With an exaggerated cant of her head, Barbara stared at him. “I don’t feel sorry for you at all.” She looked down to the floor below as reality hit her again; with Hood all but incapacitated, there was no way she was getting these girls out of there. With her eyes, Barbara mapped the narrow pathway between cells to the end where a pack of guards huddled together, guns slung haphazardly over shoulders and around hips.
What was that?
Barbara leaned over the railing, glancing across from the occupied cells. Rows and rows of additional holding areas sat completely empty. Frowning, she gripped the railing, puzzled. At the opposite area of the basement, the section nearest to them, a piece of ripped paper was taped to the crumbling sheetrock. From this distance she couldn’t tell what it was, but it must have held importance for someone to go to the trouble.
Turning her attention back to the bleeding man, she pursed her lips in distaste. “Maybe next time, don’t be so cocky.” Pushing herself up, she chewed on her bottom lip. Pointing with a gloved index finger, she indicated to the staircase and the paper hanging to the wall. “Stay here, and make yourself useful – see if you can spot your friend’s kid. I’m going to grab that and see what it is.”
Barbara bounded down the rickety iron staircase with ease and stealth. She triple checked her line of sight before emerging from the shadows, approaching the wall, slowly, dumbfounded with what she saw. Snatching the paper, she made her way back to the main floor. “It’s a postcard. But,” she moved the damaged paper towards him. “For one thing, the picture on the front is a movie poster for an infamous lost film, which is completely random. And for another, it looks like there are geographic coordinates handwritten on the back.” Flipping the postcard over, she displayed the scrawled numbers, and shrugged.
His poorly swathed wound caught her eye, and she shook her head. “I think you’re done for the night, Darth. You should get out of here before you pass out from blood loss.”
Batgirl did not, as it turned out, have a plan.
Instead, she was spitting insults at him and leaving, off to grab a fucking postcard that one of the girls probably left as a cry for help.
Jason took advantage of the time, rewrapping and dressing the wound best he could. He confirmed that it hadn’t done more than skim muscle, which was optimal. No organs were hit, and he was damn lucky for that. The clotting factor had started working, and the bleeding was slowing down. A quick spray of alcohol, a gauze pad, and more tape. Better than nothing. Henri would have to take a look at it when he was home. If he made it home.
He peered through the cells, looking for any identifying factor he could distinguish. Nothing. Just hair color and rough height, which wouldn’t be useful for much longer if they didn’t get the girls to safety soon.
She was back now, and damn proud of her postcard. She showed it off, a confused frown tugging at her lips. Jason rolled his shoulders in a dismissive way, not sharing her intrigue.
“Stash it. We have work to do.” At her meaningful glance towards the bandage, he flashed her a grin. “I’ve had worse and done more. Come on. I think I’ll be able to work the locks off. There’s what, twelve cells that are full? Not too hard to shatter twelve locks. All I need you to do is lay down some cover fire.” She stared at him. He sighed.
“I’m gonna go free some ladies. When you see guards, start shooting near them. Hopefully they’ll stay down.” He tossed her the pistol in his left hand, the one he’d taken from Tyson earlier. “There’s a few other clips back there. It’s small caliber, 9mm. Just aim low. You don’t want to kill any of them, I don’t think.” Standing, he donned his hood, wincing as it slid on. Tapping his temple, he spoke through the vents. “I’m on frequency 371.R, if you don’t mind.”
He clambered down the stairs, slipping noiselessly into the holding area. He lobbed a smoke bomb into the guards area, not stopping to wait for the explosion. Using the butt of the revolver, he smashed the first three locks, all of which had six or more girls inside.
“Go. Outside. GCPD should be waiting.” He pointed at the exit, not waiting to escort them off. Drawing his sword, he sliced through the next nine, only stopping to remove one of the guard’s heads. The last three locks got a .357 slug, the gates swinging open uselessly.
Looking up to Batgirl, he gave her a nod before charging the guards again-this time with cover.
and all of this will never be the same again 