~ The Girl ~
"I need you, Daire," the mother said. "Damian needs you."
The girl couldn't look at her mother. Her glare pointed at the ground. Her fists were so tight, her nails bit into her palms.
Crying is for the weak; crying will get me beat.
She silently chanted the rhyme her mother taught her when she was two. Crying was forbidden. Any sign of weakness was. Of course, family seemed to give some leeway but not much.
Her brother's and her relationship seemed to be the exception. Once her grandfather realized it made the duo train harder, he allowed it.
"There's no way Dami is dead," the girl protested. "He can't be." Her brother was one of the best fighters she knew. At eight years old, he put up a decent fight against Ra's Al Ghul. He never won, but he did better than most of Ra's students. He had been trained since birth. The girl was good, too, but not as talented as her little brother.
The mother stepped forward, sorrow in her green eyes. She put a light hand on her daughter's shoulder. "He's dead, Daire. My beloved killed him."
"But- But his father doesn't kill. It's not his M.O."
Her rough palm gently cupped the child's cheek. "People change, Daire. My beloved changed."
"But how did he find Damian? I thought he didn't know about him."
"Slade Wilson. Now known as Deathstroke."
"Grandfather kicked him out."
"He came back. He killed Ra's Al Ghul."
"Unlikely. The Pit would bring him back."
Talia shook her head. "His body was badly damaged. Not even the Pit could save him."
Daire took a step back. "But- but Grandfather."
Her mother was a skilled liar. She never hesitated and had the eye of a hawk. Still, Daire trusted her. What reason would her mother have to lie? While it was unlucky Ra's was dead, it wasn't impossible. Daire had seen the impossible happen. But death was death. Her grandfather had cheated death a thousand and one times. But death eventually gets everyone. There is no escaping death.
That's why Ra's Al Ghul was training Damian. Damian was the heir to the League of Assassins. He was born to kill, and he was good at it. His cold eyes and isolation made it difficult for him to act like innocent child, but people still put their guard down around the boy. He killed like his mother and grandfather before him: without hesitation. Her little brother had a soft side. He was human. Actions based on emotions weren't encouraged, but there was little they could do to stop emotions altogether. Besides, his passion was his greatest weapon.
"He's dead, Daire. They're both dead," insisted her mother. Her green eyes swarmed with strength and determination. Strangely, her eyes showed barely any sorrow or grief. But that was to be expected of the woman. She was raised from birth to be an assassin. "Help me rebuild the League. Slade Wilson and the Batman made quite a dent. Damian would have wanted you to help. You know how loyal he was to the League. Join me. Kill your brother's killer. Avenge him. Save the League. It's what Damian would want."
"It's what Dami would want," the girl repeated, closing her eyes. It did sound like him. Dami never failed. Never. He loved Grandfather, Mother, and the League of Assassins. He would have died fighting. His father must have put up quite the fight. Dami was a skilled fighter. Not like Daire. Daire could practice more than Dami and still not be as good. Dami has the talent for fighting.
"Yes. It's what Damian would have wanted," the mother assured. Daire could hear the small smile in the woman's voice. Daire wasn't much of a killer- it was why she got kicked out of the League- but she would kill if necessary. "Join me, Daughter. Help me rebuild the League your brother loved."
Daire nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her mother wasn't a beggar. If she was asking for help, she needed it. Whatever shambles the League of Assassins were currently in, Daire would do her best to fix it. She would help her mother strength the League to its former glory. And when the time came, she would carry on Ra's Al Ghul's legacy.
She would not fail Grandfather.
She would not fail her brother.
Not Damian.
Not ever again.
"Yes, Mother."
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"Robin, report," a stern voice commanded over the comlink.
Robin, a young lad, raised his hand to the com, replying, "Everything's clear," in a childish- pitched but equally stern voice.
He paused, watching a young teen boy walk beside a young woman. They laughed, the girl bumping purposefully into the boy's shoulder. The boy beamed, returning the playful gesture.
"Whatever, you're just jealous because dad bought me a new game system," the girl challenged.
"So? You have to share it with me until you leave for college!" the boy rebuked, still smiling.
"Which is in, like, six months!"
"Not if I have any say about it." The boy let out a wicked laugh, running ahead with glee.
"Thomas!" the girl called, laughing. An unease grew in her brown eyes the further her brother got. A sense of relief flood her when he stopped and turned, waiting for her to catch up.
Robin remembered the days before he put on the mask. The years he spent training to take over the League of Assassins, his birthright. He remembered his older sister. How kind, gentle, and motherly she was. He loved his mother and grandfather, he would do anything for them. But he would save the world for his lost sister. She was the main reason he agreed to be Robin and stop killing in the first place.
He wondered how time had changed her. She was smart, cunning, and skilled. Not as skilled as he was, but skilled nonetheless. He didn't see himself as stronger than her, not anymore. What she lacked in physical strength, she more than made up for in empathy. Something he struggled with. She never gave up, found unlikely success without casualties (much like his father. Honestly, he doubted they had different fathers. She was so much like his father.) and had the purest heart he had ever known. She had a strong sense of morality, despite her upbringing. Their grandfather blamed it on her early interaction with society. She had been trained to act like the child she seemed to be to get close to targets, taught what to say and how to act. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being an act.
A scream pulled Robin out of his thoughts. The boy had a gun to his head, tears in his eyes. His sister was frantically trying to bargain with the lowlife, handing over her purse without protest.
Robin leapt down and landed silently in the shadow between two buildings. Staying low, he darted across the empty street. The criminal noticed him too late, and Robin took him out with a few well placed punches.
The pair of siblings took off the moment they got the chance. Robin tied the man up. It was obvious he wanted the money for drugs. His pale, sickly skin told it all. He alerted the police, disappearing as a voice spoke to him.
He raised his hand back to the com in his ear to answer, "Just some deadbeat trying to mug someone. I took care of him." Pause. "I didn't need help. I can take care of myself." Another pause. Robin huffed but complied, "On my way."
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
The girl was panting but kept alert. Surrounded by half a dozen men, all bigger and buffer than her, she couldn't afford to lower her guard.
One charged at her, screaming. She did a back flip over him with little effort, jumping over his six foot frame. With the bamboo staff in hand, she swiped at the back of her knees. With a yelp, he crumbled.
She had less than a second to dodge the opponent creeping behind her. Having felt his quiet presence the moment he started moving, she ducked. His arms collided, sweeping over empty air. Before he could register what went wrong, he instinctively circled inwards on himself. His torso flared with pain in three places, then his head was quickly guided down to a hard knee. He let out a wince, rolling to the ground to coddle his bloody and broken nose.
The rest of the men were more weary, two charging her at once. She leapt at the one who reached her first, talking a running few steps to gain momentum. She twirled, circling her arm around his unsuspecting torso. The force of her body spinning around his waist through him off balance, and he stumbled into his partner, who had been kicked in the gut by the girl's flying legs.
The girl let her grasp of the man go, landing elegantly on the balls of her feet as the men kissed the ground. She couldn't help the smirk that graced her lips. She couldn't help but feel smug. She had missed this feeling. Feeling strong, powerful, and invincible. She only lost battles with her mother, grandfather, and talented little brother. She had been trained to win, not lose. To succeed, not fail. To kill, not die.
She wasn't going to fail her family- her little brother- again. She failed him in life, but she refused to leave him in death. She would avenge him. An eye for an eye; a life for a life.
Another set of men charged at her, hesitating. She hit the pressure points of the big one, disabling him in seconds. She did a cartwheel, going to the left to dodge a punch. She went to turn, prepared to finish the fight she was growing bored with. This wasn't challenging. Was this really how little her mother thought of her?
One of the guys she had previously taken down reached out, wrapping his hand around her ankle.
Her eyes widened as her leg was held back, not moving with her. Her arms started flailing desperately searching for balance. She managed to yank her way out of the weak grasp, refusing to fall.
She straightened, but steadied herself moments too late. Strong arms wrapped around her, firm and stiff. She squirmed, feeling for any weakness or weak spots in her cage. She cursed her age and height when her feet dangled above the ground. She could feel hot, quick breaths against her hair. Her skilled kicks weakened the hold momentarily, but then it re-tightened.
She felt the arms tighten around her, limiting her air supply. She gritted her teeth throwing her head back. With a grunt, the man stumbled back, dropping her to bring his hands to his bloodied mouth.
She flipped around, surprised but not reacting to the amount of blood falling down his chin. He pulled his hand away, his eyes widening at its contents. He didn't have time to get over his shock. The girl jumped and spun, roundhouse kick to the side of his head. He flew to the ground, a bloodied rock clicking out of his hand and against the ground.
"She broke my tooth!" he wailed, scouring the stone ground for the little white pebble.
No, Daire realized. He was looking for his tooth.
She smirked, feeling an odd mixture of pride and guilt swirl in her stomach. Thinking of her late baby brother, she pushed the guilt aside. She shouldn't feel guilt. She couldn't let her feeling guide her from doing anything but carrying out Damian's legacy. Her love for her brother would be the only emotion driving her. Guilt, sadness, pity, and any other worthless emotion would be discarded.
"My tooth!" came the cry. It was repeated a few more times. Pathetic.
She didn't have time for them.
"Sloppy," her mother scolded. "Next time, kill them."
The girl's head snapped towards her mother, ignoring the men's fearful and shocked expressions.
"They're part of the League," she reminded.
"Next time, they won't be. Besides, the League has no use for those who lose. Either win, or die." Sensing her daughter's empathy, the mother assured. "Batman nor Deathstroke showed Damian mercy. We will do the same to them. We will make the League strong and proud, for Damian."
The girl caught the sword tossed her way. The woman pointed to the three with injuries: the broken nose, missing tooth, and a third whose leg snapped on a bad fall. The bone wasn't showing, though it poked through the skin at his shin in a disturbing way. He was barely keeping in his shouts, biting his lip so hard it bleed.
"For Damian," Daire repeated, tonelessly. With three quick, precise movements, the three stopped moaning and groaning and went still.
"You three," Talia snapped to the survivors, "dispose of the bodies then return to training. You're disappointments to the League."
They scurried to their feet, not daring to oppose or challenge her authority in any way.