"One move and I shoot."
Artemis froze, the broken end of her bow suspended in midair, inches from delivering a smashing blow to a masked man's head. A fist came up, soaring towards her face, and she dodged, bringing her bow down and successfully knocking out her adversary. She readied to face another foe but found none coming, instead only seeing the confused faces of her teammates.
"That's what I thought."
Confused, Artemis turned around slowly, eyes narrowed until they came to rest on the speaker – the man in the red facemask. He stood across from them, his back to a small, dark alley. His clothes were stained red with blood; one arm was wrapped around a small body, the other holding a gun up against dark hair.
"Robin," Artemis gasped. He was covered in blood, his costume torn, and the red helmet man's arm was the only thing supporting his unconscious body. His head was hanging forward and the archer could only barely see the top of his face, but what she could see was covered in more blood, most of it fresh and still bleeding.
"If any of you make any move to stop me or follow me I'll blow his brains out." The man tightened his grip on Robin and began backing out towards the alley. "Forget needing him alive, I'm sure Donovan can bring him back."
Artemis's eyes darted to each of her teammates, each stunned into silence as they watched the scene unfold. When her gaze finally came to rest on Batman she saw he too was still, his mouth drawn into a tight line as he watched the man drag away his son. He made no move to intervene and it was then that Artemis realized it was over. They'd lost. The man in the red helmet had won and now he was collecting his prize, slowly backing away from them and there was nothing they could do. Artemis wanted to scream, to cry, to run after the man and beat him senseless, but she found she couldn't move. She was frozen, her broken bow still in her grasp and the ghost of Robin's name still on her lips. There was nothing she could do, and that's what scared her most.
oOo
Artemis blinked away the memory, forcing her mind to see only what was in front of her. It was a brick wall, old and cracking, with ancient spider webs clinging to the crevices. To the right and around the corner Artemis knew the wall continued and that it was covered in blood. There was an old elevator-type contraption there as well, hanging off the ground by an old frayed rope, remnants of another rope, cut, dangling from the side. That's where the blood was; smeared down the wall in a long, dark streak, darkening still as it continued to dry.
It was his blood. Batman had run tests and confirmed it. Artemis turned away from the wall, not willing to see the blood again. It was pointless though, the memory already burned into her head, flashing across her mind's eye whenever she closed her eyes and even when she didn't. Sometimes she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was in front of her face or in front of her mind. What was real and what was memory was blurring into one, becoming one streaky picture of pain.
She let out a gentle breath, loosening the near empty quiver on her back, the jagged edge of her broken bow rubbing against her exposed back. She wasn't able to get it to collapse anymore and, not having anywhere to put it after the fight ended (with all the masked men disappearing along with their leader), simply strung it across her back with the broken string. She'd been out all day, not even having gone back to her house or the mountain to get a change of clothes. It hadn't done any good though. None of their efforts had.
They'd combed the city, Wally and his uncle covering all the main streets and most back ways and Superman covering everything again from the air, x-ray vision scanning every possible hiding spot, all coming up empty. After gathering everything he could from the main scene, Batman had gone off who knows where, doing who knows what and even he'd come up with nothing. The police had shown, shortly after the enemy had disappeared, but Batman had sent them away, not telling them anything.
Robin's tracker signal had led them over to the brick wall around the corner from the blood and Batman had found both trackers' laying a pool of blood. Artemis suspected this scared the Bat the most. From what she'd gathered, no one knew the location of Batman's trackers on either Robin or himself and they were virtually indestructible. Whoever the red-masked man was, he was dangerous. And had seemingly disappeared into thin air.
After participating in the desperate, but futile, chase once after the masked man and Robin, Artemis had stayed with Red Arrow at the scene of the crime while the others continued with the chase. Batman had returned shortly after locating the trackers and stayed to gather information before taking off again, leaving the two archers alone. They'd picked apart the scene of the fight until they'd exhausted all sources of information, still finding nothing of use. All they'd managed to gather was that Robin was seriously injured, judging from all the blood they'd found, and Artemis only hoped that they really did need him alive.
Roy had eventually left, shortly after the sun rose, saying he was heading back to his apartment for food and clean clothes before joining the rest of the heroes in searching a fast-awakening Gotham. He'd even offered that Artemis come back with him and that he'd stop by her place and pick up whatever she needed, but she'd declined. As glad as she was that he was no longer at her throat about being the mole, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She knew as soon as she did she'd be admitting they were that much farther from finding Robin.
So here she was now, well into the afternoon, though the sky, overcast and grey, looked the same as it had at eight in the morning and the archer could almost imagine the search was still in full swing and the heroes hadn't slowly trickled away to take care of business back home, promising to return as soon as possible, but knowing that Batman might not even let them back in. Despite what was happening it was still Gotham and it was still the Bat's city.
"Like he's really even still in Gotham," Artemis murmured to herself, kicking her boot against the wall in attempt to dislodge some caked on mud from who knows when. "Bats is only still searching cause he's got no other leads."
She allowed herself to lean against the wall, a yawn escaping from her mouth before she could catch it. She was exhausted, not having gotten practically any sleep the past two nights and she could feel her body protesting every movement. She knew she should sleep and that she wasn't really any help to Robin dead on her feet, but sleeping felt like giving up and she wasn't about to give up, even if it killed her. She held no doubt in her mind that whatever Robin was going through at the moment was more than ten times worse than herself. She wouldn't sleep, because she knew he wasn't.
oOo
A bright light, pain… so much pain… everything hurt….
"He's waking up."
An even brighter light, shining in his eyes…. Fingers poking and prodding….
"How is he…?"
"Is he responsive…?"
"Check his vision…."
When Robin finally came to, the first thing he was aware of was the bright light shining in his eyes – eye? And then the pain came crashing full force, nearly knocking him out again as it washed over him, tearing his limbs to pieces and wrenching his head in two. He was vaguely aware of voices echoing around his head but he couldn't hear what they were saying, all sound droning together in a distant roar. After a couple moments the pain ebbed slightly, his thoughts beginning to make it out of the tsunami that was his brain and the question of where he was took the frontline.
His first thought was the hospital, or some examination table, which would explain the pain and bright light, but as he became more aware of his body through the pain, he found he could barely lift a finger, something tight encircling his wrists and ankles and preventing movement. That, of course, ruled out scenario number one. Only Bruce was ever strapped to an examination table.
He found he had no other explanation for his current situation so he started to wrack his brain to remember whatever it was that was the last thing he remembered. He found he was drawing a blank, not even a single event coming to mind, whether recently or a longer time ago. The more he thought, in fact, the hazier his mind became and the blurrier his vision became until the light above him was an all-encompassing white hot glow of energy until it faded away all together. The voices in the background were clearer now, which he found strange, as all the rest of his senses seemed to be fading….
"… The damage has already begun to spread to his other eye…."
"… His leg, especially his knee, is practically destroyed on the inside…."
"… Yes, see, if you look, you can see that his right hand is nearly completely dismembered…."
"Alright, alright, I get it. The Hood messed up, or really, messed him up, but once the DNA is activated the accelerated healing should kick in and what's not healed won't matter, not with everything else. A quick fix to what's necessary now and we'll leave the rest to science."
"Right, sir. I can fix his vision so he won't be blind, but I can't promise anything for the damaged right eye or the inevitable scarring."
"As long as he can see out of one eye."
"I can reattach the hand, but it will take a whi-"
"Do it now and do it fast."
"Y-yes sir, but I can't promise full mobility-"
"Doesn't matter. And you?"
"His leg and chest should heal with, as you say, science."
"Brilliant. Prep him for what must be done and I shall begin preparing the grand finale. I have him drugged already so don't overdo it!"
Robin listened as the footsteps of the high-voiced, whiny man faded away in the distance, the sound of scurried activity picking up just as they were out of ear shot. Now that he knew he was drugged, Robin found his thoughts strangely clearer, as if his mind, now that it realized why it was messed up, was able to compensate for it. It also helped with reasoning where he might be. Obviously with enemies, otherwise they wouldn't drug him and tie him up, and he now knew he was hurt, meaning he was probably kidnapped as Robin and hadn't gone down without a fight. That, at least, was somewhat reassuring. But hearing his kidnappers talking about his injuries, and their apparent plans for him…
"Ah!" Robin was surprised to hear himself gasp as he felt pain somewhere along his right arm. He couldn't locate the exact spot, or the source of the pain, but he was able to distinguish it from the rest of the pain encircling him. And he was able to voice his discomfort.
"Don't worry now, little one, this'll all be over soon."
The voice was creepy, eerie and taunting and not at all reassuring. It was high-pitched, though obviously belonging to man, sounding like that of the insane, and Robin found himself hoping that it wouldn't be over soon, the end sounding even worse than the journey.
"While I sew you back together, Merida's gonna go in your eyes and make you see again." The voice laughed here and Robin could feel something brush against his arm. "Oops! I better be more careful; wouldn't wanna do anymore damage." Except he would.
"Shut up, Sixty-two."
This voice sounded like it belonged to a woman. It was medium-pitched and even, speaking of calm and collected and this confused Robin even more.
"You don't need to scare him anymore than he already is."
"Why not?" Robin figured this was 'Sixty-two' talking. "He ain't got much time left anyways."
"Exactly."
"You wanna make his last moments sane special, is that it? Well aren't you precious."
"Shut up."
Sixty-two just laughed and Robin felt the sharp pain return to his arm as Sixty-two 'sewed him up'. Robin supposed the idea should've made him queasy or something, but, thanks to whatever he'd been drugged with, his head was too fluffy to really make such emotions. He felt pain but he didn't feel the fear or worry or primal need to get away from it that he usually felt, instead feeling complacent, willing to lay there while someone sewed his hand back on to his body.
And that was another thing. He was essentially blind, crippled, and nearly an amputee and it didn't faze him. He knew it should, and he was aware of how big a deal such things were, but he didn't feel fear. He didn't feel anything. He was emotionless. He could be told that his friends and family all died and that he was paralyzed and blind and deaf and he didn't think he would even think twice about it. Honestly, for all he knew, that was all true. And yet didn't, couldn't, care. And if he was capable of being scared, he knew that knowledge would terrify him.
"Ew, you're gonna go right in his eye? While he's awake?!" Sixty-two's voice was even more obnoxious than usual.
"Finish your own job and don't question mine."
"I'm already done."
"You better hope you got all the muscle." Merida didn't sound too concerned.
"Well, s'not like I could do much, what with the bone and stuff all smashed up. Most the muscle's all torn and stuff anyway. I put it back on, but it's more damaged than that."
"Your funeral."
"Nya nya, nya nya."
Robin felt and heard Merida huff and he figured she was leaning over him, close to his face. He felt a sharp prick of pain on his cheek before his face suddenly fell numb. Whatever remaining mobility he'd had in his face was gone now. A slight itching started somewhere near his eyes and he had the sudden urge to burrow into his skull and scratch at the inside of his face. While he wasn't sure if that was considered an emotion or not, he was glad he at least had a desire to do something, no matter how ridiculous.
"There we go, little one, inside."
It was Merida talking, even though she used Sixty-two's nickname. Robin was surprised he remembered that. Actually, he was surprised he even remembered his own name, but he figured that would all come in time. And he wasn't the least bit loath for it to come. All he really wanted to do was itch his brain.
"Let's see, little one."
Suddenly the bright light returned, shining full force into Robin's eye, making him desperately want to blink. He found something was holding his eyelid open however, and he was unable to block out the florescent glare. A sudden primal anger welled up inside of him and he found himself hating whatever it was that was stopping him from blinking, hating it with all his strength, his very being. He wanted to pound it, smash it, crush it, and rip it apart into a hundred tiny pieces and then brutally meld those pieces back together, only to do it all again.
"Very good."
And then it was gone, and what was left of Robin's coherent mind was left confused. But he didn't have time, or was unable to dwell on it because the itching was back; this time on the right side and Robin even felt his arms jerk in their cuffs in an attempt to reach the source of the discomfort.
"Now we shall see about the other one."
The itch didn't last nearly as long as the last time, but Robin found himself disliking it more than before. Not hating it, like with the light, but it was a strong dislike instead of an annoyance. Some part of him, way back in the caverns of his mind that hadn't been drugged, knew that something was very wrong about this, but the forefront of his mind, the part that was now making itself in charge of all decisions and that was drugged while doing, wouldn't let him dwell on it long enough to figure out why.
"Not much I can do for this one, little one, not in the short amount of time I'm allowed."
The itching stopped and, if he could move his face, Robin would've sighed in relief. But then the light was back, though this time much fuzzier and fainter and the hate that had accompanied it last time was absent. The disappeared again and Robin listened to the clinking of metal off near his right ear as Merida continued muttering to herself and to him and sometimes seemingly to someone, though something told Robin that someone wasn't Sixty-two.
"Hm, like I thought. Shame, you have such pretty blue eyes. Now you'll only have one, though I hope I managed to save enough that it'll still look nice. I like looking at your eyes. They're rather lovely, aren't they…."
"Are you done yet?" Sixty-two's voice sounded from somewhere across the room, though Robin couldn't seem to get his head to move to try to locate him. "Boss says he wants to start the 'procedure'."
"Hmph, does he now?"
Robin was surprised by the change in Merida's voice. It was like she'd completely changed personality, snapping at Sixty-two.
"Well I'm done. Better job than you as well."
"Blah blah blah. Unlike you, I really don't care if the brat is hanging together by threads. He's just gonna morph into a hulk in a day or two anyways."
Merida sniffed, but didn't reply.
"Boss wants him in the procedure room when we're done with him." Sixty-two's voice floated around to Robin's right side.
"Fine."
Robin felt a jolt and suddenly he was moving; his body was doing nothing but he could feel himself being propelled forward. He tried to lift or turn his head to try to see where they were going, but found his neck was paralyzed and he was left staring at the glowing lights above him. He wiggled his fingers on his left hand (his right wasn't cooperating with him either) and was surprised when they moved. Whatever was restraining his head didn't seem to have any power over his limbs.
"He's strugglin'!" Sixty-two's voice was urgent.
"No he's not."
"I say he is. Knock him out."
"Doctor Dabney said he was injected with enough."
"Boo hoo. I'm doin' it."
Robin felt a tiny prick somewhere on his body – he found he couldn't locate it though. He watched as the lights above him got fuzzier and dimmer and he lost all sense of feeling everywhere. Everything turned to a dull roar until there was nothing at all.