Lazarus | GCS Origins Oner

A ten year old Jason Todd stood, hands clasped firmly behind his back, facing Ra’s Al Ghul. “Yes sir. I understand.”

The man nodded curtly. “You will be on this assignment on your own, no help. Failure is not an option. If you are to succeed, it will be your last test before attaining the highest rank in the League of Shadows, the youngest to ever achieve such a feat. However,” He turned, facing the boy. “This does not mean you are special. Arrogance will get you nowhere in this organization.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go then. The task begins at dawn.”

The boy turned and practically ran towards his quarters, an enormous smile upon his face. “This is the best day of my life!”, he yelled, punching the air.

Ra’s sat for a moment, clearly worried about the boy’s safety. He looked down at the file on the desk, the words Red Hood Gang in neat block print across the top. He reread the description for the hundredth time. “The Red Hood gang. Thought to be the leader of the gang, Red Hood One is a master criminal, and incredibly violent.  Known for his domed red helmet and crimson cape. Wanted in every country in North and South America. He is considered armed, dangerous, and utmost caution is advised.” Ra’s kneaded his temple. “Good luck, Jason.”

The boy packed his gear, preparing for his task. It was customary in the League, sending acolytes after high profile criminals. Once they completed the kill, they would become fully fledged members of the League, arbiters of justice in a world of corruption. The boy smiled as he slid his sword into its sheath, cinching the belt tight around his waist. He pulled his gloves on, doing a last minute check to make sure all his items were carefully packed. He grabbed his black hood, stowing it in a pocket before grabbing his bag, rushing towards the main hall of the temple. Ra’s nodded once at his arrival, handing him a set of coordinates and $10,000 in American dollars. After bowing, Jason was off, not noticing the GPS transponder that had been slipped into his bag.

The trek across the mountain was dangerous, even for a ten year old master assassin. He had grown up on this mountain, and after the first half dozen falls into the icy depths, he had learned to appreciate his footing. He made his way down the frozen slope slowly, but confidently. He reached the bottom of the slope by nightfall, and made his camp in a small cave near the frozen lake. The next morning, he found a merchant willing to take him to the largest surrounding village, letting him off at the small harbor there. Jason grinned. “One step closer, Jason.” He stowed his weapons in his bag, and cash in hand, looked for a boat to America.

The cargo ship he bribed passage onto was harsh, and more than one man made the mistake of bullying the small child. After Jason had broken three crewman’s various bones, the captain set him up in private quarters, more for the safety of the crew than Jason’s own. He preferred the silence; but he appreciated the time he got to spend with the captain. He learned to pilot the vessel, and he was almost disappointed when the ship docked, leaving him in Brazil. He set off to find an airport. Destination: Gotham City. Thousands of miles away, Ra’s Al Ghul watched a small computer monitor, a red signal pulsing slightly at the boy’s location. It had been five weeks since Jason left the temple.

The private plane that Jason had managed to locate took him to an airstrip approximately fifty miles outside of Gotham City. He paid the man the promised $1000, and began heading on foot to the last known location of the Red Hood. At a rest stop, he snuck onto an 18-wheeler, disembarking near the waterfront section of Gotham. He found himself with a base of operations, an old warehouse near the docks. He stashed his gear, taking only the surveillance equipment necessary to find his prey. Tracking down the villain would be difficult; but there was no time limit on his task. He used as little of the money as he could, using $20 and $50 dollar bills to get what small information he could, posing as everything from the Hood’s long lost son to a child of the Mob.

After two weeks of intense legwork, he finally had a location: LaffCo Toy Factory. It was long shut down, but all leads pointed to this being the Red Hood’s headquarters. He moved his gear to an abandoned apartment complex a few blocks away, and waited. Jason haggled a telescope from a local hobby shop down to a few hundred bucks, leaving him with well over $5000 still remaining for his assignment. Once he had it trained on the factory, he marked any activity around the building, who came and who left, at what times, and what they were doing. After four grueling days of constant observation, he finally allowed himself a break, falling asleep on a ragged mattress he had stolen from next to a dumpster. It had been two months since beginning his mission.

The day had come to finally make his move. He laid his gear out, finding for the first time the transponder. He grinned. “So Ra’s does care.” He clipped it to his belt, pressing the small button on it to alert the League he was mounting his attack.

He dressed in his usual garments; black pants, brown utility belt, a black tunic, and his hooded mask. The boots were laced up to his calf, and he tucked his favorite knife into the sheath there. He remembered the nickname he had been given by the older boys: Shadow. They called him this due to his innate ability to sneak up on anyone; he had more than once even surprised Ra’s himself. Jason shook his head, clearing his mind of anything but the task at hand. He chose to use his hanbo staff instead of his sword, citing that the staff would be better suited for defense as well as offense. He filled the pouches in the belt with the standard gear; explosive decoys, small balls that emitted thick smoke upon impact, and several other such diversions. The next item was a personal favorite of Jason’s: a retractable two foot length of titanium cord, wrapped in a carbon fiber and silicone weave. It was an excellent tool for disarming and strangling. He strapped it onto his wrist. The last item he selected was a bandolier of small, lightweight knives, shaped like small hawks. He picked one out, flicking his wrist to send it flying across the room, pinning a moth against the wall. He pulled it out, the moth falling lifeless to the dusty floor. He stuck the shadowrang, as he had labeled them, back into the bandolier, buckling it across his chest.

He did a final check, making sure all his gear and weapons were in order, before descending the fire escape, dropping noiselessly to the ground. The night sky was cloudy, moonless. The streets were dark, the wind idly moving the leaves and trash in an aimless voyage. Jason Todd smiled, hidden under the hood. “Time for glory, Shadow.”

The factory had one significant defensive flaw: the warehouse that adjoined it had open ceiling vents, making it a simple task for Jason to enter unannounced. He perched in a metal rafter, silent as the shadows around him. Watched as the murderer waltzed in, muffled whistling coming from under the dome he wore over his face. He took in every detail of the hideout, from the massive jack in the box, clearly meant for an old advertisement campaign, its face now painted in an exaggerated clown’s face, the red lips extending to the cheekbones, the hair a shocking green. He grimaced. After he had mapped his descent from the beam, he took a deep breath, locating his chi, as the League had trained him to do.

After a few minutes, the sound of a door slamming, along with the voice of the Hood, roused him from his meditation. He opened his eyes. Red Hood One stood, seemingly unaware of his diminutive assassin, almost directly underneath Jason. With a last steadying breath, Shadow dropped, free falling the thirty feet to land squarely on his target. He somersaulted off of the man, landing in a three point stance, hanbo held firmly. The crimson domed man laughed, an eerie, unsettling action that chilled Jason to his very soul.

He suppressed a shudder, leaping into action. The staff was a web of oak, both ends of the staff leaving substantial bruises where they landed. Still, the laughter continued. The boy backed away, circling the man.

“Come on, Kid! It that all you got?”

Scowling, Jason vaulted towards his antagonizer, a cry of anger escaping his lips. He never saw the crowbar the man held, swinging upwards, connecting against Jason’s ribcage. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and he collapsed onto one knee. The Hood cackled, dancing around the assassin, raining blows down on him.

“Thought you were a match for me, did you?” Jason lay on the ground, bleeding and wheezing. “Well you should have practiced harder, ninja boy!” He unbuckled his cape, tossing it aside. “It’s been a pleasure, though!” The crowbar came flying down, striking Jason on the forehead. The last thing the boy saw was a red gleam, drawing closer and closer to his face before he passed out. His last thought was of his mother, and how he too, would die in Gotham. The man never stopped hitting him. Cruel steel connected with soft tissue again and again, bending and snapping bones long after the body was dead.

As the blows continue to rain down on the lifeless boy, the door opens with a bang. A tall, elegantly dressed man enters the room, sword drawn. “Step away from the boy”, his voice says. “Leave now, or perish.” The domed figure hesitates for a split second, then charges the taller man. Before he can get close, the tall man flicks his blade outward, sending the crowbar skittering across the rough floor. The accented voice rolls out again.“Leave.” This time, the voice is obeyed, and metal boots echo loudly as their owner flees the scene. 

The tall man gently lifts the child’s body off of the floor, sweeping blood and hair away from his face. With a delicate hold, he carries the boy away, placing him on a litter with care. The litter is placed in the back of a Rolls Royce, and the man gets into the driver’s seat. After a short drive, they arrive at the private airport hangar, and soon, they depart.

Deep underground, Ra’s al Ghul is feverishly preparing a Lazarus Pit. Mysterious ingredients, added to a bubbling pool of green liquid, hiss and pop as they take effect. The boy, his body washed and naked, is on a small bed next to the Pit. White Ghost and Talia al Ghul are standing on either side of Ra’s, both looking apprehensive. This is the first time an outsider has been allowed to use the Pits since their discovery over two thousand years ago. 

Ra’s has finished his preparations. As he lifts the boy, Talia leans in and kisses him on the forehead, her olive skin dark against the lifeless alabaster of Jason Todd. Her father, nearly prostrate, lowers the child into the bubbling liquid. With agonizing slowness, the body sinks to the bottom of the pool.

The minutes pass slowly. White Ghost, adamant that the Pits remain exclusive use of the al Ghul’s, grins in triumph. Tears streak Talia’s face. Ra’s remains stoic, watching for the slightest sign of life.

It has been thirty minutes. Talia has her head on her father’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around his bicep. She is no longer holding back her sorrow. Dusan speaks up. “It is not an exact science, Sensei. Perhaps you have overestimated the powers you have for so long controlled.” Ra’s does not answer, save for a scowl that silences the younger man. 

At the bottom of the pool, the boy shudders, then thrashes. Talia lifts her head, her mouth open in wonder as the body jerks on the pool floor. Dusan is visibly upset. Ra’s bends down on one knee, peering into the depths as the boy continues to writhe, submerged. Talia falls to her knees. The boy begins to make his way, with difficulty, to the surface.

His head breaks the surface, and Ra’s has his hand around the boy’s upper arm like a vicegrip. Lifting him up, he ignores the boy’s blows that bounce off of his chest and head. The al Ghuls are familiar with this process now; Pit madness. The boy’s eyes are still closed, and his mouth struggles to form screams of protest as he is hauled through a hallway towards his new quarters. 

The door is opened, and Ra’s places the boy inside. His eyes, still shut, leak tears. Dusan lingers, still offended. Talia alone enters with the boy, attempting to calm the madness inside him. He does not strike her. She soothes him, cradles his young form. Clothes him. Ra’s watches from a window outside, his expression unreadable. Talia does not shift her gaze from the child. Hours pass. She waits.

His eyes snap open. They are violently blue, and appear to burn with an energy not of his own. There is no recognition in them. Talia looks at her father, and he nods. 

Jason Todd is alive once more.