Barbara’s forehead wrinkled as she scowled. She wasn’t there to be his gun for hire and yet she had felt like she was not only rented muscle, but part babysitter as well. She didn’t appreciate being either. “You know, if you just needed someone to watch your ass, I’m sure you could have gotten anyone else.” She chided, snatching the weapon with expert grace. “If you tell anyone I used a gun, I will hunt you down.”
Standing sentry, she cradled the gun with two hands, eyes only periodically looking down at his progress. The girls clambered out of the cells and Barbara motioned for them to be quiet as she helped guide a few stragglers toward the exit. As the last of the prisoners filed out, Barbara caught up to the Red Hood, keeping a few paces behind him, eyes methodically scanning their surroundings.
Out of the corner of her eye, Barbara spotted her. Clinging to the shadows, segregated from the rest of the holding area, a young woman covered in filth. She appeared to be injured. Barbara began motioning toward Hood, but he was already too far ahead. “We missed one.” She whispered into her comm as she silently stalked over to the wired door. Frowning, she smashed the rusted lock with relative ease, kicking in the gate.
“Are you ok?” The girl flinched but didn’t respond. With a gloved index finger, she touched the symbol on her chest. “I’m here to help.” Curling bloodied legs up towards her chest, the girl tucked herself farther into the corner. “I don’t think she understands me, Darth.”
“Может вы ходьбы?” Grimacing, she began nervously tapping her boot against the ground. “Ok, I either asked her if she could walk or if she liked pickles. I don’t know Russian.”
His wound was long forgotten, and he danced through the Russians like a deadly ballet, sword flashing in the light. Limbs hit the ground like rain, blood covering the floor as he carved through the guards.
He finished with a mighty swing that severed two heads before spinning to find the room empty, save for Batgirl. She was on edge, tense and staring. She nodded at a corner, and he followed her eyeline to see a grungy woman, clearly petrified.
Batgirl’s Russian was clearly from a book, and her accent was atrocious. Sweeping her aside, he knelt down in front of the girl.
She nodded, slowly and unsure. Scooping her up in his arms, he turned to Batgirl.
“We gotta go. Cops will be here soon. She’s coming with us. Can you make sure the other girls get out? I don’t think this one is gonna go with anyone but me.”
As if on cue, the girl curled into Jason’s chest, her head finding the space between helmet and shoulder.
Swiveling back to Batgirl, h sealed his helmet, closing the girl from his words.
“She needs a doctor, now. She’s got at least three broken ribs, and what looks like internal bleeding around her stomach. Who do you use? Batcave, Gotham General, Mercy?"
The sound of sirens did not give him much hope.
and all of this will never be the same again 