the two girls.

It was quick work to get Robin, Kid Flash, and the assassin on board. He was startlingly young, and not at all happy. Batman's curiosity was piqued, but he probably needed to debrief the boys before getting his questions answered.

Miss Martian shifted a spare seat and restraints from the Bio-Ship. Robin was a sight more thorough in checking the restraints than he singularly needed to be, and that was cause for concern.

His request to speak privately, after eyeing Wally briefly, was, too.

Getting real privacy wasn't viable. They'd have to do with speaking low and trusting the team not to eavesdrop. The prisoner, he wasn't sure about-- he was young, and Bruce was about to suggest they speak French as a precaution -- Dick's Quebecois could use some more work -- but Dick cut him off, clearly wanting to get the thing over with.

"Unforeseen complication," he began, and Batman could detect a slight trace of negativity. Pinning down the kind of negativity was a bit more difficult.

"Two psychics, I'm guessing rivals of the assassins', because our new friend tried to get me to run from them."

Batman nodded.

"Also because they, um, attacked him. And me. I saw--" he broke off, would not make eye contact, and Batman wondered if that negativity he'd sensed was disappointment in himself? Dick wasn't prone to shame. Dick was, in fact, rather shameless. "Um, pretty much his whole life story. He saw mine. So."

"He knows."

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Batman said, a bit brusquely, but not really attaching any weight to it. "You would have fought it off if you could have."

"Something like that," the boy wonder mumbled. Still wasn't making eye contact, but Batman would have to sort him out later.

He cleared his throat. "So it's a stalemate as far as leverage goes--"

"--Right, because any evidence we might have had kinda blew up, and the accomplices got away. The other psychics neutralized Miss Martian and Zatanna, and KF and I might be good--"

"But this is a little out of your league, without some backup," Batman finished. "I'll see what I can do."

"He says he wants to cooperate," Dick added, wanting to fix things. "I didn't-- didn't want to make any deals I can't back up, and I don't think he'd agree to patiently wait out a jail term..."

"I'll see what I can do," Batman repeated. He ruffled Dick's hair mainly as an afterthought, trying to combat some of that negativity. "Go check on M'gann and Zatanna, make sure there's no permanent damage. Try to keep them from paying attention to the assassin and I."

Omi shuddered when the Bio-Ship appeared, color draining from his face as he realized that on top of Batman, Robin and Red Suit, the two girls were on board, too. Even if he hadn't been tied, even if he still had his weapons, five on one with Batman and Robin being two was impossible. His stomach hurt; he felt cold and horribly alone. And, under that, he recognized that he was afraid. Not for his life or his future, but for what they knew. What they might yet find out through him. And, most of all, what was to become of Kritiker, and the nameless innocents who would lose it as an ally against the city's monsters. What if it were dissolved? What if it was his fault?

He kept quiet and still, making no attempt to struggle or even meet the eyes of his captors while brought aboard. Half of it was despair, half a last-minute planning session for what, if anything, he could or should say. The ship was probably equipped with sound recording, and even if it wasn't, there were five witnesses. But he ought to try to find out what they knew already, while revealing as little as he could in return.

Yeah. That was a brilliant plan. Who do you think you're dealing with, Omi? It's Batman. And he's playing on home field now that you're on his ship. But there had to be something he could do...!

Then the chair appeared and Omi tensed, almost protesting but what good was that going to do? So instead, it was watching with dread as he was taken over and secured to it. He felt his breath quickening. He grit his teeth, bowed his head, focused on trying to control it. He felt claustrophobic. His memory flashed: kidnappers, tied up, gagged, leaning back against a wall as they reached...

Edited 2014-12-09 06:39 (UTC)

There was something frustrating about the fact that the assassin boy was easier to read than the one he'd raised, but he doubted it was his own fault. It was more that the assassin's problems were... overt.

"These Martian ships are a little unnerving," he said conversationally, guessing at the cause of distress. Distress was useful. And he let drop the fact that Bio-ship was alien in origin to establish a pattern: he had no reason to lie. After all, the aesthetics were obvious enough.

Bruce had studied Japanese for a number of reasons-- business, training, for his own amusement at times. He was fluent, though it took him quite a bit of concentration to control his accent.

He didn't like seeing kids in distress, so he kept his tone level. A little distress was useful for interrogation purposes, but anything that provoked too extreme of a reaction...

"I can dismiss the chair, if you'd prefer to stand."

It took Omi a couple of moments to register someone was talking in Japanese. And talking to him. A grown man's voice, too, deep and solid and composed. Omi knew without looking up who it must be.

In less distress, he might have questioned the offer, but in his present state he lacked the mind to. It was enough to get an answer out.

"Please..."

A combination touch and mental command, and with a wet, squelching sound, the chair and restrains shrunk into tendrils, and were reabsorbed by the Bio-ship.

"Can you talk to me for a while?"

Basic question. Neutral tone and stance. He was less and less feeling like this would be the kind of heavy arm twisting he excelled at. It was a relief. He didn't exactly enjoy terrifying the unholy hell out of people, despite a certain grim satisfaction in success that he felt was natural.

"I know some of what went on thanks to Robin and the others, although they seemed to feel I would be able to get a more clearer picture from you."

It wasn't a threat, exactly, but Batman trusted his reputation to precede him, even here.

"Teenage assassins aren't as rare as I'd like them to be, but you can imagine how disturbing it is to hear about all the same."

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